THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK SIX: THE FIRST of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Arturo Modesto had come on duty at eight in the morning. No word had arrived from Tabi, the night operator told him before stumbling out to hide himself in a tightly walled, windowless hut with the aspect of a cave for bats. The General had visited the station at six while on a short walk before his breakfast and, at seven, the dispatching of a boy to the telegraph office still produced no message from Tabi. The General's breakfast was a fitful one. In his irritation he knocked over a cup of hot coffee, which scalded his thigh, affecting his mood greatly for the worse. As frequently happened, it was Consuela Kan who bore his anger... though her stomach was as heavy, as if she had swallowed a watermelon whole, and her face was streaked with sweat, even though the sun had barely begun to rise.

Bravo was still waiting for his pants to dry when Corporal Boleaga informed him that a crowd had gathered by the door. "What for?" said the General and Boleaga said that he did not know, a response that drew a curse from Bravo, then a shudder of pain as he tried to stand, forgetting he had burned his leg.

"Send them away," he gasped. "I'll see them when I choose and not one minute before." And the Corporal, waving his pistol menacingly, shooed the curious from Bravo's porch but they only congregated a few meters away, or joined a larger crowd that had besieged the telegraph office.

There was no lack of entry to that place, and at least a dozen soldiers poked their heads in between seven and nine... this morning of the fourteenth of September... inquiring if there were notices for themselves. This, of course, was so unlikely as to be impossible, for some, but it was also a way of lingering, waiting to see of word had come from another part of Mexico.

There is a game some children play in which some words are whispered into the ears of one who sits in a circle. The listener turns his head and whispers that which he has heard (or believes he has heard) into the ear of the next, and this continues around the circle until coming back to he who first whispered the message. Oftener than not, this answer bears no semblance to the original.

Each of the three soldiers had told a bit of what they had surmised from having overheard the General and being told of movement in the northwest by the soldadera Rosa who was, also, a famous circulator of rumors. Such is the credulity of men that a certain human tendency towards embellishment flourishes and, by morning, one heard variously that the Zapatistas had besieged or taken Valladolid, that a General form Mexico City, having overthrown the government in Yucatan was preparing to march on the territory or, even, that the sublevados had risen again in numbers ten to thirty times their population.

Only a few knew even as much of the truth as existed the previous day... and the foremost of these, Arturo Modesto, held his tongue even as the wildest of speculations reached his ears.

Corporal Boleaga shielded the General from those waiting for his reply and they drifted away later that morning of the fourteenth, muttering and swapping tales all the more fantastic for the sum of tongues repeating them. Hearing a little here, a little there, Boleaga dutifully held his ground but, from the few vague comments that the General had made, also conceded that the jig was up and hastened to his quarters to make certain preparations.

Bravo's trousers had dried by the time Boleaga completed his personal duties and informed him that the news, or some version thereof, was all over Santa Cruz. What particularly distressed the General was that the prisoners had learned of something going on as they were being taken from the church. Those who had friends in camp were told a force was coming from the north... perhaps to set them free, perhaps to judge and hang them... and a few had already ran off into the monte. Scuffles were frequent and, as Bravo wiped his face, shots could be heard.

"See what the matter is," Bravo said to the Corporal and Boleaga poked his head outside the door. No further shots were heard and he shortly returned, stating that two of the prisoners, fearing the worst, had tried to run across the parade ground. Perhaps they assumed that their ridiculous attempt to escape would not be noticed in the hurricane of whispers, glances and private concerns the morning had brought. They had been wrong... perhaps not by too much, but wrong just the same.

This application of the ley de fuga bothered Bravo little, but the quantity of rumors, if not their consistency, magnified with every passing hour. The General had, of course, deduced their source at once... for neither Rosario nor Boleaga would repeat a word of what they knew. The culprit had to be the telegraph operator.

"He betrayed me!" Bravo wondered aloud, the insult bothering him more than the deed itself, or its implications. "I trusted that man. I gave him medicines for his children..."

As the General stood, a sharp pain from the coffee burn cleared his thoughts. "Well at least," he qualified, "I helped arrange credit for him with Rosario. Was the man stupid enough that he believed I would bring him what he wanted personally? Does he think me no more than a messenger? What arrogance!" Boleaga nodded enthusiastically, yes, impertinence! "And when I did not come, he must have started his plotting against me."

By the time Bravo had shaved and, despite the heat, donned his full dress uniform... instead of the white shirt and Panama hat he favored for hot weather... he had had Modesto tried, convicted and ready for disposal. Consuela had offered a poultice for the angry, throbbing blotch on his thigh but he refused her, straightened his medals and returned to the office. "Hanging is too good for this one," he advised the Corporal as he picked up his pistol. "It is more than a matter of law, my honor is at stake."

The telegraph operator, unaware of such thoughts directed at him, was enjoying a pleasant half hour. His wife had informed him that his youngest son had improved, his fever had abated and he could hold solid food. The shots had caused the usual hangers-on to melt away, and nobody remained in the office to interfere with his reception of messages when the receiver began ticking.

Modesto copied hurriedly, signaled his receipt and glanced down at the words that he had written. He read the short message three times, to be certain, and then tore the paper loose and folded it.

"Niño!" he cried, but the shooting had lured his messenger boy outside. Modesto cursed and folded the paper again so that it was in quarters now, and placed it in a pocket in his shirt. The significance of the message overrode his reluctance to leave the machine unattended and, forgetting even his hat, the telegraph operator made for the door.

General Bravo had left his quarters, by this time, with Boleaga trailing. On two occasions officers approached him, one of these a Major, but, as he read questions and not answers on their faces, he pushed by with a determination that caused them to hold their tongue and slink back. Off to his right, the General could see men hovering, like ants, around the two dead fugitives. A fresh breeze brought the smell of new blood to his nostrils and Bravo devoured this.

His path towards the telegraph would take him diagonally across the plaza and past the church, around which many prisoners stood warily.

Arturo Modesto opened the door and saw General Bravo approaching. He patted the message in his breast pocket for reassurance and stepped outside.

It was not the General's intent to kill the operator, not at once. Even as he stalked towards Modesto, his mind whirred - calculating his resources and the sequence of events he must follow. There would be extra duty while a substitute was being trained. The man who worked at night would probably resent being shifted to the daytime hours, where he would be much busier, but he could be mollified by a promotion. Modesto would be ordered to wire Rodriguez before his arrest. The execution would be public... or perhaps he would have the operator burned alive, as Aureliano Blanquet would have done. Treason was no small matter.

All of these calculations were, however, foiled by the sun which, at that moment, rose above the summit of the Cruzob church and cast its beam across the dry, gray soil of the plaza. It was powerful, even for September, and the dark blue trousers Bravo wore absorbed its beam and focused a shaft of white-hot iron onto his scalded leg. Bravo stumbled. Golden balls appeared before his eyes and burst while another strong gust brought more of the blood odor to his nose, and the operator reached for what surely was his own gun.

"Traidor!" cried Bravo, drawing his pistol and, before Modesto could conclude his disloyal act of assassination, Bravo had shot him five times in the chest, none of the bullets more than an inch from one another. Nothing... not pain nor rage nor unfavorable sunlight... nothing ever hindered the General's aim.

Arturo Modesto, who was reaching not for his gun, but for the message, stepped back at the impact, his fingers coming away with only blood. He opened his mouth to say that Rodriguez had given notice but only blood, foam and fleshy matter issued from his throat. Wondering what the matter was, he died on his feet and, only afterwards, fell forward.

The death of this traitor soothed both the throbbing leg of Ignacio Bravo and his anger as efficiently as a rag dipped in cool water, and he even forgot he had been burned until the evening, when the evidence would appear once more in the form of a suppurating purple stain over his thigh. These fresh shots drew the crowd across the plaza and even roused Dr. Rosario from his slumbers. The doctor staggered from the hospital and asked "What's the matter?" to a corporal who had had the fortune to witness all three killings.

"General Bravo has shot the telegraph operator."

"Good!" Rosario declared. "Now my enemies in Mexico won't have any means of knowing that I am here even if Francisco Madero himself orders the General to reveal my presence."

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