Los de abajo. English, Page 2

  "My leather belt if I miss that head there, on the black horse!"

  "Lend me your rifle, Meco."

  "Twenty Mauser cartridges and a half yard of sausage if you let mespill that lad riding the bay mare. All right! Watch me.... There! Seehim jump! Like a bloody deer."

  "Don't run, you half-breeds. Come along with you! Come and meet FatherDemetrio!"

  Now it was Demetrio's men who screamed insults. Manteca, his smoothface swollen in exertion, yelled his lungs out. Pancracio roared, theveins and muscles in his neck dilated, his murderous eyes narrowed totwo evil slits.

  Demetrio fired shot after shot, constantly warning his men of impendingdanger, but they took no heed until they felt the bullets spatteringthem from one side.

  "Goddamn their souls, they've branded me!" Demetrio cried, his teethflashing.

  Then, very swiftly, he slid down a gully and was lost....

  IV

  Two men were missing, Serapio the candymaker, and Antonio, whoplayed the cymbals in the Juchipila band. "Maybe they'll join usfurther on," said Demetrio.

  The return journey proved moody. Anastasio Montanez alone preserved hisequanimity, a kindly expression playing in his sleepy eyes and on hisbearded face. Pancracio's harsh, gorillalike profile retained itsrepulsive immutability.

  The soldiers had retreated; Demetrio began the search for the soldiers'horses which had been hidden in the sierra.

  Suddenly Quail, who had been walking ahead, shrieked. He had caughtsight of his companions swinging from the branches of a mesquite. Therecould be no doubt of their identity; Serapio and Antonio they certainlywere. Anastasio Montanez prayed brokenly.

  "Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdomcome..."

  "Amen," his men answered in low tones, their heads bowed, their hatsupon their breasts....

  Then, hurriedly, they took the Juchipila canyon northward, withouthalting to rest until nightfall.

  Quail kept walking close to Anastasio unable to banish from his mindthe two who were hanged, their dislocated limp necks, their danglinglegs, their arms pendulous, and their bodies moving slowly in the wind.

  On the morrow, Demetrio complained bitterly of his wound; he could nolonger ride on horseback. They were forced to carry him the rest of theway on a makeshift stretcher of leaves and branches.

  "He's bleeding frightfully," said Anastasio Montanez, tearing off oneof his shirt-sleeves and tying it tightly about Demetrio's thigh, alittle above the wound.

  "That's good," said Venancio. "It'll keep him from bleeding and stopthe pain."

  Venancio was a barber. In his native town, he pulled teeth andfulfilled the office of medicine man. He was accorded an unimpeachableauthority because he had read The Wandering Jew and one or two otherbooks. They called him "Doctor"; and since he was conceited about hisknowledge, he employed very few words.

  They took turns, carrying the stretcher in relays of four over the barestony mesa and up the steep passes.

  At high noon, when the reflection of the sun on the calcareous soilburned their shoulders and made the landscape dimly waver before theireyes, the monotonous, rhythmical moan of the wounded rose in unisonwith the ceaseless cry of the locusts. They stopped to rest at everysmall hut they found hidden between the steep, jagged rocks.

  "Thank God, a kind soul and tortillas full of beans and chili are neverlacking," Anastasio Montanez said with a triumphant belch.

  The mountaineers would shake calloused hands with the travelers, saying:

  "God's blessing on you! He will find a way to help you all, never fear.We're going ourselves, starting tomorrow morning. We're dodging thedraft, with those damned Government people who've declared war to thedeath on us, on all the poor. They come and steal our pigs, ourchickens and corn, they burn our homes and carry our women off, and ifthey ever get hold of us they'll kill us like mad dogs, and we dieright there on the spot and that's the end of the story!"

  At sunset, amid the flames dyeing the sky with vivid, variegatedcolors, they descried a group of houses up in the heart of the bluemountains. Demetrio ordered them to carry him there.

  These proved to be a few wretched straw huts, dispersed all over theriver slopes, between rows of young sprouting corn and beans. Theylowered the stretcher and Demetrio, in a weak voice, asked for a glassof water.

  Groups of squalid Indians sat in the dark pits of the huts, men withbony chests, disheveled, matted hair, and ruddy cheeks; behind them,eyes shone up from floors of fresh reeds.

  A child with a large belly and glossy dark skin came close to thestretcher to inspect the wounded man. An old woman followed, and soonall of them drew about Demetrio in a circle.

  A girl sympathizing with him in his plight brought a jicara of bluishwater. With hands shaking, Demetrio took it up and drank greedily.

  "Will you have some more?"

  He raised his eyes and glanced at the girl, whose features were commonbut whose voice had a note of kindness in it. Wiping his sweating browwith the back of his palm and turning on one side, he gasped: "May Godreward you."

  Then his whole body shook, making the leaves of the stretcher rustle.Fever possessed him; he fainted.

  "It's a damp night and that's terrible for the fever," said Remigia, anold wrinkled barefooted woman, wearing a cloth rag for a blouse.

  She invited them to move Demetrio into her hut.

  Pancracio, Anastasio Montanez, and Quail lay down beside the stretcherlike faithful dogs, watchful of their master's wishes. The restscattered about in search of food.

  Remigia offered them all she had, chili and tortillas.

  "Imagine! I had eggs, chickens, even a goat and her kid, but those damnsoldiers wiped me out clean."

  Then, making a trumpet of her hands, she drew near Anastasio andmurmured in his ear:

  "Imagine, they even carried away Senora Nieves' little girl!"

  V

  Suddenly awakening, Quail opened his eyes and stood up.

  "Montanez, did you hear? A shot, Montanez! Hey, Montanez, get up!"

  He shook him vigorously until Montanez ceased snoring and in turn wokeup.

  "What in the name of ... Now you're at it again, damn it. I tell youthere aren't ghosts any more," Anastasio muttered out of a half-sleep.

  "I heard a shot, Montanez!"

  "Go back to sleep, Quail, or I'll bust your nose."

  "Hell, Anastasio I tell you it's no nightmare. I've forgotten thosefellows they hung, honest. It's a shot, I tell you. I heard it allright."

  "A shot, you say? All right, then, hand me my gun."

  Anastasio Montanez rubbed his eyes, stretched out his arms and legs,and stood up lazily.

  They left the hut. The sky was solid with stars; the moon rose like asharp scythe. The confused rumor of women crying in fright resoundedfrom the various huts; the men who had been sleeping in the open, alsowoke up and the rattle of arms echoed over the mountain.

  "You cursed fool, you've maimed me for life."

  A voice rang clearly through the darkness.

  "Who goes there?"

  The shout echoed from rock to rock, through mound and over hollow,until it spent itself at the far, silent reaches of the night.

  "Who goes there?" Anastasio repeated his challenge louder, pulling backthe lock of his Mauser.

  "One of Demetrio's men," came the answer.

  "It's Pancracio," Quail cried joyfully. Relieved, he rested the butt ofhis rifle on the ground.

  Pancracio appeared, holding a young man by the arms; the newcomer wascovered with dust from his felt hat to his coarse shoes. A freshbloodstain lay on his trousers close to the heel.

  "Who's this tenderfoot?" Anastasio demanded.

  "You know I'm on guard around here. Well, I hears a noise in the brush,see, and I shouts, 'Who goes there?' and then this lad answers,'Carranza! Carranza!' I don't know anyone by that name, and so I says,'Carranza, hell!' and I just pumps a bit of lead into his hoof."

  Smiling, Pancracio turned his beardless head aro
und as if solicitingapplause.

  Then the stranger spoke:

  "Who's your commander?"

  Proudly, Anastasio raised his head, went up to him and looked him inthe face. The stranger lowered his tone considerably.

  "Well, I'm a revolutionist, too, you know. The Government drafted meand I served as a private, but I managed to desert during the battlethe day before yesterday, and I've been walking about in search of youall."

  "So he's a Government soldier, eh?" A murmur of incredulity rose fromthe men, interrupting the stranger.

  "So that's what you are, eh? One of those damn half-breeds," saidAnastasio Montanez. "Why the hell didn't you pump your lead in hisbrain, Pancracio?"

  "What's he talking about, anyhow? I can't make head nor tail of it. Hesays he wants to see Demetrio and that he's got plenty to say to him.But that's all right: we've got plenty of time to do anything we damnwell please so long as you're in no hurry, that's all," said Pancracio,loading his gun.

  "What kind of beasts are you?" the prisoner cried. He could say nomore: Anastasio's fist, crashing down upon his face, sent his headturning on his neck, covered with blood.

  "Shoot the half-breed!"

  "Hang him!"

  "Burn him alive; he's a lousy Federal."

  In great excitement, they yelled and shrieked and were about to fire atthe prisoner.

  "Sssh! Shut up! I think Demetrio's talking now," Anastasio said,striving to quiet them. Indeed, Demetrio, having ascertained the causeof the turmoil, ordered them to bring the prisoner before him.

  "It's positively infamous, senor; look," Luis Cervantes said, pointingto the bloodstains on his trousers and to his bleeding face.

  "All right, all right. But who in hell are you? That's what I want toknow," Demetrio said.

  "My name is Luis Cervantes, sir. I'm a medical student and ajournalist. I wrote a piece in favor of the revolution, you see; as aresult, they persecuted me, caught me, and finally landed me in thebarracks."

  His ensuing narrative was couched in terms of such detail and expressedin terms so melodramatic that it drew guffaws of mirth from Pancracioand Manteca.

  "All I've tried to do is to make myself clear on this point. I want youto be convinced that I am truly one of your coreligionists...."

  "What's that? What did you say? Car ... what?" Demetrio asked, bringinghis ear close to Cervantes.

  "Coreligionist, sir, that is to say, a person who possesses the samereligion, who is inspired by the same ideals, who defends and fightsfor the same cause you are now fighting for."

  Demetrio smiled:

  "What are we fighting for? That's what I'd like to know."

  In his disconcertment, Luis Cervantes could find no reply.

  "Look at that mug, look at 'im! Why waste any time, Demetrio? Let'sshoot him," Pancracio urged impatiently.

  Demetrio laid a hand on his hair which covered his ears, and stretchinghimself out for a long time, seemed to be lost in thought. Having foundno solution, he said:

  "Get out, all of you; it's aching again. Anastasio put out the candle.Lock him up in the corral and let Pancracio and Manteca watch him.Tomorrow, we'll see."

  VI

  Through the shadows of the starry night, Luis Cervantes had not yetmanaged to detect the exact shape of the objects about him. Seeking themost suitable resting-place, he laid his weary bones down on a freshpile of manure under the blurred mass of a huizache tree. He lay down,more exhausted than resigned, and closed his eyes, resolutelydetermined to sleep until his fierce keepers or the morning sun,burning his ears, awakened him. Something vaguely like warmth at hisside, then a tired hoarse breath, made him shudder. He opened his eyesand feeling about him with his hands, he sensed the coarse hairs of alarge pig which, resenting the presence of a neighbor, began to grunt.

  All Luis' efforts to sleep proved quite useless, not only because thepain of his wound or the bruises on his flesh smarted, but because hesuddenly realized the exact nature of his failure.

  Yes, failure! For he had never learned to appreciate exactly thedifference between fulminating sentences of death upon bandits in thecolumns of a small country newspaper and actually setting out in searchof them, and tracking them to their lairs, gun in hand. During hisfirst day's march as volunteer lieutenant, he had begun to suspect theerror of his ways--a brutal sixty miles' journey it was, that left hiships and legs one mass of raw soreness and soldered all his bonestogether. A week later, after his first skirmish against the rebels, heunderstood every rule of the game. Luis Cervantes would have taken up acrucifix and solemnly sworn that as soon as the soldiers, gun in hand,stood ready to shoot, some profoundly eloquent voice had spoken behindthem, saying, "Run for your lives." It was all crystal clear. Even hisnoble-spirited horse, accustomed to battle, sought to sweep back on itshind legs and gallop furiously away, to stop only at a safe distancefrom the sound of firing. The sun was setting, the mountain becamepeopled with vague and restless shadows, darkness scaled the rampartsof the mountain hastily. What could be more logical then, than to seekrefuge behind the rocks and attempt to sleep, granting mind and body asorely needed rest?

  But the soldier's logic is the logic of absurdity. On the morrow, forexample, his colonel awakened him rudely out of his sleep, cuffing andbelaboring him unmercifully, and, after having bashed in his face,deprived him of his place of vantage. The rest of the officers,moreover, burst into hilarious mirth and holding their sides withlaughter begged the colonel to pardon the deserter. The colonel,therefore, instead of sentencing him to be shot, kicked his buttocksroundly for him and assigned him to kitchen police.

  This signal insult was destined to bear poisonous fruit. Luis Cervantesdetermined to play turncoat; indeed, mentally, he had already changedsides. Did not the sufferings of the underdogs, of the disinheritedmasses, move him to the core? Henceforth he espoused the cause ofDemos, of the subjugated, the beaten and baffled, who implore justice,and justice alone. He became intimate with the humblest private. More,even, he shed tears of compassion over a dead mule which fell, load andall, after a terribly long journey.

  From then on, Luis Cervantes' prestige with the soldiers increased.Some actually dared to make confessions. One among them, conspicuousfor his sobriety and silence, told him: "I'm a carpenter by trade, youknow. I had a mother, an old woman nailed to her chair for ten years byrheumatism. In the middle of the night, they pulled me out of my house;three damn policemen; I woke up a soldier twenty-five miles away frommy hometown. A month ago our company passed by there again. My motherwas already under the sod! ... So there's nothing left for me in thiswide world; no one misses me now, you see. But, by God, I'm damned ifI'll use these cartridges they make us carry, against the enemy. If amiracle happens (I pray for it every night, you know, and I guess ourLady of Guadalupe can do it all right), then I'll join Villa's men; andI swear by the holy soul of my old mother, that I'll make every one ofthese Government people pay, by God I will."

  Another soldier, a bright young fellow, but a charlatan, at heart, whodrank habitually and smoked the narcotic marihuana weed, eyeing himwith vague, glassy stare, whispered in his ear, "You know, partner ...the men on the other side ... you know, the other side ... youunderstand ... they ride the best horses up north there, and all over,see? And they harness their mounts with pure hammered silver. But us?Oh hell, we've got to ride plugs, that's all, and not one of them goodenough to stagger round a water well. You see, don't you, partner? Yousee what I mean? You know, the men on the other side-they get shiny newsilver coins while we get only lousy paper money printed in thatmurderer's factory, that's what we get, yes, that's ours, I tell you!"

  The majority of the soldiers spoke in much the same tenor. Even a topsergeant candidly confessed, "Yes, I enlisted all right. I wanted to.But, by God, I missed the right side by a long shot. What you can'tmake in a lifetime, sweating like a mule and breaking your back inpeacetime, damn it all, you can make in a few months just runningaround the sierra with a gun on your back, but not with this crowd,dearie
, not with this lousy outfit ...."

  Luis Cervantes, who already shared this hidden, implacably mortalhatred of the upper classes, of his officers, and of his superiors,felt that a veil had been removed from his eyes; clearly, now, he sawthe final outcome of the struggle. And yet what had happened? The firstmoment he was able to join his coreligionists, instead of welcoming himwith open arms, they threw him into a pigsty with swine for company.

  Day broke. The roosters crowed in the huts. The chickens perched in thehuizache began to stretch their wings, shake their feathers, and flydown to the ground.

  Luis Cervantes saw his guards lying on top of a dung heap, snoring. Inhis imagination, he reviewed the features of last night's men. One,Pancracio, was pockmarked, blotchy, unshaven; his chin protruded, hisforehead receded obliquely; his ears formed one solid piece with headand neck--a horrible man. The other, Manteca, was so much human refuse;his eyes were almost hidden, his look sullen; his wiry straight hairfen over his ears, forehead and neck; his scrofulous lips hungeternally agape. Once more, Luis Cervantes felt his flesh quiver.

  VII

  Still drowsy, Demetrio ran his hand through his ruffled hair, whichhung over his moist forehead, pushed it back over his ears, and openedhis eyes.

  Distinctly he heard the woman's melodious voice which he had alreadysensed in his dream. He walked toward the door.

  It was broad daylight; the rays of sunlight filtered through the thatchof the hut.