Brain Child Page 0,1

another tied Don Roberto’s hands behind his back. Then they led the black stallion under the tree and tied the free end of the rope around Don Roberto’s neck.

From his hiding place in the brush, the boy tried to see his father’s face, but he was too far away, and the shade of the oak was impenetrable.

Then one of the cavalrymen lashed the black stallions flanks with a riding crop; the horse reared, snorting, and came stamping back to earth. A second later it was over.

The black horse was galloping up the trail toward the hacienda, and Don Roberto de Meléndez y Ruiz’s body was swinging under the embracing branches of the oak tree.

The cavalry squadron turned and at the same leisurely pace started back up the trail toward the hacienda.

The boy waited until the soldiers were out of sight before he picked his way the last fifty yards to the floor of the valley. He stared up into his father’s face for a long time, trying to read in the eyes of the corpse what might now be expected of him. But there was nothing in the twisted grimace of pain, or the bulging, empty eyes. It was as if, even as he died, Don Roberto still hadn’t understood what was happening to him.

But the boy understood.

He turned, and faded away back into the brush.

It was late in the afternoon, and as the sun dropped toward the western horizon, long shadows began their march across the hilltops. Far away, the boy could see the beginnings of a fogbank forming over the ocean.

Below him, the last of his family’s servants were drifting out of the open gates of the hacienda, their meager belongings tied up in worn serapes, their eyes fixed on the brown earth, as if they, too, might be in danger if they so much as glanced up at the guards who flanked the courtyard gates.

Against the inside of the western wall, still protecting herself from the fading heat, his mother sat calmly on her chair, her daughters flanking her, her fingers still occupied with her needlework. Every now and then, he could see her lips move as she offered words of farewell to the departing peones, but none of them replied; only one or two even had the courage to nod toward her.

Finally the last of the servants was gone, and at a signal from their leader, the guards slowly swung the heavy gates closed. The officer turned to face Doña María. His words carried clearly up the hillside.

“Where is your son?”

“Gone,” his mother replied. “We sent him away last week.”

“Do not lie, Doña María. He was seen yesterday.”

His mother’s voice rose then, and the boy knew her words were for him, as well as for the man she faced. “He is not here, señor. He is gone to Sonora, where he will be safe with our people.”

“We’ll find him, Doña María.”

“No. You will never find him. But he will find you. We are not afraid to die. But you will not gain by killing us. We will not leave our land, señor. My husband said we will stay, and so we shall. And you will kill us. But it will do you no good. My son will come back, and he will find you.”

“Will he?” the squadron leader asked. “Get up, Doña María.”

As the boy watched from the hillside, his mother rose to her feet. Drawing their courage from their mother, his sisters, too, rose.

“My son will find you,” he heard his mother say. “My son will find you, and he will kill you.”

The squadron leader jerked his thumb toward the south wall. “Over there.” He stepped forward, the bayonet fixed to the barrel of his rifle jabbing menacingly at Doña María and her daughters.

Doña María stood firm. “We are not afraid to die, but we will not be prodded like cattle.” She turned and carefully set her needlework on the chair, then took her daughters’ hands in her own. She started across the courtyard, her step firm, her back as rigidly erect as ever.

She reached the south wall, still bathed in the afternoon sunlight, then turned and began to pray. As her lips began to move, the boy on the hillside closed his eyes and silently mouthed the words he knew his mother was speaking.

The first shot jerked his eyes open, and he blinked twice before he could focus on the scene in the courtyard.

His mother still stood, her head up and her eyes open,