A Corpse for Cuamantla

by Harol Marshall

  Scanning the square with her camera, she adjusted the focus to capture the widest view, contemplating how the simple press of a button could stop time. Aiming the camera at the volcano, she spotted a tiny red ant crawling down one side of the mountain, an ant she identified immediately as María's VW bug. Miguel had guessed right again. María was on her way back to Cuamantla.

  Anna breathed a sigh of relief despite the somewhat ominous scene filling her viewfinder. Malinche's early morning benevolence faded with the appearance of a forbidding gray mass ringing the volcano. The dark cloud hovered over the poignant red shape making its way down the mountain. Anna shook herself. She needed to rein in her imagination and prevent it from running wild, which seemed to happen more frequently in Mexico where the supernatural infused everyday life.

  "Buenos días, Maestra." The deep masculine voice startled her and she jumped, bumping the camera into her forehead. In front of her, hand outstretched, stood Pedro García, behaving as if today were as normal as any other day. She could strangle him without a second thought. Pedro had that effect on people. Made you despise him one minute while he charmed you the next. Like a snake, there was no limit to how low he could go.

  "Nice to see you this morning, Maestra, but then, it's always a pleasure to see a beautiful woman." Pedro's perfect white teeth accented his broad smile, his best asset. Maybe his only asset, Anna thought. He was dressed in an expensive pin-striped suit, silk shirt and matching tie, and looked more like a well-dressed businessman than the principal of a rural village school. She watched him brush his thick dark hair away from his face in order to focus his complete attention on the woman in front of him, a characteristic gesture whenever he talked with a member of the opposite sex.

  "Buenos días, Maestro," Anna said, shaking his hand stiffly, hoping the formality in her voice might encourage him to leave.

  "Let me welcome you to the fiesta personally, Señorita, on behalf of my school." Apparently, Pedro wasn't leaving without further encouragement and she resented his use of the title, Señorita instead of Maestra. They weren't on familiar terms.

  "I'm sure Maestro Menéndez already welcomed you on behalf of the afternoon school and is seeing to all your needs?" His words held a hint of a smirk. "However, if I can assist you in any way today, please call on me. I'm always at the service of a lovely colleague."

  That's an understatement, Anna thought. "Gracias, Maestro, I'll keep that in mind." She stood up and brushed off the seat of her pants, hoping to brush him off as well. "If you'll excuse me, Maestro, I really must continue my filming. I don't want to miss the start of the parade." She nodded politely and reached for her camcorder, turning her back on Pedro as she'd done one other time when his impertinence led her to restrict her research to Miguel's afternoon school rather than splitting her time between the two schools.

  "Certainly, Maestra. I wouldn't want to keep you from your important work. I look forward to seeing you later."

  As if they had a later. In his dreams! Anna failed to understand what María saw in the man. He was a blatant philanderer. She turned her camera on the activities in front of the school, noticing Pedro enter her viewfinder as he wove his way through the waiting crowd shaking hands with parents and villagers. She watched people's reactions to him, realizing she was not alone in harboring resentments against Pedro that morning.

  I wonder what he's up to now? Anna focused the camera as Pedro walked past the gate and into the walled rose garden alongside the school. Probably opting to water the roses instead of using the school bathrooms. Not that she blamed him. The bathrooms could be disgusting due to the intermittent water supply and the janitor's preference for tending the roses instead of cleaning the toilets. Still filming, Anna kept the camera on Pedro until he disappeared into the garden. She had no idea why she bothered filming him other than curiosity over his notoriously unpredictable behavior.

  A large crowd was gathering at the school entrance awaiting the arrival of the parade trucks. Setting aside thoughts of Pedro and María and the theft of the Real Cédula, Anna concentrated her energies on documenting the fiesta activities. She even forgot about Art. No doubt he would call soon and remind her. Anna turned her camera to the crowd then back to the school where she captured a few frames of Miguel—up close, but not too personal.

  Chapter 5

  Time for shots of the queen and her court. Anna drifted across the street. Looking to her right she noticed María's car parked on the hillside, hidden by a large bush. Splotches of the car's bright red color shone through the leaves like irrepressible bougainvillea blossoms. María must have entered the school, Anna thought, during her uncomfortable conversation with Pedro. She headed into the school to talk with María when her cell phone rang. Stepping back outside, she answered, dreading the upcoming conversation.

  "Anna, what happened in Cuamantla?" Art's lack of courtesy corresponded to his distress over the news. She hoped he wasn't about to kill the messenger, but before she could answer he interrupted her.

  "Tell me I misunderstood your message."

  "No, Art it's true. The Municipal President caught me this morning outside Rosa's house. He's scared out of his wits. Says the village officials will blame him in a heartbeat. One of them is after his hide, I don't know why. I think he's worried they'll kill him."

  "Damn village politics. Who's out to get him?"

  "I don't know. He didn't say."

  "I knew this would happen. Stubborn guy doesn't listen to anyone, now he wants me to bail him out. I oughta let him hang himself with his own noose."

  "What do you want me to tell him?"

  "Let me get my thoughts together. This is damn upsetting and I'm in the middle of a conference with a paper to give tomorrow morning that I still haven't written. I don't have time for this. Where's Miguel?" Miguel was Art's student at the University of Tlaxcala, which is how Anna came to be in Cuamantla carrying out her field research under Miguel’s watchful eye.

  "He can't talk now, the parade's starting. Today's the fiesta."

  "Oh yeah, I forgot. Okay. Tell the President I know a couple of people in Ahfee. I'll contact them and get back to you. Maybe I should fly down there."

  "What's Ahfee again?" The term distracted Anna from Art's comment about flying down or she would have raised an immediate objection.

  "A.F.I. Agencia Federal de Investigacion. Anna, you should know that. They're like the FBI in the U.S."

  "Sorry, I forgot. I can't remember the acronyms of every bureaucratic agency down here, especially ones that have nothing to do with my fieldwork."

  "Not important, Annie."

  "Please don't call me Annie, you know I hate that."

  "Sorry Anna, I'm upset. Gotta run, I'll get back to you." Click. The phone went dead. No how are you, no goodbye. A good example of how Art behaved under stress.

  Not my worry, Anna thought, I have enough worries of my own. She'd keep an eye open for the Municipal President and tell him Art was looking into the matter. Maybe Art would change his mind about flying down to Tlaxcala. Someone would have to cover his classes and no doubt he had plenty of deadlines to meet. The thought of his busy schedule comforted her. The last thing she needed was to have Art down here looking over her shoulder, shadowing her every move.

  Noise from the fireworks increased in frequency and volume. A palpable excitement suffused the crowd as reverberations from the rockets rattled through the village. Her camera lens found Miguel again. He was standing at the head of the parade patiently waiting for an unknown signal to begin. A whistle hung around his neck and he twisted the cord nervously. She wondered if he might be looking for her and wove her way through the densely packed collection of villagers until she reached him. He motioned her closer.

  "Okay, I'm here," she grinned, "you can start the parade."

  Miguel didn't bite, just nodded absently and asked if she'd seen Pedro. "He's supposed to join the parade with his students, but no one can find him. If he doesn't show up in the next minu
te or two I'm starting without him."

  Just like Pedro, Anna thought, holding up everything in order to make an imperial appearance. "Maybe the sound system broke again and he's inside the school fixing it." She tried giving Pedro the benefit of the doubt even if it he didn’t deserve it. "I saw him ten or fifteen minutes ago over at Rosa's, then he crossed the street into the rose garden."

  Miguel gave her a knowing look. "He wouldn't have stayed long there. I sent a couple of children into the school a few minutes ago but no luck. He's around here somewhere. I wish I could say this was unusual, but tracking down Pedro is like hunting cockroaches."

  Great analogy, Anna thought, irked at the negative thinking Pedro brought out in her.

  "Bueno, we can't wait any longer," Miguel said, "we're already late and we have a long afternoon of festivities once we return. Get your camera ready, Maestra. When Pedro hears the rockets he'll catch up with us. I hope you remembered to wear your walking shoes today."

  Miguel signaled the village cueteros, the official rocket firers, to light the large rocket poised at the edge of their display. The resulting boom signaled the musicians. The bands played and the parade moved forward. Anna walked backwards to film the march, nearly colliding with two of the rocket firers as the procession slowly surged out of the zócalo and down the rocky Cuaxpo road.

  A second group of cueteros stood guard over the intricate fireworks display in the center of the plaza. Later when darkness settled over the village, they would dispatch the rest of their handiwork. Anna hoped the men would stay sober. If she spent the evening in Cuamantla, she’d watch the fireworks from a classroom, probably the safest place in the village.

  Chapter 6

  María Guadalupe Costanza Piedras sat at the wooden table in the sparsely furnished school office listening to the distant sounds of the parade. Her intense brown eyes stared vacantly at the splotched aqua walls plastered with vivid government posters extolling the virtues of well-balanced meals and potable water. A movie reel ran inside her head replaying the events of the past few weeks, rendering her emotional state a seesaw of despair and grief. Life with Pedro was a roller coaster ride. She knew their relationship had to end, knew she would be the one to end it, but she never anticipated a morning like this one.

  María had woken early, explaining to Pedro for the last time that her life had more than its share of turmoil and she was leaving him, but her words fell on deaf ears.

  "I need security," she told him, "and if you can't provide it, there are others who can." One person in particular, but she wouldn't share that with Pedro although she suspected he already knew.

  Pedro responded by flying into alternating fits of rage and passion, whichever he felt might reach her, manipulate her into seeing things his way. He was good at taking advantage of her passionate and generous nature. The question now was whether she could live with the outcome of her decision. Today was a new beginning for María. She would steel herself for the consequences; summon the courage to follow this new path to its inevitable conclusion.

  The death of her husband at the age of thirty-one had changed María's outlook on life, quashing her idealism and honing a toughness even her family found disconcerting. Early in life she'd rejected the life imposed on her mother, one of drudgery and dependence. Escaping her mother's fate was hard work, but María never faltered. Work was the easy part, and she felt she'd succeeded until that Friday night when her drunken husband left the small bar where he and his equally intoxicated compatriots congregated after work, bid hasta luego to his friends and drove down the Apizaco road into oblivion, leaving María and their two children bereft, confused, angry, and alone.

  In one sense, Pedro rescued her, not that she lacked would-be rescuers. She was more than attractive with her light skin and hazel brown eyes set off by a thick mane of straight black hair tied back in an Indian-style braid. No, the matter bothering her the last few months was the nagging suspicion she was another of Pedro's victims. Each time she confronted him over the status of his divorce, he complained.

  "You never trust me," he insisted, as if the mistrust were her fault rather than his, and leading to their most serious quarrel yet.

  María retaliated. "You know the choices. You've known them for over a year. If there's no progress toward your divorce, then it's over between us and you can move out. I'm giving you a deadline. The first of May." María delivered her demands firmly and furiously knowing it upset Pedro, but few things motivated Pedro more than personal discomfort.

  María's deadline had passed five days earlier, already an eternity in her mind. She no longer cared about Pedro's wounded feelings. The future of her children mattered most. She needed a dependable man who would build a life with her, not just sleep with her or display her as some macho badge of honor. If Pedro couldn't meet her standards, another man would.

  Chapter 7

  Anna returned to the school ahead of the parade, dog-tired from running in front to film. She crossed into the schoolyard and dropped on the sidewalk to rest. Were all anthropologists this committed to their profession? Somehow she doubted it, except maybe for Art. He was the most single-minded person she'd ever met and one of the smartest. By contrast, her dedication stemmed partially from having no idea what data might be important when it came time for her final analysis. Detectives often feel the same way, her father once told her. He'd been a police detective for ten years before changing his career from law enforcement to criminal defense.

  "You gather evidence, then wait for a breakthrough, a pattern to emerge, maybe a confession," her father said, describing detective work.

  Not quite the same as fieldwork, but not far off, Anna decided, including the part about confessions. Amazing what people would tell you when you offered a sympathetic ear.

  The blare of Mariachi horns announced the arrival of the fiesta floats at the school gate. Anna watched the day's important officials straggle in, led by Miguel. Marching through the dusty streets hadn't detracted from his handsome appearance except that his tie hung slightly askew and the tip of his shirttail drooped over the back of his pants.

  He looks like a rugged Banderas, she thought, Antonio Banderas being her current favorite movie star. As Anna trained her camcorder on Miguel, he spotted her and winked. She might have to edit that out.

  Once the crowd settled down, Miguel speechified, extolling the glorious traditions of his country and the accomplishments of local dignitaries. The whole business reminded her of those endless self-serving speeches at the Academy Award ceremonies in Hollywood. People were the same everywhere, only the circumstances changed.

  To Anna's surprise, Miguel's introduction of María brought a loud round of applause. How quickly events can turn around. Only two weeks earlier, many of these same villagers angrily berated María at the monthly parent teacher meeting. Anna had watched with dismay as the scene unfolded. The parents criticized María for tardiness when her attendance record surpassed that of any teacher in either school, attested to by Anna's diligent note-taking. The meeting went from one trumped up charge to another, all contradicted by Anna's transcription. When the meeting ended Anna cornered Miguel.

  "It's a ruse, Maestra," he explained. "The villagers are upset over Pedro's behavior and they want María to know they disapprove of her affair with him. If she refuses to end that relationship, I'm afraid they'll make her professional life miserable."

  Anna protested. "Her personal life is her own business. The villagers have no right to tell her who she can see or not see simply because she teaches in their school."

  "I beg to differ, Maestra," Miguel said, adopting his Director tone again, which he did every time they disagreed. "Shouldn't parents have the right to insist that teachers of their children set an example of proper behavior? Parents everywhere want good role models for their children. In the United States, too, do they not?"

  "Of course," she replied, "but there's a limit to how much the community can intrude on a teacher's personal life."
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  "Is it the same in the cities as in the small towns?"

  He had her there. "No, Miguel, you're right. It's different in the small towns."

  "This is a tiny rural village, Maestra. Behaviors are magnified in small settings. Pedro caused many problems in this place, some of which you know nothing about. At another time, we'll discuss it. For now, you should know the villagers are sending Pedro a warning through María. He is in serious disfavor and if he refuses to rectify certain situations, their wrath will be unsparing." Anna wondered what he meant by unsparing.

  Chapter 8

  María began the fiesta program with a poem by local poet Miguel N. Lira extolling the heroic efforts of the Mexican people in expelling the French. As one of the sixth grade boys recited the poem from memory, Miguel opened a folding chair and motioned Anna to sit beside him as he tended the music for the upcoming folk dances. Still no sign of Pedro, Anna noticed.

  Miguel leaned over and whispered in her ear after the first two dances, pride resonating in his voice. "The weeks of practice are paying off, no, Maestra?"

  Anna wanted to say that more time should be spent on reading, writing, and arithmetic, but decided to keep her opinions to herself and instead opt for complimenting the dancers. She turned to Miguel, but his back was to her as he stretched out his leg to block the path of a fourth grader about to leave the school grounds.

  "Where are you going?" Miguel hissed. The boy glanced at Anna and whispered in Miguel's ear. Miguel pointed the boy to the back entrance of the rose garden.

  Anna guessed the toilets were overflowing again. She often wondered if the robust growth in the school's rose garden resulted from the frequent watering by the school's male population.