“We’re not thieves! We put the goat back . . .”
The spokesman pointed to the dead men. “Salgazanos!”
“What did they steal?” José Mario’s voice rasped tightly.
“A young woman, cowards!” A murmur of assent rose among the Indians.
“Is this the way of the Tarahumara?” José Mario asked. He repeated his earlier question. “Is this Cusihuiriachi?” He looked at the spokesman hard. “Is your ahau’s name Ambrosio?”
“How do you know?” the spokesman demanded.
José Mario breathed a sigh of relief. “This is Cusihuiriachi, isn’t it?” The man refused to answer again, but José Mario continued. “We know Ambrosio. He was my brother in the valley of Bachotigori.”
Trini prayed in silence. Please God, let it be. The spokesman was wary, unrelenting. He ordered, “Take them to the village!”
They were shoved back into the wagon, José Mario still demanding, “Where is Ambrosio?”
Still no answer. The wagon made its way to the village where Trini saw a huge bonfire effortlessly deploying spitting red embers that cut into the darkness. The flames rose in the middle of the pueblo square next to the large storage shed they had seen that afternoon. Its low roof made of logs and sod caught the dancing shadows. Eyes followed them, bristling like the fire. Trini saw strange, stern faces, but Sabochi was not one of them. Tehueques shoved them toward the door of the shed. Holding on to Buti and Lupita, she followed the straight figure of Tía Pancha with José Mario leading the way.
Tonio resisted, again, turning and digging an elbow into the stomach of the brave guarding him; instantaneously, three men were upon him. Trini saw one raise a heavy stick and strike a blow that caught Tonio on the side of the face. He fell to the ground. José Mario tried to get to him but was shoved roughly into the storage shed.
The shed was full of grain sacks. Two large windows looked out into the orange flames of the bonfire that fed a dancing light into the room. The tehueques locked the door behind them.
Trini ran to the window and saw them pick up Tonio, who seemed dazed. The two men locked Tonio’s arms behind his back, then led him toward the shed. The door opened, and Tonio was thrown to the floor. Trini ran to where he lay on his back, groaning.
Trini bent down to examine his blood-covered face. It was not a deep cut, but it had bled profusely. José Mario was working on the rope that tied his hands.
“They’re going to kill us,” announced Tía Pancha tremulously as she led Lupita and Buti to a pile of grain sacks in a corner. “Look at the children! Frightened, exhausted, falling on their feet.”
Trini looked at the tired little faces. They were holding on to Tía Pancha’s skirt, eyes half-closed in tear-stained faces. Tonio was now on his feet, rubbing his wrists. He looked around the room, then began to line up sacks for the children to sleep on.
Suspicious faces stared at them through the window as they piled sacks onto the floor, eyes fiercely steady. Then, all at once, they disappeared. Only the bonfire burned a dwindling dance. She felt Tonio’s hand in hers. “Try to sleep, Trini.”
Buti and Lupita were fast asleep, stretched out on the grain sacks. Tía Pancha had covered them with her shawl and was herself lying by the children’s heads, legs drawn up, arms pillowing her head. Only José Mario stood by the window watching. Tonio urged her again, “Sleep.”
The heaviness of exhaustion weighed down on her. She lay down, feeling the flames from the outside fire like waves, waves. . . . In fitful sleep she dreamt of El Enano running in open waves of fire, running, beckoning her to the cave, Sabochi’s cave. Then the fire turned into fields of chile piquín, redness waving in the wind. Sabochi’s strong arms were holding her, keeping her safe . . . until she woke up with the burning sun upon her face, Tonio sitting quietly next to her.
“Everything’s O.K.” His voice was soft, reassuring. She sat up and saw José Mario fast asleep, his head against the windowsill, sitting on grain sacks stacked by the window. She saw his body heave with the coming of a cough which filled the room. Outside, the bonfire was a pile of burnt ashes dispersed at intervals by small breezes. The square was empty.
“What time is it? she asked. Tonio went to the window, looked at the sun. “Close to noon.”
“Sabochi?” Trini’s question was a hope.
Tonio shook his head, looking out into the empty square. Suddenly, he turned to wake José Mario. “They’re coming.”
José Mario was on his feet. Lupita and Buti sat up, rubbing their eyes. Tía Pancha was praying silently on her rosary as the tehueques unlocked the door. The children ran to Tía Pancha who enfolded them in her arms protectively. José Mario steped forward.
“Where is Ambrosio?” he asked.
Again, José Mario’s question was ignored. The spokesman of the night before spat on the floor, then commanded, “Come!” The prisoners silently did as they were told, filing out of the storage shed into the hot sun.
Pencil lines of smoke smoldered in the huge, burned pile in the center of the square. Women began to appear with children, dogs trailing, following the prisoners as they made their way down a path lined with huts. Someone called out accusingly, “Salgazanos!”
The crowd was growing, braves leading the way past a water pump and the corrals. José Mario looked about frowning, squinting against the sun. He stopped suddenly. “Where are you taking us? Where is Ambrosio?”
The only answer was a shove. Someone hissed again, “Salgazanos!” A murmur rose in the crowd. Another voice shouted, “Hang them!”
The crowd surrounded them, pushing and shoving in a definite direction toward the river. Trini remembered the dead men of the night before. Fear was bitter in her mouth. She grabbed Tonio’s arm for courage. His eyes told her to be brave. She felt the anger in the hard hands that pushed her forward. Faces, curious, jumbled, strange; strangled angry sounds filled the air. Trini looked straight ahead, holding Tonio by the wrist. She could feel his beating pulse against her fingers, a transference of strength. The thought of Sabochi was something vague, lost, distant now. The spokesman stopped and ordered, “Men, come! Women, stay!”
“No!” Trini cried out. “I stay with my father, with Tonio!”
“Keep the girl back,” barked the spokesman. Two tehueques held her back as men hurried José Mario and Tonio toward the river. Trini struggled, catching sight of Buti and Lupita hiding their faces in Tía Pancha’s skirt. She was breathing with convulsive effort, heaving and thrashing to make the braves let go. Words came hoarse from her throat, “What are you going to do to them?”
No answer. They shoved her roughly toward the village, Tía Pancha and the children following. For an instant, Trini twisted herself free to turn and see the figure of her father and Tonio lose themselves in the huge group of men making their way to the line of boulders that fronted the river. Trini stopped to beg, “Please, please, let them go!”
She was on her knees, hugging the thighs of a tehueque, pleading. He merely stood and waited until she was cried out, then he pulled her to her feet and shoved her ahead of him.
* * *
They crouched inside a dark room where the only window was boarded up; the smell of burning green branches filled Trini’s throat. They had been thrown into the room without ceremony. Tía Pancha and the children sat in numb silence on the floor. The only light came from a doorway without a door. The dark was soothing to Trini. Nevertheless, she crawled into the sunlight streaming through the doorway. She leaned her head against the jamb, feeling a throbbing pain in her head. She saw an old woman, a man, and some boys working. Dear God! how strange to see people calmly doing things when such terror invaded her body. Her nerves were taut, her body tense, her eyes burning with tears; she placed her head on her knees and stared out without really seeing