THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

CHAPTER TWELVE

One week after the return of Miguel Chankik to Santa Cruz, General Bravo's aged housekeeper died suddenly in the heat of afternoon. A chicken and its brood had passed the threshold of the general's office while he worked at his desk, and she had reached to seize a broom and drive away the birds. But, as she raised it, don del Muerte placed his hand upon her shoulder, snatching up her soul as neatly as a shopkeeper closing his fist around a coin, and leaving her body to tumble forward, scattering the intruders in a flurry of feathers.

She had served Bravo fourteen years, so he ordered that she be buried in a Mexican grave and that the Padre say a few words... but he did not come to the service, nor seem perturbed at her death for, after all, she was only an indian of one of the mountain tribes of the northwest of the Republic. But in the space of a few days, the dust began to settle in Bravo's office; his cups and plates took on a crust of grime, unpleasant odors burrowed into his uniform. And so he finally put on his hat, and marched to the cathedral in the heat when no one was around to see him for, in the campaign, he had observed the scrupulous and even obsessive cleanliness of some indian women. Juliano, perhaps, could recommend one among his parishioners. If not, some officers or traders passing through Santa Cruz might remark upon the slovenly commander of the territorial capital with the peculiar inclination of the head used to denote a white man overtaken by the monte. Sooner or later, such tales made their way to the keen ears of President Diaz, whose hatred of backsliding and disorder in any form was legendary.

The priest was not about... he was, in fact, sleeping off yet another funeral service in the hospital... but Chankik sat on the steps of the church, passing a piece of black obsidian from hand to hand, and watching the reflections of the sunbeams form dancing patterns on the pavement. Bravo nodded as he passed, entered the church and shouted for the padre... he poked his head into Juliano's office and the room where the supplies were kept. Nothing! He remembered to remove his hat, shouted for the priest again and waited. He slapped his hat against his leg, raising a small cloud of dust, turned angrily, and made for the door.

Chankik remained sitting in the sun and Bravo frowned. "What is that, sacristan?" he asked, taking the stone away. "A toy? Aren't we a little old for toys, my friend?"

"No simple toy," Chankik replied. "It is my wife, general."

"Indeed," said Bravo, puzzled. "Well I have traveled the length and breadth of the Republic, I have seen and heard strange things, but I never before met a man who took, for his bride, a piece of stone. Has she given you sons?"

The curandero knew enough to smile at the occasional forced jests of the ancient General. "It is my xunan," he said. "It speaks to me."

Bravo nodded as he tossed the black stone up and down, feeling its warmth in his palm. "Does it speak like a Mexican wife... complaining when one arrives late in the evening from important business, spreading slanders about relatives and neighbors, begging money to buy dresses, fans and other frivolities?" The General, nearing his seventieth year, was no longer a romantic... being twice married and twice widowed and somewhat relieved at the latter occasions, although distressed at the lack of progress his sons were making. Despite the aid of Bravo's many friends, their faults could not be hidden. Colonels Blanquet and Huerta had brought a number of their own sons to the territory and they'd performed their duties adequately... while reserving time to their real business, gaining control and administering most of the vicious commerce of the Territory. They shared the proceeds with Bravo, of course, but the General was disappointed and, now, he was growing dirty.

"My xunan," repeated Chankik. "It tells me such things as will come to pass. The voices of saints I hear through stone, black stone. When I was younger this stone found me, and I knew I would not be a soldier or a planter or chiclero, but was to become a Christian, preaching the gospel of Juan de la Cruz."

"The stone found you?" Bravo asked. "That is most unusual, I have been given to believe that it is usually the man who discovers the stone. Well, now that I have found this stone, what if I were to keep it? Then the saints would speak to me, wouldn't they?"

The curandero shook his head. "Only to me, the saints speak. Because it is my xunan, my wife. To you it is only a stone."

Bravo tossed the stone into the air and caught it, cursing himself for having been drawn into dialogue with a superstitious old indian and for forgetting his purpose. "I'll give it back to you," he said, "but in return for a wife, you must find Padre Juliano and tell him that I need a housekeeper. One who speaks neither of stones nor saints but uses the former to grind corn and prays to the latter while she washes. A Christian woman... understand?"

He placed the xunan down before the curandero. "It is wrong to steal another's wife. It is a sin, a mortal sin and Padre Juliano would be most unhappy. Find him!" Bravo ordered, leaving the old man sitting by the church, watching the sunbeams dart across the surface of the black stone.

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