Los de abajo. English

  "Little boy, you're very small and dainty, ain't you? ... No? ... ThenI'm a liar! ... That's right! ... You know the puppet dance.... Youdon't? The hell you don't! ... I met you in a circus! I know you caneven dance on a tightrope! ... You watch!"

  Blondie drew his gun out and began to shoot, aiming at the tailor'sfeet; the tailor gave a little jump at every pull of the trigger.

  "See! You do know how to dance on the tightrope, don't you?"

  Taking his friends by the arm, he ordered them to lead him to thered-light district, punctuating every step by a shot which smashed astreet light, or struck some wall, a door, or a distant house.

  Demetrio left him and returned to the hotel, singing to himself:

  "Someone plunged a knife Deep in my side. Did he know why? I don't know why. Maybe he knew, I never knew."

  XIV

  Stale cigarette smoke, the acrid odors of sweaty clothing, the vaporsof alcohol, the breathing of a crowded multitude, worse by far than atrainful of pigs.

  Texas hats, adorned with gold braid, and khaki predominate. "Gentlemen,a well-dressed man stole my suitcase in the station. My life's savings!I haven't enough to feed my little boy now!"

  The shrill voice, rising to a shriek or trailing off into a sob, isdrowned out by the tumult within the train.

  "What the hell is the old woman talking about?" Blondie asks, enteringin search of a seat.

  "Something about a suitcase ... and a well-dressed man," Pancracioreplies. He has already the laps of two civilians to sit on.

  Demetrio and the others elbow their way in. Since those on whomPancracio had sat preferred to stand up, Demetrio and Luis Cervantesquickly seize the vacant seats.

  Suddenly a woman who has stood up holding a child all the way fromIrapuato, faints. A civilian takes the child in his arms. The otherspretend to have seen nothing. Some women, traveling with the soldiers,occupy two or three seats with baggage, dogs, cats, parrots. Some ofthe men wearing Texan hats laugh at the plump arms and pendulousbreasts of the woman who fainted.

  "Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase at the station inSilao! All my life's savings ... I haven't got enough to feed my littleboy now! ..."

  The old woman speaks rapidly, parrotlike, sighing and sobbing. Hersharp eyes peer about on all sides. Here she gets a bill, and furtheron, another. They shower money upon her. She finishes the collection,and goes a few seats ahead.

  "Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase in the station atSilao." Her words produce an immediate and certain effect.

  A well-dressed man, a dude, a tenderfoot, stealing a suitcase! Amazing,phenomenal! It awakens a feeling of universal indignation. It's a pity:if this well-dressed man were here every one of the generals wouldshoot him one after the other!

  "There's nothing as vile as a city dude who steals!" a man says,exploding with indignation.

  "To rob a poor old lady!"

  "To steal from a poor defenseless woman!"

  They prove their compassion by word and deed: a harsh verdict againstthe culprit; a five-peso bill for the victim.

  "And I'm telling you the truth," Blondie declares. "Don't think it'swrong to kill, because when you kill, it's always out of anger. Butstealing--Bah!"

  This profound piece of reasoning meets with unanimous assent. After ashort silence while he meditates, a colonel ventures his opinion:

  "Everything is all right according to something, see? That is,everything has its circumstances, see? God's own truth is this: I havestolen, and if I say that everyone here has done the trick, I'm nottelling a lie, I reckon!"

  "Hell, I stole a lot of them sewing machines in Mexico," exclaims amajor. "I made more'n five hundred pesos even though I sold them atfifty cents apiece!"

  A toothless captain, with hair prematurely white, announces:

  "I stole some horses in Zacatecas, all damn fine horses they was, andthen I says to myself, 'This is your own little lottery, Pascual Mata,'I says. 'You won't have a worry in all your life after this.' And thedamned thing about it was that General Limon took a fancy to the horsestoo, and he stole them from me!"

  "Of course--there's no use denying it, I've stolen too," Blondieconfesses. "But ask any one of my partners how much profit I've got.I'm a big spender and my Purse is my friends' to have a good time on! Ihave a better time if I drink myself senseless than I would havesending money back home to the old woman!"

  The subject of "I stole," though apparently inexhaustible, ceases tohold the men's attention. Decks of cards gradually appear on the seats,drawing generals and officers as the light draws mosquitoes.

  The excitement of gambling soon absorbs every interest, the heat growsmore and more intense. To breathe is to inhale the air of barracks,prison, brothel, and pigsty all in one.

  And rising above the babble, from the car ahead ever the shrill voice,"Gentlemen, a well-dressed young man stole ..."

  The streets in Aguascalientes were so many refuse piles. Men in khakimoved to and fro like bees before their hive, overrunning therestaurants, the crapulous lunch houses, the parlous hotels, and thestands of the street vendors on which rotten pork lay alongside grimycheese.

  The smell of these viands whetted the appetites of Demetrio and hismen. They forced their way into a small inn, where a disheveled old hagserved, on earthenware plates, some pork with bones swimming in a clearchili stew and three tough burnt tortillas. They paid two pesos apiece;as they left Pancracio assured his comrades he was hungrier than whenhe entered.

  "Now," said Demetrio, "we'll go and consult with General Natera!"

  They made for the northern leader's billet.

  A noisy, excited crowd stopped them at a street crossing. A man, lostin the multitude, was mouthing words in the monotonous, unctuous tonesof a prayer. They came up close enough to see him distinctly; he wore ashirt and trousers of cheap white cloth and was repeating:

  "All good Catholics should read this prayer to Christ Our Lord upon theCross with due devotion. Thus they will be immune from storms andpestilence, famine, and war."

  "This man's no fool," said Demetrio smiling.

  The man waved a sheaf of printed handbills in his hand and cried:

  "A quarter of a peso is all you have to pay for this prayer to ChristOur Lord upon the Cross. A quarter ..."

  Then he would duck for a moment, to reappear with a snake's tooth, asea star, or the skeleton of a fish. In the same predicant tone, helauded the medical virtues and the mystical powers of every article hesold.

  Quail, who had no faith in Venancio, requested the man to pull a toothout. Blondie purchased a black seed from a certain fruit whichprotected the possessor from lightning or any other catastrophe.Anastasio Montanez purchased a prayer to Christ Our Lord upon theCross, and, folding it carefully, stuck it into his shirt with a piousgesture.

  "As sure as there's a God in heaven," Natera said, "this mess hasn'tblown over yet. Now it's Villa fighting Carranza."

  Without answering him, his eyes fixed in a stare, Demetrio demanded afurther explanation.

  "It means," Natera said, "that the Convention won't recognize Carranzaas First Chief of the Constitutionalist Army. It's going to elect aProvisional President of the Republic. Do you understand me, General?"

  Demetrio nodded assent.

  "What's your opinion, General?" asked Natera.

  Demetrio shrugged his shoulders:

  "It seems to me that the meat of the matter is that we've got to go onfighting, eh? All right! Let's go to it! I'm game to the end, you know."

  "Good, but on what side?"

  Demetrio, nonplussed, scratched his head:

  "Look here, don't ask me any more questions. I never went to school,you know.... You gave me the eagle I wear on my hat, didn't you? Allright then; you just tell me: 'Demetrio, do this or do that,' andthat's all there's to it!"

  PART THREE

  "Villa? Obregon? Carranza? What's the difference? I love the revolutionlike a volcano in eruption; I love the volcano, because it's a volca
no,the revolution, because it's the revolution!"

  I

  El Paso, Texas, May 16, 1915

  My Dear Venancio:

  Due to the pressure of professional duties I have been unable to answeryour letter of January 4 before now. As you already know, I wasgraduated last December. I was sorry to hear of Pancracio's andManteca's fate, though I am not surprised that they stabbed each otherover the gambling table. It is a pity; they were both brave men. I amdeeply grieved not to be able to tell Blondie how sincerely andheartily I congratulate him for the only noble and beautiful thing heever did in his whole life: to have shot himself!

  Dear Venancio, although you may have enough money to purchase a degree,I am afraid you won't find it very easy to become a doctor in thiscountry. You know I like you very much, Venancio; and I think youdeserve a better fate. But I have an idea which may prove profitable toboth of us and which may improve your social position, as you desire.We could do a fine business here if we were to go in as partners andset up a typical Mexican restaurant in this town. I have no reservefunds at the moment since I've spent all I had in getting my collegedegree, but I have something much more valuable than money; my perfectknowledge of this town and its needs. You can appear as the owner; wewill make a monthly division of profits. Besides, concerning a questionthat interests us both very much, namely, your social improvement, itoccurs to me that you play the guitar quite well. In view of therecommendations I could give you and in view of your training as well,you might easily be admitted as a member of some fraternal order; thereare several here which would bring you no inconsiderable socialprestige.

  Don't hesitate, Venancio, come at once and bring your funds. I promiseyou we'll get rich in no time. My best wishes to the General, toAnastasio, and the rest of the boys.

  Your affectionate friend, Luis Cervantes

  Venancio finished reading the letter for the hundredth time and,sighing, repeated:

  "Tenderfoot certainly knows how to pull the strings all right!"

  "What I can't get into my head," observed Anastasio Montanez, "is whywe keep on fighting. Didn't we finish off this man Huerta and hisFederation?"

  Neither the General nor Venancio answered; but the same thought keptbeating down on their dull brains like a hammer on an anvil.

  They ascended the steep hill, their heads bowed, pensive, their horseswalking at a slow gait. Stubbornly restless, Anastasio made the sameobservation to other groups; the soldiers laughed at his candor. If aman has a rifle in his hands and a beltful of cartridges, surely heshould use them. That means fighting. Against whom? For whom? That isscarcely a matter of importance.

  The endless wavering column of dust moved up the trail, a swirling antheap of broad straw sombreros, dirty khaki, faded blankets, and blackhorses....

  Not a man but was dying of thirst; no pool or stream or well anywherealong the road. A wave of dust rose from the white, wild sides of asmall canyon, swayed mistily on the hoary crest of huizache trees andthe greenish stumps of cactus. Like a jest, the flowers in the cactusopened out, fresh, solid, aflame, some thorny, others diaphanous.

  At noon they reached a hut, clinging to the precipitous sierra, thenthree more huts strewn over the margin of a river of burnt sand.Everything was silent, desolate. As soon as they saw men on horseback,the people in the huts scurried into the hills to hide. Demetrio grewindignant.

  "Bring me anyone you find hiding or running away," he commanded in aloud voice.

  "What? What did you say?" Valderrama cried in surprise. "The men of thesierra? Those brave men who've not yet done what those chickens down inAguascalientes and Zacatecas have done all the time? Our own brothers,who weather storms, who cling to the rocks like moss itself? I protest,sir; I protest!"

  He spurred his miserable horse forward and caught up with the General.

  "The mountaineers," he said solemnly and emphatically, "are flesh ofour flesh, bone of our bone. Os ex osibus meis et caro de carne mea.Mountaineers are made from the same timber we're made of! Of the samesound timber from which heroes ..."

  With a confidence as sudden as it was courageous, he hit the Generalacross the chest. The General smiled benevolently.

  Valderrama, the tramp, the crazy maker of verses, did he ever know whathe said?

  When the soldiers reached a small ranch, despairingly, they searchedthe empty huts and small houses without finding a single staletortilla, a solitary rotten pepper, or one pinch of salt with which toflavor the horrible taste of dry meat. The owners of the huts, theirpeaceful brethren, were impassive with the stonelike impassivity ofAztec idols; others, more human, with a slow smile on their colorlesslips and beardless faces, watched these fierce men who less than amonth ago had made the miserable huts of others tremble with fear, nowin their turn fleeing their own huts where the ovens were cold and thewater tanks dry, fleeing with their tails between their legs, cringing,like curs kicked out of their own houses.

  But the General did not countermand his order. Some soldiers broughtback four fugitives, captive and bound.

  II

  "WHY do you hide?" Demetrio asked the prisoners.

  "We're not hiding, Chief, we're hitting the trail."

  "Where to?"

  "To our own homes, in God's name, to Durango."

  "Is this the road to Durango?"

  "Peaceful people can't travel over the main road nowadays, you knowthat, Chief."

  "You're not peaceful people, you're deserters. Where do you come from?"Demetrio said, eyeing them with keen scrutiny.

  The prisoners grew confused; they looked at each other hesitatingly,unable to give a prompt answer.

  "They're Carranzistas," one of the soldiers said.

  "Carranzistas hell!" one of them said proudly. "I'd rather be a pig."

  "The truth is we're deserters," another said. "After the defeat wedeserted from General Villa's troops this side of Celaya."

  "General Villa defeated? Ha! Ha! That's a good joke."

  The soldiers laughed. But Demetrio's brow was wrinkled as though ablack shadow had passed over his eyes.

  "There ain't a son of a bitch on earth who can beat General Villa!"said a bronzed veteran with a scar clear across the face.

  Without a change of expression, one of the deserters staredpersistently at him and said:

  "I know who you are. When we took Torreon you were with General Urbina.In Zacatecas you were with General Natera and then you shifted to theJalisco troops. Am I lying?"

  These words met with a sudden and definite effect. The prisoners gave adetailed account of the tremendous defeat of Villa at Celaya.Demetrio's men listened in silence, stupefied.

  Before resuming their march, they built a fire on which to roast somebull meat. Anastasio Montanez, searching for food among the huizachetrees, descried the close-cropped neck of Valderrama's horse in thedistance among the rocks.

  "Hey! Come here, you fool, after all there ain't been no gravy!" heshouted.

  Whenever anything was said about shooting someone, Valderrama, theromantic poet, would disappear for a whole day.

  Hearing Anastasio's voice, Valderrama was convinced that the prisonershad been set at liberty. A few moments later, he was joined by Venancioand Demetrio.

  "Heard the news?" Venancio asked gravely.

  "No."

  "It's very serious. A terrible mess! Villa was beaten at Celaya byObregon and Carranza is winning all along the line! We're done for!"

  Valderrama's gesture was disdainful and solemn as an emperor's. "Villa?Obregon? Carranza? What's the difference? I love the revolution like avolcano in eruption; I love the volcano because it's a volcano, therevolution because it's the revolution! What do I care about the stonesleft above or below after the cataclysm? What are they to me?"

  In the glare of the midday sun the reflection of a white tequila bottleglittered on his forehead; and, jubilant, he ran toward the bearer ofsuch a marvelous gift.

  "I like this crazy fool," Demetrio said with a smile. "He says thingssometimes that m
ake you think."

  They resumed their march; their uncertainty translated into alugubrious silence. Slowly, inevitably, the catastrophe must come; itwas even now being realized. Villa defeated was a fallen god; when godscease to be omnipotent, they are nothing.

  Quail spoke. His words faithfully interpreted the general opinion:

  "What the hell, boys! Every spider's got to spin his own web now!"

  III

  In Zacatecas and Aguascalientes, in the little country towns and theneighboring communities, haciendas and ranches were deserted. When oneof the officers found a barrel of tequila, the event assumed miraculousproportions. Everything was conducted with secrecy and care; deepmystery was preserved to oblige the soldiers to leave on the morrowbefore sunrise under Anastasio and Venancio.

  When Demetrio awoke to the strains of music, his general staff, nowcomposed chiefly of young ex-government officers, told him of thediscovery, and Quail, interpreting the thoughts of his colleagues, saidsententiously:

  "These are bad times and you've got to take advantage of everythin'. Ifthere are some days when a duck can swim, there's others when he can'ttake a drink."

  The string musicians played all day; the most solemn honors were paidto the barrel: but Demetrio was very sad.

  "Did he know why? I don't know why."

  He kept repeating the same refrain.

  In the afternoon there were cockfights. Demetrio sat down with thechief officers under the roof of the municipal portals in front of acity square covered with weeds, a tumbled kiosk, and some abandonedadobe houses.