by J. L. Jarvis
The last federal soldier rode out of the city with its streets filled with people cheering and dancing and drinking and grieving.
“I killed a man,” Ana whispered.
“More than one,” said Carlos.
“But I saw this one in the gunfire light.” Every twitch of his body as each bullet hit—she would always remember. Buildings and wagons were burning and casting their light on his face. With surprise and confusion, he looked at her in the instant before his mind knew that the body beneath it was dying. “I saw his soul leave him.”
Ana reached to the wall for support as she leaned over and vomited. Inside, her world and her life, even grief—all her ordered perceptions convulsed.
Carlos stood behind her and held her hair back with one hand and her waist with the other. He shook the dust from his bandana and handed it to her. She wiped her lips and leaned back on the wall and looked up with dry eyes. The sky was the clearest of blues.
Carlos led her to the front stoop of a building. They sat down and leaned their backs on the wall. In the street, people danced and embraced and cried out in a great undulating mass of indistinct bodies. Ana stared blankly forward.
Carlos said, “How could I have warned you?”
“You tried to.”
“I did not have the words.”
Ana put her head on his shoulder. He held her and closed his eyes.
Minutes passed. Carlos sat up straight.
“Wh—?”
“Listen.” He hushed her with a gesture, then said, “Something’s wrong.” He listened some more. “Come on.” He jumped up and pulled Ana with him.
Chapter 16
The celebrating throng turned into a mob, destroying and looting their way down the street. Carlos gripped Ana’s hand and they ran in the other direction. A few doors down they found an alley and ran to the end. They stacked up some crates and climbed over the top. On the other side was another alley that led them onto a street. Carlos glanced both ways, not knowing which way would be safer. They headed down a small side street. Everywhere they heard screams and glass breaking. At the next intersection they found the pavement peppered with rebel soldiers and civilians and store signs in Chinese. Shattered glass from storefront windows littered streets and walks. Here and there a Mexican ran carrying armloads of goods. Three men dragged a Chinese shop owner by his queue to the street, where they kicked and beat him. Some joined in; others watched with stunned faces.
Carlos pushed his way to the center.
“Carlos!” Ana reached out to him.
He fired a shot. The crowd made room for him. Three remained. The three men turned wild gazes to Carlos. At their feet lay the bloodied Chinese man. They turned on Carlos, but he fielded their blows and struck harder until one man pulled a machete. The other two pinned Carlos’s arms back behind him, while the first one drew back his machete and was poised to swing it at Carlos when a gunshot stopped him. He froze. The machete fell from his hand as he crumbled and fell to the cobbled brick street. The second man pushed his way through the crowd and was lost. The third stared at Ana, her face flecked with blood and her pistol well aimed.
“Go now or I’ll kill you,” she commanded. He did.
Ana waited a moment, then put her pistol back into its holster. A cold and unyielding expression masked her face.
“Ana?” He searched her eyes.
“I’m all right.” She looked at him.
Beside them, the Chinese shop owner was helped to his feet by those who, just moments before, had stood by as he was beaten nearly to death.
Ana and Carlos helped him return to his shop. He called out. Someone answered. From a room in the back of the laundry, a woman emerged. She had hidden inside a large basket. Her face was flushed and covered with fear as she rushed to her husband and helped him upstairs.
Carlos found a rag in the adjoining kitchen and wiped the blood from Ana’s face.
“He was going to kill you,” she told him.
“It’s over now,” he told her.
“It’s too easy to kill.”
“I know,” he said, smoothing her hair back.
By the time the shopkeeper’s wife came back down the stairs, Ana and Carlos were gone. They came out of an alley and onto a street strewn with bodies. People were still hiding, while others wandered, searching in shock. They were turning to go in the other direction when Ana grabbed Carlos’s arm. A head of black wavy hair bobbed through the crowd. Ana followed, pulling Carlos along.
“Eduardo!” she called out and pushed through the people, losing sight and then finding him once again. She called to him, but the noise was too dense.
Two blocks later, they caught up. Ana grabbed his shoulder. He whirled around, about to strike, when he saw her. They fiercely embraced, but they could not stay there. The three moved on together.
“We were on our way to la Casa del Cerro. Our men will meet there.”
Eduardo nodded.
As they passed by a Chinese bank, something flew from it and fell at Ana’s feet. A severed head lay before her on the ground. Ana gasped and stared without moving. Eduardo slipped his arm about Ana’s waist and guided her around it.
“It’s all gone wrong,” said Eduardo to Carlos. He looked at Carlos and nodded toward Ana. “We must find someplace safe to wait until it’s over.”
“Take care of her,” urged Carlos. “I cannot stand by while this goes on. I led my men into this. I’ve got to help put a stop to it.”
“You can’t fight a mob.” Eduardo put his hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “There are too many, from too many gente. They listen to their own leaders, no one else.” Eduardo pressed Ana’s back and moved on.
Carlos said, “I’ve got to do something.”
“You won’t stop it. You can’t. It’s an unfortunate consequence.”
Carlos looked at his friend as though he were a stranger.
A young Chinese woman ran past them and turned into the next alley. Two revolutionist soldiers pushed past Ana, knocking her into Carlos, as they made chase into the alley. They were laughing. Eduardo sprinted after them. Ana and Carlos got there in time to see the Chinese woman cowering and trapped at the end of the alley as the soldiers used her for target practice, deliberately missing, and enjoying her fear.
Eduardo grabbed hold of one, knocking the gun from his hand. “What are you doing?”
The rebel soldier pulled his machete, but Carlos swung at him and then pulled his pistol. Eduardo took on the other.
“Stay out of this, friend,” said the soldier as he threw a punch that landed Eduardo on the ground. Ana moved toward him but, seeing her, the soldier turned and pushed Ana to the wall. Her back hit the bricks with a thud, and knocked the wind out of her. The man grabbed her gun from its holster and moved on down the alley.
Eduardo lay on the ground, dazed and trying to rise, while Carlos worked on his opponent, landing punches and pinning him down. Ana struggled to breathe. By the time she was breathing again, the soldiers were gone, chased off by Carlos and Eduardo. Carlos lingered long enough by the street to be certain they would not come back, then he came back and took Ana into his arms. Ana was assuring him that she was fine, when a deep, mournful moan drew their attention.
The midday sunlight glared into the alley. Ana’s eyes hurt. Squinting, she found Eduardo at the end of the alley, on his knees, his shirt stretched between his shoulders. Long shining tresses hung over one arm. He was holding the woman.
First Ana, then Carlos walked over beside him. Eduardo looked up at her, helpless.
Ana looked from him to the woman. The sight gripped her with sorrow. “You found her,” she whispered.
Carlos and Ana stayed by Eduardo while he wept over Su Ling.
Ana put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know that you loved her.”
He looked up at Ana, his eyes red with weeping. “No. I didn’t. But I cared for her deeply.” He looked back at Su Ling. His hand slid around from her back to her belly,
smoothing the fabric to reveal she was pregnant.
Eduardo said, “She never told me. She just ran away.”
Ana looked at the face of this young woman who had helped her. So kind and so meek. She had gone from the hacienda to avoid the disgrace.
Eduardo smoothed the hair into order about her face. He tried to clean drying blood from her smooth skin, but only smeared it. He worked to clean it as tears rolled down his face.
They buried Su Ling outside of town. Scattered about town were six or seven funeral pyres that filled the air of Torreón with the acrid smell of burning flesh. Eduardo would not have it for Su Ling or for his baby. He and Carlos found shovels and dug into the earth. They made a cross out of wood that they tore from a building. The sun set as they finished.
Eduardo stood at the grave in the dark. He tried to say something, but words caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, tried again. It was useless. What could he say? That he wished he had known? What would he have done? Would he have acted with honor? Yes. But with love? No. He knelt down and whispered, “I’m sorry.” He set his hand on the mound of her grave. “I’m sorry.” But of what use was that?
There were frogs near the river. Ana welcomed their loud, ugly song as a natural contrast to the day just now ending. The gunfire was over, but the stench would not lift from the city. Emilio Madero had arrived to find his troops in chaos. By nightfall he had ended the riot. Now it was quiet.
Outside of the city, Carlos, Ana and Eduardo rested in an old adobe hut they found empty. Eduardo paid a man two pesos for some home-brewed aguardiente and three dirty, worn out serapes. Now they sat on the hard packed earth floor, staring blankly at the walls and dark beams overhead as they passed a jug back and forth. When it was gone, Eduardo got up to leave.
“Eduardo, come sit down and rest.”
He looked at her blankly. “Rest?” He laughed to himself and walked out of the hut.
Ana moved to get up and follow, but Carlos put a hand on her arm. “He has to grieve in his way. Let him go.” Ana leaned back and sighed.
She fell asleep in Carlos’s arms, with his kiss on her brow. But in the night, she felt the soldier’s hands reach up her skirt, put his hands on her thighs. She saw the animal eyes, smelled the sweat of his body. Ana screamed.
“Ana, shh… You’re safe. It’s all right.”
Ana woke up and exhaled deeply as she let Carlos hold her and shelter her head against his chest. His arms were around her and strong. She was safe. She held back her tears.
“You can weep, soldadera,” he said, stroking her thick mane hair. “You don’t have to be brave now.”
Sometimes she could smell the soldier on her. Like an odor, he wafted into her mind. She sank deeper into Carlos’s solid chest and strong arms and breathed in.
Eduardo returned before dawn, dangling a bottle in his wavering hand. He took great care to maneuver his way through doorway. Even so, his foot caught the edge of the door and he stumbled inside.
“Eduardo?” Ana whispered urgently.
“Don’t worry, it’s me. I won’t hurt you. I only hurt women who love me.”
Ana looked away and said softly, “Eduardo.”
“I need some fresh air.”
He went outside and leaned against the adobe brick wall. A guitar plucked a faint melody in the distance. Ana pulled a shawl about her shoulders and stepped outside to join him. She slipped her arm into his and he shuddered.
“I’m sorry.”
He smiled dimly and patted her hand against his arm. “It is the curse of the dreamer to have a keen sense of beauty that can never be his.”
“Su Ling was beautiful.”
Eduardo looked at her as though not understanding, and said, “Yes, she was.”
He wept. Ana put her arms about him and held him, gently rocking, as he wept on her shoulder. No liquor would release the pain trapped in his sick heart. If love could, she could not give it to him—not the kind that he wanted. She stroked the brown tousled curls and whispered soft words to soothe him.
Eduardo lifted his face to hers. “You are kind, my sweet Ana.”
She smiled. The drink made his face childlike.
“So very kind.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her hair. He touched it and pressed his face into it. “And so good to me.”
His clumsy grip pulled her hair. Ana gently pulled back. He let go and took her face in his hands.
“Eduardo?” He’d had too much to drink, she reminded herself.
His face took on a desperate, lost look. He pressed closer. His lips brushed hers with sadness. She let him give her the softest of kisses. But his yearning broke free. His hands slid from her face to her neck. “It was you,” he whispered against her. “It was your touch I dreamed of.” He murmured it into her neck as his hand gently covered her breast.
“Eduardo, don’t.” She pushed his hands away. He held onto her waist and, weeping, slid down to his knees. He wept, pressing his cheek to her waist, and his hands slid around to the front.
“No,” she said, but he would not release her. She pulled. He held on. She then pushed, and it threw him off balance. He fell to the ground. Ana paused at the doorway and watched as he pushed himself up from the ground and peered through his wire spectacles.
“She’s dead because I dreamed of you,” he cried. But when he looked up, she was gone from the doorway.
With her arms full of cut flowers, and her hair washed in sunlight, Ana walked in the door. “Look! I found a garden.”
Eduardo was sitting across the table from Carlos. Both looked up. She avoided Eduardo, but saw the grave look on Carlos’s face. Ana exhaled and braced herself, as she set down the flowers.
Eduardo stood and held his hat in his hand with much the same posture as when she first met him.
She glanced at him, but could not hold his gaze.
Pain had drawn all the kindness from his face. “I am leaving.” He looked almost angry, but Ana knew better.
She searched his eyes. They were darkened by shadows. Reluctantly, she nodded.
“Eduardo is joining up with General—soon to be President—Madero.”
“Oh?”
Eduardo looked at Ana. The yearning had gone back into hiding. He averted his gaze to the doorway.
“I should congratulate you.” She extended her hand.
His hand twitched as he started to reach, but chose not to.
She took his hand in both of hers. Her eyes brimmed with a sympathy that appeared to offend before he averted his gaze. “When do you start?”
“Today. I’m leaving now.”
Carlos said, “Díaz has resigned. He’s on his way now to France.”
“That’s wonderful!” said Ana.
Eduardo said, “I will work with General Madero as he prepares for the election. But first we will find the men responsible for what happened.”
Ana nodded.
Eduardo seemed about to say something. Ana waited, but no words followed.
She said, “You will be a great asset to General Madero.”
He tipped his head modestly, then turned to Carlos. They embraced and bade each other goodbye.
Ana kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, compañero.”
He looked once in her eyes and then pulled away. He looked back at Carlos and attempted a smile, but it failed.
Carlos nodded.
The brilliance of the sun blinded Ana as she stood at the threshold. Eduardo paused one last time at the street, but he never looked back to see Ana’s shape in the doorway.
They found Blancita with one of Carlos’s loyal men. A few fires burned beside a derailed train as they rode out from the city. Two women called out and offered them each a tortilla rolled up with some beans.
“We waited for our men,” said the younger, taking her time to bundle belongings into her rebozo.
The old woman stooped over her cooking and said without looking, “They are not coming back.”
They rode on until there were
no signs of fighting. The dry heat of the sun soothed Ana as they rode on, sharing the quiet, lulled by the familiar sounds of their horses. Ana wished her memories of the fighting would fade into indistinct images like the city behind her. It was now a mere blur beyond miles of desert.
“What will happen now?”
“Madero will be elected. He needs men like Eduardo. But the fighting is over. They don’t need me now.”
“Will you be happy when life is not quite so exciting?”
Carlos smiled. “I fought very hard—long before this began. I fought because there was something to fight for: a small piece of land that is mine, where my family can live and be safe. But I’m weary of fighting.”
She could see the fatigue in his eyes as he looked ahead through the shadows of trees. Taking Torreón was not the jubilant victory she had expected. Carlos had harbored no such expectation. He had tried to dissuade her from fighting. Now she understood why. But she did not regret it. She went through it with him. Now she understood him better.
“You’re a brave man who fought hard for his country.”
“No, for my people and their land.” Carlos looked to the top of the hill.
“I admire you.”
“Don’t do that.” His face contracted.
“But you’ve done a great thing.”
“I have done a great many things, few of them great.” He pulled back his shoulders, which had begun to look burdened.
“And now I am ready to rest with my wife,” he smiled warmly at Ana, “and my son.” He looked ahead to the hill over which he would find his son tucked safely away from the fighting.
Carlos and Ana came over the hill and caught first sight of the ranch. His back straightened as he took in the scene before him. He looked about, alert, expecting something—but what, Ana could not discern. She followed his gaze. A corral was left open. The livestock were gone. Ana inhaled to speak. Carlos held up his hand. They rode around the corner of the house, to the stable that stood near a stand of cottonwood trees. Something caught his eye. He turned back toward the barn. A guttural sound came from his throat.
