“But how are they supposed to like us, then, compadre?”
And they spoke no more of it.
They reached a plaza facing a coarse, massive octagonal church reminiscent of colonial times.
At one time the plaza must have been a garden, judging from the bare, mangy orange trees planted amid the remains of iron and wood benches.
The deep, joyful tolling of the church bells was heard again, followed by the harmonious voices of a female chorus rising with solemn melancholy from inside the church. The women of the town were singing the “Mysteries” to the accompanying chords of a bass guitar.
“What fiesta is being celebrated today, señora?” Venancio asked a little old lady who was rushing toward the church at full speed.
“The Sacred Heart of Jesus!” the pious woman replied, nearly choking.
They remembered that a year had passed already since they had taken Zacatecas, and they all became even sadder.
1
Juchipila was in ruins, just like the other towns through which they had passed since Tepic, including Jalisco, Aguascalientes, and Zacatecas. The black traces of fire could be seen on roofless houses and burnt porticos. The remaining houses were boarded up. And occasionally a store would still be open, as if sarcastically, to show its empty shelves, which resembled the white skeletons of the horses scattered along every road. The awful mark of hunger could already be seen on the dirt-ridden faces of the people, in the bright flame of eyes that burned with fiery hatred whenever they beheld a passing soldier.
The soldiers wander the streets looking for food, but in vain; so they bite their tongues, burning with rage. The only eating house that is open immediately becomes full. They do not have any frijoles or tortillas: just chopped chilies and salt. The leaders show their pockets stuffed with bills; but they are useless, as are their threats.
“Pieces of paper, sure! Tha's what ya've brought us! Well, then go ahead and eat that!” says the owner, an insolent old woman with an enormous scar across her face, who adds, “I've already gotten in bed with death, so I'm certainly not scared to die now.”
And in the sadness and desolation of the town, as the women sing in the church, the birds keep chirping in the foliage, and the song of the warblers is still heard from the dry branches of the orange trees.
VI
Beside herself with joy, holding her son's hand at her side, Demetrio MacÃas's wife runs up the path of the Sierra to meet her husband.
Absent for nearly two years!
1
They embrace but do not speak. She is overcome by sobs and tears.
An astounded Demetrio sees that his wife has aged, as if ten or twenty years had passed. Then he looked at the boy, who was staring at him with fright, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a copy of his own steely facial lines in the boy's face, and of his own bright glare in the boy's eyes. He tried to reach out and hug him, but the child was very afraid and hid between his mother's legs.
“It's your father, son! It's your father!” But the boy, still fear-stricken, buried his head in the folds of his mother's skirts.
Demetrio, who had handed his horse off to an orderly, walked slowly next to his wife and son along the steep path of the Sierra.
“You're finally back, thank God that you've returned! Now you'll never leave us, right!? Say that you'll stay with us forever now!”
Demetrio's face clouded over.
An anguished silence grew between them.
A black cloud was rising behind the Sierra, and muffled thunder could be heard. Demetrio held back a sigh. Memories rushed upon him like bees to a beehive.
The rain started to fall in large drops, and they were forced to take refuge in a small rocky grotto.
The downpour erupted with a thundering sound, shaking all the white San Juan flowers, those bundles of stars found everywhere in the Sierra: hanging from the trees, on the boulders, amid the weeds, and between the pitahaya cacti.
Below, at the bottom of the canyon, through the veil of rain, could be seen straight, swaying palm trees, their angled tops rocking back and forth until a strong gust of wind blew their foliage open into green fans. And the Sierra was everywhere: sloping lines of hills and more hills, hills surrounded by mountains, which in turn were encircled by a wall of Sierra summits so tall that their blue tops were lost in the sapphire above.
“Demetrio, for God's sake! Don't leave again! My heart tells me that this time something's gonna happen to you!”
And once again she is overcome with sobs.
The frightened boy cries out loud, and she has to repress her own tremendous sorrow to console him.
The rain slowly ceases. A swallow with a silver underside and angled wings flies obliquely through the glass threads of rain, gleaming suddenly in the late afternoon sun.
“Why are you still fightin', Demetrio?”
Demetrio raises his eyebrows, absentmindedly picks up a small rock, and throws it toward the bottom of the canyon. Staring pensively down into the abyss, he says:
“Look at that rock, how nothin' can stop it now . . .”
VII
It was a truly glorious morning. After raining all night long, the sky had dawned covered with white clouds. Along the top ridge of the Sierra trotted wild colts, their manes standing on end and their tails sticking straight back, as proud as the peaks of the mountains raising their heads to kiss the clouds.
The soldiers marching along the steep, rocky terrain have caught the joy of the morning. No one thinks about the artful bullet that might be waiting for them further on. The great joy of setting out lies entirely in the unforeseen. And for this reason the soldiers are carefree, singing, laughing, talking. Their souls brim over with the soul of ancient nomadic tribes. Where they are going and whence they come matters not at all. Their only desire is to walk, to keep walking, and to never stop; to be the masters of the valley, of the plains, of the Sierra, of everything as far as the eye can see.
Trees, cacti, ferns: everything looks as if it has just been washed. The stonesâwith ocher like the rust of old armorâ drip thick, transparent drops of water.
MacÃas's men are quiet for a moment. Apparently they have heard a familiar noise: a weapon fired in the distance. But several minutes pass and nothing more is heard.
“In this same Sierra,” Demetrio says, “I, with only twenty men, took out more than five hundred Federales.”
As Demetrio begins to recount that famous military deed, his men realize the grave danger in which they now find themselves. What if the enemy, instead of still being two days away, is actually hiding in the tall weeds of the ravine around them, along the bottom of which they are currently marching? But who among them would dare show his fear? When had Demetrio's men ever said: “No, we won't go that way”?
When distant firing begins, up ahead where the vanguard is, no one is even that surprised. The recruits turn on their heels in an unbridled retreat, seeking some way out of the canyon.
A curse escapes from Demetrio's dry throat:
“Fire! Shoot anyone who runs away!”
“Let's take the heights from them!” he then roars, like a wild animal.
But the enemy, hiding by the thousands, unleashes its machine guns, and Demetrio's men fall like ears of corn cut by a sickle.
1
Demetrio sheds tears of rage and pain when Anastasio slides slowly off his horse, without as much as a sigh, to lie outstretched, motionless. Venancio falls beside him, his chest horribly ripped open by the machine gun, and the Indian goes off the edge of the precipice and rolls to the bottom of the abyss. All of a sudden Demetrio finds himself alone. The bullets whiz by his ears like a hailstorm. He dismounts, drags himself along the rocks until he finds cover, places a stone to protect his head, andâwith his chest set against the groundâbegins to fire.
The enemy spreads out, chasing the rare fugitives still left amid the chaparral.
Demetrio aims and hits every time . . . Bang! Bang! Bang! His famous marksmanship fills him with joy. He hits everywhere he sets his eye. He goes through one magazine and loads another into his rifle. And he aims again . . .
The smoke from the firing guns does not dissipate. The cicadas intone their mysterious, imperturbable song; the doves sing softly in the nooks between the rocks; the cows graze peacefully.
The Sierra is dressed in gala. Above its inaccessible peaks, a pure white fog descends like a snowy veil on a bride's head.
At the foot of a craggy hollowâenormous and magnificent as the portico of an old cathedralâDemetrio MacÃas, his eyes fixed forever, continues to aim with the barrel of his rifle . . .
Notes
INTRODUCTION
1
See Chronology of the Mexican Revolution (p. xxi).
2
Julián Medina is mentioned in part I, chapter II.
3
See Chronology of Mariano Azuela's Life and Work (p. xxv).
4
For a thorough critical study of the evolution of Azuela's
Los de abajo,
see Stanley L. Robe's
Azuela and the Mexican Underdogs
.
5
Modernismo
was a Spanish-American literary movement that lasted from approximately 1880 to 1910. Although styles differed from writer to writer,
Modernista
writers believed in and practiced an aesthetic and a cult of beauty; emulated the French symbolist, Parnassian, and decadent poets; and often made references to exotic lands. The most important
Modernista
writers were the Nicaraguan Rubén DarÃo and the Cuban José MartÃ. Mexico also had two leading
Modernista
writersâManuel Gutiérrez Nájera and Amado Nervoâwith whose work Azuela would certainly have been familiar.
PART 1
I
1
Palomo:
Demetrio MacÃas's and his wife's dog is named Palomo, Spanish for a kind of dove or pigeon. The dog's name is relevant in several of the first few scenes.
2
Federales:
The common term for the Mexican regular or federal army, especially during the three decades of authoritarian rule by Porfirio DÃaz (1876-80; 1884-1911). During the revolution, the Federales were the government troops who fought against the revolutionariesâfirst under DÃaz (through 1911) and then under Victoriano Huerta (1913-14).
3
“I'll turn your house into a dovecote”:
In Spanish, the Federale tells Demetrio's wife that he will turn her house into a
palomar
(dovecote). This is a play on words, since the Federales have just killed her dog, Palomo.
4
Escobedo:
Small town in the state of Coahuila.
5
Jalpa:
Town in the state of Zacatecas.
II
1
Moyahua:
Town in the state of Zacatecas.
2
pitahaya cacti:
Tall cacti that bear edible fruit, native to the southwestern United States and northern Mexico.
3
Hostotipaquillo:
Small town in the state of Jalisco.
4
Julián Medina:
Reference to the leaderâwho became one of Villa's generalsâof a revolutionary band with which Azuela traveled as medical officer from October 1914 through April 1915.
5
metate:
A flat or partly hollowed, usually oblong stone on which grains, such as corn, are ground by means of a smaller stone.
6
Quail's name in the Spanish original is Codorniz. See Introduction, p. xvi for a discussion of the translation of most of the characters' nicknames.
7
Lard's name in the Spanish original is el Manteca.
8
huisache trees:
A thorny, shrubby acacia found in the southern United States and throughout Mexico and Central America.
9
thirty-thirty:
Nickname given by the rebels during Mexico's revolution for their carbines; refers to the Winchester 30-30 carbine. There is even a famous
corrido
(Mexican ballad) of that name from the time, entitled “Carabina 30-30.”
III
1
The Indian's name in the Spanish original is Meco.
2
vara:
A Spanish measure varying in length in different localities, usually about thirty-three inches.
IV
1
Juchipila:
Town in the state of Zacatecas.
2
The Wandering Jew
:
1844 novel by the French author Eugène Sue (1804-57).
The Sun of May
(
El sol de mayo
): 1868 novel by Juan A. Mateos (1831-1913), one of the most popular Mexican writers of the second half of the nineteenth century. The novel has not been translated into English.
3
jÃcara:
The Spanish name, used in Mexico and Central America, for the calabash tree or its fruit, the calabash gourd.
V
1
curro
:
Derogatory term denoting a city slicker who in turn looks pretentiously down on the poor. See Introduction, p. xvi for a discussion of the translation of most of the characters' nicknames and why
curro
is left in Spanish.
2
“Carranzo”:
Luis Cervantes probably says “Carranza,” not “Carranzo,” but Anastasio in all likelihood misunderstands, unaware of who this key political figure is, or why Cervantes would identify himself as being on the side of Carranza. At this stage in the revolution (in mid-1913, near the start of the novel), Venustiano Carranza (1859-1920), the governor of the state of Coahuila and an elder of the revolution, was considered the commander in chief of the revolutionary forces against General Victoriano Huerta's federation forces. It is reasonable, then, that Cervantes would call out the name Carranza hoping that the group of revolutionaries would respond favorably.