THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

 

BOOK SEVEN:  THE SECOND of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

          "Surrender?" replied the bewildered Egealiz. "I think your choice of words is wrong. Zarate... what is it you told these people?"

          "Actually," said the Major, squirming in his chair as if possessed with the sudden inclination to relieve himself, "I didn't quite talk with them myself..."

          "Well, what did happen?" demanded the General, sweating profusely now despite the protection of the umbrella. The voices of the arguing officers were loud enough to be heard by their waiting troops who exchanged glances with the sublevado guards.

          "Actually," continued Major Zarate, "I contacted the Turk, that one who repairs boots and knows a travelling merchant by the name of Colombo. He was the one who actually arranged for this meeting, this Colombo... he's a Mexican, of course... I think..."

          "I'm pleased to hear that," Egealiz replied, trying to hide his scowl. "Listen Chief, there may have been a sort of... misunderstanding?"

          "Chief Poot does not speak much Spanish," the tallest of the sublevados interrupted. "You may speak to me and I will tell him what you mean, and I will tell you his answer."

          "Well that's fine," said Egealiz, "just fine! And what does he have to do with this?" the General asked, pointing to the third Indian. "Who is he, by the way? For that matter, who are you?"

          "I am Silvestro Kaak, at your service."

          "Well Silvestro," the General began and then frowned again, for the perspiration had stung his eyes. "Get me my towel," he snapped at Zarate and the negotiating party waited while he wiped his brow. The old Maya chief sniffed curiously at the perfumed towel, exchanging a few more unintelligible words with his interpreter.

          "Very well," Egealiz resumed. "It is a mark of progress, at least, that we are here exchanging words instead of bullets, whatever may have transpired in the past." He paused and kicked the peddler beneath the table. "We are also prepared to show that which Mexico offers its citizens who support our Great Father in Mexico City." He kicked the peddler again.

          The indians exchanged a few words, and Silvestro Kaak replied: "We shall inspect your tribute."

          Egealiz didn't like the sound of that either but whispered to the peddler, who unsnapped the suitcase and grinned, bringing forth a bottle and displaying its label to the indians. It was genuine Cuban rum, costing three times the value of a like amount of aguardiente. Chief Poot uncapped it, sniffed, then placed it to his mouth and took a long swallow until bubbles formed. He passed it to the silent one whose hair was long and graying and this man took a drink of equal proportion.

          "It's supposed to be a gift," the peddler whined, "they hadn't intended you to start drinking now," but Silvestro Kaak had already taken the bottle, tilted it back to swallow perhaps four full ounces and passed the rum back to Egealiz, grunting.

          Zarate tapped the General's shoulders. "They expect you to drink with them."

          Egealiz frowned. "Get me a glass," he muttered. "A glass!" The major nodded to the indians and rose... the General, avoiding the rather ominous gaze of Silvestro, regarded, instead, the old chief. Concluding that Chief Poot, although a savage, had the face of a reasonable man, he took the glass Zarate had brought, poured a quarter inch of rum and swallowed, setting the bottle and glass before the Major. Chief Poot, however, reached across the table and picked up the empty glass, which he held up to sun, remarking upon something to Silvestro. Obviously pleased, he passed the glass to the silent one, who put it in a leather pouch he carried, and the table was silent again.

          The peddler was not an educated man, but knew enough of human nature through his craft to grasp the awkwardness of the moment and now withdrew the metal image of an American backwoodsman with his hunting rifle pointed at a metal stump.

          "Watch," he said, placing a silver peso in the groove atop the rifle. He bent over the statue but the peso fell out.

          "This was made in Germany and, I suspect, for German money," he explained with an apologetic smile. He balanced the coin with his finger and, before it could fall, he pressed a lever and the rifle sprang forward, emptying the peso into a hole, which had opened in the trunk. "See that? Gone!"

          The tall one, Silvestro, picked the statue up looking for the coin. He even turned it over and shook it, hearing something rattle within, but there was no trace of the peso.

          "It's a bank," the peddler exclaimed. "Banco!" Silvestro put the top of the woodsman in his mouth but could not bite through the hard metal, and he put it down, exchanging a few words with Chief Poot.

          "I don't think you're impressing them," Egealiz said. "Better try something else. And the peddler next placed upon the table a tin of Spanish olives, three spotted bow ties and a pair of thick spectacles. Chief Poot had seen men with spectacles and tried these on, but quickly removed them with an expression of disgust.

          "Peculiar fellows," the peddler frowned. "They loved this stuff in Tabasco."

          "Do something Zarate," the General appealed. "I think they're going to leave."

          "Wait," the peddler called, addressing Silvestro with a frantic waving of his arms that caused a dozen flies and twice that number of mosquitoes to rise from the back of his coat. "Very well boys, you've driven a rough bargain. I have for you a photograph of the President himself; our Great Father in the capital. Yes, it's him!" And he took a framed portrait from the suitcase, some nine inches wide by twelve across. "This is for you!"

          "It's a miracle," Zarate said, for the indians... not only the delegate, but the entire sublevado guard, tugged at the photograph, loudly shouting in their imponderable language.

          "There is always a way to capture any man," the peddler said, resuming his seat with vapors of pride orbiting his brow. "Some are merely bought. There are some bad ones you have to suppress, but others, like these fellows here, you must impress."

          "Well you've done something, but I'm not sure you've managed to impress them," said the General for, intermingled with the Mayan words came a repeated cry of the Spanish word "chacol!". Silvestro Kaak, holding the photograph with his fingers extended as if it were something foul, tossed it across the table where it slid into the General's lap.

          "We are not afraid of the jackal," he said in quite passable Spanish. "Without the other ones, those who pay the mazehualob to kill and inform on one another... without the blood vomit the dzulob bring, even the jackal, himself, cannot defeat us. We have our guns still, and we have many to use them."

          General Egealiz and Major Zarate were much dismayed by this but the peddler, undaunted, snarled at the indians through his sharp little teeth. "So it's Bravo and the smallpox that make you jump? Well you shall have them. General Bravo is in the north, but he has, I hear, requested assignment to the Territory. And as for the other, that can also be arranged.  The President can do whatever he pleases…"

          "On your guard," the Sergeant whispered to his men, who had gathered in a semicircle roughly twenty meters from the table while a like number of the sublevados watched back from the edge of the monte.

          "Do you think that they will fire?" asked the soldier from the mountains.

          "Probably not," the Sergeant said, "but one never knows. There are more of them, back there, but they knew we, also, have our reserves. Egealiz is likely to do nothing. If it were Bravo, he would give the order to shoot the whole bunch now. Anyway, if it comes to a fight, amigo, try not to hit the General.

          The three indians had been backing away from the table, which was at the center of the line of fire, Chief Poot turning his back on the Mexicans disdainfully. Major Zarate motioned for the sergeant and three soldados to approach but with rifles lowered.

          "Arrest this man," Egealiz said when they had reached the table. A soldier grabbed the peddler from behind, yanking him upwards, and the suitcase overturned, spilling an avalanche of buttons, brightly colored ribbons, silver spoons, tiny dolls and novelties that skittered across the table. A chance breeze captured half a dozen picture postcards, wafting them in the direction of the Cruzob.

          The indians watched from the edge of the monte and Chief Poot covered his nose and mouth as the little wind passed, dropping a postcard at his feet.

          "Even the winds that the dzulob bring are treasonous," he said, "and we have never been defeated save where we remain where they may enter and destroy us." Poot prodded the postcard with his toe; it depicted a French or Italian garden. "Let us leave this place as quickly as we can, and talk no further with these Mexicans. It was a mistake even to have come here at all."

 

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