Country of the Bad Wolfes

OR EVEN EVER GROW OLD

When Edward Little got back to the capital he told Díaz what he’d done. He gave as his reason the need to protect his daughter-in-law’s family from Espinosa’s retribution. He had thought about telling him the full truth, of explaining his sense of obligation to the San Patricios, but he had never told Porfirio of his brother John and did not want to tell him now. To do so would raise questions about the rest of his family. About his murderous father and lunatic mother and tragic little sister, none of whom he wanted to talk about to anyone ever.

Díaz banged his palm on the desk. Goddammit, Lalo! Espinosa was a good general. A loyal general. You know how hard it is to find a loyal general?

Yes.

You should have come to me. I would have talked to him and that would have ended it.

Edward could see Díaz was trying to keep his anger in check. He had granted Edward license to take care of certain problems without first consulting with him, but Edward had never before dealt with a general, much less one who stood in Díaz’s favor.

I didn’t think that would resolve it, Edward said.

Oh really? You didn’t think that would resolve it. So you now decide whether I, who am only the president, will be permitted to resolve things my way, is that it?

No, my president.

No, my president, Díaz mimicked. That’s right—your president! President of the whole damned country! That’s who I am. You are not the president of anybody, not even those crazy fuckers who work for you. You’re their boss but I’m their president!

Like everyone else, Edward had been amazed by the changes young Doña Carmen had wrought in her husband. In public today Don Porfirio was ever the patrician, the terse but precise speaker, the sagacious man of noble bearing who seemed to have been born to the purple. In private, however—at least in private with Edward Little—he could still revert in an instant to the profane cavalry officer of his youth.

I understand that, my president.

Goddammit, this wasn’t some bandit. Some fucking politician. He was a general. You don’t shoot a general without my say-so. What the hell’s wrong with you?

His men were setting fires at the place. They cut the telegraph lines, they blocked the roads. I had to move fast.

Goddammit! You—

I didn’t come to you, Porfirio, because no matter what you said to him it wouldn’t have stopped him from trying to get even for his brother. He would’ve—

He would’ve heard me tell him don’t do it and he wouldn’t have done it!

If God told you don’t do it, would that have stopped you from getting even for Félix?

Díaz’s face stiffened.

A whole town, Porfirio. We did away with a whole town. Chopped up the mayor and shot every man and most of the boys too. Burned the place to the ground. And you remember what you said when I got back and handed you was left of your brother? I wish there’d been a thousand more of them for you to kill, Lalo. I wish there’d been a thousand more of their filthy huts for you to burn.

He saw Díaz remembering behind stone eyes.

Espinosa was loyal, Porfirio, because he was an honorable man. But because he was an honorable man, no order you gave him or threat you made would’ve stopped him from trying to get revenge. Somebody killed his brother and fed him to the pigs—he had to do something about it. If you told him don’t do it he’d say, Very well, my president, as you wish, my president. But he’d say it only so he would still get the chance to kill those boys and the hell with the consequences or whoever else he killed along with them.

They fed him to pigs?

They did.

You didn’t tell me that.

No? Well. Nevertheless. Edward had deliberately withheld that detail for the most opportune moment to introduce it.

These boys. How old are they?

I’m told they are sixteen.

Sixteen. Your cousins?

Cousins to Gloria.

Ah yes, Gloria. Gloria of the unforgettable wedding. This wasn’t the first of my officers to get shot because of her. A dangerous woman, your son’s wife.

Aren’t they all?

Díaz almost smiled. Then scowled and said, You should have come to me anyway, goddammit.

You would have said no.

And if I had?

Edward said nothing.

You would have done it anyway.

Edward said nothing.

And then I would’ve had to do something about it. You know that.

Edward said nothing.

And don’t think for a minute I wouldn’t have, goddammit, friend or no friend. I let you get away with disobeying my orders and then what? Everybody’ll think he can get away with it. No, sir. No.

Edward said nothing.

Díaz stared at him.

That’s why you didn’t come to me, isn’t it? If I didn’t say no, you weren’t disobeying.

Edward looked off to the side.

Very clever, Lalo. Very fucking clever. You should’ve been a goddam lawyer.

Edward’s smile was small and crooked.

Díaz rubbed his face hard with both hands. All right, let’s settle this. Now listen to me. Listen good. You listening? No more shooting generals without my permission. That’s an order, Mr Little. Understood?

Understood, my president.

I mean it.

I understand.

You fucking better.

I said I understand.

All right then. Good.

Díaz gazed out the window at the darkness. Edward waited.

You say he was kissing the girl?

It looked like it.

Did he have a hand on her ass?

That I can’t say. I was pretty far off.

Díaz turned to him. Spare me the bragging. He probably had a hand on her ass, don’t you think? I would have had a hand on her ass.

He probably did.

One shot, right, Mister Deadeye? Quick kill?

Probably dead on the way to the ground.

Just can’t keep from bragging, can you?

Edward returned his smile.

Kissing a woman. Hand on her ass. There are worse ways to go.

Plenty of them.

Goddammit, Lalo. I liked him.

I know.

He wasn’t a son of a bitch, not that one.

I believe you.

Well thank you so much for your belief and go fuck yourself.

Edward grinned.

Christ, the older you get the scarier that smile. I bet mothers point you out to their kids on the street. There, you see him? Right there’s the man who comes to take away bad little boys who disobey their mamas. Kids probably piss their pants and can’t sleep for a week.

They both laughed.

Díaz consulted his gold pocketwatch, a gift from Doña Carmen. Let’s go to Lagrimas. What do you say?

Las Lagrimas de Nuestras Madres was a brothel in a derelict neighborhood a dozen blocks from Chapultepec. Díaz had discovered the place the year before and he and Edward would two or three times a month slip away from the bodyguards and go there for a few hours of fun. They did not go there to fuck the whores but only to drink and dance with them. Like Díaz, the madam and most of her girls were from the state of Oaxaca, and the music and dances of that house were those of his boyhood. Dances that Edward himself had learned back when he first met Colonel Díaz in Oaxaca during the war against the French. They always went to Lagrimas after dark and always walked there rather than rode because it was a district of dangerous reputation and Díaz always hoped to be accosted by robbers. He had often complained to Edward that the worst thing about being president was the lack of action. He missed the action of his army days. They had run into thugs only once. Five of them suddenly blocking the sidewalk and showing their teeth in the light of a streetlamp, pleased by the easy pickings of two graying men with gold-hilt canes and fine clothes that bespoke fat purses. Young toughs so ignorant of the world outside themselves that even in full daylight they would not have recognized the president of their country. They produced knives and demanded money. Díaz laughed and ignored the pistol holstered under his coat and drew his cane sword. Edward too. In less than half a minute three rateros were down and the other two fled bloodied. Díaz examined the fallen ones and determined that two were not mortally wounded but advised the third to make his peace with God as quickly as he could. When they would pass by here again on their way back from Lagrimas long after midnight, only the dead one would still be there, rolled into the gutter and absent his shoes. The fight so invigorated Díaz that he danced that night with even greater gusto than usual and till a later hour. He drank with keener pleasure and sang in louder voice and tipped the girls with a freer hand. And as always in that dingy malodorous cathouse called The Tears of Our Mothers he and Edward danced and danced with every girl in the place. Danced as if they were yet young men who would never die or even ever grow old.

I say let’s, said Edward.