Cuba Libre

SIXTEEN

Neely Tucker was never sure when Islero told him something if it was the truth or if the old warrior was kidding with him. He said they had a game called "the cracker" and asked Neely if he'd like to play. He said you put four or five hard salted crackers on a board and you hit them with your rniernbro viril-honest to God, your peter-and the one who broke the most crackers was the winner. One evening Neely did see the game played, the contestants betting money on their prowess, but that didn't make whatever else Islero said true.

He said they never took prisoners. Oh, they kept them a few minutes, until they made them kneel down and chopped their heads off with a machete, one blow, his people experts at this. Neely hadn't seen it done and didn't want to, either.

Islero said his father was Lucumi, originally from western Sudan in Africa. But could he actually know this? He said Lucumi was born rascals, the most rebellious of the people brought here as slaves, and the bravest.

The old man's ebony face always bore a gray stubble, about a week's growth of whiskers; he always wore a panama on the back of his head and a sagging, threadbare white suit. The only thing military about him were his boots and a pistol he wore on his hip. Sometimes the old man cooked. His men all cooked for themselves or in small groups, two meals a day. Whenever lslero invited a few of them to dine with him, they'd jump at the chance. All except Neely. He'd suffer from indigestion any time he ate yany6, Islero's red-hot gumbo, or obatalfi, the black-eyed pea stew. Islero would say don't worry, the curandera will make you a remedy from cow patties. You boil the dry patty and strain it through a fine cloth. Two dozen will fix you up. And Neely would say cow shit as a remedy? Thanks anyway.

Islero told him he had over four thousand men. Neely had never seen more than a few hundred in camp at one time. It was an orderly, fairly military camp-which surprised Neely-with a bugler to wake the boys up and sound retreat in the evening; silence after 9:00 V.M. The boys slept in hammocks in their drawers; whereas the dons slept fully clothed and with their horses saddled. Neely had observed this firsthand.

The old arrior said he kept his people here and there out in the country, most of them off burning cane fields, but all would return in time for the attack on Matanzas. Neely said, "Matanzas-you're joking." The old man said no, it was true, the time had come.

If it was and it came off, an insurgent offensive against the second largest city in Cuba, the event would give Neely the biggest story of the war, an exclusive for sure-if he could get his report to Key West and from there by wire to Chicago.

He would not only scoop the big New York papers, there would be an ironic twist to his eyewitness account: the armored cruiser New York taking a vital part in the offensive. The ship, already in Cuban waters, was on its way to Matanzas to blockade the port and shell San Severino, the old fort protecting the harbor. The way this information reached Islero: some of his scouts had made contact with an American gunboat prowling the north shoreline, its mission, to locate any Spanish warships U.S. Naval Intelligence might have missed. They believed that by now most of the Spanish fleet, outgunned and in hiding out at Santiago de Cuba, was way off on the southeastern edge of the island.

Islero's plan: Wait for the American fleet to shell the fort, blow it to dust with its big guns, and when the Spanish came pouring out, Islero's people would cut them down. He had an old Krupp fieldpiece in this camp-in the wooded hills south of the rail line, between the villages of Ceiba Mocha and Benavides-only ten miles from Matanzas. He had his scouts spotted along the coast, waiting to report the coming of the big American cruiser bristling with guns. He told Neely to be ready, the New York should be off the coast by April 27.

Was he ready to scoop the world and make a name for himself? He'd better be. Neely sat beneath a shade tree on the edge of Islero's camp to study his notes, see what he had on Matanzas he could use to open the piece. His long-range description wasn't bad:

The city enclosed by verdant hills on three sides, the open view a prospect of the lush, emerald (?) countryside that seemed an abode of pastoral well-being.

Features of the city in a closer look. He had those notes somewhere. Don't panic. The population figure he remembered, fifty-four thousand. A center of commerce, but a shallow harbor. Lighters used to unload ships.

Has become known as the Birthplace of Independence. That was better than calling it a Nest of Rebellion.

War comes. A prosperous metropolis is rendered helpless, infirm (?). Sapped of its life by the cruel domination of Spanish rule.

Get to the policy of reconcentrating the population. Thousands brought to Matanzas from the countryside died: 10,000 in a period of only two months, 23,000 all told. Many starved to death. No money, no way to earn it. Rice, their staple, sold for 75 cents a pound. Bodies taken to San Severino " s infamous "shark hole," where the victims of Spanish malevolence were fed each night to the ravenous sharks.

A transition here might be from the sharks in the water to the armored cruiser New York steaming toward the port, its screws churning the water-what he needed were the horsepower figures-churning the water and creating, even for sharks, a terrifying disturbance the likes of which…

This thought was in his mind, hearing the word disturbance, in the same moment he heard gunfire and voices raised-amazing, the coincidence-and saw a number of Islero's boys running through the trees toward the south side of the camp, a couple of them firing their weapons in the air.

Tyler, bringing up the rear, had a good seat for their reception at the camp. Four mounted insurgents had met them on the road below. Once they'd greeted Fuentes, one of them led the parade up a switchback trail worn into the slope and across a high meadow toward a stand of trees on the other side. Now figures in white began to appear, coming out of the gloom.

One of them raised a pistol, fired into the air and pretty soon others were shooting, giving them a loud welcome. Now Fuentes was off his horse embracing an old man in black riding boots, the two of them grinning, patting each other, Tyler taking the one in boots to be Islero. He sure didn't look like any kind of plague. Jesus, and there was Neely Tucker waving a notebook, running to Amelia, hugging her as soon as she was down. Now Virgil had dismounted and was stretching as he looked around at the commotion, all the little fellas in white making a to-do over their arrival. Tyler stepped down and looked off to the south at the patchwork of fields he'd studied all the way up the switchbacks: too far off to make out the crops, some burned black, but something familiar about the lay of the land, soft and warm in the glow of late afternoon.

There was so much to talk about. Neely hoped they'd all sit down together so he could ask questions and take notes; but having them all in one place didn't happen until suppertime.

Islero took Fuentes off to the big shebang he used as his headquarters: a roof of palm fronds over a wood framework and canvas sheets that rolled down to keep out the weather.

He did get Amelia aside long enough to hear about their visit to Atarosmmy God, Amelia relating the gruesome details so calmly she seemed like a different person. Not so animated. And she looked different. She'd cut her lovely auburn hair, hacked it off so short it barely covered her delicate little ears. Why? She said, fluffing what was left up there with her fingers, a drawing room hairdo was too much trouble out here, adding, "Ben likes it"-Ben Tylermwhich struck deeply into Neely's heart. He watched her stroll off with Tyler to the south edge of the camp where they stood talking, Tyler pointing into the distance.

Virgil Webster, meanwhile, was telling some of Islero's boys-one of them interpreting-about the Maine and how she blew up. It gave Neely an idea. As soon as Virgil noticed him Neely said, "Ever been aboard the New York?" Virgil said one time off Norfolk for a prizefighting event, the fleet anchored out in the Roads. "Would you happen to know anything about her armament and engines?" Would he. Neely began writing as fast as he could. Six 8-inch rifles, a dozen 4-inchers, up to ten inches of armor around her turrets and barbettes. Her engines put out over seventeen thousand horsepower, giving the New York a top speed of twenty-one knots. Virgil serious as he said, "What else you want to know?"

Finally they gathered at a board table under the trees, right outside Islero's hut, for a dinner prepared by the curandera; Islero saying if her food poisoned anyone she would prepare a remedy. The food was served on banana leaves: sesas, which was sheep brains fricasseed, a hash of rabbit and tomatoes, rice, beans, and of course fried plantains. Thank God no yany6 or other dishes from Islero's days as a slave. He talked through the meal and when he paused, Fuentes would pick it up, the two of them telling stories about the Ten Years War, most of it in English, though words and phrases of Spanish would slip in as they drank clay cups of wine and then brandy.

Tyler finally got a word in, asking Islero if he knew of a sugar estate called Sagrada Familia. It was the central his father had managed.

Fuentes said, "Why you never ask that before? Sure, is one of the estates Boudreaux bought and added to his land. He had the house and the central torn down, they had been burned beyond use, and the ground turned for the planting of cane."

Tyler said the reason he asked, the country to the south, the fields and the hills beyond looked familiar.

Fuentes said, "Yes, Sagrada Familia was only a few miles south of here. And the next estate to the east-follow the railroad tracks you come to-is Boudreaux's."

Islero said, "Where he is now, since yesterday. My scouts learn he left the train at Limonar, the way he does, and rode to the estate surrounded by his guerrilleros." Islero said he hoped the war lasted long enough they could burn that place to the ground.

Neely had the feeling Tyler wanted to say something else, maybe ask another question, but didn't get the chance. Fuentes was saying, "We have to plan the taking of the train," smiling at Amelia, who was smoking a cigarette, her food barely touched.

Neely got in one question. "What train?"

"She didn't tell you?" Fuentes said. "The one bringing the ransom for Amelia, our hostage."

Neely said, "Now wait a minute," but didn't learn much more about it at the table: Fuentes and Islero at either end, Neely and Amelia on a bench across from Tyler and Virgil, Virgil's head lowered, the marine eating like it was his last meal. Now Fuentes was saying, "You can pay your men with the ransom as much as ten dollars each."

Islero eating, drinking, saying, "Yes, but they not use to having money. Some would put it in their pocket and leave the army."

Fuentes saying, "You tell them they have to give it to their families."

Tyler was staring at Amelia. Neely turned his head to see Amelia staring back at Tyler. The cowboy had been eating slowly, listening to the two old warriors, but still putting away the chuck, not passing up any of the dishes. He wasn't eating now, though, watching Amelia smoking her cigarette. She offered him one from the pack. He took it and slipped it in his shirt pocket. Islero saying, "What we might do is save the money, put it in a safe place and to distribute at the end of the war, when they would begin planting and need it the most. This is something we can talk about."

Now, as Fuentes was saying, "First, of course, we have to remove the money from the train and from the hands of Boudreaux's man, Novis Crowe." Amelia got up from the table and walked away. Tyler watching her. Neely didn't miss that, Tyler's gaze following her until she was off through the trees.

And now Islero was saying, "There is nothing to stopping a train. Tomorrow I show you the bridge we blow up, a little way past Benavides, a small bridge, but enough for the purpose. What day is it coming?"

"The one after tomorrow," Fuentes said, "the twenty seventh."

Neely got to say, "Wait a minute," but that was all. Virgil, looking up for the first time, beat him. He said, "You gonna blow her with dynamite, huh?"

"We use hollow bamboo," Islero said, "put the dynamite sticks in there and fix to it the cap and the electric wire." Virgil nodded, chewing. "Good idea."

Finally Neely got to say, "But what about the assault on Matanzas?"

"Matanzas," Islero said, "will be there."

"But the New York's coming on the twenty-seventh to shell the fort. Did you forget?"

Fuentes said, "An American warship?"

Islero was shaking his head. "We haven't been told without a doubt of it the exact day when it comes. It could be the next day or the one after. Who knows?"

"You told me," Neely said, "it was a sure thing, April twenty-seventh."

"Yes, as sure as one can be," Islero said, "knowing that nothing is certain."

"Will you tell me, please," Fuentes said, "what this is about?"

They began speaking in Spanish to one another, Neely listening hard but catching only a word here and there. Virgil continued eating. Tyler got up from the table and walked away. In the direction, Neely noticed, Amelia had taken.

They stood at the edge of pine trees close to each other, almost touching, both watching the sky going dark before their eyes. While they were out here before supper he told her about visiting the estate his father had managed, coming with his mother and sisters when he was nine. Today he had looked out at the pattern of fields and hills and believed he'd found it again.

"Now Boudreaux owns it."

She said, "You're going to see him, aren't you?" "I have to collect what he owes." "He won't pay you." "Why not?"

"He'll have a reason. Even if he doesn't, how can you make him?"

"I can tell him why he should."

"He'll know you're a fugitive. By now you might even have a price on your head."

Tyler took off his hat and let it drop. He turned, putting a hand on her shoulder, saying, "Amelia?" and she looked up at him. He took her in his arms, felt her press against him and there was no more holding back. They started kissing each other, making sounds, their lips smacking till their mouths found the right fit and they stayed with it, making up for lost time. Finally when they took a breath she said, "Oh my." She said, "I didn't know if I'd have to hit you over the head and jump on you or what."

His hands kept moving around on her back, feeling delicate bones. He said, "You know how long I've wanted to hug and kiss you? Since the hotel. I kept looking at you."

"We couldn't have then, Rollie watching."

"When I was in the Morro and you came to visit?" "Yeah, I thought we might, alone in that office." "The time I almost did was in the cell at Atars." "I wanted you to. Didn't you know that?"

"All those people were there, and Victor was in a hurry." "You sure could've kissed me before this."

"Most of the time I was awful smelly; I didn't want you to gag the first-'time we kissed. Then the other night I almost did."

"When I saw you naked. I thought-that might break the ice."

"But you wanted to talk, worried about old Victor." Amelia raised her face and they started kissing again, getting as much of each other as they could, Tyler, his eyes closed, floating in air with the feel and smell of this young girl. Was he finally doing this? His mouth brushed her cheek and he heard her sigh.

"It's his brother I'm worried about," Amelia said.

"You heard him. He's not gonna pay his men." "He said not right away." "You believe that?"

"Well, not if you don't." At this point Tyler was not getting into any kind of argument with this girl.

She said, "I know he'll keep it for himself. I've known it since Victor told us about him. It's his way, the man was a bandit. The war ends, you think the Black Plague is gonna settle down and farm? What I have to do now, when the money's delivered, get hold of it before Islero hides it away." "Then what?"

"I don't know. Run, I guess. What would you do?"

It reminded Tyler of Charlie Burke saying why he wanted him along: a partner who knew what it was like to ride the high country, have a price on his head. As Charlie Burke put it, "Somebody that's et the cake." Tyler kissed this sweet girl again, thoughts in his head, ones he'd had since the other night but wasn't sure how to word them. He had to try, though, and said, "The ransom being your idea… You did worry about Victor taking it, now you're sure Islero wants it. Did you ever have the idea, knowing all that, you ought to keep it for yourself?"

Amelia smiled at him in the dark. He saw her eyes shine before taking on a serious look.

She said, "Ben, I have to tell you the truth; I knew I would sooner or later, so I may as well tell you now. The whole idea of my being a hostage? The reason I thought of it was so I could get my hands on the money. Keep it for myself."

It stopped him cold.

She said, "You're ashamed of me."

He wasn't thinking that, not at all; he wanted to ask if she was serious.

But now Amelia was saying, "Ben, I came here seeking my fortune, the same as you, to be able to leave here with something worth the trip. I thought of the idea and I said, Oh my God, it's possible, it can happen. And the more I thought about it the more certain I was it could be done. That is," she said, and hesitated, "if I can get this bank robber I know to help me."

She looked up at him with that gleam in her eyes and Tyler couldn't help but smile. She meant it. Wanted him to help her steal forty thousand dollars. That's what she was saying. But if it was stealing, who were they stealing it from? Boudreaux? No, he was giving it away. Islero? He didn't have a claim to the money; giving it to him would be an act of charity. Forty thousand dollars, Jesus, if there was a way to do it… Why not? Take it off the train, from Novis? The idea, she said, get hold of it before Islero hid it away. But how? He said, "I have to ask you something."

"How we're gonna do it?"

"Well, that, yeah. No, I wondered what I'm suppose to get out of it, as your little helper." "Half, tenty thousand." "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You bet I am. It's gonna happen, too."

"You have it worked out?"

"So far so good," Amelia said. "The only thing I didn't plan on was falling in love with the bank robber."

Fuentes and Islero were still at the table, a kerosene lamp between them. Fuentes motioned to Tyler, coming from the tent where they kept their stores, Tyler with a rolled-up hammock and blanket under each arm. "You keeping house with her now?" Tyler didn't answer and Fuentes said, "Never mind, it's your business. But listen, we want to know, you going to see Boudreaux, uh?" "First thing tomorrow." "He won't pay you." "Maybe."

"I tell you, he won't."

"All right, what do you advise?"

"Don't go. But you will, uh? So Islero wants me to tell you something. You have trouble with him and somehow you escape, his guerrillas chasing you, don't come back here. You understand? Don't come near this place."

Tyler left them. He came to Virgil's hootch, Virgil in a hammock beneath a shelter of palm fronds. Tyler stopped as Virgil said, "Hey, partner? You gonna see that man owes you money, I'm going with you." "You want to?" "I need to."

Tyler reached the shelter where Amelia stood waiting. He dropped the hammocks and she said, "We have to sleep in those?"

"Or on the ground."

She said, "What's wrong with that?"