Los de abajo. English

by Mariano Azuela

  But no one paid the slightest attention to him.

  For a second, Demetrio glanced at the soldiers' black coats hanging onthe wall, then at his own men, thick on the church tower behind theiron rail. He smiled with satisfaction and turning to his men said:

  "Come on, now, boys!"

  Twenty bombs exploded simultaneously in the midst of the soldiers who,awaking terrified out of their sleep, started up, their eyes wide open.But before they had realized their plight, twenty more bombs burst likethunder upon them leaving a scattering of men killed or maimed.

  "Don't do that yet, for God's sake! Don't do it till I find mybrother," the workman implored in anguish.

  In vain an old sergeant harangued the soldiers, insulting them in thehope of rallying them. For they were rats, caught in a trap, no more,no less. Some of the soldiers, attempting to reach the small door bythe staircase, fell to the ground pierced by Demetrio's shots. Othersfell at the feet of these twenty-odd specters, with faces and breastsdark as iron, clad in long torn trousers of white cloth which fell totheir leather sandals, scattering death and destruction below them. Inthe belfry, a few men struggled to emerge from the pile of dead who hadfallen upon them.

  "It's awful, Chief!" Luis Cervantes cried in alarm. "We've no morebombs left and we left our guns in the corral."

  Smiling, Demetrio drew out a large shining knife. In the twinkling ofan eye, steel flashed in every hand. Some knives were large andpointed, others wide as the palm of a hand, others heavy as bayonets.

  "The spy!" Luis Cervantes cried triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you?"

  "Don't kill me, Chief, please don't kill me," the old sergeant imploredsquirming at the feet of Demetrio, who stood over him, knife in hand.The victim raised his wrinkled Indian face; there was not a single grayhair in his head today. Demetrio recognized the spy who had lied to himthe day before. Terrified, Luis Cervantes quickly averted his face. Thesteel blade went crack, crack, on the old man's ribs. He toppledbackward, his arms spread, his eyes ghastly.

  "Don't kill my brother, don't kill him, he's my brother!" the workmanshouted in terror to Pancracio who was pursuing a soldier. But it wastoo late. With one thrust, Pancracio had cut his neck in half, and twostreams of scarlet spurted from the wound.

  "Kill the soldiers, kill them all!"

  Pancracio and Manteca surpassed the others in the savagery of theirslaughter, and finished up with the wounded. Montanez, exhausted, lethis arm fall; it hung limp to his side. A gentle expression stillfilled his glance; his eyes shone; he was naive as a child, unmoral asa hyena.

  "Here's one who's not dead yet," Quail shouted.

  Pancracio ran up. The little blond captain with curled mustache turnedpale as wax. He stood against the door to the staircase unable tomuster enough strength to take another step.

  Pancracio pushed him brutally to the edge of the corridor. A jab withhis knee against the captain's thigh--then a sound not unlike a bag ofstones falling from the top of the steeple on the porch of the church.

  "My God, you've got no brains!" said Quail. "If I'd known what you weredoing, I'd have kept him for myself. That was a fine pair of shoes youlost!"

  Bending over them, the rebels stripped those among the soldiers whowere best clad, laughing and joking as they despoiled them. Brushingback his long hair, that had fallen over his sweating forehead andcovered his eyes, Demetrio said:

  "Now let's get those city fellows!"

  XVIII

  On the day General Natera began his advance against the town ofZacatecas, Demetrio with a hundred men went to meet him at Fresnillo.

  The leader received him cordially.

  "I know who you are and the sort of men you bring. I heard about thebeatings you gave the Federals from Tepic to Durango."

  Natera shook hands with Demetrio effusively while Luis Cervantes said:

  "With men like General Natera and Colonel Demetrio Macias, we'll coverour country with glory."

  Demetrio understood the purpose of those words, after Natera hadrepeatedly addressed him as "Colonel."

  Wine and beer were served; Demetrio and Natera drank many a toast.Luis Cervantes proposed: "The triumph of our cause, which is thesublime triumph of Justice, because our ideal--to free the noble,long-suffering people of Mexico--is about to be realized and becausethose men who have watered the earth with their blood and tears willreap the harvest which is rightfully theirs."

  Natera fixed his cruel gaze on the orator, then turned his back on himto talk to Demetrio. Presently, one of Natera's officers, a young manwith a frank open face, drew up to the table and stared insistently atCervantes.

  "Are you Luis Cervantes?"

  "Yes. You're Solis, eh?"

  "The moment you entered I thought I recognized you. Well, well, evennow I can hardly believe my eyes!"

  "It's true enough!"

  "Well, but ... look here, let's have a drink, come along." Then:

  "Hm," Solis went on, offering Cervantes a chair, "since when have youturned rebel?"

  "I've been a rebel the last two months!"

  "Oh, I see! That's why you speak with such faith and enthusiasm aboutthings we all felt when we joined the revolution."

  "Have you lost your faith or enthusiasm?"

  "Look here, man, don't be surprised if I confide in you right off. I amso anxious to find someone intelligent among this crowd, that as soonas I get hold of a man like you I clutch at him as eagerly as I wouldat a glass of water, after walking mile after mile through a parcheddesert. But frankly, I think you should do the explaining first. Ican't understand how a man who was correspondent of a Governmentnewspaper during the Madero regime, and later editorial writer on aConservative journal, who denounced us as bandits in the most fieryarticles, is now fighting on our side."

  "I tell you honestly: I have been converted," Cervantes answered.

  "Are you absolutely convinced?"

  Solis sighed, filled the glasses; they drank.

  "What about you? Are you tired of the revolution?" asked Cervantessharply.

  "Tired? My dear fellow, I'm twenty-five years old and I'm fit as afiddle! But am I disappointed? Perhaps!"

  "You must have sound reasons for feeling that way."

  "I hoped to find a meadow at the end of the road. I found a swamp.Facts are bitter; so are men. That bitterness eats your heart out; itis poison, dry rot. Enthusiasm, hope, ideals, happiness-vain dreams,vain dreams.... When that's over, you have a choice. Either you turnbandit, like the rest, or the timeservers will swamp you...."

  Cervantes writhed at his friend's words; his argument was quite out ofplace ... painful.... To avoid being forced to take issue, he invitedSolis to cite the circumstances that had destroyed his illusions.

  "Circumstances? No--it's far less important than that. It's a host ofsilly, insignificant things that no one notices except yourself ... achange of expression, eyes shining-lips curled in a sneer-the deepimport of a phrase that is lost! Yet take these things together andthey compose the mask of our race ... terrible ... grotesque ... a racethat awaits redemption!"

  He drained another glass. After a long pause, he continued:

  "You ask me why I am still a rebel? Well, the revolution is like ahurricane: if you're in it, you're not a man ... you're a leaf, a deadleaf, blown by the wind."

  Demetrio reappeared. Seeing him, Solis relapsed into silence.

  "Come along," Demetrio said to Cervantes. "Come with me."

  Unctuously, Solis congratulated Demetrio on the feats that had won himfame and the notice of Pancho Villa's northern division.

  Demetrio warmed to his praise. Gratefully, he heard his prowessvaunted, though at times he found it difficult to believe he was thehero of the exploits the other narrated. But Solis' story proved socharming, so convincing, that before long he found himself repeating itas gospel truth.

  "Natera is a genius!" Luis Cervantes said when they had returned to thehotel. "But Captain Solis is a nobody ... a timeserver."

  Demetrio Macia
s was too elated to listen to him. "I'm a colonel, mylad! And you're my secretary!"

  Demetrio's men made many acquaintances that evening; much liquor flowedto celebrate new friendships. Of course men are not necessarily eventempered, nor is alcohol a good counselor; quarrels naturally ensued.Yet many differences that occurred were smoothed out in a friendlyspirit, outside the saloons, restaurants, or brothels.

  On the morrow, casualties were reported. Always a few dead. An oldprostitute was found with a bullet through her stomach; two of ColonelMacias' new men lay in the gutter, slit from ear to ear.

  Anastasio Montanez carried an account of the events to his chief.Demetrio shrugged his shoulders. "Bury them!" he said.

  XIX

  "They're coming back!"

  It was with amazement that the inhabitants of Fresnillo learned thatthe rebel attack on Zacatecas had failed completely.

  "They're coming back!"

  The rebels were a maddened mob, sunburnt, filthy, naked. Their highwide-brimmed straw hats hid their faces. The "high hats" came back ashappily as they had marched forth a few days before, pillaging everyhamlet along the road, every ranch, even the poorest hut.

  "Who'll buy this thing?" one of them asked. He had carried his spoilslong: he was tired. The sheen of the nickel on the typewriter, a newmachine, attracted every glance. Five times that morning the Oliver hadchanged hands. The first sale netted the owner ten pesos; presently ithad sold for eight; each time it changed hands, it was two pesoscheaper. To be sure, it was a heavy burden; nobody could carry it formore than a half-hour.

  "I'll give you a quarter for it!" Quail said.

  "Yours!" cried the owner, handing it over quickly, as though he fearedQuail might change his mind. Thus for the sum of twenty-five cents,Quail was afforded the pleasure of taking it in his hands and throwingit with all his might against the wall.

  It struck with a crash. This gave the signal to all who carried anycumbersome objects to get rid of them by smashing them against therocks. Objects of all sorts, crystal, china, faience, porcelain, flewthrough the air. Heavy, plated mirrors, brass candlesticks, fragile,delicate statues, Chinese vases, any object not readily convertibleinto cash fell by the wayside in fragments.

  Demetrio did not share the untoward exaltation. After all, they wereretreating defeated. He called Montanez and Pancracio aside and said:

  "These fellows have no guts. It's not so hard to take a town. It's likethis. First, you open up, this way...." He sketched a vast gesture,spreading his powerful arms. "Then you get close to them, likethis...." He brought his arms together, slowly. "Then slam! Bang!Whack! Crash!" He beat his hands against his chest.

  Anastasio and Pancracio, convinced by this simple, lucid explanationanswered:

  "That's God's truth! They've no guts! That's the trouble with them!"

  Demetrio's men camped in a corral.

  "Do you remember Camilla?" Demetrio asked with a sigh as he settled onhis back on the manure pile where the rest were already stretched out.

  "Camilla? What girl do you mean, Demetrio?"

  "The girl that used to feed me up there at the ranch!"

  Anastasio made a gesture implying: "I don't care a damn about the women... Camilla or anyone else...."

  "I've not forgotten," Demetrio went on, drawing on his cigarette. "Yes,I was feeling like hell! I'd just finished drinking a glass of water.God, but it was cool.... 'Don't you want any more?' she asked me. I washalf dead with fever ... and all the time I saw that glass of water,blue ... so blue ... and I heard her little voice, 'Don't you want anymore?' That voice tinkled in my ears like a silver hurdy-gurdy! Well,Pancracio, what about it? Shall we go back to the ranch?"

  "Demetrio, we're friends, aren't we? Well then, listen. You may notbelieve it, but I've had a lot of experience with women. Women! Christ,they're all right for a while, granted! Though even that's going prettyfar. Demetrio, you should see the scars they've given me ... all overmy body, not to speak of my soul! To hell with women. They're thedevil, that's what they are! You may have noticed I steer clear ofthem. You know why. And don't think I don't know what I'm talkingabout. I've had a hell of a lot of experience and that's no lie!"

  "What do you say, Pancracio? When are we going back to the ranch?"Demetrio insisted, blowing gray clouds of tobacco smoke into the air.

  "Say the day, I'm game. You know I left my woman there too!"

  "Your woman, hell!" Quail said, disgruntled and sleepy.

  "All right, then, our woman! It's a good thing you're kindhearted so weall can enjoy her when you bring her over," Manteca murmured.

  "That's right, Pancracio, bring one-eyed Maria Antonia. We're allgetting pretty cold around here," Meco shouted from a distance.

  The crowd broke into peals of laughter. Pancracio and Manteca vied witheach other in calling forth oaths and obscenity.

  XX

  "Villa is coming!"

  The news spread like lightning. Villa--the magic word! The Great Man,the salient profile, the unconquerable warrior who, even at a distance,exerts the fascination of a reptile, a boa constrictor.

  "Our Mexican Napoleon!" exclaimed Luis Cervantes.

  "Yes! The Aztec Eagle! He buried his beak of steel in the head ofHuerta the serpent!" Solis, Natera's chief of staff, remarked somewhatironically, adding: "At least, that's how I expressed it in a speech Imade at Ciudad Juarez!"

  The two sat at the bar of the saloon, drinking beer. The "high hats,"wearing mufflers around their necks and thick rough leather shoes ontheir feet, ate and drank endlessly. Their gnarled hands loomed acrosstable, across bar. All their talk was of Villa and his men. The talesNatera's followers related won gasps of astonishment from Demetrio'smen. Villa! Villa's battles! Ciudad Juarez ... Tierra Blanca ...Chihuahua ... Torreon....

  The bare facts, the mere citing of observation and experience meantnothing. But the real story, with its extraordinary contrasts of highexploits and abysmal cruelties was quite different. Villa, indomitablelord of the sierra, the eternal victim of all governments ... Villatracked, hunted down like a wild beast ... Villa the reincarnation ofthe old legend; Villa as Providence, the bandit, that passes throughthe world armed with the blazing torch of an ideal: to rob the rich andgive to the poor. It was the poor who built up and imposed a legendabout him which Time itself was to increase and embellish as a shiningexample from generation to generation.

  "Look here, friend," one of Natera's men told Anastasio, "if GeneralVilla takes a fancy to you, he'll give you a ranch on the spot. But ifhe doesn't, he'll shoot you down like a dog! God! You ought to seeVilla's troops! They're all northerners and dressed like lords! Youought to see their wide-brimmed Texas hats and their brand-new outfitsand their four-dollar shoes, imported from the U. S. A."

  As they retailed the wonders of Villa and his men, Natera's men gazedat one another ruefully, aware that their own hats were rotten fromsunlight and moisture, that their own shirts and trousers were tatteredand barely fit to cover their grimy, lousy bodies.

  "There's no such a thing as hunger up there. They carry boxcars full ofoxen, sheep, cows! They've got cars full of clothing, trains full ofguns, ammunition, food enough to make a man burst!"

  Then they spoke of Villa's airplanes.

  "Christ, those planes! You know when they're close to you, be damned ifyou know what the hell they are! They look like small boats, you know,or tiny rafts ... and then pretty soon they begin to rise, making ahell of a row. Something like an automobile going sixty miles an hour.Then they're like great big birds that don't even seem to movesometimes. But there's a joker! The God-damn things have got someAmerican fellow inside with hand grenades by the thousand. Now you tryand figure what that means! The fight is on, see? You know how a farmerfeeds corn to his chickens, huh? Well, the American throws his leadbombs at the enemy just like that. Pretty soon the whole damn field isnothing but a graveyard ... dead men all over the dump ... dead menhere ... dead men there ... dead men everywhere!"

  Anastasio Montanez questioned t
he speaker more particularly. It was notlong before he realized that all this high praise was hearsay and thatnot a single man in Natera's army had ever laid eyes on Villa.

  "Well, when you get down to it, I guess it doesn't mean so much! Noman's got much more guts than any other man, if you ask me. All youneed to be a good fighter is pride, that's all. I'm not a professionalsoldier even though I'm dressed like hell, but let me tell you. I'm notforced to do this kind of bloody job, because I own ..."

  "Because I own over twenty oxen, whether you believe it or not!" Quailsaid, mocking Anastasio.

  XXI

  The firing lessened, then slowly died out. Luis Cervantes, who had beenhiding amid a heap of ruins at the fortification on the crest of thehill, made bold to show his face. How he had managed to hang on, he didnot know. Nor did he know when Demetrio and his men had disappeared.Suddenly he had found himself alone; then, hurled back by an avalancheof infantry, he fell from his saddle; a host of men trampled over himuntil he rose from the ground and a man on horseback hoisted him upbehind him. After a few moments, horse and riders fell. Left withoutrifle, revolver, or arms of any kind, Cervantes found himself lost inthe midst of white smoke and whistling bullets. A hole amid a debris ofcrumbling stone offered a refuge of safety.

  "Hello, partner!"

  "Luis, how are you!"

  "The horse threw me. They fell upon me. Then they took my gun away. Yousee, they thought I was dead. There was nothing I could do!" LuisCervantes explained apologetically. Then: