Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  "Who in God's name could have done this?" said Juan, gasping through a handkerchief, holding his breath.

  Roy pulled out his colored scarf and did the same. The stench was sickening, and the scene was horrific. "Another pr'blem for el patrón, addin' fuel to the fire," he said. "Da murder is gonna stir more shitin' harsh feelins. It’s gonna create tro'ble between Don Esquibel and el patrón."

  "Holy Mother of God!" screamed Miguel, looking over the body. "His throat and tongue have been ripped out. This sobered me up! The poor Esquibel's family is going to be sick."

  "Compadre, you don't have to worry about this dead Mexican anymore," said Juan, looking at Roy. He straightened himself up after inspecting the body of José, taking some time in determining what had taken place. He finally came to a conclusion. "First, he was beaten, his head smashed against the headstones, then he was shot, his tongue ripped out and his throat cut. A fine way of keeping someone silent, especially if they weren't sure he was dead." He gasped again.

  "It happened on el campo Santo, sacred ground. Ay! Dios! I see terrible things coming from this," added Miguel, with a realization that went beyond his reach.

  "I'll git his horse," answered Roy, in distress and obviously shaken. "I saw it hidin' in deem dar bushes and mesquite trees. I hate this! We're gonna hav' to take da body to his casa. O' man Esquibel is gonna wan' da start shootin' us, and blame el patrón for dis."

  "Wait!" exclaimed Juan. "Look, amigos! Over here!" He was bending over close to a shrub next to a headstone. He picked up something and studied it for several minutes. "I wonder if this will help in solving this murder." In his hands was a crushed, half-smoked, cheap cigar that had been pushed into the dirt with a shoe or a boot.

  "I'll bet ya', el patrón will know who it belongs to," replied Roy in amazement, heading toward Juan to examine the object. "Lemme see it."

  Miguel was squatting down, looking in the direction of the dense thickets outside of the graveyard's iron fence. With puzzlement on his face, he kept eyeing one particular area. Roy instantly noticed. Miguel put one finger to his lips, motioning him to keep quite.

  "Whut is it, amigo?" whispered Roy, squatting down and drawing his pistol.

  "I thought I saw movement and heard someone hiding in those bushes."

  "Prob'ly a wildcat," suggested Roy, trying to focus in the direction Miguel was looking.

  Miguel wasted no time in hurrying outside of the gates toward the bushes, then rushed in to grab whatever was behind the area covered with mesquite and nopales.

  Roy stood up, still with his pistol in his hand and said, "Be careful, Miguel! Ya' might git a hold of somethin' you can't handle." He guffawed.

  There was a loud scuffle coming from the thickets with terrifying sounds of dry leaves, moans, and hard breathing. Roy and Juan stood watching in suspense. In seconds, Miguel came out of the dense jungle dragging a tiny man by his shirt collar. It was Roberto Eagle, the dwarf son of Señora Adela, the witch woman.

  "Whut da shit? Whut in the world is he doin' here?" Roy questioned, removing his hat and rubbing his hair with his left hand in startled surprise. "Whut da hell is he doin' in this area, especially in the cemetery? He normally roams the brasada."

  Juan began talking to Roberto, but he didn't answer and instead made weird sounds with his mouth and movements with his hands.

  "The man is mute. Has been like this since birth," replied Miguel, with great concern, trying to dust off the leaves and dirt from his clothing, explaining his condition to Juan. Roy nodded agreeing. Roberto's appearance was like those from the Dark Ages. He was humped over and looked like Quasimodo from the novel, Hunchback of Notre Dame. He had big brown eyes, and his face and fingers were deformed. His build was short and stocky, and his hair was matted, messed up, with the fetid smell of someone not cleaning himself properly. He was trying to tell the three men something, as he kept pointing to his eyes.

  "Your eyes,” suggested Juan. "What about your eyes?" he asked, frowning. "Something must be wrong with his eyes!"

  "You saw something?" suggested Miguel, being in tune with Roberto's deformed condition and having known him and Doña Adela for many years. "That's it! He saw something last night!"

  Roberto nodded, "Yes!" The grotesque little dwarf then pointed to his head, cupping his hands, indicating something on top. He uttered gasping, chilling sounds.

  "On your head,” Juan questioned, "something on top of your head? Got problems with your head?" he asked.

  "I think it’s something else," retorted Miguel.

  "Hat, yo' dumb shits," Roy said, looking at Miguel and Juan. All three laughed.

  "Yes," nodded Roberto, cupping his hands wider again on top of his head.

  "Big, big hats," remarked Miguel, trying to determine what Roberto was saying. Roberto again shook his head with a yes.

  "Big man with sombreros, that's it. Sombrero—hats!"

  Roberto shook his head with a no.

  "Nah! Waal! Whut other hats? Let's see." Roy rubbed his chin, trying to think. "Derby hats, Stetson hats?"

  Roberto shook his head yes at Stetson hats and then pointed to Roy.

  "Me?" puzzled Roy, "Whut 'bout me? I wasn't out in the mid 'le of the brasada last night! Nah! siree! I was dancin' with my sweetie."

  Roberto pulled his sleeve up and touched his skin. Then touched Juan's skin, and preceded to touch Miguel's skin, indicating the same skin with a no. But when he touched Roy's skin, he nodded with a yes.

  "Skin?" asked Roy quizzically.

  "White skin?" prompted Miguel.

  Roberto shook his head with a yes.

  "Caramba, híjole! It's los gringos!" said Miguel.

  Roberto shook his head up and down very rapidly.

  "Well! At least they were not bandits from across the border as everyone would have suspected. But, what does all this mean?"

  "Waal tis comin' clear to me, amigos," said Roy.

  "What are you thinkin', compadre?" asked Miguel.

  "Whut does this tell ya'? White hombres with Stetson hats, and left half a crushed smoked cigar. Very careless! Don't you thin'?"

  "Hijole!" yelled Miguel. "Satan, el Rinche himself, from Harlingen. Damn! Texas Rangers!"

  "Caramba! Juan mumbled under his breath. "Ah! You see, the fiesta last night, the commotion coming from the hacienda with people coming in and out, attracted Roberto while he was hiding in the brasada. He must have been watching and observing everything. He probably watched José riding away and must have confronted the riders. Who knows? Roberto is the only witness, and he can't talk. Then, when the riders rode toward the house, by then they had probably already beaten José. Roberto witnessed it, saw the whole thing, scaring him as he hid among the cactus. He must have spent the night here. He saw the whole thing! Is that right, Roberto?"

  The disfigured little man nodded his head very rapidly, indicating a yes.

  "He saw the whole thing. Well, I'll be dang, and by the way, you haven't seen a woman's body around this area, have you?" asked Miguel, hovering over Roberto.

  Roberto's eyes went blank and his body recoiled. He lowered his head, bringing his malformed hands to his chest. He never replied with a yes or a no.

  "How many dead women's bodies are found every day out in the brasada?" said Juan.

  "Haven't seen one?" asked Miguel. He made a wave with both of his hands, like an hourglass shape, indicating the figure of a woman. "People just don't disappear into thin air. There have to be some traces of her, even if an animal got a hold of her." Roberto turned his head quizzically and glanced at Miguel. He never answered.

  "You are confusing this man," interrupted Juan. "He doesn't understand if you're asking him about a woman last night, or a year ago. This was months ago, and nobody is going to find the body now, especially if she was left out in this area. The atmospheric conditions will destroy a body very quickly, especially in this muggy climate." He spoke both from his medical knowledge and from common logic.

  "Well, shit! Reckon
we'd better git. Let's load the body of José on his horse and take him to Spanish Acres and den to Don Esquibel's house."

  "There will be shit-ta-lee to pay, and a lot of explaining," remarked Miguel. "Victoria is celebrating her birthday and there’s still a lot of drinking, eating, and dancing to do."

  "Go home, go to your casa. Shoo! Git away from this spooky area, Roberto," ordered Roy, waving his arm. "El patrón will prob'ly wanna talk to ya' and prob'ly come over and have a chat with ya' later and will prob’ly wanna have some mumbo-jumbo with Doña Adela."

  Already frightened, Roberto turned and ran off into the jungle of nopales, disappearing like a deer into the dense brush.

  "What seems funny to me," replied Miguel, rubbing his head then putting his straw hat back on, "was that it was ol' man George's headstone that was the only one damaged. I wonder if that has any significance?"

  "Quien Sabe?" Juan replied. "Who knows?"

  "To the hacienda, muchachos, let's go!"

  *****

  Don Federico and Don José Hinojosa had not slept a wink throughout the night. It had been a night of celebration and joy, seeing old friends, talking politics and the upcoming Revolution. Señor Hinojosa was concerned about his granddaughter Victoria's behavior but mainly worried about his daughter, for Doña Francisca was sick and not getting any better.

  After the two Dons had eaten their breakfast, they found themselves walking in the middle of the dirt road leading towards the gate of the hacienda; both were getting away from all the commotion of people, music, and loud noise. Don Federico was angry and trying to cool his heels after giving Fred a good licking, learning about the prank that he had instigated with the other young boys the night before.

  "I just don't understand boys at this age. How I hate to whip my children. But they have to learn to respect their elders and other people's possessions."

  "It's kind of comical, Fred being so intelligent," replied Don Hinojosa, laughing. "Who would have thought of planning such a ruse? It took some clever thought and planning, with a high capacity for mischief. He was pulling a fast one, anything for a laugh. Fred is smart and will probably use his intelligence later in his life, hopefully for the betterment of humanity. Don't worry; he'll grow up sooner than you think."

  "He's smart all right, but always trying to make people laugh. For Fred to pull a prank like this one on this occasion, and on my friends and guests! Why it's unacceptable. What do people think? That I'm running a nuthouse in the hacienda with crazy, imbecile children? It's an embarrassment, to say the least!" Don Federico cleared his throat while gazing toward the brasada and admiring the view of his beautiful house and his land. He sighed and turned to address Señor Hinojosa. "I have taught my children to behave and respect everyone. I have given them the best there is in this world, especially around this deprived area. Fred sometimes worries me. He seems so unconcerned about everything. He takes life for what it is. Maybe I want him to grow up too fast and be like I was at his age. While I was growing up, all I thought about was getting an education. Of course, Dad was very strict with Josie and me. More disciplined with me, because I was a man. Fred disappoints me at times. He acts so intelligently on many things, but on other occasions, he doesn't use his head and acts very foolish."

  "Children will grow up very fast," replied Senor Hinojosa. "In the coming years, you will laugh and tell stories about him and the childish things he did."

  Their walk had reached the entrance to the hacienda, and both stood leaning against the stone walls. Don Federico continued talking. "Well, Fred isn't laughing now. After the beating I gave him, he'll think twice before he pulls another one. He won't be able to sit for a while. Francisca was unhappy with me for hitting him, especially with Victoria's celebration and the guests in the household."

  "My daughter is not well!" answered Hinojosa in a firm voice. "Francisca is not going to get any better in this area." He then looked away and cleared his throat, pondering, not knowing how his son-in-law was going to take his next comment. "Gloria and I have been very upset about Francisca's illness. We wouldn't have known this because she never wrote or told anyone about her condition. Emma is very concerned also. We have decided to take Francisca back with us to Monterrey, where the air is clearer. We'll be able to get her a good doctor and several nurses who will attend her and be with her twenty-four hours a day. She'll be getting the best of care, I promise you, in our home and the best of medicine."

  "Francisca is very stubborn. I have repeatedly begged her to get medical care, but she refuses," replied Don Federico. "I will talk to her and convince her to go with you, for her health's sake. It's an excellent idea. At this point, we have no other choice since the medication is not helping her, and yes, she is getting worse. I have noticed that myself. We all want her to get well and be herself again. The children and I hate to see her go, but I also want her to get better. Monterrey would be a perfect place for her to recover."

  From the distance, they could hear the music and gaiety that had lingered all through the night in Spanish Acres. Some had danced nonstop. In the background could be heard shouts of vaqueros racing their horses, betting who was the fastest, and raucous laughter at poker, while others were betting on rooster fights. Their conversation was cut short by the sound of hooves pounding up the dirt road. Both men gasped at the horrific sight that presented itself.

  "Is he—?"

  "Dead, why yes!" Foolish question—a man hanging sideways from the horse's saddle, blood all over him, with his head and feet, dangling.

  It didn't take long to convince Don Federico who killed José Esquibel after Juan showed the burned cigar and left it with him. It was evident that the Texas Rangers were on the prowl last night. Hearing the celebration and all the commotion, they knew the area had been left unguarded.

  "Roy, you and Miguel take the body over to the Esquibel's place. Try to be as discreet as possible. Keep the horse outside of the gates," commanded Don Federico, "to keep the incident away from the guests, since they are having such a good time. It's going to be hard to keep the guests from learning about this. Sooner or later, it's bound to get out and everybody will know. Damn it!" He let out a deep breath. "Tell Señor Esquibel what you told me. I will send my condolences later. Please give him my condolences. He'll understand. We will send him some of our food if that's any consolation. Ask him if there is anything I can do for him. Anything he wants!"

  Roy, still on his horse, nodded; Miguel nodded his head. They went on their way, leading the horse with the body of José, while Juan stayed. The aging Hinojosa was in a state of shock, pale-faced, and looking stricken. He excused himself as he went to see the whereabouts of his wife.

  "Señor Juelson! Now, do you see what I mean?" remarked Juan, walking toward the house with Don Federico. "This Texas Ranger is a dangerous one, a smart fox. In Monterrey, if he has plans, you will not stand a chance. I have the perfect men that will do the job you wanted at your gold mine," he said, very convincingly.

  Don Federico's skin crawled with dread and he was deep in thought. He finally replied, "Yes, take your horse to the stables and come and join me in the library. We need to talk."

  The fiesta continued through the second day. It wasn't long before the news of José Esquibel’s death had spread like wildfire. Several of the families celebrating had left in fear and gone home early, not wishing to stay for the following day's festivities. Those who stayed, especially the men, drank more heavily than before, using the incident as an excuse. The day had become full of fears and overshadowed by the evil omen.

  "Madre mía!" said Mamá Maria nervously from the kitchen. "I knew something terrible was going to happen," she said with a sigh. "The day before the fiesta, while we were all so busy getting things ready, and on top of the big cottonwood trees next to the barn were three big gray owls. Lechuzas! It's a terrible omen to see owls. To see one is bad enough, but three! It signifies death. It scared me clear out of my wits."

  "Such stupid foolishness, Mar
ia," answered Emma. "Calm yourself! Owls are nocturnal birds," she snapped, in her raucous voice that rattled throughout the house. She was sitting in a rocker next to the kitchen door with her shoes off and her feet resting on a small embroidered ottoman, fanning herself. "They have to sit somewhere," she replied dryly.

  "Sitting in the daytime? Where the people view them? Bad omen, bad things are going to happen!" Mamá Maria kept repeating those words, shaking her head, sweating profusely and wiping her forehead with her apron, all the while preparing more food for the guests. "There'll be evil things come of this. I can feel it in my bones. I don't like this. I don't like it!"

  "Superstition, that's all," answered Emma, making a face in annoyance. "That's what happens when you people here at Spanish Acres allow the witch woman to tell you what to do all the time. Filling your heads with such garbage, telling your future, giving everyone here potions and remedies, making believe they are cures. All such nonsense! Scaring everyone with signs and objects! Bah!" She laughed sarcastically.

  "It may be superstition," growled Mamá Maria, taking all the guff she had allowed herself from Emma, "but on the day before Señor Albert Juelson died, we all heard the mournful hooting of the lechuzas in the middle of the night. Everyone working in the kitchen and some of the vaqueros the next morning saw the ugly creature sitting in the same tree. It wouldn't go away. We all tried to throw stones at it and shoo it away. Owls are bad omens, and hearing and seeing one is worse. I've known that ever since I was a young girl." The exhausted servant turned and thrust her way through the crowd, thumping her feet as if going to fight a war with a bowl full of Spanish rice.