The Children of Sanchez (37 page)

When I went home I told Manuel, “You know what, brother? I’ve joined the army. I’m a soldier now.”

“What’d you go and do that for? You’re crazier than a she-goat.”

“Sure, man, I’ve joined up; you’ll see me in my uniform very soon, and you’ll be jealous.” Well, he didn’t believe me because I’d never before taken such a drastic step.

I didn’t tell my father a thing until I got my uniform. That day I went back to town and I barely got through the front gate of the Casa Grande when the fellows started saying, “Well, well, well, look what the Blackout is wearing!”

“How do you like it, fellows?”

“How did you get in? and in the Air Force at that? Are you going to be a pilot? Are you a cadet, or what?”

“No, I’m just in the Air Force, that’s all,” and I wouldn’t tell them any more, just to make them sore. When my good friend Daniel Ramírez saw my uniform, he wanted to enlist. I didn’t urge him because his brothers were tough guys and might get sore at me, but I finally promised to take him with me to join up.

In the evening I didn’t have to tell my father a thing because he saw my uniform.

“So now what have you done?”

“Nothing,
papá
, I’ve joined the army.”

“But how and when and who gave you permission?”

“Well, a few days ago.”

He stood there looking at me, then he said, “Well, let’s see how this turns out. Behave yourself like a gentleman, be honest and work hard, and if you do this you’ll get along all right.” This was the advice he always gave me.

Three months went by and we trained every single day. I slept at home and went to the military airfield each morning at six for rollcall and training till five in the afternoon, when we were free. One morning we were lined up at reveille, when Captain Madero said, “Anybody who wants to volunteer to go to Guadalajara, step forward.”

We no sooner heard the word “Guadalajara,” which meant traveling, when all of us, there were about forty or fifty of us recruits, stepped forward. But when the captain explained the conditions, only six stuck it out; among them me and my friend Daniel.

They gave us leave at six-thirty in the evening so I went to say good-bye to my family. My father was reading when I went in. I stayed a while, then said, “
Papá
, I’m going to leave.” He didn’t answer me and I waited. Finally he raised his eyes and saw me.

“Fine, what time are you leaving?”

“Well, I’m going to Guadalajara.”

“What do you mean, Guadalajara?” Then he really took a good look at me, understand? When he heard the news he was surprised.

I said, “Yes, they’re sending us to Guadalajara; I’ve got to go.” It wasn’t true, because I had volunteered. Well, my father cried and embraced me like he rarely did, and well, I felt as if I were in heaven. I don’t know what it’s like in heaven but that’s the way I
felt. When my father talks to me like that and embraces me, I sort of choke up and tears of joy come to my eyes. And he even gave me fifty
pesos
.

He said, “Take this; buy yourself something on the road.”

“Sure,
papá
, thanks. Well, Im going. Give me your blessing.” So my father gave me his blessing and I said good-bye to my brother and my sisters.

That evening I had a date with a girl named Elvira, who had been tipped off in advance that I was going to ask her to be my
novia
. I knew she would say yes, because Daniel’s
novia
, Lola, who later became his wife, had arranged the whole thing. I had never seen Elvira before, understand? And when she came, I didn’t care much for her but I felt obliged to ask her to be my girl friend. We kissed right off, there in front of Lola and Daniel. Then we sat on the grass and I put my head on her lap. I thought I’d better make hay while the sun shines and show that girl I knew what to do. I may be ugly but I’m not a dope! That was all that happened and we left for Guadalajara the same night.

We had all been paid off that day, so everyone bought something for the road. One fellow bought a bottle of Bacardi, another some
tequila
. Most of the fellows liked to drink. As for me, being somewhat of a kid and innocent, I bought a can of Nestlé’s milk, a loaf of Bimbo bread and a few peaches. I drank milk until it came out of my ears and I invited the fellows to have some. They offered me what they had too, but I said, “No, fellows, my stomach is not in good shape and I’m not drinking now.” By the time we got to Guadalajara, most of the fellows were half-stewed.

The second lieutenant, who was in charge, became confused and put us on the wrong bus from Guadalajara to the airfield to which we had been assigned. So we had to hike twelve kilometers on a dirt road. We arrived worn out and covered with dust. We were well received by the captain and all the ranchers there, for the barracks were actually on an
hacienda
. They let us rest a week, then we got our assignments; in the hangar, on the airfield or in the groves.

I was assigned to guard the fields, so the ranchers wouldn’t steal the crops. The major was pretty mean to us fellows working in the garden. He wouldn’t let us pick any fruit from the trees; we could eat only the stuff that fell to the ground. That’s how I got malaria. You wouldn’t expect it in that temperate climate but still I got it,
because I ate oranges which lay on the ground, in the sun, for several days, see? We ate a lot of fruit like that, then drank it down with water.

The first few weeks at the camp I was sick with melancholy, thinking about Antonia. I didn’t eat or sleep. I did my duties mechanically. I would borrow a horse and go off into the mountains alone … thinking of nothing else but my half-sister. Little by little, I got over it.

It was there in Guadalajara that I got roaring drunk for the first time. We were celebrating Army Day and a corporal and I were sent to Jalisco to buy
tequila
. When we reached the distillery the fellows working there called me over.

“Hey, soldier, come here. Look, wouldn’t you like to have a little horn?”

“What’s that?”

“Well, it’s a goat’s horn filled with
tequila
.”

“No, I can’t right now. I’m on an errand and can’t drink.”

“Man alive, one little horn won’t hurt you.”

Well, they insisted and I sat down to drink. The
tequila
was warm, right from the still, and tasted nice and sweet. I had three altogether. When the corporal finished buying the
tequila
, he said, “O.K., Private Roberto, let’s go.”

When I stood up I was so dizzy I almost fell. Outside, the fresh air felt like a punch right in the face. Imagine, the first time in my life I took a drink and they played the dirty trick of giving me warm
tequila!
My corporal said, “Young fellow, now look what you’ve gone and done.”

“Please excuse me, Corporal, but what happened is they gave me three little horns to drink and I didn’t know what was in it.”

So there I was, making a complete fool of myself because the liquor was beginning to have a terrific effect on me. The driver wouldn’t let me on the bus. I don’t know whether they like soldiers or hate them in that part of the country, but what I do know is they have lots of respect for them. So when the corporal insisted, I was allowed on, but instead of riding inside the bus I had to climb on top and sit in the baggage rack, to sober up a bit. They put me up there like a lousy piece of baggage. The corporal went along with me to take care of me, and I was really stewed, singing, “Hurrah for Jalisco,” like I was a native of those parts.

We got off the bus and had to walk to the airfield. Well, I really
kicked up the dust that time because I kept zigzagging from one side of the road to the other. I was stewed good and proper. When we got back I said to myself, “I’ll never take another drop.” Well I never told a bigger lie in my whole life.

When we got back, the festivities were in full swing. The ranchers had roasted a couple of young bulls, a calf, some pigs and turkeys. It was a big party, with lots of soldiers and people from the village. There was a rodeo, horse racing, and a little of everything. When we arrived, everybody said, “Sit down, Corporal, and you, too, Roberto,” and they offered us more drinks. Well, I just gulped
tequila
by the glass and bucket. They called the drink “
changuirongos”—tequila
mixed with soda pop, any flavor you like, and with ice and fresh limes, and they have a kick like a mule.

That was the first time I felt my life was in danger. There was a fellow there, a private first-class, whose name was Raúl, only we called him the Gorilla. He and another fellow, Cascos, were drunk and were dancing and having a good time. I don’t know what happened but for some reason the Gorilla got sore at me. So he says to me, just like this: “Come here, Private Roberto.”

“Sure, Corporal.” Because he was a private first-class, he was like a corporal, and a corporal was considered like a sergeant, and so on up the ranks.

So I said to him, “What can I do for you, Corporal?”

He said, “You know what? You can go and fuck your mother.”

Words like those usually start a fight here in Mexico, but I said only, “What’s wrong, Corporal? Has the liquor gone to your head so soon?”

“Not at all, I’m not drunk,” he says, “I’m cold sober.”

I thought to myself, “This looks bad.” So I said, “All right, if you say so, it’s all right with me, and we’ll let it go at that.”

“Oh, you will? Well, I want you to go ahead and say something to me, because I’m going to knock the shit out of you. I just don’t like you, that’s all, so we’re going to have us a scrap.”

“Well, I can’t fight with you, you’re my superior.” By this time he pulled the bayonet out of his rifle—he had sharpened it up to a fine point—and went at me. Just then the second lieutenant came by and slugged him with the butt of his pistol, and quieted him down. After that I carried around a bit of a grudge against this fellow.

The Gorilla became gentle when he was doped up with marijuana
and he’d start talking about philosophy, literature and theology. Well, stuff I didn’t know anything about, so I didn’t understand what he said. I’d just stand there listening. Why, even the second lieutenant himself, and the major would listen to him. Of course, the major was an educated man and could answer the questions the Gorilla put to him. They had a regular session together and, hell, this made quite an impression on me. It was one of the pleasant moments I had in the service.

Later, he, Cascos and I became good friends, but that god-damned Gorilla kept giving me trouble. He made me grow marijuana out there in the garden because he and Cascos both liked to smoke it. I grew the weed for the simple reason that the Gorilla ordered me to. Of course, it wasn’t allowed, but the army doesn’t go around watching the fellows.

They planted the marijuana out of sight in the back section of the garden, about five hundred meters from the barracks. The seeds came in the package with the marijuana, and it is amazing how the plants grow and spread. They taught me how to cultivate it and I had to keep the ground spaded and watered. I took care of the garden until it was harvested.

The fellows offered me marijuana many times, but I never accepted. They knew perfectly well that I didn’t smoke the weed, yet, once when I asked them for a cigarette, they tricked me by giving me my favorite brand mixed with the drug. I took three puffs and got dizzy. My head felt hollow and I looked at everyone in a strange way. When I walked, I felt I was not on the ground but on something soft. My body floated and my nerves didn’t obey me.

I felt a call of nature and went behind a cactus. When I tried to get up, I fell backwards and got full of thorns. It made me laugh to find myself in such a condition. I tried to spit and no saliva came out. The fellows were laughing at me … I wanted to take it out on them, but I was weak, my whole body felt loose. Then I fell asleep and missed my duty in the hangar. That smoke had such a terrible effect on me that I ended up in the hospital. I think that might have been how I developed malaria. I never smoked marijuana again.

I was almost court-martialed because Cascos, the Gorilla and I were caught in the marijuana plot and arrested. And you know what? I wasn’t the least bit worried because I felt I wasn’t to blame and that justice would be done. I would have been court-martialed along
with the other two but Cascos saved me. This was the first and only time I got a square deal.

When the hoof-and-mouth disease came to Mexico, another important thing happened to me, perhaps the most important thing in my life. The disease was so bad they placed the whole territory around Guadalajara in quarantine. Not a chicken or an egg could come in or out and we had to kill the sick cattle. If two or three out of ten cattle were sick, we had to kill the whole herd to prevent the disease from spreading. For this reason the peasants hated us like poison.

The government paid the peasants for killing their cattle, but they weren’t paid what the animals were worth. Suppose a team of oxen were worth two thousand
pesos;
they wouldn’t even get fifteen hundred. The peasants were awfully mad about this and they took revenge on us soldiers because we were the ones who shot the animals. But we were just obeying orders, right?

One time Daniel Ramírez, Francisco, Crispín somebody, and I went out on horseback. There were four or five of us. We had gotten leave and they loaned us horses to go to Zapopan for soda pop or
tequila
. We had to be back for rollcall at 6:00
P.M.

Well, it was getting dark so we galloped along on our horses at a good pace and came to a grove of trees called Devil’s Gully. As we went by, a fusillade broke out, but I mean a hot one—the first time in my life this had happened to me. They were shooting at us with 30-30 rifles and 7-millimeter Mausers. Anyway, we galloped out of range, but two of our boys fell. They wasted a bullet on me because it only scraped my leg. We couldn’t see who was shooting; all we could see were the gun flashes, understand? We had to run for it.

Daniel and I went back for the boys who were shot. One of them was dead. He was well skinned, as they say in Veracruz. So we went to headquarters and made our report and the second lieutenant said, “Get your weapons and form a platoon.” And though I was wounded, I asked the second lieutenant to let me go with him, but he said, “No, you have that taken care of.”