THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK SEVEN:
THE SECOND of the BOOKS of CHANGE
CHAPTER FOUR
Rigoberto Macias had passed the sunny April afternoon in court,
where was being heard the case against one of Merida's foremost bullfighters.
The torero had been charged with assault and murder but the judge, hearing Rigoberto's account of how grievously the man had been
provoked and mindful, also, of the witnesses the government had called... who
had, one and all, suffered from an abrupt loss of memory... concluded that the
man was innocent of all charges, and should be freed at once. As well arrest
and jail a great artist as a torero and, though the family and followers of the
bullfighter were numerous and grateful, Rigoberto
accepted their congratulations quickly and departed; crossing the plaza and
walking towards the southeast through the market with its piles of fresh fruit,
and tinned and hanging meats. Behind one of these little streets was a red
door, which he knocked at, three times, paused, and again knocked twice.
A
half-caste in a dirty shirt admitted him and Rigoberto
passed through a dark corridor before emerging into a tiny plaza.
"Good
afternoon, Licenciado," said a stout, bearded
man, extending his hand in the North American manner.
"Profesór," Rigoberto said,
his eyes sweeping the patio. Roberto Urzaiz
was there, paler than ever, and another of the Caballeros... a tall, thin young
man who wore the uniform of a Federal Captain. Also present was a
Colonel of the State Militia and a short, dark-complexioned man, Señor Baroja, who performed
errands for General Prisciliano Cortes, the new
Governor whom Huerta had appointed to Yucatan.
Rigoberto, of
course, no longer traveled with the Caballeros, for a Licenciado
must appear to possess the contours of dignity. From time to time he had
encountered them, frequently in the course of his profession, for the scrapes
they were wont to get themselves into often required the services of an
attorney.
"Now
we are five," said the Professor, a historian at the University by the
name of Renaldo Salazar, "let us truly begin. I have been offering these
others some account of what I learned during my travels in New York and
Washington. I shall repeat only the obvious... which I trust you will concur
with... that the position of President Huerta is graver than he thinks. The
Americans are prepared to invade Mexico, perhaps not to conquer and to
occupy... as their Senator Fall, the Guggenheims' latest man desires... but the
intent of President Wilson to remove Huerta is clear. What will happen after is
less certain, for none of the contending bandit parties... I do not wish to
dignify them, but we're going to have to consider at least some legitimate
revolutionary threats... has the full support of the Americans. Wilson is
perhaps more inclined to Villa as is Hearst, but there is some sentiment on
Wall Street that Carranza may be more suitable to the interests of the Yankees.
Fortunately there is little sympathy for either Alvaro Obregon or Zapata, and
it is safe to predict that neither the industrial socialism of the first nor
the agrarianism of the second will be tolerated."
"I
detect the makings of a stalemate," Baroja
muttered.
"That
may be the outcome, lacking intervention," Salazar acknowledged. "It
is our misfortune that the aggressive nation to our north possesses a
superiority in numbers and material and, most of all, its States are indeed
United and have been so for nearly half a century, while Mexico is divided
among factions. You already know my historical perspective... had we been more
aggressive suitors of the Republic of Texas and the Confederacy we might not be
facing the situation we are in today... although in, the latter instance, we
have the excuse of Napoleon III. Anyway... the Americans have the capacity to
gain military victories, even to occupy Mexico City, but then what? Will they
be diverted by the isolationists in their Congress? By the
worsening situation in Europe? Remember - invasion may not unify all
Mexico, but it will unite some of these factions."
"Then
which?" asked Rigoberto.
"That
is what we must ponder," the historian allowed.
"But
is the President's cause so hopeless?" the
Colonel now asked. "If he were to strike a bargain with Wilson, he could
save himself."
"But
he will not," predicted Rigoberto. "When he
was in the Territory, my brother acquired an understanding of the man. He is
not, and will never be, Porfirio Diaz. Perhaps no man
will ever again approach Don Porfirio's stature.
Huerta has too much pride; he'd give his office up and his life before bowing
to Wilson. He is lost... within months, probably, a year at the most, and we
must make our own plans as if this is already coming to pass. How do you see
this situation, Señor Baroja?"
"Guatemala's
interest in this matter remains high, and the
President has given me his personal assurance of support should the situation
we are working towards come to pass. We intend no less than full unity of all
the clericalist sympathizers against those revolutionary elements... which may
be likened to Socialism... being carried into Mexico by European influencers.
"Beware,
especially, Carranza!" said Urzaiz, a rude,
sudden interruption that caused Salazar to peer disdainfully across the table.
"The others may be bandits but this fellow is the Devil's own
lieutenant."
"He
has found no following in the south," the Professor predicted, "nor
will he. As to our strategy, only Campeche remains doubtful. We have sufficient
followers in Chiapas and Tabasco besides, of course, in Yucatan. The former two
are ours, so long as we hold out some promise of land redistribution to coax
the masses away from Zapata... but at a later time."
"But what about Campeche? The creature of Huerta's
Governor Cortes asked this question with an agitated waving of his hands.
"Without Campeche, gentlemen, the whole plan is useless... useless! It
would be a knife, posed at the heart of our new republic, a dagger waiting to
be driven in and twisted by the eventual survivor in Mexico City."
"Licenciado Macias has a plan for that."
"Not yet a plan, Roberto, the genesis of one. Let us
not overreach ourselves. Men we can gather, so it is a problem of material,
that is, of finance. Well, I've been given information that my brother may be
of use.
"I
thought he died," said the militiaman, "or disappeared somewhere into
the territory."
"From
what I am given, José has undertaken many confidential errands for Victoriano Huerta," Rigoberto
answered. "He has had to withhold certain details, others I am sworn not
to reveal, but Huerta's plight, like that of Mexico itself, is perhaps even
more apparent to him than to ourselves."
"But
can we place our trust in him?" Baroja asked,
trusting the rest enough to show an aspect of disloyalty. "Huerta turned
out like all the rest - a Mexican imperialist, worse... he needs the peninsula
and its revenues to maintain his Treasury. Why should we place our lives in
Huerta's agent's hands?"
"My
brother is sworn to Huerta," Rigoberto
acknowledged, "but when the time has come, when it boils down to a choice
between a free Yucatan and a Mexico under either Villa or Carranza, he will
make the right decision. With the exception of a few incidents, we have
maintained peace and progress while the rest of the Republic consumes itself.
Mexico is a hindrance... our Republic Sudoriental is
nearer the civilized European states in every aspect, more so, even, than are
the Americans. It is we who would lift the stature of the United States,
whether as a partner or independent ally."
"Well,
I'd drink to that!" said Urzaiz. "Colonel,
what is your assessment? Can Huerta pull it out? We wouldn't want to seem in
the position of undermining his hold; desperation concorded
with betrayal is a combination that could make our situation here that much
more difficult."
The
militiaman thought only for a moment. "General Blanquet,
whom you may know from his campaigning in the Territory, has the Zapatistas
stalemated... he takes a town, the bandits take it back and so forth. Zapata isn't
really the problem, he has no designs on Mexico itself, only Morelos. If Huerta
were a man of moderate temper he would give it to them but, as with many other
things, I fear that this hatred is personal. So resources are drained from the
Federals fighting the armies of the North... naming these from the least to
most capable, Carranza's, Obregon's and Villa's. They are headed for Torreon, again... a convincing victory and Woodrow Wilson
may be pressured into forsaking his sentimental and hypocritical opposition."
"Which," said Professor Salazar, "is exactly what we do not
wish to happen."
"There
is something of a dilemma then," concluded Roberto Urzaiz.
"Huerta's Governor here is not so bad, he is really a fine man in many
respects, as evidenced by his choice of subordinates." Baroja
and the Colonel acknowledged these remarks with polite nods. "Perhaps
under Huerta we can achieve, by degree and through negotiation... instead of
blood... that which is our destiny. On the other hand, our lives would be intolerable
under any of the revolutionists... it would be like having Madero in again, but
worse. We wouldn't sleep for wondering whether our servants were sharpening
machetes to murder us in our beds. So, we have to continue to prepare for
either eventuality... Huerta's recovery or his defeat, in which instance we'll
have to seek protection from the United States."
An inspiration came to the aging Hermano Mayor.
"All those revolutionists... they're in the pay of foreigners, aren't
they?"
"Carranza
is partial to Germany," acknowledged Salazar, "Villa to England and
the Jews. I don't know much about Obregon, but some have said his name is
really O'Brien, he's an Irishman, of sorts."
"The
Irish would line up with socialists in Germany against the British,"
speculated Urzaiz. "That's another kettle
waiting to boil over!"
"Torreon...
that's the ticket," said the militiaman. The Federals have good men, Orantes, Bravo..."
"Bravo?"
Rigoberto started. "Is that the one who was in
Quintana Roo for so many years?"
"I
believe it is," the Colonel said.
"Well!
My brother served under him... if anyone could seek out Bravo's capabilities,
then, José could..."
"Can
you get a message to him?" inquired Salazar.
"Perhaps. Until last month, I had had no contact with
him in the year since the replacement of Bravo in the territory. José was a
Major, he had command of some little Maya village nearer to the coast, and then
he sort of slipped away without even a letter until he blows in from Havana...
doing God knows what mischief on Huerta's behalf..."
And the
conspirators, each nodding after his own fashion, were
silent a moment…
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