THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK SEVEN: THE SECOND of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER TEN

Refreshed from their excursion to Belize, three Cruzob Oficiales... Pedro Yoac, Cib Chapal and Silvestro Kaak... reclined on hammocks in the old city of Neneth. Silvestro's sandals drummed against one of the ammunition crates that the sublevados had brought back, employing a mule cart most of the way, a brazen act never even contemplated during the Bravo years.

"Chankik is late," grumbled Yoac. Silvestro thought to warn him with a glance but decided to leave the man to his own fate... Pedro was a good soldier and loyal to Chief Poot, but had unpleasant aspects. "As usual. Why is it that we must run like children to his summons but, when we have need of a xaman, he will see us in his own time..."

"Because I do not wish," Cib Chapal said and instead of completing his words he hissed as a cat and drew his fingers into claws, slashing the air before his face.

"Shut up, both of you." Silvestro gave the ammunition box an emphatic thump. "Chankik has the right to order us around because... well, after General Bravo came and brought the blood vomit, God would not hear us, nor Juan de la Cruz. Chankik delivered us from slavery..."

"How? Are we not still fugitives?" Pedro Yoac replied. "Are we not poor men while our enemies are rich and many? The holy city is still in the hands of Mexicans and it is Chankik who conspires with the old chiefs to keep it so."

"There are a lot of Mexicans," Silvestro reckoned, "but not nearly so many as before, nor are they of Bravo's quality, nor of his jackals... whether the black one, the white one, or the brown one who is President over them all. General Moron is not so brave a man except when he is faced with a few chicleros without rifles or a village of women and old men. And his officers are all corrupt, they even let us use the Jackal's port to sell our goods to the foreign dzulob."

"For a commission," Pedro reminded.

"Yes, but when has the jefe in Santa Cruz ever not done so... be he a Mexican or of the mazehualob like our dead Tatoobs, don Felipe Yama or don Venancio Pec? It is the burden of the chiclero and hachero to pay the jefes of the lands they work."

"Well I have heard," said Cib Chapal, "that four armies are set against Victoriano Huerta, one from each of the winds... the north, the east, the south and west. On the day that these winds unite to finish off the usurper of the center, all jefes will be overturned, land will be free to all."

"A dream," Silvestro laughed. "A legend. Did they tell many legends in your butchers' army?"

Cib Chapal was of Yucatan, like Silvestro, but a far more recent inhabitant of Quintana Roo. In fact, he had worked on estanciónes as a freeman and even around the Progreso docks until Huerta's appointed Yucatecan Governor, Prisciliano Cortez, seized and drafted Cib and all such as him into the militia. Assigned to the corrupt Colonel José Ceballos, jefe politico of Progreso, Cib Chapal had deserted only a month ago. To the Cruzob he brought four rifles... his own and those taken from three sleeping companions, considerable stores of ammunition and his horse, which was more trouble than it was worth.

"I heard many legends in the militia, from the soldiers, too, and from the Muñocistas."

"Is Lino Muñoz a Constitutionalist, or with Zapata?" asked Pedro Yoac.

"Neither. He was just a carneciero until Ceballos took his daughter... a tiny girl, for this Colonel preferred disturbing children. And he had done this often before, and to so many of the fathers of Progreso... mazehual or Ladino but, for all I know, he might even have violated the daughters of the montes, as well... that one hundred and twenty of them came at us, and we were only thirty. So I deserted. Why not... the Colonel was nothing to me, I rejoiced to see him executed. Now Muñoz runs the city and the port."

"I'd think the Jackal's Governor would march up and make this butcher his prisoner as if he were a Cortez in character, not merely in name. Progreso is a big place, but there are many more Mexicans in Merida," Silvestro said, remembering his visits to the city.

"Ah but that is the doing of Huerta, whom you call the Jackal... although, in the militia and army, that term is used for certain men of his. Because of some war with America, most of the ports of Mexico are closed and Muñoz allows Huerta and Governor Cortez to use the port... like Moron, for payment of fees which he, however, shares among the people of Progreso."

"Then he must be of the Zapatistas," Pedro Yoac said. "I hear they ride through Morelos burning the churches, crucifying Catolico priests and taking the lands of clericals and patrons and distributing it to the people."

"Well I agree with Mister Skeffington in Belize that Mexico would be better off under Villa. The English and Americans are all for him, and he is not so much the drunkard as they say, although he smokes too much marihuana and is a bandit."

"As a deserter, you'd prefer a bandit," Pedro Yoac scoffed. "Silvestro... you said that the Jackal was a drunk, but that had no effect on his ability to kill the mazehualob."

"Or to trade with us... when necessary," corrected Silvestro.

"Then which of these Mexicans do you support?"

"I do not choose between the dzulob," Silvestro said. "The Mexican who holds to his own lands and stays out of all of those of Juan de la Cruz is most agreeable to me, next is he who does not enter that which they have called Quintana Roo. Next in loathsomeness is a man like Moron who, while buried into Chan Santa Cruz like a garrapata, respects his weakness and our strength and does not disturb the territory and our operations so long as he is paid. Finally, there are the men of the Jackal and Bravo, those born only for us to kill. The British paid us more for chicle than Bravo did, anyway; I do not want to be further troubled by Mexicans... whoever is their leader is one whom I will fight."

"I am pleased to hear you say this," came the voice of Miguel Chankik and the three Cruzob blinked; none had seen the approach of the xaman yet there he stood, a lean and vital man, not young, but showing no weariness at his journey.

"You may profess no interest in Mexicans, but they have an interest in you," said Chankik. "A deep interest... unless measures are taken to frustrate Victoriano Huerta's combinings with men of Merida."

"That is the fault of you old fellows for not marching on into Merida and burning it when... I think seventy years ago."

"Nearly so," agreed the xaman. "Nevertheless, the wheel of that insurgency has turned upon itself and the charge is to me to set aside this detour that Mexico, the separatists of Merida and certain foreign allies plot for us. To accomplish this, I shall have to undertake a very long journey."

"As far as Belize?" Pedro wondered.

"As far as Merida?" suggested Cib Chapal.

The xaman smiled. "What would you say if I were to tell you that where I am going to foil the dzulob is as far from either of those places as is one from twenty?"

Chankik nodded.

"It is so. Now the rituals of the few hours left to me require certain things, and these require sharp minds and strong backs to assemble them. Are you with me?"

"Bix huale," Silvestro answered. "Ehe!" the others agreed.

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