“Señora Remigia.” Another neighbor comes in, bending her bony body down to pass through the door. “Do ya have a few leaves of laurel ya could give me to prepare an infusion for MarÃa Antonia? She woke up with the colic.”
And since this request was merely a pretext to come in and gossip, she turns her eyes toward the corner where the wounded man is lying, and inquires about his health, winking.
Señora Remigia lowers her eyes to indicate that Demetrio is sleeping.
“Well, so you're here too, Señora Pachita, I hadn't seen ya.”
“Good mornin' and God bless you, 'ñora Fortunata. And how's your family this mornin'?”
“Well, MarÃa Antonia has got her the âcurse.' And, as always, she's got the colic.”
2
She squats down and crouches right next to Señora Pachita.
“I don't have any laurel leaves, dear,” Señora Remigia replies, stopping her grinding for a moment. She wipes a few stray locks of hair that had fallen over her eyes from her drenched face. Then she digs her two hands deep into the earthenware tub and pulls out two large handfuls of cooked corn, dripping a turbid, yellowish water. “I don't have any. You should ask Señora Dolores, though. She's always got all kinds of herbs.”
“'ña Dolores left for the convent last night. They came to get 'er without any warning so she'd go help Uncle MatÃas's girl.”
“Go on, Señora Pachita. You don't say!”
The three old women form a lively chorus, gossiping in very low, hushed tones, but always in a very vivid, animated manner.
“As sure as there's a God in heaven above us!”
“Well, ya know, I'm the first one who said anything about it: âMarcelina's big,' I said, âshe's really big 'round the middle! ' But no one wanted to believe me.”
“Well, poor thing. And what if the baby turns out to be her uncle Nazario's?”
“God help her!”
“No, woman, it's not her uncle Nazario's, no way! It's those damned Federales, curse 'em all!”
The old women's racket eventually wakes Demetrio up.
They quiet down. Then Señora Pachita reaches into her bosom and brings out a
palomo
3
â the small pigeon's beak is open and it is barely breathingâand says:
“Oh, tha's right, I nearly forgot, I came to bring the señor these substances. But if he's bein' looked after by a doctor . . .”
“What you brought there won't do nothin', Señora Pachita. Tha's somethin' ya rub on the skin.”
“Señor, forgive how poor and how little this is, this gift I bring you,” said the wrinkled old woman, drawing close to Demetrio. “There's nothin' like this substance for blood 'morrhages.”
Demetrio quickly nodded his approval. They had already put slices of alcohol-soaked bread on his stomach, and even though they cooled off his belly when they were removed, he still felt very feverish inside.
“Go ahead, Señora Remigia. Go ahead and do it, since ya know it so good,” the other women said.
Señora Remigia pulled a long, curved knife typically used to slice cactus fruit out of a reed sheath. Then she grabbed the small pigeon in one hand, held it just above Demetrio's belly, and slashed it in half with a single swipe of the blade, as skillfully as a surgeon.
“In the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Señora Remigia said, blessing the room, and very quickly applied the two halves of the pigeon, dripping warm blood, on Demetrio's abdomen.
“Now ya'll see how ya'll start feelin' a lotta relief real soon.”
Obeying Señora Remigia's instructions, Demetrio remained still, his head tucked in as he lay on his side.
Then Señora Fortunata told of her troubles. She felt much goodwill toward the señores of the revolution. Three months ago the Federales had stolen her only daughter away, leaving her inconsolable and beside herself.
When Señora Fortunata began telling her story, Quail and Anastasio Montañés, sitting on their haunches at the foot of the stretcher, raised their heads and listened, their mouths hanging open. But Señora Fortunata went on to recount the story in so many details that halfway through Quail grew bored and went outside to stretch his legs in the sun. When she finally finished upâby saying in a solemn tone, “I pray to God and the Blessed Virgin Mary that you do not leave a single one of those damned Federales alive”âDemetrio, facing the wall, feeling much relief from the substances on his stomach, was thinking of the best route to proceed to Durango, while Anastasio Montañés snored as loud as a trombone.
X
“Why don't you call the
curro
and have 'im cure you, compadre Demetrio,” Anastasio Montañés said to his leader, who continued to suffer strong chills and fevers every day. “If you could only see, he cured himself and he's already so much better that he's walkin' 'round without even limpin' no more.”
But Venancio, who was standing by with his tins of lard and his filthy strips of rags at the ready, protested:
“I cannot be held responsible for whatever happens if anyone else lays a hand on him.”
“Listen, compadre, where do you come off thinkin' you're such a great doctor? You gonna tell us you've forgotten how you came to be here with us?” Quail asked.
“Yeah, well, what I remember, Quail, is that you're with us 'cause you stole a watch and some diamond rings,” Venancio responded, all worked up.
Quail burst out laughing.
“Well, at least I did that! What's worse is that you ran away from your town 'cause you poisoned your girlfriend.”
“That's a lie!”
“No, you did. You gave her some Spanish flies,
1
but they didn't work . . .”
Venancio's shouts of protest were drowned out by the clamorous laughter of the other men.
A pale, grimacing Demetrio made them quiet down. He made some moaning sounds, then said:
“Well, okay then. Go on and bring me the student.”
Luis Cervantes came. He uncovered Demetrio's leg, slowly and carefully examined the wound, and shook his head. The ligature, torn from a blanket, had dug into the flesh in the form of a furrow, and the bloated leg seemed about to burst. With each movement, Demetrio bit back a cry. Luis Cervantes cut the ligature, thoroughly washed out the wound, covered the thigh with long, moist linens, and cleanly bandaged everything up.
Demetrio was able to sleep through that entire afternoon and night. The next day he woke up in much better spirits.
“He has quite a light touch, that
curro
,” he remarked.
Soon afterward, Venancio said,
“He's okay. But we have to remember that
curros
are like humidity, they seep through everywhere. The fruits of many a revolution have been lost because
curros
were around.”
And since Demetrio blindly believed in the science of the barber, when Cervantes came to apply his treatment the next day, he said to him:
“Listen, do a good job here so that when I'm good and cured you can go on back home or wherever you want to go.”
The discreet Luis Cervantes did not say anything at all.
A week passed, then another. The Federales showed no sign of life. Meanwhile, there was an abundant amount of frijoles and corn in the ranchos in the area, and the people's hatred of the Federales was such that they were more than willing to provide the rebels with shelter. So Demetrio's men waited, quite patiently, for their leader to make a complete recovery.
Luis Cervantes remained dejected and silent for many days.
But Demetrio started to grow fond of him. Then, after the treatment one day, he said to him, in jest: “From the way you're goin' about, I'm starting to think that you're in love,
curro
!”
And eventually Demetrio MacÃas began taking an interest in the welfare of Luis Cervantes. He asked him if the soldiers were giving him his proper rations of meat and milk. So Cervantes had to tell him that he was eating only what the gentle old women of the rancho were giving him, and that everyone was still looking at him as an unknown or an intruder.
“They're good muchachos,
curro,
” Demetrio replied. “The key is to know their way. Startin' tomorrow you'll have everything you need. You'll see.”
Sure enough, things started to change that very day. Later that evening some of MacÃas's men were lying on the stony ground, looking up at the clouds of twilight as if they were gigantic blood clots, listening to the stories Venancio recounted from some of the most charming episodes in
The Wandering Jew
. Many, lulled by the barber's sweet voice, dozed off and began to snore. But Luis Cervantes, after listening attentively to the story, which ended with some strange anticlerical comments, said emphatically:
“Tha's admirable. You have quite a beautiful talent.”
“It's not that bad,” Venancio replied, himself quite convinced of it. “But my parents died, so I was unable to go on and continue my studies.”
“That does not matter in the least. Once our cause is victorious, you will be able to obtain your degree very easily. Two or three weeks of serving as an attendant at a hospital, a good recommendation from our leader MacÃas . . . and you shall be a doctor. You have such skill that it will all come as easy as a game to you!”
From that night on, Venancio differentiated himself from the others by no longer calling him
curro
. Instead, it was Luisito this and Luisito that.
XI
“Listen,
curro,
I was wantin' to tell ya a little somethin',” Camila said one morning when Luis Cervantes entered the hut to get some boiled water to cleanse his foot.
The girl had been restless for several days. All the attention she had been lavishing on him and her countless insinuations had finally started to annoy the young man. He suddenly interrupted his task, stood up, looked straight into her eyes, and replied:
“Well, okay. What did you want to say to me?”
At that point Camila felt her tongue turn into a wet rag and was unable to say anything. Her face lit up as red as madroño
1
berries; she shrugged her shoulders, and bent her head forward until her chin rested on her bare chest. Then, without moving, she cast her gaze, as steady as an idiot's, at the wound on the young man's leg, and said in a very weak voice:
“Look at how purty it's a-healin' already. It looks as purty as a Spanish rose.”
Luis Cervantes knit his brows with evident anger and turned his attention again to his treatment, and ceased paying her any more heed.
When he finished, Camila had disappeared.
The girl was nowhere to be seen for three days after that. Señora Agapita, her mother, was the one who received Luis Cervantes when he came to their hut, and she was the one who boiled the water and the strips of linen for him. He was very careful not to ask anything about the girl. But three days later Camila was back again, with even more beating around the bush and lavishing attention upon him than before.
Distracted, Luis Cervantes treated Camila indifferently, which only served to further embolden the girl. She finally spoke up again:
“Listen,
curro
. I was wantin' to tell ya a little somethin'. Listen,
curro
. Just one thing. I'd like you teach me the words to âLa Adelita.'
2
So that . . . Can ya guess what for? So I can sing it and sing it when ya all leave, when ya're no longer 'round, when ya're already so far away, so far . . . that ya won't even remember me no more.”
The effect of her words on Luis Cervantes was like that of a steel point scratching against glass.
But not noticing, she continued as ingenuously as before.
“Well,
curro,
if ya only knew. If ya was to see how mean that ol' man leader of yours is. First of all there's what happened to me with 'im. Ya know that this Demetrio doesn't want no one but my mamma to make 'im his food and no one to take it to 'im but me. Well, okay, so the other day I go in with his atole,
3
and guess what that ol' devil goes and does? Yup, sure 'nough, he reaches out and grabs my hand and squeezes it hard, real hard. Then he starts to pinch my legs and my behind. Ah, but ya shoulda seen what I did then! I says then: âWhoa there, ya're worse than bad! Lay still, stop that! Ya're worse than bad, ya wicked devil! Let go of me, let go of me, ya shameless ol' man!' And I back away and get out of his grasp and I'm off and runnin' outside at full speed. What d'ya make of that,
curro
?”
Camila had never seen Luis Cervantes laugh so heartily.
“But is it true, is everything you are telling me true?” he asked her.
Camila was thoroughly disconcerted and unable to respond. Cervantes continued to laugh loudly, and repeated his question. She felt even more uneasy and worried, and her voice cracked as she replied:
“Yes, it's true. And tha's what I been tryin' to tell ya. Doesn't that make ya angry and wanna do somethin' about it,
curro
?”
Camila glanced up at Luis Cervantes, staring once again with adoration at his ruddy, radiant face, at his soft and expressive light green eyes, at his pinkish cheeks smooth as a porcelain doll's, at the softness of his slightly curled blond hair, and at the glow of his delicate white skin showing above his collar and outside the sleeves of his coarse wool shirt.
“So what in the world are you waiting for then, dummy? If the leader wants you, what else are you waiting for?”