by J. L. Jarvis
Eduardo gave him a wry look from beneath his dark lashes. “I was waiting for morning. But…” He turned from Ana and muttered, “I had to go take a piss and she heard me.”
Carlos laughed and slapped Eduardo on the shoulder. “Come on, have you eaten?”
They started toward breakfast, but Eduardo looked back. “What about Ana?”
Her watch was over. She took the arm offered, Eduardo’s, and walked to the other side of the fire, where people were lined up for breakfast. “I could have shot you,” said Ana.
“Yes, I worried about that, which was why I came around behind you.”
“I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry for what?” His eyes softened as he took in each feature. “I’m fine. But you—what are you doing here?”
Ana caught a sharp look from Carlos but ignored it and said, “I can explain it all later. Here, you sit down and I’ll bring you some food.”
She brought him a large plate of meat, eggs, frijoles and tortillas.
“Ana, please. There’s no need.”
“I think I might be able to find you some coffee. Wait here.”
Carlos sat by Eduardo and watched Ana fuss.
She returned with a tin cup of coffee. Carlos glanced at the coffee and back at his plate. “That looks good,” he muttered and got up to get some.
He returned. Ana was laughing with Eduardo, when she saw that Carlos had returned and was standing beside her. She looked up.
Carlos said, “Where did you get the coffee?”
Ana grinned and said, “I know people.”
“Do you know them well enough to get some for me?”
A dismayed look came over her face. “It’s all gone. It’s the last of my special supply for men who almost get shot.”
“I almost got shot once,” Carlos mumbled as he sat down by Eduardo.
They talked through the morning.
“Your abuela? I’m so sorry. But Jaime—he’s all right?”
“See for yourself.” Carlos nodded to where Jaime was playing with the other children. “And you?” said Carlos. “Did you find her?”
Eduardo stared down at his coffee. “I searched everywhere for her.”
“Su Ling?” asked Ana.
He nodded.
Ana took his hand. “Perhaps she went north.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed, unconvinced.
Ana put her hand on his cheek. He forced a smile, which soon faded. But he could not seem to take his eyes from her. Neither could Carlos, who sat across from the fire, unaware he was scowling.
The morning training was put off until afternoon. During lunch, a great meeting was held.
Eduardo stood before them. “I am Eduardo Guerra Peña. Many of you know me. I have been in Torreón and Gómez Palacio. It is not the same place. The rich land owners have banded together to fight against us and our cause. They have posted armed guards at their homes and shops and have formed a private police force to rid the community of people like us whom they wish to oppress.”
A murmur spread through the gathering.
“We were printing up leaflets to distribute when they broke in and destroyed everything. I barely escaped.”
So engrossed was Ana with Eduardo’s story that she blushed when she noticed that Carlos was watching her. He had spent the morning with Eduardo, making plans for their next move. And now, he watched Ana. He circled the periphery of the group.
Eduardo’s voice resounded with urgent pleas. His mind governed his path, a quality which Carlos could not understand, for his heart fueled his actions.
“And do you know what they call us? ‘Hungry hordes…hearing the call of the wild.’ But if we are wild it is because Mexico is a land of people with no land. Forced from the land of our fathers, what choice do we have? Yes, we hear the call of the wild, but we are not wolves: we are men and women forced to live as beasts. It is wrong!”
Shouts of agreement rang out. Ana’s face lit with trust as she watched Eduardo.
“It is wrong for a handful of people to own all the land—land they stole from our fathers—from us! And the Americans and British and Germans are poised to swoop in like vultures to reap the rewards of our labor!” He walked into the small crowd of a hundred. “—Labor forced on us by debt we would not have accrued but for a corrupt system designed to enslave honest, hardworking people. And they call us wolves? I hear the call. It is not a call of the wild but of justice—of land and liberty!”
Carlos watched Eduardo, admiring his passion, and the way he inspired it in others. And then he saw Ana, and the passion in her, inspired by Eduardo.
Eduardo’s voice became low and intense. “See that land out there and beyond? Whose is it?”
“The people’s!”
“Then we must demand what is ours: Land and Liberty!”
They stood and cried out, “Land and Liberty!”
The sound died down. The crowd waited. They would now form a plan to move forward. Eduardo silenced the crowd with his outstretched palms. “We are not many,” continued Eduardo. “But if we join with other groups like us, our voice will be heard.”
Eduardo paused and waited for the murmurs to settle. “They have tried to suppress those who believe in our cause. The Díaz regime has done all that it can to ruin Francisco Madero. They have put him in prison, cut off his supplies, denied him a market for his hacienda’s goods, and cut off access to his own funds in the bank. Several million acres now lie in ruin. And why? Because Francisco Madero stood up for the people!”
There were shouts of agreement and cries for rebellion. Eduardo went on, “But we will not be put down! There are others like us who believe in this cause. Emiliano Zapata in the South, Pancho Villa in the North, and Madero—he is back in Mexico—in Chihuahua. There are dozens of Maderistas just like us—a thousand, perhaps two—not far from here, working toward the same goal: to be free and to live the life we deserve.
“No more will we work until our bodies wear out, just to feed the rich man’s fat belly! No more will children go to bed at night, bitten by bugs and tormented by lice while their stomachs ache with hunger from another day without food. No longer will our children grow up to inherit our debts with no schooling and no hope that life will ever get better. No longer will we let the government hold us hostage in our homes and our jobs—seizing our land and enslaving us by our debts! We will have our land back, and our freedom!”
“Land and Liberty!” the people cried out.
Eduardo’s face was aflame with the dream of justice that burned from his heart. Now was the time to take action.
“Kill Díaz!” cried a man from the far side of the crowd.
“Do that,” said Eduardo, “and another will be there to take his place.”
Another man said, “Even if we join with other bands in the region, how can we win? As long as the government forces men into the army, their numbers will always be greater.”
A murmur of discouraged agreement spread through the crowd.
“And it’s not just the number of men,” said another. “It’s the weapons, ammunition and horses. And here we are in our sandals and some in bare feet, with a few pistols and rifles. How do we face an army like that?”
Carlos said firmly, “We don’t.”
He stood beside Eduardo. All eyes were on Carlos.
“We won’t fight them.”
They all stared at Carlos. Someone murmured that he was crazy.
A look of quiet confidence shone from his face. “We won’t fight them at all—at least not now. How many of you have been around cattle?”
Nearly all raised their hands.
“If you want to herd cattle, you keep them together. Why is that? Because together they are easier to control. If too many stray, they are hard to keep up with, are they not?” Carlos looked about for understanding to light in their eyes. He said, “We are the cattle.”
Eduardo leaned back and listened.
Carlos continued, “We won’t fight as
a group. We will attack wherever they are not: phone and telegraph lines, train tracks, industrial plants. Don’t you see? We are the country—not the President, not the army. We grow the crops, work the mines, fuel the trains—without us, our backs and our labor—they are nothing.”
“Yes,” said Eduardo, taking over as speaker. “After we destroy what they need to exist, they will need us to rebuild.” Eduardo silenced the crowd as they agreed in soft murmurs. His voice grew to a triumphant shout. “But we will not rebuild until we have a new leader and a new sort of government!”
By the time he was done, the people were burning to fight. The plan was set to break camp the next morning and head for the factory at Dinamita. After they seized the explosives, they would head for the railroad and blow up the next southbound train from the border.
The group split off into many discussions and scattered throughout camp. Carlos said to Eduardo, “This is wrong.”
“But we’re following your strategy.”
“Not like this. The factory raid is one thing. But to blow up a train—with people onboard. Honest workers, mothers and children.”
“The French have a saying,” said Eduardo. “C’est la guerre. That’s war. It cannot be helped. Some must be sacrificed for the greater cause. This is war, pure and simple.”
“War is rarely simple, and never pure,” said Carlos. “Let me take some men. We’ll rob the train. No one will be hurt.”
Eduardo put his hands on Carlos’s shoulders with a gaze both steady and earnest. “We have tried. No one heard our small voice, but the voice of violence is loud and far reaching.”
Carlos looked at Eduardo and saw a stranger.
Eduardo’s eyes shone as he said, “Our cause is right—we are right. We will bring a better life to our people. And you will lead us.”
“You seem to be doing just fine by yourself.”
Eduardo shook his head. “Revolution is a machine of many parts. Dreamers, like me, whisper ideas into the hearts of warriors and leaders of men. You are such a man, Carlos. You are destined to lead, to fight, and to win.”
“Not to murder.”
“In war, it’s not murder. It’s battle, and people get hurt,” said Eduardo.
“Yes, but when you can avoid it—”
“I can’t. We must make a bold stand. They will not listen to us until we show them our power.”
Carlos shook his head. “There are other ways.”
“Not for me,” said Eduardo.
Carlos searched for the friend he had known, but gave up and walked away.
At dawn, Carlos knelt beside Jaime and ran his hand through the brown mop of hair.
“Wake up. We are leaving,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” Jaime rolled over, then sat up abruptly. “What? Leaving?”
“Get dressed,” Carlos told him. “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”
When he returned, Jaime was gone. He found him not far away, beside Ana. She was sleeping, her skin smooth as silk, with a rifle beside it. He imagined her fighting, so shy and alone, and he thought of her dying. His fear tasted bitter.
Jaime said, “Popi—”
Carlos reached out to warn him not to wake Ana, but she opened her eyes. She saw Jaime and smiled. Then she looked at Carlos and saw everything in his eyes, all the grief, all the love, all the need to protect her. He took Jaime’s hand in his. “Jaime came to see you and tell you—” He stopped short. Her brown eyes were soft as her soul, and he knew he would stay.
“Tell me what?” Ana asked, looking first at Carlos, then lowering her eyes to meet Jaime’s safer gaze.
Slow to awaken, Ana sat up and pulled her blanket to her shoulders. Patiently she waited for Jaime to answer.
With tears in his eyes, Jaime said, “We are leaving.”
She looked up to Carlos, a sharp question faded.
“There. She’s awake. Now let’s go,” Carlos said as he pulled Jaime’s arm. “We’ve got to go work, or they’ll leave us behind.”
Jaime protested, “But you said we weren’t going with them.”
“Come along! Hurry up!” Carlos tugged Jaime along, while the boy tossed a look back to Ana, who was just as confused.
Jaime rode in a wagon with some of his friends, leaving Carlos alone with his thoughts and his horse, neither of which were proving to be very good company. Somewhere behind him was Ana. He could not see her from here, and he hated that he cared so much whether he could. When now and then sensing her nearness, he would turn and search through the faces and yearn for a glimpse, and that bothered him even more.
He should have left. He was going to leave, to take Jaime to safety. The plan had been set. Then he saw Ana sleeping. Sleep erased all her pride, all her stubborn refusal to do what was best. Seeing her lying there erased all the tension between them. Her face had the clear, untroubled look of her soul unmasked by defenses. Its clarity blinded him. It was the source of her beauty. He looked down at his hands on the reins, hands that had killed. These hands had squeezed life from a man and would do so again. And each time he took life, he lost his soul, piece-by-piece. His life seemed to have drifted away in small fragments, until all he had left to remind him of life was his son.
Ana laughed. He turned and saw her with Eduardo. She looked up. Their eyes met only briefly.
What ideas she had for such a quiet woman. Strong ideas. Stubborn woman. Fighting. Risking her life. Why would a woman do that—risk her life for a cause—an idea?
If he could reach out and hold her, he might find life again. But to lose her in battle? His heart would die with her. He could not risk it.
Perhaps he knew by the sound of her horse it was she. He glanced over to acknowledge her presence, but let moments pass, tense and wordless. At last, Ana breathed a large breath, as though she would speak. Carlos looked at her, anticipating words that would not come with ease.
“Why are you so angry with Eduardo?” she asked him.
“Did I say I was angry?”
“You have said very little.”
He looked up ahead.
“Please, don’t blame Eduardo.”
“I’m not angry with him.” But it burned in his eyes.
Ana inhaled sharply. Carlos saw how he hurt her, but could not seem to help it. As he glanced away, wisps of hair on her face drew back his attention. Strands clung to her temple. He wanted to brush each one back from her face and put his lips on her brow. “I’m not angry,” he said, looking down and away.
“Then what is it?”
“You spend too much time thinking of things that don’t matter. If you are going to fight like a soldier—”
“I am going to fight as a soldier,” said Ana.
He glared from beneath his dark brow, but Ana looked through the glare and said softly, “Like you, I must follow my heart.”
“You cannot trust your heart,” said Carlos.
“I can, and you should.”
He pretended not to hear, but his own face betrayed him. He loved her. His heart would not be changed. If he lost her, he would know grief again, only stronger. How could he allow this gentle girl to fight, aim a rifle, and shoot to kill in a battle? How could he allow her to be shot? If he could endure it, his son could not. He had lost a mother, a grandmother, and now he cared too much for Ana. He could not put Jaime through that again.
Ana studied the scenery on her side of the trail. “You are a cold, hard man.”
The edge of her words cut him deeply. “War is colder and harder.”
“I don’t see how it could be.”
“You will see. Very soon. You will get all the fighting you want.”
“I don’t want to fight. I just want the freedom that follows.”
“For the men who survive,” murmured Carlos.
“And the women.”
“And the women.”
Ana looked ahead. Carlos studied her face with its odd mixture of purpose and fear that a soldier knows before battle. It was only beginning. He
remembered that look and what would follow soon after. She would never see life in the same way again. But he would still love her. No war would change that.
“Ana, have you thought—are you ready—”
Ana looked at him sharply, but her eyes met his and softened. “To die?”
“No. To kill.”
The fear in her eyes gave him his answer. “I will do what I must,” Ana told him.
“Think now. Think hard, and be certain. And when the time comes, do it and don’t think of it again.” Carlos pulled his horse to the side and rode up ahead.
“I’m ready,” Ana thought as she watched him ride forward. “I’m ready.” She pulled up taller and rode, trying not to grip the reins too tightly.
On the way to Dinamita, they met up with the Division Del Norte.
“Mi General,” said Eduardo, “I am Eduardo Guerra Peña,” he said as he bowed to General Pancho Villa.
“I know who you are,” said Villa. “I taught myself to read with your newspapers.”
A trace of pride rose to Eduardo’s face and then vanished, checked by his humility.
“Among others,” added Villa. “Your ideas are good, but the land—you neglect it.”
“Mi General?”
“What of the land question? The people must be assured they will have their land back.”
Eduardo nodded. “But we must get the land before we can give it back to the people.”
“True, true.”
They talked more about land, and about education. Ana had not seen Eduardo so alive. This was what he did best. He was not a warrior, but a thinker, and the way he put thoughts into words so awed Ana, her face glowed as she watched him.
Someone else watched her. General Villa scrutinized her creamy beige skin, the strong, flushed cheeks, the soft curves of her mouth as she smiled.
Ana saw General Villa’s eyes on her. He looked at her and stared, a deep, conquering stare that unsettled her. She averted her eyes.
On Villa’s invitation, Eduardo and the others spent the night in Villa’s camp. He was planning to raid Torreón and sought Eduardo’s opinion. Yet when the meeting time arrived, General Villa had already dispatched orders to his men and would hear no more of it. Eduardo learned quickly that Villa needed no advice. He was brilliant and savage, with tremendous charisma. Villa turned his attention to Carlos, who would lead his gente on a raid of the dynamite plant and reunite with Villa’s men to ride together into Torreón.
