Carmen Boullosa - Texas - The Great Theft

Lázaro composes a few verses just for them.

Nepomuceno and Jones give them assignments, each more difficult than the last, and each kid gives it their all. They learn how to tie knots, handle a boat in the water, as well as how to pull the trigger and hit targets.

When someone new arrives, lost and looking for adventure (or dying of hunger), they quickly convert him into one of their own, teaching him Nepomuceno’s beliefs and stirring up his hatred of the gringos so they’re ready for battle or anything else that may be necessary.

Among them is Fernando, the servant. He looks like more of a man despite the fact he’s thinner than he used to be, which makes him look both slighter and smaller, and he always looks frightened, his eyes wide until it’s time for sleep. But he’s more in command of himself, more at home in the world. No longer a mosquito who flies away at the first swipe.

The cattle yard has to keep killing rustled cattle to fill so many bellies. “Just cattle thieves with their own slaughterhouse,” a young cowboy who misses the cattle drives pronounces bitterly.

PRETTY SANDY, EAGLE ZERO — a blonde treasure, but Mexican to the core — learns by heart what she and all of her compadres have agreed upon, to wit: “We are one with Nepomuceno and those that have gathered around him of late … an organized body … We belong to the branch from the State of Texas, we recognize Nepomuceno as our only leader, despite his absence … and this same public opinion should be considered as the best judge, which, with coolness and impartiality, does not fail to recognize some principle as the cause for the existence of open force and immutable firmness, which impart the noble desire of cooperating with true philanthropy to remedy the state of despair of him who, in his turn, becomes the victim of ambition, satisfied at the cost of justice,”—it rambles on and on—“we’re ready to shed our blood and suffer the death of martyrs …”

Along the northern bank of the Río Bravo, or more to the northeast, the Coal Gang, led by Bruno the Viking, with the ever-present Pizca at his side, has been drawing closer to Bruneville. His contacts are the same as always: Nepomuceno’s half-brothers, José Esteban and José Eusebio, the sons of Nepomuceno’s father before he married Doña Estefanía. They have made a point of not meeting at the ranch because they don’t want to cause problems, on the contrary. Doña Estefanía’s sons have agreed to meet them at dawn. They make a mistake: they both leave Rancho del Carmen.

They’re under close watch. Taking advantage of their absence, King’s men attack, but not directly, they sneak in like cowardly thieves, more for the loot than to send a warning. (Their aim: to invade Mexico, “land of the greasers.” But King won’t let them: he doesn’t want to waste his forces, confronting Nepomuceno would be a mistake and could bring trouble to Texas. The reyeros or kiñeros obey, but eventually their urges get the better of them and they make a long journey and set fire to another ranch that night. That’s all; and they return to King’s land, looking like they haven’t done a thing, to wait for the moment when they can crush Nepomuceno, defender of greasers.)

Neither Doña Estefanía nor anyone else on her ranch notices King’s men make off with three mares and a good cow, which gives delicious milk.

But the three mares and the cow serve a purpose: King’s men don’t find out about the meeting with Bruno the Viking. They have no idea the Coal Gang is in the region, and that they’re allied with Nepomuceno, up to no good.

The Eagles are trying to recruit, but it’s not easy. Hector, who owns the cart, stops Pepe, the corn-on-the-cob vendor, and tells him a story:

“The Eagles were born overnight, thanks to Nepomuceno, let me tell you about him. First, when he was five years old the Apaches attacked Doña Estefanía’s ranch, which she had inherited from her father. But that little detail didn’t matter to them, in their eyes the land belonged to no one; land titles dating to seventeenhundredthirtysomething made no difference to them … they entered the ranch hollering, ‘Death to the Christians, spear them all’ … and that’s how they ended up kidnapping him; they taught him how to use a lasso before he could walk. Then the family got him back and began to turn him into a vaquero , but by then he was like a wild Indian, that’s how he learned how to track, and why he has both friends and enemies in Indian Territory. And that’s how it happened. Because then the Germans and the Cubans arrived, then the gringos, all ready to fight. And that’s how the Eagles came into being, to look out for your soul, not just your pocketbook. So, are you in?”

Pepe the corn-on-the-cob vendor had almost fallen asleep listening to such a long explanation — he’d risen long before dawn, and hadn’t slept well because his calf had been sick during the night. It was only the sound of Hector’s voice rising with his final question that snapped him awake again.

“Are there ladies?”

“Women? There’re tons, and they’re gorgeous. With bosoms that spill out of their bodices.”

Mr. Blast and Mr. Print arrive in Matasánchez. They ask for a room at the Hotel Ángeles del Río Bravo, the finest in the region, but since no one knows them they can’t get one. Then Mr. Print explains that he’s here to interview Nepomuceno for such and such American newspaper in New York, a very important one, to show Nepomuceno in the best possible light, just as he is, because The Rancher has undertaken to tarnish his reputation, which is obviously disgraceful, and suddenly Room 221 “appears” (“It was just vacated, sir.”), it’ll be ready in a jiffy, so now they have somewhere to spend the night and, what’s more, if they want they can spend the whole week …

Amalia pours in the corn flour, stirs the pot with a spoon, Lucha seasons it with cinnamon, Amalia sweetens it with powdered brown sugar. It’s their daily ritual, preparing atole for the Señora. Aunt Cuca takes her water and chocolate early in the morning. Then she has atole, not tea, not coffee, not herbal tea — it’s atole that calms her stomach.

“A small cupful every now and then, and I can eat what I want … thanks to the corn flour.”

Even if they tied her down she wouldn’t take her own medicine, that Atacadizo syrup she makes, half of Matasánchez takes it, but not her.

Doña Estefanía can’t get to sleep. Her youngest son, her favorite, an outlaw! Her ranch raided by reyeros !

She can’t think straight. Her son surrounded by an army, her people have described this all to her and it makes her feel awful. None of this should be happening: the gringos’ designs on her property (even the wild Indians hadn’t been able to take an inch from her), their not looking her straight in the eye, their claiming she was no longer in Mexico, even the papers they sent her stating that she was now “American”—which is to say, gringa — and worst of all her Benjamin, her favorite, mixed up in this.

Nepomuceno’s men need horses and arms, but they don’t want to buy them at market because they don’t want anyone to know that they need them or that they’ve gotten their hands on them.

So they cross the Bravo, but not all of them, just some of the vaqueros . A little later they find some cattle that have strayed from the herd, but that’s not what they’re looking for — they need mustangs. It will take time to tame them, but they don’t have bad habits — they haven’t been exposed to the angry violence of the gringos, who train horses by beating them.