"Trust me woman," Arnulfo soothed, though his wife was in no mood to be comforted.
Francisco spoke up before his mother could launch another tirade.
"Mamá, listen to Papá. No more crying over the dishonor the Director and my foolish sister have brought on our family and on the family of Diego Mejía, a good man who wants only to be her husband and the father of her children. I don't know what he sees in the silly girl, but that's not my affair. Listen to your youngest son. Join Papá at the fiesta as he asks of you. The problem has been solved. You have my guarantee as well as Papá's."
Chapter 12
Cinco de Mayo was beginning to feel like a bad dream. Anna tried to make sense of it all. If the boy's theory about a gunshot was correct it meant only one thing. Somebody killed Pedro in cold blood. He was not the type to commit suicide, too confident in his abilities to outmaneuver his enemies, too arrogant to kill himself and too proud to provide such comfort to his enemies. She hoped and prayed the person who murdered him was not an acquaintance of hers.
Who did do it, she wondered, and how and when? Pedro went missing before the parade began over two hours ago. I filmed him entering the rose garden, she thought. That may have been the last time anyone saw him alive. Her mind calculated times and probabilities. The body could have remained undiscovered for a long time, she reasoned, since it lay in the rearmost part of the garden.
Her thoughts turned to María who stayed at the school working in the office instead of joining the parade. Had she seen or heard anything? Given the constant fireworks, no one would notice a gunshot even from inside the school. Did María stay in the office the whole time or did she visit her classroom? If so, could she have seen Pedro's body out the window? No, if María had seen him she would have called the authorities, tried to summon help, unless… Anna instantly chastised herself for thinking ill of her friend.
Miguel returned to the dais and took the microphone from María whose face wore a new look of anxiety as she stepped back waiting for Miguel's important announcement.
"I'm sorry to inform you," Miguel began, "an unexpected problem has arisen. If you will please remain in your seats, I'll return shortly with more details."
Anna watched as he took María by the arm and guided her through the crowd pausing briefly to ask Anna to join them. Hard to imagine, Anna thought, but Miguel plans to resume the fiesta despite the death and probably murder of Pedro García. The school was a crime scene. Surely it would have to be quarantined. She glanced at María whose stoic expression barely hid the fact she was bracing for bad news. Anna placed an arm around her shoulders, holding her back from entering the office where the village officials stood at military attention wearing grave expressions on their drawn faces.
"María, before you enter, Miguel has some bad news."
"It's about Pedro, isn't it? What's happened? Where is he? She's done something to him, hasn't she? Please, you tell me, Anna, not Miguel. What has she done to him?"
Miguel interrupted María's pleading. "Maestra, Anna is correct. Please sit here and allow us to explain." He grabbed one of the wooden chairs next to the office door and slid it down the sidewalk. María crumpled into it, burying her face in her hands.
"Maestra, a terrible accident has happened to our friend Pedro. I want you to know before I tell the others." Miguel's tone was sympathetic. Anna leaned against the stucco wall for support hoping her knees wouldn't buckle before Miguel delivered the fatal emotional blow. María sat hunched over, arms across her stomach staring at the cracks in the concrete sidewalk one of which snaked under the leg of her chair.
Miguel plunged straight to the point. "I'm sorry to bring you this news, Maestra, but an unfortunate accident has taken the life of our friend." He paused, waiting for a response that never came. María stared at the ground, only the stiffening of her body and a slight increase in the intensity of her breathing indicated she understood Miguel's message.
Anna bent down next to her and placed an arm over her shoulders. "María, tell me, what shall we do about your children?" Mention of the children seemed to revive María and she sat up, stretching to catch her breath. "I'll tell them later. First, I need to join my colleagues in the school office and then return to my duties for the remainder of the fiesta. I have responsibilities here."
"Surely not. Someone else can run the rest of the fiesta," Anna said. "Frankly, I think they should cancel it considering what has happened. Remaining here will be too difficult for you. I can leave with you, drive you and the children home, stay with you if you wish. There's no need for you to go through all this, not now, no one will expect you to. . ."
"You don't understand, my American friend. Not only will they expect me to carry on with my duties, they'll take pleasure if I lack the strength to do so. People will hope I leave, or if I stay, that I break down and let them see my shame, their final revenge on Pedro, but I won't permit anyone that satisfaction. I plan to go on as if nothing has happened, as if Pedro's death means no more to me than to anyone else."
Anna offered María her arm and they entered the office together as Miguel announced the bad news, evoking a communal gasp from the group.
"Everyone agrees," Miguel said, "that we should complete the fiesta since much time and money have been spent." Anna listened, trying to wrap her mind around the manner in which Pedro's murder was being handled. "We believe Maestro García, distinguished Director of the Diego Rivera Morning Primary School would desire us to continue with the fiesta activities, and we will do so in his honor. Are there any questions?"
Sixth grade teacher Juan Córdova asked the question on the lips of everyone. "Yes, Maestro, you mentioned an accident. How did he die?"
"We don't know for certain. We've sent a messenger to summon the Maestro's wife who is visiting in Cumantla. Meanwhile, we need to assemble a group of men to convey the body to the Church to await the arrival of Maestro García's kinsman who will transport the body to his hometown of San Juan Zocatlo for a proper funeral. I'll provide more information when I can."
Miguel concluded the meeting asking for volunteers to move the body, which he noted lay hidden in the rose garden behind the school, guarded at the moment by the barrio official from Cuaxpo. "Please return to your places in the schoolyard and I'll join you shortly," he said, walking over to María and offering to take over her responsibilities if she wished to leave. All eyes were on María as she replied to the contrary.
"Gracias, Maestro, but I'm prepared to complete my responsibilities here," María said. "The people will expect it."
Miguel took María's arm and the two headed back to the now empty dignitaries' platform where Miguel told the crowd that urgent community business required his attention. He would return shortly to provide more details. Until then, he said, he would turn the fiesta back to Maestra María, and asked participants to cooperate with her and continue the program.
Throughout the ordeal, María's demeanor impressed everyone, although later recollections would interpret her calm as coldness and her sense of responsibility as callous indifference.
Chapter 13
Yolanda tried to ignore the insistent rapping on Pedro's front door. The racket hurt her head. She was waiting for her boyfriend to return from a business trip to Apizaco, leaving her to face the day alone. She sighed, swilled down the last of her warm Diet Coke and headed for the door.
"Un momento." She willed her body across the courtyard feeling as though she'd been drugged. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she said, only half-certain what to expect when she lifted the latch and pulled open the heavy plank door. The cause of the commotion stood in the entryway shifting from foot to foot, her young errand boy, Carlos.
"If you came for more money, you're out of luck. I paid you five pesos this morning and that's all you're getting. I'm not a rich woman despite what you think."
"Con permiso, Maestra." The boy bowed his head in respect. "The Maestro Director asks that you come to the school immediately. There's been an accident.
It's very serious."
"And what does an accident at your foolish school have to do with me? Leave me alone. I'm packing to leave this place forever. Now, be a good boy and leave me in peace."
"With permission, Maestra. The Maestro Director and the town officials say it is urgent that you come to the school. An accident has happened to your husband." Yolanda bit back an insult remembering the boy's high regard in the village, the reason everyone trusted him to deliver their messages. A cynical comment on her part would not set well with anyone, but she found it hard to resist.
"What's the problem with the fool that passes himself off as my husband? The only accident I know about was mine for marrying him. If his accident is serious, why don't you take the matter to the village officials? I'm finished with him."
"I don't know exactly," the boy lied. "I only know what I've been told. If you wish, I'll walk with you to the school."
Yolanda shrugged her acceptance. "If you wish." She preferred to dismiss the boy so she could leave for home, but the image of him accompanying her might paint a sympathetic picture that could prove valuable in the days ahead. The pair set off across the zócalo, the boy walking backward, intermittently tossing stones at their four-legged companion hoping to discourage the hungry mongrel from following them.
"How old are you, Carlos?"
"Ten years, Maestra."
"You're a bright boy. Perhaps you and I can be friends." He could be a useful ally in the future, she thought, particularly since he seemed to know everyone and everything in this despicable village. Undoubtedly, he knew secrets many villagers wished he neither knew nor understood.
"I would like to be your friend, Maestra. I have a lot of friends."
The boy's earnest demeanor touched her. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?" She asked the question absently, her mind elsewhere.
"President of Mexico."
"I see." Yolanda smiled at him. "That's a big ambition, which I hope you accomplish. I will be pleased to tell my grandchildren that on one Cinco de Mayo in the past, the President of Mexico arrived at my door and invited me to walk with him across the zócalo in the little village of Cuamantla."
She realized she embarrassed the boy as he executed a few futbol maneuvers, artfully using only his feet to pick out the roundest rocks from among the cobblestones littering the rocky path. He'll be a heartbreaker when he grows up, Yolanda thought. And who knows? Maybe he will be President some day. The country's certainly done worse.
Nearing the far side of the empty zócalo, Yolanda noticed the small group of officials assembled in front of the school gate. Were they waiting to drive Pedro to a doctor? Well, he could rot in hell before she would help him. The boy burst out in front of her, running ahead and calling to Miguel who left the group and walked up to Yolanda. She liked Miguel, and his reputation for fair-mindedness reassured her. His good looks didn't hurt either. Yolanda looked forward to seeing him again and wondered how he managed to stay single despite the not-so-small challenge his marital status provided to several young women in the village.
"Maestra," Miguel stretched out his hand in greeting, drawing Yolanda close, "we have some bad news for you. Perhaps you want to come into the school and be comfortable so we can discuss the matter in more detail."
"No, thank you, Miguel. Whatever has happened, I'll receive the news here. I'm still numb from the morning's events and nothing you tell me now will result in my feeling any worse than I already feel. I understand Pedro has suffered an accident."
Miguel put his arm around her as he broke the bad news. "Maestra, I'm so sorry for the troubles that have been visited on you today and I apologize for being the one to deliver even more difficult news. A serious accident at the school today resulted in the death of your spouse."
Yolanda froze, staring, but not seeing the colored flecks embedded in the smooth stones that littered Cuamantla's brown earth, attempting to process Miguel's words even though she practiced hearing them many times in the past.
Miguel drew her tighter. "As you know, Pedro was my friend and I will miss his presence in my life. Please accept my condolences and tell me what I can do at this moment to help you through this terrible event."
"What kind of accident killed my husband?" Yolanda's question sounded more dispassionate than she intended.
"We aren't sure, Maestra. The officials plan to investigate the matter later in the day. In the meantime, they're taking your husband's body to the Church to await the arrival of his neighbors and kinsmen. You can bid him farewell now if you wish, and then I'll be happy to find someone to accompany you back to your village."
"Does that mean you won't be joining me there?" Yolanda fought to maintain her composure in this bizarre conversation so different from her usual flirtatious exchanges with Miguel.
"I have many responsibilities here, Maestra, as you know. I'll travel to your village with the rest of the teachers tomorrow and, of course, do whatever I can to assist you today. The fiesta will have to continue as scheduled despite this sadness, and the children need me. Come into the school offices, Maestra," he said, taking her by arm. "I'll find you something to drink and you can rest and collect yourself."
"No, Miguel, I need to return to Pedro's house, finish packing and leave for home. I have one favor to ask. My husband's barrio remains true to the old traditions and my father-in-law will want a true friend of Pedro's to become the padrino de parada, head of his funeral procession. May I suggest your name?"
"Thank you, Maestra. Indeed, it would be an honor for me to lead your husband's funeral parade. Please tell your father-in-law I'm happy to accept if he chooses to ask."
The boy reached for Yolanda's hand. "I'll escort you back to the house, Maestra."
§
Hasta mañana, Maestra, Miguel whispered to himself as Yolanda trudged wearily across the zócalo to the tiny brick and stucco house that Pedro García called home for at least some small part of the last three years. Miguel's heart went out to her, and to María, two beautiful women whose lives were made miserable by one exceedingly selfish man. To his dismay, Miguel found himself harboring little sympathy for his murdered friend. With most of Cuamantla, he shared the sentiment that Pedro brought about his own end.
Lost in thought, Miguel rejoined the small group of villagers standing guard over the entrance to the school. "Maestro, por favor, can we move the corpse to the church now?" one of the men asked.
"Yes, of course," Miguel said, stopping to direct the activities. "Gather some blankets from the nearby houses."
The men returned with a bundle of brightly colored blankets, which they dumped at Miguel's feet. He sorted out the strongest ones instructing the bearers to use them for a stretcher and to wrap the body with the others. Once the group finished, Miguel assigned everyone a task including assisting Father Aguilar, Cuamantla's visiting priest.
Chapter 14
Fortunately for Cuamantla, Father Aguilar had decided to allow his family to attend the fiesta while he tended to details in the Church. At the first sight of Pedro's corpse, the young priest performed the last rites, quickly averting his eyes from the gaping hole in Pedro's head. Despite the Holy Father's familiarity with death, violent death was a new experience. Once he completed the prescribed rituals, Father Aguilar turned his attention to preparing a place of rest for the body until family members from Pedro's village arrived to collect it. Afterward, he ducked back into the church sanctuary relieved for an excuse to retreat to a place where death was a mystical if no less gory experience.
Father Aguilar was acquainted with Pedro, though they were far from friends. The two men arrived in Cuamantla the same year, one to lead the church, the other the school. To the chagrin of Father Aguilar and the amusement of Pedro they shared a common bond. Both resided in the city of Tlaxcala living in sin with women who were not their wives. The two men kept their distance in Cuamantla despite community pressure on Father Aguilar to rein in the errant school director.
Fro
m what the priest knew about Pedro, the murder wasn't a surprise. At least there would be no question about suicide and the thorny theological issues associated with that possibility. Something to be thankful for in every situation, he mused.
Pedro's death wasn't the first murder in Cuamantla in the three years since Father Aguilar began serving the community. However, it was the first to occur on a day he was present in the village. Worse luck still, Carmencita and the children joined him today, excited to participate in the fiesta. The children would have more questions at dinner than he cared to answer.
The village of Cuamantla liked Father Aguilar and tolerated his not so celibate personal life, conspiring with him to maintain the fiction that Carmencita was his secretary. No one doubted the children were his, but since he and Carmencita raised them to call him padre rather than papá, no one worried about slips of the tongue. Father Aguilar and the community of Cuamantla were of one mind. He kept out of their business and they kept out of his, a pact that came in handy in matters pertaining to Pedro.
"There is little I can do," he would shrug when pressed by a villager to confront the school director about his illicit affairs, "I'm only one part-time priest. Better to take up the matter with the village officials. The village council has more power than I do in these matters."
Life in Cuamantla was pleasant and easy going, the main reason Father Aguilar requested the rural parishes where few priests cared to serve. Perform the necessary rituals once or twice a week and he was free to live his life, which included a part-time teaching position at the University of Tlaxcala. The extra money allowed him the luxury of sending his children to private school though Carmencita preferred they be educated in a parochial school. He vetoed that idea right away.
A Corpse for Cuamantla Page 5
