by B. TRAVEN
An old pair came sailing through the air. They fell in front of the general, who was striving to pull the tattered shirt over his fat torso.
A muchacho pushed the sandals closer to the general with his foot. “Here are your riding boots, General, so you won’t get any thorns in your dainty feet,” he said, giving his voice a fawning whine. Then he immediately changed the tone and said roughly and half-shouting, “Nobody ever cared about us, whether we stepped on thorns or kicked against poisonous scorpions or tore our feet on sharp stones till they bled. But we’re not so shameless as you think, General. We’re very respectable people. We know what it is to have three-inch thorns run into one’s foot till the points come out through the top.”
“Now we might take a look at the camp and see what the muchachos are doing and what they have brewing in their pots for supper,” said General, as he stood up.
All the muchachos belonging to the staff followed him.
When they had gone a little way, General turned around and called back, “Hey, General, you’re coming with us, of course. Come on, come on, or we’ll have to help you to your feet.”
The general came, reluctantly enough at having to obey an order from these lousy swine, but he came nevertheless because, if he had not complied, he would certainly have been beaten. And he wished to avoid that.
The group wandered through the camp.
“We have a really fine camp here,” said General casually.
“That’s true,” agreed the general. “This camp, skillfully defended and with a few trenches thrown out toward the plain, would not be easy to capture for a force that did not know the terrain and the disposition of the defenders. I could hold the camp with two battalions against a whole division—for months I should say.”
“I’m glad to hear you confirm that, General.” General nodded, obviously satisfied. “I picked out this site myself and chose it for our camp because we need to rest for a long time. Our strength has been reduced and we must also economize on ammunition. We’re not so well off as all that. I can safely tell you this because you won’t be able to make any use of it. For in about an hour’s time, we shall finally have to push you over into eternity, sorry as we shall be to lose such a delightful guest as you, and so suddenly, too.”
They went farther, in this direction and that. General pointed out to the general a machine-gun nest and let him see that ammunition was in fact not so plentiful—apparently, for the main dump of ammunition and extra weapons was well concealed.
“Have you any artillery in Balun Canan?” asked General, without look at his companion.
“Six guns. Light ones. Seventy-fives. And I may tell you that if we’d had only three of them here today, there wouldn’t have been a trace of you left.”
“Perhaps. Who knows? It’s possible. I hope in any case that when your brigadier or your colonel comes next time to whip our tails, he won’t bring just three but all six guns with him. Otherwise I shall take it very badly. You can write to him if you like. I’ll give you a piece of paper. We could well do with those guns. And a few gunners as well, who could show us how to handle the things. I’m sure they must be guns that can be dismantled and loaded onto mules.”
“They certainly can,” replied the general. “But don’t worry your head about whether they can be transported or not, muchacho. If I weren’t such a sorry prisoner here, I’d give you my word that you’d see those guns all right. But only the muzzles, naturally.”
“Naturally.” General laughed. “It’s a pity we can’t change all that any more. You’ve seen too much here. You know the camp too well. Of course, I could lay it all out again. Or I could advance on you from a different direction. Really, when I think of it, General, I could almost be misled into letting you go free. No, no. Don’t persuade me. It’s a fact that I’d like to make a present of you to the glorious army of El Caudillo. A sort of return gift, you know, for all the beautiful rifles, revolvers, and machine guns that you gave me in such a friendly way. I’m thinking really seriously of letting you escape, just as you are. If only so that the next time you could bring all your artillery with you and finally have things out with us. Between ourselves, General, we’re sick of it. Really sick of it. Sick of the whole thing. The muchachos all want to go home. I, too, want to be at home. So, if you’d bring the guns with you, it wouldn’t last long and we’d have a good reason for all running away. Ammunition’s short, as you’ve seen, too short for us to be able to hold out long.”
The general nodded several times. But it was plain that he was only half-listening. In his thoughts he was working out a plan. The plan, however, was muddled, for he had two plans and he kept confusing one with the other. At one moment he was thinking whether it wouldn’t be still possible somehow or other to escape. At the next, the soldier in him gave him no peace. He contemplated plans of attack and surprise tactics for overpowering the camp, provided he was ever given an opportunity of reaching his headquarters.
Finally, his wildly wandering thoughts were interrupted brutally by General’s suddenly saying, “Muchachos, bring him back to the staff fire.”
General had summoned the three muchachos who had hanged the lieutenant.
They came to the great fire.
General took them aside and spoke to them for a considerable time. From the muchacho’s gestures it was apparent that General was assuring himself, by questions and answers, that they had understood everything correctly.
They departed at last and after an interval returned to the staff fire. One of them was carrying over his left shoulder a lasso that was stiff with dried mud.
They stood there awhile, waiting for further orders.
When General saw them, he turned to his guest of honor and said, “I see to my great regret, General, that you are now of a mind to leave us and to follow your lieutenant, who is already far ahead of you. In many respects it’s a pity that we can’t bother ourselves with you any longer. You see, little man, in the long run playing about becomes boring. When we surprised you on that little hill from which you were directing the great battle, we should have spitted you right away with a machete. But, you see, it happens so seldom that a real live general visits us. And the way we are now, we’re very anxious to familiarize ourselves with aristocratic manners, and that we can learn only from our aristocratic visitors. One fine day one of us might perhaps become governor, and when the British ambassador calls on him, he couldn’t very well say, ‘Ay, que chingue tu madre, cabrón!’ Don’t you agree, General?”
He swung around and shouted, “Hey, who’s got our guest’s hip flask? You? Give it back to the gentleman.”
The muchacho passed it to the general.
General laughed. “Say ‘Thank you.’ You’ll need every mouthful from that flask during the next half hour.”
“For that I can truthfully say, ‘Gracias.’ Gracias.”
“No hay porque. Don’t mention it.”
The general took a deep draught and slipped the flask into a pocket of the ragged cotton trousers he was now wearing. The trousers were so tight on him that they had already begun to burst around his legs. At his stomach they gaped several inches wide and they were held together only with the help of the string, which the general had tightly knotted.
“Have you got cigarettes for your journey, General? Our guests must never be allowed to say of us that we let them go out into the barren wilderness without some little gifts of friendship. Of course, what we smoke might not suit your palate.”
He turned around again and shouted, “Hey, muchachos, who’s got our good general’s gold cigarette case?”
The muchachos looked at one another. Then one called out, “Here it is, General. Here in the pocket of the coat I’m wearing. I’ve only just felt what it is. And here’s his beautiful lighter. Dios, it’s really beautiful. I can’t get a spark out of it.”
General opened the case, counted the cigarettes, and said, holding it out to the general, “There’s enough there for you, General,
for the next hour. After that, your lungs will be too constricted to need any more.”
“Gracias,” said the general again, taking the case.
General nodded now and grinned. “And that’s all now, General. Many thanks for the visit. Adiós, adiosito. It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. Adiós. Vaya bien!”
The three muchachos who were to accompany him came up to the general.
The general walked a few steps ahead. Then he stopped, turned about, and yelled, “But you’re still a lousy, filthy dog born on a muck heap by a stinking Indian bitch. I just wanted you to know exactly what I think of you before I’m turned off.”
“And that’s what he calls aristocratic courtesy,” shouted General after him with a cheerful laugh. “We’ve fed him, we’ve clothed him, we’ve taken him for a stroll to help his digestion, we’ve presented him with a lovely crystal flask of the finest brandy, we’ve handed him a heavy gold cigarette case filled with imported cigarettes to help him on his way, and now he screams these filthy words at us in farewell. That’s the politeness of generals. Not even a thank you for the tortillas and frijoles we gave him to save him from dying dreadfully of starvation. But that’s how it is in the world, and we must be satisfied with it as we find it.”
All this General bawled out in a fit of laughter. Now his voice changed, and he shouted after the fellows who were leading the general away, “Give the old wind bag five minutes to pray and settle his account. Take him far enough away so that he doesn’t infect our camp. Tomorrow we’ll know who stinks more, a dead general or an Indian rebel. Take him well away, at least six miles. Do you understand, muchachos?”
“Seguro, General, certainly,” the muchachos called back and jabbed the general in the ribs to make him move faster.
When the muchachos and the general were now some way away and far enough from the camp, they stopped.
One of them said, “We’re in no great hurry, are we, General? Why shouldn’t we sit down here and roll a cigarette?”
“Would you like to try one of my cigarettes? They come from Egypt.”
“Maybe. Perhaps they’re good. But we like to smoke our own. Gracias.”
The general drew out his hip flask and took a very small sip. Then he rubbed his thumbs squeakingly against the flask and offered it to the muchacho who sat next to him. “Have a drink, muchacho,” he said amiably. “There’s plenty left in the flask for me.”
“I’d rather not drink any, Señor General, because if our chief smells my breath and finds that I stink of brandy, he’ll give me a crack on the jaw. Isn’t that so, compañeros?”
“Much worse,” answered one of the other two. “He’d just blast a bit of lead into our stomachs if we smelled of brandy.”
The general caught the words “Señor General” immediately, for it was the first time he had heard them since his capture. They cheered him, just as a convict is cheered by the news that he is about to be released, because it has been finally established that he was unjustly condemned and will now receive a public and honorable acquittal.
“Your chief must certainly be a very strict tyrant not to allow a muchacho the smallest pleasure,” said the general.
“He certainly is. Yet what can we do? We’re in his power.”
“But whatever do you expect to gain here, muchachos? He and Professor yell ‘Tierra y Libertad!’ at you a hundred times a day. But if all the country’s destroyed, where will you find the land?”
“That’s true, Señor General. We never thought of that.”
“And there’s something else I can tell you, muchachos. At the moment, admittedly, you’ve got the advantage. But that won’t last long, and soon whole brigades with three hundred machine guns and five hundred heavy artillery will be sent against you, and then not a tuft of your hair will survive. What will you do with your Tierra y Libertad when you’re all dead?”
“Yes, what will we do then, compañeros?” asked one of his escorts. “The Señor General’s quite right. But what can we do?”
“You’re all three healthy, strapping fellows,” went on the general. “I could make good use of you as soldiers, with full wartime pay. That means a lot of money. And when you’ve served for three or five years, you’d have so much cash that you could easily buy any rancho you fancied. Then you could live in peace and cultivate your land, and everything that you bought would be yours, and no one could take it away from you.”
“The Señor General is really right, isn’t he, compañeros? It’s all just as he says. But what on earth can we do?”
“I’ll tell you something, muchachos. What are your names, eh? Oh. Good. I’ll remember your names. And now listen to me. Why do you have to hang me here? That’s murder. And it’s a great sin. You can ask any priest. And that won’t take you to Heaven, only to Hell. Why do you all want to end in Hell, when Heaven waits open for you? I’m an old man and won’t live much longer. You can see that. I’ll tell you something. You take me to the nearest small rancho where I can borrow a horse and ride away and live in peace for the rest of my life. Then you go back to the camp and tell your chief that I’ve been well and properly hanged and that my tongue stuck half a yard out of my mouth. You must go back to the camp, otherwise it’ll be suspicious and your chief will send some of his muchachos on horses after us. If not, I could have taken you with me right away, and by tomorrow you could have been soldiers.”
The muchachos listened with deep attention.
“But it’s better for you to go back and say that I’ve been hanged. Then your chief won’t send anyone after me. And tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, you creep away and come to our headquarters. And then I’ll give each of you a hundred pesos.”
“A hundred pesos, Señor General?” asked the muchachos incredulously.
“A hundred silver pesos to each one of you. And if you like, you can become soldiers as well. But if you don’t want to become soldiers, then you can take your hundred pesos and go home to your villages. I’ll also write each of you a letter to the authorities in your community saying that you’re good people and that no one must put you in prison because you rebelled. All the other rebels will be shot. But not you.”
“What do you say to that?” one asked the others.
And each one replied, “I’m for it.”
But the sharpest of the three said, “Señor General, perhaps it would be better if you gave us a paper now so that we can be really sure of getting the hundred pesos.”
“Of course, of course,” answered the general. “It’s only right I should give you a chit. But I haven’t any paper. And no pencil. I left that all in my coat and trousers. All I was able to save were my cigarettes and my flask. Don’t you trust a general, muchachos?”
“We’ve been so often betrayed by all sorts of people, generals or not generals,” said one, “that we can’t trust anyone any more. But we’ll do it this time, Señor General.”
“And you won’t regret it, muchachos.” The general got up and added, “Well, let’s be on our way, so it won’t get too late. It’s dark already.”
“Don’t worry, Señor General, we know the way, even at night. We’ve been on sentry duty out here.”
They marched on for about a quarter of an hour. The path was bad, alternatingly stony, swampy, and densely covered with undergrowth.
Slowly the moon rose, became visible, lighting the way, and then vanished behind tattered black clouds, only to reappear a few minutes later and then to disappear again.
The general groaned. His gait was stumbling and weary. He had been on his feet since three o’clock that morning. What he had suffered on this endless, decisive day, quite apart from the lost battle, would have robbed even a younger man at the close of such a day of all the strength of his legs.
The path now opened up into a clearing.
The general spotted a large stone, went up to it, sat down on it, breathing heavily, and said, “Muchachos, I don’t believe I can go any farther. I shall have to spend the nigh
t here.”
“Then our chief will surely come along and get you early in the morning, Señor General,” said one of the men.
“That may be. That may very well be. But what can I do?” He wiped his face and forehead with the dirty sleeve of the ragged shirt he was wearing.
He lit another cigarette.
The half-moon had appeared again for a few minutes.
The general, puffing at his cigarette, looked around, first to one side, then to the other. Wherever he looked, he saw black bush. Only the clearing was open and bright, with light patches of low grass tufts and with dark patches caused by the shadows of these same besomlike tussocks of grass.
In the far distance, in the direction of Balun Canan, the headquarters of his division, there flickered now and again a flash of summer lightning over the black night sky.
Headquarters of the division, thought the general. How lovely and comfortable to be there now. To be sitting in the mess, a battery of bottles of good beer on one side, playing dominoes with Major Fernandez or with Captain Munguia. Captain Munguia, damn it, not worth a dog’s turd as a soldier, not worth a damn as a gentleman. But in desperation one could call him over for a game of dominoes. Always comes. The toady.
The general took a deep pull at his cigarette. It glowed, gleaming whitely.
“Dios mío,” he exclaimed in a loud voice, and convulsively he shot up from the stone on which he had been sitting. He flung the cigarette away.
“Holy Mother of God, Madre Santísima! I never thought of that! Curse and blast it, I never thought of that!” He said this loudly, his voice filled with indescribable horror.
Without meaning to do so, he sank back again upon the stone. He let his gaze sweep across the black wall of the bush, to right, to left, to left, to right, steadily and incessantly, as if his head were moving of its own accord. Then he bowed his body up and down.
Suddenly and with a decisive jerk he ceased these movements and gave vent to a short, hard laugh.
“So that’s it, that’s what he intended to do to me. Just that. I’d never have believed it of him, never have believed that he’d have been capable of devising anything so treacherous. Gracias, O Dios mío, that I realized it in time!”
