THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

 

BOOK NINE:  BOOK of the JAGUAR PRIEST

 

CHAPTE TWELVE

 

          The ocean voyage was uneventful, inasmuch as the Dominguez was touched by neither fire, mutiny nor storm. Silvestro Kaak... whose experiences were bound up by the borders of his village, of the trails through the territory on which he traveled in his missions, or waited to ambush the dzulob, by the holy city of Santa Cruz he labored to redeem and the considerably larger, and more worldly, Merida (which contained far too many Mexicans to be even worthy of redemption)... passed long hours staring into the void, the endless crescent of the Gulf of Mexico. There were intervals... violent, chaotic stoppings at the ports of Campeche, Champoton, Carmen and Puerto Mexico, but the Tatoob remained upon board; he was already fearful and a bit repelled by this pugnacious and seemingly limitless land of the Mexicans.

          There were a few final stops before Veracruz, little ports in which outward signs of the fighting had much appreciated... many of the warehouses and buildings being chipped with bullets. Sidearms were carried by all. Tired of the shipboard fare, he finally left the Dominguez for a meal, but Alvarado's letters had introduced him to the captain of the ship as an Indian who spoke no Spanish and, to preserve this helpful fiction, he did not speak, but simply pointed to what he wanted.

          Veracruz was finally achieved after some days; the Dominguez entering the harbor as the sun sank over the great mountains rising to the west.

          This was a historic city... the port of entry and departure for so many ambitious men who had made Mexico whirl; Diaz, Huerta, Carranza. The invading Yankees had packed up and sailed away... for war beckoned in Europe... but the docks still thronged with people of a hundred nations; every shade of skin Silvestro had ever beheld and many more beside. Great turbaned Sikhs strolled the waterfront, side by side with tiny, pigtailed Chinos. Merchants called to one another in Arabic, Malay and French across the docks. Silvestro stared at this multitude, drinking in its every nuance until he could not help but raise his eyes level with the peaks of the Sierra Madre Oriental that, having swallowed the sun, seemed almost capable of biting the stars from the sky.

          "Señor," he heard a voice behind him. "Señor Indio, por favor." He turned. The captain of the Dominguez was standing with a Mexican officer by his side.

          "Colonel Octaviano Solis, at your service," the officer introduced himself in that tongue Silvestro had not heard a word of throughout the week.

          "On behalf of President Carranza, I welcome you to Mexico." Silvestro's first thoughts were angry ones but he held his tongue. The dzul could not be lying to him, nor boasting... this spectacle of flesh and babble, these ungodly mountains... they were Mexico. He was only stating a fact.

          The Tatoob relaxed.

          "Does the President dwell far from here?"

          Solis pointed to the highest of the peaks that had taken the sun. "Over that mountain he is, in a valley occupied for fifty centuries. More than two hundred katunes," Solis added, and Silvestro glanced at him warily.

          "Solis... you were one of those in Santa Cruz." The Tatoob did not ask so much as declare.

          "Without my consent," the Colonel replied. "Circumstances which probably have prejudiced me against Quintana Roo, although it is unquestionably beautiful in its own respect."

          "A treacherous land," Silvestro judged; the Colonel frowned.

          "I wouldn't know," Solis answered. "Certainly it was ruled by treachery in Bravo's time. Which has, at least, prepared you for this journey..."

          He pointed to the mountain range. "Sometimes one of those peaks explodes and sends a wave of melted rock down its side. Other times the earth itself begins to shake, it did that on the day Porfirio Diaz was overthrown."

          "Will your President surrender all Mexico to the mazehualob?" Silvestro interrupted, noting that Solis grimaced.

          "I would advise you to avoid use of that word. Think of Carranza as a fellow chief who has been fighting by your side for the same principles... for the cause of liberty and justice, against the despotism of Diaz and Victoriano Huerta. Do you not recall El Chacol?"

          "There were a number of jackals in Santa Cruz whom I remember," said Silvestro and the Colonel paused but continued more slowly.

          "President Carranza is a peacemaker, a teacher. He does not make war for its own sake but, only, in the interests of progress. He is a forgiving man. If Villa and Zapata were to lay down their arms he would embrace them as his brothers."

          "But he sent Federal soldiers to the territory," objected the Tatoob.

          "Because you destroyed the railroad and the telegraph," the Colonel replied. "You obstructed progress."

          "That was Bravo's progress," said Silvestro by way of dismissal. "They were unclean."

          "Yes, like the church, of course," Solis remembered. "The President understands. But now, he wishes to help in the restoration of these things... uncontaminated with the past."

          Silvestro set his jaw. "We shall see about this."

          "He shall speak personally to you. But, first, he has empowered me to show you the other Mexico. You have seen only its evil face... the warfare, the forced labor. But we are emerging from that darkness.

          "Tomorrow," Solis announced, "we shall board a train to carry you over these mountains to the capital." He guided the eyes of the Tatoob to the Sierra... as if it had, only yesterday, been erected for his benefit; like a village of Nopal, to amuse a visiting potentate. "There, you will be introduced to President Carranza and he, I understand, he will have gifts for you. And you shall see this other face of progress, as much of it as you wish." Then the Colonel sniffed warily. "Wasn’t one of Alvarado's officers supposed to escort you here? I see no sign of him."

          Silvestro shrugged. "There was a man with two tickets who said something about this but, before I boarded, I saw that he had exchanged them for a great deal of money. Perhaps he intended to desert." The Tatoob was suddenly tired, and nodded as if such things were expected among Mexicans. He picked up his bag. The Colonel led him away from the Dominguez and into the soft evening of Veracruz. There were as many motor vehicles there as in Merida, not only Model T's but enormous snorting creatures of metal which, when filled with men, belched clouds of smoke as if to consume them in fire.

          "In the capital," Solis advised his guest, "they are rebuilding the streetcars to operate electrically. It will be possible for factory workers to travel to their homes in fifteen minutes, where they otherwise would have faced a walk of two hours."

          "Who?" asked the Tatoob, for Solis had used a Spanish word and it now occurred to him that none of the mazehualob had ever seen a factory.

          "Never mind," the Colonel said, taking him by the arm. "I'll explain and show you everything."

 

RETURN to HOMEPAGE – “THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ”

 

RETURN to GENERISIS HOMEPAGE