Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  "Did you say that Señora Adela is with you? Where is José?" she inquired, her voice frantic. She stood in the doorway holding a rifle, which she let drop to the ground in complete defeat. "Mother was beaten and needs her help," she cried, and then began sobbing. Another child, a boy about eleven, ran to his sister and buried his head into her, crying.

  "Sí, Hija," cried out Doña Adela, approaching the entrance, holding her herbs and potion bundle. "I'm here to help your mother. Where is she?"

  Juana pointed to the interior of the house.

  Doña Adela walked up and embraced the crying Juana. "Everything is going to be all right,

  Hija." The men hurried to the door, picked up the rifle, and helped Doña Adela toward the back of the jacale, where Señora Trevino was being kept hidden.

  "Where is Don Trevino?" Don Federico inquired of the skinny, young girl, who was wiping tears from her eyes with her apron. Her swelled stomach looked like a ripe watermelon. He figured she was about seven months into her pregnancy. "I need to talk to him!"

  "He's out in the pasture. He went to get the cows with young calves back into the barn. They will need milking later. He should be back any minute now," replied the frightened girl.

  One of the vaqueros who assisted Doña Adela to the rear of the jacale returned shaking his head. "Señora Trevino needs to be in a place where she can be taken care of. She is in serious trouble. She is bleeding from her mouth, with broken ribs, and she's moaning, in so much pain she doesn't want to be moved. But she will die if she stays here."

  "We can always take her back to Spanish Acres, but the ride would be rough in the back of a wagon. Seems like the hacienda is becoming a refuge for the ill and wounded," Don Federico mused. “We will have to wait until Don Trevino returns. I'm not leaving until this is settled."

  The sun had finally gone down and only the dusk remained. It was not long before the dogs began barking. There was the lowing of cattle being driven. Soon a booming voice yelled, "Quien son? Who are you?"

  Don Federico and of his vaqueros walked outside and faced an angry Don Trevino.

  "What the hell do you want here?" Señor Trevino growled. "What the hell are all of you doing on my property?" His rifle swung in all directions toward the Don and his vaqueros. "All of you get the hell out of my house and off my land!"

  "Wait a minute!" Don Federico said, raising his left hand, then adjusting his gunbelt with his right, he sauntered toward the frenzied madman. "Señor Trevino you have some explaining to do," he stated flatly, "especially about your children, the beating of your wife, and the condition of your daughter."

  "Says who?" Don Trevino raged. "Who gives you the right to come to my house and tell me what to do?" His double-barrel shotgun swept them all again, causing the alarmed vaqueros to duck.

  "Apparently your own children," suggested the Don. "Your son Martin has been living at Spanish Acres for over two years now, after the beating you gave him, and your starving him, in case you have forgotten. Your other son just informed us that you had beaten him also, and your wife. By the looks of her, she may not live. José told all of us that he cannot return home because you're going to kill him. Now, that causes us all to become concerned, especially since we're your neighbors. What are we supposed to do?"

  Before Señor Trevino could answer, a loud blast came from the direction of the front gate. Tension had been building up to this point, and any kind of noise was nerve-racking. Everyone was caught off-guard and fell to the ground. Figures in the dark scrambled in all directions—then silence. Out of the commotion, one said, "Ay Chin!" Another yelled, "qué paso?" As the moments passed, everyone checked themselves in the darkness to see if they had taken a bullet. Who had fired? What had happened? Then, they saw it. Don Trevino lay sprawled on the ground, a bullet to the side of his head. His shotgun lay by his side.

  With lantern in hand, Juana and her little brother ran to their father and shrieked. The gutsy Doña Adela, who had heard the confrontation from behind the screen door, walked toward the downed man to check on his condition, never fearing, for as old as she was, she thought she would live forever. Whether another bullet would be heading in her direction, she did not care.

  "Ay, it's all over," replied the bruja, bent over and checking things out. "Señor Trevino is dead, but who did this?" The old witch woman straightened herself up as she heard the sound of a horse's hooves coming from the gate. She reached out for the distraught Juana and hugged her. A horse soon appeared out of darkness carrying Martin, with a rifle in hand, and his brother José riding behind.

  The vaqueros and Don Federico began straightening up and dusting themselves off, looking horror-stricken and perplexed; everything had happened so fast.

  "Martin!" said Don Federico, finding his way close to the horse and looking up at the young vaquero. "I thought I told you to stay at Spanish Acres until we returned! Did Roy make it back all right?" He watched Martin climb off his horse still holding the rifle and not saying a word, his eyes in a wild trance. He walked over to his dead father, like the great hunter checking and reassuring himself of his kill. His brother José followed behind him inspecting the lifeless body lying like an animal in a pool of blood. Martin stood for over a second, hovering over the body of his father, then, raising his gun, he blasted him with another bullet, and another, without remorse.

  Don Federico and the vaqueros who watched were horrified and scrambled to hold Martin down trying to avoid his rifle, forgetting the terror. "Hold him down, men. Take the rifle away. It's going to be all right now, Martin." Don Federico kept reassuring him, speaking in a low, commanding tone. He felt empathy for the young, struggling Martin. The rest of vaqueros kept talking to Martin, consoling him, but they continued holding him down by his shoulders and arms. They were in agreement with what he did; they were siding with him. They would have done the same thing—they would have killed any member of their family if they had known the truth in the same situation.

  Juana and José rushed to Martin's side crying, but this time with happiness. The younger one hung on to Martin's legs. He and Juana had not seen Martin in over two years; the presence of their oldest brother brought overwhelming joy. They were now free from their tormenting life of hell.

  "Martin, it's all over," said the Don. "Your father will not be hurting you or any member of your family. He will not be beating your mother, or you, or anyone else. You are the man of the house now. You can take care of your family, and later have a family of your own." He kept talking, trying to get Martin to come to his senses. Finally, he gave him a strong slap across his face, shocking everyone.

  Instantly, Martin snapped out of his despondency and spoke. "Is my mother is going to live?" He lowered his head in shame and brought his hands to his face covering his eyes. He burst into tears and began bawling like a child, knowing the murderous act he had committed. He was ashamed of himself and for his family.

  They all knew how much his father had hurt him and his family, and that the young man was emotionally disturbed by his father's actions over the years. Martin was a hard worker, basically quiet and reserved, and had never mentioned much about his father's cruelty. But the vaqueros knew his life had been in total despair for a young boy turning fifteen.

  "Ay, si," answered Doña Adela. "In a couple of weeks, your mother will be fine," she reassured him. "It's going to take some time before your family will be back to normal. But things will get better, for you, and your family. You and your mother will be free!"

  "It's over! Let's get the body inside the barn," commanded Don Federico. "It's getting dark, and it's gonna be a long night. I have to get back to Spanish Acres and see about Roy. We'll see what Martin and his family want to do with the body. We can bury him out in the family's graveyard if they want."

  Martin weighed down by his actions, stood like a young, innocent boy with tears in his eyes looked toward the great Don. He felt his tormented life being lifted. They were all free. He stretched out his arms to explain and said, "Y
ou're not calling Los Rinches on me? You're not having me arrested for this killing?" It was evident that he had come to his senses; he wanted to take responsibility for his actions, especially killing his own father, whom he had hated for so many years. It was a strange spectacle. Everyone had the same feeling about the killing of Señor Trevino. Martin's father was a menace to society and had deserved to die—exterminated execution style! The shocking part was that nobody expected his own son to kill him.

  "I did not see anything, Martin. All standing here hates Los Rinches," Don Federico replied. Turning, he faced the rest of the vaqueros, la bruja, and Martin's brother and sister. "Did any of you see anything?" He waved his hands. "Did anyone here see who fired the shots in the dark?"

  There was a long pause as the night closed in on them. The only light glowing came from the children's lantern, shadowing the individual presence while dancing upon each of their thoughts. Each searched his mind for what they would have done if they were in the young Martin's shoes. They marveled at the braveness of the young lad. The dogs did not even bark. All replied, "No."

  "Well, there's your answer. Better see about your mother and sister." The Don then addressed his vaqueros. "Muchachos, let's go home! We have lots of work to do back at the ranch!"

  The death of one individual had brought sadness to some, and joy to others. The vaqueros smiled, realizing that perhaps everything would start getting back to normal, for it seemed that Don Federico had regained his senses, again being the impartial, generous, noble man getting on with his responsibility after the death of his wife. He spoke to la bruja. "Señora Adela, do you want to stay with Martin and La Señora Trevino tonight? You might want to stay with her this night and keep an eye on her condition until she gets better. I will have one of my muchachos come tomorrow and check on the situation, and bring over some food and supplies. I will see that you get back home safely."

  La bruja rose to the bait and chuckled. "Ay, Sí Hombre, Señora Trevino, and her children will need me to help them. I will stay the night with La Señora." The witch was pleased and delighted. There was a dead body, and she was like a vulture that smelled blood. Señor Trevino was dead, and dead bodies were what she used for many of her remedies and potions. La bruja would have her hands full. She had work to do; she would work all night as she performed her spiritual ritual.

  And finally, Martin, el Toro, the desperate runaway boy, became the household hero.

  CHAPTER 26

  Don Federico was true to his word. Within the following weeks, he ordered his workers of Spanish Acres to check on Señora Trevino's health and to take food to the family. Martin had buried his father under a tree, in a homemade casket that one of the family's carpenter cousins had made.

  It had been a long, weary year for everyone and especially for the Juelson family, losing Doña Francisca to the dread disease of tuberculosis. There had also been many beloved friends and neighbors that had died during the year. They placed their hope in the Mexican superstitious saying: "One soul dies and leaves, but two other souls enter into this world."

  Roy continued to fight an infection. He had been delirious and not getting any better, his condition deteriorating, with a temperature of 105. Doña Adela had tried all of her herbs, but the swelling in his stomach kept getting worse. Greatly concerned, Don Federico was forced to take Manuel and two other vaqueros to travel with him across the border into Reynosa and, hopefully, convince Dr. Cantu to travel with them to Spanish Acres and check on Roy personally. He would be well paid.

  They took four mules pulling the wide wagon, for they planned while there to get supplies that they were unable to get on the Texas side of the border, and also bring back the doctor. Don Federico suggested that Fred tag along with him and Manuel, riding in the wagon, while the other two vaqueros rode their horses.

  The conditions in Mexico had gotten worse. Díaz had fled the country and was now living in exile in France. The United States government did not recognize Huerta as president, and the bickering between Pancho Villa and Carranza, who were both fighting for political control of the government, made it dangerous to travel into the interior of Mexico. It had become "a free for all," without any firm government rule. Earlier in the month of June, Blanco had taken the law into his own hands and was trying to take control of the city of Matamoros. He was now commanding over 1,500 soldiers along the border.

  Soldiers immediately stopped Don Federico and his entourage and interrogated them as soon as they crossed the Rio Grande, and asked what business they had in Mexico. Mexico was at war, and everyone was eyed with suspicion.

  While in Reynosa, the men were in total shock to find out that Dr. Cantu had been shot and killed. The closest real practicing doctor to be found was in Monterrey, over two hundred miles into the interior of Mexico. They had another choice, and that was driving sixty miles east to Matamoros.

  "No doctors anywhere!" Don Federico lamented. "Nobody here knows anything about medicine. What happened to his practice?" he inquired of one of the soldiers who seemed to be more intelligent than the rest and seemed to be more aware of the situation in Reynosa and on the border.

  "Dr. Cantu's practice is being occupied by El Capitán Alvarez, who knows a little bit of medicine. He was appointed by General Lucio Blanco after Dr. Cantu was killed, to help the wounded soldiers." He pointed to a whitewashed, stucco building riddled with bullets, a block down from the plaza. Apparently, they had had several skirmishes with the Villistas and the Carranza forces known as the Constitutionalists, or better known as the Carranzistas, who were in control.

  "Does this Alvarez man know anything about medicine?" the Don questioned.

  "Ay, si," the polite soldier replied, so willing to be of assistance. "He has helped many wounded people, has delivered several babies, and has operated on many soldiers."

  "Where is Blanco?" asked the Don inquisitively, knowing that Blanco was charging taxes on foreign imports being brought into Mexico, as well as outgoing exports including cattle and goods.

  "He is gone to a village fifty miles down on the Gulf Coast, getting guns and more supplies from the Germans. The German boat landed a couple of days ago. He will not be back until the end of the week. Everything here has been peaceful since the Villistas left several months ago."

  Don Federico found it convenient that Blanco was gone, for he might be able to buy all of his supplies without being charged the exporting tariff. Perhaps he could also take the new doctor back home to aid Roy.

  They drove the wagon up past the plaza and around the corner close to the run-down stucco building. Don Federico's thoughts were running wild: Mexicans buying German guns from the Germans? His thoughts wandered from the visit earlier in the year that he had from the U.S. Marshal Bishop, and the conversation concerning the Germans trying to take over the Mexican government. Don Federico found it puzzling. He mind kept turning over the name Alvarez. Alvarez! Why does that name sound so familiar? Don Federico gave orders to Manuel and the rest of men to take the wagon with his long list of needed supplies down to el mercado and get as much as possible, while he made arrangements with the doctor to bring him back to Spanish Acres. The bells atop the Virgen de Guadalupe Catedral rang out, announcing that it was noon.

  Fred did not wait for his father to halt the wagon. He jumped down while it was still moving and walked into the open hospital building and began wandering around. There were four cots as beds on both sides of the dirty, discolored walls, with wounded men in each of the beds. Flies were everywhere. The place smelled of rot, alcohol, chloroform, whiskey, and jalapeño peppers.

  A thin man with a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck approached him, coming from the back of the building, asking what he wanted. At first, Fred did not recognize him, but as the person got closer, he shouted, "Juan!" Fred dashed towards him, and both embraced into an abrazo. "I knew you'd stick to being a doctor!" replied Fred with joy.

  Don Federico stood in the doorway aghast, not knowing what to say. Then, every
thing made sense; of all the people to encounter, it was Juan Alvarez! With so many things in the past to forget, so many bridges that had been burned—at this urgent moment everything needed to be erased. He had no other choice but to confront Juan, eat his own words, and ask him for the biggest favor of his life.

  Juan was surprised. He walked toward the Don, and in his gracious nature, stretched out his hand. "Don Federico, it's so nice to see you! Small world! What brings you to this side of the border and to this poor, humble place?" He smiled, displaying his pleasant attitude, acting like nothing had ever come between them. "How can I help you? How may I be of service to you?" He was kind, charming, and interested in knowing what was troubling this great man whom he so much admired.

  "Juan!" said Don Federico. He was almost afraid to ask him for help. "I have come to ask you for the biggest favor of my life. But I don't know if you are able to help me at this time." He was pleading like a miserable peasant, with his hat in his hands, and for the first time stood humbly. "Frankly, I'm short on words," he said. His hands were shaking. "I'm shocked to find you here on the border, especially in this rat hole. I was flabbergasted to hear that Dr. Cantu was killed, and I wasn't expecting this big surprise of finding you here. But, you remember my foreman, Roy? Well, he is going to die on me, if I don't get some medical help for him quickly. I need a doctor!" his voice quivered and his eyes misted. "I'll pay any price you ask if you'll come with me."

  Juan delighted to see the two Juelson men, interrupted by waving his hands. He pointed to the rear of the dilapidated building and suggested that the two have a cold drink and sit down and rest. There they could talk and get a clear picture of what had taken place at his hacienda.