by J P S Brown
They stretched him out on the floor. They stood on his arms. One sat on his legs. Chombe sat on his chest. Celestino walked around him and thrust his knife at Martinillo's heart, searching for Martinillo's spirit. The point struck a rib and bounced out of his hand. Celestino went after the knife but faltered, slipping in Martinillo's blood.
El Puros Olos hurried into the room with five armed mountain men. He pointed to the heap of struggling men, his finger pointing unluckily on Celestino.
"That's enough," the tallest mountain man said. "Let him up." The townsmen held on to Martinillo, bearing their weight on him with satisfaction, relishing every squirm he made, every breath that faltered. He realized if he fought more he would die. He would smother. He went away within himself and left them, willing his own unconsciousness. Celestino turned the knife, cutting edge up in his hand, knelt and stabbed again at Martinillo's heart. The knife bounced off the ribs under the armpit.
"I said let him up," said the mountain man again and swung his rifle by the barrel against Celestino's head, spilling him over the floor. Celestino's hand forgot the knife and it left him. The mountain man stepped forward again, warming to his chore, and swung the rifle at the heads of Chombe and the townsmen. He slipped on blood and missed the first swing, but the backswing struck a townsman who was standing on an arm of Martinillo's. He swung again and struck Chombe on the chest, breaking him off Martinillo, The townsmen left Martinillo.
"Help him," the mountain man said, and Salvador and El Puros Ojos helped Martinillo to his feet. The mountain man kicked Celestino's knife across the floor to a man on the bench. Martinillo sat on the bench. The mountain man opened Martinillo's shirt. Blood was running out of a shallow cut across the breast to the sternum. He pressed his handkerchief against the wound in the sternum. He called to a companion to hold the handkerchief. He motioned and another man went outside. He walked over to Celestino who was trying to get his feet under him. He looked down at Celestino. The man who had gone outside came back with Chombe's rifle. The mountain man waited until Celestino twisted his trunk around to get up. He took a pistol from Celestino's belt. He looked at the townsman who was armed with the .45. The townsman handed the pistol to him. Celestino was fully, sullenly conscious now. The mountain man helped him stand and sat him down, clearing a bench of spectators.
"Do you feel better, Chombe?" the mountain man asked, mistaking Celestino for Chombe. Celestino did not answer. He saw Chombe, bareheaded and barefooted, leave the place silently by the back door. Chombe's boots and hat were under the pool table. He resembled a teen-aged town boy running to stay clear of trouble. No one recognized him. Celestino hoped he was finally rid of him.
"So that you will be more disposed to answer my questions, I'll tell you who I am. I am Albino Montiel of the Judicial Police," said the mountain man. He opened a folded leather case and showed his credential to Celestino. "l have an order for your arrest. Now answer my questions."
Celestino's face was very white, sick, and afraid in the electric light of the cantina. He was not the murderer. He did not belong in a murderer's place. The mountain man made a gesture toward one of his companions. The companion took a pair of handcuffs from a morral by his side and handcuffed Celestino to the bench. Celestino stopped watching the door he had seen Chombe leave by. As long as Chombe kept going Celestino was free of him, no matter the punishment just men might deal him.
The mountain man held Chombe's rifle in front of Celestino's face. "Have you seen this rifle before?" he asked. Celestino did not answer.
"Do you know this carbine?" Montiel asked patiently.
"Yes."
"What weapon killed the boy at Avena?"
"I guess the carbine you have in your hand."
"How many shots?"
"One."
"You are a good shot?"
"Regular."
"Well, you are not even a regular shot. You shot that boy up through the hip. You couldn't have been shooting at his hip. But it was a good enough shot to kill a boy while he sang and good enough to procure for yourself twenty to twenty-five years in the penitentiary. Why did you shoot that boy?"
"I am not the one who killed him; nevertheless, I myself always found him gross."
"Immensely displeasing to you?"
"Yes. He was not killed without reason."
"I understand. Yours was a very good reason. And why did you knife this poor countryman just now? Did he displease you also?"
"In self-defense. He attacked me."
"Self-defense? You are Chombe Servín, are you not? This evening it was reported that you sequestered and starved the daughter of Bonifacio the vaquero. Did she also attack you? And where is the man, Bonifacio? Did you kill him in self-defense?"
Celestino looked at the back door, sighed, and did not answer.
"I'm sure we'll find good reasons for all your actions."
"Excuse me, maestro, " said El Puros Ojos.
"Speak," said Albino Montiel.
"This thing is not Chombe Servín."
"What?"
"I was going to say--" said Felipe Lugo.
"No," said El Puros Ojos. "This is only a poor cabrón named Celestino Reyes."
"Wasn't Servín just here?"
"Yes." Each man in the poolroom looked at his neighbor. El Puros Ojos looked around the room. "But he's not here now."
"I was going to say--" said Felipe Lugo.
"What were you going to say, Lugo?"
"He's not here, I don't think."
Albino Montiel gestured to his companions. They released one handcuff from the bench. Celestino almost smiled with relief, but then they handcuffed his other hand behind his back and led him out of the room.
Montiel looked to the bench for Adán Martinillo. The man was gone. His rifle and bule were in the corner by the bar. Montiel looked at Felipe Lugo. Felipe shrugged, opened his hands, cleared his throat. "He left. I didn't notice when. I think he was hurt."
Don Tomas Pesqueira and his sons walked in, all armed, all toughened by the trail. Don Tomas barely glanced at the corpse of Manuelito. Each of his sons stepped forward to look into the face, touch Manuelito, and bless himself. Don Tomas went directly to Felipe who was pouring himself a large glassful of mezcal.
"With your permission," Felipe said to Montiel. "I keep this for my own consumption in cases of emergency." He sipped at the glass and offered it to Don Tomas.
"Where is the Martinillo," Don Tomas asked Felipe.
"We tracked him here."
"He's gone, Don Tomas. I don't know where. Maybe he's hiding."
"What would he hide from?"
"This man is a Judicial policeman."
"You want my son?" Don Tomas asked Albino Montiel.
"Only to question him. I would like to know where this corpse comes from. I would like Martinillo to appear against the men who hurt him. His blood is all over the floor."
"He got the corpse out of the cave of La Burra. We've been tracking him. The man was killed by a jaguar. My son carried him on his back from that cave to this room."
"A jaguar?"
"A ravening jaguar killed Manuelito."
"Ah!" said Albino Montiel.
"Didn't he say where he was going? How was my son hurt?" Don Tomas was angry. "What a fool you are, Felipe. If he was hurt why did you let him go?"
"I didn't see him go. How could I? He's a specter. I fed him. I tried to make him comfortable. He doesn't have much sense. He's crazy, if you really want to know."
"From what? From manliness?"
"I think so, or from hunger."
"Let's go sons. We'll find him on the trail. He'll not crack until he kills El Yoco." Don Tomas and his sons left the place. They had been gone a few seconds. No one in the pool hall had moved. Neli Pesqueira came back into the cantina. He picked up the full glass of mezcal that had gone begging in front of Felipe.
"The stirrup," Neli said and drank all the mezcal. "Thank you." He hurried out. The audience in the theater of Chinipas
laughed.
27
Juanita and Luz del Carmen came home late in the night from the comandancia where they had made accusing statements against Chombe Servín. They went into the house where they had to sleep and they were afraid. They had to walk through dark rooms to reach the first lamp. Juanita left Luz del Carmen and did the walking, she knew her own house better in the dark. She told herself she was not afraid of the dark nor of the devil himself in her own house.
She made herself look out the back window of her kitchen before she lit her lamp. She looked because she knew she would not be able to see outside after she lit the lamp. She had been brave enough to come this far in the dark, she could be brave enough to look and see if any devils threatened her through the back window. She saw the wide expanse of the horned devil's head looming in the window inches from her face. She fell back and knocked the lamp off the table, shattering it. She found a match to strike for light. It broke. She scrambled for another, slipped on kerosene and fell, cutting her hand and a knee on the glass of the lamp. Luz del Carmen came with another lamp to illumine the room. The tall red ox of Celestino's lowed and looked at them through the window, begging for a taco, unperturbed by the confusion he had caused. Luz del Carmen giggled and set the lamp down. She went to the bedroom to light another. Juanita angrily made the ox get away from the window. She bandaged herself with clean rags, worrying that her fence was so bad an ox could eat her flowers and sleep in her patio. She swept the glass of the broken lamp into her dustpan.
A screech from Luz del Carmen made her run to the bedroom. "A coralillo, " said Luz del Carmen pointing at a bright ribbon of flesh gliding away from a lighted corner. A coral snake disappeared under the bed.
"No. It can't be a coral snake," said Juanita.
"Ah, no?" I know these snakes and that's a coralilla, the most poisonous of snakes, poisonous of father and mother."
Juanita sighed. "Let's get him out, then," she said, moving the bed.
"There he goes. Kill him."
"No, he's done no harm. Poor thing. Pick him up with the dustpan."
"Hah! You pick him up."
"I'll pick him up. He's so small, what can he do?"
Juanita scooped him up, carried him quickly to the back door and threw him out with the glass in the dustpan.
"You should kill those snakes," said Luz del Carmen.
"I guess you should," said Juanita. "I would rather kill that ox."
A man laughed close by her door. He laughed so close, so proximate to her, she almost felt his breath. She slammed the door with all her might and was immediately sorry. She must be turning into a coward.
The man laughed again. "Open," he said, and both women recognized the voice of Chombe. "Kill him," he said shrilly, mimicking Luz del Carmen. He threw the snake back into the room through the transom.
"Play with snakes because you were born that way, Chombe, but leave us alone," Juanita shouted. "You better leave us alone. The Judicial is after you."
Chombe laughed and rapped softly on the door. Luz del Carmen killed the snake with the broomstick.
"Kill him, Luz del Carmen. You won't run out of snakes," Chombe said. "You have plenty in the house. I made sure you were well supplied. I left a whole nest in your rooms."
"Chombe, please!" screamed Luz del Carmen. Juanita embraced her and quieted her.
"This is what he wants," said Juanita. "To frighten us so we will lose control. Follow me. Stay close and be quiet." She walked through the house snuffing lamps and listening for Chombe. He was laughing softly and following them around the outside of house. He was always close, only a wall away, laughing.
"Didn't you see the ox I brought you as an offering, Güera?" he asked. "Give me your bed and I'll give you the ox."
"What do I want with two oxen?" said Juanita.
"Come out or I'll come in."
"Come in and I'll smash your head like Luz del Carmen smashed the coralilla. "
"Better still, let me in nicely and take me to bed. My own snake is gentle and warm and I'll chase away the poisonous snakes for you."
"I'll let you in if you'll fornicate a coralilla. I promise to stand on its head while you do."
Chombe laughed. "Nooooo. Ask Luz del Carmen. You don't have to let me in. I'll have you both before the night is over. Both in the dark."
Juanita unlocked and opened the quiet drawer of her mother's ancient hardwood dresser and picked out the old well-oiled .45 caliber single-shot pistol her uncle had left her. She motioned for Luz del Carmen to continue moving drawers and beds and doors. Covering herself with the noise, she kicked off her shoes and ran to another room to a heavy ladder that led to the attic. The ladder was sturdy and she climbed it without a sound. She sat still before the open attic window and controlled her breathing in the darkness. She could hear accordion music accompanied by thumps of a bass fiddle far, far away at a celebration of drunkards in a cantina. The whole town was drunk. He had to come this way if he was to enter this house.
Her windows were shuttered inside with iron-hinged hardwood and barred outside by iron that would refuse access to a charge of dynamite. Ten men could not open her heavy doors and windows with the force and strength of their bare hands. If Luz del Carmen could deceive Chombe into believing both women were below, he would soon come grinning through this open attic window. She wanted to face on her own ground the person who thought he was so expert at raping, ruining, and terrorizing women. She knew he would not delay. She knew his senses and his stealth were better than hers. Using the music and the sounds of Luz del Carmen to cover her again, she carefully cocked her pistol and let it rest between her hands on the floor.
The night was so dark, the movement so quick and silent, that the man was dangling his legs in the window before she realized it was Chombe. For a moment she was not sure the legs were not rope she thought she remembered she used as a hoist for the window. The man was a step into the attic before she realized he had surprised her. He became aware of her when she raised the pistol to fire. He grinned and raised his arms to fall on her, and she saw this in the flash of the charge of powder that launched the heavy ball into his heart. She saw his eyes turn white with the reflection of the heat of the flash. She saw the grin of Satan coming to take her to hell. She saw the many horns of hair thrust toward the ceiling. She saw the face immediately become the skull of a dead man. She saw the tail of blood pouring between his legs as he went over backward out the window.
She rose and descended the ladder with fine strength in her arms and legs as she searched her house for any more poisonous animals she might uncover.
28
Juanita was sitting on her back step in the morning sun after a group of tall men had taken away the body of the man she killed. She and Luz del Carmen had cleaned and sanded the blood as the blood of bulls is erased by sand in the bull ring. Juanita had bathed. She was sunning her legs while she sunned her hair to dry it. Her fair skin was tanned golden from mornings like this. The tan legs stretched before her under the shapeless dress were long and straight. Her skin was the transparent skin of the redhead. What a waste, she thought.
The people of Chinipas and all the Sierra called her La Quedada, the one who was left behind. She loved Martinillo and she had never wanted another man. She decided as she dried her hair that Martinillo was probably dead after last night. She had sent Luz del Carmen to her father's household in Canelas, hoping Martinillo would come to her house to heal; but since he had not come during the fuss over Chombe, he probably was not coming, Alone again, Juanita felt better off. Seven years ago, while she was in Chihuahua caring for an old uncle who refused to die she had learned Martinillo had married Lucrecia. She and the Martinillo had grown with the same dreams and hopes, and he had ended up taking her sister to Las Animas. Juanita had drunk a gallon of lechuguilla, and crazy drunk had cut all her hair off close to the skull with a butcher knife. She felt tragic only until after the hangover had passed. She did not blame Adán or her black-headed, blacke
yed sister for mating. Lucrecia was more like Adán. She was a huntress. She was predatory. Juanita had never hunted. Lucrecia was young and in the need of fertilization when Juanita had been nearing middle age.
Juanita had raised her brothers and sister while Adán waited for her to finish her chores so she could marry him. When she had taken the foreign chore of caring for an uncle she hardly knew, he could only believe she loved taking care of others more than she did a Martinillo. Even so, he had waited ten months while she wrote him letters about the progress of her uncle and implied how good she was.
He had finally written to her that she might be earning her crown in heaven, but if she didn't come home to him she would wear it as a virgin as far as he was concerned. She had laughed at his rashness in writing such words to her, the most pure Juanita, more secure that he approved how good she was. Six weeks later he had stolen her sister away from a dance, had kept her at Las Animas for ten days, and had taken her back to Canelas to marry her.