by B. TRAVEN
Amalio had come out of the schoolroom and was standing at the balcony railing. When the captain had done he said, “By the governor’s decree I am not to give up the staff but to keep it for another year.”
Neither the captains nor anyone else of the troop made any answer. Yet, as though the whole crowd on the plaza had heard every word Amalio said, all those thousands rose to their feet.
It would have relieved the suffocating suspense if they had shouted or cheered. But they were silent. There was only the whimpering of a child here and there; and a few dogs barked from excitement and fright when the whole crowd rose.
And now from far behind, from the far edge of the crowd where there was a group clinging to it like froth on the tip of a spreading wave—not the ceremonial groups at all—some young men sprang forward.
They ran in a close pack, and so it was impossible to count how many there were. There might have been six or there might have been ten.
Half like fleeing deer, half like charging tigers, they rushed precipitately around the edge of the crowd to the cabildo. It was hardly running—they sprang forward in long leaping strides, their bodies almost parallel with the ground. Each had a machete in his hand, and as he ran he held it outstretched in front of him.
They were barefoot, and their legs too were naked. Shirt-like blouses, much mended but spotlessly washed, were caught up and knotted between their legs, and swelled out in the wind as they flew along.
They clung so closely together as they ran that no one in the crowd could recognize their faces. Their movements, too, were so rapid and spasmodic that their faces were distorted. Their mouths gaped wide and their eyes were compressed to tiny slits. Their foreheads were furrowed deeply by their excitement and their long black hair floated about their heads. All this so disguised them that little was to be seen of their usual appearance.
It took them no more than a few seconds to cover the distance between the far edge of the crowd and the steps. They took the steps in two strides and then they were on the balcony.
Amalio, who could see the whole crowd and its farthest groups from the balcony, had seen these men leap forward and he knew at once what it meant. He flew into the schoolroom, shouted a hurried word to his wife and children, and shut and barred the door.
The door had a padlock on the outside only. From inside it could only be shut by a wooden bar, which had been set in for the convenience of the travelers who spent the night there. Two of the men put their shoulders to the door and it flew from its hardwood hinges.
A piercing cry tore into the silence that rested on the waiting crowd below. It came from Amalio’s wife and it was the only sound that reached the square. The group around the new chief, who were closest to the cabildo, heard also a brief scuffle and the dull thud of falling bodies.
For the merest fraction of a second one of the men appeared on the balcony and called out “Ahoa!” as he tossed the staff so adroitly to the head captain that it was caught without having touched ground.
The group around the new chief took this as a good omen; for it is considered an insult to the staff of office if it is ever let rest on the ground. The chief’s staff, which is to an Indian what the king’s scepter is in other lands, has always to be in the hand of the chief; and when the chief is working or sleeping his staff has either to be laid on the little altar in his house before the image of the saint or else be tied to the cross—which is always to be found in the hut of a chief—with his headcloth or the woolen sash he wears around his loins by day.
And now there came flying out of the schoolroom and over the balcony railing onto the grass below first Amalio’s head and then the heads of his wife and children. Immediately after the heads came the bodies, hacked to pieces.
All this happened so quickly that it must have seemed to all those whose eyes were fixed on the cabildo like a frenzied dream. Ten seconds at most had passed from the moment when the men reached the foot of the steps to the moment when the last human fragment was tossed in a wide arc over the railing.
And now the men came out—though it was hardly a coming out, for they took the balcony railing as one man in one leap, staggered for a step or two after alighting and then, recovering themselves, sprang along the edge of the crowd with a swinging stride; and before any eye could hold them they had vanished into the bush on the far side of the square.
Any man who for any reason had not so far stood up, stood up now—the women too. Some held their children aloft.
All eyes were turned toward the new chief. The captains lifted him shoulder high so that every member of their nation should see him.
In his right hand he held aloft the staff of office with its silver knob and the black silk tassel bound around it below the knob. The black silk tassel was the sign that the staff belonged not to a small pueblo or to a small tribe but to a great nation made up of several tribes and barrios.
As Natividad waved the staff in greeting to all the people of the nation, one single shout of triumph was raised by all these thousands of Indians—men, women, and children.
23
The crowd, knowing well what was going to happen, had already packed up to go. The cry of triumph was their parting act as one united people. The sound of it—the only national anthem they knew and could sing—still hung in the air as the huge gathering began to break up. It was now composed once more of tribes, families, groups, and individuals. Each had his own way to go, one a stiff climb into the mountains, another a level path over the prairie; and each took his own course and went at his own pace so as to get along unhindered and as he pleased.
The crowd broke up and fell apart so rapidly that in less than half an hour after that exultant shout the whole wide plaza was as empty as though a wind had swept every object and every morsel of humanity before it.
Not even a scrap of paper remained to show that here on the great plaza thousands had been encamped since dawn for no other purpose than to testify to their existence and to make known that, so long as they existed, they meant to defend what their forefathers had taught them to regard as customary and right.
10
While all this was going on outside, the secretary, his wife, and his children were prostrate before the image of the Virgin on the altar in their living room, nervously saying the beads of their rosaries, which they piously held in hands damp with fear, imploring the Holy Virgin to protect them from the rage of the savages. They vowed to commemorate her help by a pilgrimage to Tila, to present her with twenty pesos in cash and twelve one-peso candles. The Holy Virgin took on her pious worshipers and carried out her part of the bargain by removing the Indians quietly and with speed, as soon as they were satisfied that the staff of office had passed into the right hands.
It had never been their intention to call the secretary to account. He was not a member of their nation and therefore he was not bound by their customs and traditions. Their plan had been to leave the square as soon as their aim had been achieved, and they followed their plan without considering whether don Abelardo was saying his beads or not. Their national assembly had nothing to do with the good graces of the Virgin Mary.
All the same, don Abelardo and his wife were convinced that it was due only to the Mother of God and their pious prayers and vows that the Indians had not troubled themselves about the secretario but behaved as though he did not exist.
Don Abelardo and his wife did not, of course, make the promised pilgrimage to Tila, as they could hardly have been expected to do, since it was a pilgrimage which brought many discomforts and even more expenses in its train. Nor did they offer up the promised twenty pesos, and this too is quite understandable, since a few days later a Syrian dealer came through the place with so many beautiful dresses to show that the secretary’s wife said she must either have one of them or die. And to buy it, those twenty pesos were necessary. Indeed, the image of the Virgin in the secretary’s living room had to be content with the cheapest oil, on which a further saving was made because t
he secretary’s wife used the thinnest wicks which swam in the oil in a metal dish and cost ten centavos a dozen.
2
The secretary had succeeded in telephoning Jovel at about midday. But it was impossible to get to the commandant of the garrison personally, for it was New Year’s Day and it is well known that a New Year’s Eve precedes every New Year’s Day. The commandant had taken such a heavy part in this that it was five o’clock in the evening of the next day before he could ask his adjutant whether anything had occurred since he was last on the scene.
Since the wires as usual were trailing over the ground the message reached the orderly room in a series of incoherent jerks. The secretary could not get into direct communication with the garrison. His message had to be telephoned on from one place to another. Each relay extended the message verbally and embroidered it according to the temperament and powers of hearing of the receiver.
Hence the message when it reached the garrison was that fifty thousand Indians of Pebvil were in open rebellion and had murdered their chief and the secretary and the entire families of both.
Only the guard was present in the garrison. The soldiers had been allowed out because of the New Year festival, and did not come back until ten o’clock at night, when a good many of them were half gone.
The commandant had other plans for New Year’s evening; and besides he did not want to arouse the peaceful town from its holiday sleep for no reason. It would have meant calling out the soldiers who were stowed away in every corner and cranny of the town, celebrating the beginning of a new year.
His noncommittal attitude was confirmed when further inquiries late in the afternoon elicited that the Indians had all moved off and that only their chief had been murdered and that their secretary, a Mexican, was alive and had telephoned himself.
So the commandant ordered a captain to ride next morning to Pebvil with thirty men to find out on the spot what had really happened and whether there was any need to send a larger body to occupy the place for an extended period.
3
It was on the morning of the day after that don Gabriel arrived at Pebvil. He was combing the independent Indian villages for laborers for the monterías.
Don Abelardo told him the whole story just as his terrors dictated it.
Don Gabriel, for purposes of business, took great trouble to read the character of people from their expression and behavior. He tried now to apply the rudiments of this science. It was, however, rather a case of testing his science by what he knew already, for he knew don Abelardo well enough to know how to handle him for business purposes.
As soon as don Abelardo had poured out his tale, he said, “I must say, don Abelardo, I am struck with admiration of the unexampled personal courage you showed in the face of thousands of rebel Indians. I don’t suppose the whole of Mexican history has another such example of cool-headedness and bravery in face of thousands of murderous savages. It was wonderful how you stepped out alone into the open without a revolver and told this excited mob to go quietly to their homes, at the very moment when the hands of those savages were still dripping with the blood of murdered men. I know I never could have done it. I would have crept into the darkest corner with my wife and done nothing but kneel before the Purísima.”
“To tell the truth, don Gabriel,” don Abelardo answered modestly, “I did shudder for a few moments when the pieces flew out over the veranda.”
“Obviously, you must have been a little upset,” said don Gabriel adroitly. “It is a sign of the real hero to know the danger he is in. And to tremble on occasion is the undisputed right of every hero; for if a man does not tremble, he does not know danger; and if he cannot estimate danger properly, he can never be called a hero when danger stares him in the face.”
“You’re right, don Gabriel,” said the secretary. “That’s exactly how it was with me. But I put compulsion on myself and just showed those fellows what a Mexican is capable of. I upheld my authority. The people saw at once that there was no playing the fool with me. That is why they did not hesitate to obey the command to go quietly to their homes.”
“I will take very good care,” said don Gabriel as though he were already in the presence of the governor, “that your gallant deed is known far and wide. Leave it to me. I know the governor and the jefe políticos, and your magnificent conduct shall be made known in the right quarters. Such an exploit must not be forgotten. It must shine abroad as a radiant example of official gallantry in an isolated post. As soon as I get to Tuxtla I will tell all the correspondents of the periódicos to have it published. Once it’s in the newspapers your conduct will never be forgotten. Newspapers live, though men must perish one after the other. I know all the correspondents and they will all be glad to do me a good turn.”
Don Gabriel was not such a fool as to believe the story the secretary had dished up for him. He had been a secretary himself. He knew better than anybody how a man behaved on such an occasion. The archbishop of Mexico himself could not have persuaded don Gabriel that any secretary, whatever he looked like, whatever his name, however many revolvers he had in his belt, whatever his gift of gab, would ever really behave as don Abelardo had said that he had behaved. Don Gabriel knew himself and he knew some dozens of secretaries, and he would have bet a hundred to one that neither he nor any one of those dozens would have proved an exception to the rule.
Knowing himself, he knew don Abelardo well enough too. And he had sized him up correctly. After this talk he could have got anything out of him he asked—his wife, his best horse, and a hundred Indians for the monterías, if don Abelardo had had the disposal of them.
Don Gabriel was not there to listen to his bragging nor to praise him far above the unknown soldier nor to make him covert promises of the presidency of the Republic. He was there to buy up Indians for the monterías and all he said and did was in the pursuit of this high aim.
He did not so far see very clearly how the Indians were to be got into his outspread net, but he already had some plans. He was only waiting for the arrival of the soldiers in order to get to work. He hoped that the major or the colonel in command would be open to a deal. Even colonels are men, and therefore have an eternal need of money and very little care for the fate of other men except as solutions to their own financial difficulties. When it is a case of Indians who have little claim even to be treated as men at all, there is no moral reason to suppose they have fates to care about.
4
Don Gabriel and don Abelardo were about to sit down to their lunch when a troop of cavalry under the command of a captain rode up to the cabildo. They had taken their time. The captain had halted in order to make a little expedition to a neighboring rancho, because the ranchero’s pretty niece was just then on a visit there.
The captain had the intelligence common to officers, and it told him that the Indians could wait; they would still be there two days later, for they have their land and do not run away. It was by no means so certain that he would find the niece there next day, for she lived at Tapachula and might have had to return there.
The captain was not only intelligent; he was also knowing in the ways of the world, which has no direct connection with the conduct of war or the drilling of soldiers. He got active-service allowances for this dangerous expedition. Other countries frequently go to war merely for the opportunity of paying their officers war bonuses. Mexico enjoys this privilege only in a limited degree. For this reason generals and other ranks have to look to military revolutions and Indian rebellions to put them on active-service pay. If officers could not have active-service pay now and then, or at least be kept in constant expectation of it with the help of scare-mongering articles in the papers, they would soon turn sour and even take to politics.
So one must not blame the captain if he thought of his own advantage and tried to spin the expedition out. Even quarters of a day would be paid as whole days. If Pebvil had not had a telephone, which for all he knew might be working, the captain would no doub
t have made a long detour before arriving at his destination. And he would have accounted for the delay by saying that he had had to give battle to the Indians more than once before he could enter the place.
It is not so rare an occurrence as people in Greenland may suppose to give battle to rebellious Indians and hordes of bandits in the course of which numerous machine guns and their ammunition fall into the hands of the Indians or the bandits, since the fortunes of war cannot be foreseen. The day after the battle the leader of the bandits comes along and pays the general a handsome sum for the captured machine guns. The leader of the bandits or the chief of the rebellious Indians knows the value of a machine gun—and if not, the general lets him know a few days beforehand how much he will have to pay for the machine guns which he will capture in the battle.
These little deals are mere bagatelles. To talk of betraying the country and squandering the property of the State is all very relative. On the battlefields of Europe, where, according to the belief of excitable citizens, the honor and existence of their country are at stake, the deals are of far vaster dimensions. That is the only difference. And it is only by a regrettable accident that these worthy citizens ever find out that their industrial magnates sell oil, coal, submarines, artillery, warships, and armor plate to foreign powers twice as cheaply as to their own beloved fatherland. The conduct of a Mexican general makes such a poor appearance only because it is pursued in the open and because it is concerned with sums which the citizen can comprehend. It is only when these deals start at hundreds of millions that there is the possibility, in fact the certainty, of public policy’s forbidding an inquiry. For as soon as public policy comes in, publicity goes out; and since all concerned, including the judge of the highest court, have their snouts in the same trough, there will be no telling tales out of school.
