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!"