The fact that the men remained where they were did not surprise Don Félix. Moving suddenly and supporting himself against the porch railing, he reached the best stretch of it and then, leaning on it, raised himself up. He had acted with such speed that the man who had been on his right felt himself brutally pushed back by the tremendous force of Don Félix’s head striking his chest. But at the moment when Don Félix was about to drop over the railing to the ground, Celso, in a great leap, fell on him, spilling him on his back. The two men rolled about on the floor, never for a moment letting go. Celso had hold of his adversary by the collar of his shirt, and with his iron fist was punching his face, which seemed about to burst under the blows. Don Félix succeeded in freeing himself and backing against the wall again. Celso grabbed him and, punching him again and again, in a few instants turned his face into a bloody mass. Never interrupting the blows, Celso uttered cries of pleasure. When he had had enough, he said, wiping one hand with the other: “I’ll have to wash them with holy water so that none of your carrion sticks to them. Look! They look as if I had just felled four tons of mahogany. That’s the way hands look after cutting four tons. That’s what I wanted to show you just once, you pig!”
Don Félix had been thrown into the corner. With a hopeless gesture he was wiping away the blood that was flooding his face.
“Well, men, you heard what Modesta told us. Let’s cut off his ears! Then we’ll hang him for a little while. A short hanging won’t be bad for him. We’ve had lots of experience in the matter… .”
He turned toward Modesta, who was still lying on the floor and weeping. “Don’t cry any more, my dear. This very night we’ll go to look for Cándido and the boy. If the canoemen don’t want to, we’ll know how to make them.”
While Celso and some of the young cutters went off toward the huts of the workers and canoemen, the others drove and shoved Don Félix to a tree, one with strong branches. No one had to give instructions to the men. They knew what had to be done. Every man had been strung up at least once and had had enough experience. They disentangled some strands from a rope and tied one end of them around Don Félix’s right ear, the other end to a branch. Then three of the men, after trussing Don Félix’s body, pulled it up until his head hung a few inches from the branch. They held him there while the others adjusted the rope. At a cry of “Ready, now,” they let the body drop in such a way that it remained suspended mostly from the right ear. The cheek, the whole face of Don Félix was pulled entirely out of shape.
“No, no, not this!” he cried while he could speak. “Kill me! Finish with me!”
Very soon, in spite of his wish not to betray his agony, he began to scream piercingly. The more the hanging was prolonged, the more his throat was squeezed, because his skin was stretched more and more tightly, pulling taut that on his neck and shoulders.
“Now, mad dog, you know what it is to be hanged!” shouted one of the men.
“We know how to do it as well as your brother pigs, whom we’ve already sent to hell,” another said. “And we won’t ask you to be ready to cut your four tons tomorrow. We’ll be satisfied with just hanging you. But because you’ve beaten and hanged hundreds of us, you must pay for at least one hundred… .”
“Let me down, men! I’ll give you all the mahogany, everything in the storehouse!”
Although he had often sworn that he would never ask for pity from the workmen, even if they put a knife at his throat, Don Félix began to beg.
“The storehouse? The shop? We don’t need your permission to take them. And the mahogany? We don’t need it. You can do what you like with that. You can let it rot!”
“Release me!” he implored again. “Do what you like with me, but take me down.”
One of the peons replied: “Listen, Spaniard! We haven’t the least desire to stay here listening to you scream. We’re hungry. We’ve worked all day for you without a bite. Now we’re going to the shop and open a few cans. Sardines, preserves, soups, ham, bacon, butter, chocolate, coffee—that will let us forget a little the moldly tortillas that you seemed to think good enough for us.”
“And in an hour,” another added, “we’ll be back to see if your cheek is still holding out or if the rotten meat of your face has fallen away from your bones. Then we’ll change you over to the left ear!”
Another interposed: “It all depends on the quality of your hide, my dear Félix. If the hide is good and resistant—and we hope it is—the pleasure can last six hours or even ten… . Oh, how all of you took it easy in your houses, swinging in your hammocks while we were sweating at work! Now it’s your turn to sweat blood while we eat your provisions, smoke your cigars, and go to bed with your women—if they should happen to please us, which remains to be seen.”
“Have a good time, my good friend Félix!” shouted one of them as they started for the shop.
Darkness was beginning to fall. In a quarter of an hour it would be completely dark.
New groups of ox-drivers and cutters were arriving at the main camp. Many of them had been told what was happening, but they stopped to rest around their huts as though everything was normal.
Andres and Santiago mounted guard at the shop to see that there was no pillaging—a useless precaution, as it seemed that nobody had thought of taking anything. Soon, however, they began to gather around. After a discussion with Celso and Martín Trinidad, it was agreed among them that Andres should make an equitable division of the provisions among the workmen. Andres was selected because he was the only one who could read and write.
When he arrived at the shop, he found it locked, the employee who took care of it had run away to hide himself.
Andrés left Santiago as sentry and went off to a group of huts where he felt certain he would find the storekeeper. His intention was to ask him for the key, so that he would not have to break open the door. On the way he met Celso, who, with a few other men, was looking for the canoemen. They wanted to be taken to the various encampments in search of Cándido.
The blacksmiths, carpenters, ropemakers, cooks, and canoemen were the privileged workers. They constituted a sort of middle class. They earned one peso or one and one half pesos a day. They lived in the camps with their families and formed a real little village. Among them were mestizos and white men.
They looked down on the laborers as much as the bosses did, or more so, and considered themselves to belong to the upper classes They spoke a fairly correct Spanish, had their own little chapel, and could read and write. They never mingled with the other workers except when they wanted to sell something or when they saw that the men had some money they might get. They felt proud to be able to speak to the bosses almost as equals and were disposed to do whatever the bosses required of them. They all but regarded themselves as aristocrats, and though in fact their material circumstances were very similar to those of the workmen, they did not wish to admit it. Although they sometimes earned less than the cutters, they considered themselves richly rewarded if the boss made a small friendly gesture or invited them occasionally to have a drink, though not to sit down. They were always ready to take his side against the lazy Indian pigs and to do them harm when that suited him.
All these workers, the canoemen, the supply-keepers, and their families, had witnessed the assault on the office from the shadow of their huts. A large number of them had pistols. If the Montellanos or the foremen had called on them at the moment of the attack, they would have rushed forward, perhaps much against their will. But Don Severo had not had time to call on them, even if the idea had occurred to him. Apart from anything else, he had not taken the mutiny seriously, and when he had taken its magnitude in, it was too late.
All these artisans were congratulating themselves on being forgotten. They deemed it wiser and less dangerous to witness the battle through peepholes, watching the development of events from a distance, having made up their minds to congratulate whoever won and to join that side immediately. If the men triumphed, they would make common cause with them. If the bosses won, they would be ready at once to perform their duty and to lend themselves to the task of crushing the rebellion.
Now, the rebels having won the day, the artisans, seeing the victors approach their huts, hurried out to greet them, saying: “We said that this had to happen some day. ‘If the men aren’t better treated, some day they’ll rebel.’ You can’t go on all the time ill-treating a horse, much less a man, who, in spite of everything, is a human being.”
Celso, Andres, Santiago, Fidel, Martín Trinidad, Lucio Ortiz, and most of the others knew what value to put on these protestations of friendship from their new friends. They therefore declined the services now pressed upon them with so much enthusiasm. The more intelligent among them, not rebels of the moment, but permanent revolutionaries, understood those invertebrates well and knew better than to trust them. Experience told them that if the situation changed, thanks to help from the federal army, those puppets would go over to the side of the bosses with the same obsequious air they now employed. And not only that. They would immediately become the most bloodthirsty informers, the most ardent assistants to the bloodhounds. The men therefore remained unmoved by the abject attitude of the artisans.
“I said it all along,” the blacksmith repeated, “isn’t that so, comrades? I always maintained that this couldn’t go on.”
“Sure, you always said that.”
“Shut your mouth!” Celso said brutally. “Shut it before I knock it shut. Tell us, you swine, which is the canoemen’s hut?”
“Over there, Chamulito. If you wish I’ll take you. See that hut where the lantern’s shining? That’s Pablo’s, and Felipe’s comes next.”
Celso went to Pablo’s hut and called him from outside: “Pablo, come here.”
The canoeman came out trembling with fright.
“How many children have you?” Celso asked.
“Three.”
“Bring them out.”
“But I implore you, Chamulito, you’re not going to do anything to them!” the canoeman pleaded in terror.
“Come on, now, get your children out here.”
“They’re asleep, fellows.”
“Do you want me to get them with this machete?”
At that moment the children appeared in the doorway, drawn by curiosity about the voices. Their mother was in the little lean-to kitchen preparing the supper. She seemed not to have heard anything of what happened, but in reality she had taken shelter there on orders from her husband, who feared that the workers might wish to avenge themselves on the women for the many humiliations suffered at their hands.
One of the men seized the children, who began to scream. Then the mother rushed out and threw herself on her knees.
“Don’t squeal like that, you old sow,” said one of the men, “we’re not going to do anything to your kids.”
Celso ordered: “Take the two older ones to the embankment. And you, Pablo, come with me.”
The woman began crying again, and one of the men in irritation said: “Shut your trap if you want your rats to come back!”
On reaching the slope Celso had the two children, one of seven and one of ten, tied up. The children struggled and wept, but Celso told them: “Be quiet now! We don’t eat children. We won’t hurt you if your father obeys our orders. Vicente, run to the shop and tell Andres to give you a piece of chocolate for the children. Then you stay here and watch out that a snake doesn’t bite them or a scorpion sting them while they’re tied up here.”
Vicente ran off toward the shop.
“You, Pedro, listen to me. You know well all the camps up and down the river. You’re going to go right now to the new camp and fetch Cándido and his little son and all the men you find there. Call Felipe to get his canoe and go with you and help you bring them back as fast as possible.”
“But don’t you see that it’s already night? How do you expect me to steer the canoe in the darkness?”
“Tell me, you pig, when your boss ordered you to go out at night did it seem dark to you? Now we’re the bosses, and you’ll do as we tell you. I’ll keep the kids so that neither you nor Felipe will run away in the canoes. I’ll hand over your children when you’ve brought all the men from the camps on both sides of the river. The sooner you bring them, the sooner your children will be free. If one of you makes off, I’ll keep the kids tied up for four weeks. As you see, we are using exactly the methods the bosses used on us. You invented these systems, and it would be a mistake for you to complain if we apply them. So you’d do well to get going at once. You know quite well that the red ants like to amuse themselves at night, and I don’t think your kids would enjoy being eaten by them. We’ve known about this torture for some time… . Come on, now, get a move on. Go and find Felipe and whoever else can guide a canoe, and bring those men to me here. Tell them to bring their belongings and their machetes—to bring everything they own.”
Celso turned to some of the men near him. “Each one of you will take his place in a canoe to keep watch on the canoeman. I don’t want these swine to play any tricks.”
Two minutes later four canoes were on their way downstream.
“Forget that nightmare!” Celso said to Modesta. “Do you know what we’re going to do?”
“How can I know if you haven’t told me?”
“That’s right! Look, then—we’re going over to the store, and you’re going to pick out the best clothes and the shoes you like best.”
When they reached the store, they found Andres, Santiago, and some of the others there. Andres was having a heated discussion with the storekeeper.
“Don’t waste my time. Give me your pistol and the cartridges. And do it right now!”
“But this pistol is mine. It never belonged to the Montellanos.”
“It’s all the same. Give it to me!”
“How do you expect me to live without a pistol in this wild place?”
“Exactly the way we’ve lived up to now. Coming and going at the mercy of the jaguars. And now—get out!”
It was Santiago who said these last words, pointing them up by kicking the storekeeper in the ass.
“Andres,” said Celso, “give Modesta a dress—the prettiest there is.”
“With pleasure,” Andres said, laughing. “How many do you want, muchacha? Three, six, ten, twenty—as many as you want! In any case there’ll be enough left over even after we dress up all the girls. You’ll find everything here—blouses, drawers, slippers. We even have watch chains and earrings. Holy God, you should see what things they had piled up here! And all for those old whores of theirs.”
But the storekeeper returned to the charge: “Please, men, you must give me my inventory and my stockbooks. Without them they’ll think I’ve been dishonest.”
“Listen to this idiot!” Celso said. “Inventory, stockbooks? And what else? All the books and inventories will be burned, and all the contracts, too. Accounts, debts, and everything are finished! We’ve started to clean up, and we’ll clean thoroughly. Do you understand? Isn’t that right, fellows?”
“We’ve waited long enough for this moment,” Santiago answered, picking up a carton of cigarettes. “To win our freedom we must burn everything. And now that you know it, get out! But get out and stay out, and don’t let us catch you hanging around here or I’ll tear your hide off!”
“Don’t worry, Modesta,” Andrés said to the girl. “Pick the best dresses and go behind the counter and get dressed in peace. Don’t be afraid. All this belongs to us. We’ve paid far too much for it. Tomorrow we’ll divide it all, and only God knows how many things there are to divide.”
“Celso,” Santiago broke in, “do you know what we could do? Let’s have a look around the huts of all those bastards of artisans. We’ll requisition their guns and the ammunition they have. If one of them tries to hide anything, we’ll tie a rock around his neck and throw him in the water.”
“Agreed. Take a dozen of the fellows with you and collect all the guns you can find. And don’t be gentle with those pigs or waste your time arguing with them. If one of them opens his mouth, shut it up right away with your fist.”
Juan Méndez, who arrived just then, interrupted: “Right. Because you can be sure that if the bosses were able to take revenge, nobody would lend himself to repression with more cruelty than these artisans, who now smile at us idiotically and offer us whatever they can to save their skins. I know it from experience. When I was a sergeant I saw them take part in suppressing strikes and punishing runaway peons. So let me go with you, Santiago, I’m very fond of pistols.”
The group of searchers had just left when Modesta heard herself being called by name. Cándido, the little boy, and the workers from the new camp had just arrived.
“You see, Andrucho!” Celso exclaimed in a triumphant voice. “The canoemen have never traveled so quickly and safely as now. I’m sure that before midnight all our men will be collected here. See how the canoemen push ahead with the torches in their hands so as to arrive more quickly. Now they’re really moving!”
“All the men from all the camps are here now,” said Pablo, the canoeman, who had come to give an account of his mission. The workman who had been detailed to watch him confirmed what he said.
“Andrés!” Celso called out. “Andrés! I name you supply man. Have you the keys of the shop?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go to the tree where Pablo’s children are tied. Untie them, take them to the shop, and give them a piece of chocolate or whatever they want. Also give the little girl a pair of earrings and the boy a jackknife. Then send them to their hut.”
“Many thanks, my friend,” Pablo said effusively.
“Keep your thanks!” Celso replied dryly. “Take your children and go and look for your wife and the other sneaks like yourself. We’re not going to do anything to them, I give you my word. We’re getting out of here and we’ll leave you the whole encampment for yourselves alone. We’ll even leave you provisions in the shop. You’ll find enough corn there. And you can keep the oxen. That way there’ll be no danger that you’ll die of hunger. And fifteen days after we’re gone, you can start out too.”
Pablo thanked Celso. Martín Trinidad interrupted him: “What our comrade here has just told you concerns your future, canoeman. But I have two words to say about your present. That it must not occur to any of you to try to escape and carry the alarm to Hucutsin or to denounce us to the military authorities. Be clear about what I’m saying! Celso has made you one promise and I’ll make you another. If one of you leaves the camp today or tomorrow or even one day before the fifteen days set by Celso, we’ll cut the throats of all of you, men, women, and children. I swear it. As for me, I’d drown you right now like sick cats, because you and we aren’t and never will be friends. I know exactly what you’d do if things turned out differently. For that reason we’d do well to get rid of you once and for all. Nevertheless, for the time being we’ll leave you in peace. Go back to your pals and tell them what you’ve heard. Explain it to them carefully. Above all, don’t forget to tell them what’s waiting for them if they don’t obey. From now on you’re the watchdog of the pack.”