The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [47]
She said, “Buenaventura, what have you done?”
He was wearing the most appalling suit she’d ever seen. His pants were too short, and his buttoned jacket was too tight. And a bowler hat squatted on his head like a dirty turtle. It was simply too outrageous.
He tipped his hat to her.
“I got a job,” he said.
She could say nothing—her mouth hung open.
He grinned at her. Then he leaned over and whispered, “I’m in.”
“They took you in?”
He held up the flaps of his silly little gentleman’s coat.
“You know it.”
He pulled a doll out from under his coat and tossed it to her.
“I stole it.”
Huila pretended not to hear this.
He stepped around Teresita and started into the gloom between the wagons. His head popped back out into the light, and he pointed at her. Then he winked. Then he left.
Tomás had spread out a bedroll by the fire. He leaned back on his saddle, his boots off and his socks soaking up heat from the coals. He sipped brandy and smoked a cigar and stared at Aguirre and shook his head. “What have we done?” he said.
“You have done what you must,” said the Engineer.
Tomás tipped another dollop of brandy into his friend’s cup.
“Salud, cabrón,” he said.
“Salud,” Aguirre replied, clacking his cup against Urrea’s.
“To a new life, Lauro.”
“To a new Mexico.”
Segundo stepped up to them and squatted.
“Engineer,” he said. “Boss.”
“Good evening.”
“Buenas.”
Tomás offered him a drink. Segundo pushed his hat back and smiled. “I shouldn’t,” he said. “But I will.” He took a swig from the bottle. Gasped lightly. “Ah. That’s rich.” He handed the bottle back to the patrón. “Everything’s settled,” he finally said. “I put out pickets to stand guard. I’ll take a shift at midnight. The People are settled. Todo ’sta bien.”
“Thank you, Segundo,” said Tomás.
“Doing my job,” Segundo replied. He stood, brushed off his trousers, and said, “I’ll sleep now, if you don’t need me.”
They waved him away.
“Sweet dreams,” Aguirre said.
Segundo turned back and said, “Be sure to shake your boots out in the morning. Scorpions.”
And soon, with the bottle drained, the two old friends pulled their blankets around them and fell into a deep, aching sleep.
Fifteen
THE SECOND DAY WAS SLOWER than the first. Tired, sullen, frightened, bored, sleepy, sore, chewing grit between their teeth, raising a monumental stench of offal and piss, spoiling grease and sweat, pig stench, horse stench, mammalian breath stench, dog pelt, droppings of every hue and size, burning trash, beans, charcoal, the Exodus recommenced even more slowly than it had launched itself. Wagons creaked into line, banging into other wagons. Children fell to the ground, hungover vaqueros slipped off their saddles and were kicked by the horses. The cows tried to go back to Ocoroni. The whole enterprise wobbled like some headless snake.
The third day started well, but it collapsed into chaos when they reached the Río Fuerte. True to its name, it was the Strong River. Unexpectedly, it was running high after summer’s great rains, and the carts and wagons stalled and sank in mud, then started overturning in the flood. The vaqueros were able to whistle and harry and drive the livestock across the river, but the wagons were stuck. Cows and horses hove onto the opposite bank a half mile downriver. Aguirre enlisted the aid of a ferry raft that pulled across the river by means of a thick hawser strung between cottonwoods on the opposing banks. The raft could carry only one wagon at a time. Tomás paid the ferryman with coin, beans, a mule, and one rifle.
Already exhausted, they settled on the banks and watched all day and all night as the raft crept back and forth across the water. It took twenty-five hours to get them all across—the last two hours mostly taken up by Aguirre and Tomás arguing with the ferryman that he could carry the bee wagon without being killed. He demanded some of the bees’ marijuana to do it, and he insisted on wearing an entire bee suit, all heavy canvas and mesh veils.
“If you fall off the raft,