El Coyote, the Rebel Read online

  Again I raised the stick—and whack! This time I smashed the stuffed jar, and in an instant I was flattened to the ground, face downward, with a feeling that everybody was on top of me. In a few moments I heard my aunt’s voice calling, “Luis! Where is my Luisito?”

  “Little Luis is on the bottom!” shouted Juanita, the maid.

  After the candy, the toys, and nuts had been gathered up by the children and they had removed themselves from my back, my aunts, my grandfather, and Juanita came to help me up.

  “Luis, are you killed?” asked Juanita.

  “I think I am shot through the heart,” I said, as one of my aunts tried to brush the flour off my face.

  The rag which was used to blindfold me was around my neck. One of my sandals was missing; my hair and clothes were full of flour, and my right thigh was badly bruised.

  At last I was taken inside the house to be cleaned from head to foot, but in a short while I was out again among the crowd enjoying hot tamales and sweet fritters, and drinking chocolate.

  Inside the house, when the party was in full progress, the young women whispered to each other and giggled; everything seemed funny to them. The men drank and talked about the last revolution, the good and the bad points of the Federal Government. I also overheard them agreeing that my uncle was the best-dressed man they had seen in San Luis Potosí for some time.

  The first night of the fiesta I danced, sang, and even stood on my head to amuse the guests. Finally, after I had performed all the tricks I knew, I was lulled to sleep in my grandfather’s arms by the mournful sound of a clarinet accompanied by tinkling guitars and the melodious strains of other instruments.

  3

  About three months after my uncle’s arrival at San Luis Potosí, my grandfather took the whole family to a near-by park for a weekend picnic.

  At the park, after we had eaten the tacos, tortillas, and other foods which my aunts had prepared for the occasion, my grandfather rented a boat. It was a hewn flat-bottomed launch with board benches along the inside to accommodate from six to eight people.

  After my two aunts, Juanita the maid, my grandfather, my uncle, and myself were on the rude vessel, my grandfather insisted that he was going to paddle it. So, when everything was ready, he wove jerkingly through the lily-covered lake.

  When we were about a mile from the landing place, my grandfather pulled the paddle in and began talking to my uncle. As the boat drifted I saw a cluster of lilies touching the hull of it. I was tempted to grab the flowers, and without thinking, I leaned over.

  As I was reaching in the water my grandfather said, “Luis, don’t do that!” At the same time he whacked the seat of my pants with the paddle.

  When I felt the stinging slap I lost my balance and fell overboard. Immediately one of my aunts shouted, “Take him out! He is going to drown!”

  My grandfather calmly replied, “Don’t worry, daughter, Luisito never drowns. He is a big boy, and he can swim.”

  “Yes, it is true little Luis can never drown; he can swim. I pushed him in the pond the other day, and he swam out of it,” affirmed Juanita.

  As my grandfather and the maid were explaining that I could swim, my uncle reached over and fished me out of the water, including the cluster of lilies clutched in my hand.

  After I was on land again, my aunts and Juanita removed the wet clothes from my body and wrapped me in a sarape, putting me near an open fire to keep warm.

  While I was bundled up in the sarape, my grandfather said to my uncle, “Miguel, I want you to take little Luis to the United States and see what you can do for him. He is a good boy, and I love him very much, but I’m too poor and old to—”

  “I’ll take him with me,” interrupted my uncle, as he rolled a cigarette.

  That afternoon, while my clothes were drying near the open fire, I was placed under my uncle’s care. When he assumed the responsibility, he said, “I will promise, and swear by the Mexican saints, that we will give Luis the best education we possibly can! We will be good to him and bring him back every year to see you.”

  My uncle’s intentions pleased my grandfather a great deal, and that same day, in the park, they set the date of our departure.

  As far as I was concerned, I was not much in favor of going with my uncle. Even though he had tried to be nice to me, I was afraid of him without knowing why. My aunt, his fidgety wife, reminded me of a frightened mouse. But as I was just a five-year-old boy, I had to obey my elders and await the outcome.

  During the afternoon of the day before our leave-taking some of my little playmates, both boys and girls, came to bid me good-by. Many of them said that they wanted to come with me, while others wished that I could stay with them.

  A few hours later while I was still playing, my grandfather, who was seated in front of an open fire, called me away from my playmates, saying, “Luisito, come to your Abuelito. This is your last night with me.”

  When I came to where he was seated, he took me in his arms and said, “Luis, I don’t want you to forget your grandfather.”

  “No, no, Abuelito, I will never forget you,” I replied, as I began playing with his mustache.

  “I don’t want you to forget your native land either. Mexico was destined by the gods to be a great country for us Mexicans.” Then tapping my nose with his finger, he continued, “Don’t forget your Mexico, little Luis.”

  “No, Abuelito, I won’t forget Mexico either.”

  Then turning toward the older guests, who were sipping pulque, my grandfather, who was fond of repeating traditional legends, said, “A long time ago there used to be in the region of the north a tribe of Indians known as the Aztecs. The gods of these warrior people had promised them a better land in which to live. It was to be larger and more beautiful than the place which they then inhabited. Since the faithful Aztecs always obeyed the voice of their gods, they left their country and came to where the City of Mexico is now, looking for the promised land. The Aztecs were told by their gods that they should build a great city on the site that would be indicated by an eagle, with a serpent in his talons, perched on the stem of a prickly-pear tree. And—”

  “Did they find the eagle, Abuelito?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, mi chiquito, they did,” he replied, pausing long enough to sip his pulque.

  Then, turning again to his guests, he continued, “In 1325, after a long and weary trip, the Aztecs arrived at an immense lake dotted with many small islands. There the poor Indians stopped to rest. One day two of the Aztecs went to the lake in search of food, and somehow they managed to cross to one of the near-by islands to explore it. And what do you think?”

  “What, Abuelito?” I asked, although I had heard him tell the story many times.

  After taking another sip of pulque, he continued relating the tale to his friends. “There, to the surprise of the two Aztecs, they saw a golden eagle on the branch of the prickly-pear tree, greedily eating a long snake. The Indians, realizing that their god’s prophecy had been fulfilled, immediately rushed to their people and told them that they had found the promised land.

  “In obedience to the sign, the Aztecs crossed to the island, and there on the spot where the two heralds saw the eagle devouring the reptile, the tribe erected a large temple in honor of their gods. They also built a city which they called Tenochtitlán, which means ‘the place of the cactus.’

  “The Aztecs were very happy. They inhabited the other islands, and on the lake built many houses resting on piles. Numerous canals intersected the various parts of the city, and in later years they called it Mexitli, after their god of war. The Aztecs enjoyed a great prosperity and happiness under their emperors, but after many centuries, the Spaniards came and reduced the poor Indians to slavery. The conquerors then succeeded in draining the greater part of the lake, converting the land into what is now known as the Valle of México. The city of Mexitli was destroyed and rebuilt by the Spaniards who called it México. Eventually the name was given to the entire country. And the g
olden eagle which the two Aztecs saw standing on the stem of the prickly-pear tree became the symbol of our National Emblem.”

  My grandfather continued sipping his pulque and talking with his cronies, and I fell asleep in his lap.

  4

  The next morning I arose earlier than usual only to find more people gathered around the fireplace waiting for the hour of our departure. Out in the middle of the patio I noticed that there were several groups of young and old men dressed in their best clothes. In one side of the yard there was a guitar and violin orchestra playing popular songs. Near the corral wall, next to the main house, there were several old women dressed in their finest array, smoking cigarettes rolled in corn shucks, drinking coffee, gossiping, and making tamales.

  Whatever was happening there that early sunny morning seemed to me to be a feast of joy. The men drank, the young women danced, and the children fought over some odd toy or article which they wished to keep as a token of my farewell party. The dogs barked at stray cats, and some of the blackbirds pecked the ears of my pet burro, whose well-shaped black teats I had sucked in place of my mother’s breast. The cares of the day were completely forgotten; the hours quickly passed, and soon we found ourselves on the way to the station. The manner in which we arrived at the depot remains hazy in my mind, but I can well remember being on the train and my relatives and friends waving hats and handkerchiefs, throwing flowers and kisses toward us as the locomotive pulled away. Soon after the train began moving I fell asleep, not waking until very late the next day when we arrived at our first stopover place, Aguas Calientes.

  In Aguas Calientes we spent five days sight-seeing, and enjoying the hot spring baths for which the place is well known.

  On the sixth day we were again on the train going toward Guadalajara, Jalisco. During the last night of our trip, we were thrown off the wooden benches by a sudden jerk of the train as it came to a standstill. In a few seconds, after the locomotive stopped, three armed men entered the coach, and one of them, waving a pistol in either hand, shouted, “Sirs, pass your purses to us quick!”

  As the man spoke, one of the passengers cried, “Bandidos! Bandidos!”

  When my aunt heard the words “bandits, bandits,” she took her purse with their savings and stuck it under my pants, just below my navel. As she was placing the bag she said, “Don’t talk.”

  I was frightened by the unexpected turn of events, and while the commotion was going on I clasped my hands and placed them over the protruding lump on my belly. When the leader of the bandits came near us and looked at my frightened eyes, he asked, “Muchacho, do you have money?”

  “Yes, sir, I have,” I replied, stretching my hand and showing him a fifty-cent piece I had in the palm of it.

  My aunt gasped at the action. My uncle looked at me astonished, and the bandit laughed loudly. Then he said, “Muchacho, don’t be afraid. Here is another fifty cents for you.”

  As he dropped the money in my hand a pistol shot was heard. The bandits ran away, but soon they were overpowered by some of the men passengers. Before long the train was on its way again, and my aunt reclaimed her money and also took the fifty cents which the bandit had given me. After that I went to sleep, not waking until the next day when the conductor came through the coach calling the name of the approaching city, our destination.

  When the soot-stained conductor came to the car where we were seated, he shouted, “Guadalajara, Jalisco! Guadalajara is the next station!” Then, while playing with his unruly black mustache, he continued walking and shouting, “Guadalajara, Jalisco is the next stop. Twenty-five minutes for lunch. Change trains for Colima, for Manzanillo, and for Mexico City.”

  “Guadalajara is my native city,” sighed my aunt, while my uncle dressed me.

  5

  In Guadalajara my uncle and his family spent the balance of their twelve hundred pesos, which he had earned while in the United States. During my first six months with him and his wife, I was happy. They tried to be kind, treating me quite well. I had a lot of new toys, plenty to eat, and two changes of new clothes. A little later, however, I found that I was in for a “long life of misery,” as my grandfather had prophesied. My uncle foolishly squandered his hard earned money. My aunt pawned all her valuable jewels, and when everything was gone we were, as they used to say to each other, “Pobres otra vez.”

  These circumstances affected my aunt so that she became very nervous and moody, which caused her to punish me at the slightest provocation. The situation became so bad that at times it was almost impossible to talk to her. Many times she sent me to bed without supper, quite often with a very painful seat, or a back striped black and blue by a wide rawhide belt.

  Things were getting worse and worse every day. My poor aunt was annoyed with everything I did. She never liked the way I held my mouth when I looked at her. My eyes were not of the right color to suit her. My eye lashes were too straight and stubby. My feet were flat, and my arms were out of proportion with the rest of my body. My ears were of the criminal type. My hair was unruly, and she often punished me because I had lice on my head. My lips were too thick and two of my teeth were missing. And the thing that annoyed her the most was the way I used to wipe my running nose on the sleeve of my clean shirt. All in all I was not the right or the pretty baby she would have chosen to have around her.

  One morning I awoke with a terrific sore throat Every bone in my body ached. I had chills and I noticed that I had lots and lots of little red spots all over my bony legs, arms, and body. As soon as I saw my aunt I told her about my trouble, but she did not pay any attention to my complaint. She was more interested in plucking her eyebrows and painting her lips than in my painful, spotted body.

  About ten o’clock that morning a young servant, came into the house, and I described my illness to her. Very carefully she looked at my face, then looked at my arms, then slowly uncovered me and examined my body and skinny legs. Without saying a word or covering me again, she whizzed out of the house, pulling her skirts almost up to her waist and shouting, “Sarampión! Sarampión!”

  Within five minutes other women from the neighborhood, hearing the news of my case of measles, came into the house bringing with them hot drinks, salves, towels, and bandages. In a very short time I was well greased from head to foot, and wrapped in old blanket and rags in such a way that I looked like a tamale ready to be cooked.

  The day was a very trying one. I sweated like a plow horse. Between my moments of delirium I saw and heard many people who had come to see me, bringing numerous things to be used to cure the measles. By the end of the day I was so weak and so weary that I could scarcely open my eyes.

  Three days later I was carefully unwrapped only to find that my body was covered with broken sores. On seeing me in that condition, an old lady exclaimed, “Dios mío, el muchacho se va a morir!” At the end of the exclamation, she dropped a puppy which she was holding under her arm and hurried out of the house. A few minutes later, she returned with a lemon, a handful of table salt, a cup of vinegar, and a jar with powdered sulfur. She poured the salt and the vinegar into the sulfur jar; then she squeezed the lemon juice and mixed the compound thoroughly. When the poultice was ready she murmured a Hail Mary, and after making the sign of the cross, she applied the stuff to my sores.

  The application of the homemade medicine on my broken skin was so painful that I cried and cried until I went to sleep.

  The next day I found myself isolated in a little open adobe shack. There were two mastiffs sleeping at the foot of my bed, which consisted of a grass mat and two old sarapes spread on the bare dirt floor. Early that morning my aunt brought me a plate of food and left it by my side, but since I was too weak and sick to move, I was not interested in food. I left it there for the dogs to enjoy.

  About ten days later I felt better. I got up and sat in the warm sun-shine every day for about three weeks. The mastiffs, who had become my faithful companions, licked my sores in such a manner that in a very short while I was able to
romp and play again.

  In the latter part of 1910, my uncle and his wife decided to hike across the Mexican country from Guadalajara to a little mining town called Cananea, located in the state of Sonora. The preparations for the trip didn’t take long. The personal belongings which my uncle decided to take with us were rolled into three separate medium-sized bundles— one for each of us to carry on our backs.

  The load assigned to me consisted of my grass mat, two ragged sarapes, three large paintings of saints, and one ten-inch statuette known as El Sagrado Corazón de Jesús. I believe that my foster parents sincerely thought I was very fortunate in carrying the saints, because they claimed that the blessed images were going to make the long march very easy for me.

  Heretofore I had never disputed or doubted the divinity of man-painted saints, but in the course of the long march, I stumbled on a dead branch and rolled down a rocky hill with the pack of holy images on my back. As I was rolling down over dried weeds, grass, and stumps, my faithful dogs followed me, barking madly. When I finally reached the bottom of the hill they licked my face, arms, and legs, all the while whining joyfully. At the same time my relatives, and others who were coming to Cananea with us, came running to find out what had happened to the precious cargo.

  While my uncle was hurriedly unwrapping the contents from my blankets, the women were bitterly scolding me for having been so clumsy and stupid. When my uncle finally spread the sarapes, we found that one of the saints had a hole poked through the face; the other two had come loose from the frames, and the statuette was completely demolished. At that time I discovered that El Sagrado Corazón de Jesús was made of plaster of Paris, and that my relatives had paid two hundred pesos for the honor of possessing such a miraculous saint. Well—whatever the power of El Sagrado Corazón de Jesús had been when it was whole was beyond my understanding. But after the blessed statuette had been broken to pieces, I knew that it had to be put out of my blankets, and I hoped my folks would throw it away. Yet, after a long discussion, it was decided that I should carry the fragments bundled in a large red-figured handkerchief.