Ganado: a novel

by Manolo Mario

  They reached the first ranch at eight. It was named Dos Pasos, simply displayed above a wooden arch denoting the entrance. No alameda lined the entrance, but a path kept by running hedges on both sides. It led to a plain house on even ground. Plenty of activity teemed around; cattle were driven to a side pen on the right. The bellowing created a constant chatter with several bulls being louder than others. Frank and Galo stood still, observing the work, which was handled by a dozen or so men. The hindquarter clearly displayed the “DP” brand affirming the ownership. They dismounted and worked their way up to the fence to watch a little closer. The last bull entered the pen and the gate closed. The dust settled and the bellowing slowed to a few. From their back a voice called out to them.

  “Are you looking for work?” Arturo Gutierrez, the proprietor of Dos Pasos, called out. Frank and Galo turned and headed for the voice with Frank yelling out.

  “I rather be dead than to work for such a low life!”

  “Coño! Shit on me37! It’s you, Frank. I’m just a shit eater for thinking that this was actually a good day to get extra help. I know of your rank aversion when it comes to work!”

  As they reached each other, Frank extended his hand. “This is my brother, Galo.” He leaned his head pointing. Galo extended his hand.

  Gutierrez dressed in denim with a plaid shirt open to mid chest and he used a handkerchief to dry his sweat. The pants were tucked into working boots that had not seen a shine for quite some time. “I can’t believe that you would allow this lazy bastard introduce you as his brother! I am so sorry for your burden!”

  Galo didn’t hesitate, “I was my mother’s favorite. And as opposed to him, my father did acknowledge me!” Laughter followed all around with Frank throwing his hands up in surrender.

  Gutierrez snorted a bit before continuing. “I should have been working since early dawn to get the bulls into the pen, but I was up too late. I got in a battle with bottle of rum and I won!” The laughter continued and Gutierrez pointed and led them to a wooden table out in the open. “In any case, I’ll be driving the herd into town to the rail yard.” Galo noted the sweat wasn’t related to any type of work.

  The three men walked up to a table out in the open and Gutierrez offered them a chair and breakfast. One of his helpers walked out with a tray of meats followed by Mirta, Gutierrez’ wife. “Mirta, you know Frank. This is his brother, Galo.” She nodded politely as the men lifted their hats.

  “Come and join me for some breakfast!” Gutierrez took a big chunk of bread that he split open with his hand and forked in slabs of cooked bacon. While he prepared the sandwich, the server uncapped a dark McKesson beer.

  “Muchacho, go and bring more beers for the gentlemen!” The young helper ran off.

  Galo gladly took to the bread. He reached around his shirt and brought out his knife. With little hesitation and plain ease, he cut the chorizo and bacon, pinching each with the tip of his knife to place on the bread. Gutierrez saw this and looked at Frank with a pursed lip and raised eyebrow.

  There, they sat in the shade as the sun climbed, chewing on bacon sandwiches and drinking dark beers. Galo did not hesitate to engage, “Gutierrez, how many do you have in the herd? What does your ranch produce?”

  “Well, let me think. I have a lot of steers and many cows. It is quite a chore to keep up with all of them, but as the need arises, we go and herd them for sale. We’ve been doing this for twenty years since my father accumulated this land. There are some ranchers that obsess with the animals and make it a lot more difficult than it needs to be. Believe me, worrying can kill a man. That is what happened to my father and I don’t plan to go that way.”

  “So, how do you know that you are doing all right?”

  “Every day brings on new challenges, which we handle as we need to. I have good men and take care of them. Sure, a calf can go missing from time to time, but there is plenty more.”

  “How many do you sell per season and to whom do you sell them?”

  “Well, the buyers from La Habana. They come four or five times a year. I look for the money I need to pay the men and make sure Mirta is happy. Besides, all those guys from La Habana are a bunch of lying thieves. I hate them all!”

  He was not being comical, and it opened the door for Galo to test the waters on his thoughts. “Sr. Gutierrez, what if I were to propose for you to allow me to handle the negotiation with the buyers?”

  “First, call me Arturo. Second, don’t tell me you are one of those sons of bitches?”

  “No, I am not a buyer like what you mentioned.” Galo smiled and took another bite.

  “I didn’t think so. Your clothes are normal and your voice doesn’t quiver like those nasty rats.” He took a slug from his bottle, followed with an ‘aah.’

  “I am thinking I can handle those … rats and make sure they don’t steal from you. Wouldn’t that be helpful?”

  “Well, perhaps, if the fates allow. I don’t know. These rats eat one another and hold you with a knife at your throat. Then again, you carry your own knife. But look why would you, a young man, would want to deal with this horse shit?”

  Without hesitation he turned back and yelled to his servant to bring more beer. Galo waited for the beer and continued his thoughts. “Well Arturo, I also have a Mirta to keep happy and I would like to make some money. Think about it. I can make things less unfair and let you enjoy your rum in peace.”

  Gutierrez finished his second beer and agreed to give Galo a quick view of the ranch. They all mounted their horses and rode out through a distant row of orange trees. He pointed out wooden cabinets where his people harvested honey. It was special for the orange flavor. The bees would gather the flavoring from the blossoms and deliver their nectar.

  Past the grove, a full view of the rest of the land displayed scattered cattle as far as the eye could see. There was no division of the property and one could note the novillos and steers million about together. There was no breeding control and some bulls were mounting cows in the distance. Of course, this met with Gutierrez’ fate comments.

  There were horse stalls off to the left with a closed in pen. They looked like fine horses, with ample area to graze. There would be no brushing. These were workhorses. The tour gave Galo the view and count he sought. From his perspective, he estimated the herd to number around two hundred and fifty thousand of which a quarter would be novillos. Fifty to sixty thousand novillos was a substantial quantity, as well. He thanked Gutierrez and offered him a drink if he was still in town when they returned later in the day. Gutierrez handed Galo two jars of the orange honey for his family, which he packed into his saddlebags. “Thank you, Arturo. This is kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome anytime. Hey, try that honey with some rum! It’ll keep any cold away!”

  ***

  “Galo, it was a bold move to ask Gutierrez to handle his sales, don’t you think?” Frank pried.

  “Funny, I thought I was soft to a man that cut through shit and drank as much. Think about it. He didn’t know me except for you. And, more importantly, he didn’t say no!”

  Frank scratched his head. Galo believed his brother thought he was out of his mind, but also felt respected.

  It wasn’t far or long when they approached another entrance to a ranch property. The name carved into a wood plank embedded into a flowery shrub read ‘El Sereno.’38 Each side of the entrance was adorned with tended flowerbeds and led to a path lined by royal palms. The palms stood tall in the breeze and made for a majestic entrance to a stucco house with earth stone tiles that matched the series of ‘tinajones’ laid out along the gardens. Frank and Galo rode up and dismounted, took a few steps up to the porch and tolled the small bell hanging on the pillar. After a few minutes, the door opened and a finely made up young lady in a linen dress appeared.

  “Well hello, Sr. Bartolo.”

  Frank took his hat off. “Hello Beatriz. It’s very nice to see you.”

  “Thank you and it is nice to see you as well. I
don’t think my father is expecting you.” She moved her head a bit to see Galo standing behind.

  Frank glanced back briefly, “Oh dear, please forgive me. This is my brother, Galo.” Galo gave a brief nod in response to her pleasant smile.

  “Beatriz, could we possibly speak with your father?”

  “I’m sure he will see you. Please come in and sit. I’ll have some coffee brought out while I find him.”

  She showed them into the sitting room. Galo looked around to see an elegant house adorned with costly art and furnishings. The house was as meticulous as the gardens and entrance. Frank was about to speak when Pedro Rodriguez walked in the room with his daughter trailing. “Well, well, Frank, what a surprise to see you!”

  He walked up and gave his hand to Frank at close range and with the palm down. Galo saw this as a little strange. The man was of normal height, but thin. He wore khaki pants made of a fine gabardine and an open-collared lilac shirt with the sleeves folded back to mid forearm. An expensive European watch glistened on his left wrist and a gold bracelet on his right. He wore a red handkerchief tied around his neck and behind it a gold chain matching the bracelet. A cross dangled at the end.

  “You are always so gracious, Pedro.” Frank turned slightly. “Let me present my brother, Galo.” Rodriguez turned to Galo and repeated his approach. “I am enchanted to meet you. Welcome, welcome.”

  Galo took his hand at the same close distance and noticed his hands were delicately soft and manicured. If it wasn’t for the obvious masculine features, Galo thought he shook a girls hand. He thought, ‘this guy has never worked a cow in his life.’ “It’s my pleasure to meet you as well; and thank you for receiving us without an appointment.”

  Rodriguez pulled back a step in abrupt surprise. “But what baritone! Do you sing opera by any chance?”

  Galo smiled nodding to and fro. Rodriguez continued to stare as he signaled to his daughter. “I guess you’ve met my daughter, Beatriz. She has been and is the lady of the house ever since my poor wife died five years ago.”

  Galo nodded. “Please accept my condolences, but know your daughter is a fine lady with impeccable manners. She greeted us warmly.” He saw Beatriz blush and look away a bit. The coffee arrived and everyone sat down around the room on the shining red leather chairs and sofa.

  Frank pointed with his coffee cup. “Galo, Pedro is the best horseman in the province, if not in all of Cuba. Not only does he have the finest collection of purebreds, but he also been consulted by many other breeders.” He wore an honest smile on his face when speaking. Rodriguez waved off the compliment feigning a little embarrassed. He jumped right in to explain the nature of his work.

  “Up until I imported the right colts, the horses around were work horses. Now I am developing racing horses that someday will rival the best in England, Argentina, and the United States. This is not an easy task. You see for as strong as these horses may seem to you with their toned muscles and all, they are frail. Any small accident can lead to death. It is also a challenge to have select breeding. Some are bred for stamina, while others are bred for speed. Their purity can be a problem. They are nervy and become hard to handle. When a mare is in heat, her odor will stir all the colts, no matter what kind. She has to be kept apart. It is complicated and requires full attention.”

  It seemed he went on and on until he finally stood and asked them to follow him. Beatriz excused herself. Frank and Galo followed out the back and through the manicured lawn to the horse stalls. Rodriguez beamed as he showed off his Quarter Horses, Palominos, Pasofinos, Cuban Pasos, and his recently imported set of Arabians. The horse stalls were as meticulous as the lawn, the house and Rodriguez’ fingernails. Most of the neighbor’s homes were not as well-kept as these stalls.

  It took a while for Galo to turn the conversation around to ask about the cattle. “Pedro, tell me about your cattle. How is the business? What are your operations, and their success?”

  Galo noticed that Rodriguez frowned and made a face like someone spit in his soup. He apparently abhorred the subject. “Galo, the cattle operation is excellent and produces quite well. Without it, I would not be able to do what I do with the horses. I am not enamored with the business. Excepting your presence, it is a dirty business and I don’t like the people in it. These agents from La Habana come and buy at will. I tried early on to deal with them, but it was fruitless. I delegate the deals to my foreman. We confer and give the go ahead by signing the bill of sale, but I don’t want to see any one of those creeps.”

  It was evident Rodriguez’ interest in cattle consisted solely in the money it provided for his horses and his manicures. The conversation turned back to the horses as soon as it could. Rodriguez was going to show off some of the Pasos in the upcoming rodeo and had his men capture some wild horses in the north for the bronco competition. He was also going to race a few of the Quarter Horses at the track on Saturday. He offered to host them at the clubhouse. Galo did not pursue the cattle questions further, but pressed Rodriguez as to what other horses he would like and where he would get them. This led to an invitation to lunch and to an afternoon of incessant horse talk.

  From the ranch, Galo could see some of the cattle. The herd looked well organized and the different pastures were fenced. He could not tell their number aside from Rodriguez’ number of ‘many.’ He would need to spend a little time with the manager to understand the potential.

  * * *

  37 By now the reader should understand that Cubans are infatuated with defecation. Seeing that humans on average defecate almost two tons in his lifetime, it can easily be understood and appreciated.

  38 Directly, The Serene. ‘In this case, The Calm One.’

  Chapter 39

  The weather changed on the way back to town. Though most locals, specifically, the animals were correct in predicting that they would not have a bad storm, it rained and the breeze picked up. Frank and Galo pulled up under a tree to get their raincoats on and tighten their hats to keep the rain off their face. It was the chance Galo would have to light up a much-needed cigarette. There was still plenty of light left, so the visibility was fine.

  “Frank, what about other cattlemen? There must be a top eight or ten?”

  “Actually, there are the big five. Besides the three you have met, there are a two more. Eriberto Sanchez and Roberto Luna, but I haven’t met them. I hear that Sanchez is a decent guy, but Luna is a bit of a nasty fellow. He’s up in years and one never knows. “

  “I really appreciate the help so far. I’ll ask Quino to deliver a letter to the other two asking for an appointment.”

  “You sure it’s a good tactic. Perhaps there are other friends in town who know the men and could provide an easier way to see them. You know, there are some social peculiarities with these people.”

  “Perhaps, but I want to play a hunch and test something about the nature of these men and this town. It seems that everyone knows each other.”

  “Well, yes, that is common.”

  The rest of the ride was quiet except for the sound of the rain on the leaves and the clopping of the horses in the mud. At the outskirts of town where Frank lived, Galo dismounted and gave the horse to Frank for the night. He said he wanted to walk a bit and tomorrow he would stay home.

  Galo walked the kilometer and a half to the train station and ran into Quino as he finished a job. “Quino, come by the apartment in the morning. I need some messages delivered to a couple of ranchers.”

  “Yes, of course, Don Galo. Glad to. Want a ride home?”

  “Thank you, but I want to ride the trolley home. The girls were on me about not riding the trolley. It’s my opportunity to get straight with them.”

  Galo’s hand was engulfed in Quino’s massive one when they shook and bid their goodbyes. On the trolley, he worked his brain around the three ranches he visited. Each of the owners was uniquely different. It was clear that they had money and were not lacking of a need. They all wanted something though and it had to
do with money. He assessed Pedro Rodriguez would be the easiest to get through. His interest was purely horses and getting money to build up his barn. The opportunity required cultivation and if he pressed it would backfire.

  Felipe Quintero on the other hand, would take some numbers to convince. His extremely meticulous recordkeeping would surely require some economics. A story wouldn’t work for him. Both of these men showed a certain class and sophistication, which he was sure made them quite popular with the society folks in town. Perhaps they wanted a higher status to match that of the sugar guys.

  Then, there was Arturo Gutierrez. Disorganized and ambivalent, except for his drinking and making sure his animals could be sold to keep his wife happy. Anything that would happen needed to be fueled by some type of alcohol. He could not underestimate Arturo’s reverence and desire for money no matter how much he left events to the fates.

  The bell on the trolley clanged about a block away from where Galo lived. It had not reached the sidewalk under the portico that led to the front of the apartment. Irrespective, Galo got off the trolley and walked the rest of his way home. It was approaching six and with the light rain, it felt darker than it should be. Daylight hours from season to season don’t change much in the tropics. But on a day like this, it was noticeable. He would look forward to bouncing his son and listening to the girls talk about school, but before that, of course, a hot shower was necessary.

  ~~~

  The rain fell throughout the night and into the next morning. Quino was prompt in the morning when he knocked at the door. Galo opened to find a wet black man dripping at his door. Droplets of water formed rivers of shining lights running down every crease of his face, neck, and arms.