Alamo Wars

by Ray Villareal

  It was Ms. Martínez’s idea to have Agatha carry a doll. Agatha’s lines were taped to the doll’s chest.

  “All right, Susanna, then so be it. I should’ve known better than to try to talk you out of it. You’re a brave woman, and I admire your courage. C’mon, let’s go help the others.”

  As they exited the stage, Agatha’s mother jumped out of her seat and yelled, “That’s my baby!” Some people in the audience cracked up, but a few others shushed her to be quiet.

  “The Widows’ Dance” came next. The crowd sat quietly while the girls danced to the slow, haunting tune.

  When the dance was over, the menacing-sounding music played again. A parade of Mexican soldiers, led by Freddie Benavides and José Montes who carried Mexican flags, marched down the aisles and climbed up on the stage.

  Marco Díaz, as Santa Anna, followed. He strutted down the aisle, full of the self-confidence and arrogance he thought the Mexican president might have projected. Marco wore a black taffeta shirt with red trim and gold embroidery. Along with the gold epaulets and the brass buttons, his uniform also sported various medals and ribbons. Izzy’s mother had made the special shirt for him when she learned he was going to play Santa Anna. A pair of black pants and the Napoleon hat completed his costume.

  Marco stood at center stage, surrounded by his troops. “Se ha llegado la hora. Haremos planes para atacar el Álamo por última vez.”

  Izzy: “Perdóneme, Su Excelencia, pero ¿no sería mejor esperar hasta que llegue Gómez con los cañones grandes?”

  Marco: “¿Esperar? ¿Para qué? Entran y salen mensajeros de allí como moscas. Ayer entraron treinta y dos soldados de la ciudad de González. ¿Esperaremos a que se fortalezcan? ¡No! Ya es hora de terminar con esto. ¡Atacaremos mañana en la madrugada! ¡Vamos!”

  Marco and his soldiers marched up the aisle amid a mixed chorus of bravos and playful jeers.

  In the next scene, Billy Ray gathered his forces together. While soft, sorrowful music played in the background, he addressed his troops. “Men, I have some distressing news to tell you. I promised you that we would be getting reinforcements soon. Well, I’ve just received word that no help is coming. Not in the time needed, anyway. We’re on our own.”

  “What are we gonna do, Colonel?” Herb Williams asked.

  “There’s not much we can do, friend. There’s no point in surrendering. Santa Anna will have us killed for sure if we do. If you wanna take a chance, you can try slipping through the Mexican lines. I won’t blame you if that’s what you decide to do. But as for me, I have only one choice. If I’ve gotta die, I’d rather die defending this fort.” He unsheathed his sword. “And if any of you want to stay here with me and fight, then cross this line and join me.” Billy Ray drew an imaginary line on the stage.

  When he was done, Herb said, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but here’s one life for Texas. I’m with ya, Colonel.” He crossed over to Billy Ray’s side.

  “Count me in, too,” Allen said.

  “Some of you men carry me over.” Luther was lying on a cot because as Jim Bowie, he was supposed to be too ill to walk. He pulled out his rubber Bowie knife. “I don’t know how much good I’ll do ya, but I’m with ya all the way.”

  One by one, each Texan crossed the line. Finally, as the background music came to an end, Billy Ray thrust his sword high in the air and shouted, “Victory or death!”

  “Victory or death!” his men echoed.

  It was time for the final battle.

  “For twelve days, the defenders of the Alamo had withstood the continual attacks of the Mexican Army,” Alma Crowthers recited. “But in the early hours of Sunday, March sixth, Santa Anna’s troops stormed the Alamo for the last time.”

  “The red flag flying over the church not far away, along with the playing of the dreaded El Degüello, were reminders to the Texans that no quarter would be given, and Santa Anna had no intention of taking any prisoners,” Sylvia Gonzales added.

  There was a loud drum cadence followed by a single trumpet solo.

  Travis, Crockett, Bowie, Dickenson, and the rest of the Texans rushed out and stood in front of the Alamo.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “They’re playing El Degüello, the death song. I guess this is it, old buddy. They’re coming after us for sure. Well, if we don’t make it here, I’ll meet ya at the pearly gates.”

  Billy Ray stood at center stage. He held his sword high in the air. “If this is to be our final battle, let’s show ‘em what Texans are made of. In the name of liberty … attack!”

  The CD player sounded a continuous bombardment of gunfire and explosions. The PVC cannon fired off several puffs of smoke. The Mexican Army charged forward. The Texans fought back.

  Cameras flashed nonstop. The audience cheered wildly, as if they were at a Super Bowl game and their team was winning.

  One by one, soldiers on both sides fell. A final explosion prompted any Texans still standing to drop to the floor.

  After all the Texans were “dead,” soft music played in the background.

  Norma Herrera narrated: “Within forty-five minutes, the battle was over. All one hundred eighty-eight of the Alamo’s defenders were killed. A handful of non-fighters survived. These included a number of Mexican women and children, two black slaves, as well as Susanna Dickenson and her daughter Angelina.”

  Agatha, still cradling her doll, slowly walked across the stage, grief-stricken, stepping over bodies. Finally, she stopped and gazed down at Andy LaFleur. She covered her face and pretended to weep bitterly. Felipe Garza wrapped an arm around her shoulders and escorted her off the stage.

  Sniffling and the blowing of noses echoed throughout the auditorium. Even Raquel, who had been sitting in the audience, got choked up.

  “Santa Anna, who had witnessed the battle from a distance, now entered the walls of the Alamo to view the destruction up close,” Arlene Furr narrated.

  Marco arrogantly marched down the aisle, his chin held high. As he climbed onstage, he gazed down and surveyed the carnage. When he saw Billy Ray sprawled on the floor, he couldn’t resist. As he passed by him, Marco stepped on his hand.

  “Yeow!” Billy Ray, who was supposed to be “dead,” screamed. Then he pretended to be dead again.

  The audience laughed.

  Izzy Peña turned to Orlando: “Es una gran victoria para México.”

  Orlando Chávez faced the audience and said, “La tristeza es que tantos de nuestros soldados tuvieron que morir por causa de estos rebeldes. The sad thing is that so many of our soldiers had to die because of these rebels.”

  “Amen,” Raquel said under her breath. Her eyes became watery.

  Orlando removed his hat and formed the sign of the cross.

  After they exited, all the soldiers, Texan and Mexican, stood. The dancers, the choir members, and the narrators joined them onstage. Together they sang “Texas, Our Texas.” While the students sang, the audience rose to its feet, which every proud Texan knows to do whenever the state song is played.

  Texas, Our Texas! all hail the mighty State!

  Texas, Our Texas! so wonderful so great!

  Boldest and grandest, withstanding ev’ry test

  O Empire wide and glorious, you stand supremely blest.

  As Raquel Flores sang, her heart swelled. A lump grew in her throat. She felt a strong sense of pride.

  The pride of a Texan.

  The pride of an American.

  God bless you Texas!

  And keep you brave and strong,

  that you may grow in power and worth,

  throughout the ages long!

  After the audience sat down, Judy Welch recited: “Susanna Dickenson left to tell the others of the tragedy at the Alamo. ‘Remember the Alamo’ became a battle cry for all Texans as they rallied together to avenge the deaths of the fallen defenders.”

  “Less than two months later, the Texans, led by General Sam Houston, launched a furious attack on the M
exican Army at San Jacinto,” Karen Ingram continued. “Within a few short minutes, the battle was over. Mexico was defeated and Santa Anna was taken prisoner. Texas had won its independence and a new republic was born!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  After the show, the crowds emptied into the hallway as parents tried to meet up with their children.

  Rose Adderly, Miss Mac’s sister, squeezed her way toward Mrs. Frymire. “That was the most incredible stage production I think I have ever seen, Doris!” she gushed. “The bilingual aspect lent so much authenticity to the show. I don’t know what the Mexican soldiers said, but I loved listening to their Spanish. Josie would have been honored to have seen her play presented the way it was.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Frymire said. “It thrills me to hear you say that, Rose. I was concerned that you might object to the changes we made in the script.”

  Rose Adderly smiled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Doris. Josie presented that play once, years ago. Afterwards, she got a lot of complaints from the parents about the way the Mexicans were portrayed. She had always meant to rewrite it, but she never did.”

  Out in the lobby, Mrs. Hornbuckle presented Agatha with a big bundle of flowers. “Baby, you were awesome up there. I wonder who’ll be the first one to bring home an Oscar, you or Brenda.” Then she turned around and started handing out Trudy Carlisle business cards.

  Mr. Cansler had to take Billy Ray’s sword away from him because Billy Ray was poking kids with it as they passed by.

  Marco was looking for Raquel. He had seen her sitting in the audience during the show, and he hoped she hadn’t left yet.

  Izzy stopped him in the hallway. “My mom’s taking us out to eat at La Paloma Blanca. Want to join us?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ll have to check with my grandpa. Have you seen Raquel?”

  “Yeah, she was in the auditorium talking to Ms. Martínez a little while ago.”

  Marco entered the auditorium. He found it empty, except for Raquel. She was standing in front of the stage, gazing up at the Alamo.

  “Raquel?”

  She jumped, startled. “Hi, Marco. You were fantastic as Santa Anna. I’m so proud of you.” She hugged him.

  “I wish you had been in it,” Marco said.

  Raquel bit her lip. “I don’t know if you can understand my feelings, Marco. I’m not really sure I do. My dad has accused me of being too bull-headed, muy cabezuda. Maybe I am. But I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it.” He smiled. “You’re not bull-headed. You’re brave. You showed that you’ve got the guts to stand up and fight for what you believe in. My grandpa would call it your badge of courage.”

  Marco wasn’t sure if he would ever return to the boxing ring. But if he did, he hoped he could go into his matches with Raquel’s amazing nerve, courage, and determination.

  “Funny thing is,” Raquel said, “as I watched the play, I felt so … so American.”

  Marco nodded. “Do you think you and your family will ever apply for citizenship? Or do you think you’ll move back to Mexico?”

  “I don’t know. Ever since the immigration rally in Dallas, my dad’s been talking about it, but … ” she shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Anyway, thanks for coming to the show.”

  Raquel grinned impishly. “The only problem is, I left my tomatoes at home.”

  “Come here.” Marco pulled her close and kissed her.

  Izzy burst into the auditorium. “Hey, Marco. We’re leaving. Are you …? Oh, sorry.” He quickly slipped out the door.

  They laughed.

  Marco looked up at the Alamo façade. His face radiated with pride. “You know what, Raquel? Years from now, when I hear the words, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ I’ll say, ‘Remember it? I was in it!’”

  Also by Ray Villareal

  My Father, The Angel of Death