The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [190]
“Are you sure?”
“Bring him.”
Enríquez went to the back of the car and stepped out. They could hear him shouting to the soldiers on the flatcar.
“Father?” she said as they waited. “Did you enjoy any of it?”
“Oh, of course.”
“What was your favorite part?”
He thought back.
“The plum tree,” he said.
Enríquez came forward with a woman and a soldier. She carried a small bundle in her arms. They could smell the vomit and the shit.
The woman fell to her knees.
“Bless us, Teresita,” she said.
Teresita put her hand on the woman’s head.
“Give me the child,” she said.
The woman handed her the baby.
“He is green,” the mother said. “Will he die?”
Enríquez and Tomás crowded in. “Watch this,” Tomás said, suddenly surprised by pride in Teresita’s miracles.
Teresa opened the wrap and looked into the child’s contorted face. He grunted and fussed. He waved his little fists.
“He is very ill, mother,” Teresita said.
She placed her hand on his brow. She reached into his little shirt and put her hand on his belly. He cried. She passed her hand over him. She prayed. She held him close to her and whispered. He grew still. She looked at him and smiled. “He is asleep,” she said. “Give him cool tea. Té de canela, if you have it.”
The woman cried.
She grabbed Teresita’s hands and kissed them.
“Viva la Santa de Cabora,” the soldier said.
“That,” said Enríquez, “is all we need!”
The warriors were hidden along the entire length of the Cañón de la Emboscada. Martínez and his men had been able to collect more than a hundred fighters. People and Mexicans alike hid themselves behind boulders and creosotes. Riflemen hid on either side of the tracks. There were snipers in the mesquites. At the end of the valley, riders sat on fast horses, ready to rush the crippled train after the first volleys, to attack fast and pick off any soldiers not already dead.
“Kill no man,” Teresita said.
“You are insane,” Enríquez replied, “if you think I will allow the savages to slaughter the people on this train.”
“They will not.”
“They will.”
“They will hold their fire.”
Enríquez laughed.
“Miss,” he said, “I have fought Indians my whole life. They will not hold their fire. They will not show mercy. They will spare no one.”
“And I,” she replied, “have been an Indian all my life. I tell you they will not fire.”
He smacked his fist against the wall.
“Miss! You put me in an impossible situation! Must I remind you,” Enríquez said, “that my own family is in the back of this train? Would you endanger my children?”
“I will save you and your children,” she said.
“Miss!”
“That’s it!” Tomás proclaimed. “I have reached my personal limit!”
“I will make the warriors hold their fire.”
“I thought pride was a sin,” Enríquez snapped.
“Not pride,” she said. “Put me outside, on the flatcar. They will hold their fire.”
He shook his head.
“You want to die!”
“I have died before. I will die again. I am offering to spare you and your men. Put me out there!”
Tomás had found a bottle somewhere, and he was working hard at draining it.
Enríquez said: “Who do you think you are? You don’t give orders here. I do.”
“I know who I am,” Teresita said. “I know what I am.”
Her eyes made him look away. He felt slightly dizzy, as if Tomás had given him a drink. He did not know what to say to this filthy girl. He did not know how to look in her face.
Enríquez flexed his hands. He smoothed his whiskers. He pointed at her.
“Look,” he said. “I will give you one chance. I will put you out on the flatcar, if you so wish to be martyred. But the first shot from any savage’s gun will lead to a storm. Do you understand? We will decimate them all. No quarter.”
“They will not fire.”
“One bullet.”
“Agreed. One bullet.”
Enríquez shook his head.
“Give me a drink,” he told Tomás.
Martínez had passed the word down the line. Let the train enter the valley. It will slow as it climbs. Once the train is fully enclosed in the walls of Ambush Canyon, open fire from either side. Shoot at the soldiers first, then through the windows. Do not hit Teresita in the first