The Forests of the Night - J P S Brown

by J P S Brown

  Suddenly the colt heard an explosion and the stalk whipped and quivered to the ground. The colt ran away from a man who came toward him. The stalk of fur was the tail of an old mountain lion who had been trying to lure the colt close enough to catch him and eat him. Martinillo made sure his bullet had struck the spot where he had aimed it. He slit the lion's throat for good measure and went on hardly breaking stride, cutting for a different track. He saw the elegant colt run away to his other, an old jenny burro the mezcaleros used to carry the mezcal heads to their winery. The jenny was nicked and matted by the use of men. She showed an unwillingness even to help herself as she moved away with her prancing colt. Martinillo was unconcerned for the life of the lion. The lion's legal fare was deer. He had become blunt in tooth and smooth of claw and had discovered that livestock was easier to kill and burro colts tasted the best.

  Martinillo found a broken anguría with El Yoco's track planted in the middle of it. An anguría is a container fashioned by hand from green limbs and used by animal packers of the Sierra. He recognized the work of the hand of Manuelito Espinoza in the anguría. He found the other anguría containing fruits of the uvalama. Then he found a burro of Don Panchito Flores Valenzuela had been driven into a gorge and savaged. The old servant had not been killed quickly or compassionately. He had died kicking until his muscles and tendons had been stilled one by one with almost surgical care. Martinillo then saw the tracks that showed El Yoco had chosen his first Christian to kill. The tracks belonged to Manuelito.

  The old man had not run. He was too disorganized for flight. Any motor extravagance of his could as well carry him over a cliff or into El Yoco's maw as carry him to safety. He had probably scolded El Yoco as he watched him kill the burro, afraid of the power he watched yet confident of his own authority as a man. Manuelito probably had believed no animal could continue doing violence while a man scolded him. How surprised Manuelito must have been when El Yoco turned all his attention toward him. How grave must that moment have been when El Yoco approached Manuelito in spite of the scolding. He had gone toward the man slowly. Manuelito had struck at the animal with rocks and sticks and, finally, had kicked at him with the soles of his huaraches. El Yoco had an easy time with Manuelito. No blood spotted the ground. Manuelito had surrendered after El Yoco had taken him by the head and shaken him once.

  Martinillo had no trouble reading El Yoco's story on the ground. El Yoco released Manuelito once to play with him. His tail whipped the ground with enjoyment as he teased Manuelito. Manuelito's crooked feet in his lopsided huaraches backed up the hill. El Yoco snatched the man again and Manuelito gave in with complete stiffening acquiescence even as a kitten stiffens when his mother takes his head in her mouth to carry him. El Yoco had taught him a lesson in obedience with the first shaking he gave him.

  Martinillo found the corpse of Manuelito in the cave called La Burra. El Yoco had laid Manuelito over a slab of rock in the cave. His jaw marks were plain on the man's temples and cheekbones. Manuelito had died in the cave after El Yoco had shaken him and thrown him about searching for more of his life to play with. Manuelito had died of the game.

  El Yoco had violated Manuelito so badly he resembled a ruined toy. Martinillo decided he was not going to cross Manuelito's hands on his chest or bring him down off the slab to rest. He was thinking it was too bad El Yoco had not eaten Manuelito, however unappetizing Manuelito was, to save Martinillo the task of carrying the corpse to the authorities. The only reason he was going to carry Manuelito away from the cave of La Burra was to make people believe in El Yoco. This would also bring great fame to Manuelito.

  Martinillo built a fire to warm the cave. Martinillo did not believe Manuelito should be without a fire. Martinillo had been going days without a fire. A fire was the most he could do for Manuelito now. He searched Manuelito's pockets for tobacco. They yielded nothing but uvalama seeds, a poor fruit that year. Martinillo had the feeling Manuelito had delved often into his own pockets to find nothing but dirt that caught under his fingernails.

  Martinillo had no meat, but he had mezcal. He watched the fire light the corpse in the dark cave. He remembered how much good company Manuelito had been, how much fun he had given Martinillo with his cravings for tobacco, mezcal, and coffee. Martinillo walked to the corpse and stood before the half-open eyes that were looking so far inward at something going away that they had dulled and would never be any good at seeing outward again. He poured mezcal on the dead lips. The mezcal dried quickly and only a few drops ran to the chin, only the normal amount Manuelito was accustomed to losing so he could wipe it with the palm of his hand, an extravagance of his. "¡Cochino!" Martinillo said. "Messy." He wiped Manuelito's chin for him. Manuelito toppled and Martinillo caught him by the hand. He noticed dead hair with dead skin in the hand, hair and skin of El Yoco. Martinillo examined the hair and smelled it. El Yoco was sick with some infection that made his hair die. His eye might be infected from the blow of Adancito's rock. He might be enduring a lot of pain. He might slow down. Martinillo slung his rifle and bule, shouldered Manuelito, and headed for Chinipas.

  24

  Don Tomas Pesqueira, father of Lucrecia and Juanita, stood on the porch of his house at Canelas and watched two horsemen approach on the trail from Jecopaco. One of the horsemen led an ox by a rope. The other drove him from behind. Don Tomas puffed on a cornhusk cigarette and recognized the men. He called to one of his grandsons and ordered him to open the corral gate by the house. The men coming were Chombe Servín, the killer, and Celestino Reyes, the cuckold.

  Don Tomas had six sons, all grown and raising families. His wife had borne him seven daughters. Only Lucrecia and Juanita had lived past their first year. All of his sons lived at the Canelas ranch. Don Tomas was gracious to any man who acted civilly on the trail passing through his ranch. He disliked these two travelers. He considered it an insult to have to put up with both of them at the same time. He felt imposed upon to see Chombe riding on his ranch to avail himself of the Pesqueira hospitality as though Don Tomas was expected to welcome his murderer's face, his women to serve a murderer coffee.

  Don Tomas moved as smoothly as a young man. He was strong and wiry. His sons were all stronger and taller than he, but none could walk farther, shoot quicker or straighter than he. He was capable of controlling any murderer by himself in his home. He could extend hospitality to any man because he was not a coward.

  He sent a tiny granddaughter to bring his eldest son, Tomas, who was cattle inspector for the region. The murderer would undoubtedly require inspection papers for the ox he was driving.

  Don Tomas took his stock knife, a clasp knife with a ten-inch blade two inches wide, from a holster at his belt. He cut a square of new leaf of cornhusk for a cigarette. He was licking it when Chombe Servín and Celestino rode into his yard and dismounted without greeting him or being asked to dismount.

  Chombe was acting serious and important. He was much changed from the dull, subservient, starved boy Don Tomas had seen last in the store at Macarena. He was silently playing his role as murderer, matón, a certain distinction in a people who did a lot of murdering. He was romanticizing himself. He probably expected the region's troubadours to compose an epic corrido about his exploits as a killer.

  Chombe was wearing new clothes, new boots. His new hat was two sizes too small for him. Why was it these young men thought a head two sizes smaller than the one they wore was attractive? During all their young bull lives they wore hats two sizes too small. Consequently, their brainpans did not grow. They remained pinheaded. Maybe this was the cause of the inclination of so many for murder. Chombe now wore a little mustache he was not born to wear, had not been destined to wear, because of his Indian blood. A man could count the fuzz over the lip if he wished to look at the face of Chombe. Don Tomas did not look at the face of Chombe. Celestino the cuckold was wearing a fawning smile.

  Chombe stood beside his horse and slid his rifle in and out of the scabbard, assuring himself of his deadliness. Before
he became a murderer he had often asked Don Tomas' advice about honorable paths he could follow to become a man. He never had failed to demean himself in some way in Don Tomas' eyes after he had been freely given the advice. Don Tomas likened Chombe to a chameleon. His colors changed with every mood and sound and color of his surroundings.

  Chombe moved his pistol under his belt so that it rested at his belly. He stepped up under the portal to shake hands with Don Tomas without removing his hat. He looked at the homemade teguas on Don Tomas' feet and then at his own new factory boots. Don Tomas did not take the hand but swung a chair forward for Chombe's comfort. He swung it hard enough so that Chombe had to back away to catch it with both hands.

  "Sit yourself," Don Tomas said. Chombe, swaggering stiffly, swung his leg over the seat so that he could rest his forearms over its back. He did not remove the hat which hurt his brainpan.

  "Look what I've brought you," said Celestino fatuously. "Chombe the valiant."

  "Come into the shade and rest," Don Tomas said to Celestino. "Poor man. You must be affected by the sun. You're not sick?"

  Celestino's expression was that of a poor man who was constantly being bullied but made himself like it for reasons of his own, mostly cowardice.

  "El Valiente is buying my red ox," Celestino hurried to answer "He is taking him to Chinipas to kill for a fiesta he's having for his girl friend. He's going to ask her to marry him."

  "All very fine," Don Tomas said. He turned toward the women in the kitchen. "Bring coffee for these valiant travelers," he ordered, his expression unchanging. "Bring food. Romantic valiants on their way to fiestas require food."

  "Many thanks, Don Tomas," said Celestino. "We will only require coffee."

  The six sons of Don Tomas came to the table and gravely shook hands with Chombe and Celestino. They unsaddled the horses and carried the saddles to the shade of the porch. The children of Canelas did not appear. The women stayed out of sight. Tomas, the eldest son, got his book of inspection papers and filled out a permit for transit and a bill of sale for the ox. He took tax stamps from a shoe box and stamped the bill of sale.

  The men of Canelas tied the ox to a snubbing post, took Celestino's branding iron, heated it and vented the ox on his side as he danced to the brand. The brand showed brown and smoking on his red hide. Celestino and Chombe saddled their horses. Chombe looked over the back of his horse and saw someone approaching the ranch. "Who is coming?" he demanded quietly, dangerously.

  "Only the paludisma, the malaria, this time," said Neli, the son who worked for Juan Vogel, mocking Chombe. He walked to the patio gate and slid open the poles to admit the visitor, a young man on a tired mule. He wore a yellow helmet. His saddle blankets had slipped back under his saddle and were flapping and about to fall off the mule's rump, but he had not noticed them. He rode into the patio and lowered himself to the ground. Neli unsaddled the mule and gave the animal a bundle of tasol. The young man was a government worker sent to the region to inspect for the prevention of malaria mosquitos and other pests. He ignored Chombe and Celestino. He went straight to the portal.

  "Are you sick, Ernesto?" Don Tomas asked, looking closely. "You are pale. Did you catch your own malaria?"

  "I'm frightened," said Ernesto. "I don't mind admitting I've suffered a shock. A tigre, I imagine he's the same one they call El Yoco, harassed me all night."

  Don Tomas placed a chair for the young man. "On the trail last evening I saw a herd of eight or ten of your cattle bunched together for protection," Ernesto said. "I saw the track of the tigre on the trail. I left the cattle and followed the track. The tigre was lying in the meadow of Sombrerito when I arrived there. I thought he was dead. He was lying on the ground with flies all over him. Then he raised his head and rolled it from side to side and looked at me. His head was misshapen, his body shrunken. My mule bolted to the edge of the meadow and stopped, hiding his head in a tree. When I tried to turn him away from the tree, he wrung his tail but would not move his feet. The tigre got up and began prowling around me. He untracked the mule and drove him to the center of the meadow. I got off the mule and threw rocks at the tigre. He slapped them to the ground with his hands. I built a fire and spent the night walking around the fire facing him as he moved around me. He made no sound. He smelled like a dead carcass. At sunup he went away and I was able to come on.

  "Woman, bring a swallow of the strong for this boy," Don Tomas said. He moved restlessly to the kitchen and a woman handed him an enamel cup brimming with clear mezcal. The boy drank and looked vacantly at the ground. Chombe and Celestino mounted their horses and rode out toward the ox in the corral.

  "Bueno, until later," Celestino said. "Thanks."

  None of the Pesqueiras answered him. The killer and the cuckold untied the ox and led him across the meadows of Canelas and past children who had gone to play volleyball. Celestino watched them and waited for their greeting. They did not look away from their game to wave to him.

  Don Tomas walked to the center of the patio and watched the enemies ride away. He pointed to the telephone on the wall and said to Neli, "Call the law in Chinipas. Tell them some sort of infected animal who thinks he's going to become a bridegroom is on the way to make fiestas with skinny oxen for someone's daughter. I'm sure the judicial will appreciate the announcement. Girl!" he called to his eldest granddaughter.

  "Let's get some deer meat into this poor boy who serves our government under his yellow helmet. Bring him more of the strong. We must take care of him or he'll go back to Chihuahua thinking all of us in the Sierra are cheap and unfriendly. Tomas, get your brothers ready to pick up the track of that devil who frightened our government. Rifles, bules, lunches, coffee, and mezcal. All six of us are going to help my son-in-law, Martinillo, get that bully. We should have helped him when he first began the hunt. It is our fault an animal has come to bully a man. Bring your blankets. Tobacco. We are taking this track until we kill Adán's El Yoco. We're going to finish him so Adán can go home to my daughter and my Martinillo grandsons. This savage might find joy in killing and frightening boys and young mothers and the government, but from now on he is going to be in too big of a hurry to stop and frighten anyone."

  Don Tomas had been gathering his own gear. He slung a leather morral across his chest. He picked up his German Mauser from behind the bedroom door and pushed eight cartridges into the looped belt tacked to the stock. He filled his bule with clear water from the olla.

  "Vamonos, sons! My son-in-law is needed at Las Animas."

  25

  La Güera, Juanita Pesqueira, sat on her front step with Luz del Carmen enjoying the evening change of light and sound in Chinipas. She did not expect bright conversation from Luz del Carmen, but she and the girl enjoyed their days together without talk. They shared their observations with few words. Now the sun was setting and they were watching the last of it shining on the buttes of Chinipas. They were listening to boys pitching coins against a wall in an alley out of sight. Increasingly the voices of men in a cantina down the street rose with the setting sun. Juanita was accustomed to the voices of men in the cantina. They usually kept their voices down during the day as they found themselves drinking instead of working; but after sundown they talked loud because no one could blame them for not being at work and night hushed their consciences. The loud expoundings of drunken men had become so common to Juanita that she no longer heard them as she no longer paid attention to barking dogs or the songs of tomcats in the night. They seldom interrupted her enjoyment of evenings on her front stoop.

  Now she saw a drunken man was about to interrupt the peace of her evening. The man had been walking about in front of the cantina for half an hour throwing back his head as he sang and drank beer and stared for long moments at Juanita and Luz del Carmen. The man was tall. Juanita did not know him. Luz del Carmen would not look at him, and when Juanita questioned her with a look about the man Luz del Carmen gave no response.

  The man walked up in front of Juanita, weaving with drunken
ness. Juanita held a cigarette. She did not like to smoke in the presence of men, but she was enjoying it too much to put it out because of a drunk. The man drank all his beer and examined the empty can. Luz del Carmen began to tremble. Juanita saw that he was feigning drunkenness. His weaving was too athletic, too exaggerated, to be real drunkenness. Juanita narrowed her eyes and looked the man full in the face.

  The man grinned at her. "It's true," he said. "Isn't it true, Güera, that you are the only good-looking woman in this town? You are the only woman who makes a man's time worthwhile?"

  "Excuse me. Are you speaking to me?" asked Juanita.

  She could not see the man's face clearly under the big hat and ragged hair. The hat and hair reminded her of a scarecrow. The face was filthy. The clothes were too large. The cuffs of the trousers dragged the ground so that she could not see the feet.

  "Pardon me, yes, you."

  "I don't know you. Go away and scare the blackbirds."

  "Pardon me. I thought I might be of service to you."

  "No. I have no blackbirds or crows for you to scare."

  "I just thought, maybe, later tonight. I know you are the only woman in this town who might be available. I could come back any time you say."

  "For what?" said Juanita, focusing her eyes on the grinning face.

  "For what? For any little service I could provide."

  "Why me?"

  "Everyone knows you are the only clean and beautiful woman here. All the rest of the available women have dirty, cracked feet. Just look at that mud hen beside you. You are a queen of a woman compared to all the rest."

  "Take your cheap carcass away to act drunk somewhere else."

  "Look? Listen? The fornicated Güera is calling me cheap. I have money. I can pay any price you might imagine it's worth."

  "Fornicated was the whore of your mother who gave you birth," said Juanita in a quiet, even tone. "She was a whore to have anything to do with your father, whoever you are."