Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  Already the crowd was gathering in a wide circle inside the grand sala as Victoria and Juan entered. Victoria glanced toward the corner and viewed Roy being enthralled with Soledad. They were both laughing and enjoying themselves. He was going to have to leave her as soon as he got the bad news about the riders outside the hacienda.

  As they danced, Juan whirled her around with a great flourish and then noticed Miguel approaching Roy and some of the other vaqueros. He was telling them something, but what? The loud noise, the wild cheers, and the clapping of hands from the guests made it impossible to hear.

  As she spun around in the dance, Victoria noticed Fred running in from the other side of the sala with the group of boys his age, the two cousins Jamie and John, and Martin, el Toro. Fred was also talking loud and waving his arms explaining something to Roy. Apparently, the boys had noticed something suspicious inside the Spanish Acres gates. The crowd was beginning to stir, and Juan noticed it, too. They had stopped dancing and were talking and arguing amongst themselves.

  "Maybe, I'd better go and join the vaqueros and help Roy," he said, feeling a little machismo coming on. "Better check to see what's happening outside!"

  "Juan, please don't leave me. Roy is in charge of the hacienda, and it's up to him to see that everything is safe and all right."

  "No, Victoria. I'll be a fool if I don't help them. I think there's some kind of trouble outside. I wonder if anything happened to your neighbor's son, José. Did you see how mad he was when he left? Something must have happened! He rode out like a flying bullet in the direction the riders came from."

  "But it is getting late," pleaded Victoria. "You don't know the countryside, especially at night, like Roy and the rest of the vaqueros do."

  "I'm going!" he said firmly. "I'm going to the stable and get my horse, and ride out with Roy. I'll stay close to him and be by his side at all times. He will need some help. And I will be back shortly." He kissed her on her cheek, turned around, and in a quick rush headed outdoors.

  Soledad, standing by herself in the middle of the sala in a state of confusion, turned and viewed Victoria, who stood around looking sad. Soledad walked over to her side.

  Victoria questioned Soledad about José. "What happened? Why was he so angry? Did you tell him about your feelings toward Roy?"

  "José wanted me to elope with him tonight. He said he would marry me later. I didn't like the idea. I refused. I told him that I was still traumatized. It was going to take time on my part and patience from him. He was going too fast, dancing with me only, refusing the others, telling them I was his novia. When Roy approached us, he got angry. Roy told him off and said in so many words that I didn't belong to him yet, and I was free to dance with whomever. I was pleased but so embarrassed."

  "Good for Roy! I guess he told him how the cow ate the cabbage, “said Victoria, grinning.

  The music continued, and Victoria was asked to dance by a young vaquero from a Ranchito nearby. Soledad excused herself to see about La Señora who had been taken ill upstairs.

  The laughter, music, and loud chattering continued. An hour had passed, and the families with small children and the very old crowd were beginning to thin out. It was getting late, way past midnight. The musicians kept playing the songs the rest of the crowd wanted to hear. Victoria was surprised to see Roy, Miguel, and Juan coming in from the front entrance. She overheard Roy tell Miguel that they would start out early in the morning. Juan walked in without his tailored coat on and began scanning for Victoria among the crowded sala. He waved and headed in her direction.

  "What happened?" asked Victoria, rushing over to his side.

  "We didn't see anything, only wild animals scurrying through the bushes. The moon was covered by dark clouds, and we were not able to see a thing. There were no signs of José Esquibel."

  Most of the men and vaqueros were inebriated, and by now Yo-Yo, who had done his share of the drinking, stirred through the crowd carrying his worn-out fiddle. He had been drinking hard since last week and today more heavily than ever, with good reason. He still felt that he hadn't done the drinking any justice, and he insisted he was going to play a tune for Victoria.

  "This one is a special tune, uh huh. The song is Over the Waves," stammered Yo-Yo. "This tune was written by Juentino Rosas, uh huh, a Mexican who sold his soul to the devil, uh huh." He was barely managing to stay erect. "This hombre Rosas, for seventeen dollars he sold it to a European man, uh huh. The song became popular throughout the world, making the white gringo famous, uh huh." The crowd laughed. "Poor Juentino never got the credit he deserved, uh huh!"

  As he slid the bow of his violin, his body would slide with it. He would weave a little but kept himself in an upright position. He would straighten himself up, making sure his steps were firm as he tapped his right foot with each note. The notes were soft and beautiful, and the crowd roared with delight. Juan pulled Victoria out into the middle of the floor. They were the only ones dancing. "This is our waltz, Querida." The next tune was one of Spain's famous melodies, Romanza de Amor.

  Two old spinsters sitting in one of the corners observing the entertaining spectacle turned to each other. "I wonder what the Del Calderónes would say if they saw Victoria dancing so amorously with the young caballero," one said. "Have you noticed, she has not danced with anyone else since he arrived?"

  "Rumors are that he is a revolutionist! Fighting for the Mexican cause! War is starting across the border, imagine that!" she exclaimed and started to fan herself hard.

  "Oh! My! A revolutionist! Why would Don Federico and Doña Francisca allow Victoria to dance with him? He is below her class. Very common, I would say."

  "But Comadre, notice how handsome he is!" the other said, holding her fan close to her mouth.

  "Comadre, if you and I had found a man like that when we were young, well, we would not be just sitting here." Looking at each another, they giggled like schoolgirls.

  "True. I would hate to think what I would be doing." They both chuckled amidst the music and the noise. "By the way, did you hear that Doña Francisca was taken upstairs very seriously ill? That her coughing has gotten worse?" The old Comadre raised her eyebrow.

  "Hope it's nothing serious!" replied the other one.

  "The tales are that she coughs all the time. And now her coughing is getting worse. There is talk that she's got the worse kind of sickness."

  "That terrible disease of the lungs and everybody is being discreet about it."

  "Surely not," answered the old tía, fanning herself very fast. "She is still so young and so beautiful, and her children are still so young."

  "They say it runs in her family. Emma's mother died from it, many years ago."

  "What happened to Victoria's novio, her intended? Did he not come from Monterrey?"

  "Emma mentioned to me, that the Del Calderóne family could not travel because Ricardo was taken ill right after he returned from the city of Paris. He probably picked up a French disease."

  "Ay Comadre! Families from Reynosa and Matamoros are talking about the terrible changes coming to their country. Most of the talk is of the coming Revolution. It is going to affect all of us living on the border, Dios Los libre y Los favoresca! God protect us!"

  "It is shameful! Look, Comadre. Look at the way he is holding her."

  "What difference does it make? They are both lovely. Look, it is so romantic to watch!"

  Outside where the buggies and wagons were stationed, Fred and two young friends from nearby ranchos, mischievous boys, had decided to have themselves some fun by pulling a prank on the visitors who had brought their young families in wagons. Martin had already gone to bed in the vaqueros' bunkhouse, and Jamie and John had already been commanded by their mother Emma that it was getting very late for the twins to be up.

  Couples would leave their little children fast asleep in the comfort of blankets and pillowed wagons, going back to enjoy the celebration. The boys would shift the sleeping children around to other wagons, causing muc
h confusion upon the couples' return. The boys would double over with laughter and then run and hide.

  "No one has seen us. And no one suspects us, I hope!" whispered one of the three young boys.

  "No one!" answered Fred in a low voice, halfway laughing. His eyes sparkled with mischief. "If my father finds out, he will surely kill me."

  "You?" replied little Pepito. "My father will give me a thrashing like I have never had. I don't think this is a good idea."

  All three giggled. "I can already feel the beating," mused little Raul, pretending to hold onto his behind. "If we try to put the kids back where they belong, we may not remember and do it right. I don't think I can remember who's who. Or from which wagon we exchanged each one of them."

  "Hush! Here comes another couple with some more sleepy children. Get down!" The three young boys held their breath and squatted in between the dark, still wagons.

  The rest of the night had been like a dream come true for Victoria. One music beat led to another as Juan's arms, and his attention, was only for her. The musician was now playing Señora, which was a favorite song in both countries.

  At two o'clock in the morning, Victoria began yawning and decided to call it a night. She excused herself from Juan. Her feet were hurting, and her corset was starting to become uncomfortable. "It's getting late and I have been up since five this morning. I need to check on mother on my way to my sleeping quarters. Let's call it a day. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "I'll see you later today, you mean." They both laughed. "I'll see you for breakfast and you do look tired Querida! Better rest for tomorrow. You had a wonderful day. And tomorrow will be another great day for you. I still have to talk with your father. We talked a little, while I was washing and grooming, and he suggested to me not to say anything in front of your grandfather about the Revolution since he was part of Díaz's cabinet. He's retired, but he still wants Díaz to be president."

  "Why, yes. Grandfather was very successful in Díaz's cabinet."

  "Let's not talk about politics now," he suggested politely but was serious. "I want to enjoy myself, and be with you. I'll go and wait outside, go see Roy, the vaqueros, and the rest of the people celebrating in the courtyard. I guess I'm sleeping in Roy's bunk tonight." He laughed. "It's too bad that I'm sleeping by myself!" He then gazed at Victoria and smiled an enticing smile. He paused, changing the subject, knowing that perhaps, it was not a wise choice of words. With a flushed face, he remarked, "Roy will probably want to ride out in the morning to find out what's happening. I need to go to the stables and get some clean clothes from my bags and check my horse. Sleep tight."

  Juan remained in the middle of the sala, looking up watching Victoria disappear up the steps and noticed that Mamá Maria was already waiting in attendance for her in the middle of the stairway. He turned around and headed out to the courtyard. Young girls swooned and giggled, covered their mouths with fans as he passed by; others whispered. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Yolanda, leaning against the outside entrance, almost expecting him, appearing to have waited for him. There the light of the lanterns was dimmer, reflecting intoxicated people, not caring about anything, only thinking of the wondrous pleasures the night would bring.

  Yolanda was angry but did not show it. She was patient. She had not had her way with Roy but had been stalking Juan. In between her explosive actions with other vaqueros, Juan seemed like the perfect catch. She had watched and waited until he was freed from Victoria. Immediately, she rushed over to his side. Her eyes were wild and glazed. Juan's eyes widened with interest, as would any hot-blooded young man with strong passion and desires. Yolanda was wearing her enticing, low-cut dress, exposing her sizeable, rounded, firm breasts, looking sleazy, easy, and wanting any type of action.

  The mariachis were playing a corrido, and Juan whispered to Yolanda to have a drink of tequila together and then dance the number. Tables with cases of tequila, whiskey, wine, champagne, and glasses were stacked in every corner of the courtyard. Then the mariachis decided to play a slow dance. Hot sweat poured down Juan's forehead, his legs, and down the back of his shirt. His body was throbbing for wanton action, wild and urgent. He grabbed her close, looking into her eyes that were clear with desire. Then he glanced down at her bosom, and his thoughts veered, wishing she were Victoria. He became aroused, on the edge of something unthinkable, and ugly. He whispered in her ear imploringly, "You promised! Remember?" He raised his eyebrows, questioningly and began tantalizing her, mesmerizing her. "Tonight, remember!"

  "Tonight!" She gazed at him with a smile and answered with a slurring response, as her left hand slowly slithered up to the back of his neck. Her red lips were almost touching his, and her firm body pressed strongly in a stimulating clockwise motion on his lower parts, wanting him. Yolanda had also gotten some special, black magic potion from Doña Adela, pertaining to amorous love. "Tonight!" she repeated. Whispering in his ear, "For as long as you like it, anyway, any position you want. I'm yours tonight. Whatever you want and desire. I'm yours."

  The rest of the dancing couples formed a circle around the amorous Juan and Yolanda, clapping their hands and offering words of enticement, for the evening was not over, and there would be many passionate earthquakes tonight. "Aye Caramba," was all he could say.

  CHAPTER 11

  Before sunup, Roy, Miguel, and Juan headed south on their horses toward the thickets, the dense jungle of the mesquite and bushes, the great brasada, the boundless land holding to its own principles and convictions of the wilderness. All three were wearing protective tapaderos on their stirrups, heavy duck jackets, leather leggings, and gauntlets, riding toward the resaca, close to Doña Adela's house. All three men were suffering from a sleepless night and a heavy dose of hangovers.

  The weather had turned cold and many varieties of bushes were shedding their leaves, allowing them greater visibility in the distance.

  "Its gittin' colder than a witch's tit," slurred Roy in the morning silence.

  Miguel laughed out loud and said, "It's getting cold, but you won't have to worry about it any longer, compadre. It looks like you got lucky last night. Eh!" the vaquero mused, chewing on a straw. "I never thought you were ever going to dance with the beautiful Soledad. 'Course all of the vaqueros had a bet on you, and poor José lost."

  "She's a slicker all right, mighty pree-tee. I never slept a wink just thinkin' 'bout her. Thinkin' 'bout her, in be'ween all of the snorin' and fartin' in the bunk, the noise, and the sinks." He laughed. "I finally had da move outdoors to git any sleep and some fresh air."

  "I'll bet within a year, you two will be hitched," joked Miguel. "Yes, hombre, that's the way life is, and that's the way it goes when the love bug gets your ass."

  "I remember what la bruja Doña Adela told you, not too long ago. You'll be married soon!"

  "Ah, shit! I still git that the’e feller, José Esquibel, to squabble with. He was a plenty mad hombre last night when I asked to dance with Soledad. Damn! She acted like she really wanted me to fight with 'em. I was in no Gawd dang mood to fight. I just wanted to make love."

  "Ay, Caramba! And he never did come back to the fiesta?"

  "Nah, and I'm sure glad he didn't," remarked Roy, as he recalled the thought of what the old witch Doña Adela had said to him earlier. "Your future wife is here. She is here now." By dang! Could it be possible? He thought maybe that old hag, crazier than a shit-house rat, was right all along. By dang!

  "Ah! Shit-ta-lee, Qué Tal!" How about that!

  "And you, compadre? Where did you sleep last night?" Miguel addressed Juan in a jolly mood.

  "I can't remember! I woke up in one of the servant's quarters. I drank too much. I slept like a rock." He went into a deep silence. His thoughts were wandering, about the embarrassment he would encounter if Don Federico and the rest of the household found out about him in his irresponsible behavior. But it was the liquor and the music and Victoria's presence. He didn't want Miguel to know that it was his daughter he had slept
with part of the night. And what a night!

  "When we get back," stated Miguel, "we all will need some good menudo and a good cup of black coffee to get our stomach and head all clear and get our systems working again."

  "Yore awf'ly quiet, amigo," commented Roy, curiously turning his head to view Juan.

  "I'm just thinking, just thinking," replied Juan, following Miguel, who had gotten several yards ahead. "Who were the riders from last night? What did they want? Why didn't they come in and join us in the fiesta?"

  "Thar's been a lot of mysterious shittin' things happenin' around the hacienda, since the great Haley's Cometa came out in May of this year," replied Roy. "At first we were all 'fraid that dat cattle would stampede. Now we have all gott'n use to it. Now, we see and hear strange hombres ridin' in ‘em out of dat brasada and in the middle o' the noche." He paused for a minute. "Quien Sabe?"

  The sun was beginning to break through the top of the mesquite trees when Miguel hollered and pointed to several vultures flying low over in the direction of the Juelson family cemetery. All three hurried, digging in their spurs, and followed at a fast trot, dodging wagging limbs from side to side, avoiding the visnaga, devil's head, and cat's claw spines.

  "There's bin’ some horses ridin' here," said Roy, climbing off his horse, and bending down and inspecting the soil. He kept looking at the ground, eyeing it hard. "See! Tracks of horses! Thar' must've been at least two. Nah! Thar's 'nother track over dere," he said, pointing to some horse droppings.

  Miguel, who was small in stature, but was muy alerto with sharp eyes, dismounted. He was an excellent scout and an expert with cattle and horses. He could spot trouble anywhere. He smelled the ground and studied it for a while, tracing the tracks of the horses and where they led. He looked up, adjusting his straw hat. "Look!" he said in alarm, pointing to the gates of the cemetery.

  The three mounted quickly and hurried to the open gates of the sacred grounds. A moment of chilled panic caught hold of the men, for there laid the body of José Esquibel, sprawled like a rag doll. They dismounted quickly. Vultures that were on the cemetery grounds flapped their wings and landed on the surrounding mesquite trees, creating an eerie presence. José's body looked like it had been beaten, and there were signs of a tremendous struggle. He had also been shot. Blood was spattered everywhere; one of the headstones had been smashed and defaced—the elaborate, granite headstone of George Albert Juelson. Big green flies swarmed over the man's lifeless body. His brains were scattered on a headstone. His eyes were wide open and staring into space.