THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

 

BOOK NINE:  BOOK of the JAGUAR PRIEST

 

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

 

          The Tatoob woke from an entirely satisfactory sleep to find another hot, cloudless day at hand. Colonel Solis had not passed the night idly, and a meeting with Alvarado had been arranged. "Tell me of your travels in the capital," the Governor asked and when Silvestro had finished... omitting, entirely omitting the treachery of the baleful Teniente, bumping over a word here and there to allow Solis to maintain the polite fiction of his troubles with Spanish... Alvarado commended him. "Very good, General... now I am correct in speaking to you as an equal, one jefe politico to another."

          "At least nearly so," said Solis. "A few formalities need to be concluded in the capital but, to our purposes, the matter has been settled, and in a way most satisfactory, I might add. Silvestro Kaak enjoys, now, the recognition and protection of Venustiano Carranza." He crossed his knees then, as if the statement had no particular meaning.

          "Then let us celebrate the kinship of the state of Yucatan with the Federal territory," Alvarado said, offering a toast of mineral water. "I've almost forgotten," he added, "there's a message for you at the telegraph station from the Oficiales of the territory. Its substance, I understand, appears urgent."

          The Governor was busy and his visitors soon left, proceeding to the telegraph office. Silvestro took the message spoken of by Alvarado and, in Santa Cruz, by Pedro Yoac, now almost two weeks old. It was cautious, but the Tatoob knew that, what had been mere concerns at the time of sending must, by now, be realization of the worst expectations of the mazehualob. Wincing at the hesitant request to hold a ceremony to the Chacs, Silvestro frowned, hoping that they had had the sense not to wait for his answer. He began to form a reply and then stopped, a decision having come to him instantly.

          "I have an appointment," he told Colonel Solis, leaving that officer wondering in the telegraph office as he hurried out towards the hotel on Frank Miller's card. His searchings took him into the barrio, the oldest and poorest part of Merida, which neighborhood had changed little in three centuries. The inventor's lodgings were in a cheap posada and Silvestro wondered, briefly, how a Doctor of Physics could be reduced to such woeful surroundings but, nevertheless, the urgency of his situation precluded any sympathies he felt for Miller. If the Yankee was truly in need, he could be persuaded to let go of the rain-making machinery cheaply.

          Miller was waiting in the patio and leaped at him, fawning with the gratitude of a dog who lurks behind a butcher's stall, waiting for scraps. "You won't be sorry that you've come," he said, directing his attention to the mysterious wooden box, which reposed on a cheap table, watched over by several children and an old indian in his hammock. The inventor unfastened the locks, removing from the wooden box a second box of metal. "It requires electricity," he added, almost as an afterthought.

          "Chan... Santa Cruz del Bravo has a generator. In the territory," Silvestro added, "we are progressive."

          "Wonderful," Miller said. The top of the metal box slid at his touch, revealing two rectangular protrusions of a metal of a darker shade of gray than the rest of the device. "Magnets," the inventor said. "Electro-magnets imported from the Continent, built to the specifications of Mesmer himself and of the German physicists in famous Instituts of Heidelberg and Köln. Touch them if you like. Feel their strength."

          "Make rain," the Tatoob ordered.

          Frank Miller smiled at the simple expectations of his customer. "I could do just that," he said, "if I wanted to make a downpour for Merida. The magnetism would attract clouds to the city and to an area perhaps twenty kilometers in all directions. I haven't just been sitting or sleeping, you know, I've looked up your place on the map. If the rain all fell here, the territory would remain dry and, what's more, you would have lost all hope of magnetizing the skies over Quintana Roo."

          "How is that?" Silvestro wondered.

          "Why, because the rainmaker can only be operated one time. The magnetic powers of the machine are expended wholly charging the atmosphere, in drawing rainclouds near. After one use it is expired, useless, finito!" He nodded to Silvestro with the finality of don del Muerte. "Its influence lasts for fifteen minutes, but the magnetic forces released cannot be dissipated, save by the countermagnetic pulses of storms."

          "How long will this take?"

          "Depending on how far the clouds must travel, sometimes the same day... but, more often, two or three, up to a week. Volcanic eruptions may affect this, any large disturbance. The full moon, as well. But I have built nine such machines and not one has ever failed. And if there were some error in design, you could return it to me in Ohio and its price would be refunded entirely. So you're not risking even one penny."

          "And what then is the price?" Silvestro asked.

          The inventor scratched his bony chin. "For the Governor of Yucatan, a wealthy, populous state, I was prepared to ask and, but for the ignorance of Alvarado's guard, would certainly have received, five hundred American dollars. But since he has treated me unconscionably... even if without knowing so... and since there are not so many people in Quintana Roo as in Yucatan, shall we say... three hundred fifty?"

          The Tatoob took a step backwards, blinking. He had expected rainmaking to be an expensive science but this figure was beyond his means. "There is not one of the mazehualob... the men of Quintana Roo, whatever their village... for ten in Yucatan." He shook his head. "I shall give you one hundred dollars in pounds, sterling," said Silvestro, naming the price had had fixed as his final offer, twice that he had been prepared to declare at the beginning.

          "I understand your position. But," said Miller, "I, too, have expenses." He fell silent abruptly and, in the uncanny heat and silence of midday, Silvestro heard a tiny clicking of shutters, the sighs of an unseen watcher from the windows of the posada. "Very well, fifty pounds," the inventor blurted out.

          He owes money for his lodgings, the Tatoob deduced, resolved to put a rapid end to bargaining. "I'm not a bandit," said the Tatoob, "I can only offer what I have." And he took six of the five pound notes from Mexico out of his pocket and lay these on the table where they were not disturbed by so much as a breeze. From his other pocket he added, to the pile, three pound notes, two American dollars and twenty, thirty, finally thirty seven Constitutionalist pesos and removed the leather pouch around his neck. Gently he shook it and coins rolled across the table; gold and silver, even five and ten cent pieces.

          "I have my fare to Peto and the hotel bill to pay," he said, retrieving one of the gold coins and most of the silver. At the mention of his hotel bill, the shutters to their left clicked and the inventor's eyes darted wildly. The value of the coins was perhaps fifty pesos, maybe even sixty... for who could tell whether or not that the great mass of copper may have still concealed a little silver. Miller calculated the value of the pile to be somewhat more than one hundred fifty dollars, American, finally shaking his head in resignation.

          "Well, that is all I can afford. If you were to come to Santa Cruz del Bravo with me, and thence to Belize" said the Tatoob, "I would give you, besides this, another hundred dollars upon the arrival of the rain which you have promised. You must understand that you would have to pay your own expenses in any such instance."

          The American gave the appearance of thought but shook his head. "I would miss the steamer back to New Orleans," he said. "No, I cannot come with you. Throw in that watch of Carranza's and it's yours."

          Silvestro frowned and the shutters rattled again. He worked the gold ring from his finger and shook it off atop the coins. "That is all," he said. "If Alvarado is willing to pay more, God bless him."

          "Take it," shrieked Miller, more to the unseen face behind the shutters than to Silvestro. He removed his hat and began scooping coins into it. "You'll need to take that in a taxi," he said, generously leaving a few coppers on the table. The shutters clicked, the old man in the hammock sighed and smiled. Frank Miller scribbled some English words and numbers on another card. "This is your guarantee," he said. "If there is something wrong, notify me at this address and I will refund all... all your money... but you won't have to, it works perfectly. At least all eight before it did! Look, this is the switch that turns it on." And he returned the metal rainmaker to its wooden container. "Connect this terminal to your generator with copper wire. Be careful, it's heavy but delicate."

          Within the hour, Silvestro was to appreciate the latter warning, for there were no fotingos to be found in Merida's barrio. The Tatoob was, hence, obliged to carry the device ten blocks to a streetcar route, struggling under the sun. His breath fell short, sweat poured from his brow.

          "I am growing old," he realized. All the Generals and Jefes were old men, such as Ignacio Bravo. Was that his fate? The streetcar arrived and the Tatoob saw his reflection in one of the dusty windows, a disheveled, wild-eyed old man. He tugged the rainmaking machine aboard and shoved his way to a seat, earning angry glares.

          "If I had worn my uniform, they'd move the hell out of my way," he thought, but then remembered that he had not worn it lest the inventor have thought him a wealthy man. Life was full of such distasteful compromises.

 

 

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