Echoes of a Distant Summer

by Guy Johnson

  A chair scraped at a table and a man’s voice said in the thick idiom of the local people of Linares that he wanted mescal, that he was tired of tequila. His boots trod unevenly toward the bar. Jackson could hear chairs being pushed aside as the footsteps came around from the left side of the bar. Jackson pulled the slide and fed a bullet quietly into the chamber of his M16 and waited. The man staggered into view and frowned confusedly when he saw Jackson on the floor. He swayed back and forth for a moment as he attempted to focus his alcohol-soaked mind on the image before him. The frown changed into an expression of anger and he reached for something in his belt. Jackson fired a burst into the man’s chest, sending him backward across the table behind him.

  Voices of alarm were raised. Jackson heard some men get to their feet. Then he heard the soft, puffing noise of the machine pistols, followed by the sound of bullets chipping and glancing off adobe walls. There were groans and cries of pain as men fell to the floor dead or wounded. Jackson stayed on the floor behind the bar. He was afraid to stand up amid the whizzing of bullets.

  A door across from the right entrance to the bar opened timidly and a head poked out. Juan Tejate and Jackson Tremain were staring at each other. Tejate rammed the door all the way open and sprinted to a long stairway leading to a level beneath the bar. Jackson was on his feet immediately and flying after Tejate. When he reached the top of the stairwell, bullets zinged past like miniature jets. Tejate had pulled a revolver and was firing up the stairs. Jackson reached around the corner and returned the fire with two blasts of his pig gun. He heard Tejate yelp in pain and fall down the stairs.

  When he looked cautiously down the stairwell, Jackson saw a bloody Tejate pull himself to his feet and limp out of view. Jackson reloaded his pig gun as he descended the stairs. From the foot of the steps he saw Tejate at the end of a short hall struggling to open a heavy, wooden door. There was debris on the floor blocking the door’s passage, but Tejate only tried to kick it out of the way as he strained to open the heavy door. He had gotten the door cracked when Jackson put on a burst of speed and flung himself against the door. He hit the door full tilt with his shoulder, causing it to slam shut.

  Tejate screamed as the fingers of his right hand crunched in the heavy vise of the door and the jamb. Jackson slammed the butt of his rifle into Tejate’s chest and the man fell backward onto the floor. Jackson pointed his pig gun at Tejate and demanded, “Where’s Maria?”

  Juan pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall, holding his crushed hand in front of him. He was bleeding steadily from wounds in both his side and back.

  “Who?” Tejate asked with a humorless laugh. “You want to know about that puta?”

  Jackson threatened, “Watch your mouth, you bastard, or I’ll blast you where you lay!”

  “Oh, you like her, huh? I’ll tell you about her, maricón. She was still tight and sweet when I had her, but I was one of the first. A friend told me that by the time he’d had her, she was all loose and bloody! She was useless, didn’t put any effort in it. Some women forget where they come from! I think somebody shot her in the head and left her on the side of the highway.”

  The hand holding the pig gun fell to Jackson’s side. The air was taken out of him. He could not have pictured worse news. Images of Maria flashed across his consciousness, reminding him that he would never have her company again, or lie sated from lovemaking in a darkened room with her. She was dead.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw Juan fingering his boot with his good hand and felt a sudden rush of anger. Here was one of the vandals who had robbed Jackson of his dream, this man who had no other purpose in life but to destroy the things he did not have the class to possess. Jackson fired both barrels into Juan’s body just as Juan pulled the knife from his boot. The acrid smell of cordite filled the small space. Jackson did not give Juan’s bloody body a second glance before he turned away.

  Jackson reloaded his pig gun as he slowly climbed the stairs. He felt no regret at having killed Tejate yet he was despondent. He stepped out from behind the bar and saw carnage all around him. There were perhaps ten dead men lying about on the floor and the smell of their blood was sickening. From the other side of the compound he heard the explosion of mortars. The blasts shook the walls and rattled the windows. He picked up his rifle and climbed the stairs that led up to the Jaguar’s chambers and Tigre’s apartment. He went through Tigre’s rooms to ensure himself that Maria had not been hidden away, then continued up to the Jaguar’s suite. As soon as he walked through the doors of the lavishly furnished suite, Jackson heard someone screaming in agony.

  He heard his grandfather’s voice growling out questions; there was a pause then more screams. Jackson pushed open the door slowly and saw El Indio’s gun pointing at him. His grandfather was standing over an old, bald-headed man with a pair of bloody shears. The bald-headed man was trembling on his knees with pain. Jackson’s grandfather looked at Jackson and said, “You don’t want to see this! I got twenty minutes to kill this fool and I’m gon’ take all of it! El Indio, take him out of here and cover the machine guns’ retreat.”

  Jackson protested, “Is this why we’re here, Grandfather, to torture old men?”

  “This is the Jaguar! This man gave the orders to attack my home and family! He will pay with what little he has left as slowly as I can make it! I should have killed him years ago!”

  El Indio led Jackson away as the Jaguar gave out a long, high shriek; it was a piercing and grating sound of terrible pain. Jackson knew he would remember the sounds the Jaguar made before he died; that and the sound of the wind howling over the tortured hills would hold the essence of this visit for him.

  El Indio told Jackson to guard the alley leading to their departure point. Jackson climbed up on a roof to get a better view. The far side of the compound was ablaze and the fire was spreading fast. Jackson could hear the panicked screams of women and children amid the shouts of men’s voices as people mobilized to fight the fire. He saw a figure with clothes aflame run out of a burning house and fall in the street. Jackson was suddenly nauseous. He bent over and retched until he had nothing more in his stomach. He had come to find Maria. He had not come to kill everyone he saw or torture old men. Now that Maria was dead, Jackson had no further interest in participating in his grandfather’s wars. He wanted to throw his gun down and just leave the compound, but he understood that others were depending upon him to protect their line of retreat. He exhaled slowly and tried to focus on his responsibility. He stared out into the dark areas of the compound that were unaffected by the fires now raging on the far perimeter. He saw dark shapes frenziedly running back and forth in the distant shadows but did not shoot because he didn’t want to kill anybody else, and in particular he didn’t want to fire on women and children. Whoever they were, he figured that if they weren’t threatening the line of retreat, there was no need to kill them.

  Waiting quietly on the roof was proving difficult. He was growing increasingly nervous and impatient. For the first time in many years, he knew that he would be happy to see his grandmother’s house again. Salty sweat ran into his eyes and caused a stinging sensation. He put down his rifle and rubbed his eyes frantically, wiping away the sweat. He kept his face in his hands for a moment, trying to calm himself. Soon the whole thing would be over and he would be on his way back to the States. This was the last trip to Mexico to visit his grandfather that he would ever make.

  Jackson looked up and saw a bare-chested man with a machete slip across an alley into the shadows. Jackson picked up his rifle and stared into the darkness. He cursed his stupidity for allowing himself to be inattentive. He searched the jumble of alleys and buildings looking for the man. Then he saw fire reflected in the gleam of the machete’s blade as the weapon rose out of the shadows and chopped downward swiftly. A man stumbled out from between the buildings and dropped to his knees in the street. The man’s hat slipped off his head and fell to the ground. Even in the darkness, Jackson could se
e El Indio’s black, high-domed hat with the wide brim lying in the dirt. The man with the machete stepped into view and raised the weapon for the killing shot. He never finished his swing.

  Jackson emptied his clip into the man’s body and the machete fell from his hands as the impact of the bullets knocked him out of view. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw the flash of a gun and ducked down. That reflex action saved his life. A fusillade of bullets raked the stucco just above where he was lying, throwing particles and dust in every direction. Jackson was protected by the raised edge of the roof, but he was pinned down on his back. The barrage of bullets continued for what seemed like hours, chipping away the veneer of stucco and exposing the building materials beneath.

  Jackson tried to shimmy on his back out of the line of fire, but the combined bulk of the sheepskin coat and the vest beneath it prevented him from moving rapidly. Still, he struggled to get deeper into the shadows. A loud explosion shook the walls of the compound and lit the buildings and surrounding landscape with its incandescence. Several other lesser explosions followed upon the heels of the first. Jackson lifted up and tried quickly to roll over the lip of the roof down into the safety of the alley, but the lower hem of his sheepskin coat snagged on a nail along the edge and left him dangling a foot or two above the ground. He fought to free himself from the coat, but he could not drop out of it. He tried raising his arms and kicking his legs. Fear caused him to struggle frantically.

  On the periphery of his vision, Jackson saw the shape of a man break from the shadows and run in his direction. He tried to bring the M16 around to bear on his assailant, but he had begun to slip out of the coat and could not get the weapon pointed in the right direction. He saw the gleam of a machete blade flash toward him and then felt the sensation of falling. He landed awkwardly on one leg and fell on top of his rifle. He pulled his pig gun from its holster and rolled to a sitting position, ready to fire. Hernando shoved the machete back into its scabbard and saluted Jackson before he ran back to his post.

  Jackson stood up slowly and shrugged out of the coat. He took his M16 and followed Hernando. At an intersection of two alleys, Hernando waved him into the shadows. Five men were running up the street toward the Jaguar’s residence. When the men were almost abreast, Hernando opened fire. Jackson followed his lead, but the M16’s magazine was empty. Jackson didn’t fumble with changing magazines, but pulled the pig gun free and fired both barrels at the enemy. Four of the men crumpled and fell before the onslaught of lead and Hernando fired a few extra bursts into their bodies to ensure that they would pose no further threat, but the fifth man, firing a machine gun over his shoulder, limped around the corner of a building.

  Hernando gestured that Jackson should track the man down and kill him. Jackson loaded another magazine into his M16 and hurried after the man as he shoved two more shells in his pig gun. When he got to the corner, he dropped to his stomach and peered around it searching for his quarry. The man stumbled out of the shadows farther up the street, heading for an entrance to one of the buildings. Jackson fired a burst at the man and saw his body jerk, but the man still made it to the doorway and was able to get inside just before bullets from Jackson’s gun raked the place where he had been standing. Staying in the shadows, Jackson crept up to the doorway. He kicked the door open and jumped to the side. A hail of bullets blew past him. Jackson took out his pig gun and fired both barrels around the corner of the doorway into the building. He was loading his pig gun for another blast when he heard the screams of children and women originating from within the building. His stomach knotted. His shots had injured women and children. He sat back against the wall, overcome with remorse. Perhaps something could be done for the wounded, something to correct this terrible wrong. He pushed open the door and entered the darkness of the building with his gun over his head, apologizing loudly. He hoped his show of peacemaking would allow the injured women and children to receive medical attention. He could see nothing but shadows and deeper darkness. He stammered, “I—I—I’m sorry! I’m so—sorry! Let me help you!” He heard a noise from the depths of the darkness. He turned toward it. A woman came flying out of the shadows. He didn’t even see the knife in her hand until it started to descend toward his chest. The blade never touched him because Hernando knocked the woman down with the butt of his automatic rifle. Hernando dragged him out of the building and pushed him up against a wall, then he pulled two hand grenades out of a pouch and prepared to throw them into the building.

  “Wait! Wait!” Jackson protested. “There are women and children in there!”

  Hernando nodded sadly and replied, “The cost of war. There is also a man with a gun in there and this is the path we will use to leave. We cannot have enemies between us and our exit.”

  Jackson argued, “You can’t kill women and children! They are not soldiers!”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a call from Carlos. “I need help here! Culio and Chico are pinned down by a sniper on the roof!”

  Hernando looked at Jackson with an exasperated expression then pushed the grenades into his hands. Hernando took off running in the direction of Carlos’s voice. He was almost to the covering shadows when a rifle shot rang out. Hernando was hit. He fell on the ground and began crawling, trying to reach the protection of the shadows. Jackson was horrified. The shot had originated from within the building that Hernando had wanted to grenade. Another shot rang out, kicking up dirt by Hernando’s shoulders. Not hesitating any longer, Jackson pulled the pin and threw the grenade into the open doorway. After a momentary pause, there was an earthshaking explosion from within. Tears formed in Jackson’s eyes as he pulled the pin of the second grenade and threw it into the building. With the second explosion, pieces of adobe fell off the building into the street. Roofing tile fell and shattered around him. He stood against the wall, stunned by his own actions. He kept telling himself that it was the “cost of war.”

  He was still mumbling to himself when Carlos appeared at the end of another alley and shouted, “Time to get to the truck!”

  Jackson awakened from his stupor and waved to get Carlos’s attention. He ran toward him. “El Indio! El Indio has been hurt!”

  “I know,” Carlos answered without emotion. “He’s dead.”

  The guilt rose up in Jackson’s throat and nearly gagged him. He blurted out, “It’s my fault! I should have been more alert. I didn’t see the man until the last minute! I was thinking about myself—I’m so sorry! I—”

  “Get to the truck!” Carlos ordered. “We don’t have time for this now!”

  “What about Hernando? I got him injured too!”

  Carlos grabbed Jackson’s collar and growled, “Get back to the truck! Culio and Chico are helping him! Worry about yourself! Get going!”

  Esteban led Jackson over the wall and across the cleared band of ground to the truck, which was waiting in a thicket of scrub oak and madrona. Culio was sitting on top of the vehicle with a bazooka on his shoulder. When Jackson’s grandfather and Carlos clambered over the wall and were crossing into the thicket, Culio fired. A trail of yellow fire followed the rocket to its destination. The Jaguar’s residence exploded and a wall fell down into the street of the compound. Culio fired two more rockets and the residence was ablaze.

  The truck rolled away in the darkness without headlights. Under the truck’s interior lights Esteban and Carlos worked on stemming the bleeding from Hernando’s leg wound. There was silence in the compartment as the men slumped in their fold-down seats. El Indio’s body lay on the floor wrapped in a tarp. No one had anything to say. There was no mood of joy or sense of achievement. No victorious smiles. A friend had fallen and there was nothing that could offset the sadness. Jackson stared down at the floor of the truck. This night was an experience that would be branded in his memory like the night of his father’s death. The silence of the men in the compartment could not subdue the screams that echoed in his ears or dampen the turmoil in his heart.

  When the truck re
ached the highway and the ride leveled out a man named Tovares went to the radio and began contacting other stations. Carlos joined him and directed his efforts. King sat quietly, staring at the motionless mound of the tarp on the floor. No one could tell the thoughts he was thinking by looking at him. His face was impassive and his eyes were dark and glinting. The force of the man was submerged beneath his guarded exterior.

  Carlos came over and sat down next to King. “A plane will pick us up outside of Gómez Palacio and will take us to Tampico. We’ll take Hernando to the doctor and El Indio to the crematorium there. Rico and Octavio Ramirez will meet us afterward. Then after we finish with Tigre, we’ll fly to Chiapas and spread El Indio’s ashes over the hills around his village as he requested. We’ll be at the airstrip in two hours.”

  Jackson could not believe his ears. His grandfather wanted to kill more people? “I don’t want to go!” he declared angrily. “Haven’t we killed enough? Isn’t your lust for blood satisfied?” Jackson gestured to his throat and said, “I’m filled up to here with all of this! And I’m through with it!”

  His grandfather did not raise his voice, but when he spoke his words cut through the tension like a blade through flesh. “A friend is lyin’ at my feet killed by the Jaguar’s men. Our lives been tied together for nearly forty years and I won’t let his life pass without retribution. He deserves to have his death avenged. I’m gon’ cut a wide path through the heart of the Jaguar’s organization. He will not die alone!”