Chris Adrian - The Best American Mystery Stories 2007

Before long we found ourselves on the outskirts of Laredo, the war-storm raging in our blood. The town presented a fair prospect, though not so grand as San Antonio. At the center was a square flanked by the palacio and other important buildings surrounded by modest adoby houses, some with arched doorways of cunningly fitted stones. As we came closer to the square, we could see people shopping and visiting with each other. Near the center of the square was what looked at first like a wrought-iron throne, but then it became clear to me that it was a shoe-shine stand. On one of the two perches sat an elderly gentleman reading the paper and smoking a cigar. Every few moments he’d say a word or two to the man shining his boots, who returned a comment of his own. I had never, for all the world, seen a sight so civilized under the blue sky. I longed to be in the empty seat next to his, trading pleasantries, discussing independence, discussing anything.

It was not until a group of townspeople including the alcalde came forward that I realized what was missing from the town. Soldiers. There were no soldiers to greet us, no volleys of musket fire or grape to lay our ears back, no mounted men charging us in the narrow streets. I listened for the rattle of cavalry gear, but heard only birdsong. Instead of soldiers, a delegation of townspeople greeted us with cakes and cries of “Buenos hombres! Buenos Americanos!” It was as if we were arriving at a party where we were the guests of honor. They gave us the run of town, promising to bring to our camp all the supplies on the long list presented to them.

In consideration of civility, we withdrew to a position outside town, where we made camp and waited for the supplies, but the wait was in vain. After many hours, the alcalde, which I understood to be the mayor, brought only a dozen mangy beeves, a few dirty hats, and blankets not thick enough to warm a gnat.

General Joe’s fury knew no limit. He paraded up and down the camp, rousing his fellow soldiers to bloody deeds. “Is this what we come all this way for?” Joe cried, his knife flashing. “For a few skinny beeves and a sack of mite-infested flour? The pumpkin-colored heathen has proved hisself a coward and a liar! His iniquity knows no bounds!”

“It’s true, Joe,” I reasoned. “These are poor people. I know. I have been inside their homes.” More than once, of an evening, I was a guest at the tables of various San Antonio families. And later, the amiable ladies of the house would beguile the heavy hours by singing and playing upon the guitar. And sometimes there was dancing. I am not much for the step-and-hitch, but I could not resist the lightsome ladies, who taught me the mysteries of their quadrilles and contra-dances, their waltzes and gallopades being too much for my unsophisticated toes.

Joe looked at me as though I had admitted to having the small pox. He addressed the men and me at once. “Little Ellet among the greasers! What’s next? Will you forego suspenders and tie up your pantaloons with a red bandanna?”

Men laughed, casting me scornful looks.

“I only meant these poor people have—”

“These poor people gone and betrayed us with a show of kindness, hoping to take the heart out of our blood-lust. But we will teach them and their friends a thing or two about Texas.” A cheer went up among the men, and, fearful of the fire in their eyes, I cried out, “Do, men, for God’s sake, remember yourselves!”

But the men had eyes and ears only for Joe’s windy gasconnade. “And now they act like they ain’t sitting on King Midas’s gold, going so far as to wear these ragged clothes and live in these mud huts, all to throw us off the scent! My nose tells me there’s gold here, boys! And I for one aim to take my share! We were not put afoot the earth to suffer such indiggities. Are you with me?”

Men cheered, desperate men, and began to gather around Joe. Somehow they had found reason in his words, or a mirror for their desperation. They followed him into town. I followed, if only to talk sense into Joe. I should have known better. There was talk of treasure, of gold doubloons. Even a sudden shower of rain could not dampen their enthusiasm. When we came to town, the men split off into small gangs. Soon I could hear the sound of breaking glass and frightful laughter.

This time, of course, the streets were empty and the houses were closed up tight against us. No doubt the townsfolk had had enough of armies. The only living thing we saw was an old burro, the fur gone white around his eyes, giving him a look of permanent surprise.

“Look at that,” Joe said, his face streaming rain. “Too stupid to get in out of the rain.”

“Joe,” I said, gesturing at our sorry band, which was comprised of McKendrick, Blaine, and myself, “the same might be said of us.”

He whipped the steaming rain away from his face. “Watch how a real man takes destiny by the reins!” He stalked through the flooding street to the nearest house of mud-stained adoby and banged on the heavy plank door. Receiving no satisfaction, he banged again, louder.

Words of encouragement came from soldiers passing in the street. “Go to it, General Joe!”

Before we knew it, the frenzy was upon Joe and he began charging the door, using his shoulder as a battering ram. Soldiers watching, approving his brave display, battered their way into other homes. The sounds of destruction filled the streets. Joe’s two friends gave him a hand, as if housebreaking were a talent they shared, and soon the door was tom from its hinges, and we stood in the dark interior of what appeared to be an uninhabited house.

The whitewashed walls contained prominent niches filled with carved figures in various postures of holy rapture.

“Ho!” said Blaine, taking up a dark-skinned figurine, “a nigger doll for priests!” He began to dance it around the room, upending small tables. When the joke was cold, he dashed the relic to the floor, then took it upon himself to knock all the relics out of their niches, including the one they called The Lady, whose golden halo was the only gold to be found among these poor people.

Joe peeled off his soaked shirt and headed for the cook room at the back of the house, intent on a real meal. When Blaine tired of destruction, he and McKendrick began to collect all objects of value. They found beaded necklaces, a tin of tobacco, a dress in mid-repair, and a cross embedded with small silver medallions.

“Sacrilege,” Blaine said of the medallions, using a corner of the cross to knock the glass out of a silver frame.

“Do we not make fine soldiers, men, fine sons of the Republic?” I said, trying to josh them out of their appetite for looting, but my words only seemed to spur them on. Their arms were full of the goods of the house, and I soon realized I had been a fool to think all they wanted was a dry roof over their heads, a fool to think anything I said or did ought matter to them.

Joe came back into the room nearly knocking his head on the low arch of the doorway. He held a coffee pot in his hand. “Feel that,” he said, pressing the pot to the side of Blaine’s face.

“Ye gods!” Blaine yelled.

“There, see?” Joe said. “It’s not true what they say, that you’re as dumb as a cow-pie!”

“Why’d you want to go and do that for?” said Blaine, rubbing his burned cheek.

Joe turned to McKendrick, addressing him with his honorary title. “Captain? Would you care to educate him?”

McKendrick, true to form, just stood there staring blankly back at him.

“Hot coffee,” Joe said, “means people. People who had no time to clear out when we came a-calling.” He tossed the pot over his shoulder, its contents crashing to the floor, and began to search the rooms with alacrity. McKendrick and Blaine fell in.