We See a Different Frontier: A Postcolonial Speculative Fiction Anthology (3 page)

“It’s wonderful!” General Villa beamed.

“It’s horrible!” said Tesla.

“Yes! Horrible! Terrible! Wonderful!”

“I did not make the death ray for this!” Tesla’s hands shook.

I didn’t like the look of that device. I kept my hand close to my revolver.

“What?” General Villa turned, saw Tesla and the device. “It’s a
death
ray! What did you think we were going to do with it?”

Tesla waved the device at the carnage. “I wanted to make war impossible!”

“You of all people,” said General Villa, “should know that nothing is impossible.”

A spark leapt from the device—like the beam of the death ray, only smaller. General Villa exploded into a foul-smelling dust-cloud.

I put a bullet through Tesla’s fantastic brain, then coughed, choking on what was left of General Villa.

Holding my breath, I picked up the device—a death ray pistol—and tucked it into my belt.

This was my big chance. I decided to take it. It’s all about seeing opportunities and having the guts to take them. Or, as General Villa once said, “Without huevos—cojones!—brains are nothing.”

The death of General Villa shocked my crew, Cháirez, the copilot in the control pod, and Holguín, the gunner in the death ray blister. I didn’t give them time to think about it. I had them toss Tesla’s body overboard, then said:

“There is no time to lose. The Americans are probably assembling all the planes they can muster for counterattack. They do not know of the unfortunate death of General Villa. We must move fast.”

“What can we do?” Cháirez said.

“We are stocked with provisions. Tesla’s generator for the death ray and the
Cucaracha
’s engine allows us to go immediately.”

“But where?” Holguín asked.

“To the very heart of America.”

“Washington?” Asked Cháirez.

I laughed. “No. What do we want with Washington? We are going to strike at America’s true heart—Hollywood!”

Cháirez looked confused. Holguín uttered some blasphemy. I let it sink in. Cháirez smiled. “Yes! Yes! Hollywood!”

“It will be ours!” I said.

Holguín sneered. “We know what you want, Sahagún!”

I found myself touching the letter I kept in my breast pocket.

“Zee-O-Mara!” said Cháirez.

“It’s pronounced Shi-O-Mara!” I had to correct him.

“Hollywood will have the whole world saying it gringo-style soon.” Holguín was always such a cynic.

“Not if I can help it.” I put my hand on the death ray.

“I want Theda Bara!” Holguín smirked. “Think she’ll go for a Mexican death ray airship gunner?”

“Then I’ll take Gloria Swanson, or maybe Clara Bow… or Anna May Wong…” Cháirez was dreaming with his eyes wide open.

“Why not take all of them?” I suggested.

“Yes! All the beauties of Hollywood will be ours! Or we’ll vaporize the town!” Holguín gestured like he was firing the death rays.

I knew these men well. Not much younger than me, but young. Still boys in a lot of ways. A bit smarter than General Villa’s ground troops, but with the same basic spirit. They never had much—show them something desirable, offer a possibility, and they will want it.

I put my hand on the device at my belt. It, plus the
Cucaracha
and its death rays, was better than an entire army. We could take on the world, or at least Hollywood

And now Cháirez and Holguín wanted it.

They probably thought it was their idea.

They didn’t need to know that it was my idea, what I wanted.

Being a leader is so easy.

And why did I want to take Hollywood?

Simple. Natural. Hollywood had taken something that belonged to me, and I wanted it back.

It was just a few years ago. The Revolution was going well and was very popular. Even the Americans liked it, donated money, came down to look at it, take pictures of it, maybe even fire a few gunshots or throw a bomb or two. Americans love a revolution—as long as it doesn’t cost them too much.

That was when intellectuals from all over the world came to Mexico, thinking that the Revolution would allow them to take their crazy ideas and make a new world.

I didn’t really care about making a new world. I would settle for something I could call my own.

That was also when the scientists and inventors came, eager to impress General Villa. Santos-Dumont came from Brazil to help with the airships—and was killed in an unfortunate accident. Tesla arrived with his electricity, and talk of the death ray.

How General Villa’s eyes lit up at that talk!

Even people from Hollywood came. Why not? The Revolution was full of action—the stuff of motion pictures!

And they weren’t just movie people, but men in uniforms with guns. They said they were from the Studio Corps.

So they were here with their big shiny cars and fancy American suits, setting up their cameras everywhere. Even in Cuauhtémoc, my home village.

The loved it all. The mountains, the desert, our clothes, our music… our women.

How they loved Xiomara!

I can’t really blame them. She’s beautiful. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh. And the way she sang and danced!

She could look at you, and make you want to do whatever she wanted. There were many times I nearly killed someone because of the look in those eyes.

“Even your name is wonderful,” said Raoul, a director. “Zee-o-mara!” he mispronounced it. “You won’t need a last name! You won’t just be stuck with playing señoritas, you could be an Indian maid, or an Oriental siren. We got some technical boys working on a way to make movies that talk—and sing—and you’ll be a natural.” Movies that talk? Ridiculous. I knew what he really wanted. The way he would touch her. And she would smile, laugh.

Xiomara was smarter than most women—or men. She was so good at dealing with people. She could speak English, and even French. Some people in Cuauhtémoc called her La Bruja.

“If that pig ever touches you again, I’ll kill him!” I later told her.

She laughed, then kissed me. “Alejandro, you know that you are the one I love.”

Her smile. That look in her eyes. I believed her.

We lived in Cuauhtémoc all our lives. We were going to be married. We couldn’t let the fact that the world was being turned upside down get in our way.

But I could see that Xiomara had desires bigger than our town. I would have to fight—even kill—to keep her.

And I would. That was my big desire.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when they took her. A big American car, gringo thugs with masks and guns burst into her parents’ house. They drove off into the night.

Her family was devastated. I promised her parents that I would bring her back.

But at first all I could do was drink. All the time, I kept my eyes focused northward. Toward Hollywood.

Then it happened. A movie came out, and Xiomara was in it. She danced—there was no sound yet—and kissed a gringo. Soon rumors spread of her being the star of a new kind of movie—one with dancing, and singing that could be heard.

It looked like she had forgotten all about me. I would pick up my revolver and think about shooting myself, when I wasn’t drinking.

Then the letter came. It reeked of perfume. The postman laughed. People gathered around because they saw it had come from Hollywood.

“Read it aloud, Alejandro!” someone said.

I pulled out my revolver. “What Xiomara has to say to me is private.”

My darling Alejandro,
she wrote:

Please forgive me for not writing you sooner, but I have been so busy since I came to Hollywood, and you know that writing is not an easy thing for me.

It has been wonderful, like a dream that I could never imagine, but I miss you and my family terribly. I keep telling them that I would love to see you, but they say there is much work for me to do here.

They want me to make the singing-dancing picture. It will make me a lot of money. After that I will tell them I want to see you and visit my family. I would like to bring them, and you, up here. Things are possible here that could never happen in Cuauhtémoc.

Maybe you can come up and see me? I know that once you want something, nothing can stop you. If you could come here, you could do anything.

Please take this letter to my parents and read it to them. Tell them that I miss them, and I love them, and someday I would like them to come live with me in Hollywood
.

I dream of you, me, and them living here. It want it very much.

I want you very much, Alejandro.

With all of my love,

Xiomara

Next to her signature were red imprints of her lips.

I fought to hold back the tears.

Then one of the boys from the neighborhood stuck his head in my window and asked, “Did she write anything good?”

I fired a shot over his head. He turned white and ran. It felt good.

Then I went and read the letter to Xiomara’s parents. I vowed to them that I would go to Hollywood and reunite them with her or die.

“How will you make it to Hollywood?” asked her mother.

“Yes,” said her father. “American troops are guarding the border.”

“I will get help from General Villa.”

With the letter in my breast pocket, I took off to join General Villa’s army.

I’ve always been good with machines, and a leader. They always said I was smart. I became involved with the airship program. I rose through the ranks.

Now
I
was the leader. The only thing that could stop us was the American Air Corps, and we had just defeated their finest with our death rays. But the Americans were proud and clever. They would think of something.

“I don’t like the way they keep sending planes up, watching us from a distance,” said Holguín.

“They are cowards,” said Shaguin, “afraid of the death ray.”

“Let’s keep going,” I said, “and keep an eye on them.”

We were getting close to the Grand Canyon when Holguín yelled: “Planes! There’s more American aeroplanes coming after us!”

“It figures. Just when I was getting ready to get a good look at this big hole in the ground.” said Cháirez.

I checked some gauges. “We’re losing helium, having trouble staying up.”

“Soon we’ll be at the bottom of that hole,” said Holguín.

“The generators still working?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then keep going. As fast as we can.”

“At least it’s a pretty place to die.”

I didn’t like Holguín’s lack of faith.

“I would rather die in Hollywood with Theda to look at,” said Cháirez.

I grabbed my binoculars and scanned the east. No sign of any planes. “Where are they?”

“To the west,” said Cháirez.

I turned. There were some planes at the horizon.

“Why wouldn’t they be coming from the East, like the others?”

“Don’t the Americans have air fields in California?”

“A few, but—this is strange.”

“They’re between us and Hollywood. Do you think they knew?”

“How would they know?”

“Maybe they have a wireless set that can read minds or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Then we dropped. The colorful, jagged walls of the Canyon were higher than us.

“Can’t we get any higher?”

“Not without repairing that helium leak.”

“Chinga!”

“You said it.”

Cháirez had his binoculars, and his mouth fell open. “Chinga!” he said again.

“How could it be worse?”

“More planes. Coming from the east.”

“We’re boxed in!” Holguín screamed.

“What do we do?”

I though about Xiomara, how far we were from Hollywood, and the prospect of never seeing her again.

“They expect us to keep running, and struggling to stay high. Let’s get sneaky. Let’s descend further into the canyon.”

“This is absolutely insane!” said Holguín.

“I love it!” said Cháirez.

“How am I supposed to shoot them with the death ray if we’re in the canyon?” Holguín was complaining rather than asking. “The ray guns are at the bottom of the
Cucaracha
!”

“I’m just trying to buy us some time. If they get too close, rise and blast them.”

“Now you are talking!” Cháirez kept looking straight ahead.

But these planes from the west didn’t try to chase us into the canyon. Clever bastards.

“They’re heading north!” said Holguín.

“Are they trying to circle us?” Cháirez was showing fear. A bad sign.

I grabbed the binoculars. They were a squadron of ten planes. There was something funny about one of them.

“It’s towing something! It’s a sign—‘
Xiomara is here. She wants to talk to Alejandro Sahagún
.’”

“It’s a trap!” Holguín looked like he was going to leap out of gondola.

“We have the death ray. Let’s blast them!” Cháirez dared to order.

“No!” I roared. It even hurt my ears. “We might hurt—or even kill, Xiomara.”

“You don’t actually believe that she’s there. It’s some kind of trick,” Holguín had left the gun blister and had opened the hatch to the control pod. “You know how these Hollywood bastards are!”

“I can’t risk losing her! We will slow down, get close to ground level and prepare to land!”

“You’re crazy! They’ll kill us!” Holguín leaped toward Cháirez, grasping for the controls.

I pulled out the death ray pistol, fired. Soon we were coughing up what was left of Holguín.

“That smell!” said Cháirez. “It’s the worst thing in the world.”

He looked at me funny. He smiled. Tried to laugh.

I put the death ray pistol in his face. “You know what I want you to do.”

The Hollywood planes escorted us to a flat area just outside the Grand Canyon.

“It looks like a military base,” said Cháirez.

There were trucks, machine guns, artillery, and lots of armed men in uniform. Only they were funny uniforms. Not United States Army.

There was also a mooring tower set up for us.

“Looks like they did their homework.”

“I don’t like this…” said Cháirez.

I held up the death ray.