The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [163]
“Lord bless you,” said Gastélum.
He peeled his own decomposing socks from his feet and then, to the horror of his companions, threw them in the fire.
“Good God!” Carrillo let slip. As Don Silviano noted in his journal: The noxious plume of Father Gastélum’s richly spoiled flesh wafted downwind to, no doubt, drive bears and coyotes into a panic—great fleeing migrations could probably have been heard if we had listened!
Freshly socked, well fed, smoked, half-drunk, and warmed by good coffee, Padre Gastélum felt the Holy Spirit near to him. When Governor Carrillo told him of the plan, it seemed providential. Surely, the hand of God moves in bold strokes.
And, truly, the plan was simple. The church in Tomóchic was known to hold artworks of great interest. A series of twelve oil paintings had been arrayed around the interior of the chapel. No one knew whence these canvases had come, nor whose hand had painted them. The heretics of Tomóchic believed angels themselves had painted these icons, since Tomóchic was the seat of “true religion” in opposition to Rome. The gall!
It was Governor Carrillo’s rare genius to recognize that the recent miraculous enthusiasms gripping the tribes of the desert and the mountains had come to Mexico City’s attentions. And it had also occurred to him that the Indian wars festered and refused to die. And it had further occurred to him that the great leader himself, General Porfirio Díaz, God grant him long life, was a Christian man. His proposal was, then, succinct and breathtaking: would it not serve the Lord and the great state of Chihuahua if they conspired to steal these religious canvases from the rebels of Tomóchic and present them as a gift to the great leader?
“With this gift,” Carrillo told his guests, “presented to the great leader’s bride as a gift from me, I can be assured of procuring her support and affections. And with these, I can retain the governorship in perpetuity!”
“Why,” said González, “you will win every election.”
It had been so clear, so audacious, that the three men had laughed out loud and drunk toasts late into the night.
Now, in Tomóchic, Gastélum prepared for his most important sermon. Upon reviewing the state of the chapel the night before, he had been appalled to discover the carved wooden statue of Teresita, the girl-witch, still there; its painted blue eyes as vacant as a devil’s. Painted! He had heard that such an abomination was in the offing, but he had not expected to actually see it in its obscene niche. He had gone about blowing out the candles at the statue’s feet.
Raging, he had called on the jefe político of the village, Don Gregorio—as if one of these peasants could be called a Don! Gastélum knew that Don Gregorio was a drunk and an adulterer, perhaps the only real sinner in town. It was God’s unique wit to use such a man to do His divine will.
Don Gregorio handled civic duties while Cruz Chávez was busy being Pope. He had balked when Gastélum had first told him of the plot, but Carrillo had sent a bag of Mexican coins, and when Gregorio’s puffy eyes saw so many golden eagles, he blinked and blinked and nodded sadly.
Now the church bell rang, and Father Gastélum went into the church and waited for the flock.
July 1891—Tomóchic
My Dear Teresita:
I greet thee as Pope of the Sierras and as Your Representative to Mexico and the Tribes of the North. (It is me, Cruz!)
Bad situations have befallen us in Tomóchic, your mountain home should you ever choose to come. Forgive me the length of this letter. It is going to be more of a newspaper than a letter! But by God’s will you will be able to read it all and forgive my orthography and grammar!
The heretic priest Gastélum came to our village and preached a sermon full of viper’s poison directed at you! I will ask your forgiveness for reporting such unpleasant things, but you must know what the Enemy says about