THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK NINE:
BOOK of the JAGUAR PRIEST
CHAPTER SIX
A journey of such distance, which
would have taken more than a week afoot and at least several days on horseback,
was, thus, completed in only a few hours... much of that spent picking up
passengers who waited at their small towns for the train. It was early in the
afternoon when Silvestro and Clarencio
disembarked at the village on the rail nearest to Idznacab.
They were still some six kilometers south of the estanción
and Silvestro at once began to frown, looking from
side to side.
"What are your searching
for?" Clarencio asked.
"A carriage or, at least, a carretera," said the Tatoob.
"I do not want to return to Idznacab by foot. No
matter that don Antonio Macias has sent his invitation, there's a man there who
might remember me poorly."
"But what does it matter?"
asked Clarencio, who knew some of Silvestro's
background... that he was not native to the territory but had been a Yucatecan
peon from this very place. "Alvarado himself has proclaimed an end to
slavery. Under the law, we are as free as any Mexican."
"Under the law..." Silvestro acknowledged. He took a final glance around the
village there but there was no sign even of a horse, let alone one for hire. A
ragged boy peeked at him from around the station, and seeing that the two
fierce looking men had not drawn their machetes, approached with his basket.
"Chicle, Señores?
Goma?"
The Tatoob
brushed him away. "We are as free as any Mexican to bow and beg, that is,
or to be shot by anyone with the capacity to stay outside the reach of
Alvarado's law. When one is not important, nor protected, nobody cares what
becomes of him. That is another of the reason why I would rather arrive in a
carriage. This man, Armando Feliz, was not so happy
when I left him... I gather he has some claim that I was a thief, though I was
merely doing what I had to in the cause of the insurgence. Well, let us begin.
I think that I remember a way to the patron's house that will enable us to
avoid the mayordomo."
"And perhaps he is already
dead," Clarencio suggested, trying to be
helpful.
They were soon out of the little
village on the railroad and, walking the flat and treeless Yucatecan plain, Silvestro felt uneasy and exposed. Living in the territory,
he had grown used to the curtain of the monte, a
green wall that concealed him from those whom he did not wish to meet. And,
after years of such concealment, the wide spaces of his childhood alarmed him
and the windows of his senses opened like those in a house many years deserted.
If he stood on a fence, he could see what seemed miles upon miles of henequen
and the windmill of a small estanción. The shouts of
children and a smell of roasting meat were also carried to them across this
distance.
"When Capitan Pedro went with the
Yaqui to fight for Villa," Clarencio recalled,
"he said that they would ride for a hundred leguas
without finding corn or water, that they rode through mountains so high that
four hundred men atop the shoulders of one another could not touch its
peak."
"Pedro is a magnificent
storyteller," Silvestro said. "Take
this," he added suddenly, passing his bundle to the other. "We are
soldiers, remember your job!" And he stopped in the road and changed the
position of his rifle so it would be in easy ranch.
Clarencio
tied the bundle to his own. The two were heavier than one, and the Tatoob appeared to quicken his step, and to find fault with
Clarencio's pace. "But it is his right," he
remembered, "the right of the Jefe. He has killed forty Mexicans that we
should have survived to be walking here, why shouldn't his hands be free?"
The estanción
had few indications of a trap. It was owned by a Ladino, but the smallness of
its house and the scrawny corn and henequen crops had thus far saved it from
appropriation by Alvarado. The owner, however, still lived in fear of the day
when a revolutionary delegation would appear and order him to turn it over to
one of their officers, as had been the case of many estanciónes
to the north. He had also heard the rumors that Zapatistas had crawled over the
mountains of Chiapas to recruit the tribes of territory and now... here came
two of the revolted Maya, one of them clearly a person of rank and importance
from his earrings, his scars and... especially... the
rifle that was in easy reach.
"Abajo!" he hissed to his
wife and children and they scuttled down through a door, which concealed a
secret basement. Such hiding places had been in use since the War of the
Castes. "Un momento," he called out,
placing a pistol in his belt and glancing through the window. Only the two indians were visible, but it was
also possible that there were more concealed nearby.
"What do you wish?" he asked
through the door.
"Water," came the reply,
"and some information."
The Ladino opened his door cautiously
and led the two indians to
his pump. A year ago he would have driven them away or even shot them, but one
never knew which of these types might not be in the service of the Governor,
seeking to provoke an excuse for Alvarado to confiscate yet another estanción. Silvestro did not move
towards the machinery but rather waited and stared until the hacendado filled the bucket and passed it to him.
"Is this the way to Idznacab?" asked the Tatoob,
nodding towards the dirt road that ran past the house and tipping the bucket to
his lip.
"You will pass the estanción now owned by Colonel Sarmiento, then a few small
farms, and after that another owned by Colonel Robles... managed, rather, it is
one of those enterprises taken by the Governor. You will recognize it from its
three windmills. Then the road crosses another and you go to the right. After
two kilometers, that is Idznacab.
Without
so much as offering it to Clarencio, the Tatoob put the bucket down and placed a peso on top of the
pump. "I've been tipped!" realized the incredulous hacendado, "an indian has tipped
me, just as though I'd blacked his boots! In the old days they'd crawl around
as if they were dogs, now they demand water and leave money as if they were
gentlemen." In his indignation he considered flinging the coin after the
retreating indians but,
after all, it was real money and not paper, so he put it in his pocket with a
final curse upon Alvarado.
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