Erased Faces (26 page)

Orlando and Rodrigo accepted the villagers' invitation to stay for one more night so that their conversations could continue. After eating, they sat around the center campfire, shoulder to shoulder with the others—men in the inner circle, women in the outer one. The talk went from expressions of grievances to tales told by elders, remembered and passed down from generation to generation.

Orlando told of his work with the Las Casas Congress, of his disappointments but also of the many things he had learned. Rodrigo spoke of how he had joined the insurgents, who were still so new that they hardly had a dozen guns to go around, and he told of their plans to expand as they organized for an uprising. His honesty finally won him the people's confidence.

When the talking ended, both men were given a
petate
on which to sleep by the smoldering fire, but Orlando stayed awake for a long time, listening to the jungle, staring at the sky, which was intensely black and studded with glittering stars. He knew that his life had taken yet another turn, and that it was the right one. Knowing that, he was content. Finally, he rolled onto his side and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

At dawn, Orlando was awakened by the comings and goings of women carting water and snapping twigs to set fires, men moving silently around the camp and babies crying. He rose, rolled up the
petate
and headed to the river, where he took off his clothes and bathed. As he was drying himself off, he saw a man nearing the center of the village; a few paces behind him followed a woman.

Orlando dressed quickly and followed them, his curiosity aroused by the woman's dejected appearance. As he walked, he saw that she held her head erect despite the villagers, mostly the women, glaring at her and pointing. He was able to overhear whispering and mumbling as he moved along, trying to keep up with the couple.

“Evil woman.”

“She deserves to be punished.”

When Orlando saw the man and woman disappear into a
palapa
, he turned to someone standing next to him. He feared it was rude to pry, but an inexplicable feeling of compassion for the dejected woman urged him to ask.

“Who are they?”

“That's Cruz Ochoa and his wife, Juana Galván. She ran away some time ago, but there you see—he's found her.”

After, as Rodrigo led the way into the jungle toward the insurgents' camp, Orlando thought of the woman and others like her. Years later when working side by side with Juana Galván and Adriana Mora, Orlando would remember this encounter, knowing that it was then that his mind had turned to the possibility of recruiting such women as part of the insurgent force. It was at that moment that he realized that women were more oppressed than the men. As he marched behind Rodrigo, Orlando reserved his idea for another time, but he remained curious about Juana Galván, wondering if he would ever see her again.

After leaving the military academy, Rufino returned to Las Estrellas. Don Absolón welcomed his arrival with days of fiestas filled with displays of horsemanship and bull riding, as well as dancing and music. His other sons had not surprised him in turning out to be failures; he had expected that since their youth. When each one chose to drift away, the old man did not object nor resist; he was relieved. Hidden in his heart was the hope that young Rufino would return to take his place. When that happened, Don Absolón ordered every man and woman on his vast properties to celebrate with him.

Rufino adjusted easily to the life of his class in Chiapas. He mingled with the best families of San Cristóbal de las Casas and even with those across the southern border, whose daughters were prime for marriage. He did not miss the military life; on the contrary, he was grateful that he had received the wisdom to see his way of life as necessary. In a short time, Rufino married and began his family, never leaving the company of Don Absolón.

As years drifted by, the old man's trust in his son deepened, seeing his capacities and eagerness not only to maintain the Mayorga properties but his evident ambition to expand and modernize them. Don Absolón now invited Rufino to join him daily during his evening drink. It was during those moments of comradeship that both men exchanged views and plans. One night, Don Absolón abruptly brought up Rufino's nearly forgotten boyhood friend.

“Hijo
, have you ever again heard from Quintín Osuna?”

The question was so unexpected by Rufino, so out of context of their conversation, that the younger man gawked at his father, trying to recall who it was that his father was mentioning. When Rufino finally focused, he got to his feet and went over to the record player to lower the volume, then he returned to the armchair facing his father.

“No, padre
, I haven't heard from him. Not ever. Why do you ask?”

Don Absolón puckered his bulbous lips, savoring the tangy sherry taste coating his tongue. He leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes half closed, evidently weighing his thoughts.

“You probably are unaware that he murdered our best overseer, El Brujo. It happened during a day of work in the
caoba
fields.”

Surprised and shaken, Rufino put down the glass he had been holding and shifted his weight forward to the edge of the chair. His father's words were so blunt and hard that he had difficulty dealing with their power.

“Quintín? He murdered an overseer? How long ago?”

“Not only
an
overseer, but
the best
overseer Las Estrellas has ever claimed, and it happened years ago, shortly before you returned home.”

Rufino retreated into silence for a few moments in an attempt to process what he was hearing. Quintín's boyish face flashed in his mind as did their pranks, their games, their swimming, their competitions. But as he allowed these thoughts to fill his memory, other considerations pushed them aside:
A murder had been committed. A great loss and affront had been dealt to Mayorga family integrity. A common Indian had defied their authority
. Rufino leaned back and crossed his legs.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“To be honest with you, it's not something that preoccupies me.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because I believe that these people, these
indios
, are rancorous, vengeful creatures. I would not want you to be caught unaware.”

Rufino again took the drink in his hand. This time he drained its content, then he stood up to go refill his glass. When he returned to his place, he cleared his throat.

“What did you do about it,
padre?”

“When I mounted a search for the murderer, it proved futile. We came up with empty hands. When I offered a reward, we received only blank stares in return. When I threatened reprisals, there was only silence. The murderer slipped through our fingers into the vastness of the jungle, where I'm certain he still survives.”

“After that, what did you do?”

“I did the only thing left for a man in our position. If a son must pay for his father's sins, then the contrary is also true. In this case, Quintín's mother and father paid for their son's vile act.”

“How did you punish them?”

“I was kinder to them than Quintín was to our overseer.”

“Were you a witness?”

“No! I don't like seeing such things.”

“Then, how can you be certain?”

“Oh, I'm certain. You know that I put only those whom I can trust in charge of important matters.”

“Were the Osunas shot to death?”

“Hijo
, why are you asking for details?”

“Because I must know how Quintín's mother and father died. I can't explain it,
padre.”

“Very well. They were executed as their son would have been had he been apprehended. They were marched to the mud fields of the
caoba
camp and drowned. It was quick. It was merciful.”

“What about their
palapa?”

“It was burned, the earth dug up and turned over until no sign of the dwelling was left.”

“Are there other family members?”

“None that we could find.”

“Someone must have helped Quintín; someone must have fed him, given him clothing. Did you investigate thoroughly?”

“Yes. But you know these people. They're silent, just like burros and mules. They're stubborn and too stupid to understand what is right and wrong.”

“Have you thought that Quintín more than likely will be looking for you to take revenge?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“He's my age. He's a man now, no longer a boy.”

“Hijo
, if he returns, it will be to join his mother and father's bones buried deep in the mud pit.”

Chopin's piano concerto was ending; its poignant last notes combined to express deep romanticism and sentimentality as the two men
paused to listen. When the long-playing record came to an end, a scratching sound filled the empty air that bonded father and son. Neither paid attention to the noise; instead, they sat in silence, looking at each other, weighing the significance of their words and deeds. Finally, it was Rufino who got to his feet, approached the record player and turned it off. He did this in silence, without emotion. Then he went to Don Absolón, put his hand on the old man's shoulder, and nodded in affirmation.

“I'll see to it that Quintín Osuna is caught. I promise you.”

“Gracias, hijo.”

Rufino began to leave the room, then paused to look at his father. “From now on, let me be in charge of these duties.”

“Ah, yes. I like that very much. However, the
boyeros
are still my responsibility. Remember that.”

“Sí, padre. Buenas noches.”

“Buenas noches, hijo.”

Orlando had recently experienced an encounter that had left him nervous, and his thoughts returned to it time and again, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on other things. Orlando had overheard gossip about Don Absolón Mayorga's death after being gored by an ox.

“I'm telling you it was the old
patrón
of Las Estrellas.”

“No!”

“Yes, I tell you!”

“Don Absolón Mayorga?”

“That's the one. I heard that the beast penetrated him first in the stomach, then down there, right through the big ones.”

Orlando, attracted by the name Mayorga as well as the mention of Las Estrellas, edged discreetly closer to the two men exchanging news from the territory they had recently covered. He listened carefully, hungry for details.

“I heard that he was out in the field, overlooking a team of
boyeros.”

“Oh, that's bullshit! Why would he do that? That's what overseers are for.”

“That's how I heard it! People were saying that ever since someone called El Brujo was murdered, the old man never trusted anyone else in his place. But maybe this is all gossip. What matters is that he was where he shouldn't have been. He was old, fat, and he could hardly move. I mean, what's an old iguana like him doing out in the field, anyway?”

Orlando's mind raced as the image of powerful hooves and sharp horns appeared in his mind. He remembered Aquiles' false step and how he had plunged into the deep mud churned by those beasts. He could see the hairy monsters slashing into Don Absolón's obese gut, plunging once, twice, until finally ripping open and mangling his vulnerable
groin. Orlando could not restrain himself. He moved closer to the men.

“Amigos
, forgive my intrusion but I used to work on that
finca
. Are you sure it was Don Absolón who died?”

“I'm positive. In fact, everyone was talking about the new
patrón
, Don Absolón's son, Rufino.”

This news surprised Orlando for several reasons. For one, Rufino was not the oldest of the Mayorga brothers. For another, Rufino had always said that he wanted to be a general in the army, not a landowner.

“What about the other sons? There were three boys who were older than Rufino Mayorga.”

“Well,
compañero
, of that I'm not sure, but everyone knows how it is with those rich families. Who knows? Maybe the old
patrón
disinherited one or two of them. Or maybe someone drank himself to death. But I'm certain about this: Don Rufino Mayorga is now the owner and new
patrón
of the Mayorga estates. And that means nearly all of the Lacanjá region.”

That conversation had turned Orlando's mind again to thoughts of returning to his village. After that he began to move closer to Lacanjá. He made his way to the town of San Quintín, which was as close to Las Estrellas as he dared to go. He kept his ears and eyes open for news of Rufino Mayorga, but especially hoped to find out something about his parents.

Orlando's reputation as a recruiter had preceded him, gaining him the trust of the local
cacique
and other native leaders. At the evening gatherings, he spoke of preparation for the uprising, but he also took time to ask questions regarding Las Estrellas and its new owner. Orlando received more information than he had expected. He was given photographs, written documents and newspaper clippings. But when he asked about Domingo and Ysidra Osuna, no one could tell him anything. This made him uneasy, but for the time being, he decided to concentrate his efforts on Rufino.

Orlando discovered that Rufino Mayorga had indeed stepped into his father's role as the patriarch of the family, and that he had done so with an energy and a ruthlessness that even the old
patrón
had not possessed. He found out that he had been absent from his family as a
youth; some of the articles explained that he had been sent to the United States. One newspaper stated that Rufino had been studying in Mexico City at the military academy.