THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK FIVE:
THE BOOK of STONE
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
A smell
of cooking meat wafted from Bravo's office and José's eyes were first drawn to
the iron griddle, then the bowl of eggs scrambled with peppers and onions...
finally to Consuela Kan guiding a filled tortilla to the Captain's mouth the
way that a mother feeds her infant. "Not only his
father's word and offices," José scowled, "but his woman, too."
Tomas
Bravo leaped from his chair at the interruption, his face glowering with rage.
He was a larger man than his father, with coarser features; gaps between his
teeth and tightly curled hair that suggested some African blood. "You,
ah... Major," he sputtered, saluting.
"It's
been a while since we've conversed, Tomas," José acknowledged, taking a
seat on the General's desk. Tomas Bravo was at least five years older than José
but, for all of his father's well situated colleagues, promotions had come
slowly. "Are you going to offer me a drink?" he asked, tapping an
open bottle of aguardiente with his fingernail.
Tomas
gestured for the woman to bring a glass. "Something to eat?" he asked
and José shook his head.
"Thank
you," the Major said, accepting a copita from
the indian woman.
"Please accept my apologies, but I've forgotten your name."
"Consuela,"
said Tomas and José detected a possessive smirk on the Captain's heavy
features.
"Yes,
yes," the Major said, taking a sip of the aguardiente,
which had a vile taste in comparison to the Colonel's cognac. "You seem to
be doing well... not only the General's office but the maid as well."
Distrust and vanity wrestled briefly for the small soul of Tomas Bravo and when
the latter won... as José had suspected it would... the Captain leaned back,
opening his arms expansively.
"Yes,
of course we both know it is just on loan," he said, "but someone has
to keep my father's affairs in order while he is in Mexico City. And
besides," he added, eager now to put the upstart Major in his place,
"women were made to be used. They become ill if they are not," he
averred with a lecherous smirk, "in the manner of rats deprived of wood to
gnaw on. They become tubercular."
José
nodded. Here was more trouble, family trouble to be sure, but a sort that would
have a bad effect upon the territory. Tomas pointed to the bowl. "Take
this away," he ordered. A yellow smear still clung to his chin. "Now,
Major, how may I help you?"
"I
understand that you have taken a new business venture upon yourself."
The
Captain burped. "And if I have?"
"There
are individuals," José began, "with whom your father and myself, among others, have established what you may wish to
call a working relationship with. You understand my point?"
"That?
Certainly!" Tomas replied.
"And
as people will talk, it is important to be careful who is admitted to the
circle." A rustling came; José let it pass.
Tomas
nodded. "Your circle," he said. "A fine way of
putting it. No, you needn't worry on my account, nor father... the
gentleman I have found is a discreet and careful man. My father knows him... he
has for many years, even before the establishment of the Territory."
"Excellent,"
José said. "So long as he is not a Cuban..."
"A
Cuban?" the Captain laughed. "He is as far from a Cuban as a cat is
from the moon."
"And
you've informed him of the delicacy of this particular transaction."
"Him?" Tomas Bravo paused and folded his hands. "Actually, no. We communicate through intermediaries,
naturally. Oh I know what's bothering you." He paused again, deliberating
whether to trust José and to what extent and José saw something moving across
the floor out of the corner of his eye.
"Let
us begin to understand together," Tomas commenced at last, "that
there is little argument over what I would not call ethics, so
much as a system of values that holds some men apart of others as a consequence
of heritage. Nor would you or I... or any man of reason... deny this fact that
these differences exist, nor that their existence is a valid component of
policy."
"As
you have said," José agreed. "This concept of the
man of reason being, of course, at the bottom of the matter."
"Yes
well... I understand the term in religious sense, but reason itself calls into
question its own applicability in civil law. When an indian, incapable of reason as we know it, commits a
theft or murder, we agree that obligatory service may be of some value towards
the repair of his soul. Of course such creatures never can be elevated towards
the state of that of a man of reason, nor can we dismiss the possibility that
some savages are beyond even the possibility of repair, and are best hanged or
shot."
"Ah,
I see that you have been talking with Padre Dominguez."
"Who?"
José
waved to bid the Captain that he should continue.
"Well,
you see, if we have to put down an indian,
it is because he represents a threat to others. In fact, we must hold white men
or, even, some Ladinos who represent the gente de razon, to higher standards... for, when they do wrong, they
injure not only their victims but their souls and, by example, the community of
reason that upholds them. Therefore, Major, if the obligatory service is
corrective for a sinful man who is without reason in the first place, must it
not also be an even greater balm to he who has chosen evil, through
execution of his reason? After all, the best we can hope to expect of an indian is that he will be restored
to the childlike state... obeying God's law and that of the Republic and
accepting God's mercy without comprehending its subtleties. The man of reason,
on the other hand, has further to fall as he also has the potential to rise. Of
course," Tomas admitted, "there are always the exceptions and,
besides, this view cannot be openly expressed in these sanctimonious
times."
"Well,
I must assume that your father shares, also, what we may call the old
beliefs?"
"Yee...
ess..." said the Captain, drawing out the word
as if reluctant to release it. "We must
realize," he added, "that no man, however great,
cannot be overtaken by progress and forced to change his views. The
realization of this is itself fundamental to a state of reason. To understand
that there exists a state beyond one's own time and belief, a state of
Godliness which we are moving towards, but shown only a semblance of; there...
Major... is the core of reason."
"Nevertheless,"
José objected, "there is still the shell, which is all that most people
ever see. And the shell of your reason holds proper the sale
of white men, Mexicans like you or I, along with the criminal and the indian. Not that I object personally, in fact your position
is most advanced, democratic... you might almost call it a liberal
sentiment."
"Of
a sort," the Captain smiled. "Such men as Madero deserve to be
shot... if for no other reason than that they are an embarrassment to both
their class and race... but, still, one cannot deny that there is that
gathering of vital energies which heralds a change. Do you know that old indian my father keeps
about?"
"Chankik? Of
course. I have not seen him for months... is he still alive?"
"Probably,"
Tomas Bravo admitted, "although I have not seen him myself
since my father's leaving. He comes and he goes."
"I
know that."
"He
told my father something curious not long after I arrived,
it was a little after the General took him to Merida for the Presidential
visit. Most of it I still remember... since we ourselves reason, it must be
reasonable that those who do not, the heathen and perhaps demonically-tinged indians, should believe in a diabolical Genesis which, in
the place of the Creation and its end, the reckoning and Resurrection, proposes
a blasphemous cycle of creations and destructions in a time without end."
"Chankik does have some talent with herbs, but I do not
account him to be a scientist, nor a philosopher," José replied, directing
his attention, as he did, to the shoulder that had been the object of the old
man's ministrations.
"If
there is a science of the Underworld, it certainly must be Mayan!" said
Tomas. "Matter shrinks into itself, collapses, becomes dense and hot and
violent until exploding like a keg of gunpowder, whereupon it is hurled to the
furthest corners of the universe until, reaching the end of its trajectory, it
falls back again, repeating the process. So the cientificos
say, and so it has gone with the lives of men and the history of nations and
even whole worlds, four times, as these indians
would have it. I do not expect you to
understand..."
"But
I do," José protested. "There is little in this that is not also
repeated in all the heretical philosophies of the Orient where... I may add, no shame attends to the keeping and trading of slaves. So,
Captain, we are back to the matter at hand, though I certainly hope the
Republic will not explode in our lifetime. White men may be bought and sold
like any indian... Hell, in
any event, must be democratic. I understand, and in my own way, also believe.
But as we live in the present, Captain, we must be cautious. We either obey our
orders or defy them."
Tomas
Bravo nodded, sniffed, and pointed to the remains of his meal. "Take that
away," he summoned his father's maid.
"Do
you intend to personally convey your cargo to port?" José inquired.
"Perhaps." The Captain glared back with a
pretended insouciance. "Is it of any concern to you?"
"As
yet, I have no orders one way or the other," José said, rising. "If
you do go, however, be sure to inquire after Dominguez. He is more comfortable
with the origins of the cosmos and you may enjoy his company. He may also have
a word or two on whether any transaction may be perceived as disturbing of the
peace," the Major warned, seeing again something slip across the General's
floor. "Cabron! you have a snake..."
"Yes,
this old shack is full of them. I'm not afraid, are you? No? Good evening,
then," said Tomas, giving an icy salute.
"Captain,"
José responded, and also nodded also to Consuela.
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