11

In early October, Emory went to Mexico for a planning session with Barrista. Thankfully, this was a short trip—he was away only a couple of weeks—and I was kept busy much of that time gathering and shelling pecans from the tree in our dooryard.

We received several party invitations, which I held aside for his return. Emory took a jaded view of most social functions, and knew few people in the neighborhood, so I was reluctant to commit us on my own. Besides, is would have been fine with me could we have gone away somewhere together for the coming holiday season. I didn’t mind having Nathan live in our house all that much, and was many times grateful for his presence, but I never felt we had complete privacy. The house was old, the limestone walls thick. You could not hear what was being said in the next room unless the doors were open. Yet I often found myself guarding my conversation when Nathan was at home, as though he were crouching somewhere, listening.…

Emory looked among the engraved cards hurriedly, and said, “Let’s not go to any of them. Parties don’t matter to me.” But then he picked them up again and said, “No, maybe we ought to attend a few, especially this one at the Casino Club.”

“You changed your mind awfully fast.”

“I have to feel out some people about money to finance the revolution. If I’ve got to socialize, at least I can do it with a purpose.”

He was eager to tell me of the plans drawn up in Mexico, and even before changing from his traveling clothes he filled a whiskey glass and sat down. As he talked it was easy to see Barrista had the long-range ideas for the good of the country; Emory provided the short-term means for putting them into operation. Barrista had named his manifesto Plan de Pacifica Reforma—plan of peaceful reform. I asked Emory how and when the operation would begin, my pulse pumping a little faster as I uttered the words.

“Early next year I’m going down quietly and take a little tour, covering five or six Mexican states and paying a visit to each of the Barrista brothers and a few trusted friends. I’ll be gone a few months, probably.”

My heart fell as I thought of the dangers, with railroads operating only here and there, and half of them blown up by revolutionaries.

When I voiced this to Emory he said, “I’ll be on horseback mostly,” which did not make me feel any better.

“Why can’t Barrista do that?” I asked.

“If a man like Barrista were seen riding horseback from one end of the country to the other, it would look a mite suspicious. I can do it easily, and besides, I want to meet the people we’re enlisting and get a feel for them.” He paused. “I have my doubts about his brother Carlos, especially. He’s a little too ambitious and competitive to suit me.… Maybe I’m just measuring him by my own experience—Barrista seems to think he can be trusted—but family ties don’t mean a hell of a lot to me.”

“What then?” I asked quickly.

“We’re going to try and create a national spirit by circulating Barrista’s plan around the country, and make sure it is told to those who can’t read.”

“Won’t that give him away?”

“No,” he said, with a smile of satisfaction. “Barrista is going to be known as Apostol de Reforma—Apostle of Reform—only no one will know who the Apostle is until the end. At first we’ll be dealing only with education as to his proposals. Later—probably around the end of 1916 because it will take time to get people to talking and understand what is going on—will come the call to arms, and hopefully a very short decisive battle coming from three corners toward the capital.”

The statement gave me goose bumps head to toe. Emory made it all seem so possible, that if everything were carried through as carefully as it was obviously mapped out, it could not fail. He was looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

“It just occurred to me I’m in the presence of a man certain to change the course of history.”

“Yes, or perish in the effort.”