He left today (the Irishman I mean); I walked with him to Micos
station. The train was due at 7 a.m. by starting at 9:30 a.m. he only
had 3 hours to wait. (Such are the Mexican trains). It was a hot long
climb, I had not been back to the village since I left it. When we got
there we found that it was Sunday.
Instead of the little peaceful half asleep village I had known, it
was thronged with people, the stores were doing a roaring trade. The
meat-sellers had it hanging in streamers from a pole, the fruit-sellers
had them on a handkerchief in the mud. Everyone from the neighboring
country had come to town. The women looked at me pityingly, their men
gave them dresses and shoes and shawls but I, poor thing, my man gave
me only his old clothes and boots to wear.
The most successful seller was the fellow who had a lump of ice
and sold colored drinks. I drank and drank, my man gave me that
unstintingly! he gave me colored drinks, a penknife, twelve
handkerchiefs, and a straw hat--it was not ungenerous!
While thus engaged a cadaverous unshaved grey-haired man in a blue
shirt, split shoes, and one large iron spur, introduced himself. “It
isn’t often one finds Americans here, let me shake your hand.” He said
he was American, had lived here many years, on a ranch, and that he
was a Doctor. Three finger nails were missing from the right hand. He
wore spectacles but had a distant look as if he saw not what he saw. A
living Rip van Winkle. “Going to Tampico? a three days trip”--he said.
“Three days? you mean ten hours.” “Three days” he repeated--“on a good
horse”--so!--the train was not for him.
“The train breaks down” he said contemptuously, as though anyone would
entrust themselves to a train who had a good horse. He limped away
without another word. We crossed the street to another store and a
young man with an American accent waylaid us “Pardon me is your party
complete? a white man’s body lies drowned a short way up the river”--he
said it in a tone of perfect detachment and indifference. The body was
there and must be identified. We hesitated a moment, looked round at
our party, there were three or four odd members of our camp--we were
complete.
Further down the village street a horse was lying with its four feet
tied together and two men operating on its mouth with a big carving
knife. The horse groaned and sniffed and sighed and blood flowed.
Approaching us on all fours was a child of five or six. Like a
quadruped it walked, a cursed thing, doomed from birth. It looked at us
cross-eyed, and its face was the face of a little wild animal.
We did not go to see the corpse, the others went laughing and
whistling, cracking grim jokes,--the law in Mexico is that no body may
be removed from the water until identified.
They told us on their return, that it had been in the water two weeks,
it was floating on its stomach, fishes had eaten the face, vultures
were hovering about the back. “Someone drowned”--and that’s all that
mattered, but on a Sunday morning how diverting for the village!