THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK FOUR: THE BOOK of SCIENCE

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

The Presidential party moved glacially through the Governor's house, now almost bursting with well-wishers. As Porfirio Diaz reached Molina and embraced him, so many gathered to gape and to gawk that a vast knot was formed and the pressure of the crowd expelled some of its lesser constituents the way that parts of a balloon, taken in the fist and squeezed, will protrude in bulges from between the holder's fingers. One of these excretions was Vice President Corral, who was not unknown to Bravo and who... rather than attempting to force his way back to Diaz and provoking a confrontation with his enemy, the Governor, hailed the General, clapped him on the shoulder and called for a waiter to bring drinks.

Bravo, in turn, introduced José and Edwin Wilson. Corral's hair was strangely styled and coloured... light and curly on top, dark on the sides and straight as an indian's. Withal, he was a man of average stature who thus was inclined to appear shorter when by the side of President Diaz. José, having seen him only from afar in St. Louis and then during the unfortunate parade, regarded the Vice President, searching the thick, sensual lips, the heavy, multihued beard and faint bluish complexion for signs of the illnesses which were the font of so much gossip.

Corral nodded his reply but took the hand of Wilson. "An American!" he said, with what could not be other than grateful sincerity. "Good. Very good! You have been our salvation in Cananea."

"Where is that?" asked Wilson, but the Vice-President, having made his comment, had forgotten it. José knew, from the Mexico City press, that American mercenaries had been brought to that place in the north of the Republic to put down a miners' strike. He also knew that many of the mines so affected were controlled by American interests such as the Guggenheim family, so that the Yankees, in truth, were simply defending their own pecuniary interests.

"Has Don Valentin made a proposal to you recently?" Corral now asked greedily. Valentin Diaz of the Colonization Company had established a very profitable trade in contract labor through the southeast. José had seen the fellow about Progreso, a fellow quick to complain if somebody assumed a relationship to the Vice-President and who particularly detested the term "slave-trader".

"I have had no need of his services," Bravo replied. "So long as there are criminals, slanderous liberals, bandits and malcontents in the Republic, I am assured of all of the labor I require. Sometimes," he added, "I even am faced with maintaining more of a population than it is profitable to keep alive. We know what's happened to the price of sugar - here, in the Valle Nacional, even Cuba. Mr. Wilson, here, is confident that chicle will not be so depressed as henequen or sugar, so perhaps don Valentin may find us worth his while by spring." His voice dropped a notch. "Were he to come to Santa Cruz, I would talk business with him."

"It could be arranged," Corral agreed. "Excuse me," the Vice President added, waving to scholarly Don Pedro Fortaleza, a Meridian who shared another of Don Ramon's proclivities.

"Quite a detestable fellow, no?" Bravo taunted the guests. "My opinion too, at first. Nonetheless, sometimes we have need of disagreeable persons. So long as the Yaquis continued to assert their preposterous claims to land and liberty, the development of the whole state of Sonora stood obstructed... much as Quintana Roo could not progress, while held by the sublevados. Do you know what the word "Yaqui" stands for?"

"I do not," the chicle agent answered.

"It is a name given to them by Aztecs or, rather, that race which came before them, and it means 'gone', 'departed'. People of no consequence, centuries before Cortes, useless creatures… even to other indians. These are the ones who obstruct progress in the Northwest! Capital and enterprise stood ready to make that desert bloom, all that was needed was peace. In removing the Yaquis, Corral removed the last obstacle in Sonora's path upwards. No, he is not Diaz, but who else is?"

Edwin Wilson gave his acknowledgements and left abruptly, having apparently seen somebody he wished to greet. "Americans!" the General said, shaking his head. "They are all spies… and ignorant spies who will believe any old story. You take note, when the next elections draw near, there will be whispers that I am of the Corralistas! I wonder what Mr. Roosevelt would think were he to taste, in his gum, the blood of Mexicans of good European birth, sold under the lash and in the company of our revolted indians by the Vice President? Teddy! I suppose that Wrigley's creature would soil himself for a chance to shake the hand of Porfie! Well, I am told last night's visit presented no problem?"

"Indeed, General, a more docile troupe of savages than those I could not have conceived. You have trained them well."

"That was the old man's doing, not mine – I do not mean the President, rather that witch-doctor Chankik," Bravo corrected.

"I find it hard to believe he's still alive. "But," José reckoned, "some of these indians live to a remarkable age when they escape the diseases of childhood, bad water or Mexican bullets. There are a few around Idznacab. Perhaps it is the will of God's accounts book that they balance those who are taken by plagues in infancy, or die before paying their debts off."

"At any rate, I urge you to find a good seat at the bull-ring tomorrow morning. What you see may well astonish you. And, if you encounter an Olegarista lackey who wishes to lay money on the outcome, by all means accept his offer."

"How is this game decided?" José asked.

"When you enter the bull ring tomorrow, you will look down upon two walls, facing one another. In antiquarian times these were stone, but as Molina's resources are not those of a Mayan king, they have been reproduced in wood. At the center of each wall and near its top, about three times the height of a man, are rings, also of wood in this instance. The game is ended when the ball is sent through a ring."

"That suggests a short game," said José.

"It is not so easy as it seems. The ball may not be struck with the hands, arms or feet. I have seen Mexicans attempt to play, with ludicrous results. These indians are somewhat better, but even in this case it is unlikely that the game will be decided. Which, Miguel Chankik declares from his history, is rather the more fortunate."

"How is that?" said Wilson who, having discovered that the man he had accosted was not the one he sought, had insinuated himself back among those circling General Bravo.

"There are several version to this story. The one that is told to children is that, when the game was played, centuries ago, the custom was that the losing team be subjected to a penalty. For some reason, it was said that they should forfeit their clothes. The truth is perhaps more sanguinary... both our witch doctor and certain excavators who have made pests of themselves in Yucatan, though not the territory, assert that the penalty was their lives. They were sacrificed."

"Sacrificed?" The chicle agent gave a series of burps, as if he contemplated losing his supper. "By witch doctors..."

"A practice typical to savages, although we must also consider what transpired in Roman arenas. Fortunately, such things are no longer permitted in the Republic. Tomorrow's game shall be strictly for entertainment and the risk, merely those pesos wagered on the outcome."

"Nonetheless, I shall keep your words in mind during the game." José glimpsed his father with the Governor and turned towards them before Wilson experienced some accident.

"Sacrificed!" muttered Wrigley's man once again.

"Later, perhaps, I shall tell you what they used, sometimes, instead of a rubber ball," the General added, causing Wilson to hurry away with one hand over his mouth.

Don Antonio and Molina had joined them. "Governor," said the former, "this is my other son, the younger, and you know, of course, his commanding officer in the Territory."

"We are honored by your presence, Captain," said Molina, offering his hand. "These, of course, you would know," he said, indicating one of the Peon family and don Raul. "And this is Senator Tomas Villareal. General Bravo... I trust you have your irregulars prepared for our meeting tomorrow."

"Senator," José had replied, but Villareal merely nodded and turned away, for President Diaz's entourage was fast approaching. José followed at a discreet distance, whereupon General Bravo took his arm.

"Let me introduce you to the President," he said. José resisted. "Come, Captain, he is a Colossus, a great man, but a man nonetheless. He will not bit your head off or..." Bravo chuckled... "order your sacrifice."

The General had perceived wrongly, however, for it was not modesty that had prompted José's demurral, but the sight of Villareal disappearing into the crowd. Perhaps the Senator, however unwittingly, would have led him to Elena. Now, however, there was nothing to do but present himself before the President.

Bravo cleared his throat for attention and Porfirio Diaz turned at the sound. "Permit me to present, Don Presidente, one of my finest officers," the General said raspingly, "one who, regrettably, has retired to his commercial interests. Captain José Macias. Captain, our esteemed President."

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