Carmen Boullosa: Texas: The Great Theft

When folks return from their fandangos in Matasánchez, they’re usually lively: laughing, chatting, even shouting, doors opening and closing. But not this time. Everyone moves silently, forging ahead, even folks who don’t understand what’s going on (a number of the Brunevillians aren’t privy to the plot, they’re just following the crowd, their people). Silence. A few steps from the square, next to Peter Hat’s store, Nepomuceno knocks on the door of Werbenski’s house — not his pawnshop. Three loud knocks. Four. Five. He keeps pounding without pause, each stronger than the last. All the men and women who form Nepomuceno’s army are gathering in the square. They’re confused by what Nepomuceno’s doing, they don’t understand.

Lupis opens up, Werbenski’s wife, that sweet Mexican woman, looking incredibly frightened. Her husband is right behind her, half asleep, awakening with each step. When the door creaks open he says, “No, Lupis! What on earth are you doing? Let me open it …”

They find a dozen of Nepomuceno’s men standing at the door, hats covering their faces, their guns holstered, wearing their good boots and their fancy shirts and jackets.

Lupis is so frightened she begins to cry.

“There’ll be no Mexican tears tonight,” Nepomuceno says loud enough so everyone can hear.

But he speaks gently, as if he’s singing to her.

There are others who tell it differently: one guy knocks on Werbenski’s door, then another and another, until a bunch of them are banging on it incessantly.

Señora Lupis jumps out of bed. She covers her nightclothes with the large shawl her mother brought her from San Luis Potosí, the one she keeps at the foot of her bed. The white shawl barely covers her. It’s very pretty, made of silk.

Where Lupis goes, Werbenski, who adores her, follows.

“Where are you going?” he asks, half asleep.

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Don’t answer, Lupis.”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

What kind of emergency could it be? Werbenski’s not a doctor! But they’re hardly awake, just reacting to events. Werbenski follows Lupis to the door. “No Lupis, let me open it!” But she doesn’t listen, she unbars it and turns the deadbolt.

Some twenty men stand facing the house, most of them armed to the teeth (not figuratively, but literally), and they barge into the patio brusquely, as if they’ve been running and can’t slow down. Among them, Bruno (the ever-present Pizca at his side) and his men, as well as the youngest of the Robins, notorious outlaws in Matasánchez. (That really takes the cake! The youngest Robin has joined up with what he’d normally call “a bunch of goddamn greasers” because he’s convinced there’s big profit in their game.)

Lupis begins to cry at the sight of so many bad guys in her face, and because she’s been separated from her faithful Werbenski, whom they’ve shoved back to the other side of the patio.

Nepomuceno goes up to Lupis; loudly he says, first in English — so her husband will understand — and then in Spanish, just for her, “There’ll be no Mexican tears tonight, dry your face, Lupita, it’s not becoming for such a lovely woman to ruin her good looks. God made good-looking women to be happy, not for crying.”

He orders them to bring Werbenski to him. He explains what kinds of firearms he needs, what kind of ammunition, he asks how much it’ll be, and pays “Adam” (he’s the only one, Lupis included, who calls Werbenski by his first name) right down to the last penny — Werbenski gave him a good deal.

There’s a new wind blowing in from the sea, and it’s stronger than usual. It’s cold and unruly; those who recognize it think, El Norte is coming. Powerful winds, rain, and high seas. Is it a tropical storm?

The U.S. troops’ few lamps that remain lit blow out. Most of them have been out for hours and they haven’t fired a single shot; they make no response at all to the howls of the Yampariks that still ring out from time to time; they wait beside the Lieders’ house while their commanders, led by General Cumin, remain inside the house until the light of day, when they’ll be able to mount an attack, or at least respond to the attack they’re certain is imminent.

In the darkness, Corporal Ruby (that’s his nickname, he’s a redhead) is telling a story about the Apaches, how they pillaged his town, taking the women and killing every last man, and scalping them to boot. Fear blows in on the wind and gives them all goosebumps.

Perhaps because the wind has stopped and their hair’s standing on end the mosquitoes suddenly intensify their attacks, as though a whole cloud of them has just descended, engulfing the U.S. troops.

Carrying their weapons, Nepomuceno’s men take over the Town Hall — there’s no one there to defend it — and take up positions outside the jailhouse — which they completely surround since there are armed men inside — and they take over the churches, the pharmacy, and the streets. They haven’t fired a single shot and they’ve already captured Bruneville.

Their guns help to persuade folks. Because around here folks don’t just roll over, it’s not the Valley of Mexico, where they’ve put up with aggressive foreigners and abusive conquerors for centuries. Here, where everyone is a recent arrival, no one is docile like that.

But folks such as Peter Hat need no persuading — they’re so frightened they could piss themselves.

They’ve taken some residents from their homes, to use them as hostages, but not the Mexicans, they wouldn’t be of any use in that regard. Half-asleep, they stumble out of doors wrapped in shawls or quilts, covering their nightclothes as best they can to protect themselves from the night chill.

At the door of the Town Hall, in front of a makeshift squadron, they have placed Minister Fear’s wife, Eleonor, who’s accompanied by a man no one recognizes. The squadron is made up of Connecticut and a few scruffy Mexicans, light-skinned ones, all unarmed.

Óscar the baker’s job is to make sure all the alarm bells are ringing — at the church, the Town Hall, and the one the judge had installed in the center of the Market Square, after the fire at Jeremiah Galvan’s store.

You might think that it’s a bad strategy: it’d be better to leave everyone sleeping and the U.S. troops where they are. But the problem is that they think some of the men they’re seeking are with the soldiers; and they wouldn’t attack folks who are sleeping, just the ones who sleep with one eye open, ready for anything. The bells are intended to draw their enemies to them.

Nat awakens at the first peals. He calls to Santiago’s orphans (Melón, Dolores, and Dimas), who have been staying with him since they lost (literally) the roof over their heads. They go out into the street. They see what’s happening. They run to get the Lipans’ dagger, which remains well-hidden.

All four shout, “Viva Nepomuceno! Viva La Raza!” Though Nat is a gringo, he has caught the fever.

Father Rigoberto awakens, thinking the bells are ringing in his head. “The end of the world has come,” he thinks. He puts his head under the sheets and falls back into a deep sleep.

Rebecca, Sharp’s sister, hears the bells and listens to Sharp jumping out of bed, throwing his clothes on and running out of the house. Then she doesn’t hear anything else: she has one of her episodes; it seems like the night is brilliant, shining like the world is made of a huge sheet of thick, dark metal that undulates and shivers as though it’s about to break because a giant fist is pounding it somewhere far away.

The U.S. troops are alarmed by the sound of the bells. “What’s going on?” They realize they’ve been fooled, all gathered at the Lieders’, obeying General Cumin’s orders listlessly. They begin their retreat. A handful of men stay behind to guard the Lieders’ home; the family is grieving for Joe, whom they think they’ve lost.