The Brick People

by Alejandro Morales

  For several days Walter had watched the men return from the fields and report to the bookkeeper who sat behind a large table on the porch of the mayordomo’s house. They waited for the mayordomo to call out their name. Each man answered when called. It took several hours to register one thousand or more names. On one occasion a hacienda horseman beat a man for not taking off his hat in the presence of the mayordomo. After the beating, the victim thanked the mayordomo for the punishment. The peasants waited quietly, respectfully, hats in hand and bowed politely as they filed past the mayordomo’s desk.

  From the Terraza hacienda the group visited some estates in the state of Jalisco. All the haciendas were relatively similar. Beans and corn were the basic foods in the workers’ diet. They used strong chile to help digest food. Pulque was consumed to soothe the effects of the chili. This combination of foods represented an unending vicious, painful and fatal circle which plagued the peasants with intestinal disorders. The lack of water for bathing and general hygiene contributed to attacks of amoebic dysentery, typhoid, and hepatitis.

  Walter would have liked to help these people but he didn’t dare. He was amazed at their ability to survive. He was not offended at the fact that they were dirty but gave them credit for being as clean as they were. He did not consider them lazy or weak, but understood why they were continuously ill and was surprised that any were ever well. He did not believe that the Mexicans loved to get drunk, but that they could not bear to remain sober in the conditions in which they existed. He recognized that liquor was the mayordomo’s tool to suppress the worker. Ironically alcohol represented perhaps the only escape the peasants had from the misery that was their life. In the haciendas an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness prevailed. Walter saw the Mexican peasants as people who were born and died without hope. Death seemed always to be present, waiting and lurking. The hacienda was a place of death. The hacienda, thought Walter, was a metaphor for Mexico.

  As he moved south, Walter realized that the tienda de raya was the mechanism that enslaved the peon to the hacienda. He saw that the peon paid with special metal disks that could only be exchanged in the hacienda, or he was given light credit at the tienda de raya. The debt that the worker accumulated could never be paid. Corrupt administrators charged whatever they liked for the basic commodities needed to live. As a rule, the worker went deeper into debt. In most cases, the peon was born into debt because children inherited their parents’ obligations. In any case, Walter learned that a child would acquire a debt on the day he was baptized to cover the cost of the priest, liquor and food for the fiesta. The child’s first clothes were bought on credit at the tienda de raya against his future earnings. When the peon was old enough to marry, the money for the wedding was borrowed. The lives of men, women and children were manipulated by the continuous mechanisms of enslavement which were initiated at birth. It became clear to Walter that what he saw of peasant life was the destiny of just about all of Mexico’s population.

  The majority of people in Mexico had no rights or freedom, and the only justice they knew was dispensed by the patron or his mayordomo. The Hacienda justice was backed by President Diaz’s Federal Rurales. These men had the final word and they, like the hacendados, treated the peons worse than animals, since animals had more value and were more expensive to replace. The peon was helpless to protect his family against the Rurales or hacendados. If a man dared to defend his wife, daughter or son, his efforts were usually fatal.

  On one hacienda in the state of Guanajuato, the mayordomo who guided Walter through the estate came upon a peon family. While Walter observed, the mayordomo ordered the young daughter to follow him into the field where, in the presence of the parents, he raped the girl who was no more than fourteen years old. After the mayordomo finished, the parents thanked him for his kind attention. As the mayordomo and Walter rode away, the mother and father ran to comfort the naked child. The mayordomo noticed Walter’s interest and asked him if he wanted her. Walter almost answered yes. He had been disgusted by everything he had seen except with the idea of absolute power that the hacendados had over the peons. Walter felt that power was needed to help the people, but in Mexico the abuse of power was the way of life.

  One morning Walter found himself drinking tequila in a village of about three thousand people located on the Amor family hacienda in the state of Morelos. Hearst considered the hacienda one of the best administered in Mexico. The Amor family had a paternalistic attitude toward their peons and believed in exercising relatively fair treatment. The peons of the Amor hacienda paid no rent and were lent the land on which they built houses. The peasants had the privilege of farming a portion of land for themselves, and in return were obligated to work for the hacienda whenever called upon. Like the other haciendas, a priest came to celebrate Mass, to baptize children, to marry couples, to confess sinners, and to perform burial services. Different from other haciendas was the nun that came once a week to teach the children of the village. This was the only hacienda which Walter visited that offered some kind of minimal educational program for the children. The Amors added a doctor to their hacienda staff who treated the workers twice a month. The family believed that they were obligated by God, not President Diaz, to look after the spiritual and physical needs of their peons. The Amors considered themselves gods who held the power of life or death over their peons. On the Amor hacienda, the peons were often subjected to the violent wrathful hand of God.

  Hearst, a personal friend of the Amor family, had decided to bypass Mexico City and go directly to their hacienda where the Hearst party was well received and stayed for two days. It was the twentieth of December when the group left the Amor estate and traveled two days to Quiseo de Abasolo in the state of Guanajuato where Hearst had made reservations at a favorite resting place, the ancient Caldera Sulfur Baths. The travelers would spend the Christmas holidays at the Residencia Caldera, the best hotel in the area.

  On the aftenoon of the twenty-second, Walter stepped off the train in Iraputo, Guanajuato. The party boarded a carriage directly to the Hotel Real de Minas. The excitement of Christmas pervaded the spirit of the city. The streets were decorated with colored lights and piñatas of the Three Wise Kings, and nativity scenes were displayed in the windows of businesses and houses. Red, green and white danced everywhere and intensified as they neared the plaza. The cathedral next to the hotel was ablaze with lights. In the square the children played while a choir of young girls directed by nuns sang Christmas songs.

  Upon entering the hotel lobby, Walter studied the activity of the vendors and the townspeople. For a moment he forgot what he had witnessed during the past weeks. These people were among the few fortunate who could laugh and enjoy the Christmas festivities. But still, contrary to the good feelings of the holidays, underneath the facade of contentment lay an undefinable tension, an uneasiness that the fiestas could end violently and unexpectedly.

  Three large luxurious carriages drove to the front of the hotel. In an hour or two they would depart for the Residencia Caldera. They had time to wash and have a drink. While Hearst and Walter enjoyed a light drink, three Rurales entered the hotel.

  “Señor Hearst, llegó la escolta,” the waiter announced.

  “Why do we need them?” Walter asked.

  “There has been trouble in the silver mines near Guanajuato. A strike and then a workers’ rebellion. Peons were killed,” Hearst said softly, only to Walter.

  “How does that affect us?” Walter asked nervously.

  “There is a renegade band of peons who are attacking travelers on the open roads. I was told there was an attack on the road to Quiseo de Abasolo a few days ago. That’s why I asked for the escort. Those damn bandits won’t dare come near the Rurales,” Hearst said confidently and walked over to the Rurales.

  The early evening had turned cold during the two-hour trip to Quiseo de Abasolo. As they passed the agricultural fields, Walter recalled that Quiseo de Abasolo was Rosendo Guerrero’s hometown. Walter’s thoughts
wandered from Mexico to the United States, from these fields to the fields surrounding Pasadena, to his family preparing for Christmas, to James and how fortunate they were. Shacks with smoke rising from them dominated the landscape. Tenant farm families prepared for the cold night. The shacks seemed abandoned and alone.

  To avoid being a slow moving target and to arrive at the Residencia Caldera as soon as possible, the Rurales insisted on maintaining a fast pace. Heavily armed with two pistols each, machetes on both sides of their fine horses and two new Mauser rifles inserted in leather holsters, the Rurales constituted awesome, unconscionable elite lethal weapons who worshiped President Porfirio Diaz. The Rurales were conditioned to kill anyone who resisted their commands. They were accustomed to shoot first and not ask questions or be questioned. Hated and feared by the peasants as well as by many hacendados and their administrators, the Rurales dominated the countryside and demanded the highest privileges. Everyone worked to remain on the Rurales’ good side.

  As the carriages approached Quiseo de Abasolo, the town became aware that three Rurales accompanied the visitors. Family activity immediately intensified. Parents hid their young daughters and women prepared what food they had. They cleaned their sleeping areas and the men made sure that some alcoholic beverage was available. This preparation was conducted in the poorest shack, the richest house and the best hotel in the community. The residents had to be prepared to satisfy the Rurales’ request. A bocadito, traguito, un lugar para dormir and the most dreaded una compañera were the demands most often made to the population. If the man of the house was not at work, he stood before his shack, hat in hand, and bowed when the Rurales passed. Even in the night the people knew when the Rurales were near. In the country, peasants were concerned for one another and communicated rapidly by word of mouth when danger threatened.

  At the Residencia Caldera the Rurales were the first to be received. Their horses were immediately taken to the meson where they were brushed and fed. Hearst thanked the men and gave them each an envelope. The Rurales entered the Residencia and were welcomed by the proprietor. Behind the cockeyed trio followed the Hearst party. The proprietor pulled aside a heavy curtain to a dining room where a large table with food and tequila had been prepared. Three young women in white cotton dresses tied at the waist ran to embrace the three men. The proprietor and the Hearst party watched for an instant while the couples kissed and the Rurales helped themselves to handfuls of women’s bodies. Upon observing, the proprietor’s eyes drooped and the tip of his tongue penetrated slightly through his lecherous smile. Suddenly he remembered his other guests who watched the enthralling young women being caressed. Abruptly the curtain closed.

  “Bienvenido, señor Hearst. Bienvenidos, señores.”

  The proprietor ordered servants to unload the luggage and show the guests to their rooms.

  “If you’d like to go to the mineral baths, they are very hot. Perfect for tonight,” the proprietor smiled.

  Walter followed the servant. From behind the curtain laughter and guitar music could be heard. He imagined the soft brown skin of the women.

  “The mineral baths, señor?” the servant asked.

  “No, hasta mañana,” Walter answered and closed the door.

  He pulled off the sheets and fell into bed. At about two in the morning he awoke perspiring. He went to the watercloset to urinate. The music and the laughter of the women were louder. Walter made out the voices of some of the men of his group. He walked out of the room and followed the porch to the sulfur baths where he found five of his countrymen and two Rurales with five unclad women bathing and drinking. Off to one side the musicians continued to play. Near them in a hammock was the third Rural being caressed by one of the three white cotton-dressed women whose dress was off the shoulders, exposing her brown breast. She smiled.

  “Come in! The water is great!” one of the men shouted.

  Walter searched for an exit but realized he could neither move physically nor respond mentally. He was trapped. If he joined them, he would be one of them. Unknowingly he moved toward the woman who had smiled at him. She went to Walter, held his arm and walked to his room. The men in the pool approved of what was happening. Some clapped, others cheered him on, and some yelled “bravo!” Walter could feel the woman’s warm breast against his forearm. Her skin was soft, her flesh beautifully heavy and intensely alive. The woman entered first. He closed the door and capitulated to a Mexican woman.

  On the morning of December 24, 1901, accompanied by one Rural and the woman he had made love to the night before, Walter left the Residencia Caldera to explore the countryside around the town of Quiseo de Abasolo. As they made their way around the small plaza to connect to the road leading out of town, they passed the church decorated with paper flowers and a large stage mounted in the church courtyard. He had learned that in Quiseo de Abasolo as well as in other small towns in the area, the townsfolk celebrated Christmas by staging elaborate and ornamented pageants and plays telling of the birth of Christ.

  Alongside the stage Walter noticed the priest scolding five peasants, two of whom knelt. Walter and the woman brought their horses to a stop while the Rural rode on. The priest shook his hands vehemently, screamed, and in a rage untied the braid and crucifix around his waist and viciously beat the kneeling men about the head and back until blood was profuse. He then made the sign of the cross and muttered over the battered men while the other three stood, hats in hand and heads down. Walter’s horse stepped forward. The woman grabbed the reins, turned the animal around and made it break for the road out of the plaza.

  They galloped for about an hour through barren and cultivated fields, passing small clusters of shacks and two colorful cemeteries. The woman halted her horse and dismounted. She looked out over a plain and pointed to a trail that, according to the Residencia Caldera clerk, would take them to a small ranch which was known for its natural wells and hard working families. The clerk had also said that near the ranch was a small adobe and brick factory which Walter wanted to visit. He stared angrily at the woman.

  “Don’t spook the horse ever again!” Walter yelled. He knew she would understand the tone of voice.

  “And you what? You were frightened. Right?” The woman stood her ground and watched Walter’s face.

  “Vamos, la ladrillera,” Walter said calmly.

  “Watch out, gringo, or I will lose you.” The woman smiled, mounted and moved ahead.

  The woman demonstrated superior horse-handling abilities. She was unlike the peasant women he had encountered on the trip. She never told him her name. They communicated by sight, sound and movement. In the opinion of the populace this woman was considered as una mala mujer, yet there was a respect for her abilities and declaration of total freedom which she manifested in thought and action. The night Walter first met her, he did not perceive her as a beautiful woman, but as she lay sleeping with the morning sun illuminating her face he discovered her beautiful full-tressed hair, fine eyebrows, long black lashes, strong delicately defined nose, sensual demarcated lips and smooth graceful cheeks. He remembered that when she arose her brownness danced in his eyes, mind and heart. They would both break away soon, but for now they traveled ambiguously related.

  In the early afternoon they arrived at the brickyard. The Rural had gone on ahead and had been waiting. As Walter and the woman approached, the smell of burned wood and rotting flesh came and went. The trail turned and followed the circumference of a large boulder. When they reached the other side, Walter and the woman found the brickyard, houses, and shacks destroyed. The stench was now unbearable.

  “What happened?” Walter cried out, shocked by the devastation and death that confronted him.

  Not visibly upset, the woman shook her head and stared at the corpses as if she had seen death many times before.

  “It’s getting late for us,” the Rural said, bringing his horse alongside Walter and the woman.

  “Let’s go to Rancho Ojos de Agua for food and a drink. We w
ill spend la Noche Buena in Quiseo,” the woman told the Rural.

  The Rural and the woman observed Walter who did not respond, but instead fought off the swarm of flies that now blackened his clothes and covered his face. As they galloped away from the putrefaction, the flies subsided. Nausea flooded Walter’s stomach and mouth. For the first time during his trip through Mexico he felt he needed a drink of strong liquor.

  The Rural, the woman and Walter stayed over in Rancho Ojos de Agua for two hours. Bowls of pozole, tortillas and two bottles of tequila were ordered. The majority of the men of the rancho were in the cantina celebrating la Noche Buena, while in the houses the women prepared the Christmas Eve meal. The peasants were especially excited, for in the Rancho Ojos de Agua a woman with child was about to give birth. The men drank and wagered on whether she would give birth to a manchild or a womanchild.

  The Rural sat staring unemotionally through the open door into the cool night. The woman went and sat by the comal for warmth. She opened her coat slightly to allow the gun holstered below her left breast to swing out and rest on her left thigh. The gun handle was only a blink away from her right hand. Walter drank another small glass of tequila. Strangely, fear began to leave his heart. The quick glances that seemed to come from between the peasants’ eyebrows were no longer evil or cunning, or fearful to Walter. He moved freely from the table to the counter and ordered another bottle of tequila for the Rural who sat like a stone. Men returned, excited with reports as to the condition of the woman giving birth. Walter had learned her name, Milagros, from an old woman who made tortillas and pozole at the comal and predicted how far away the birth was from what the men reported to her. At about eight-thirty a young man walked in and went to the old woman.