Los de abajo. English

  Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.

  The Underdogs

  by

  Mariano Azuela

  Mariano Azuela, the first of the "novelists of the Revolution," wasborn in Lagos de Moreno, Jalisco, Mexico, in 1873. He studied medicinein Guadalajara and returned to Lagos in 1909, where he began thepractice of his profession. He began his writing career early; in 1896he published Impressions of a Student in a weekly of Mexico City. Thiswas followed by numerous sketches and short stories, and in 1911 by hisfirst novel, Andres Perez, maderista.

  Like most of the young Liberals, he supported Francisco I. Madero'suprising, which overthrew the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz, and in1911 was made Director of Education of the State of Jalisco. AfterMadero's assassination, he joined the army of Pancho Villa as doctor,and his knowledge of the Revolution was acquired at firsthand. When thecounterrevolutionary forces of Victoriano Huerta were temporarilytriumphant, he emigrated to El Paso, Texas, where in 1915 he wrote TheUnderdogs (Los de abajo), which did not receive general recognitionuntil 1924, when it was hailed as the novel of the Revolution.

  But Azuela was fundamentally a moralist, and his disappointment withthe Revolution soon began to manifest itself. He had fought for abetter Mexico; but he saw that while the Revolution had correctedcertain injustices, it had given rise to others equally deplorable.When he saw the self-servers and the unprincipled turning his hopes forthe redemption of the under-privileged of his country into a ladder toserve their own ends, his disillusionment was deep and often bitter.His later novels are marred at times by a savage sarcasm.

  During his later years, and until his death in 1952, he lived in MexicoCity writing and practicing his profession among the poor.

  The Underdogs

  by

  Mariano Azuela

  A Novel of the Mexican Revolution

  Translated by E. Munguia, Jr.

  Original Title: LOS DE ABAJO

  PART ONE

  "How beautiful the revolution! Even in its most barbarous aspect it is beautiful," Solis said with deep feeling.

  I

  "That's no animal, I tell you! Listen to the dog barking! It must be ahuman being."

  The woman stared into the darkness of the sierra.

  "What if they're soldiers?" said a man, who sat Indian-fashion, eating,a coarse earthenware plate in his right hand, three folded tortillas inthe other.

  The woman made no answer, all her senses directed outside the hut. Thebeat of horses' hoofs rang in the quarry nearby. The dog barked again,louder and more angrily.

  "Well, Demetrio, I think you had better hide, all the same."

  Stolidly, the man finished eating; next he reached for a cantaro andgulped down the water in it; then he stood up.

  "Your rifle is under the mat," she whispered.

  A tallow candle illumined the small room. In one corner stood a plow, ayoke, a goad, and other agricultural implements. Ropes hung from theroof, securing an old adobe mold, used as a bed; on it a child slept,covered with gray rags.

  Demetrio buckled his cartridge belt about his waist and picked up hisrifle. He was tall and well built, with a sanguine face and beardlesschin; he wore shirt and trousers of white cloth, a broad Mexican hatand leather sandals.

  With slow, measured step, he left the room, vanishing into theimpenetrable darkness of the night.

  The dog, excited to the point of madness, had jumped over the corralfence.

  Suddenly a shot rang out. The dog moaned, then barked no more. Some menon horseback rode up, shouting and sweating; two of them dismounted,while the other hung back to watch the horses.

  "Hey, there, woman: we want food! Give us eggs, milk, beans, anythingyou've got! We're starving!"

  "Curse the sierra! It would take the Devil himself not to lose his way!"

  "Guess again, Sergeant! Even the Devil would go astray if he were asdrunk as you are."

  The first speaker wore chevrons on his arm, the other red stripes onhis shoulders.

  "Whose place is this, old woman? Or is it an empty house? God's truth,which is it?"

  "Of course it's not empty. How about the light and that child there?Look here, confound it, we want to eat, and damn quick tool Are youcoming out or are we going to make you?"

  "You swine! Both of you! You've gone and killed my dog, that's whatyou've done! What harm did he ever do you? What did you have againsthim?"

  The woman reentered the house, dragging the dog behind her, very whiteand fat, with lifeless eyes and flabby body.

  "Look at those cheeks, Sergeant! Don't get riled, light of my life: Iswear I'll turn your home into a dovecot, see?"

  "By God!" he said, breaking off into song:

  "Don't look so haughty, dear, Banish all fears, Kiss me and melt to me, I'll drink up your tears!"

  His alcoholic tenor trailed off into the night.

  "Tell me what they call this ranch, woman?" the sergeant asked.

  "Limon," the woman replied curtly, carrying wood to the fire andfanning the coals.

  "So we're in Limon, eh, the famous Demetrio Macias' country, eh? Do youhear that, Lieutenant? We're in Limon."

  "Limon? What the hell do I care? If I'm bound for hell, Sergeant, Imight as well go there now. I don't mind, now that I've found as good aremount as this! Look at the cheeks on the darling, look at them!There's a pair of ripe red apples for a fellow to bite into!"

  "I'll wager you know Macias the bandit, lady? I was in the pen with himat Escobedo, once."

  "Bring me a bottle of tequila, Sergeant: I've decided to spend thenight with this charming lady.... What's that? The colonel? ... Why inGod's name talk about the colonel now? He can go straight to hell, forall I care. And if he doesn't like it, it's all right with me. Come on,Sergeant, tell the corporal outside to unsaddle the horses and feedthem. I'll stay here all night. Here, my girl, you let the sergeant frythe eggs and warm up the tortillas; you come here to me. See thiswallet full of nice new bills? They're all for you, darling. Sure, Iwant you to have them. Figure it out for yourself. I'm drunk, see: I'vea bit of a load on and that's why I'm kind of hoarse, you might callit. I left half my gullet down Guadalajara way, and I've been spittingthe other half out all the way up here. Oh well, who cares? But I wantyou to have that money, see, dearie? Hey, Sergeant, where's my bottle?Now, little girl, come here and pour yourself a drink. You won't, eh?Aw, come on! Afraid of your--er--husband ... or whatever he is, huh?Well, if he's skulking in some hole, you tell him to come out. What thehell do I care? I'm not scared of rats, see!" Suddenly a white shadowloomed on the threshold.

  "Demetrio Macias!" the sergeant cried as he stepped back in terror.

  The lieutenant stood up, silent, cold and motionless as a statue.

  "Shoot them!" the woman croaked.

  "Oh, come, you'll surely spare us! I didn't know you were there. I'llalways stand up for a brave man."

  Demetrio stood his ground, looking them up and down, an insolent anddisdainful smile wrinkling his face.

  "Yes, I not only respect brave men, but I like them. I'm proud andhappy to call them friends. Here's my hand on it: friend to friend."Then, after a pause: "All right, Demetrio Macias, if you don't want toshake hands, all right! But it's because you don't know me, that's why,just because the first time you saw me I was doing this dog's job. Butlook here, I ask you, what in God's name can a man do when he's poorand has a wife to support and kids? ... Right you are, Sergeant, let'sgo: I've nothing but respect for the home of what I call a brave man, areal, honest, genuine man!"

  When they had gone, the woman drew close to Demetrio.

  "Holy Virgin, what agony! I suffered as though it was you they'd shot."

  "You go to father's house, quick!" Demetr
io ordered. She wanted to holdhim in her arms; she entreated, she wept. But he pushed away from hergently and, in a sullen voice, said, "I've an idea the whole lot ofthem are coming."

  "Why didn't you kill 'em?"

  "Their hour hasn't struck yet."

  They went out together; she bore the child in her arms. At the door,they separated, moving off in different directions.

  The moon peopled the mountain with vague shadows. As he advanced atevery turn of his way Demetrio could see the poignant, sharp silhouetteof a woman pushing forward painfully, bearing a child in her arms.

  When, after many hours of climbing, he gazed back, huge flames shot upfrom the depths of the canyon by the river. It was his house,blazing....

  II

  Everything was still swathed in shadows as Demetrio Macias began hisdescent to the bottom of the ravine. Between rocks striped with hugeeroded cracks, and a squarely cut wall, with the river flowing below, anarrow ledge along the steep incline served as a mountain trail.

  "They'll surely find me now and track us down like dogs," he mused."It's a good thing they know nothing about the trails and paths uphere.... But if they got someone from Moyahua to guide them ..." Heleft the sinister thought unfinished. "All the men from Limon or SantaRosa or the other nearby ranches are on our side: they wouldn't try totrail us. That cacique who's chased and run me ragged over these hills,is at Mohayua now; he'd give his eyeteeth to see me dangling from atelegraph pole with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, purple andswollen...."

  At dawn, he approached the pit of the canyon. Here, he lay on the rocksand fell asleep.

  The river crept along, murmuring as the waters rose and fell in smallcascades. Birds sang lyrically from their hiding among the pitayatrees. The monotonous, eternal drone of insects filled the rockysolitude with mystery.

  Demetrio awoke with a start. He waded the river, following its coursewhich ran counter to the canyon; he climbed the crags laboriously as anant, gripping root and rock with his hands, clutching every stone inthe trail with his bare feet.

  When he reached the summit, he glanced down to see the sun steeping thevalley in a lake of gold. Near the canyon, enormous rocks loomedprotrudent, like fantastic Negro skulls. The pitaya trees rose tenuous,tall, like the tapering, gnarled fingers of a giant; other trees of allsorts bowed their crests toward the pit of the abyss. Amid the starkrocks and dry branches, roses bloomed like a white offering to the sunas smoothly, suavely, it unraveled its golden threads, one by one, fromrock to rock.

  Demetrio stopped at the summit. Reaching backward, with his right armhe drew his horn which hung at his back, held it up to his thick lips,and, swelling his cheeks out, blew three loud blasts. From across thehill close by, three sharp whistles answered his signal.

  In the distance, from a conical heap of reeds and dry straws, man afterman emerged, one after the other, their legs and chests naked, lambentand dark as old bronze. They rushed forward to greet Demetrio, andstopped before him, askance.

  "They've burnt my house," he said.

  A murmur of oaths, imprecations, and threats rose among them.

  Demetrio let their anger run its course. Then he drew a bottle fromunder his shirt and took a deep swig; then he wiped the neck of thebottle with the back of his hand and passed it around. It passed frommouth to mouth; not a drop was left. The men passed their tonguesgreedily over their lips to recapture the tang of the liquor.

  "Glory be to God and by His Will," said Demetrio, "tonight or tomorrowat the latest we'll meet the Federals. What do you say, boys, shall welet them find their way about these trails?"

  The ragged crew jumped to their feet, uttering shrill cries of joy;then their jubilation turned sinister and they gave vent to threats,oaths and imprecations.

  "Of course, we can't tell how strong they are," said Demetrio as hisglance traveled over their faces in scrutiny.

  "Do you remember Medina? Out there at Hostotipaquillo, he only had ahalf a dozen men with knives that they sharpened on a grindstone. Well,he held back the soldiers and the police, didn't he? And he beat them,too."

  "We're every bit as good as Medina's crowd!" said a tall,broad-shouldered man with a black beard and bushy eyebrows.

  "By God, if I don't own a Mauser and a lot of cartridges, if I can'tget a pair of trousers and shoes, then my name's not AnastasioMontanez! Look here, Quail, you don't believe it, do you? You ask mypartner Demetrio if I haven't half a dozen bullets in me already.Christ! Bullets are marbles to me! And I dare you to contradict me!"

  "Viva Anastasio Montanez," shouted Manteca.

  "All right, all right!" said Montanez. "Viva Demetrio Macias, ourchief, and long life to God in His heaven and to the Virgin Mary."

  "Viva Demetrio Macias," they all shouted.

  They gathered dry brush and wood, built a fire and placed chunks offresh meat upon the burning coals. As the blaze rose, they collectedabout the fire, sat down Indian-fashion and inhaled the odor of themeat as it twisted on the crackling fire. The rays of the sun, fallingabout them, cast a golden radiance over the bloody hide of a calf,lying on the ground nearby. The meat dangled from a rope fastened to ahuizache tree, to dry in the sun and wind.

  "Well, men," Demetrio said, "you know we've only twenty rifles, besidesmy thirty-thirty. If there are just a few of them, we'll shoot untilthere's not a live man left. If there's a lot of 'em, we can give 'em agood scare, anyhow."

  He undid a rag belt about his waist, loosened a knot in it and offeredthe contents to his companions. Salt. A murmur of approbation roseamong them as each took a few grains between the tips of his fingers.

  They ate voraciously; then, glutted, lay down on the ground, facing thesky. They sang monotonous, sad songs, uttering a strident shout aftereach stanza.

  III

  In the brush and foliage of the sierra, Demetrio Macias and histhreescore men slept until the halloo of the horn, blown by Pancraciofrom the crest of a peak, awakened them.

  "Time, boys! Look around and see what's what!" Anastasio Montanez said,examining his rifle springs. Yet he was previous; an hour or moreelapsed with no sound or stir save the song of the locust in the brushor the frog stirring in his mudhole. At last, when the ultimate faintrays of the moon were spent in the rosy dimness of the dawn, thesilhouette of a soldier loomed at the end of the trail. As theystrained their eyes, they could distinguish others behind him, ten,twenty, a hundred. ... Then, suddenly, darkness swallowed them up. Onlywhen the sun rose, Demetrio's band realized that the canyon was alivewith men, midgets seated on miniature horses.

  "Look at 'em, will you?" said Pancracio. "Pretty, ain't they? Come on,boys, let's go and roll marbles with 'em."

  Now the moving dwarf figures were lost in the dense chaparral, now theyreappeared, stark and black against the ocher. The voices of officers,as they gave orders, and soldiers, marching at ease, were clearlyaudible. Demetrio raised his hand; the locks of rifles clicked. "Fire!"he cried tensely.

  Twenty-one men shot as one; twenty-one soldiers fell off their horses.Caught by surprise, the column halted, etched like bas-reliefs in stoneagainst the rocks.

  Another volley and a score of soldiers hurtled down from rock to rock.

  "Come out, bandits. Come out, you starved dogs!"

  "To hell with you, you corn rustlers!"

  "Kill the cattle thieves! Kill 'em!"

  The soldiers shouted defiance to their enemies; the latter, givingproof of a marksmanship which had already made them famous, werecontent to keep under cover, quiet, mute.

  "Look, Pancracio," said Meco, completely black save for his eyes andteeth. "This is for that man who passes that tree. I'll get the son ofa ..."

  "Take that! Right in the head. You saw it, didn't you, mate? Now, thisis for the fellow on the roan horse. Down you come, you shave-headedbastard!"

  "I'll give that lad on the trail's edge a shower of lead. If you don'thit the river, I'm a liar! Now: look at him!"

  "Oh, come on, Anastasio don't be cruel; lend me your rifle. Come along
,one shot, just one!"

  Manteca and Quail, unarmed, begged for a gun as a boon, imploringpermission to fire at least a shot apiece. "Come out of your holes ifyou've got any guts!"

  "Show your faces, you lousy cowards!"

  From peak to peak, the shouts rang as distinctly as though utteredacross a street. Suddenly, Quail stood up, naked, holding his trousersto windward as though he were a bullfighter flaunting a red cape, andthe soldiers below the bull. A shower of shots peppered upon Demetrio'smen.

  "God! That was like a hornet's nest buzzing overhead," said AnastasioMontanez, lying flat on the ground without daring to wink an eye.

  "Here, Quail, you son of a bitch, you stay where I told you," roaredDemetrio.

  They crawled to take new positions. The soldiers, congratulatingthemselves on their successes, ceased firing when another volley rousedthem.

  "More coming!" they shouted.

  Some, panic-stricken, turned their horses back; others, abandoningtheir mounts, began to climb up the mountain and seek shelter behindthe rocks. The officers had to shoot at them to enforce discipline.

  "Down there, down there!" said Demetrio as he leveled his rifle at thetranslucent thread of the river.

  A soldier fell into the water; at each shot, invariably a soldier bitthe dust. Only Demetrio was shooting in that direction; for everysoldier killed, ten or twenty of them, intact, climbed afresh on theother side.

  "Get those coming up from under! Los de Abajo! Get the underdogs!" hescreamed.

  Now his fellows were exchanging rifles, laughing and making wagers ontheir marksmanship.