TOM MIX AND PANCHO VILLA: A Novel of Mexico and the Texas border (50 page)

“Captain MacArthur was remarkably kind. It’s extraordinary how open the Americans are about their situation. One suspects them of being Machiavellian, but in fact, upon reflection, one realizes that the armor of nai’veté may be as potent a weapon as the poison of deceit. Eh what?”

The German captain was as full of verbal lather as a soap peddler, and I had to be careful that I just didn’t keep nodding dreamily and let on that I understood his drift. He took out a miniature gold comb on the end of a gold watch chain and began to run it through his mustache. When he finished his grooming he fished out a monocle. It hung from a black velvet string, and he screwed it deliberately into his right eye so that one bushy eyebrow arched halfway up his forehead, peering at me like an owl from a cottonwood tree. I had never seen that except in the movies.

I was impressed.

“Perhaps,” he said gently, “you would be kind enough now to tell me what you already know of my proposal to General Villa. It will save us a great deal of time.”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” I told him, which might not have been the case if good fortune hadn’t fallen on my plate last night. “So why don’t you start from the beginning?”

He went into his prattle, which was like rain falling on a tin roof. The Germans, he explained, were going to win the war in Europe. “Destiny, dear fellow, demands it.” The Kaiser’s dignified cousin, King George Five of England, knew nothing about modern warfare, and the French were a nation of decadent drunks. The attitude of the Kaiser was that the European war was really no business of the United States, whose great enemy was in truth her current ally, Japan.

“In fact,” Von Papen informed me, “we know that it is the plan of the Imperial Japanese government to invade the United States by way of Mexico, once an accord has been reached with the ruling powers of your country, whoever they may prove to be.”

He went on to explain that the Japanese monkey men cared nothing whatever for the sufferings of the Mexican people.
“Die gelbe Gefahr,
the Kaiser has called them—the yellow peril. Beware of them, Colonel. Don’t listen to their silken overtures. Indeed, if any foreign power comes to you in your hour of need, it should be we Germans, who have always venerated the culture of a proud people cheated by history.”

He paused to let that sink in, and then he edged a little closer to the point. He said, “Colonel, have you by chance ever looked at a map of Mexico in the year 1844?”

I admitted I hadn’t, not lately.

“The borders of your country, sir, extended as far north as the American states of Kansas and Colorado. They included all of Utah, California, Arizona, New Mexico and, of course, Texas. Imagine! All this the Americans took from you, first with the Texas Annexation and then in the Mexican Cession of 1848, which snatched away what I can only term as the paradise of California. Even today, as you must know, the ubiquitous Mr. Hearst owns half of the state of Chihuahua. American Smelting and Refining, Standard Oil … these are all-too-familiar names in Mexico. The mind boggles, dear fellow. How can you possibly think of these people as your friends?”

I realized now that I was talking to a very persuasive man, and I was glad it was me listening to his spiel and not Pancho Villa. His lingo was so polished you could skate on it, and if I were truly a Mexican colonel and hadn’t been born in Pennsylvania and bred in Texas, I might well have been ready to place my hand on his bible and get his religion.

“What it comes down to, Colonel Mix, is that Mexico must make a choice. One hopes, an intelligent one.”

He then let slip the notion that other elements in Germany, with whom he had no sympathy, were hoping to finance Victoriano Huerta’s return from Spain for the purpose of a coup against the feuding revolutionists. “The deeper purpose of this,” he said, fiddling with his monocle, which had slipped a trifle, “would be to divert Mr. Wilson’s attention from the European war and force yet another intervention in Mexico. From our point of view, needless to say, that would not be unwelcome.”

That puzzled me, and I thought it was time to speak up, with the hope of getting him to tell me what in hell he was driving at.

“With due respect, Captain … I don’t see how that works. Wilson doesn’t like Huerta, but if the old drunk came back it would never make him intervene. That Veracruz thing didn’t work out too well for the United States.”

“That may be. One hopes so. I don’t like Huerta, either.” Von Papen sipped his brandy. “In any event—and more importantly—I believe in your revolution, and so do the people in Germany who really count. I believe that Francisco Villa is the revolution’s ultimate leader. What if the revolutionary forces could stabilize themselves under such a man? What if they could declare solidarity with Germany? That would simplify matters, eh?”

For who? This fellow could probably talk a pump into believing it was a windmill.

“Captain Von Papen, I still don’t see it. Why should that help Germany? The Americans might get damned annoyed, but if it was no more than a declaration of solidarity, Wilson would just send a few more divisions to Texas and tell his factories to churn out more rifles. He sure wouldn’t declare war.”

Sipping his brandy, Von Papen pretended to think that over. Then he said, “You may be right. But there is one thing Villa could do to provoke it.”

“And what’s that?”

“Declare war on the United States.
Make
war … with German arms and German money.”

I took a shaky breath. “But, Captain, if we did that. it would light such a fire under Wilson’s ass that he’d go to war with you as well!”

“Ah, but not in Europe!”

Suddenly I saw his point. His point; our army.

“Come on, Captain,” I said, smirking. “Why should Villa do such a thing? What is poor Mexico to gain by making war on the United States other than more bloodshed and more suffering? There’s everything to lose. But what’s to gain?”

“I should think,” he replied calmly, “that in the hour of victory the main thing she would lose would be the adjective you applied to her. She would be proud Mexico, not poor Mexico. With Germany’s help she would take her rightful place among the world’s great powers.”

“Those are pretty words. I’m not sure Pancho Villa would be impressed by them.”

“I’ve never met the man. What would impress him?”

The whole idea had begun to horrify me, but I was too curious to hold back.

“A specific promise. Not for himself. For Mexico.”

“How about Texas?” Von Papen said, without even pausing to think. “Arizona. California. Her lost territories.” He smiled, as I gasped.

I had to call time out then. This had gone far beyond my anticipation and to the limits of my imagination. I hadn’t known what to expect, but it surely wasn’t a proposition that the Northern Division join up with the Krauts, then invade Texas and get it, plus California, as a prize!

Already I imagined General Pershing peering through his binoculars at our whooping, charging brigade, muttering to his aide, “That crazy fellow on the chestnut looks familiar to me. See if our snipers can pick him off.”

I strolled alone through the orchard to mull things over. Then we met for tea and biscuits, and after that we wandered off to the library.

I settled back into the soft red-leather easy chair and put my feet up on an ottoman.

I got the jump on him this time before he could begin to lather up.

“Captain, I think I understand the situation now — what you’d like General Villa to do. I know the army of Mexico, especially the Northern Division. I’ve fought for it for two years, and I didn’t get to be a colonel at my age because I parted my hair in the right place. Our soldiers are as brave as the next man, when they’re fighting for land and liberty.
Their
land …
their
liberty. But they’re not much interested, the way you Germans are, in fighting to take over some other fellow’s backyard. It’s my opinion that they wouldn’t get ten miles inside of Texas before they’d have more troubles out of Black Jack Pershing’s army than Job had boils. And when Scott wheeled out the light artillery, they’d just turn around and hightail it for home. Now, that’s no way to win a war.”

Elisa translated my Spanish into a flowing German, while Von Papen started currying his mustache again.

“Colonel Mix,” he said, when he finished spiffing up, “ten miles inside the border would be more than enough. A single mile would do. We wouldn’t expect you to fight a major campaign. We would merely expect you to strike, then regroup to a more secure position.” Thinking I was Mexican, he of course avoided the word
retreat.
“Such an act of incursion would be sufficient to bring the American army after you, and then you need but wait for the inevitable.”

“What might
that
be?” I asked, more and more amazed.

“Our intervention on your behalf, followed by American surrender to German military power. Our submarines can blockade their eastern coast. Our troop transports can reach it. Once we have brought England and France to their knees, our full might will be thrown against the United States. It will be a matter of weeks before there is a negotiated peace. Mr. Wilson has no stomach for a serious war. And you will recover all that you lost in 1848.”

Time, I thought, to nail this down. “Would you put that in writing?” I inquired.

“At the proper time,” he said cordially.

I nodded and asked where he, as a cavalry officer who knew the Texas border, thought the Mexican army could strike most effectively for the common cause. He smiled beautifully then. As far as he was concerned, I was netted and ready to be fileted.

“General Villa would surely know that better than I,” he said, with a nice deference.

“He’s always open to advice. You say you’ve never met him?”

“I’ve not yet had that honor.”

“He’s the most reasonable man you’re ever likely to come across. Always eager to listen, always ready to take help from the right people. And speaking of help, what exactly are you prepared to offer?”

“Give us a list of your needs.”

“No, Captain,” I said firmly. “Give us a list of what you can supply. And when. And by what method of transportation.”

“But surely, Colonel, you can’t expect such a commitment at this stage.”

“It’s not what I expect. It’s what General Villa will require. If I come back empty-handed, he might get to thinking he’s buying a pig in a poke and that all we did up here in Parral was punish the air. And that might not suit him.”

He thought that over for a while, then chattered something in German to Elisa, who nodded.

He turned back to me.

“Are you in a great hurry, Colonel? Can you give me a week? Perhaps even ten days? I would like to send some cables, and they must be coded, and the response is not always as swift in your country as one might wish.”

It was my turn to look at Elisa, and I broke into rapid Spanish that I knew he wouldn’t follow. “Frau Griensen,” I said, “can you stand my smelly hide around here for another week? Or would you rather we skipped to a hotel in town?”

“There’s no hotel here where you’d be comfortable, my colonel, and I like your smelly hide.”

And then, just as Von Papen swung his monocle back to look for my reaction, she winked.

I cleared my throat dramatically. “It seems to be in the interest of my country and my general to stay. What about you, Captain?”

“With your kind permission, Colonel, I will return to Juárez. Our communications facilities are better there.”

“You’ve got my permission. I don’t know what we’ll do here, but it’s been a long and fatiguing war. Colonel Cervantes says the mountain air suits him. We’ll wait here for you.”

“Soldiers deserve a rest and rarely get one,” Captain von Papen replied sympathetically.

He stood up, stiff as a steel bar, cracking his heels together again. He saluted me again. I liked it.

Right after tea, with his Mexican escorts roweling their horses and firing their rifles gleefully into the air, Von Papen set out for Chihuahua City to catch the northbound train.

As soon as he was vanished into a fog of alkali dust, Elisa took my arm. She walked with me into the shade of her bountiful garden and threw a crafty smile at me.

“What a good actor you are, Thomas,” she murmured. “You may have missed your true profession. I almost applauded.”

She had spoken to me in English.

“What are you talking about, Elisa?” I answered gruffly in Spanish. “I don’t understand.”

“Did you enjoy
Tristram Shandy?”
She paused. “I’ve been following the progress of your bookmark. Oh, don’t look so worried and conscience-stricken. I know you’re not a spy sent by General Pershing. If Villa gave you his trust, that’s good enough for me.”

I kept frowning, while she kept smiling. Eventually her smile conquered, as smiles do. And this smile was on the face of a beautiful woman.

“Did you tell Von Papen?”

Elisa laughed, and squeezed my arm. “He wouldn’t have understood. These military people are so damned stuffy. I’m German, but I’ve lived here most of my life. One’s sympathies change. Whatever I did was in order to help my country, and my country is Mexico. It just struck me that Mexico might be helped more if this meeting took place than if Captain von Papen bolted because he wouldn’t believe Villa would send a gringo.” She smiled at me. “Now, I myself think the gringo was an inspired choice. And how would the gringo feel about a siesta?”

That week, one of the more memorable ones of my life, passed quickly—too quickly. Candelario was content. He had his Francisca, who stroked his beard lovingly and rubbed axle grease on his back when he got drunk and took a nasty fall from the pinto, and eventually moved in with him after asking permission of her mistress. And I had Elisa.

This was new to me, and wondrous—a powerful word but an accurate one. I had never known a full-grown independent woman before, someone at the zenith of her beauty and power. She played no games with me … at least none that I didn’t enjoy.

“I want you to know who I am, Tom, so that you won’t make any serious mistakes or have too many illusions. I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’ve had a bellyful of the world. I haven’t seen and done everything, and I hope I never do—but what’s happened to me has been enough to make me glad I lived. I value my independence above everything. I won’t let any man, or anything, take it from me. I mean,” she said, shrugging, smiling softly, “I’ll put up a hell of a fight.”