TOM MIX AND PANCHO VILLA: A Novel of Mexico and the Texas border (43 page)

“One of them,” he said, “is a delicate matter. You’ll have to come back into Mexico, but not too far. Do you know the town of Parral?

“West of Chihuahua City, in the mountains.”

On a certain day, he explained, in about two weeks, the German military attaché to Washington, who also dealt with Mexican affairs for his government, would show up in Parral. His name was Franz von Papen. He had asked for a meeting with Villa, or with someone who had Villa’s full confidence.

“It won’t take you long,” Villa said. “You have my full confidence. You can meet Candelario in Chihuahua City and ride over there and talk to the man. Then write out a report and give it to Candelario to bring back to me. Then you can go up to Texas again to your Jewish sweetheart.”

“But what’s it all about, chief?” I asked, puzzled.

“I can’t tell you everything because I don’t know it myself. This Von Papen got word to me through a third party. All I know is that he has a proposal to make to us on behalf of his government. It may be something so bold, so much to the benefit of the revolution and the people, that it makes my head spin. I swear you to secrecy on this, of course.”

“But the Germans aren’t your friends,” I reminded him. “They supplied Huerta.”

“Because Huerta was in power. Now I am. Don’t ask me any more questions. It will all become clear. I’d see this fellow myself, but there are too many eyes watching, and it’s the most confidential sort of business. He’ll be expecting you in Parral at a place called Hacienda de Los Flores.” He glanced at a crumpled piece of notepaper. “It’s on Calle Chorro, in the home of some old German woman called Elisa Griensen.”

He leaned forward, his eyes glowing in the lamplight like gems “That’s it. Will you do it?”

I looked at him for a long moment. “What if I say no?”

“That s your right. You’ll still have my blessing. If you have a son, I’ll be his godfather. He will lack for nothing. If you name him after me, that would please me even more.”

If I did what he asked, I realized, I would be in El Paso at least a week before it was time to leave on the diplomatic errand. Hannah would know I was back for good—we could even set a date for the wedding. There was no fighting now in the north, so there was no danger of an ironic and untimely end. A meeting, no more. Nothing very complicated or risky. Still, I held back.

“You said three things. That’s only two.”

He blushed again. “When you meet Candelario, check on the gold in the laundry room of the Fermont.”

We were to take one sack, he explained, wrap it securely so that it didn’t jingle, put it in a locked trunk and carry it to Parral. Candelario would then bring it to him in Mexico City when he delivered my report of the meeting with the German. That was an innocent enough task, and I understood well enough that the money was for Conchita and her aunt.

I had thought it was the revolution’s treasury, but if he had given part of it to Candelario and me, I suppose he had the right to dip into it himself when the need arose. His generosity, so long ago in Chihuahua City, now began to take on a new and more subtle meaning.

One final favor, he had said, when I first arrived. It didn’t seem much to ask.

“All right, chief. I’ll do it.”

He sighed with obvious relief. “I’m grateful, Tomás. I don’t know who else I could have sent.”

Then something occurred to me. I would still be Villa’s man when I reached Parral, but I was a gringo. This German military attaché, Franz von Papen, would certainly see that. Even if I carried the right papers, wouldn’t he suspect they were stolen, and that I was a spy?

Villa placed both his hands on my shoulders. I felt their weight and their power. The Griensen woman, he had been told, was a middle-aged spinster who had lived in Mexico for many years. She would be there to interpret for us, so I could speak Spanish all the time. There were many Mexicans with foreign names.

“Yes, the name can be explained, but—”

“Tomás, have you looked in the mirror lately? You look like a Mexican. You usually think and act like a Mexican. A very smart Mexican might realize after a while that you were a gringo, but a visiting German would have to be gifted with the sight of a witch to tell the difference. Believe me, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Had I changed so much? I may not have been the callow youth who had jutted out his jaw to seem more of a man—but if not, what was I? While I pondered that, he went on to explain that he would have letters ready for me by noon the next day and a special travel document with his seal and signature.

“In the name of Colonel Tomás Mix. I can’t have a lowly major dealing in my name with foreign governments. Now you can retire in real style. When you’re in El Paso, buy yourself a decent uniform. Get rid of those moth-eaten pants. You look disgraceful, worse than when I first met you. You’re not a broken-down cowboy anymore, and you never will be again.” He ground another cigarette into the carpet. “Are you sure you won’t have a drink?”

I asked him for a double whiskey.
Colonel Thomas H. Mix, Retired.
I wasn’t yet twenty-four years old.

Around midnight Pancho Villa and I embraced for what I thought would be the last time, and we said goodbye. I weaved my way back through the dark streets, half-drunk and chortling to myself. A free man … almost.

“Know of your youth,

examine well your blood.’’

Swinging down off the train at the Juárez railroad station, saddlebags slung over my shoulder, I scanned the crowd of unfamiliar faces.

I felt a tap on my elbow. A voice said severely, “Colonel Mix?” and I turned to face Hipólito, who embraced me like a brother. After three days on the train my hide had soaked up enough dust and coal smoke to make me considerably whiffy on the lee side, but he didn’t care.

It was December of 1914, more than a year since we had taken the city by riding the rails backwards, and Hipólito looked even fatter, dressed in the expensive glad rags of a successful businessman: a smartly pressed new gray herringbone worsted, a matching vest, maroon string tie, white shirt with starched collar and gold cuff links in the shape of a pair of dice, and pointed black shoes.

“
Pendejo!
How are you?”

“Pretty good,” I said, “all things considering. And you?”

“Judge for yourself. How do I look?”

“Like you’re on the way to a whorehouse.”

“Now that you’ve brought up the subject, how are the French ladies? And Candelario?”

“The French ladies are fat and sassy. Candelario’s so worn out you could stuff him into a drainpipe.”

Hipólito had a car waiting, a black Cadillac roadster with a chauffeur also dressed in black. On the way to his house he told me that he and Mabel Silva were married now. I congratulated him, and then he explained that the chief had just telegraphed with fresh instructions that I buy some sort of uniform for myself, befitting a colonel.

“You have an appointment tomorrow at my tailor on Mesa Street. He’s a Jew, from somewhere in Poland, and as you can see by looking at me, a genius. Which reminds me …” His smile dimmed, then faded. “I have bad news. Felix Sommerfeld is dying. Cancer of the lungs, although no one dares to say it in so many words.”

That was a shock. Hannah may have written, but the mails were something less than dependable.

“It happens to all of us, Tomás. But his ugly daughter, who thinks my brother is a beast, is in excellent health. She’s panting for you like a lady doggie in springtime. I stopped by to tell them you were coming, although I didn’t say exactly when.”

“That’s good.” I was thinking about the letter in my pocket and Luz Corral; I wanted to get that over and done with. I hadn’t seen Hannah in eight months—another day wouldn’t make any difference. Not exactly a lovesick knight panting for his beloved princess … and I wondered why.

The Cadillac bumped across the International Bridge. I told Hipólito I had quit, and he pounded my back.

“You did right, Tomás. The revolution doesn’t need you anymore.”

Did it ever? Or was it I who had needed the revolution? I had little time to think about it; he had my old room ready for me at his house on Montana Street, and that night I regaled him with tales of the campaigns, described the meeting with Zapata, and then after the third bottle of burgundy I rolled off to bed and slept like a cowhand just come off a cattle drive.

In the morning we went to his tailor next door to the Texas Grand Theater. I was fitted for a lightweight tan uniform such as the officers at Fort Bliss might wear, tucked in at the waist, with gold eagles on the epaulets. It seemed a bit of foolish frippery to me, in view of my retirement, but I had learned from Candelario never to look a gift horse in the mouth; and in any case I would need it for the meeting with Captain von Papen.

That afternoon I walked up North Oregon Street to the house that Villa had rented for Luz Corral. A five-passenger Hudson stood in the driveway, and there was a porter watering the lawn. I wore my faded Levi’s tucked into my boots and a jacket that smelled of not just the train but the trails of Chihuahua and the dung-filled streets of Xochimilco.

Luz Corral remembered me, greeted me kindly and took me into her kitchen, where she fussed over me and fed me apricot pie and fresh milk as if I were a schoolboy. She was simply dressed in a yellow cotton frock with woolen stockings and brown shoes. Her gray eyes brimmed with curiosity.

“And how is my Teo?”

About then I realized the enormity of the task that Pancho Villa had given me, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than offer my apologies, thank her for the pie and sneak out of that kitchen like a thief. It was no man’s job but his, and no one else should have come. On the other hand, I hadn’t complained when he asked me. Not being in the habit of seeing things too clearly when they first showed themselves, I had just dumbly nodded, and now it was too late to back out.

I told Luz Corral that her husband was very well indeed, comfortable in his house on Calle Liverpool, up to his ears in the affairs of government and the successful conclusion of the revolution.

“Is he eating well? Is he getting enough sleep? Does he wear his hat against the sun?”

She treated him like a schoolboy too. I assured her that he was in good health, wouldn’t part with his pith helmet even for one of Zapata’s sombreros, and then dug in my back pocket and produced the letter that he had asked me to give her. She broke the seal and read the letter.

“He says here that you have an important message for me.”

“Doesn’t he say what it’s about?”

“He says that I’ll want to discuss it with you, and that I’m to trust you completely and give you my answer in detail. He says he’s spoken to you from his heart with the sincere words of an uneducated man. I wonder why he always thinks that the words of an uneducated man are sincere.” The corner of her mouth tilted in a whimsical smile. “Please go ahead, Colonel. Tell me what it is.”

“I wish you’d call me Tomás.”

“Very well, Tomás. What does Francisco want? Is it a divorce?”

I started to stutter and wave my hands, and I knocked over my glass of milk quite by accident.

“I thought so. Here, don’t do that. Let me get a dishcloth and mop it up. Don’t use your sleeve, for heaven’s sake. I’ll pour another glass for you. Be calm, Tomás. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Thank you, Señora Villa.”

“We’ve been married five years, and this will be the third time he’s asked me. The first time was only six months after our wedding day. He met this
soldadera,
the one they called Adelita, and he thought he was in love. Well, he may have been—I can never tell. But she wouldn’t marry him, and that nearly drove him crazy. Then she gave him a terrible disease, which Francisco cured with a black chicken. That calmed his passion, naturally. He changes his mind from one moment to the next, as you know … although usually for good reason.”

Luz Corral’s eyes sparkled at the memory, and she spoke idly in a soft, clear voice, as though she were telling tales she had read in a book.

“After that,” she said, while I sat at the kitchen table with my eyes round as marbles, “he met a young woman named Pilar Escalona. She was from Chihuahua City, where Francisco worked for a while as a butcher. As a reward for his services in 1911, Señor Madero had given Francisco the concession of all the bulls killed in the ring, and he sold the meat. It isn’t really fair of me to call him a butcher, and he turns absolutely pop-eyed when I use that word. Don’t ever mention it to him, Tomás. He’ll get angry and he’ll know that the information comes from me.”

“I won’t, señora. I hate to make him angry.”

“Anyway, he met Pilar Escalona while she was studying to be a bullfighter. She was a very tall, very pretty Indian girl. She turned Francisco’s head so that he couldn’t see straight. He married her, of course, and when I found out there was an awful scene. He said, ‘If you’re going to be unpleasant about it, let’s get a divorce,’ and so I yelled at him like a woman who sells garlic in the market. I had the child then, you see. I left with her for Texas, to let Francisco get it out of his system and because I was ashamed of my behavior. Then Orozco got after him and put him in prison, and he escaped here to El Paso, as you know.”

She startled me then by bursting out with a peal of raucous laughter. “Pilar Escalona followed him. When she got to the border and told the gringo Immigration people that she was the wife of Francisco Villa and had come to join her husband, they said, ‘But, señora … his wife is already here in Texas!’

‘Well,’ she screamed, ‘I’m his wife too!’

“But they explained that in the United States a man couldn’t have more than one wife. And they wouldn’t let her into the country as Señora Villa, only as Señorita Escalona. When I heard about that, I demanded from him a paper saying that no matter how many times he managed to get married to other women in Mexico by putting a pistol to a priest’s head, I was his only legal wife. And I got it. So you see, Tomás, I’m used to this sort of thing. Who is she this time?”

I took a deep breath and told Luz Corral what I knew about Conchita del Hierro, although it wasn’t much.