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."
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