for these frontier soldiers to do, most of them stationed far from their own villages, and often their minds would be suddenly activated by the sight of a villager passing along the street.
And as if they were a breed apart and all others were enemies, they would do unnatural things. Hilario had seen them shoot at the heels of old women to cause them to run. It was a sight to see an old woman running, then fall they always fell and scramble and roll in the dust shrieking. And they would think of other things to while away the hours. Sometimes they were as children. Like the morning Hilario had awakened to find the obscene word painted on the front of his house. Four red letters reaching higher than a man's head. It had taken a full day's labor to scrape the paint from the adobe, and they had stood around to laugh as the alcalde performed such work.
He leaned out of the window now and looked to the side. The two pairs of legs extended from his door stoop. The front of the brim of a sombrero showed also, but that was all he could see. Maybe they were asleep now, he thought. God, make them sleep well and keep thoughts from their heads, he whispered.
They would not let him approach the door and earlier they had threatened him with the butts of their rifles when he wanted to open it. The house was becoming an oven and it was not good to remain in it with the door closed. Thankfully, he had the window not all houses had a window but he was used to having the door open. Perhaps it is better that it does remain closed, he thought. Else they might be tempted to enter and take something. Something of Nita's. Before, one of them had asked him where Nita was, then laughed and said something obscene. God, why do you make such as these? And then he thought: But if there were no evil men, then how could you tell the good? He pictured his wife then, for a reason he did not know, and he was glad that she was not here to witness his being degraded. Though she would understand. Maybe she sees anyway; but she is probably talking to the saints. He thought then of Francis of Assisi because he had been a very humble man, and he wondered what St. Francis would have done had he lived in Soyopa.
St. Francis would have pleaded for the life of the Apache boy. I know that, Hilario Esteban thought. But what can be done with a man like Lamas Duro, who is in such agony with his fate that he directs his anger to those beneath him?
In the beginning, Hilario had prayed for Duro's soul. He had felt honest sorrow for him. Now his prayers were less frequent. It was easy to despise Duro, but hard not to be afraid of him. Still, he opposed Duro because his conscience directed him to. A man cannot disobey his conscience. Perhaps when Anastacio returns things will be better. It is very lonely here without Nita, he thought.
Across the narrow street, on the wall that joined Anastacio's house, a faded poster advertised a bullfight in Hermosillo. Anastacio loved the Corrida, and had posted the sheet there more than a month ago. On their way to Willcox for a reunion, he had planned to stop in Hermosillo and take the entire family to the Corrida.
From the window, Hilario read the poster again. How many times have I read that? he thought. I can see it in my mind clearly. Even that which I cannot read now. The lower part is torn, but it said at one time: Sombra 3 pesos' Sol 1 peso. Boletos de venta en todas partes.
He wondered then if Anastacio had taken enough money. How much' three pesos times eighteen' so that the family could reach the Corrida from the shade. He went into the rear room then to lie down. There was nothing more to see on the street.
One of the rurales awakened at the sound of the horses, but the other remained asleep, propped against the door. He opened his eyes to see the two Americans astride the horses, looking down at him and he nudged his companion awake as he heard one of the Americans ask, This is the house of the alcalde, isn't it?
The
And as if they were a breed apart and all others were enemies, they would do unnatural things. Hilario had seen them shoot at the heels of old women to cause them to run. It was a sight to see an old woman running, then fall they always fell and scramble and roll in the dust shrieking. And they would think of other things to while away the hours. Sometimes they were as children. Like the morning Hilario had awakened to find the obscene word painted on the front of his house. Four red letters reaching higher than a man's head. It had taken a full day's labor to scrape the paint from the adobe, and they had stood around to laugh as the alcalde performed such work.
He leaned out of the window now and looked to the side. The two pairs of legs extended from his door stoop. The front of the brim of a sombrero showed also, but that was all he could see. Maybe they were asleep now, he thought. God, make them sleep well and keep thoughts from their heads, he whispered.
They would not let him approach the door and earlier they had threatened him with the butts of their rifles when he wanted to open it. The house was becoming an oven and it was not good to remain in it with the door closed. Thankfully, he had the window not all houses had a window but he was used to having the door open. Perhaps it is better that it does remain closed, he thought. Else they might be tempted to enter and take something. Something of Nita's. Before, one of them had asked him where Nita was, then laughed and said something obscene. God, why do you make such as these? And then he thought: But if there were no evil men, then how could you tell the good? He pictured his wife then, for a reason he did not know, and he was glad that she was not here to witness his being degraded. Though she would understand. Maybe she sees anyway; but she is probably talking to the saints. He thought then of Francis of Assisi because he had been a very humble man, and he wondered what St. Francis would have done had he lived in Soyopa.
St. Francis would have pleaded for the life of the Apache boy. I know that, Hilario Esteban thought. But what can be done with a man like Lamas Duro, who is in such agony with his fate that he directs his anger to those beneath him?
In the beginning, Hilario had prayed for Duro's soul. He had felt honest sorrow for him. Now his prayers were less frequent. It was easy to despise Duro, but hard not to be afraid of him. Still, he opposed Duro because his conscience directed him to. A man cannot disobey his conscience. Perhaps when Anastacio returns things will be better. It is very lonely here without Nita, he thought.
Across the narrow street, on the wall that joined Anastacio's house, a faded poster advertised a bullfight in Hermosillo. Anastacio loved the Corrida, and had posted the sheet there more than a month ago. On their way to Willcox for a reunion, he had planned to stop in Hermosillo and take the entire family to the Corrida.
From the window, Hilario read the poster again. How many times have I read that? he thought. I can see it in my mind clearly. Even that which I cannot read now. The lower part is torn, but it said at one time: Sombra 3 pesos' Sol 1 peso. Boletos de venta en todas partes.
He wondered then if Anastacio had taken enough money. How much' three pesos times eighteen' so that the family could reach the Corrida from the shade. He went into the rear room then to lie down. There was nothing more to see on the street.
One of the rurales awakened at the sound of the horses, but the other remained asleep, propped against the door. He opened his eyes to see the two Americans astride the horses, looking down at him and he nudged his companion awake as he heard one of the Americans ask, This is the house of the alcalde, isn't it?
The
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