THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK SIX: THE FIRST of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Colonel Efraim Rodriguez had taken his favorite horse out for a short ride on the morning of the thirteenth, being among those men whose qualities and deliberations are enhanced on horseback, as those of a tortoise are when in the sea. Afoot, Rodriguez was as awkward as a tortoise, and all the more ungainly for his imagining the pity and contempt in the eyes of all who met him. But on a horse... especially this one... morbid speculations vanished, and he thought his figure fine and vigorous... no less a man was he than before his accident. Rodriguez also thought like a whole man when on horseback, and it was to meditate upon those orders he had been given that he had taken this ride - orders that troubled him as no others had in the four years he'd been in the territory.

A certain measure of iniquity resided in his heart, as rests in those of all men... particularly those obliged to spend much time in Quintana Roo... but he had practiced and cultivated the preservation of, at least, some small measures of his integrity. Food, when scarce, was scarce for all. Wages, even for the prisoners, were evenly accounted for. The Colonel's principles dictated a fair return for honest labor and, although he used the ley de fuga on persistent troublemakers, he envisioned such matters as a failing, somehow, of himself and his authority and resolved to look for clues that might make future episodes less possible. And that which General Bravo... peering down from his summit like Jupiter, measuring the shortcomings of mortals... failed to understand about Rodriguez was simply that the fealty which he had sworn to Mexico was owed to whomever was its ultimate master. Beyond the person of the President stood order, and order was the Colonel's master. Hating revolution, he... nonetheless... had maintained indifference towards revolutionaries... the genuine, as well as those removed to the territory for convenience... that permitted him to keep his commission with a clear conscience. Were a dog to somehow become President of Mexico, Efraim Rodriguez would defend that dog, if necessary, to his own death.

Rodriguez followed a trail out of the village that circled north of the road to Santa Cruz for three kilometers. There had been few incidents of sublevado activity for the last three years, so the principle dangers came from the four deadly vipers of the monte; the coralillo, the cuatronarices, the cascabel and that which walked upright on two legs, the cañonado... one of the freelance arms salesmen and smugglers who flocked to the Territory to escape justice for crimes they had committed in other states. By the time the Colonel had doubled back to Tabi, he was no closer to resolving this crisis, acknowledging that he would have to wait for Rivera's arrival, to take a measure of the man and his forces, to assess the chances of survival... not only of himself but of those entrusted to his care.

Perhaps, he hoped, Rivera would ride in at the head of an army of thousands, with many other officers waiting to take his place should he fall in battle... an opponent that could not be met with force, nor treachery.

But, with his tiny entourage, the elderly General rode into Tabi at four that afternoon.

Rodriguez, who had not even given word of Bravo's message to his Captains, accepted the orders signed by the President and Minister of War as if they were sacramental. The General's frailty and stiff, citified manners disturbed him all the more... it was as if Madero, being of unimpressive stature himself, had filled the Ministry of War with similarly unimpressive officers so that he might not suffer by comparison.

"I would not even need my pistol to rid myself of this," Rodriguez thought. "One swift arroba with a machete would put an end to General Bravo's nemesis."

Perhaps it was sometimes necessary, he thought, further, that the strong have an obligation to suppress the weak to prevent the disorder that certainly follows when the latter rise to prominence.

But Rivera suggested they talk, alone, between men and officers, and so Rodriguez offered him a meal that was no Scottish feast, but the best that Tabi could offer.

Only the plaza contained buildings that could be rightly called Mexican... a Catholic church, presently unoccupied, some storefronts and the government building which faced the church across a vista of parched, struggling saplings, dust and stones which children kicked up as they played at ball. Beyond the plaza, Tabi was a wilderness of Mayan palm roofed huts and miserable, degraded European shacks of corrugated tin and scrap wood, one of which the Colonel used as his own.

Rivera and Rodriguez faced each other across a rickety table, now, and the General unholstered his pistol. Only a sharp inhalation betrayed the Colonel's concern. Holding it by the barrel, Rivera placed the pistol on the table and pushed it towards the Jefe Militar of Tabi.

"There it is," he said, "and if you intend to make use of it, you should do so now. The last time it was fired was to drive the French out of Mexico, and it would be a distinction to be shot where the weapon, at least, is honorable."

"What would ever make you think that I would do a thing like that?" Rodriguez said, his dignity offended. But he was a poor liar, a blusterer, and the General smiled. Just to be certain, however, Rivera had managed to cover the orders signed by Madero when sliding his pistol towards the Colonel so that Rodriguez could not look down at it without seeing also the orders of his President.

"I am not altogether unfamiliar with the reputation of this General Bravo," he said. "Even a Colonel is not safe from him, correct?"

Rodriguez nodded hesitantly. He knew of two Colonels who had come to inexplicable ends in the monte after incurring the General's displeasure, and lesser officers had been simply taken out and shot. What could be expected, after all, from a man who would execute his own son?

"What has transpired here is a disgrace to the reputation of Mexico that has remained hidden for too long." Rivera drummed his fingers on the table. "If one were to overturn a rock, wouldn't you think that a small universe of monsters would be revealed? Small ones to be sure... insignificant scavengers, but... monsters all the same. Thirty years have passed while all the stones of Mexico settled firmly in place under the boots of this army, allowing a small elite of Mexicans and foreign worms to burrow underneath this soil. Now the stones are overturned... not with a stick, but by a piece of paper. Do you know what it was which overturned them?"

"It cannot be the Constitution, General, for your President suspended it a month ago, rather like Porfirio Diaz. So tell me, General," Rodriguez said.

"Suspension of the Constitution was unfortunate," Rivera admitted, "but can protections of the law be extended to those with no intent other than to break it? No, I was speaking of the Plan of San Luis Potosi, which shall be the basis for our new and superior Constitution when these difficulties are behind us. Those who do not fear the light, Colonel, have nothing to fear from myself or from Madero. But," he added, "those others have nowhere to go but into the earth itself."

And he nodded towards the pistol.

"Tabi is the last major village before Santa Cruz," Rivera said, the lips in his huge head barely moving and his voice dank and oddly inflected as if emerging from a treetrunk. "Beyond this place lies no possibility of retreat and, so, it is a good place for the removal of an undesired destiny. I am inviting death, Colonel, and have ordered my men that they are not to take Tabi by force but retreat, and it may even be within your capabilities to imprison or kill them all."

Rodriguez folded his hands, willing his face to be a mask of Fin del Siglo, of Centennial...

"But another will come with his thousand and, after him, another with ten thousand," said Rivera. "And what is more, the cord that binds you to Mexico will be ultimately and firmly severed. If a man employs a hollow stalk of cane he may breathe underwater but, if it's cut... he drowns. Do you understand what I mean? Nothing will enter nor leave the territory. Not even by way of Vigia Chico... that port will be blockaded, as will be the port of Chetumal and the border with British Honduras."

"That well may be," the Colonel said. "But these fears of yours, I cannot understand them at all. What do you think we are here? Bandits? Indians?"

"I will leave you to answer that question for yourself." Rivera removed and checked his watch. "It is approaching nine. Time for a man with much to do tomorrow to begin preparing for retirement. Colonel, good evening." The General replaced his watch in its pocket over his heart. "I thank you for the hospitality you have shown; there is no need for accommodations - my men and I have grown accustomed to sleeping under the stars and Venus is prominent tonight. Did you know that it, not Mars, was the war planet that aboriginal inhabitants of this peninsula followed? With your permission, we shall occupy the plaza and tomorrow I shall telegraph Mexico and Santa Cruz del Bravo."

"You forget," Rodriguez said, pointing to the pistol.

"Let it remain where it is. I have found it bruises my hip when I sleep with it and, of course, I have every assurance that this is an honest camp." He nodded to the Colonel and took his leave.

Rodriguez waited until the other had been gone ten full minutes before removing his own weapon. The last of the daylight was waning and Tabi was without electric lighting for, in all the territory, such things were only provided in the capital. Thus it was by oil lamp that the Colonel emptied the chambers of his pistol, cleaning each of the dust and grease accumulated there... not so much as would fit on the head of a pin, for Rodriguez cleaned his weapon often.

He reloaded, then snapped the chamber shut, blew out the lamp and settled down to wait in the dark.

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