Mexico -- History -- Revolution, 1910-1920 -- Fiction
"At the chapel."
Gabriel had taken an injured girl just inside the chapel door, and was
working over her by a vigil lamp.
"Can you find Velasco for me?"
"I haven't seen him!" Shall I tell him about my father, Raul thought?
No, that can wait. I'll go for help.
"I'll see if I can find Velasco. I'm looking for Manuel."
Flames from the mill transfixed him as he went out the chapel door; the
light seemed to spout above Petaca, threatening every wall, the
forecourt, the chapel. Gabriel, in the doorway beside the girl, tried
to give her water.
Was the earth shaking again? Raul thought. Was everything to be lost?
Flames blazed over the dining room now; rifle shots came from the same
direction. Petaca....
Petaca, 1619, Indian land, Medina land.... He began to run toward the
back of the house, toward the _tienda de raya_, thinking he would get a
rifle from the gun case and then find Manuel.
He ran inside, wrenched a carbine from the case and loaded his pockets
with ammunition.
Petaca--the name sounded in his blood--they were burning Petaca, the
mill, the dining room, then....
"Raul!"
It was Luis, waving a Winchester.
"Luis, get them out of the dining room. Come on, Luis!"
But the raiders were gone; there were only flames in the dining room.
Kerosene had been sloshed over the furniture and drapes and the
conflagration roared, driving them outside.
Raul dashed for Manuel's room, his own armed men passing him, headed
for the walls and turrets.
"Save the house, the living room ... use dirt and sand ... beat out the
fire!" he shouted, and wondered whether anyone heard him or cared.
Among the frightened horses, in the stable, he leaned over Manuel. A
terrified horse had kicked him and knocked him unconscious. Raul
brought water and rubbed a cold wet cloth over his face, arms, and
chest.
"Manuel ... Manuel ... let's get out of here! Manuel ... are you badly
hurt?"
"Raul..."
"Now, now can you sit up?"
"Raul--I was running toward the mill.... It's on fire," said Manuel,
groaning, feeling his arms and chest, peering at Raul with eyes dulled
by pain.
"Let's get out of the stable," said Raul.
Manuel struggled to his feet.
"Can you make it?"
"I'll make it. Where?"
"To the house ... they doused it with kerosene."
With other men they returned to the house and began to fight the fire
in the dining room with sand and dirt, hauling and shoveling it from
the second patio.
Manuel had armed himself at the _tienda_, as they passed. In spite of
the pain from his head injury, he helped haul sand. Raul and Salvador
worked close to the dining-room door, throwing sand from buckets.
While they battled the blaze, men broke in the _tienda_ door and dumped
kerosene over the desk and walls.
There, outside the _tienda_, they trapped Pedro.
Raul raised his rifle: the sight cleared the bandolier, raised to the
shoulder, dropped lower: was this a man?
The trigger moved.
"Pedro, that's Pedro!" yelled Manuel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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