The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  She walked Joseph to the door. He smiled at his wife and son and suddenly felt good inside. Upon opening the door, he was startled by the cry of his son and a large brown insect scurrying joyfully across the floor toward where he heard his family in the dining room.

  Chapter 3

  The idea had come to Walter late one night when he heard Rosendo speaking with four men who had recently arrived from Mexico. During the past three years Walter had become close to Rosendo. Both were about the same age and had immediately taken to each other. Walter, willing to be guided and taught by Rosendo, had learned the business rapidly and was able to understand the nature of the internal structures of the yard as well as the psychological and physical condition of the workers. Walter had studied the Mexicans in an attempt to identify what made them happy and angry and what their limits of endurance were. He wanted to know how far he could push them.

  Two of the four men Rosendo was talking to complained that they had been chased off their land in Mexico by Rurales who supported the hacienda owners. Another man cursed the foreign-owned railroad companies that took what land lay in the paths of their steel tracks. The fourth person who spoke under the lights of Rosendo’s office revealed himself to be a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years who described the manner in which his family lived like slaves on the great Terraza hacienda in the northern state of Chihuahua.

  Walter, attempting to understand as much as he could of the boy’s story, quietly joined the group. While the youth spoke, Walter stood at his side and watched the light dance on his shiny cheek. From the boy’s eyes a sheer gleam of desperation, hatred and intelligence sparkled with every gesture and word he said. Walter moved closer. He struggled to understand every word. The boy had fled slavery, and because of his escape from the hacienda, his family would suffer horrible consequences. The boy could not return, for if he did, it meant death. Walter remembered the boy’s last sentence.

  “My parents, brothers, and sisters? I assume they’re dead.”

  When the boy finished, a cold silence fell under the light bulb swarmed with insects. The four men humbly and politely answered Rosendo’s questions. Only the aggressive and confident boy dared look into Rosendo’s eyes when he spoke.

  “Don Rosendo, with all respect and humility, we ask for the opportunity to serve you,” the boy said.

  Rosendo caught a glimpse of Walter who stood with an emotionless face. It was Rosendo’s decision. He knew what was needed.

  “Gentlemen, at this moment there is nothing to offer you. If you want, return at the beginning of next month. Perhaps then there will be work,” he said.

  The four men communicated with looks and stepped back and bowed as they thanked Rosendo for his time.

  “You are welcome, gentlemen, you are welcome.”

  The men disappeared into the night as Rosendo entered the office and left Walter alone under the light. For days after, Walter thought of those men. He could not forget how the boy glanced at him and how in that minute portion of time the boy’s facial muscles tensed, became contorted with fear and hatred. The mask over the boy’s face was caused by Walter’s breaking the circle of communication among countrymen. Because of whom and what he represented, Walter experienced the emotional weight of the boy’s hatred. When Walter spoke to Rosendo about these feelings, Rosendo urged him to travel to Mexico to find out what was happening and where his employees originated.

  Walter consulted with a travel agent in Pasadena who lacked information about Mexico but suggested that he travel by boat from New Orleans to Veracruz and overland to Mexico City where he could visit the haciendas near the city. Walter rejected the plan. He wanted to travel from northern Mexico to the central plateau, not as a tourist, but as a businessman investigating the advantages of investiture in United States interests in Mexico. His objective was to explore for brickyard sites. Walter wanted his own brickyard, and the possibility of producing brick in Mexico and shipping to the United States could be profitable.

  Walter’s second objective was to learn about Mexicans, to discover why that boy’s face was transformed into such a threatening mask when he saw Walter. The boy’s face, even more than his own great desire for economic independence and success, pushed him south.

  The travel agent had spoken to an acquaintance who was aware of the financial status of the Simons family and who had worked with them since Joseph’s arrival in Pasadena. Walter listened as the travel agent’s acquaintance, Mr. Riley, explained what, in his opinion, the political and economic situations were in Mexico. Mr. Riley spoke about Porfirio Diaz.

  “For the last thirty years, Mexico has been pacified under Diaz. He’s been a good president who understands the importance of foreign investment in his country. And you, Mr. Simons, are doing the correct thing investigating the economic advantages in Mexico. Labor, of course, is a prime concern. For example, if you were to establish a brickyard in Mexico, your labor cost would be practically non-existent. Transportation costs would be higher, but with United States railroad interests there, I am sure you could arrange a workable solution.”

  Mr. Riley carefully moved three crystal bottles of perfume from the left to the right side of his oak desk. He sat back, tapped his fingertips together, and formed a pulsating temple above his chest. He flexed his fingers as he spoke.

  “Mr. Simons, there are excellent examples of Americans whose investments have been richly rewarded by President Diaz. Allow me to cite a few. President Diaz gave Louis Huller thousands of acres in Baja California, and Colonel Greene got thousands of acres of copper-rich land in Cananea. He sold rubber-rich lands in southern Mexico for peanuts to Rockefeller and thousands of acres of forest in the State of Morelos and the State of Mexico to a group of paper-producing American companies in Northern California,” Riley said as Walter’s gaze followed a cockroach scurrying under the table.

  “President Diaz has modified Mexican mining codes for the benefit of American investors such as Huntington, Fitzer and the metallurgical monopoly held by the Guggenheims,” Riley continued. »The president has also made certain economic concessions to Ambassador Thompson in order to organize the United States Banking Company and the Pan American Railroad. These concessions have also been beneficial to American oil interests. President Diaz is a true friend of the American businessman, and of course, his country and his people are benefiting greatly from our investments. I am sure that you can be successful in Mexico.”

  Mr. Riley leaned forward, smiled and spoke softer. Walter moved closer to the banker.

  “Mr. Simons, I have made arrangements for you to travel with a group of American businessmen who are interested in Mexico. Some of the men already have major investments or are owners of large parcels of land. This trip has been organized by a William Randolph Hearst, who is the proud owner of a three-million hectare ranch in the state of Chihuahua. Mr. Hearst and his friends are encouraging American investment. I have spoken to Mr. Hearst’s secretary about your company and your financial concerns. He has extended an invitation. What should I tell him?” Mr. Riley asked.

  Walter did not hesitate. “Yes. Tell Mr. Hearst yes.”

  “Splendid, Mr. Simons. In a few days I will give you the details of the trip.”

  The conductor’s announcement had brought silence and a sense of relief in the entertainment coach where Walter and two other gentlemen sat drinking an early afternoon cocktail. In a matter of an hour or less, the train they had been on for a week would arrive at the Hearst ranch located north of the city of Chihuahua in Chihuahua, Mexico.

  The Hearst party consisted of seven men from California. They had been very cooperative and patient throughout the crossing of the desert. The train had all the conveniences the guests could want: excellent food, drink, comfortable pullman car, dining and bar car and a special entertainment car where several of the men had spent most of their time. Three women worked and slept in that car. The women were there to sing, dance and perform at the gentlemen’s command. Nonetheless, every
passenger waited eagerly to arrive at his destination, to get off the train, to walk on the earth, to sleep in a stable bed and be free of the constant noise of the locomotive and the iron wheels rolling forever over iron rails.

  The train slowed and finally stopped. From the windows of the cars the men discovered the white fences of the Rancho, Mexicana USA. As the men boarded carriages that would carry them the four miles to the ranch house, Mr. Hearst explained that the name meant that the ranch was on Mexican land, but was all American.

  On the road to the main house, Walter noticed the peasants’ dark faces. The people seemed dirty, unwashed. The children never smiled; they simply stared forever into space. Upon arrival at the main house, Mexican women waited to serve them in every way the Hearst guests desired. The house, a beautiful white adobe structure with a red tile roof, had a squared U-shaped floor plan which gave every room access to the central garden.

  That evening, after he slept for two hours, a woman about thirty years old with shiny black hair and black eyes prepared a bath for Walter. He was told that dinner would be served at ten, and hors d’oeuvres and cocktails would begin at nine. Walter went out to explore the garden. Upon doing so, he concluded that the house servants were the most beautiful of the Mexican stock on the hacienda. The women were striking and the men were handsome. His idea was confirmed when he entered the dining area to find well-trained handsome male and female servants. Some even understood and spoke English. These people appeared healthy, intelligent and happy. Walter remembered the faces of the workers outside the house. There were many more, hundreds, perhaps thousands, who worked on the vast ranch.

  The guests sat at a large table filled sumptuously with the best native foods produced on the ranch. The business conversation continued into the early morning as well as the eating and drinking. They discussed the possibility of acquiring land adjacent to the Hearst property, of exporting goods to the United States, of expanding the railroad lines into the mountains, of the possibility of gold. Walter listened and at times contributed some commentary on the benefits of producing brick in Mexico; however, as the early morning hours grew darker, he looked out the large window facing the land. He felt thousands of protruding eyes peering through to the table, to the food, and thousands of hands reaching toward the meat. He heard the distinct cry of a child, the scream of a woman and the laughter of a man. Musicians played and women danced. No one noticed the other; the men did what they did and the women did what they were compelled to do.

  When Walter shut the door, he was outside in the cold black morning. Unafraid, he walked out to the land. He thought he heard the child’s cry again. Walter advanced up a hill. The light of the stars allowed him to determine the crest as he struggled to reach the summit.

  Suddenly at the top a man appeared. Walter stood his ground and watched the man come down the hill. The man, ragged, filthy, and smelly, carried long moist pieces of putrid intestines. He saw Walter and stopped defensively, protecting his food. Suddenly the man bit savagely into a section of the intestine which burst, streaming liquid onto Walter’s face. The man showed his teeth, a deformed face, and as he ate, horrible noises came from his mouth. He was not human. What moved toward the bottom of the hill into the darkness, crusted with earth and scales on its back, was an enormous insect. Walter was not afraid. He continued walking to the top.

  Before him about twenty insects of all sizes swarmed over a horse’s rotten carcass. The animal smelled. To one side burned a fire where the creatures barely cooked the portions of rotten flesh ripped from the stiff horse. A female insect noticed Walter. She wailed as if she had confronted death. She and the others ran from the fire. Some stayed to guard the carcass. A child stepped into the horse’s open abdominal cavity and hid. Still other creatures ran off, dragging pieces of meat. Made visible and framed by the light of the stars, the vision screamed through Walter’s eyes: a mutilated rotten horse, broken legs, glittering white bones piercing through hide, bloody chest and abdomen gaping open, and centered in death, an inhuman child, an insect that sucked and bathed itself with putrefaction. At its mutilated limbs four large insects guarded the carcass. All the senses of Walter’s humanity provided proof that the image, intensely sharp and clear, was concrete. The darkness slowly retreated to the first invading light of morning.

  Suddenly, heavy hooves pounded the earth. Horsemen brutally smashed what Walter saw. Screams and shots pierced the surrounding space Walter occupied. The insects started to run, but the horsemen easily overtook them and split their backs with bullets and machetes. The creatures fell into violent spasms, the last struggle before internal physical stillness. A horseman made sure no one got near Walter. While protecting the shocked gringo, the horseman periodically insulted the insects and encouraged his men to search out and kill more creatures.

  “Punish them! Who gave you permission to consume that dead horse! Damn fucking lazy animals! Now you will pay for it!”

  The killing continued until the sun revealed itself. This was the signal to stop. With ropes, the horsemen pulled away the carcass with the child still sitting in the midst of the gaping wound. They dragged off the dead and disappeared over a distant hill. A man brought a horse to Walter and escorted him back to his room.

  In the afternoon Walter went to the dining room and asked for Mr. Hearst. The servant woman said that Mr. Hearst was unavailable until evening. Walter walked to the garden and found two men from the group and invited them out for a walk. He took them to where the killings had occurred. Not a trace of anything could be found. He inquired about screams or shots in the early morning. Negative was the answer. A group of peasants returned from laboring in the field.

  “¿Muertos?” Walter asked.

  The quintessence of hungry, fearful, ill, illiterate dehumanized beings indicated they had seen, heard, smelled nothing. The group stared at Walter and his two companions and seemed to float away. The peasants multiplied, and as they passed they bowed their heads. The horsemen who escorted the workers tipped their hats, smiled and saluted the visitors to the Rancho Mexicana USA. The head horseman, whom Walter recognized as the leader of the murderers, motioned to the visitors that they should return to the house. Astonished that no one would confirm the occurrence of such a hideous act, Walter arrived pensive at the house. Mr. Hearst waited under the patio.

  “Mr. Simons, the mayordomo has told me that you asked about the killing of a horse last night.”

  “No, about the killing of people,” Walter said coldly.

  “Two horse thieves died last night. Thieves must be punished. President Diaz’s policy of ‘pan o palo,’ bread or the club, is adhered to the letter. We give the workers on the ranch ‘pan,’ food. My mayordomo takes good care of our people, but there are always some unruly elements that must be dealt with effectively and swiftly. If we did not have a firm hand, we would lose the possibility of high productivity. And you know that President Diaz wants his people to be productive,” Hearst concluded.

  “But I saw hungry women and children horribly slaughtered,” Walter declared angrily.

  “Now, now, Mr. Simons. The mayordomo reported that his men caught two thieves in the act of butchering a stolen horse. He told me that he found you out there wandering alone. He suggested that you were drugged, perhaps from too much drink. Tequila makes you perceive happenings in an exaggerated way. It causes bad dreams,” Hearst said seriously. “You must forget your nightmares because you know that they are only dreams, Mr. Simons.”

  Hearst now directed his conversation to the men gathered for a work session. “Come, let’s have a bite to eat and after I will explain where we will travel next.”

  Hearst put his hand on Walter’s shoulder. “Will you join us, please?” he asked.

  Walter disappointedly followed William Randolph Hearst into the dining room, where he would be served by beautiful Mexican maidens.

  Hearst cut short the group’s stay at the Rancho Mexicana USA and took them directly to the Terraza family’s haci
enda where for four days the group observed the workings of the hacienda system. One of the Terraza sons acted as their official host. He made the stay pleasant and allowed the businessmen to freely explore the hacienda. The peasants’ faces reminded Walter of his father’s description of the hollow, hungry faces of enslaved British miners, factory workers young and old, men, women and children denied their humanity and forced to live like beasts. Walter found similarities in the effects produced by the enclosure of the English commons and the Mexican hacienda. Both the English enclosure system and the Mexican hacienda created a destitute and economically uprooted population.

  From what he observed, Walter reasoned that in Mexico the situation grew critical. He had seen hundreds, thousands of peasants without land or food. He concluded that millions lived as virtual slaves on the large haciendas. Some haciendas were so huge that no one, not even the owners, knew the real extent of their holdings. The owners rarely lived on their properties. Instead they lived in large beautiful homes in Mexico City where they used whatever political power they possessed to enlarge their estates rather than make them more productive. Walter understood that the owners wanted to exploit labor more and the soil less, that they refused to invest in machinery for they preferred to work their cheap labor to death rather than pay for machine maintenance.

  One evening Walter asked the Terraza son the whereabouts of his parents. The young man answered calmly that his parents were either in London, Paris or the Riviera and that they seldom came to the hacienda. The hacendados, a privileged, luxuried class, courteous, sensual and decadent, with nothing to live for except pleasure, Walter discovered, were usually the favorite families of President Diaz.

  As Walter rode through the peon villages he saw that the conditions of the Terrazas’ workers were at best, repulsive. Slavery was the only word that described their situation. The Terrazas provided a larger than normal tienda de raya where the peasants made all their purchases after getting paid on Saturday night. A man and his family lived on six to eight cents a day and the men earned about fifty cents a week. They did not pay for rent or firewood and seldom bought any clothing.