Carmen Boullosa - Texas - The Great Theft

And these from Elizabeth’s slaves — less coherent because they’re running back and forth:

“How are the pastries?”

“Taste them, don’t ask.”

…

“Which one is the mayor?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just do.”

…

“Did you empty the master’s spittoon?”

“Are you crazy? Guests are still here.”

“Empty it anyway.”

…

“Did you see the woman in the pink dress asking for the chamber pot?”

…

“What’s wrong with you, why are you crying?”

“The man with the blue handkerchief followed me into the hall and stuck his hand up my skirt …”

“Okay, okay, okay … I thought something had happened to you … Cheer up.”

“Easy for you to say, I won’t even tell you what he did because it would make you sick to your stomach.”

“Tell me.”

“He stuck his finger inside me.”

“Where did he stick his finger?”

“Where’s he gonna stick it!” the other slave interrupts. “Go wipe your face, straighten your apron, and pass the tray again, girl.”

…

In a loud voice one of the guests is reciting from memory, “Justice and God’s benevolence will prevent Texas from falling once more into wilderness, inhabited by savages, ruled by the ignorance, superstition, and anarchy of the Mexican government. The colonists have brought their language, their customs, and an innate love of freedom that has always defined them and their forefathers.”

“Who are you quoting?” guests ask.

“I couldn’t tell you, someone quoted it to me but didn’t know the author.”

In Matasánchez, the Negress Pepementia has left the city center for the riverbank where the fish market is, but it’s closed now and the streets are empty. She wanders around, lost in thought. It’s not the kind of neighborhood for proper women, and Pepementia is one.

The news about Nepomuceno has got her thinking, but it’s not until she arrives here that she formulates a plan of action: Ever since I arrived in this country I have been treated only with kindness. On the other side of the Río Bravo they nearly made mincemeat of me. Here they have imprisoned the man who did that to me, and they treat me as their equal. But what have I done in return? I have to go and offer to help at Nepomuceno’s camp. If I’m going to make good. I only know how to make beans, but there must be something for me to do. I don’t know what, but something.

She retraces her steps. She’s back in the plaza. The church ladies are just leaving Mass. They don’t speak to her, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to speak, she just wants to be near other people. She’s heard they’re in Laguna del Diablo; who can tell her how to get there?

North of the river, Fernando, Nepomuceno’s servant, hidden in buffalo hunter Wild’s cart, a few feet from Mrs. Big’s Hotel, has overheard everything: that the steamboat won’t leave today; that Nepomuceno escaped on the barge; that they killed Santiago the fisherman; that they killed old Arnoldo too; that Wild has left; that the Rangers are on guard. Night is falling. He gets up the nerve to glance around. He confirms no one can see him. As soon as he is certain, he jumps off the cart. He runs along the riverbank toward the outskirts of Bruneville.

Nightfall begins to unfold its blanket of darkness. It’s the witching hour and visibility is poor, especially on the river, where mist is beginning to form. The barge’s tug, which wasn’t moored to the Bruneville dock (they thought it was part of the barge, which they did tie up securely), breaks free and begins to drift.

You might say it’s remaining faithful to old Arnoldo. That it can’t stand the sight of his hanged body. He was a proper fellow, Arnoldo. He will never realize that trip with the empty barge was destined to be his last. His fate was sealed before the barge trip, in the papers Stealman signed earlier that day making him the owner of the tug and the barge, as well as three steamboats that travel the Rio Grande and the Colorado — from Bruneville to Galveston and Houston, the consolidation of his shipping business. Stealman would doubtless have fired the old man; he didn’t believe there were secrets hidden in those roiling waters. To Stealman, there is nothing besides punctuality, efficiency, and cleanliness. Arnoldo was toothless, old, and deaf; Stealman would never have kept him on.

There was nothing heroic in the barge’s comings and goings, but that was the old man’s life, crossing the river, back and forth, never heading out to sea or upriver to where the river widens. But for Arnoldo that was enough. He was finished with women, but he could still ride the river.

Night yawns and tucks itself in, languid and leisurely. It reaches the south bank of the Río Bravo. With it, volunteers begin to arrive at Nepomuceno’s makeshift camp: Roberto, the runaway slave who escaped southward when the Texans fled to Louisiana; Jones, still carrying his candles (but not his soaps); Julito from the dock, the young man whom Arnoldo thought he should have gone to, just before he died. They want to join the rebel’s ranks “against the blue-eyed menace.”

Three bottles of sotol later, they begin to shout.

“Death to the gringos!”

“Viva Nepomuceno!”

“Viva Mexico!”

Night is well underway when the mail from the Eagles in Bruneville arrives. Úrsulo has delivered it from the other side of the Río Bravo, from a pre-arranged meeting point where there’s a makeshift dock that very few know about — the request to pick it up was delivered by one of the Rodriguez brothers’ pigeons; Úrsulo went to Aunt Cuca’s house to see if there was a message and Catalino gave it to him — closer to Bruneville than Rancho del Carmen, but away from the Americans, because the main dock is still being held by the Rangers.

The “mail” delivers the following news: the gringos have requested help from the federal government, they received a telegram that the army is coming, a regiment is en route (commanded by General Cumin) and it’s not far off, it will arrive at the fort in two days’ time. More importantly: there are details about the Rangers and the ranchers’ gunmen. He spent the day walking around, scouring the riverbank, listening to people in the Market Square, talking to Hector and Carlos and even Sandy Eagle Zero — he almost didn’t catch her — she saw up close what was going on at the Fort on the other side of Bruneville, she spoke to a couple of soldier friends who think she’s just a naïve woman. He delivers Nepomuceno a complete portrait of what he’s just left behind. He goes into detail describing Santiago and old Arnoldo, and the fisherman’s house.

We already know this mailman; it’s Óscar, the baker. He’s not alone. He arrives with Trust, One, Two, Three, and Fernando.

Trust, One, Two, and Three, who all wanted to go to Mexico but had no way to get there, were sitting on the deserted riverbank when Óscar came across them, his breadbasket on his head (just a precaution, he didn’t have any bread). He was coming from Bruneville.

“What are you doing here?” Óscar asked in Spanish, his face bathed in sweat from running.

“I ran outta patience,” handsome Trust said. “I don’t know why it didn’t happen sooner. Enough. We’re going to Mexico.”

Three translated into Spanish. Óscar always liked Trust. And the bottom line was that One, Two, and Three were slaves on this side of the river, but they’d be free men in Mexico.

“Come with me. I’ll take you across. I have to make a delivery. Follow me.”

Óscar was sad. He thought, What about the bread? Tomorrow his customers in Bruneville wouldn’t have any. But he can’t neglect his duty as an Eagle … And he knows that if they don’t defend themselves, soon there’ll be no dough, no oven, and no bread-baking either. He’s the Eagles’ messenger when they need one because he doesn’t arouse suspicion. The information he collected today is detailed and complicated. He should deliver the news in person.