Carmen Boullosa - Texas - The Great Theft

“They continued pillaging, taking all of the goods from the store and heaven knows what they did to Doña Llaca. I can’t tell you what happened to my Aunt Pilarcita. She claimed she was hidden under the table during the whole attack and didn’t see a thing, they didn’t touch her.

“The Comanches departed, leaving two dozen homes in flames. They emptied the army’s arsenal, taking all the arms and ammunition, and they emptied the storerooms of all the shops, too. They didn’t leave a single federal alive. From the church they stole the chalice and the priest’s robes embroidered with gold, which had just arrived from Italy, via Havana.

“It’s best not to mention what happened to Rafa. Our house was never the same again. Aunt Pilarcita stopped paying attention to us, like she had lost her hearing and her sight, along with her desire to work. Mama stopped working in the store. Papa spent the days receiving letters and writing responses at night, he couldn’t sleep for trying to rescue his only son. Doña Llaca stopped picking the grit out of the beans, she forgot to cook the peas, her tamales lost their texture, as if they had been made in beef broth, all gelatinous.

“Years later, Nepomuceno, Mama’s nephew, murdered all the Karankawas to avenge Rafa’s kidnapping and everything else they had done. But it wasn’t the Karankawas, it was the Comanches. There’s not a doubt in my mind. I had seen the Karankawas before, they were fishermen, we used to see them with their nets near the Río Bravo Falls when we went to visit Aunt Maria Elena’s ranch.

“It’s not true the Indian attack caused the end of Ciudad Castaño. It had been dying slowly, like a candle flickering out. Now there’s nothing left. Most of us moved to Matasánchez, others moved away, and years later many folks moved to the new town, Bruneville.”

ELEONOR ENTERS THE ROOM at the back of Minister Fear’s house. She has changed. She’s wearing black, like on the day of her wedding — a modest black dress to signify her departure from her own family, as was customary — but there’s something about her face and her carriage that has changed dramatically. We last saw her on the day Nepomuceno took Shears’ bait and shot him (it would have been better if he had just walked away, Miss Lace said to Eleonor, “Like he did with that poorly made saddle, because this was no different, in fact it was worse”); we saw her in that room, determined to die, not bothering to pretend that it was compassion motivating her to tend to the sick man. Unrepulsed, indeed, even attracted to the illness the sick man might give her, Eleonor tended to him with exemplary dedication. And either the trouble she undertook made a difference, or she had good luck. Because he has overcome his illness and is recovering in leaps and bounds — he’s become talkative and flirtatious, his natural disposition. He’s almost ready to get out of bed; he feels the urge to jump up and down but doesn’t have quite enough energy yet. He doesn’t feel the least bit sick, but rather like he’s run six leagues without a drop to drink.

Eleonor’s face is radiant. She’s wearing her black dress because her cousin back home told her that it suits her, and she wants to believe her, she wants to look her best, although she knows she ought not to; and there’s another reason to wear black: she associates it with the thing she detests most on Earth, Minister Fear.

Because Fear really repulses her. Have no doubt, the Minister saved her from shame and humiliation — he saved her life — but he immediately shut her up in this living tomb. He’s a hateful creature, a heartless man without feeling, without joy in life, as well as a hypocrite who, despite being a minister, delights in … perverse … unspeakable things.

Eleonor despises him, and for good reason; or even without reason — he was her savior, etc., etc. — but she does have good reason: “He’s no man, he’s an animal.”

His name says it all: Fear. Fear of oranges, the sun, ants, the sea breeze, open windows, soap, the joy of breathing. Of dying. Living. Waking. Sleeping. A secret fear that festers and suffocates. The only pleasure he knows is despicable, heightened by his fear, demonstrated in monstrous acts. But what do Fear and his problems matter — we were talking about Eleonor. In comparison to her, Fear simply fades away for us, like a handful of sand thrown in your face that’s blown away in the wind’s laughter. Eleonor is radiant.

The messenger pigeons fly back and forth — set free and returned by the messenger Indians with reed baskets on their backs, or by Úrsulo via the river — the correspondence with the Eagles is constant and intense, they work both sides of the river as one body. No point in going into detail. Nepomuceno wants to attack with as little violence as possible, using cunning instead. That’s why he welcomed El Iluminado, his Talking Cross, and the church ladies, “Older, uglier, and slower than …” The thing that really lifted his spirits was the arrival of La Desconocida.

North of the Río Bravo, Tim Black, the free Negro, has lost his mind. Totally.

His wife is plotting how to leave him — it’s impossible to live with his jealousy and his irritating behavior.

It’s better we don’t see what’s going on in his head. Sometimes he’s convinced she’s already left him — that her brother has arrived to rescue her as she claimed he would years ago — and he’s overcome by sadness. Other times he’s blinded by fury. Either way he’s unbearable.

“It’s not as bad for me as it is for the children … I don’t know what came over him! Such a good man! The truth is that over time I grew fond of him … but now …”

“Please, spare me,” Nepomuceno says when he hears Sandy’s recitation. “Why do we have to sound like raving tyrants, as if the only things we speak about are glory, pomp and circumstance. It’s so boring I’m speechless …”

“We stand ready,” the Eagles continue, “to spill our blood and suffer the deaths of martyrs to achieve it, La Raza …” and so on and so on. “The Mexicans in Texas put their faith in the capable hands of the governor-elect of the State, General Houston, and trust that his rise to power will see the introduction of legal protection insofar as he is able.”

Nepomuceno wants to add: “Unintentionally separated from our brothers on the north bank of the river, without renouncing our rights as American citizens …”

Jones doesn’t agree on this point. “We can’t call ourselves Americans, Nepomuceno. Don’t you see? For me that would mean accepting slavery, my own and that of my brothers. Nope. I’m Mexican, from this here side of the river. It’s the only protection I have.”

“That’s your business, Jones, but if I say that, those bastards will take all my property.”

“But you said you’d defend the Mexicans, Nepomuceno.”

“Yeah, I said that, but let me be clear: I’m defending La Raza. Plus, just between us — and this is for your ears only, don’t repeat it — this land is mine and I am this land. And now it’s the gringos’? They’ve screwed me, and if that’s the way it has to be, fine, I’ll be a gringo, see? I am this land, this land is me.”

“Of course I get it, Nepomuceno. You’re the one who doesn’t get it. So you get screwed by them and accept becoming a gringo, but if you stay on their land you’ll be no better than a Negro, there’s no alternative. They’ll use you to make themselves rich. Their dollars are white, and like sea spray they need a dark body to sustain them.”

“My friend Jones, such a philosopher. Enough. I need to ride for a while, I’m going stir crazy.”