THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK SEVEN:
CUAHTENOTL EPACT
CHAPTER FOUR
Aureliano Blanquet, the old
scourge of Maximilian and incendiary of countless inhabitants of Quintana Roo... the guilty and hapless alike... never even reached
Veracruz to engage the luckless Felicistas. He and
his fifteen hundred men got no further than Orizaba and... there...
received orders to return to Mexico City and, thence, go north to resume the
campaign against Orozco. With their departure, the Federal railroad system was
re-opened from the Gulf Coast to the capital and José finally booked passage
thereto, changing trains at Orizaba. His
true destination, however, was the remote little town of San Sebastien in
which, Rico had assured him, dwelt Kanegis, a man in
a red shirt who swore that he knew of the location of El Chacol.
Needless
to say, the Major's tone... if not the directness of his words... insinuated to
the information-seller that such person had better be in San Sebastien,
and with information of value, or else Rico, himself, would do well to find
another corner of the world to inhabit.
José
carried only a small, brown leather traveling bag... well-worn, acquired from a
street vendor in Havana's old city who asked five Mexican pesos and accepted
three. In it were a change of clothes, a .455 inch automatic pistol
manufactured by Webley-Scott of London, a smaller Browning 7.65, identification
papers for one Jorge Bustamente of Chiapas (and,
concealed, a second set for a Dr. Raul Ponce Navarette,
of Campeche), a quantity of Maderist pesos, American
dollars and British pounds and such, miscellaneous items for shaving and
sanitation, a freshly published Bible and a well worn
copy of the Collected Tales and Verse of E. A. Poe. Cuba itself having become
unsafe owing to riots stemming from their own election, to be held a few days
before the Americans'... bullets riddling the American Club opposite the
headquarters for the conservative candidate for governorship of Havana...
General Bravo had moved on to other endeavors on behalf of Felix Diaz and
Mister Tymmonds had disappeared altogether. Since his
ignominious surrender, the dictator's nephew had been court-martialed and
sentenced to death, the Supreme Court reversing the sentence, then reversing
their reversal. Madero seemed unable to make up his mind so Diaz, like Bernardo
Reyes, enjoyed the hospitality of the Mexican penal system.
North
of the Rio Grande, Col. Roosevelt returned to the campaign trail and... proving again that tragedy or near-tragedy is inevitably
followed by farce... a mischievous boy drilled President Taft with his
peashooter in the town of Corry, Pennsylvania before escaping into the crowd.
Orizaba
is nearly three miles above sea level and José shivered in the thin overcoat he
had brought from tropical Veracruz... the attenuated quality of the atmosphere
hampering his respiration, causing him to break into fits of coughing despite
the many cigarettes rolled and smoked and cups of coffee with rum consumed. By
the time that the train to Mexico City was ready, somewhat before noon, the
brilliant blue of the mountain skies had become increasingly streaked with gray
wisps of clouds, heralding the approach of one of those storms that blow in
from over the Pacific... as the train dodged south and west, following the line
of least resistance along the easternmost spine of the Oriental Sierras, a
damp, crepuscular fog gathered in the valleys of descent while, when his
Pullman Palace car occasionally poked its snout above this gloomy soup, all
that the Major could behold was a sky of the leaden pallor of bullets with, as
the evening fell, a pale and sinister translucence that was Lord Kin's consort,
Ix Chel, one day past her fullness.
A porter
having informed him of the nearness of San Sebastien at about the time that the
train suddenly lurched downward and appeared, almost, to be falling off its
tracks, José waited in the space between cars, catching glimpses of huge,
fantastic shapes lodged on the hillside between scrawny pines and in a valley
beneath. It was some minutes past nine, according to his pocket watch, never
absolutely reliable. "They are the remnants of great ferias,"
the porter replied to José's inquiry, "...the Centennial, the anniversary
of the Liberator's birth, even some pieces from the Fin del Siglo,
nearly thirteen years gone. President Diaz, himself, asked that very same
question on his last ride out of the capital," the porter added, as if to
impress José with his knowledge of time, celebrity and arithmetic.
"We
have passed the summit of that chain of peaks that includes the Lady and her novio," he explained, referring to the volcanoes Ixtacihuatl... the Lady, more than five thousand meters
high... and her even taller consort, Popocatepetl. "At the conclusion of
the ferias, there was a grand parliament of garbage, señor,
including the displays, floats, costumes and much apparatus from pavilions
established for the amusement of the people. If only every day were a holiday..."
the porter sighed, "but, then, how would the work of Mexico be done? And
when don Porfirio's holiday was over, all
this..." and he gestured out into the night "...must be removed from
its warehouses and cellars, so President Madero declared. And there is not
enough coal in Hell itself to be burned that will get so much debris over the
mountains... they take it as far away from the capital as they can, to that
flat stretch of track just outside La Cumbre, our
previous stop, and then... oof! Empujo
fuera de la montana.
There are people living in this miserable village, Cuahtenotl...
up a trail from San Sebastien... who have nothing but what they can earn
combing through this garbage of Mexico...
"Are
you leaving us here?" the porter added as the train slowed and a great
assembly of skeletal, ravenous dogs burst out from the monte.
"Your ticket is valid on through to the capital."
"I
am a businessman," José replied, "and I go where I detect
opportunities." The porter nodded although, if the truth be told, he
hadn't the slightest idea what kind of business could draw a man to such place
as San Sebastien, and José leaped from the steps before the train had even
stopped moving. This gesture seemed to take the boldest of the curs who had
mounted the platform by surprise, and one of them skidded too close to the
Major, who delivered a swift, brutal kick to its slatted ribs; whimpering and
limping, it backed off, and its fellows backed away too.
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