The Night Visitor

by B. TRAVEN

  Clear as only the tropic night can be, the blue-black sky arched over the singing prairie along the river. The glittering stars studded the velvet night with gold. Dozens of falling stars streaked the heavens, as if winging from the high lonely dome in search of love or to give love, so unobtainable in those lonely heights where no bridge spans the void from one star to the other.

  On the grassy flats, only glowworms and fireflies were visible. But invisible life sang with a million voices and made music like that of violin, flute, and harp … and tiny cymbal, and bell.

  There lay my herd! One dark rounded form next to the other. Lowing, breathing, exhaling a full warm heavy fragrance of natural well-being, so rich in its quiet earthiness, such balm to the spirit, bringing with it such utter contentment.

  My army! My proud army which I’d led over river and mountain, which I’d protected and guarded, which I’d fed and watered, whose quarrels I’d settled and whose ills I’d cured, which I’d sung to sleep night after night, for which I’d grieved and worried, for whose safety I’d trembled, and whose care had robbed me of sleep, for which I’d wept when one was lost, which I’d loved and loved, yes, loved as if it had been of my own flesh and blood!

  Oh, you who took armies of warriors over the Alps to carry murder and pillage into lands of peace, what do you know of the joy, the perfect joy, of leading an army!

  The next morning, the salt transport came out. I’d given them salt only once during the whole march; for it’s not wise to risk salting unless you’ve plenty of water for them the same day, and the next. Now, however, they took salt and drank water to their fill, so they took on such a magnificent plump appearance, like soldiers with new uniforms. Their hides, well-rubbed, gleamed, as if lacquered. Yes, I was proud of my transported herd.

  In a few days, Mr. Pratt arrived with his cattle-agent.

  “Damn it all, man,” the agent kept saying. “That’s some cattle. They’ll sell like hot cakes in cold season.”

  Mr. Pratt kept shaking my hand. “Boy oh boy, how did you do it? I didn’t expect you until the end of next week. I’ve already sold four hundred head. There’s another breeder on the way, and if you’d have been late, the price would have been lower, for this market can’t take two thousand head in one week. Come on, I’ll drive you into town. The foreman can manage the herd now.”

  In town, we settled accounts, and I had hundreds of pesos in hand. Still, he stood me to a real dinner.

  “If I get a good price,” said Mr. Pratt, “I’ll give you another hundred pesos as an extra bonus. You’ve earned it. You got off lightly with those damned bandits.”

  “I must tell you, honestly,” I admitted, “one of the bandits I knew personally, a certain Antonio. Once I picked cotton with him. He saw to it that I got off lightly.”

  “That’s just the point. You must have good luck. Everywhere. Whether you breed cattle, drive them, or take a wife …” He burst out laughing. “Tell me, boy, what did you do to my wife?”

  “Me? To your wife?” The food stuck in my mouth, and I thought I turned pale. Women! They can act so irresponsibly! They get all sorts of notions into their heads; out of the blue, they may get a confession jag. Could she possibly have spilled the beans? She didn’t seem the type …

  “When your wire arrived, she really raved. ‘There you are! See what a wash-out you are! A dead loss. But that boy gets the herd over, as if he was carrying it in a hamper slung on his pommel. Just like you couldn’t ever do. This fellow’s got something, the f——ing son-of-a-bitch!’ ”

  “For goodness’ sake, Mr. Pratt, you’re not thinking of divorce?”

  “Divorce? Me? Whatever for? Because of a trifle like that?”

  He gave me an odd smile. If only I knew what it meant.

  “No. Why should I get a divorce? Are you afraid I might?”

  “Yes,” I confessed.

  “But why?”

  “Because your wife said she’d marry me …”

  “Oh. Yes, I remember her saying that, and if she says she’s going to do a thing, she does it. But why are you squirming like that? Scared? Don’t you like my wife? I thought that …”

  I didn’t let him finish that one. “I like your wife very much,” I confessed rapidly. “But … please don’t get a divorce! If I did marry her, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, perhaps, but I really don’t know what I’d do with a wife, I beg your pardon, what I should do with your wife …”

  “What you’d do with any woman!—Give her what she likes.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s something else. I don’t know how I’d get on as a married man.” I tried hard to make it clear to him. “Understand, I’m only a vagabond. I’m incapable of staying put on my arse. And I couldn’t drag my wife along on my travels. Nor could I stay put, and sit at a proper table with a proper breakfast and a proper dinner every day. No! My stomach wouldn’t stand it, either. Now, if you’d like to do me a favor …”

  “Anything you like. Granted,” he said, good-naturedly.

  “Don’t divorce your wife. She’s such a good wife, such a beautiful, clever, brave wife! You’d never get another like her, Mr. Pratt.”

  “I know that. That’s why I wouldn’t get a divorce. I never thought of such a thing. I don’t know how you got such nonsense into your head! Come off that, now, and we’ll go celebrate the end of your cattle contract.”

  And off we went.

  When the Priest Is Not at Home

  The good padre of a village populated entirely by Indian peasants had to leave for the capital of the state to attend a conference called by the bishop. There were no trains and no buses and so our good padre had to travel by mule. Because he did not want to overexert himself he only rode by day, from one hacienda where he had spent the night to the next, where he would remain until the following day. Everywhere he was of course well received and treated with the best of food and drink.

  No wonder he considered this trip a well-earned vacation after three years of doing his duty as village priest to peasants whose homes were scattered over a vast region. The round trip would take from four to six weeks. Consequently, before leaving, he blessed the community, warning the faithful against the slings of Satan and of the ever and ever expected return of the ancient Indian gods, more feared by him than Satan himself.

  He called in Cipriano, his sacristan, and officially turned the care of the church over to him. Cipriano was by profession a woodchopper and charcoal-burner, and as a human being he was neither better nor worse than any other man in the village.

  Extremely proud of his duties as sacristan, he took his job very seriously. In his opinion, there existed only two persons of real importance in the region: el padre and el sacristan, and he realized well enough that without the help of a sacristan a padre isn’t much to speak of.

  Frequently he had let his friends know confidentially that a sacristan was perhaps even more important than a padre, but this of course he would never say out very loud for surely that might be considered sinful. Truth was, if the padre was respected in the community, it was the sacristan who was feared. The padre was a Mestizo whereas Cipriano was a full-blooded Indian. For that reason his position was more or less like that of a medicine man, or brujo, among his people. And that was easy to understand. Cipriano was as close to the saints as was the padre. He, Cipriano, knew all the secrets of religion just as well as the padre. He had access to the most Holy. He could chant and conduct the ceremonies of the Mass out of memory better than the padre, who sometimes would forget certain lines and had to consult the book.

  He had been sacristan for thirty years and during that long time had served under four different priests. Not only did he know every line of the liturgy by heart, but he also knew every single glass pearl on every one of the many holy images which crowded the church; he knew every holy day and every saint’s day without ever making a mistake. In fact, the members of the community, especially the children and adolescents, thought that Cipriano was more importan
t in carrying out the many intricate ceremonies than the padre himself.

  Just as all Indians first appeal to the saints when they want something from God, so the members of the parroquia first appealed to Cipriano when they wanted something from the padre. Whether it was a marriage, a baptism or a funeral, they first came to Cipriano for advice. Even when the girls and boys went to confession they inquired first of Cipriano whether this or that was a deadly sin if one did not confess it, or how to indicate this or that without expressing it directly. Cipriano counselled everyone and he had help for all. He was the confidant of every single member of the community to a much greater extent by far than the best priest could ever be.

  For all these reasons Cipriano was comparatively well-off. He got a chicken here and a rooster there, here a bottle of tequila and there one of rum. And on his saint’s day he got so many good things that he could live on them for a whole month.

  When the señor padre was ready to depart for his trip, he said to Cipriano: “You know very well what to do around here. I don’t have to tell you anything about that. You will open the church early in the morning, see to it that the bells are rung rightly and at night you will lock up the holy place as always. Sunday mornings and Wednesday and Saturday evenings you will sing the service and say the prayers. You know them all well enough. And don’t forget to fill the fonts with the blessed water when you see them empty. That you also know. And then there is something of great importance. Clean all the saints, dust them and remove the droppings of the birds. It’s a shame to see how they look. You know the señor bishop might perhaps pay us an unexpected visit any day. I would be embarrassed to have all the images so dirty and the church so full of sh— Well, Cipriano, you know yourself how dirty the whole place has gone during the years, what with those terrible dust storms we’ve had.”

  “Si, Padre, the place is in a horrible state and ‘specially the poor santitos.”

  “Now that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You clean them well, all of them. Where the paint has come off, put on some new. But don’t paint the Mother of God over the altar. Just wash off the dirt and then cover Her with colorless varnish. I’ll show you how to use it.”

  “I’m sure I can do it fine, Padre.”

  “So am I, Cipriano. Now, tomorrow morning I’ll buy all the material you need. And from there I’ll be on my way to the conference.”

  The various paints and the varnish had been bought and the use of it explained by the merchant.

  Then, before taking his leave, the padre took his money belt and shelled out eight pesos in silver.

  “There, Cipriano, take this money so that you won’t have to work in the bush but can take full charge of cleaning up the holy place instead, so that when I come back I can be proud of our church. May the good Lord and the Holy Virgin bless you and help you in your pious task. And now, Cipriano, let’s have a drink together and wish me good luck on my trip.”

  The drinks—it wasn’t just one—consumed, the padre went on his way, his simple suitcase tied on behind the saddle.

  Cipriano rode home on his burro content with the world and in particular with religion. He arrived just in time for the vespers service.

  Next morning he started cleaning up the church and beautifying the saints, washing them with tender care as he would babies. Though he was no expert in using paint, instinctively, with the inborn love for colors of the Indian, he felt sure he would do a satisfactory job.

  The paint he had at his disposal was rather limited because it was expensive and the padre was a poor man who could not afford to spend more on anything even for his personal wants than was absolutely essential.

  In consequence of that, Cipriano handled Judas Iscariot first, who anyway in his opinion was really only a half saint because his true relationship to Christ had never been made clear. Some say he betrayed the Lord and for that he is roasting in hell for two thousand years already.

  Others maintain that God ordered Judas Iscariot to betray the Lord. For if he had not betrayed Him, Christ would not have been taken prisoner and Christ could not have been crucified and so He would not have died laden with all the sins of the world to redeem humanity. But since Judas Iscariot was absolutely necessary to fulfill the miracle of redemption, the Indian looks upon him as a half saint who now and then can perhaps put in a good word for him in heaven.

  One should not blame an Indian peasant for such a strange attitude, because among the ancient Aztecs the evil gods who could do much harm to men were worshiped as devotedly as were the good gods. By all means it is considered wise to stand on a good footing with all and every personage mentioned in the Bible. You can never know for sure whether a certain patriarch was not perhaps God’s tool even if he behaved himself badly on earth.

  Now as to Judas Iscariot, he always stood in a dark corner of the church like a schoolboy who has put a frog into the teacher’s handbag. There he will stand, Judas will, all during the whole year until Holy Week when he is taken out, dusted off and cleaned, and set at the table of the Last Supper put up in the church. At this table Judas Iscariot must not be missed even though other saints as for instance San Augustin or San Jerónimo may be substituted for some of those originally present at the Last Supper.

  Like anybody else Cipriano had to learn by practicing. And Judas to practice on was as good as anyone on whom to try out how much and how well one might wash without harming the original paint still good and how much new paint to use. He, Cipriano, could to his heart’s content paint and lacquer on Judas to find out how the paint took and how it came out without overdoing it. If he spoiled something on Judas it was but of little importance. Judas would be put into his dark corner again until Easter Week and by that time enough dust would have accumulated to hide Cipriano’s miscalculated artistic efforts. The principal idea was to keep the beard and the money bag intact so as to recognize the image as Judas Iscariot, for it had happened, and might happen again any odd day, that he was taken for St. Joe and given presents such as candles or trinkets of silver.

  Cipriano painted Judas Iscariot with real zest, almost with devotion, and when he had finished he could hardly tear himself away. He hated to put him into his dark corner again where rats and mice would molest him. At this moment Cipriano felt a profound pity for Judas that he had allowed himself to be bribed and that he had betrayed the Lord. Had he, Judas, only not done it so openly Cipriano might have been able to put him in front so that everybody could see him shine. But that could not be done because all the faithful, especially the women, knew the story of that infamous betrayal and they would object violently.

  Cipriano even had a blasphemic intention to change the beard of Judas, take away from him his money bag and make a St. Marcus out of him. But this change of course would have been detected very soon, as the features of Judas Iscariot were better known to all members of the community than those of any other image.

  The thought of making such a change had occurred to Cipriano because on Judas he tried out all the colors and saw their effects. As for the other images he had to keep to the original basic colors so that they would be recognized by the worshipers whereas it did not matter much where Judas was concerned.

  The next few days Cipriano put all his work and effort into cleaning and repainting the images but constantly his thoughts would return to the beautiful artistic expressions he had bestowed upon Judas. No doubt since he was no longer under the padre’s protection he must have worked under Satan’s influence to perform such a remarkable job, and of all images, on that of the greatest sinner that ever walked on earth. In no other way could it be explained why, in the course of time, all that occurred thereafter might well be traced back to the fact that Cipriano had wasted his talents so lavishly on that arch-villain Judas. What now happened showed plainly and unmistakably how smartly Satan works, that even such a good man as was Cipriano fell into the abyss.

  On purpose he had kept the Virgin waiting to be the very last of the images to be handled so that
in the meantime he would become a great expert in cleaning and repainting the holy effigies.

  At last Cipriano arrived at the task of cleaning and varnishing the adored statue of the Holy Virgin enthroned over the altar. He realized that this was the holiest of all his tasks which could have been conferred upon him. The different likenesses of the Lord he had handled easily and with no more particular respect than he gave the saints. But the Holy Virgin was the holiest of the holy, to him, the simple-minded Indian peasant, more important than God the Father Himself. To him, the way he had been taught, the Virgin was the very essence, yes, the fundamental base of the only true religion.

  Before taking Her likeness down from the little stage on which it stood he kneeled down and said two dozen Ave Marias besides various other prayers by which She usually was addressed. He crossed himself several times and finally he brought down the image and set it on the floor. He took off Her mantle to dust and wash it. Then he washed Her face while he mumbled prayers incessantly. Now he rubbed and polished the figure with soft cotton rags. Then he carefully applied the varnish. The body was made out in such a manner that the inner garments appeared to be carved woodwork. The Virgin’s garments he laid out in the yard to dry.

  On the brick floor of the church Cipriano had kept a small fire burning for warming the water a little and also to keep the glue liquid with which he repaired broken parts of the images. On this same fire he now boiled some coffee and heated his frijoles and tortillas because he did not want to lose time going home to eat.

  His meal finished he left to sit in the sun for a short rest. While he smoked a self-rolled cigarette his thoughts again turned to Judas Iscariot, how he might perhaps paint him better still since he discovered that he had some little paint left over. He hoped that perhaps even the padre would be pleased with his great work of art and give Judas a better place to live than the darkest corner of the church where he was condemned to contemplate his unforgivable sin. He thought that after all a big injustice had been done to Judas, making him atone for two thousand years because of a lousy thirty pieces of silver which he surely must have needed to pay his back rent or buy his daughter a much needed dress or maybe even medicine for his sick wife. With the heavy strain of these thoughts over such complicated problems and questions concerning religion, and at the same time thinking that the relations of the señor padre with doña Elodia and doña Agapita, both good-looking widows, might fairly well be interpreted in more than one way, Cipriano fell asleep. That was only natural because at the moment he had nothing else to do but wait for the sun to dry the Virgin’s mantle. He was just dreaming that Judas Iscariot had come to life complaining to him that the thirty pesos he had received for his job had turned out all counterfeit and caused him lots of trouble when the ferocious barking of several dogs, fighting inside the church over some tortillas Cipriano had left, brutally awoke him. He hurried into the church and drove the dogs out by the back door.