The Underdogs — Part 2, chapters 13-14
XIII
Someone plunged a knife Deep in my side.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew, I never knew.
The blood flowed out Of that mortal wound.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew, I never knew.
His head lowered, his hands crossed over the pommel of his saddle, Demetrio in melancholy accents sang the strains of the intriguing song.
Then he fell silent; for quite a while he continued to feel oppressed and sad.
"You'll see, as soon as we reach Lagos you'll come out of it, General.
There's plenty of pretty girls to give us a good time," Blondie said.
"Right now I feel like getting damn drunk," Demetrio answered, spurring his horse forward and leaving them as if he wished to abandon himself entirely to his sadness.
After many hours of riding he called Cervantes.
"Listen, Tenderfoot, why in hell do we have to go to Aguascalientes?"
"You have to vote for the Provisional President of the Republic, General!"
"President, what?
Who in the devil, then, is this man Carranza?
I'll be damned if I know what it's all about."
At last they reached Lagos.
Blondie bet that he would make Demetrio laugh that evening.
Trailing his spurs noisily over the pavement, Demetrio entered "El Cosmopolita" with Luis Cervantes, Blondie, and his assistants.
The civilians, surprised in their attempt to escape, remained where they were.
Some feigned to return to their tables to continue drinking and talking; others hesitantly stepped up to present their respects to the commander.
"General, so pleased!
...
Major!
Delighted to meet you!"
"That's right!
I love refined and educated friends," Blondie said.
"Come on, boys," he added, jovially drawing his gun, "I'm going to play a tune that'll make you all dance."
A bullet ricocheted on the cement floor passing between the legs of the tables, and the smartly dressed young men-about-town began to jump much as a woman jumps when frightened by a mouse under her skirt.
Pale as ghosts, they conjured up wan smiles of obsequious approval.
Demetrio barely parted his lips, but his followers doubled over with laughter.
"Look, Blondie," Quail shouted, "look at that man going out there.
Look, he's limping."
"I guess the bee stung him all right."
Blondie, without turning to look at the wounded man, announced with enthusiasm that he could shoot off the top of a tequila bottle at thirty paces without aiming.
"Come on, friend, stand up," he said to the waiter.
He dragged him out by the hand to the patio of the hotel and set a tequila bottle on his head.
The poor devil refused.
Insane with fright, he sought to escape, but Blondie pulled his gun and took aim.
"Come on, you son of a sea cook!
If you keep on I'll give you a nice warm one!"
Blondie went to the opposite wall, raised his gun and fired.
The bottle broke into bits, the alcohol poured over the lad's ghastly face.
"Now it's a go," cried Blondie, running to the bar to get another bottle, which he placed on the lad's head.
He returned to his former position, he whirled about, and shot without aiming.
But he hit the waiter's ear instead of the bottle.
Holding his sides with laughter, he said to the young waiter: "Here, kid, take these bills.
It ain't much.
But you'll be all right with some alcohol and arnica."
After drinking a great deal of alcohol and beer, Demetrio spoke: "Pay the bill, Blondie, I'm going to leave you."
"I ain't got a penny, General, but that's all right.
I'll fix it.
How much do we owe you, friend?"
"One hundred and eighty pesos, Chief," the bartender answered amiably.
Quickly, Blondie jumped behind the bar and with a sweep of both arms, knocked down all the glasses and bottles.
"Send the bill to General Villa, understand?"
He left, laughing loudly at his prank.
"Say there, you, where do the girls hang out?"
Blondie asked, reeling up drunkenly toward a small well-dressed man, standing at the door of a tailor shop.
The man stepped down to the sidewalk politely to let Blondie pass.
Blondie stopped and looked at him curiously, impertinently.
"Little boy, you're very small and dainty, ain't you?
...
No?
...
Then I'm a liar!
...
That's right!
...
You know the puppet dance....
You don't?
The hell you don't!
...
I met you in a circus!
I know you can even dance on a tightrope!
...
You watch!"
Blondie drew his gun out and began to shoot, aiming at the tailor's feet; the tailor gave a little jump at every pull of the trigger.
"See!
You do know how to dance on the tightrope, don't you?"
Taking his friends by the arm, he ordered them to lead him to the red-light district, punctuating every step by a shot which smashed a street light, or struck some wall, a door, or a distant house.
Demetrio left him and returned to the hotel, singing to himself: "Someone plunged a knife Deep in my side.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew, I never knew."
XIV
Stale cigarette smoke, the acrid odors of sweaty clothing, the vapors of alcohol, the breathing of a crowded multitude, worse by far than a trainful of pigs.
Texas hats, adorned with gold braid, and khaki predominate.
"Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase in the station.
My life's savings!
I haven't enough to feed my little boy now!"
The shrill voice, rising to a shriek or trailing off into a sob, is drowned out by the tumult within the train.
"What the hell is the old woman talking about?"
Blondie asks, entering in search of a seat.
"Something about a suitcase ...
and a well-dressed man," Pancracio replies.
He has already the laps of two civilians to sit on.
Demetrio and the others elbow their way in.
Since those on whom Pancracio had sat preferred to stand up, Demetrio and Luis Cervantes quickly seize the vacant seats.
Suddenly a woman who has stood up holding a child all the way from Irapuato, faints.
A civilian takes the child in his arms.
The others pretend to have seen nothing.
Some women, traveling with the soldiers, occupy two or three seats with baggage, dogs, cats, parrots.
Some of the men wearing Texan hats laugh at the plump arms and pendulous breasts of the woman who fainted.
"Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase at the station in Silao!
All my life's savings ...
I haven't got enough to feed my little boy now!
..."
The old woman speaks rapidly, parrotlike, sighing and sobbing.
Her sharp eyes peer about on all sides.
Here she gets a bill, and further on, another.
They shower money upon her.
She finishes the collection, and goes a few seats ahead.
"Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase in the station at Silao."
Her words produce an immediate and certain effect.
A well-dressed man, a dude, a tenderfoot, stealing a suitcase!
Amazing, phenomenal!
It awakens a feeling of universal indignation.
It's a pity: if this well-dressed man were here every one of the generals would shoot him one after the other!
"There's nothing as vile as a city dude who steals!"
a man says, exploding with indignation.
"To rob a poor old lady!"
"To steal from a poor defenseless woman!"
They prove their compassion by word and deed: a harsh verdict against the culprit; a five-peso bill for the victim.
"And I'm telling you the truth," Blondie declares.
"Don't think it's wrong to kill, because when you kill, it's always out of anger.
But stealing--Bah!"
This profound piece of reasoning meets with unanimous assent.
After a short silence while he meditates, a colonel ventures his opinion: "Everything is all right according to something, see?
That is, everything has its circumstances, see?
God's own truth is this: I have stolen, and if I say that everyone here has done the trick, I'm not telling a lie, I reckon!"
"Hell, I stole a lot of them sewing machines in Mexico," exclaims a major.
"I made more'n five hundred pesos even though I sold them at fifty cents apiece!"
A toothless captain, with hair prematurely white, announces: "I stole some horses in Zacatecas, all damn fine horses they was, and then I says to myself, 'This is your own little lottery, Pascual Mata,' I says.
'You won't have a worry in all your life after this.'
And the damned thing about it was that General Limon took a fancy to the horses too, and he stole them from me!"
"Of course--there's no use denying it, I've stolen too," Blondie confesses.
"But ask any one of my partners how much profit I've got.
I'm a big spender and my Purse is my friends' to have a good time on!
I
have a better time if I drink myself senseless than I would have sending money back home to the old woman!"
The subject of "I stole," though apparently inexhaustible, ceases to hold the men's attention.
Decks of cards gradually appear on the seats, drawing generals and officers as the light draws mosquitoes.
The excitement of gambling soon absorbs every interest, the heat grows more and more intense.
To breathe is to inhale the air of barracks, prison, brothel, and pigsty all in one.
And rising above the babble, from the car ahead ever the shrill voice, "Gentlemen, a well-dressed young man stole ..."
The streets in Aguascalientes were so many refuse piles.
Men in khaki moved to and fro like bees before their hive, overrunning the restaurants, the crapulous lunch houses, the parlous hotels, and the stands of the street vendors on which rotten pork lay alongside grimy cheese.
The smell of these viands whetted the appetites of Demetrio and his men.
They forced their way into a small inn, where a disheveled old hag served, on earthenware plates, some pork with bones swimming in a clear chili stew and three tough burnt tortillas.
They paid two pesos apiece;
as they left Pancracio assured his comrades he was hungrier than when he entered.
"Now," said Demetrio, "we'll go and consult with General Natera!"
They made for the northern leader's billet.
A noisy, excited crowd stopped them at a street crossing.
A man, lost in the multitude, was mouthing words in the monotonous, unctuous tones of a prayer.
They came up close enough to see him distinctly; he wore a shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth and was repeating: "All good Catholics should read this prayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross with due devotion.
Thus they will be immune from storms and pestilence, famine, and war."
"This man's no fool," said Demetrio smiling.
The man waved a sheaf of printed handbills in his hand and cried: "A quarter of a peso is all you have to pay for this prayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross.
A quarter ..."
Then he would duck for a moment, to reappear with a snake's tooth, a sea star, or the skeleton of a fish.
In the same predicant tone, he lauded the medical virtues and the mystical powers of every article he sold.
Quail, who had no faith in Venancio, requested the man to pull a tooth out.
Blondie purchased a black seed from a certain fruit which protected the possessor from lightning or any other catastrophe.
Anastasio Montanez purchased a prayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross, and, folding it carefully, stuck it into his shirt with a pious gesture.
"As sure as there's a God in heaven," Natera said, "this mess hasn't blown over yet.
Now it's Villa fighting Carranza."
Without answering him, his eyes fixed in a stare, Demetrio demanded a further explanation.
"It means," Natera said, "that the Convention won't recognize Carranza as First Chief of the Constitutionalist Army.
It's going to elect a Provisional President of the Republic.
Do you understand me, General?"
Demetrio nodded assent.
"What's your opinion, General?"
asked Natera.
Demetrio shrugged his shoulders: "It seems to me that the meat of the matter is that we've got to go on fighting, eh?
All right!
Let's go to it!
I'm game to the end, you know."
"Good, but on what side?"
Demetrio, nonplussed, scratched his head: "Look here, don't ask me any more questions.
I never went to school, you know....
You gave me the eagle I wear on my hat, didn't you?
All right then; you just tell me: 'Demetrio, do this or do that,' and that's all there's to it!"
