THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK SIX: THE FIRST of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

His horror notwithstanding, General Rivera marshaled the substantial resources of Santa Cruz into establishment of a great encampment in the Plaza by sundown, that sixteenth of September. Asking his instructions, Colonel Rodriguez had been told to prepare a banquet, and this so astonished him that he briefly considered whether the General's mind had become unhinged at his entering the church.

"Nothing like that," Rivera said, anticipating his thoughts although Rodriguez had expressed nothing openly. The Colonel's expression was plainly evident. "Bravo held his victory banquet, and now it's my turn."

"Why?" the Colonel found words.

"For Bravo's prisoners, howsoever far from God," Rivera answered, "and for those brave soldados who were allowed only the left-overs from the tables of their grafting superiors. I come here to overturn the order of the Territory," the General added. "First to be served will be those prisoners whom we have rescued this day, no matter their crimes. Next the women and children of this city and, after these, the Indians. Then shall come the army's turn... by rank as was the custom in the time of Bravo and Porfirio Diaz... but to mark the end of that time the ranks shall be reversed... soldados will be the first served, their Cabos and Sargentos following and we, the officers, dine last."

"After that march from Tabi," grumbled Rodriguez, "my men and I were hoping for a little better."

"Don't concern yourself," Rivera answered, "as there will be food for all. I am ordering some of those white cattle butchered, the ones Bravo seems to have kept for his own use. However belatedly, the revolution has come also to Quintana Roo.

"Two years ago, Efraim, all Mexico crouched at the feet of Diaz, waiting for a scrap to fall their way. I was on duty there, at the Centennial," the General admonished Rodriguez, "...and I have had two years to reassess my sentiments. Was it blindness we had, or lack of courage to stand when all of us could see what a hollow thing this 'scientific governing' was? Well, fools we were who dined with Diaz, and took our pleasures in the establishments of Corral. And for all the pageantry, what was dedicated on our behalf? A prison and a lunatic asylum, Colonel. This was the benefit to Mexicans while the Americans and Germans and the other foreigners kissed the hand of Porfirio Diaz and licked the honey from his fingers. Had not the British been mourning their dead king, they would have been present too, only licking petroleum, not honey. And as for the Mexicans, we barricaded the streets and drove them from their homes, that their humble estate would not embarrass distinguished foreign guests. That was the last time I held a command in the field... a noble posting, wasn't it? At least, behind a desk, I could not be held responsible for more such detestable folly."

"You should hold less attachment to the past," Rodriguez said. "No man who has served Mexico in the last forty years is without sins which may weigh upon the conscience and no purpose is served by bending unnecessarily under that weight."

"I welcome the burden. Without the weight of conscience, one's inhuman instincts are not fettered and they soar away, given the Devil's wings. Do you see how these men regard me? Even the ones who can neither walk, nor speak, they gaze up at me like dogs waiting for blows or food... it's all the same, all in a dog's afternoon. God preserve us from such admiration!"

In fact, there were those of the prisoners who... recovering their ability to stand and walk... had followed the General all day like a band of stray dogs, and only gazed and whimpered when Rivera ordered them driven off, staring with the dull eyes of the dead.

"Where is that doctor?" cried Rivera now, spurring his horse towards a dozen of these lost men. "Those whose minds are broken cannot be helped, but what about the sick?"

Rodriguez shrugged, but a sergeant who was attempting to make himself useful to the new commander pointed towards the hospital. "Dr. Rosario is there, at least what's left of him. Don't bother going, for all you will find is another pair of dead eyes in a living body." But Rivera, even having done most of his fighting behind a desk, was still a General and Generals are not permitted to accept or even to acknowledge despair. So he went to the hospital.

A few of the soldiers of Santa Cruz, under the direction of a Sergeant from Tabi, were removing the dead from the hospital tents... laying them alongside those from the church, in rows, in the dust and weeds next to one of those dirt roads that migrated from the plaza like the spokes of a poorly constructed wheel. There were thirteen of these, and the rest of Rosario's patients, numbering about forty, had been divided into those for whom hope of recovery was held out and those whose wounds or illness was likely to be mortal. Eighty corpses had been carried from the cathedral... the worst of the mutilated being removed to the other side of the Plaza... but, no matter which way the insolent wind blew, a spiritual corruption brushed General Rivera in its passage across Santa Cruz del Bravo. He took a deep breath and wiped his nose upon his sleeve, realizing that the barbaric attributes of Santa Cruz del Bravo had already become habitual.

"Where is Dr. Rosario?" he demanded again. The Sergeant pointed towards the office.

Rosario was sitting on his desk, rocking from side to side like some child's broken toy. His eyes were unfocused, his finger drooped from a corner of his lip and he tugged at this, as though the movement would improve his sight. Rivera sniffed and frowned... there was a bottle on the table with perhaps an inch of liquid remaining, but it bore a medicinal label.

Colonel Rosario picked it up. "This man has been drinking formaldehyde, General. It's used to preserve corpses, but can also be an intoxicant... stronger, even, than alcohol."

"So you're the new General," Rosario drooled. "General... they took away the bottle I was saving for the celebration, and there isn't a drop of liquor elsewhere in the territory. No – that may not be true, perhaps in Corosal. It was very bad of don Ignacio to do this. I'm a doctor. Can you find something to drink?"

"There are perhaps seven hundred men in need of your help," Rivera answered sternly. "You'll go without your drink, doctor, and that is my order."

"Seven hundred men!" Rosario wondered and began to laugh. "Of course... the prisoners! You've set them free and now they need... a doctor!" He tried to slide off the desk but stumbled, face forward, against the wall. Rivera did not offer a hand, and the doctor regained a standing position of his own accord.

"Here is their doctor," Rosario snickered, puffing and primping and taking a few staggering steps towards the metal cabinet in which his supplies were kept. "What else is needed... how about..." and he paused, yanking the door open with such vehemence that he lost his balance and fell on his backside, laughing. "How about medicine!" Dr. Rosario crawled to his knees, leaning his elbows upon the lowest of the shelves to rise but not before Rivera observed that this, like the rest of the cabinet, was empty. Still gripping the side of the cabinet for support, the doctor pretended to remove things, holding them up to the light for inspection.

"Here's our quinine, we always need this, General. And bandages and here... an extract for the liver. Disinfectants, serums..."

"What is the meaning of this?" Rivera said. "Why are you playing games with this empty cabinet... where are the medicines of Quintana Roo."

"Medicines?" Dr. Rosario placed his forefinger to his nose, then to the top of his head. With more a sneer than a smile, he returned to the dark, sitting on the edge, his face leaning towards Rivera's.

"Could they be in... Belize?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "How about... Havana? Merida? Perhaps... Italy? Only General Bravo would know. And if you ask him, ask him what he does with the money he received. It's..."

Dr. Rosario lost his train of thought. He raised a hand from the desk but lost his balance and fell heavily on his side.

General Rivera took a step backwards. "This hospital," he said, "is a disgrace. It is a stain upon the reputation of the Republic." He waved at a spot before his nose as if warding off flies; it was the doctor's breath that had offended him, no less than the realization he had consumed the only substance which could be used to retard the decay of Bravo's dead.

He bent his lips to the doctor. "You are hereby relieved of your position, you pickle... effective immediately!"

Rosario, not at all disturbed, replied with a genuine smile. Still lying on his side, he said: "General, if you think you can rule this territory by your word, or even by the laws of the Republic, you are not the man whom I hoped you to be. I accept your orders with deep gratitude, but it is in your own interest to cultivate those whom you will have need of... first of all myself."

"You have no cause to speak to me this way," Rivera answered. "There is no longer anything you, nor anyone in this abominable place can do save to obey my orders. Let me remind you doctor... if you are what you purport to be... that the church is empty now, but can be quickly filled."

The doctor waved his index finger side to side; since he was still at rest, it bumped repeatedly against the top of his desk. "You wouldn't do that to me," he said with a dreamy approximation of offense. "What if I were to say that, for these past ten years, I have been keeping a diary of this territory?" General Rivera did not reply, but Rosario had the satisfaction of noticing his nostrils widen and his eyes grow clear with interest. "What if I had a record of every action, every crime... the mortal ones of course, for to describe the lesser sins of Santa Cruz del Bravo would require a library the size of that of Mexico and Madrid, combined, with that of Paris thrown in. What if all these were enumerated, with dates and the persons responsible... wouldn't that be worth something to your President, a prize you could take back to Mexico City? Or are you planning upon staying here?"

"You have been spying on your commanding officers for the last ten years?" Rivera scolded. "That's reprehensible!"

"Awww," Rosario groaned. "A man of principle. He doesn't even want to know what represensabibble, what respi... what I've seen and written down." He closed his eyes, almost certain that the General would stay. If he weren't interested, thought the doctor, he would run... instead of hanging around, like a dog waiting for dinner. This is the commander Madero sends us? God have mercy!

He opened his eyes and, with some difficulty, pushed off the desk to a sitting position. Dropping his voice, he said "would you like me to help you?"

"What would I have to do for you?" Rivera asked, proving his interest. "Buy you a bottle?"

Dr. Rosario tried to laugh at this but could only come up with a cough. "There is a matter in the capital," he said when he could speak, "that I should like to see resolved. It is a simple matter, one that can be rectified with a few words to the President but, at present, the unfortunate outcome is that I must remain here... a situation neither of us would hold appealing."

"I reiterate, you are relieved of your duties. If I choose, I shall bring you to court martial and you shall regret that you ever left the capital."

"Why?" Rosario asked, snickering again. "I'm not one of your soldados, I am the Deputy Superintendent of Health. If you want to get me out of here, you will have to bring that up with the Superintendent."

"I'll do that! What is his name?"

"Why... Ignacio Bravo, of course." The doctor laughed aloud, slapping his knees and falling backwards. "I've heard you had a lot of papers in your saddlebag," he said, staring at the ceiling. "Did one of them appoint you to this post? It pays quite well..."

Rivera clenched his teeth. "You say the whole story of Bravo's crimes is in this diary of yours?"

"The whole of it!"

"I'll see what I can do," Rivera replied, backing away towards the door. "Meanwhile, I'll expect you to do what you can for the people here when you've sobered up... if that is possible."

"The prisoners?"

"They are no longer prisoners," Rivera said, "but citizens of Mexico, whose liberty has been restored to them by the Constitutional government and its elected President."

"General..."

"Yes?" Rivera said, turning back with reluctance, for he wished to be out of this place.

Rosario still lay on his back, his knees dangling over one side of the desk, his head over the other, but he gestured vaguely in the direction of the bottle of formaldehyde.

"You can take that with you, General. I know it isn't much... but perhaps it can help a little. You shall need some comfort in this place.”

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