Ramón dropped Adam at his hotel and that evening sent him several pages of typed notes, listing the hotels into which he had booked him and places of interest he should not fail to see during his trip. Next morning a cheerful-looking Mestizo, who introduced himself as Felipe Durán, arrived with a car and they set off.
They reached Querétaro soon after midday, so Adam was able to have a good look round the old Spanish town before lunch, then do the forty miles on to San Miguel de Allende where he was to stay that night. In the fine church there he got into conversation with an elderly priest. Secretly amused by the thought that he was now an unofficial secret agent, Adam entered on his new role and asked him about his work.
The priest said that there was always plenty to do but, unfortunately, never enough money to do it with. As in most parishes, they had many old and ailing for whom the State did nothing, and the Church was hard put to it to give them even a modicum of the attention they needed.
Taking the hint, Adam produced a hundred-peso note as a contribution to the poor-box. The priest, from being merely polite, became quite cordial, showed him the treasures of the church, asked him to what other places he had been and, when he learned that Adam was gathering material for a book, he said, ‘I hope that when you write it you will not, like most foreign authors, tell only of the modern Babylon that Mexico City has become, but also describe the real Mexico and the harsh life led by her people.’
‘Is their lot a very hard one?’ Adam enquired naively.
‘Deplorable,’ replied the priest with a shake of the head. ‘When I was a younger man I had a parish up in the Sierra Madre Occidentale. It covered eight hundred and fifty square miles. In it there were over thirty villages and I was the sole stay of their inhabitants. To many of the villages there were no roads, only mule tracks. I spent my life riding from one to another, ministering to the bodies as well as the souls of my wretched parishioners; for no doctors ever go to those places. Tuberculosis, malaria, dysentery and rickets due to malnutrition are rife in such sparsely-populated areas; so a medicine chest is a part of a priest’s equipment and he does what little he can to relieve the afflicted. He is also their counsellor in family disputes and all matters concerning the commune. Their poverty is such as to wring the heart. They are truly devout and willingly give what little they can to support their priest; for he, too, must live, albeit on a pittance. But so near the starvation line are they that in some cases the only church they can afford is a single room with not even a confessional in it. Write of these things, I pray you, señor, for if the rich were made more fully aware of the miseries the Indians suffer, they might prove more charitable.’
Much moved, Adam said good-bye to the old man, whom he could not possibly believe was involved in the conspiracy. But it did strike him that peasants leading such a grim existence, and with nothing to lose but their lives, would prove easily inflammable material if called on to right their wrongs by a priest who was a firebrand.
That evening, instead of drinking and dining at his hotel, he visited several cafés and ate in a small restaurant. The people to whom he spoke were invariably most courteous and talked with him on a variety of subjects, but he picked up no information of interest. Early next morning Felipe drove him the few miles to Guanajuato.
There he looked in at the charming little horseshoe-shaped theatre with its tiers of gilded boxes. At the church he got into conversation with a younger priest, a gloomy dark-skinned man who evidently regarded him with suspicion and, as soon as he mentioned the poverty of the Indians, shut up like a clam.
Early in the afternoon he reached Irapuato, where he was to spend his second night. At the church he could not find a priest; but he passed his evening scraping acquaintance with people in the cafés and, when he had his dinner, shared a table with a commercial traveller who sold patent medicines. He was an urbane type, full of information, but not of the sort that Adam was seeking. With pride he talked of Mexico’s industrial revolution. New factories were going up everywhere. Production had tripled in the past quarter of a century, and was still increasing at the rate of seven per cent a year. He knew little about the Indians and cared less.
On the Thursday, Adam went on to Morelia. The town was situated in some of the loveliest country in Mexico. He found the Hotel Mendoza there much superior to those he had stayed in earlier during his trip, so he was glad that he was to remain two nights. But he spent most of his time out and about talking to people who were sitting alone outside the cafés.
As had been the case in the other towns, nearly all of them were drinking tequila, the national spirit made from cactus, and, at intervals, sucking a piece of lemon sprinkled with salt. Adam did not much care for tequila but, to be sociable, he always ordered it, although in the form of a tequila Collins, as drinking it with ginger ale made it more palatable.
Nearly all the people he talked to turned out to be small townsmen, so from them he did not learn much. Most of them were of the opinion that the Indian peasants had never been far above the level of slaves and, until education became more general, would remain in that condition. But a few said that it was believed that they had recently been forming some sort of organisation to better themselves.
That evening, as a change from the fiery curries with which he had had to make do in small restaurants, he decided to dine at the Mendoza and, after dinner, he had a chat with a man who introduced himself as Don Augustin Flores. He was the owner of a big estate and gave Adam the opposite side of the picture he had been given by the commercial traveller.
Don Augustin said that Mexico was heading for ruin owing to the drift of the peasants to the cities during the past two decades. The deforestation of the land by the Spaniards had greatly reduced the conservation of water, with the result that many areas that in the old days had borne crops had deteriorated into and wasteland. In consequence, for centuries there had been barely enough food to feed the population. Since the end of the Second World War the situation had further deteriorated because, tempted by the higher wages—although, owing to the high cost of living in the cities, they were little better off—great numbers of peasants had left the land to take jobs in industry as unskilled workmen. The result had been a further great reduction in the area of land cultivated and a steady decline in the amount of food produced.
Don Augustin predicted that if this drift to the cities continued, as it almost certainly would, within a few years the price of food, whether home-grown or imported, would become so high that the peasants would not be able to pay it, and they would then begin to die like flies from starvation or, in desperation, rise spontaneously and march on the cities with the intention of bringing about a revolution.
Adam was deeply interested in all this. Ramón had told him that Mexico was already importing large quantities of food, with the result that prices had risen. Evidently this was one of the causes of the peasants’ discontent; although apparently Don Augustin was unaware that a revolt was already in the making.
The following day Adam enjoyed a most picturesque drive to Pátzcuaro, near which there was a beautiful lake. Then, in the evening, back at Morelia, he met another interesting character, a retired schoolmaster named Juan Padilla.
The Señor Padilla was a fiery Liberal. He had spent his life in schools and agitating for more of them. It was his belief that education was the panacea for all ills and he was full of praise both for the government’s endeavours in that direction and the people’s willing acceptance of them.
He conceded that there were many thousands of villages which still had no schools at all, or ones housed in old, decaying haciendas. But he said that this would soon be remedied. For some years past the Ministry of Education had been providing prefabricated schools and teachers for them. In the villages the peasants welcomed them with enormous enthusiasm, willingly gave their free time to erecting the schools and, when classes had started, the adults would often cluster round their open windows to absorb the lessons being taught to the children.
However, he admitted that there were two great factors that retarded the speed of education. One was that, for a good half of the year, the peasants would not allow their children to attend school, because for many generations they had been accustomed to have the use of them, however small, to play some part in sowing and harvesting; and, as there were three crops a year in the fertile valleys, this seriously interfered with the school curriculum. The other was the terrible shortage of teachers. Although they were emerging from the universities in much greater numbers than in the past, their ratio was far exceeded by the increase in pupils, owing to the fact that the advance of medicine in the cities, and to some extent in the country, had resulted in a population explosion with which it was impossible to cope.
Saturday morning Adam went on to San Luis Caliente, a smaller town a few miles off the main highway. There he visited the church and found the priest to be a sallow-faced man with the receding forehead and fleshy nose of an Indian. He proved both talkative and very bitter about the conditions in which his parishioners lived. As Adam led him on, it soon emerged that he had Communist leanings and was a true militant. He dogmatically asserted that Christ’s teachings were basically Communist, and even went on to say that in the Middle Ages many Bishops had taken up arms on behalf of their beliefs; so there was no reason why, should the occasion arise, priests like himself should not lead their people in an attempt to overthrow tyrants and establish a truly Christian community. On leaving him Adam felt no doubt at all that he was playing an active part in the conspiracy.
Adam took his evening meal at a small café-restaurant in which about a dozen people were eating or just sitting drinking. He was wondering if he dare finish up with an ice and, as he had been taking two Enterovioform pills every morning since his arrival in Mexico, as a precaution against typhoid, he had just decided to risk it, when a tall Indian with a long, droopy moustache appeared in the doorway. As he stood framed in it, several of those at the table lifted their hands in greeting. The man then said, ‘We eat pork tonight,’ turned, and went out.
The incident passed almost unnoticed by Adam, as he assumed that the man was inviting his friends to an anniversary feast or some other celebration. Although it was winter, the evening was by no means chilly and, as was customary in such small towns, the square was crowded with people slowly strolling to and fro beneath the palm trees, or squatting in the dust with their backs against walls, smoking cheroots. In one corner there was a small group clustered round a man who was strumming on a guitar. Adam joined it and stood there for a time. Then his attention was caught by a tough-looking Mestizo pushing his way into the crowd. Next moment the man said, ‘We eat pork tonight, pass the word.’ Then he pushed his way out again.
This gave Adam furiously to think. Evidently the announcement did not refer to a family celebration, but was a password that would summon the initiated to some secret meeting. Edging out of the crowd, he looked round for the Mestizo, caught sight of him and kept him under observation. The man moved slowly down that side of the square, pausing briefly here and there at other groups, presumably saying his piece, then walking on.
The thought that he was now really on to something filled Adam with excited satisfaction, and he at once made up his mind to try to find out where the meeting was being held, then spy on it. Recalling the sallow-faced priest with whom he had talked of Communism, it seemed almost certain that he would be mixed up in this; so Adam made his way to the church.
It was situated in a side street among the older houses of the town, which stood in their own gardens. Full darkness had now come, the thoroughfare was badly lit and there were few people about. But the church was not entirely deserted. Dim light came from the windows at one end of it, although no service was being held; neither were people coming in that direction.
Entering the graveyard, Adam stood there in the shadows for half an hour. By then he was beginning to fear that his hunch about the priest had been a wrong one. But he could think of no other line to follow and decided to remain there for another ten minutes or so. His patience was rewarded. A door of the church opened and a small procession came out. It was headed by the priest, carrying what Adam felt certain was the Host. Two acolytes accompanied him and half a dozen men, some of whom were carrying lanterns, followed.
The fact that the priest was carrying the Host made Adam again think that his hunch had been wrong, for it seemed hardly possible that he would be taking it to a political meeting; and more likely that he was on his way to give Extreme Unction to someone who was dying. Then, as Adam crouched down behind a tombstone while the procession passed, a swinging lantern momentarily lit the face of one of the men. It was the fellow with the long moustache. Adam drew a quick breath. His hunch had been right, after all.
When the little group had moved off down the road he emerged from his hiding place and followed at some distance. Soon he realised that they were heading out of the town and ten minutes later they were on an open road, lit only by the stars.
When they had covered about a mile, he saw ahead, rising from the flat countryside, a mound about thirty feet in height and recalled that he had passed it on his way into the town that morning. It was one of the innumerable small pyramids that are scattered over Mexico and have not yet been fully retrieved by the archaeologists. He remembered that the greater part of it was still covered with grass. Only the steep flight of steps leading up to the flat top had been cleared and repaired.
It stood about a hundred yards from the road and, as Adam came nearer, he could make out a considerable crowd of people squatting in front of it. At the approach of the priest they all came to their feet. As they turned towards him, Adam glimpsed the white blur of their faces. Fearing to be discovered he promptly threw himself down into the ditch at the roadside.
Cautiously raising his head, he watched the proceedings. The people received the priest in silence, except for a queer low grunting, and for a few moments he disappeared among them. Then, by the light of the lanterns, he became visible again as he and his companions climbed the steps of the pyramid. When they reached the top, Adam could see that a stout table had been carried up there to serve as an altar, as it was draped in cloth and a crucifix stood on it.
Turning to the congregation, the priest began to intone. Adam was too far off to catch his words; but the loud responses of the people told him that a service was being held in Latin, and he guessed that a Mass was being celebrated. In due course the little bell tinkled, the crowd went down on their knees and the Host was elevated.
No partaking of Communion followed. The priest disappeared down the far side of the pyramid for about ten minutes. During this time there came again the strange grunting. The priest reappeared wearing a feather head-dress and clad in Indian robes. Then he addressed the people in loud, harsh tones and, from their cadence, Adam guessed that he was now speaking in Nahuatl. In his dream-visions of his incarnation in Mexico, Adam had spoken and thought in that language; but to his present life he had brought back only a partial understanding of it and, in any case, he was too far off to hear distinctly. As the priest continued, now and then with violent gestures, the crowd became more and more excited, occasionally giving vent to loud shouts of approval. Suddenly he ceased speaking. For a moment there was silence, then a tremendous burst of cheering ‘Olé! Olé! Olé!’
The crowd did not disperse and from its centre there came murmurs and movement. Some minutes later Adam learned the cause and that of the grunting he had heard. At the base of the pyramid there was a large crate containing several pigs. Four men, each holding a leg of one of the pigs, were lugging it up the broad flight of steps. It was, like all native-bred pigs, not a large animal and, without difficulty, they got it to the top. There they lifted it on to the altar and held it down on its back.
The light from a lantern shimmered on a knife the priest had drawn as he raised it then struck downward. The pig gave a hideous, high-pitched squeal, then went on squealing. The priest had n
ot cut its throat but ripped open its breast. A moment later he had torn out its heart and was holding it on high for all to see. The crowd went nearly mad with excitement.
As the Olés died, the four men swung the now dead pig by its legs and pitched it on to the top of the steps. Spurting blood, it rolled over and over to the bottom, to be seized on eagerly by others who carried it round to the rear of the pyramid. From there a lurid glow had arisen, the significance of which Adam had no doubt. A big fire had been lit to roast the sacrifice. ‘We eat pork tonight.’ They would soon be tearing at the hot flesh with their bare hands and gorging it.
A second pig was sacrificed in the same manner. Then, when its body had been carried away, there was a sudden commotion among the spectators. A third pig had escaped when being taken from the crate. Mad with fear, it charged through the people, knocking down several of them. Only seconds later it emerged from the crowd and headed straight for the place where Adam was crouching in the ditch. Almost as one man, the crowd turned and came streaming in pursuit of it.
Aghast at the certainty of discovery, Adam came to his feet and turned to run. In getting out of the ditch he stumbled and fell. He had only just picked himself up when there came screams of ‘A spy! Seize him! A spy! A spy!’ Next moment the crowd was upon him and he was fighting for his life.
10
A Ghastly Ordeal
For the first time since, when a crime reporter in Southampton, Adam had been attacked, he used his great strength to the full. Lashing out right and left with his big fists, he felled two of his attackers, then seized a third round the waist, lifted him high in the air and flung him into the crowd. His whirling body knocked down three more; but the crowd seemed as though possessed by a demon. Screaming with hate, their dark faces transformed into hideous masks, they trampled over their fallen comrades and came at him again.
Unholy Crusade Page 18
