March to the Monteria Page 6

  None of this interested Celso. He did not know Don Policarpo’s business problems. All he saw in Don Policarpo was a trader who made money. Although he recognized a fellow Indian in Don Policarpo, he paid him full respect as a ladino. And since Don Policarpo wanted to pass for a ladino, Celso considered him a link in the chain of those whom, somehow, he was going to use to get back the money which Don Sixto had taken away from him.

  Celso gathered his courage. He took the risk of gambling with the offer to accompany the peddler.

  “Perdóneme, patroncito,” Celso said politely and humbly to the mayordomo, “excuse me, but I believe that I won’t be able to travel with Don Policarpo.”

  “And why not, muchacho?” inquired Don Policarpo.

  “You see,” he addressed both men, “I’ve received orders from Don Apolinar to take the box of medicine to Agua Azul by the shortest route because the lumberjacks there are sick. They have malaria, paludismo, calentura, swamp fever, what do I know? Don Apolinar promised me two pesos extra if I get the box there as fast as possible.”

  Don Policarpo commenced to barter. “Don’t worry about that, Chamula. Be reasonable. I know Don Apolinar well. He’s my friend. I’ll make it right with him. And I’m going to tell you something, muchacho, what’s your name?—Celso? All right, Celso, I hope to transact some profitable business in the monterías. No traders have been there for months, I learned. I’m positive I’ll sell everything I’m taking along. All right. Now, of course, you run on your legs much quicker than I, with my five donkeys; and I’ll admit that you may lose that extra reward of two pesos if you travel along with me. But I’ll make it good. I’ll give you three pesos if you’ll come along and we make the trip together.”

  The mayordomo said: “Listen, Chamula, you won’t pick up three pesos that easily.” Noisily he cleared his throat and spat into the darkness. Then he added: “And I told you already what a goddamned hell of a tough road it is. Not even the devil goes there to catch a soul. All souls remain in the jungle forever. But you’ll see for yourself. Beyond La Culebra the real fun begins. You’d better take the three pesos and go along with Don Policarpo.”

  The mayordomo was highly desirous that everyone who came to the settlement with the intention of going to the monterías really went on his way. Because the sale of the provisions necessary to the travelers was one of his most important sources of income. Without that he probably would not have accepted the meager post of mayordomo, because the finquero who owned this forlorn cafetal, but who resided in Tabasco, only gave him a daily wage of two reales, twenty-five centavos. Of course he had chickens, raised hogs and had enough land to plant, with the help of the peons, but he needed profit from travelers.

  Don Policarpo had no choice but to go to the monterías. He could not hesitate too long. Since for many months no trader had been in the monterías, one of the big ones might overtake him and satisfy the entire demand in those far regions. But in no case was he willing to make the trip by himself, with his little apprentice as sole companion.

  Don Policarpo produced a package of cheap factory-made cigarettes, opened it and offered Celso a cigarette. Celso was still smoking his thick cigar. But he accepted the cigarette and tucked it into his shirt front.

  “Now, don’t be so stubborn, Celso,” the trader said. “I want to go to the monterías with my junk. But you see, Chamula, I’m afraid, terribly afraid to march alone through that immense jungle. This boy here, who works for me, is a good, diligent boy. But he is still so little. On such a journey one needs somebody who can give a real hand when necessary. Now, look here, muchacho.” Don Policarpo changed his tone and, almost pleading, he added: “I’ll give you three pesos as far as Agua Azul if you come along with me. And I’ll tell you something else: along the entire trip your food is on me. You won’t have to spend one centavito. Of course, in exchange for your meals you’ll lend me a hand once in a while along the road. In the mornings to search for the burritos and then in loading. Now be a good boy, Celso. You never know when we may meet again and I can do something for you.”

  “Bueno, patroncito,” said Celso, “bueno, I’ll go along with you. But I do it only because you haven’t done much business lately. I certainly would not do it for anybody else. I would not cheat Don Apolinar. He’s a good man and he trusts me.”

  “I told you already, Celso,” replied the merchant, “I’ll fix it with Don Apolinar so that he won’t believe that you are delaying intentionally.” He turned around to the mayordomo: “Don Manuel, couldn’t your girls fix us some more coffee?”

  “Why, of course, of course,” said the mayordomo. Then he shouted: “Hey, Chucha, you goddamned loafer and lazy sow that you are, go and tell la patrona we want some more coffee. Hurry up if you don’t want to be buried tomorrow, piojosas malditas, bunch of good-for-nothings in that kitchen!” With a terrific barking noise of his throat he spat again into the darkness.

  Not on the following day, but one day later, the merchant, his apprentice, Celso with his pack on his back and the five donkeys carrying Don Policarpo’s merchandise trekked along their way to the monterías.

  The road was many times worse than the mayordomo had described it.

  8

  It would have been the reverse order of the usual course of events had the heaviest work along the road not fallen upon Celso. He was willing and eager to earn the food which Don Policarpo had offered him. It had been agreed that for his maintenance he was to lend a hand here and there along the road. But because of Celso’s willingness, on the second day of the march a commitment, if not an obligation, had already developed. Don Policarpo commenced to give definite orders as if he were the boss and Celso the servant.

  It began when Don Policarpo, on arriving at the camping place the first evening of the march, let himself drop upon the ground, declaring to be so done in that he could not move a finger.

  “Unload the burritos. I’ll help you later,” he said. And Celso, without help, unloaded the animals.

  “Bring the packs over here,” Don Policarpo ordered.

  The little apprentice made every effort to appear before the eyes of Don Policarpo as if he were doing a lot of work. In fact, he only ran around, coiled up the pack ropes and put them away for the morning.

  “We’ll have to get some green stuff for the donkeys,” said Don Policarpo. But the “we” meant that Celso had to go with his machete, cut fresh leaves and carry them to the camp so that the donkeys might feed.

  Don Policarpo fanned the fire to cook the food. But Celso had to fetch the water, get dry wood, wash the pots and see that the beans did not burn. In the morning, he had to gather the donkeys, put on the pack saddles, place the packs and rope and tie them properly. It is true that in this Don Policarpo lent him a hand and did what, according to the agreement, should have been Celso’s part. When loading pack animals, one of two has to perform the heavy work. The easier part, such as handing over the lines and ropes for tying them firmly, falls to the other. In this case, Celso did the heavy work, the loading proper and the fastening and roping of the packs.

  While Celso was searching for the burritos in the thicket, Don Policarpo enjoyed his breakfast. The donkeys, as soon as they had been packed, started on the way with Don Policarpo after them. Not until then did Celso have a few minutes to drink his coffee and warm himself a few tortillas. The coffee had been left by Don Policarpo in Celso’s gourd, the tortillas were near the fire and the beans on one of the tortillas. So Celso ate. Once he had eaten he extinguished the fire with earth, took up his heavy pack and left at a double pace to overtake Don Policarpo. At last he reached the little caravan. He generally found that one of the animals, or even two or three, had knocked off their load against trees or rocks and he had to repack them. Or it might have happened that Don Policarpo had been careless and one of the animals had gone off into the thicket somewhere along the road. Celso, of course, had to search for the burro. And when he finally found it, it had either thrown its pack or the pack was dang
ling under the animal’s belly. Celso could not load it by himself, so he freed the donkey from the pack, took it by the lead rope and carried the pack himself, dragging it as far as the spot where Don Policarpo was waiting with the other animals. And there he would repack the load with the help of the peddler.

  Then again it would happen that the waiting animals would become impatient and Don Policarpo would be incapable of holding them back. So they would go on, with Don Policarpo after them, until the donkeys chose to stop somewhere and throw themselves on the ground. Celso, with the donkeys’ packs on his back, had to run the entire stretch after Don Policarpo until he met him and, together, they would reload the packs. Then Celso had to retrace his steps on the run to fetch his own heavy pack, which he had left behind as he could not carry it on top of the others and pull the burro along at the same time.

  But, here, in the jungle, the change in Celso’s character continued. Once he became aware that Don Policarpo intended to exploit him to the last and realized that, while he might perhaps be tired, Don Policarpo was mainly lazy at Celso’s expense, Celso underwent another change.

  Climbing a very steep and rocky path, he slipped and fell with his pack, with such bad luck and right under Don Policarpo’s eyes, that the trader could see how badly Celso had sprained his right arm. Celso, completely against his custom of hiding any signs of pain, groaned and showed a pain-racked face.

  With his left arm he could not, as he claimed, cut green leaves off the trees. Therefore, the feeding of the donkeys was left to Don Policarpo. When loading the animals it was now Celso who passed the lines and the ropes under the donkey’s belly to Don Policarpo, who was doing the loading. All along the march Celso got into the habit of trotting in the vanguard, driving one of the pack burros before him. He justified it by stating that the other donkeys followed more willingly which, by the way, was true. If one of the packs of the donkeys in charge of Don Policarpo slipped off, then Don Policarpo had to repack it with the help of his apprentice, and if the load on the donkey that Celso drove before him slid to one side, he waited until Don Policarpo came up.

  This division of labor did not meet with Don Policarpo’s approval. So one evening, after arriving in camp and unloading, he said: “Oye, Celso, you can very well use your left arm to cut the leaves of the trees. You are just as capable with your left as with your right arm.”

  “I’ll try, patrón,” said Celso. And that evening he produced a good load of fresh, green leaves.

  Later in the evening, when they were squatting around the fire smoking, after supper, Celso said casually: “I don’t think, patrón, that I can lose so much time on the road. The donkeys walk far too slowly and I’ve got to be in Agua Azul with my box of medicine in a hurry. Don Apolinar will surely beat me up if I don’t get to Don Eduardo in due time with the medicine. All the people in the montería are sick.”

  In his few days of marching through the jungle Don Policarpo had obtained a sufficently impressive picture so as now to be scared out of his wits at the mere possibility that Celso would abandon the caravan, leaving him alone in the middle of the jungle. No matter whether he went on or returned, the simple thought of it made Don Policarpo sweat blood.

  “Let’s share a tin of sardines, muchacho,” he said, pulling a pack toward him and searching inside until he produced a small tin of sardines in oil. These sardines constituted one of the few luxuries which Don Policarpo allowed himself when he had had a profitable day. At the same time, they constituted a sort of iron ration, an emergency food for cases when all other provisions had been destroyed by rain, rats or ants. His apprentice could not remember ever having seen him open one of those cans, although the merchant always carried at least six with him. A can of sardines was about the most expensive item of food the merchant could afford on his trips if one took into consideration his limited income.

  The apprentice was given a sardine and a half, together with the privilege of licking the empty can. The remainder of the sardines and the oil were carefully divided into precisely two halves, one half for Don Policarpo and the other for Celso.

  By this partition of the can of sardines, which was performed by Don Policarpo with as much ceremony and devotion as if he were performing the rite of Holy Communion, he accepted Celso as his equal and peer on the trip. He even went so far that, when anything was to be put on the fire or any other minor duty was to be performed, he called his apprentice to do it, telling Celso: “You just remain sitting on your hams, the chamaco can do that. He has nothing to do anyway. He doesn’t even earn the salt he eats. You and I, we’re both tired and the boy has young legs.”

  On the next day, marching through the jungle, when Celso shouted: “Patrón, patrón, el prieto is going to throw his load,” Don Policarpo came running along, helped to push the load back into place and, when the little pack train was on the march again, he said: “Listen, Celso, simply call me ‘señor.’ That’s shorter. If there’s nothing to eat, you go just as hungry as I do.”

  After less than a day in the first montería which they reached, Don Policarpo had not a single spool of thread left for sale. All the wares which he had dragged along for weeks through fincas and little hamlets had been sold with excellent profit.

  At ridiculously low prices he bought skins which he intended to take along so that the donkeys would not return empty and the return trip would pay. On those pelts he again would net a fair profit. He was only waiting for some company. Just as he had never had the intention of making the trip to the monterías alone, now he was even less inclined to return all by himself.

  Celso still had to go two days farther than Don Policarpo, who remained at the first montería. But Celso had no need to travel alone. Several men who were transferring to another camp on the opposite side of the river would take the same road.

  Celso delivered the medicine box and the letters to Don Eduardo. He received his wages in cash because he explained that, for the moment, he was not thinking of returning and therefore a check would be useless to him. People who returned from the monterías, whether workers, employees, artisans or merchants, preferred to take along very little cash and the balance in checks, made out to the name of the bearer. Even the merchants who sold their wares here handed the cash over to the offices in the monterías in exchange for checks. Cash in coins weighed considerably, and every traveler, whether on foot or on horseback, limited the weight of his packs to the absolute minimum. The checks from the monterías were accepted everywhere like cash without any discount. At times, store owners in small towns of the state even paid a bonus of one or two per cent above the face value of the check. The transportation of cash from small villages to the larger towns and to the railway stations was too dangerous because of bandits roaming the country everywhere. No company insured cash remittances.

  Celso had hoped to obtain work at Agua Azul. Yet Agua Azul, for the time being, was not taking on any labor. All the land acquired by this company for exploitation had been thoroughly worked over. The board of directors was at present dealing with the government to obtain new concessions for new lands. But such negotiations were apt to progress slowly. And before securing new concessions the montería would not hire workers. All the manpower required to float their enormous stocks of mahogany upon the arrival of the rainy season was on hand. Agua Azul, owned by Canadians and Scots, enjoyed among the workers the reputation of being the only montería where the worker was treated almost like a human being.

  Celso had to be on his way again in search of another montería where he might hope to find work.

  The monterías are not as close together as coal mines in Pennsylvania. Each montería has a territory the size of a European duchy, or of a medium-sized kingdom. Caoba trees don’t grow close together, like pines. From the administrative building of one montería to the main administrative building of the next in any direction, a good two-day march was often necessary. Sometimes even three days were needed.

  Celso did not have far to go. The next m
ontería, which he reached after a day and a half, took him on. They would have taken on a drowned man if they had been certain that he could be revived at least well enough to do half a man’s work. Agua Azul, even in full working season, had few labor requirements and paid better than any other montería. The worse the reputation of a montería, the lower the wages, and the more inhuman the treatment of the worker, the greater was the demand for replacements—not because the workers fled to look for work elsewhere, but because they were sacrificed unmercifully. Only their hands and arms were taken into account. Heads, souls and hearts were troublesome additions which had to be accepted into the bargain, but which would have been left out by the contratistas, had it been possible to do so. The peons’ stomachs were also considered an unnecessary evil; but then men had to have stomachs just as steam boilers had to have fire boxes.

  At one of these monterías Celso went to work. He might have walked on another day or two, attempting to find a better place. But soon he learned that, whatever place he might have found, it would have been worse than the one before.

  The overseer or capataz, who at the same time was hangman, whip, slave-driver and torturer of the lumberjacks, felt Celso’s hands, then the muscles of his arms, wrists and legs. “Have you already worked with the ax?” he asked.