by J P S Brown
"Look at the pinche Güera--" The man raised the beer can as though he would strike Juanita with it.
Juanita attacked him. She took the hat and hair with one hand and poked the coal of her cigarette at an eye. She hooked the same eye with her thumb. The man whimpered and turned to get away and his hat and hair came off.
"Chombe!" screamed Luz del Carmen. She ran away to the cantina.
Juanita saw blood in the corner of Chombe's eye.
"You'll pay me for this. You'll find this expensive. I'll salt you down for the rest of your life," he said.
"I'm sorry," Juanita said sincerely.
Men were running out of the cantina and shouting. Chombe ran away.
26
Fat brown Felipe Lugo smiled from behind the bar of his pool hall and cantina in El Real de Santa Inez, Chinipas, Chihuahua. Four of his customers were at a table playing cards late at night. Felipe sometimes kept his cantina open as late as ten o'clock so travelers could come in for beer, a drink of his contraband mezcal, or a game of pool. Felipe was in pursuit of success. He was positive in his heart that someday he would be a millionaire, so he didn't mind serving his customers in any way he could at all hours. The riches he was to receive might come to him in the form of an inheritance from some wealthy but as yet unknown relative; the discovery inside the walls of his old home of a hidden treasure of gold coins; or even the winning of the high premium of the national lottery, though lottery tickets were not sold in Chinipas. He believed someone was going to make sure that all he dreamed came true as long as he kept a public place and watched carefully over his customers. This evening he had begun to talk about his dream and expound on his philosophies in order to bring his dream closer to reality. He believed if he waited at his work and held to his philosophies, a miracle of good luck would make him rich and successful.
Salvador Velderrain, a vaquero, was talking about his bad luck at cards. He said, "I could have played clubs, but I didn't think I could come out with them. Then you, Ignacio, played clubs and won. That is the way I play cards, so I can lose and someone else can win."
Felipe Lugo, beaming confidently from behind the bar announced, "In any phase of life's living a man misses great opportunities being overly careful. However, when action will result in mistake or failure, you should not take action. For example, only recently I was offered half-interest in a hotel in Rio Alamos if I would take over the administration and management of it, but I couldn't see how I could come out on it and I didn't take it."
El Puros Ojos was in the card game, having brought a packstring of beer from San Bernardo. "True," said El Puros Ojos. "We all have to judge carefully how we may be exploited when we begin a new enterprise. For example, just recently I was offered half-interest in the National Bank for counting money. I was to receive half of all the money I counted for the bank. Since I could only count to one hundred in an entire day I couldn't see how I could come out on the venture and I turned it down."
The quiet laughter of the card players did not ruin Felipe Lugo's optimism, but it made his high forehead turn hot and shine with perspiration. Then Martinillo poked the dusty buttocks of the corpse of Manuelito Espinoza into his cantina. Martinillo laid him carefully on the pool table. He straightened and looked around the room. Felipe Lugo walked to the table and looked down into the face of Manuelito Espinoza. Martinillo sat on a bench against the wall by the bar.
"You'd better call the law," he said. "Someone better ask what to do with Manuelito. I've carried him all the way from the cave of La Burra and I'm going to rest."
Salvador, the one who had erred in playing clubs, stood up, looked into the face of the corpse and left the cantina. El Puros Ojos did not move. He knew there were no lawmen in Chinipas. He had been passed by the mountain judicial Police on the trail that morning. They had been on their way to Avena. At their pace, if they came to Chinipas at all, they would arrive much later and they would go to the hotel. The Chinipas comisario was in Chihuahua doctoring his grippe. El Puros Ojos knew this because he had gone to the comandanciao to report his beer.
Felipe poured a glass of mezcal for Martinillo and gave it to him. He peeled two hard-boiled eggs, bathed them with red chile sauce, placed them on a napkin, and handed them to Martinillo. He did not look at him. None of the card players addressed him either. They were afraid to ask what had happened to Manuelito because they knew the answer would shame them. All of them, at least once, had ridiculed Martinillo for hunting the tigre. They knew he had not been off the track of the animal since he had made up his mind to kill him. They knew he must have found Manuelito on that track.
"I'll have supper brought to you, Adán," Felipe said.
"Ojos, please go and ask my wife to send a supper for this man." El Puros Ojos did not move. Another card player went after the food.
Martinillo drained the glass and handed it back to Felipe. He ate the two eggs without noticing them. Felipe watched him out of the corner of his eye and wondered how he had recognized the being before him as Adán Martinillo. Close examination of the man made him unrecognizable as Adán Martinillo. Finally Felipe, who had less shame than most men and whose business depended on his making conversation in his bar, cleared his throat and asked the question, "And, Adán--how did Espinozita die?"
Martinillo looked up, his gaze searching for and craving the mezcal he had been expecting. Felipe caught the look, read the craving, and poured another glassful. Martinillo took it and drank it down like water.
"Hombre, be careful," El Puros Ojos said. "Felipe cheats us by cutting it with water, but it isn't weak. At least tell us what happened to you before you kill yourself."
Martinillo handed the glass back to Felipe. "Give me another, please, Lugo," he said.
"Your supper is coming in a few moments," Felipe said.
"Fine, but I said give me another, jodido--please."
"Very well," Felipe said and poured the glass full again. "But please drink it slowly and tell us how Espinozita died."
"El Yoco abused him. El Yoco played with him until he broke him."
"Who is El Yoco, Adán?"
"El Yoco in the Mayo tongue, Téczevelo in the Guarijia, El Jaguar in Castilian, El Tigre in Mexican, The Devil in Catholic."
"¿Si?" Felipe said, unimpressed. "When and how?"
"Look at the marks he made on Manuelito. Feel the softness of the crushed skull. Move the head and find where the neck is broken. He was fondled to death."
The card players touched the corpse, moved the head, felt the neck. "He's stiff, but I believe Adán," El Puros Ojos said. Salvador came back into the cantina.
"He isn't here. He's in Chihuahua." Salvador said.
"Who?" Martinillo asked.
"Well, the law."
"I have to go. I have business. I'm wasting time here," Martinillo said.
A small boy came in carrying a bowl of fried blood mixed with onion and green peppers. The food was covered with a pile of steaming tortillas and smelled spicy and hot. Felipe opened a can of beer for Martinillo. He served his beer at room temperature. He had no refrigerator. He sold five mule loads a month, regularly. Martinillo sipped the beer and it graciously swelled his paunch so the food would find room to nourish him. He used the tortillas to pick up the food. He ate mechanically, from memory. He remembered his former method of eating. Now his jaws, unused to chewing soft food, came together without precision, as though they were no longer adequately calibrated. He drank the beer, ate half of the contents of the plate, and terminated his eating. He set the plate aside with the empty beer can and picked up the mezcal. Celestino and Chombe came into the room. They were drinking beer. Celestino carried a full case of beer under one arm. Chombe was now as clean and well dressed as he had been at Canelas.
"The Valiant One has arrived," Celestino shouted, waving his free arm. He staggered, acting drunker than he was, exaggerating his staggering so that it was more a swagger. He saw Martinillo and pretended not to notice him. He threw one arm over the sho
ulder of Chombe and handed him a beer with that hand. Chombe took it with the same feigned drunkenness. He put the can to Celestino's lips and poured beer on Celestino's jaws. Together they weaved about and almost fell. They swung themselves around the room and caught themselves to keep from falling. Celestino detached himself from Chombe, hurting from Chombe's grasp. Chombe could not give him beer without nearly drowning him with it, could not embrace him without manhandling him to frighten him. Celestino dropped the case of beer on the bar in front of Felipe.
"Here, my friend, Lugo, have one of my beers," he said and held a can under Felipe's nose. He hoped Felipe would accept his beer, be his friend, protect him from Chombe. Felipe did not move or look at him. To him, the cuckold was only trying to act a man. The cuckold thought a man who was drunk should stagger and give away beer.
"Not right now," Felipe said. "I had my supper only a little while ago and I'm still full."
"No? Well, tell me when you are ready for one. We have plenty and when this is gone we'll buy it all from you." Celestino looked around him to see if there was someone else in the room who might realize his distress and help him. He saw Martinillo and turned sharply away from him, colliding with the pool table on which Manuelito lay with arms bent, fingers clutching toward Celestino's face. Chombe was standing over the corpse. Celestino overcame his fear to see if Chombe was afraid.
"And this?" Celestino asked. Chombe did not answer. Celestino turned to the card players. "What is it?"
"Yes, what is it, what is it?" said El Puros Ojos. "Is it a corpse? Yes, a corpse it is, it is a corpse!" He did not look up, was not courteous to Celestino. Celestino needed a friend, or an enemy, any human reaction to help him get away from Chombe. He poured beer on Manuelito's face.
"Espinoza! Espinoza! Wake up," he said, giggling and looking for disapproval.
Chombe pulled Manuelito's toes. "Look," he said. He drew his knife and grinned at the men in the room as if to say, "Do I dare?" As if to say, "Don't you think we could have fun with a knife?"
Three townsmen of Chinipas walked in. They had been following Chombe and Celestino all day and drinking the beer he bought for them. Now they had supper under their belts, had heard about Manuelito, and had come to continue having their good time free-loading on the killer and the cuckold. The three were young, well fed, and husky. One was armed with a .45 automatic in a holster clipped inside his belt. More men began to crowd into the place behind them.
Felipe began to sell beer. Martinillo was not noticed. He sat in a trance in front of the bar. Celestino poured beer on Manuelito again, hoping Felipe would call the law. The law would certainly put a man in jail for pouring beer on a corpse.
"¡No, hambre!" Felipe said. "The beer sticks on the felt."
Celestino poured more beer on Manuelito, mumbling a blessing as though baptizing him.
"Hombre!" Felipe whined, protesting. He did not move from his place behind the bar. Celestino, resigning himself to being Chombe's chattel, watched with his usual fascination as Chombe stuck the point of his blade into the pad of Manuelito's toe. When the corpse showed no reaction, he pushed hard with the blade, biting his tongue while he watched for his blade to strike a live nerve. He pulled out the knife, looked for blood and with the laughter of the three townsmen encouraging him, stuck the knife into the arch of Manuelito's foot.
"¿Mira?" he said, acting surprised. "Will you look? The foot isn't ticklish." He plunged the blade again, expertly, cruelly.
More men came into the place to take seats to watch and be entertained. Chombe, with a large audience now, began to draw the sharp blade along the foot, skinning it. A huarache fell away and the three young townsmen giggled while one used the moment to reach for the case of beer and open cans for himself and his companions. Chombe wiped the huarache off the table. Martinillo looked down at the tire sole of the huarache worn thin to the threads by the crooked foot of Manuelito Espinoza.
"Leave him alone," Martinillo said quietly. He got up stiffly and left his place to go out of doors to relieve himself. Celestino whispered into Chombe's ear as Martinillo walked by. Martinillo heard him say Lucrecia's name. He thought about that name in a cuckold's mouth and a coward's ear while he was holding his penis and wetting the cobblestones of Chinipas in the starlit alley. He went back into the place.
"Celestino, keep your mouth off the name of my wife," he said into Celestino's gaping face. Chombe stepped back, threatening with the knife. "Chombe, keep your blade sheathed. If you don't, l'll make you both behave. Both at once, or one at a time, whichever way you would like it."
"No, Adán. We're just having fun," said Celestino. Martinillo walked back to his bench. Celestino looked around at the audience as though for confirmation that Martinillo was crazy. Martinillo sat down. He handed his empty glass up to Felipe for refilling. The attention of the room switched to Felipe to see what he would do with contraband mezcal with every man in town watching.
"Not now," Felipe said. "Not any more for you. You are drunk and I want no trouble in here."
Celestino grinned at Martinillo. "Give him more wine, Lugo, so he'll be too drunk to go home for a few more days. I haven't finished skinning all I have to skin at Las Animas."
"What?" said Martinillo, looking up. He had already forgotten about Celestino and Chombe. He was feverish.
Chombe held the blade up and twisted it, letting it shine for Martinillo. The three townsmen laughed at Martinillo and he did not notice the ridicule.
"Imagine how you could make a naked woman dance with that blade," Celestino said, grinning widely. "You should see how they jerk and buck when you have it in them at the point of a knife."
Now, more of the spectators in the silent pool hall were enjoying the theater of the cuckold, the killer, and the hunter and began to laugh unself-consciously at each motion and inference the killer made so that he would see them laugh and know they were his friends. They were completely intimidated by him. Chombe began to realize that this was a great moment of his life, a time when his society was accepting him as a special person. He was the one who killed and loved and drank as he pleased and the lesser endowed were taking pleasure watching him take what he wanted, do as he pleased. He let his knife shine for the room, holding it before him at arm's length, no longer playing drunk.
Celestino, watching his friend's command presence grow, saw his opportunity to pay Adán Martinillo for all the shame he had been made to feel when he had been chased from Las Animas by Lucrecia. He was not brave enough even to look at Martinillo when he spoke. He kept his eyes on Chombe and let Chombe stare at Martinillo. He showed his own knife, a small dagger made from a file with an eagle's head cast on the end of the handle.
"He threatened us," he said softly to Chombe. "We could kill him and have all these men as witnesses for self-defense."
One of the young townsmen drinking the beer heard him, looked indecisive a moment, then grinned and began to act drunk. Chombe stared arrogantly at Martinillo. Martinillo looked up at Felipe again.
"More mezcal, Felipe. I need it," he said. Felipe paid him no attention. He was also enjoying the theater in his place. His denying the mezcal gave him a part in the theater.
"First, to cut her tits. She has pretty tits to cut," Celestino said. Chombe's stare menaced Martinillo, Celestino thought. "Then hold the knife to her buttocks while one of us does her the service."
"And her marido? Her husband?" Chombe said to Martinillo.
"What marido?" asked Celestino. "I've been there five times lately and I never saw any marido. You ever notice those kids? They don't resemble each other and they'll never be Great Hunters."
Martinillo did not hear the conversation, was not paying attention to any sound in the room.
"What place are you talking about? Where do you have all your fun?" Chombe asked.
"Over in Sonora. Las Animas, Sonora."
"And the whore? What's the whore's name?"
"La Lucrecia."
"What?" Martinillo said, looki
ng up. "Give me just a swallow, Felipe. I have to go."
Felipe, his forehead sweating with excitement, had never imagined he would have the good fortune to have the whole town present in his place for such a theater as this. Martinillo looked at his enemies then, curious all at once at the comments he had just heard about a place called Las Animas, a woman called Lucrecia. He lived at a place called Las Animas, was married to a woman called Lucrecia.
"Lucy, Lucy, Lucrecia," sang Celestino, He danced and swung his hips. "My knees get sore by your sides. My thighs stick fast to you."
"Lucrecia? What Lucrecia?" Martinillo asked. All his hunter's concentration came to bear on the staring Chombe and the silly Celestino, and he became conscious of all that had just been said about his wife and home.
"What Lucrecia?" mocked Celestino, rounding his lips as for the caricature of a kiss.
"Ahhhhhhh!" cried Martinillo, springing over the pool table and the corpse of Manuelito to get Celestino. Celestino was no ordinary coward. He was an accomplished coward, insulter, and cuckold, and he was fast. He had been ready to run when he had decided on the sound and nature of his first insult. He was running toward the back door with the first untoward movement of Martinillo. The room was long. Martinillo coasted up behind him effortlessly and when he was within reach of Celestino he stamped his feet behind him. With the sound of the stamping footsteps on his heels Celestino stalled at the door and instead of opening it, tried to climb it. He saw he had no chance of escape. The reason he was such a coward was that he could not stand moments like this and he did what he could do, he defecated down both trouser legs since he wore no underwear. Martinillo grasped him gently by the back of the neck and smiled, not breathing hard, speaking softly with no anger. "I wouldn't hurt you, poor little fellow," he said. "Don't be afraid."
Celestino found his voice. "Stop him! Get him off!" he shrieked.
Chombe straddled Martinillo's back and thrust his knife under Martinillo's ribs, causing Martinillo's own diaphragm to leap into a spasm and push all the breath from him. Martinillo did not feel the blade. The weapon was sharp, the length of the blade slipped in freely without striking bone. He thought, wonderingly, "How could I have lost my wind so soon?" He shrugged Chombe off and one of the townsmen caught him about the waist from behind. Celestino struck at Martinillo's back with the dagger. Martinillo dipped his shoulder and the knife grazed the length of his breast and buried its point in his sternum, missing the soft point over his heart by a fraction. Martinillo turned on Celestino as though the townsman had no hold on him and saw the knife. He took Celestino's wrist and shook the knife away. "Celestino, you idiot! Do you want to get into trouble? Knives are trouble/' Chombe took Martinillo's head under his arm and struck him. A heavy townsman ran into the struggle, knocking everyone down. Martinillo tried to get to his feet. Chombe was standing with his legs locked around Martinillo's head. He could not lift the boy with his neck. He was yoked on his hands and knees by the heavy thighs. He could not breathe. The spasm of his diaphragm was overpowering his lungs. The three townsmen piled on him.
