THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK FOUR: THE BOOK of SCIENCE

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

"Elena, what are you looking at, what's wrong... oh..." said Rigoberto deflating, thought José, like a child's balloon at the approach of the point of a sword.

"You didn't tell him," Señorita Villareal accused.

"Well I meant to," Rigoberto protested. "Honestly, José, I wasn't trying to keep anything from you, it just has been so godawful busy, and... and we have arrangements to make, so many arrangements!"

José intuited something behind him and turned to see the chicle agent, Wilson, at his back, affecting a comical dignity that, nonetheless, turned the seconds of Molina's great old clock to stone. "Nice to see you here. What are you looking at?" The Yankee, turning gray as old stone, nodded and floundered back into the crowd.

"We're to be married," Elena announced. Were these the words that he was hearing? Did she think she could do this to him here... that the crowd at the Governor's Ball would protect her? That even Porfirio Diaz could save her and Rigoberto from his vengeance?

"So!" José nodded, turning with the final spasm as the imp gained dominion, but using its force to propel him towards a glass door leading to Molina's patio. Rigoberto was speaking again but the Captain did not hear words, only empty sounds like the buzzing of mosquitoes. A Chinese waiter blocked his path, proffering a tray of drinks. He snatched one and swallowed it whole, giving the eagle wings.

"Do you call this whiskey!" he snarled, hurling the empty glass past the man's ear and through the patio door. Before the sound of its shattering had faded, the Chino had turned a round, uncomprehending face towards him, blank and pale as the moon, and José drove his fist upwards into the center of that moon. The waiter pitched backwards and fell with a second commotion through the other glass door. José stormed past him.

The Governor's patio was dotted with paper lanterns. A thousand gay, dancing lights exploded in his eyes. The imp directed his vision to a wall, rising a meter beyond the edge of the patio rail. Three such walls enclosed the spacious grounds to the rear of Molina's estate, a garden with paths on which strolled those of the guests who sought respite from the crowded house and the peace of the cool evening. These had glanced up at the sound of breaking glass, but had other things to concern them, personal matters of greater importance. Besides, armed soldiers patrolled the house and grounds and Molina's walls were steep and broken glass had been embedded atop them. And furthermore, Mexico was at peace and who would think to disturb such peace on this most glorious of all nights.

The gathering was secure. Only a troubled few maintained their gaze on the patio. Only a few persons of no account saw someone... something... leaping from the rail, slithering hand over hand... paw over claw!... to the top of the wall, and disappearing over it, as a bird can hop over a fence of sticks without even extending its wings in full flight.

They blinked, these few, they looked down at the drinks that they were holding, at the sculptured bushes and the shadows and the glimmering house of lights before them. One of them would even join a Society of Temperance; none would admit what they had seen. Inside, some soldiers carried off the fallen waiter, and the butler of the household pulled his other waiters aside and warned them.

"These are the gentlemen and ladies of society. Do not offer them any more impertinences or you'll each receive a flogging in the place of your wages."

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