Carmen Boullosa - Texas - The Great Theft

Lopez de Aguada departs to deliver the news to Mayor de la Cerva y Tana himself.

Úrsulo regrets having made his report. “If I’d known about Shears and Nepomuceno, I would have kept my trap shut. A white horse ain’t white, it’s a horse … or however it goes!”

Úrsulo heard that quote from Chung Sun, the only Chinese man in Bruneville, who arrived three years ago with an Englishman who long since set sail; whether he wanted to leave Bruneville or the Chinese man, no one knows (it depends on who’s telling the story). It’s not clear what the nature of their relationship was. They dressed very differently but with the same panache; they both kept servants; they treated each other like colleagues or brothers, sitting together at meals and holding lengthy, philosophical discussions. They didn’t seem to know they were repeating the argument of Gongsun Long, and their conversations were difficult to follow:

“I believe a white horse isn’t a horse.”

“A white horse is not a horse?”

“A white horse is not a horse.”

“Its color isn’t its shape, its shape isn’t its color. If you ask for a white horse at a stable and there isn’t one, but there is a black horse, we can’t say we have a white horse.”

“If we can’t say we have a white horse, then the horse we are looking for isn’t there.”

“Because it’s not there, what it comes down to is that the white horse isn’t a horse.”

Their conversations were of little interest to Bruneville’s “intellectuals,” but on the other side of the river these conversations were often quoted by folks in Matasánchez, circulating around the plaza’s arcades and debated at length around tables in the Café Central. Only Dr. Velafuente made light of them, changing their meaning a bit. Their discussions really came to life in these jokes, capturing folks’ imaginations, and became oft-quoted snippets of wisdom.

The Englishman, Mr. Sand, and the Chinese man, Chung Sun, had traveled the world together. No one knows their story, not even their slave (Roho, or, in Spanish, Rojo), because they bought him shortly before arriving in Texas, when they disembarked in New Orleans. It was impossible to get information from their servants, who were all Chinese and spoke only their mother tongues; they had a hard time even understanding each other.

Once when the Englishman, Mr. Sand, became suddenly ill — he passed out cold, completely losing consciousness — Chung produced a bundle of powder from his pockets and a felt case with long needles from his sleeve. He requested a glass of water, mixed in the powder, and made Sand drink it while he punctured his prone body with the needles in various places.

When Sand came to, he looked like Saint Sebastian (the needles were long, almost like arrows), and he was horrified. Chung removed them and apologized. He was never seen to employ them again, but the chambermaid at Mrs. Big’s Hotel (Sandy’s cousin), where the men stayed for some time, swore she had seen him in the mornings when he was alone, using them on himself “on his shoulders and his feet.”

As far as the powder was concerned, no one ever saw it again either.

(Word is that the Chinese Chung is over a hundred years old, some say even older than that, but in all honesty it’s impossible to tell how old he is.)

Four of King’s gunslingers go to the fisherman Santiago’s house. They think two greasers hanging from Mrs. Big’s tree aren’t enough to teach them a lesson, so they’re going after the fisherman’s family. The three kids still aren’t home.

“I saw them on Hector’s cart”

“But that was a while ago, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not here, whaddaya wanna do about it?”

His wife, who sells empanadas in the market, is still working.

They set fire to the thatched roof.

Then they go after his wife. It’s better we don’t follow them.

Charles Stealman returns home just when the party is supposed to start. He asks loudly, “Elizabeth?” The slaves answer in unison, “In her room.” Without pausing, he climbs the stairs two at a time, strides along the hallway and opens the door, shuts it, and leans back against it.

“Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth jumps up from her desk (she’s fully dressed to receive their visitors, and hearing him say her name aloud startled her), a drop of ink trembling on her penholder.

Charles’ muddy boots dirty the rug. Elizabeth averts her eyes, exclaiming “Charles!” in a disapproving tone.

“Don’t say my name like I’m one of your dogs!”

Your humor seems to have gone to the dogs, and my nerves are shattered, Elizabeth thinks, she’d like to write that in her diary.

“Go change! You’re filthy! Has anyone canceled?”

The lawyer is silent.

“Tell me, have you received any cancellations? Is anyone coming?”

Heavier silence.

The drop of ink falls from the penholder but they don’t notice.

“I’m asking you if you’ve had any cancellations.”

Still, silence.

Lawyer Stealman’s hearing isn’t very good. He can’t always trust his ears. He’s becoming deaf, though his wife doesn’t want to acknowledge it because of a silly cliché: a man’s hearing is indicative of his sexual potency, which is why deafness is seldom discussed, practically taboo; there’s no prejudice against deaf women, they just disappear: they’re a nuisance, that’s all; but men on the other hand, are another story … hearing and hard-ons go hand-in-hand, so they say (which is a stupid saying, because homo erectus wasn’t called that because of his dick, plus it’s not easy to get an erection by listening).

In any case, today’s no day for clichés. Lawyer Stealman won’t let her disturb his composure. He goes over to the washstand, its ceramic jug is filled with water, and half-heartedly washes his face, straightens his slightly dirty tie, and tries his best to ignore his strident, screaming wife. The former Miss Vert is really furious.

When his mental calculations are complete, Charles finally turns, and, still hard of hearing, begins his report in a calm, low voice:

“The Lieutenant Governor is coming. Captain Callaghan is coming. McBride, Pridgen, and the Senator … you don’t know him, he took poor Pinckney Henderson’s seat, just call him ‘Senator.’”

His words couldn’t possibly have a worse effect on Elizabeth. She explodes.

“Matthias Ward? Senator Matthias Ward is coming to my house? He’s a Mason!”

Charles says, loud and clear, “Mason?”

“Mason! Where do you get your information? Who do you talk to? Even my slaves know that!”

Stealman is about to lose his cool but he draws upon his phlegmatic reserves.

“You want to know who’s coming to the party or not? The Mexicans aren’t coming. They had a problem … with one of their relatives. That highfalutin Nepomuceno who fought against Zachary Taylor. So much the better. Callahan wouldn’t have liked seeing them here.”

“Didn’t I tell you that myself? But you didn’t listen to me! And now you quote me my own arguments, today of all days? My arguments! Mine! And now you’re going to tell me about that Mason, Ward, because …”

There’s a knock at the door, the timid voice of one of her slaves.

“Ma’am … you have visitors. A woman and a young lady, we don’t know them.”

The slave slides her calling card under the door. Charles picks it up and reads aloud:

“Catherine Anne Henry.”

Before leaving the Stealmans’ conversation — if you can call it that — there are three important digressions we need to make. The first is about Senator Matthias Ward. The second about Stealman. The third about Callahan:

Senator Matthias Ward replaced former Senator James Pinckney Henderson, whom Elizabeth likes to think of as an old friend simply because she signed a petition, along with approximately 499 other Texans, “The protection of slaves as property,” in which they requested “a plan to ensure the protection of slaves in Texas”—the petition’s first stipulation was “the need for an extradition treaty between the U.S. and Mexico in order to require the return of criminals guilty of capital offenses, if necessary,” above all to protect the constitutional rights (and human rights, sovereign rights) of property-owners; in other words, the right to recover fugitive slaves. Its goal, “despite the lying, fanatical dogs in Congress,” was to defend the rights laid out in the Constitution, “Liberty, Justice, and the Pursuit of Happiness.” The document referred to Santa Ana as the “bloodthirsty Mexican tyrant, that black murderer of children and Americans.” It held that defending the right to own property (i.e. slaves) was at the heart of American institutions and that persecutory northerners had lost their minds over the issue of slavery, “threatening and attempting to destroy the vital tenets of our Constitution — that ‘chart and chain’ which has united us since the days of Washington.” Etcetera. Out of irrational and cantankerous loyalty to her supposed “friend,” Elizabeth despises the man who now occupies his Senate seat — that’s why she called him a “Mason,” which is the worst possible insult she can think of.