The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [165]
It was not until today that we discovered that someone had entered our church and cut our angelic cuadros from their frames and spirited them away! Devils? Romans? The government.
Someone is in league with Gastélum, and I do not know if he hates you or me more than the other.
I pray for you in the trust that you pray for me.
How is your porch swing?
Tu amigo i sirviente,
Cruz Chávez
The response arrived in Tomóchic by mule train. It had been taken as far as the foothills by a vaquero on his way to hunt bear. He had paid a Rarámuri runner to carry it for him into the Papigochic wilderness. There, a mountain train of pack mules passed across the runner’s path, and he handed off the letter to the second mule driver, who was a cousin of Cruz Chávez. It was now April of 1892.
Everybody was eager to see the mail. When Cruz opened the letter, he read it quietly.
December 1891
My Dear Pope Chávez,
Forgive me the tardiness of this letter. Your own only just arrived here, and I despair of this response returning to you by the New Year or even the Day of San Valentín! Oh! For the wings to fly! Then I could be with you in Tomóchic, my friend, away from these spies and dangers and troubles that encircle us every day!
Harm no man! That is God’s iron rule, Cruz! You have been done a great harm! But together, we shall resolve to have your artworks returned, and your land blessed and inviolate forever! This is our holy battle. Justice for Tomóchic!
I await your next message . . .
With hope . . .
Your Friend Always,
Teresita
“What does she say? What does she say?” they cried.
He read it again, then folded the letter and put it in his pocket.
He cleared his throat.
“Teresita,” he announced, “says she is in danger! She is surrounded by spies and evildoers!”
They stirred around him.
“And she says we must begin a holy war to save Tomóchic!”
Rubén started the shouting:
“Viva la Santa de Cabora!”
Fifty-four
SEGUNDO HAD AWAKENED one morning in May to find himself old. It took him by surprise. He looked in the mirror and realized his mustache had gone white, and his sideburns were silver, and gray wires seemed to be threaded through his hair. Oddly, his eyebrows were still black.
He had given up his home to Teresita. The crowds had made the forecourt of the main house into a bottleneck, and the back was too difficult to defend. So Tomás had asked him to build a stout fence around his small home and then move out. Oh well, a burro was never intended for a prince’s bed, he decided. He had moved into Teresita’s old bedroom in the house.
For the fence, his men had sunk tree trunks as uprights at a distance of fifty feet from the walls and doors of his house. There was a new guardhouse at the far corner so a buckaroo could keep an eye on the rear while Teresita slept or ministered in the front. The front of the fence had a wide gate with a swinging barricade that two men could handle to control the flow of bodies to the porch. The crossbeams of the fence itself were stout half trunks from pines trees in the hills.
It was Segundo who first noticed that Cabora itself seemed to mirror Teresita’s moods. If she was happy, the crowd was joyful and full of laughter and song. If she was ill, the crowd was sullen and listless. She ate at the main house. When he went to eat breakfast, he saw that her hands were jittery. Teresita had these moments of sheer nervousness, almost manic. Noises made her jump, and small frustrations set her off. This morning, she suddenly jumped to her feet and snapped that she could not stand eggs ever again, then dropped her plate. It broke on the floor. She slapped her hands to her face and cried, then ran upstairs.
Tomás, numb now to almost anything, stirred his coffee and stared at the cooks.
Segundo picked up the pieces of the plate.
“She is having a difficult morning,” he noted.
“Why should she be any different from the rest of us?” Tomás said.
When Segundo stepped out on the porch, he saw that the crowd, too, was nervous.