TOM MIX AND PANCHO VILLA: A Novel of Mexico and the Texas border (45 page)

Like ghosts, they melted away into the surrounding mountain fastness. Through the forests and over back trails, they drifted back toward the safety of their
patria chica
in Morelos.

So Villa and the bulk of the Northern Division were surrounded by three powerful Carranzista armies—Treviño to the west, González to the north, Obregón to the south.

I groaned. “Felipe was right—your brother’s a damned fool. And where was Zapata? At his tailor’s shop? How could he let them give up so easily?”

“He was in Mexico City when they heard the news of Puebla. His garrison panicked. They say he went back with them to Morelos.”

“What do you mean, ‘they say’? Has Zapata quit? Is it true or not?”

Hipólito smiled. “You know better than to ask such a question, Tomás. The answer is always: ‘Who knows?’”

You had to be there to find out. I swung out of bed, reached for my boots and uniform, then hesitated.

“Has anything happened in Chihuahua?” I asked.

“Urbina is there. The north will always be ours.”

“If we can stop Obregón.”

“We?”

I wonder now if I had been waiting for such news all along. It chilled me, but it also stirred something in me. My resolve and my loyalty had only been napping. Why hadn’t I seen it? I had fought with Villa all throughout the good times, the times when we won the battles and took the cities, and now that things had suddenly turned sour I had absented myself. Villa’s plan—the man himself—was stumbling, failing. I had forgiven him everything up until then, but I hadn’t forgiven him his inability to make the most of victory.
“Once he gets what he wants,
“ Luz had said,
“he loses interest.”
No, not interest, but clarity of vision. That’s when I had shied away, sunk in the trough of my despair over Rosa and my cynicism over the antics at Aguascalientes.

I had quit too soon, when he still needed me. I had once believed in his revolution—not a whim, but a belief that had been built over years, despite mistakes. And even— yes—despite villainy. I still believed, and I had to go back. Would Hannah understand? Beyond the certainty of desire, did / understand? If I didn’t go back I would be guilty of a second cowardice, a turning away. Once was enough for a lifetime.

“What time does the train leave for Chihuahua City?”

“Nine o’clock, Tomás, as always. Which is to say, anytime after nine o’clock.”

I had to move swiftly or not at all, I knew that.

I had barely enough time for Hipólito to drive me to the Sommerfelds. He waited in the car while a maid roused Hannah from bed. She met me halfway up the staircase. The white silk handkerchief round her head slipped a bit, and I saw that her hair was wrapped tightly in iron curlers. Then her sleepy blue eyes widened as they focused on my rifle and saddlebags at the foot of the stairs.

“Oh, Tom, no!
Why?”

“Because I’ve got to do it. Got to do it now. I’ll be back.”

“No!”

I told her what had happened in the south. She stared at me, uncomprehending.

“I have to finish what I started. All my life I was a quitter. I can’t do that anymore.”

“You’re quitting
me,”
she cried. “You promised! I’ll be humiliated, I’ll look like a fool! We told everyone we were getting married next month! You
can’t
go.”

“Hannah,” I said, seizing her hands. “Try to see me as a man, not just the man you love. I want to be a man. If I don’t go, I won’t be.”

“I don’t care about that!”

“But I do,” I said, a little coolly.

“And don’t you care about
me?”

“You know I do.”

“I don’t know anything anymore! All I know is that you’re leaving. And you swore you’d stay!” Her eyes glittered with something like desperation. “Last April, Tom, you got me into your bed. And all those times here in the house … Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I gave you everything I had … you don’t even care…”

“That’s not true, Hannah. I didn’t seduce you. I hope you don’t hold that against me. And I didn’t even—I mean, you’re still—”

“No,” she cried, “I’m not! That’s not so! It
did
happen!”

Did she really think that? The mind plays tricks; I know that now. Perhaps she had convinced herself. Perhaps, I realized, she had only done it in the first place to clamp me in a tighter grip.

She looked at me more calmly, although her eyes were still hot with resolve.

“If you go now,” she said, “I won’t wait for you. It will be over, Tom.”

“Oh, Hannah,” I groaned. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I’ll consider myself free. And you’ll be free too. You can stay in Mexico! You can
live
in miserable Mexico! Why don’t you do that?” she said cuttingly. “Find some Mexican girl who’ll wait for you while you chase around the country with Pancho Villa. That’s what you need, Tom. You don’t need me. I wonder—did you ever?”

A massive burden suddenly lifted from me. I felt as if I were gazing at a stranger. A beautiful and once beloved girl, but still a stranger. It was as if she receded from me in space—still visible but far away … fading. In her place, close to me—
she
had brought forth the image, for I would have struggled against it—I saw a browner face, dark eyes, a sweep of sable hair.

To Tomochic … If you want it, you will have to come for it. You know where it is buried …

Something became clear to me in that moment, an understanding I could only deny at my peril. Hannah had been the dream of my youth ever since I could remember. I had conjured her into form even before I met her in the lobby of the Commercial Hotel. She was something I’d read about by a campfire, and I always saw her that way, despite our episodes on the davenport: a poetic image of idyllic love.

But if I wanted to live with her for the rest of my life, why had I always left her? The rest of anyone’s life, I realized, begins
now.
And now, once again, I was leaving. I had sustained my image of her because I had never been willing to test the dream against wakefulness.

Rosa and I had been together for two long years, through separations and battles and all the bizarre events of the revolution. That was real, that was good. When she left me in Zacatecas, I had been lessened as a man. What might have come of us, what could
ever
come of us, I didn’t know. We were strangers, creatures of the planet who had met by accident and cleaved by need. So were any man and woman. She was no princess in a tower, but she had worked herself into the fabric of my life and I couldn’t push her out. And didn’t want to.

That was my fate, at least for now, and it was time I stopped ducking it. But I was still in the grip of some chivalric notion.

I said, “Hannah, I have to go or I’ll miss my train. You’re upset. I don’t think you mean what you’re saying.”

“I do, Tom. Of course I’m upset. I’m
more
than upset! But I meant every word.”

I gave her another chance. “I’ll be back when it’s over, Hannah. Let’s not decide anything until then.”

“You’ve decided already, Tom. You’re going!”

“Goodbye, Hannah. I’ll write.”

“Don’t bother!” she shrieked after me as I backed down the steps. I turned and ran out the door into the sunlight.

The motor of Hipólito’s Cadillac was idling. As he stepped on the gas pedal he turned to me. “Tomás, your face is bright red. Are you feeling all right?”

“Awful,” I said.

We raced toward the International Bridge. He drove recklessly, leaning on the horn, ignoring pedestrians and traffic alike. “No, wait—not awful. Wonderful, Hipólito. And awful too. Awful
and
wonderful.”

I was part of the revolution again. I wasn’t going to live happily ever after and bounce babies on my knee and have Luz Corral and Sam Ravel tell me how clever I was, but it didn’t matter. I was going to do what I had to do.

As for Rosa, I was clear in my mind about that too. I knew where to find her, and I would go.

At ten minutes after nine, just as the train for Chihuahua City gave its final high-pitched whistle, Hipólito shoved me aboard. The train wheezed out of the Juárez station, and in a few minutes we were out in the desert, picking up speed. I loved it: the rippling heat, the brown horizon, the stainless blue sky. This was where I belonged … for now.

The railway car rattled and banged, and the broken seat dug into my thighs. As soon as I had my wits back I dug into my saddlebags to haul out my pistol and cartridge belts.

I broke open the rifle and slipped a box into the chamber. In revolutionary Mexico, you never knew.

“Take all the swift advantage

of the hours.”

Candelario waited for me in Chihuahua City at the Hotel Fermont. He wore a sheepskin coat and dusty trail clothes, and he was polite enough not to comment on the starched newness of my uniform. He had received Hipólito’s wire only ten minutes ago.

He explained that the military situation was changing by the hour, and the roads were not quite as safe as they had been a week or two ago.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “After Parral I’ll still keep you company. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

“Well, now I can sleep nights. But you were quitting. That’s what the chief told me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“And I thought you had more brains than the rest of us. What made you change your mind?”

“I would have missed you, you hairy ape.”

“You’re not well, Tomás.”

“I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. Listen, do you know what I’ve got to do in Parral?”

He scratched his beard. “I know we’ve got to get a sack of gold here, that’s all. As for Parral, I’d just as soon you didn’t tell me, unless you need my help. The more I hear about the chief’s doings these days, the more confused I get.”

“Where is he right now?”

“In Zacatecas, getting the Division organized. Or Irapuato. It’s hard to keep track of him. He’s changed, Tomás.”

“How?”

“Well, he’s worried. He never used to worry before.”

The gold was still in the laundry room of the hotel, exactly as we had left it. The gold never changed. It gleamed dully and mysteriously in the soft light of the basement. There was something almost frivolous about the task, considering the gold’s destination and the news from southern battlefields, but at least it wasn’t taking us out of our way. The chink and jingle as we hauled a sack from one corner reminded me of the day and night that Candelario and I had spent counting it, and the two other sacks buried behind the corral of Rosa’s house up in Tomochic. From the glint in Candelario’s one good eye I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“You’ll have your restaurant soon,
compadre.”

“That’s pleasant to believe, Tomás.”

He had already bought a black trunk with a great brass lock, and we loaded the sack of gold Spanish pesetas into it and stuffed the edges with sheets and dirty towels so that there would be no telltale rattling. Candelario ground out the cigarette with the worndown heel of his boot.

“Urbina’s giving us horses and an escort to Parral. Let’s be careful when we meet him.”

The main boulevard, lit by flickering torches, was filled with whores and drunken soldiers. You knew who was in command here. Urbina, with a week-old growth of beard, met us at Doña Luisa’s Station Hotel, where he had arranged for us to stay the night. The lobby was empty and forlorn. Occasionally from the darkness there came the sound of a random gunshot or the snatch of a ballad sung off key. One of Urbina’s great Spanish swords clanked at his side in a silver scabbard, and he wore three bandoliers stuffed full of brass cartridges, so that when he walked he wobbled from side to side with the weight he carried.

He was drunk, of course, and his small eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets, like black marbles.

“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “I’m sitting here in this miserable town with three thousand men and no ammunition. I’ve got dynamite, but you can’t shoot dynamite from rifles.” Pulling his huge pistol from its holster, he spun the chambers. “Can you stuff a stick of dynamite up here? I’ll tell you, without mentioning any names, I’d like to stuff this pistol up someone’s ass. Where is Pancho Villa? Someone told me Irapuato. Someone else told me Guadalajara. Who should I believe? These days, everyone lies. I heard that we were supposed to go north to Sonora and take Agua Prieta. How can I move three thousand men in any direction without ammunition? I’ve got the rifles, but no bullets. I’ve got the trains, but no coal. Son of a whore, this is crazy weather! It’s too cold, and my rheumatism is killing me. The horses are hungry, and I can tell you, I’m fed up. What have you got in that trunk?” He grinned devilishly. “If it’s good whiskey from Texas, you’d better open it up. I’m the new collector of taxes in Chihuahua. I haven’t got anything else to do, so I’ve decided to get rich. You think that’s a bad idea? If you do, tell me. I haven’t got a better one, but I’m a reasonable man. I’ll listen to anyone’s opinion.”

“There’s no whiskey in the trunk,” Candelario said calmly. “Just dirty laundry.”

Urbina spat in the general direction of a spittoon and missed. “Look at that fancy trunk! Are your clothes stitched with gold thread?” At the mention of the word, a crafty look spread over his features, which were those of a black-snouted fox. “You visited the Hotel Fermont, didn’t you?”

Candelario yawned. “Let’s get to the cantina and have a drink.”

Urbina said thickly, “It’s my duty to inspect everything that passes through Chihuahua. Open the trunk. If it’s laundry, I’ll get you a woman to wash it. Do you want a woman, by the way? This city’s lousy with them. I found a pretty one the other night, coming back from the river. A young hellion, not very willing, but they’re often the best kind. Tits like melons. Look! She gave me this!” He pointed proudly to a scabbing welt on his cheek. Then he turned on me. “Who has the key to the trunk? You or this other peasant?”

“I have the key,” I said. “But the dirty laundry belongs to the chief. He wouldn’t want me to open it.”

Thumping a fist against his thigh, Urbina exploded into harsh laughter. “Now I know you’re lying! The only dirty laundry that Pancho Villa has got is right next to his skin. I’m the commanding general in the state of Chihuahua, so don’t make me shoot you for disobeying an order. Open that fucking trunk.”