by Texas
She was Juana Munoz, daughter of a farmer whose fields lay to the north of town, and like other such girls, she had worked in various large houses in Zacatecas at whatever jobs were available: maid, cook, governess. Some years back she had been courted intermittently by a soldier, but he had moved on to another post, and now she realized that at twenty-two she was perilously close to an age when chances for marriage would diminish. Therefore, when she became aware that the carpenter from the Franciscan center had begun to notice her, she watched for the moment when she would pass where he stood and sent a carefully orchestrated series of signals, each time a little bolder than before, until he had good reason to think that his intentions were known and reciprocated.
When this subtle communication was repeated on Friday and Saturday at the Spanish paseo, Simon felt with some justification that the time had come for him to make some overt step, but what kind he did not know. A more enterprising man would simply have joined the mestizo paseo on Sunday night, smiled knowingly at the young woman, and when the marching ended, reached for her hand, introduced himself properly, and walked her sedately to
where some member of her family waited to take her home. But Simon was not equal to this; he blushed furiously even at the thought, so on Sunday, even though he went to the paseo, he stood mutely at the edge, staring his heart out at the winsome girl but unable to read in her eyes the panic signal: 'Young man, if you wish to speak with me, for God's sake, speak!' When the paseo ended and it looked as if she might come and talk to him, he fled.
On Monday, in considerable confusion, he began seriously to evaluate the friars working at his building and he concluded that Fray Damian, a quiet fellow with a gentle manner, would best understand his plight. So that afternoon he tugged at the friar's sleeve and whispered: 'Could I please to speak with you?' and he was relieved when the cleric, only four years older than himself, smiled paternally.
It was a strained consultation, for Simon was ill-qualified to reveal his problem, and through bad luck he had chosen as his confidant the one cleric in Zacatecas least fitted to help. From an early age Fray Damian de Saldana had known that he would become a servant of God, and his devotion was so concentrated that he passed through puberty hardly realizing that girls existed. He was fully aware that courtship, marriage and parenthood were not for him, and during his assignment at Zacatecas he had not once witnessed the paseo, for he had catalogued it as 'something the others did.' Therefore, he did not understand when Simon said hesitantly: "At the paseo . . . there's a woman ... I want you to speak to her for me. I need a wife, and she seems fine, quite fine.'
'Who is she?'
'You must find out for me.' As soon as Simon uttered these words he was overcome with confusion, and with his hands pressed close to his legs he bowed low and whispered: 'I have reason to think . . .'
'Of course I'll help.'
And it was in this way that Fray Damian de Saldana, thirty-three years old and born in Spain, first went to the Spanish paseo in the great plaza fronting the cathedral of Zacatecas. It was a June evening, not yet summer-hot, with a quiet breeze coming in from the uplands. At sunset, when he took his place near the church with the carpenter at his side, a golden glow suffused the town and a pale quarter-moon hung in the starless sky. Flowers, shade trees, fruit trees along the irrigation canals, all prospered in these rich early days of summer, and the loveliest flowers of all were the young women of the town as they casually entered the plaza to begin their promenade.
'Which one is she?' Fray Damian asked, and with the greatest
embarrassment Simon had to reply: 'She hasn't appeared yet. She might not come tonight.' But a short while later he tugged at the friar's arm. 'There she is!' he said with almost boyish delight, but Damian did not hear.
Four places ahead of Garza's mestizo housemaid came three Spanish girls, their insolent swaying and noisy chatter youthful and superior. The girl in the middle position was the housemaid's mistress, an especially attractive lass, with an impish face and long braids, wearing clothes which seemed more perfectly fitted to her fifteen-year-old body than did those of the other girls. She was more frank, too, in greeting the glances of the young men who passed, slowing down so that pleasantries could be exchanged. At such times she almost stopped, so that her friends had to drag her along, slapping her on the back as they might have chastised a wayward child. Then she would giggle, throw her hands over her face, and remove them so quickly that she could still toss a farewell smile at the men.
is she not handsome?' Simon asked, but again Damian did not hear, for he was watching with the most intense interest the girl's progress.
She was Benita Linan, daughter of an official sent from Spain to supervise the agriculture in this part of Mexico. She had been born in Avila, one of the fine walled cities of Castile, and since her family intended returning there as soon as her father's work in New Spain was completed, she had been warned not to express any serious interest in the many young men who sought to woo her, for she was to be married in Spain, but this did not prevent her from flirting with them. Indeed, the older woman who served as her duena, and who watched carefully from the Linan balcony, sometimes doubted whether she would ever get their headstrong child back to Spain, for Benita showed a strong inclination toward becoming involved here in Mexico.
Fray Damian felt a tugging at his sleeve, and heard: 'That's the one. Walking alone. I think I ought to let her know I'm here.'
'What?' He had forgotten his carpenter's mission.
When Simon explained his plot, that he would arrange to be near the woman when the bell rang, Fray Damian said: 'That's sensible. That's very sensible.' He coughed. Til join you when the bell rings.'
In fact, he moved much earlier in order to gaze more directly at the lively child who had so attracted him, and when he had eased himself unobtrusively into the crowd of watchers, working his way to the front row, he felt his heart thumping whenever she came swinging along, whispering words both to her friends and to
the passing young men He was startled by her beauty, and well he might be, for she was the epitome of all the dark-eyed, laughing women who graced the cathedral towns of Spain, and who gave his homeland so much of its remarkable character.
And then his heart missed a beat, for he realized that Simon's young woman was in the company of his girl, and that in attending to the courtship of his carpenter, he was abetting his own interest: How remarkable! It's almost as if someone had arranged this curious thing.
The bell rang, the paseo ended, and the crowds dispersed, but Fray Damian did not intercept the carpenter's woman and make the introduction, for he was preoccupied with the girl 'I'm sorry, Simon. I think it'll be much better if we speak to her tomorrow.' And on the next night, after again hovering by the cathedral to watch Benita, he did intercept the woman in whom the carpenter had evidenced such interest: 'I am Fray Damian from the college, and I wish to present Simon Garza.' The carpenter bowed, Juana smiled modestly, and the formalities were honored.
'I am Juana Munoz, of this parish.'
'And your parents?' Damian asked.
'Farmers, of the parish to the north.'
'I introduce a man of good repute,' Damian said, and then he excused himself and hurried off to see where the saucy girl's duena had taken her, and he saw with uncharacteristic satisfaction that she was being led into the house of a family of some standing. He asked a passer-by whose house it was, and the man said: 'Anselmo Lirian, official from Avila in Spain.'
Even though he was aware that he was becoming enmeshed in a very dangerous game, Fray Damian sought a dozen excuses for being in the plaza during the Spanish paseo: It's as if the gears of a huge grinding machine were working to sort out the persons whom God intended to be married. That poor fellow over there will never find a wife. That lively girl by the cart had better find her husband soon, or she'll be in trouble. And somehow, by God's grace, it works.
He kept a close watch on Benita, whose name he now knew, and was
pleased to see that she had formed no attachment of any kind, but he was worried about her flippancy and her predilection for flirting with almost any fellow who happened to catch her eye in the paseo.
He had not yet spoken to the girl, and she was unaware of his presence, but one night an unusually perceptive friend whispered to Benita as they passed under the church towers: i think that one is watching you,' and she snapped. 'A priest? Nonsense!' But upon
careful inspection of the friar's behavior, she had to conclude that he was watching her, and no others. The idea intrigued her.
In late July, Fray Damian finally had a logical excuse for appearing at the paseo, for his carpenter had asked him to speak formally to the servant girl Juana Murioz, and Damian added, with grave propriety: 'Your young man Simon would like me to conduct the wedding. Do you agree?'
'I would be honored. My parents will come in from the country.'
So a wedding was announced. It would take place after the turn i of the year, and as a gesture of good will toward Garza, Fray Damian sought permission for it to be held in one of the church's chapels. He was directed to consult with Anselmo Linan, who as a Spanish official helped direct the social affairs of the church, and when details were clarified, Linan said: Tray Damian, the colonel tells me he would like to talk with you about reinforcing the Franciscan presence in the northern areas.'
'I'm ready to go, I assure you.'
'Could you dine with us? This week?'
'Oh, yes!'
Fray Damian was a tall man, very thin, with a sharp nose and beetling eyebrows, who had never paid much attention to his appearance. But on the day of the dinner he tried to make himself presentable. Using much water in an attempt to hold down his unruly hair, he also brushed his sandals and beat out his frock to remove the dust which had accumulated at the building site. Looking somewhat better than usual, he went to the Linan home, and was delighted to find that Benita, now posing as a demure and well-behaved young lady, would attend the dinner with her mother. His seat was opposite hers, and although he tried his best to avoid her eyes, lest he betray his surging emotions, he could not prevent this from happening. When it did, he blushed so painfully that he was certain everyone at table must see it, but Benita seemed unconcerned, smiling at him as she might have smiled at some elderly uncle whom the family favored.
The talk this evening was mostly about the empty lands north of that river which the Spanish called variously El Rio de las Palmas, El Rio Bravo, or some other arbitrary name. Lately they had begun to call it El Rio Grande del Norte, or simply El Rio Grande. 'The problem lies not with the lands themselves,' an enthusiastic lieutenant was saying, 'but the fact that they join us to the French in Louisiana. Mark my words and mark them well, one of these days we'll be at war with the French over those border lands.'
His colonel, an imperious man, smiled condescendingly and
! said: 'You're a clever lad, Tovar. I received word yesterday that the French have already threatened our settlement at Los Adaes.'
'Why would the French want to invade us?' Linan asked, but the colonel ignored the question, turning abruptly to Fray Damian: 'Tell me, what plans do you Franciscans have for strengthening the north?' But before Damian could respond, he banged on the table till the glasses rattled: 'Best thing Spain's ever done, the union of the friars at the mission and the army at the presidio.'
'Why do you say that?' Linan asked.
'Most effective way ever devised for settling and holding a virgin territory. It was originally used as a way of resettling Spain after the defeat of the Moorish invaders, you know.'
'I would have thought bringing in farmers was the telling circumstance,' Linan argued.
'Men like you will be welcomed in Tejas only when the friar here, and the soldier here'—and he slapped himself on his chest —'only when we've pacified the place.'
The colonel jabbed a finger at Damian and asked: 'What plans do you Franciscans have for helping your compatriots in the north of Tejas?' and the friar responded: 'We're eager to send men forth tomorrow.'
'I hear the missions you used to have up there accomplished little.'
'Our early missions did falter,' Damian conceded. 'Founded 1690, abandoned 1693. That's why I'd like to explore the north. To find a better site. To do a better job.'
'You'd better take me along,' the colonel joked, 'or those Indians'll eat you in a minute.'
'It is the salvation of those Indians which will take us north,' Damian said firmly, and as the discussion continued, with a good wine from Andalucia flowing, the three-pronged mission of Spain in the New World was made clear: Fray Damian to Christianize; the colonel to civilize; and Anselmo Linan, the farmer-businessman, to utilize.
When the discussion reached this level the colonel proved a most sensible man, appreciative of the contributions his two colleagues could make, and willing to concede that he could not operate well without them: 'How do you gentlemen assess the relative contributions of our three arms? I mean, in the problem of settling an area like Tejas?'
To his own surprise Fray Damian was the first to respond, and he did so vigorously: 'The commission we are given by His Majesty the King is so clearly stated that none can confuse it. Spain's
responsibility is to save souls, to bring new lands into the embrace of Jesus Christ.'
'That's always said first,' the colonel agreed, 'but let's remember that our fundamental purpose is to find ourselves a new Mexico, a new Peru, and to conquer it and hold it for the empire.'
in the early stages, yes,' Linan acquiesced, 'but after the first ten years the goal must be to use the pacified Indians in commerce, as we've done here—to make things, dig ore out of the ground, to farm, if you will, so that Spain can have the profits of trade.'
'You'll produce damned little without an army,' the colonel said, and it was Damian who voiced the sensible approach: 'We serve the king best when we serve Jesus Christ first. But my Franciscans would be powerless in Tejas without the support of you two.'
'You'll have it,' the colonel said. 'As soon as you're ready to move out.'
'I was ready at the age of ten,' Damian said, and this encouraged the other two to ask where his family had lived, and he said: in a lovely village named after our family—Saldana—halfway between Burgos and Leon in the north of Spain.'
Anselmo Linan, as the father of a marriageable daughter, was preoccupied with questions of heritage and could not help asking: 'Were you of the nobility?' and when Damian blushed furiously, those at the table concluded that he was not.
But his embarrassment stemmed from a much different cause, which he endeavored to explain as delicately as possible: 'My father had seven sons in a row. I was the fifth. And by country custom dating back a thousand years, he was entitled to the dignified name Hidalgo de Bragueta.' As soon as he uttered these words, the colonel and his lieutenant guffawed, but Don Anselmo blushed as deeply as the friar, and when Benita asked almost petulantly: 'What's he saying, Father?' he hushed her with a stern 'I'll tell you later.'
Hidalgo de Bragueta, a most honorable appellation, could best be translated as Sir Knight of the Codpiece, for it proclaimed to the countryside that this prepotent gentleman had sired seven sons in a row without the intrusion or, as Damian's father liked to put it, 'the contamination' of a single daughter.
'You were the fifth son?' Linan asked, and Damian explained: 'From time long past our family honored the custom of Mayo-razgo. First son inherited all the land. Second son married a rich daughter of our neighbors. Third and fourth into the army, fifth and sixth into the church. Seventh son? Who knows?'
'Then one could say that you are of the nobility?' Linan probed. 'Sort of r
My grandfather thought he was king, at least of Asturias. My father had more sense '
'Will you go back to Saldaria?'
'I'm a Franciscan. I roam the world. My home is in heaven.'
At this profession of faith the local Spaniards sighed, for it was understood that every man in Zac
atecas who had been born in Spain yearned to return there at the earliest opportunity; they might work diligently in far outposts like this, or along the real frontier in Tejas, but they certainly planned to take their savings back to some Spanish town as soon as practical, even the clergy.
i have a place at Malaga,' the colonel said. 'A vineyard ... a few oranges. Nothing much, you understand.' Turning to Linan, he asked: 'Where 7 '
'Avila.' He had to say no more, for his listeners could imagine that fair city perched upon its little hill, the heavy stone walls that enclosed it wandering up and down the slopes.
No one spoke, for everyone in the dining hall loved his or her corner of Spain, that fortunate land which God had created to prove that life on earth could be almost as favorable as life in heaven: Fray Damian could see his father's shepherds bringing in their flocks at night; the colonel could see his silvery city nestled beside the Mediterranean, its streets crowded with revelers at bullfight time; and Linan could see not only sanctified Avila but also the rich fields that lay beyond her walls.
'To Spain!' the colonel proposed, and the wine was passed, with even young Benita lifting her glass, for she, too, remembered Avila.
