The Underdogs: A Novel of the Mexican RevolutionAzuela, Mariano
History
The Underdogs: A Novel of the Mexican Revolution
Azuela, Mariano
Mexico -- History -- Revolution, 1910-1920 -- Fiction
So scornfully Luis Cervantes smiled that Solis sat down on a rock quite
calm, bewildered. He smiled. His gaze roved as he watched the spirals
of smoke from the rifles, the dust of roofs crumbling from houses as
they fell before the artillery. He believed he discerned the symbol of
the revolution in these clouds of dust and smoke that climbed upward
together, met at the crest of the hill and, a moment after, were
lost....
"By heaven, now I see what it all means!"
He sketched a vast gesture, pointing to the station. Locomotives
belched huge clouds of black dense smoke rising in columns; the trains
were overloaded with fugitives who had barely managed to escape from
the captured town.
Suddenly he felt a sharp blow in the stomach. As though his legs were
putty, he rolled off the rock. His ears buzzed... Then darkness ...
silence ... eternity....
PART TWO
I
Demetrio, nonplussed, scratched his head: "Look here, don't ask me any
more questions.... You gave me the eagle I wear on my hat, didn't you?
All right then; you just tell me: 'Demetrio, do this or do that,' and
that's all there is to it."
To champagne, that sparkles and foams as the beaded bubbles burst at
the brim of the glass, Demetrio preferred the native tequila, limpid
and fiery.
The soldiers sat in groups about the tables in the restaurant, ragged
men, filthy with sweat, dirt and smoke, their hair matted, wild,
disheveled.
"I killed two colonels," one man clamored in a guttural harsh voice. He
was a small fat fellow, with embroidered hat and chamois coat, wearing
a light purple handkerchief about his neck.
"They were so Goddamned fat they couldn't even run. By God, I wish you
could have seen them, tripping and stumbling at every step they took,
climbing up the hill, red as tomatoes, their tongues hanging out like
hounds. 'Don't run so fast, you lousy beggars!' I called after them.
'I'm not so fond of frightened geese--stop, You bald-headed bastards: I
won't harm you! You needn't worry!' By God, they certainly fell for it.
Pop, pop! One shot for each of them, and a well-earned rest for a pair
of poor sinners, be damned to them!"
"I couldn't get a single one of their generals!" said a swarthy man who
sat in one corner between the wall and the bar, holding his rifle
between his outstretched legs. "I sighted one: a fellow with a hell of
a lot of gold plastered all over him. His gold chevrons shone like a
Goddamned sunset. And I let him go by, fool that I was. He took off his
handkerchief and waved it. I stood there with my mouth wide open like a
fool! Then I ducked and he started shooting, bullet after bullet. I let
him kill a poor cargador. Then I said: 'My turn, now! Holy Virgin,
Mother of God! Don't let me miss this son of a bitch.' But, by Christ,
he disappeared. He was riding a hell of a fine nag; he went by me like
lightning! There was another poor fool coming up the road. He got it
and turned the prettiest somersault you ever saw!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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