Erased Faces (14 page)

Juana wandered through the jungle, most of the time lost. She followed the course of the sun by day, but at night, when blackness and animal sounds filled the wilderness, she hid in nooks and under trees,
until once again daylight crept through the green density. It was not until the third day that she came upon two women and a man walking single file in the direction in which she was going. She saw by their dress that they, like she, were Tzeltales. She spoke to them in her tongue.

“Amigos
, I'm lost. I'm looking for a man named Orlando Flores. He's a Lacandón, and I know he lives in this region. Can you help me?”

They looked at her and then at one another. Juana saw that they distrusted her, not sure who she was, nor why she was searching for Orlando Flores. She was certain, however, that they recognized the name.

One of the women spoke up, “Why are you looking for him?”

Juana looked directly at her, taking in her size, her age, her garments. She saw that the woman was of medium height, near her in age, and that she had a broad face with a short nose and small, bright eyes.

“He's asked me to come to join him and the others who are here preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”

This time it was the man who spoke, and Juana turned to examine him. He was barely taller than the women and, she calculated, younger than any of them. He appeared to be just beyond boyhood.

“I don't know exactly what it is that they're preparing for, but I want to be part of it.”

Juana was disconcerted when the three people burst out in loud laughter, and her confusion heightened when she saw that they continued to laugh. The man hunched over, hugging his stomach while he howled in merriment. One of the women covered her face with her hands, trying to disguise her amusement, but her belly, which heaved in and out with suppressed guffaws, betrayed her. The other woman was laughing so hard that she pressed her knees one against the other as she stuffed her hand into her crotch.

Juana's bewilderment turned into irritation as she understood that they were laughing at what she had said. It apparently had been a stupid thing, but she remained calm despite the rising heat inside her. She crossed her arms on her chest, planted her feet wide apart on the soft
earth, and quietly waited until the chuckling ceased. Soon, the three of them wiped tears from their cheeks and paid attention to her.

“I know that I'm ignorant. I know you're laughing because I know nothing. Still, I am one of you, and I want to join Orlando Flores and the other people like him. Please take me to him.”

Juana's words appeared to erase their distrust, and they looked at one another, showing that they regretted having mocked her. Confirming their trust in her, one by one they gave her their names.

“My name is Porfiria.”

“Mine is Torcuato.”

“Amiga
, my name is Tirza. Forgive us for laughing. We're very foolish. We're close to the camp, and I'm certain that Orlando will be glad to see you. He's always happy to welcome new recruits.”

“My name is Juana Galván.”

With Juana trailing, they formed a single line as they made their way towards the campsite, which turned out to be less than an hour away. As they approached, she began to hear sounds of life: echoes of voices, clanking of metal, neighing of horses. Smells reached her; she caught the fragrance of wood burning and of food cooking. Noises and aromas grew louder and more pungent with each step, and something inside of her told her that she was crossing over into a new part of her life. She felt a mix of joy, excitement, apprehension, doubt, and curiosity, all at once. She knew this would be her home, perhaps forever.

Soon Juana saw that she had allowed her imagination to run wild with unchecked images, and her stomach churned with disappointment when she stood at the edge of the clearing and saw the stark reality. Having listened to Orlando's words about the community, she had thought she would encounter a large organized station, with living areas, a school, a center for communal gatherings, fields for planting, weaving areas, sheds for tools, animals and equipment. But as her eyes scanned the site, she saw only a few dilapidated
palapas
, one or two leaning roofs, two scrawny horses, and a solitary campfire in the center. She looked at her companions, and they discerned her feelings. Torcuato took the lead by nudging Juana towards the center as he pointed with his chin.

“Hermana
, don't be disappointed. We're just beginning. What is important are our ideas, the rest will follow. There's Orlando Flores. I'll take you to him.”

When Orlando saw them approach, he nearly ran to greet them. Juana saw happiness stamped on his face, convincing her that she had made the right decision, after all. He took her hands in his and shook them with enthusiasm. Then he patted her on the back, all the time grinning his toothy smile. When he spoke, he did so in Spanish.

“You came to see, after all!”

“Yes.”

“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Yes. I'm very thirsty.”

“Come with me.”

He led her to the largest of the huts, which served as a kitchen. He found a gourd, which he filled with water. After rummaging in a basket, he handed her a stack of cold tortillas. Juana did not mind. The water and tortillas tasted delicious.

“I hope you can stay.”

“I know that I will stay.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I will be killed if I return to the village.”

“Ah!”

Without another question, Orlando gave Juana time to eat and drink. Then he showed her the grounds, explaining the purpose for each hut and place. The settlement was small, so it was only a short while before he showed her where she would live.

“We'll eat again at sunset. Come at that time so we can all speak.”

As soon as Orlando left her, Juana took the pack off her back and unrolled the
petate
. She hardly had time to put aside the clothes she had rolled up in it, when she could no longer resist her fatigue. She flopped onto the mat, where she fell into a deep sleep for several hours. When she awoke, it was nearly dark and the jungle was already teeming with sound. Just as she sat up, wondering how long she had slept, Tirza came into the hut. As Juana was to discover, she would share the place with her and Porfiria.

“Juana, come with me. We're going to eat before the meeting.”

“We're going to have a meeting?”

“Yes. Decisions have to be made.”

“The women, too?”

“Yes.”

Juana was baffled and did not know what to say, so she did as she was asked. She followed silently to the center of the cluster, where she saw a group of men and women gathered around a campfire. She took time to examine faces, but besides Tirza, she recognized only Torcuato, Porfiria and Orlando, who stood to one side listening. Her eyes focused on his big feet, wondering why he had not grown taller to match their size.

Food began to be circulated from hand to hand. A basket filled with fresh tortillas was the first thing to reach Juana. After this came a bowl filled with beans, seasoned with chopped onion and salsa. She was so hungry that she squatted on the ground, placed her food between her crossed legs, and ate with her fingers, dipping a tortilla into the beans, then stuffing it all into her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the spicy flavors with pleasure.

When she finished eating, Juana noticed that people chatted quietly. No one spoke to her directly, but she did not feel uncomfortable because she sensed that she had already been accepted as one of the them. Eventually, silence came over the group, although some of them were still licking fingers or drinking from a gourd. Juana realized that everyone looked in the direction where Orlando now sat cross-legged. She took her time as she studied his face in the reflection of the fire. She focused on how his mustache drooped over his thick upper lip and saw that his eyes, which were small, became slits as he spoke.

“Two people have joined us today. There, standing next to Saúl is our new
compañero
Roque. And over there sitting next to Tirza is our
compañera
Juana. We welcome you both.”

“Orlando, why are we wasting time with names, welcomes and introductions when it is important for us to know what our next step will be?”

Faces snapped in the direction of the audacious voice. Juana heard its challenging tone. Curious, she stretched her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Before she was able to identify the
man, however, she saw some people nodding their heads in agreement with him. Others mumbled, some loudly, others under their breath. She returned her attention to Orlando and saw that he sat with his back rigidly straight, his lips clamped so tight that they appeared to be a straight, hard line.

“Our next step is to have patience because we must wait until we gather more members. Then we must train until we are ready to defy the
patrones.”

These words unleashed a torrent of remarks and questions that pelted Orlando from different directions. Juana had never witnessed such outspoken men. Her experiences had taught her that silence was usually her people's response. She saw, however, that Orlando answered every inquiry and comment looking each speaker in the eye.

“Who will train us?”

“We will train ourselves.”

“To defy the
patrones
we need weapons, vehicles, clothing, boots, food, ways to communicate. Above all, we need money. Where will that come from?”

“All of that will be provided.”

“Provided? Who will provide that, Orlando?”

“
El Norte
. People know about us up there, and they are collecting everything we need. They will provide us with materials. For now, it is for us to get more people: men and women willing to fight a war, and even to die.”

When Orlando kept tight-lipped and silent after these comments, everyone else followed his example. A hush fell over the group as if a veil had been torn from a forbidden topic, and no one spoke until the same bold voice again rang out.

“Women? That's crazy!
¡Estás loco!
Women are useless in war! In fact, why are women here? War is not for women! This is none of their business!”

As if they had been seared with burning prongs, all at once the women howled in rage. Loud muttering and hissing combined as clenched fists slashed the night air. Women's voices rang out, and hostile gestures were aimed at the man who had uttered those words.

“¡Cabrón!”

“¡Qué chinga!”

“We have toiled as much as you for centuries. Why shouldn't we have the right to fight?”

“We have endured not only the fist of
el patrón
but that of our fathers, our brothers, our husbands. We have earned the right to be in the war!”

The uproar coming from the women was such a clamor that it silenced the man who had voiced his opposition. He said no more. Instead he slunk back where the reflection cast by the fire could not reach him. Juana stared in disbelief because she had never before seen women force a man away in fear. Just then, the image of Cruz crawling away from her flashed in her memory, and she realized that she had already made a man slink away in pain, and maybe even in fear. She breathed, forcing air into her lungs, then exhaled slowly, coming to terms with the truth that she had already fought a war when she defied her husband.

She returned her attention to the questions that had picked up once again, and to Orlando, who answered them, intentionally disregarding the issue of women and war.

“Orlando, it will take time to gather such an army. It cannot be done overnight.”

“We've got time. We've waited centuries.”

“What will keep the
patrones
from wiping us out?”

“The jungle will protect us as it has for so long. Secrecy will protect us, as it has for long years.”

“If we make war on the mestizos, we will be destroyed.”

“You and I might be destroyed, but others of our people will follow.”

The onslaught of questions, doubts and demands for answers pounded Orlando, coming at him from men who had no experience in defying the authority of the mestizos, and women who were for the first time believing they had rights. Juana observed that the women with their silence demonstrated confidence in what Orlando was saying. Then the barrage of questions stopped as suddenly as it had
begun. It had been a rapid exchange of words followed by a silence so complete that Juana thought that the sounds of the jungle had grown louder.

Juana looked around, taking in the expressions of those around the campfire. She stared at the men: disheveled, overworked, aged beyond their years. Juana then concentrated her eyes on the women, who were like her, mostly young, with determined faces that nonetheless reflected weariness and impatience. After that, she looked into her own heart and saw that she was in turmoil and confusion because she understood so little of what she had just witnessed and heard. She knew, however, that what Orlando was proposing was rebellion.

After the group dispersed, Orlando came to where Juana remained sitting. He sat by her side for a while before speaking. Behind them, in the
palapas
, the murmuring of men and women mingled with the soft strumming of guitar strings, accompanied by humming voices. The crisp sound of crickets and the faraway cascading rumble of water filled the air in the distance.

Juana gazed at Orlando's face, knowing that he had fallen into thought and that his spirit was engaged in secret worlds. She contemplated him freely, without shyness or reserve, taking in his profile, its long beaked nose, the straight lashes and the tiny wrinkles that wrapped around his slanted eyes. She had already taken in the brilliance of those eyes and saw how they shone with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Left on her own, Juana scrutinized the man who was proposing resistance, even war, against the mestizos. She focused her gaze on his chest. It was shrouded by the coarse Lacandón tunic, but its bony frame betrayed an underfed and overworked lifetime. She looked at his rough hands, thinking that their veins and knuckles appeared to be carved from hardwood. Juana's eyes returned to Orlando's face to concentrate on the long, limp hair that covered his forehead and dangled down to his shoulders..