A Corpse for Cuamantla (3 page)

Chapter 5

T
ime for shots of the queen and her court.
Anna drifted across the street. Looking to her right she noticed María's car parked on the hillside, hidden by a large bush. Splotches of the car's bright red color shone through the leaves like irrepressible bougainvillea blossoms. María must have entered the school, Anna thought, during her uncomfortable conversation with Pedro. She headed into the school to talk with María when her cell phone rang. Stepping back outside, she answered, dreading the upcoming conversation.

"Anna, what happened in Cuamantla?" Art's lack of courtesy corresponded to his distress over the news. She hoped he wasn't about to kill the messenger, but before she could answer he interrupted her.

"Tell me I misunderstood your message."

"No, Art it's true. The Municipal President caught me this morning outside Rosa's house. He's scared out of his wits. Says the village officials will blame him in a heartbeat. One of them is after his hide, I don't know why. I think he's worried they'll kill him."

"Damn village politics. Who's out to get him?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"I knew this would happen. Stubborn guy doesn't listen to anyone, now he wants me to bail him out. I oughta let him hang himself with his own noose."

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"Let me get my thoughts together. This is damn upsetting and I'm in the middle of a conference with a paper to give tomorrow morning that I still haven't written. I don't have time for this. Where's Miguel?" Miguel was Art's student at the University of Tlaxcala, which is how Anna came to be in Cuamantla carrying out her field research under Miguel’s watchful eye.

"He can't talk now, the parade's starting. Today's the fiesta."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Okay. Tell the President I know a couple of people in Ahfee. I'll contact them and get back to you. Maybe I should fly down there."

"What's Ahfee again?" The term distracted Anna from Art's comment about flying
down or she would have raised an immediate objection.

"A.F.I.
Agencia Federal de Investigacion
. Anna, you should know that. They're like the FBI in the U.S."

"Sorry, I forgot. I can't remember the acronyms of every bureaucratic agency down here, especially ones that have nothing to do with my fieldwork."

"Not important, Annie."

"Please don't call me Annie, you know I hate that."

"Sorry Anna, I'm upset. Gotta run, I'll get back to you." Click. The phone went dead. No
how are you
, no
goodbye
. A good example of how Art behaved under stress.

Not my worry, Anna thought, I have enough worries of my own. She'd keep an eye open for the Municipal President and tell him Art was looking into the matter. Maybe Art would change his mind about flying down to Tlaxcala. Someone would have to cover his classes and no doubt he had plenty of deadlines to meet. The thought of his busy schedule comforted her. The last thing she needed was to have Art down
here looking over her shoulder, shadowing her every move.

Noise from the fireworks increased in frequency and volume.
A palpable excitement suffused the crowd as reverberations from the rockets rattled through the village. Her camera lens found Miguel again. He was standing at the head of the parade patiently waiting for an unknown signal to begin. A whistle hung around his neck and he twisted the cord nervously. She wondered if he might be looking for her and wove her way through the densely packed collection of villagers until she reached him. He motioned her closer.

"Okay, I'm here," she grinned, "you can start the parade.
"

Miguel didn't bite, just nodded absently and asked if she'd seen Pedro. "He's supposed to join the parade with his students, but no one can find him. If he doesn't sh
ow up in the next minute or two I'm starting without him."

Just like Pedro, Anna thought, holding up everything in order to make an imperial appearance.
"Maybe the sound system broke again and he's inside the school fixing it." She tried giving Pedro the benefit of the doubt even if it he didn’t deserve it. "I saw him ten or fifteen minutes ago over at Rosa's, then he crossed the street into the rose garden."

Miguel gave her a knowing look.
"He wouldn't have stayed long there. I sent a couple of children into the school a few minutes ago but no luck. He's around here somewhere. I wish I could say this was unusual, but tracking down Pedro is like hunting cockroaches."

Great analogy, Anna thought
, irked at the negative thinking Pedro brought out in her.

"Bueno, we can't wait any longer," Miguel said, "we're already late
and we have a long afternoon of festivities once we return. Get your camera ready, Maestra. When Pedro hears the rockets he'll catch up with us. I hope you remembered to wear your walking shoes today."

Miguel signaled the village
cueteros
, the official rocket firers
,
to light the large rocket poised at the edge of their display. The resulting boom signaled the musicians. The bands played and the parade moved forward. Anna walked backwards to film the march, nearly colliding with two of the rocket firers as the procession slowly surged out of the zócalo and down the rocky Cuaxpo road.

A second group of cueteros
stood guard over the intricate fireworks display in the center of the plaza. Later when darkness settled over the village, they would dispatch the rest of their handiwork. Anna hoped the men would stay sober. If she spent the evening in Cuamantla, she’d watch the fireworks from a classroom, probably the safest place in the village.

Chapter
6

M
aría Guadalupe Costanza Piedras sat at the wooden table in the sparsely furnished school office listening to the distant sounds of the parade. Her intense brown eyes stared vacantly at the splotched aqua walls plastered with vivid government posters extolling the virtues of well-balanced meals and potable water. A movie reel ran inside her head replaying the events of the past few weeks, rendering her emotional state a seesaw of despair and grief. Life with Pedro was a roller coaster ride. She knew their relationship had to end, knew she would be the one to end it, but she never anticipated a morning like this one.

María
had woken early, explaining to Pedro for the last time that her life had more than its share of turmoil and she was leaving him, but her words fell on deaf ears.

"I need security," she told him, "and if you can't provide it, there are others who can." One person in particular, but she wouldn't share that with Pedro although she suspected he already knew.

Pedro responded by flying into alternating fits of rage and passion, whichever he felt might reach her, manipulate her into seeing things his way. He was good at taking advantage of her passionate and generous nature. The question now was whether she could live with the outcome of her decision. Today was a new beginning for María. She would steel herself for the consequences; summon the courage to follow this new path to its inevitable conclusion.

The death of her husband at the age of thirty-one had changed María's outlook on life, quashing her idealism and honing a toughness even her family found disconcerting. Early in life she'd rejected the life imposed on her mother, one of drudgery and dependence. Escaping her mother's fate was hard work, but María never faltered. Work was the easy part, and she felt she'd succeeded until that Friday night when her drunken husband left the small bar where he and his equally intoxicated compatriots congregated after work, bid
hasta luego
to his friends and drove down the Apizaco road into oblivion, leaving María and their two children bereft, confused, angry, and alone.

In one sense, Pedro rescued her, not that she lacked would-be rescuers. She was more than attractive with her light skin and hazel brown eyes set off by a thick mane of straight black hair tied back in an Indian-style braid. No, the matter bothering her the last few months was the nagging suspicion she was another of Pedro's victims. Each time she confronted him over the status of his divorce, he complained.

"You never trust me," he insisted, as if the mistrust were her fault rather than his, and leading to their most serious quarrel yet.

María retaliated. "You know the choices. You've known them for over a year. If there's no progress toward your divorce, then it's over between us and you can move out. I'm giving you a deadline. The first of May." María delivered her demands firmly and furiously knowing it upset Pedro, but few things motivated Pedro more than personal discomfort.

María's deadline had passed five days earlier, already an eternity in her mind. She no longer cared about Pedro's wounded feelings. The future of her children mattered most. She needed a dependable man who would build a life with her, not just sleep with her or display her as some macho badge of honor. If Pedro couldn't meet her standards, another man would.

Chapter
7

A
nna returned to the school ahead of the parade, dog-tired from running in front to film. She crossed into the schoolyard and dropped on the sidewalk to rest. Were all anthropologists this committed to their profession? Somehow she doubted it, except maybe for Art. He was the most single-minded person she'd ever met and one of the smartest. By contrast, her dedication stemmed partially from having no idea what data might be important when it came time for her final analysis. Detectives often feel the same way, her father once told her. He'd been a police detective for ten years before changing his career from law enforcement to criminal defense.

"You gather evidence, then wait for a breakthrough, a pattern to emerge, maybe a confession," her father said, describing detective work.

Not quite the same as fieldwork, but not far off, Anna decided, including the part about confessions. Amazing what people would tell you when you offered a sympathetic ear.

The blare of
Mariachi horns announced the arrival of the fiesta floats at the school gate. Anna watched the day's important officials straggle in, led by Miguel. Marching through the dusty streets hadn't detracted from his handsome appearance except that his tie hung slightly askew and the tip of his shirttail drooped over the back of his pants.

He looks like a rugged Banderas, she thought, Antonio Banderas being her current favorite movie star. As Anna trained her camcorder on Miguel, he spotted her and winked. She might have to edit that out.

Once the crowd settled down, Miguel speechified, extolling the glorious traditions of his country and the accomplishments of local dignitaries. The whole business reminded her of those endless self-serving speeches at the Academy Award ceremonies in Hollywood. People were the same everywhere, only the circumstances changed.

To Anna's surprise, Miguel's introduction of María brought a loud round of applause. How quickly events can turn around. Only two weeks earlier, many of these same villagers angrily berated María at the monthly parent teacher meeting. Anna had watched with dismay as the scene unfolded. The parents criticized María for tardiness when her attendance record surpassed that of any teacher in either school, attested to by Anna's diligent note-taking. The meeting went from one trumped up charge to another, all contradicted by Anna's transcription. When the meeting ended Anna cornered Miguel.

"It's a ruse, Maestra," he explained. "The villagers are upset over Pedro's behavior and they want María to know they disapprove of her affair with him. If she refuses to end that relationship, I'm afraid they'll make her professional life miserable."

Anna protested. "Her personal life is her own business. The villagers have no right to tell her who she can see or not see simply because she teaches in their school."

"I beg to differ, Maestra," Miguel said, adopting his Director tone again, which he did every time they disagreed. "Shouldn't parents have the right to insist that teachers of their children set an example of proper behavior? Parents everywhere want good role models for their children. In the United States, too, do they not?"

"Of course," she replied, "but there's a limit to how much the community can intrude on a teacher's personal life."

"Is it the same in the cities as in the small towns?"

He had her there. "No, Miguel, you're right. It's different in the small towns."

"This is a tiny rural village, Maestra. Behaviors are magnified in small settings. Pedro caused many problems in this place, some of which you know nothing about. At another time, we'll discuss it. For now, you should know the villagers are sending Pedro a warning through María. He is in serious disfavor and if he refuses to rectify certain situations, their wrath will be unsparing."  Anna wondered what he meant by unsparing.

Chapter
8

M
aría began the fiesta program with a poem by local poet Miguel N. Lira extolling the heroic efforts of the Mexican people in expelling the French. As one of the sixth grade boys recited the poem from memory, Miguel opened a folding chair and motioned Anna to sit beside him as he tended the music for the upcoming folk dances. Still no sign of Pedro, Anna noticed.

Miguel leaned over and whispered in her ear after the first two dances, pride resonating in his voice. "The weeks of practice are paying off, no, Maestra?"

Anna wanted to say that more time should be spent on reading, writing, and arithmetic, but decided to keep her opinions to herself and instead opt for complimenting the dancers. She turned to Miguel, but his back was to her as he stretched out his leg to block the path of a fourth grader about to leave the school grounds.

"Where are you going?" Miguel hissed. The boy glanced at Anna and whispered in Miguel's ear. Miguel pointed the boy to the back entrance of the rose garden.

Anna guessed the toilets were overflowing again. She often wondered if the robust growth in the school's rose garden resulted from the frequent watering by the school's male population.

Within minutes the boy returned, visibly upset. He pointed to the back gate insisting Miguel follow him into the garden. Puzzled at the urgency of the boy's request, Miguel motioned Anna to monitor the music while he checked on the problem. Minutes later an ashen-faced Miguel returned, seating the boy next to her.

"Don't let him go anywhere," he said, admonishing the boy to say nothing and talk to no one except the American Maestra.

"You can explain to her what you saw, but no one else. I'll return shortly. Do as I say," he ordered before heading to the speaker's platform to talk with the officials. The men rose and followed Miguel out of the schoolyard.

María watched the procession noticing that Miguel avoided eye contact with her. If she hadn't been saddled with the boy and the music, she would have followed the group. Instead, she put her arm around the fidgety child and asked him to tell her what happened.

"Maestra, something terrible has happened to the Maestro. I found him lying among the roses. I thought he was drunk or maybe sleeping, so I went to wake him and then I saw all the blood under his head. I started to be sick so I ran back here. That's all I know, Maestra, except that I believe the Maestro is dead.

Anna tried to make sense of the boy's words. "Tell me again what you found," she said, as if repeating the statement might alter the message.

"The Maestro is dead, Maestra."

"Which Maestro?"

"The Maestro Director. Of the morning school."

"Maestro Pedro García?

"Sí."

"Are you sure?"

"
A la verdad,
it's true
,
Maestra
.
"

"How certain are you that he's dead?"

"I have seen dead people before, Maestra, and he looks very dead."

"How did the Maestro die?" she asked. "Could you tell?"

"I'm not sure. I think he died from all the blood that leaked out of his head."

Anna felt a wave of nausea wash over her. "Are your parents here, niño?" she asked, queasy at the image conjured up by the boy's vivid description.

"Sí, Maestra. My mother is over there."  He pointed across the courtyard to a group of women sitting in the shade of the lone courtyard tree. "She is the one in the red skirt. My father is working in the railroad offices in Apizaco."

"You're a brave young man," Anna told the boy, hoping to win his confidence and keep him glued to his seat while she ducked out to find Miguel. "The success of the fiesta depends on you right now," she told her young charge. "When the dancers stop, I want you to turn off this switch, then wait until Maestra María signals you before turning the switch back on. After that, you must stay right here until the Maestro Director
and I return. At that time, we'll permit you to rejoin your mother."

"But Maestra, the Maestro Director will not return until the Day of the Dead. Believe me when I tell you that I have seen the dead and the Maestro Director is one of them."

"No, no, niño. I mean, Maestro Director Miguel of the afternoon school. When he and I return, you can leave to join your family." She needed to find Miguel and learn what happened. The boy's story was unimaginable. Was there really a hole in Pedro's head or was the boy exaggerating in an effort to explain the blood? Maybe Pedro fell and hit his head on a rock. She remembered the large pointed lava rocks scattered around the rose garden. Lurid images flashed across her brain. She rose to leave, but the boy turned away from the sound equipment and fixed his anxious eyes on her face.

"Maestra, I think someone shot the Maestro Director and that's what caused the big hole in his head."