The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [40]
“Bandits. I kind of miss them,” Segundo said. “Have you heard tell of La Carambada?”
“No.”
“This is a true story.”
Tía tipped ash into her mouth and tapped her foot: this was a waste of her time.
“She was my favorite bandit of all,” he said. “She held up wagons and coaches. She carried a great Colt forty-five, and when she had the men out of the coach and lined up, stripped of their gold and even their pants, she would pull out one of her chichis.” The crowd gasped. “Oh yes. She would show the men her chichi, and she’d hold the gun to their heads, and she’d say, ‘What do you think of this, cabrón?’” The People looked at each other uneasily. Huila made a mental note: La Carambada—heroine of Mexico. Segundo laughed. “Can you imagine? All those idiotas trying to think up the right thing to say.”
“I hope she shot a few of them,” Huila said.
Segundo smiled.
“What a woman!” he said. “Maybe they have more like her up north.”
Don Teófano said, “Excuse me, but I have work to do.”
“Not today, you don’t.”
“Why? Is it Easter already?”
“No. The patrón has given you all the day.”
“For what?”
“To reflect.”
“On what?”
Segundo flicked his cigarette away.
“You need to decide your own fates.”
“Fate?” said Teófano.
“Fate!” said Huila.
Segundo delivered a sober version of the elaborate story of the recent elections and the debacle of the Sinaloan candidate and his unexpected fall at the hands of Don Porfirio Díaz. Buenaventura wandered closer, amazed more by Segundo’s spurs and black saddle and pistolas than by the story.
“What’s that got to do,” he called, “with anything?”
“Don Tomás has been in meetings for days with Don Miguel and the engineer Aguirre,” Segundo said.
Aguirre. Segundo and Buenaventura together sneered at each other. Buenaventura was so delighted by this that he nearly did a little jig.
“And they have decided that the rancho must be evacuated. Tomás and Doña Loreto and the herds of cattle and horses, and the vaqueros, of course. We’re going to have to move to where it’s safer. They’re after our patrón. Se lo van a chingar,” he noted.
“Go?” said Huila. This was all news to her. “Go where?”
Segundo turned in his saddle, offering a touch of drama to the crowd. He looked beyond the main house into the distance, beyond the trees.
“What do you think?” he said.
“North!” shouted Teresita. Thanks to Huila, she was used to answering spot quizzes by now.
They rocked back on their heels, touched their hearts, their foreheads. North!
Segundo nodded down at them.
“North, to Sonora. You must decide which of you will go with us. You have today and tomorrow. Go to church. Pray. Decide.”
He turned his horse.
“Whoever braves the journey will find work when we arrive in Sonora. Those of you who stay will be under a new patrón.” He spurred his mount and said, “Good day.”
“Segundo!” Huila called.
He stopped and looked back.
“Where in Sonora?” she demanded.
“Don Miguel has a great home in Alamos. A city. Loreto and the children will go there. The rest of us are going to one of the ranches. Probably Cabora.”
Cabora!
Nobody had heard that word before.
They rolled it on their tongues as Segundo rode away.
Cabora . . .
Those who had not heard Segundo speak knew what he’d said before they ate breakfast. For the first time, the lives of the workers of the rancho were about to change. Knowing this gave them all an instant and deep nostalgia for the smallest of details that they had previously ignored. It was the only life they knew, in the only place they knew, and now they had to change.
“I have squandered my days,” Don Teófano announced, then went to ponder the stock pond. He had not looked at a dragonfly in thirty years. He was certain there would be no dragonflies in Sonora.
Tía collapsed in her shack and shook.
Huila marched to the main house. Sonora! By God, there was plenty of work to do before they went to Sonora! She had to pack her saints, her herbs, steal some more pipe tobacco from Tomás, get some more shells for her shotgun.