Mexican Fire Read Free

High above his shoulder, he carried a linen-covered tray. “Buenos dias,” he said and set his burden on a table by the wall. He poured coffee from a battered pot into tall, stemmed glasses, then did the same with a pot of hot milk.
    Whistling a tune that had overtones resembling “La Marseillaise”, the fresh-faced young man—he couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen—flourished a linen-covered plate from his tray.
    He pulled up the covering. “May I interest you in chocolate eclairs?”
    Alejandra blanched, as did her table mates. Despite the warm day, the air took a sudden chill.
    â€œFrench pastries!” squawked the octogenarian. “Take them away!”
    â€œBut they are very tasty.”
    â€œFelix, have you lost your mind?” Erasmo glared at the waiter. “We don’t eat French food. Not with the Gauls cutting our supply lines and customs revenues.”
    â€œAh, Señor de Guzman, where is your sense of humor?” He replaced the offensive pastries on his tray. “Back in the kitchen we find much mirth in it. Ochoa the chef has even come up with words to a song. It goes like—”
    â€œFelix! There is a lady present.” Erasmo pointed at the young man. “Watch what you say.”
    Giving a nonchalant shrug, Felix said, “The words are not offensive to any Mexicana or Mexicano, I assure you. It goes like this, The day the Gloire arrives here, is the day the Gloire will be sunk.‘” He terminated the verse. “Granted, she is here smelling up our harbor, but that’s not the point. This siege started over no more than a chocolate eclair, so why not mock the French with their foolish ‘pastry’ claims?”
    â€œFoolish pastry claims?” Alejandra repeated, unable to keep mum. “No one should count them as trivial. The French don’t, be assured.”
    â€œYou’re not much more than a niño, Felix.” Eyeing him, Erasmo took a sip of his coffee. “Are you fully aware of what precipitated the French aggression?”
    â€œWhat did you say?” the don asked, leaning closer. Erasmo did not repeat his question, which sent the Yucatecan into a sulk.
    Felix answered Erasmo’s query. “I don’t know a lot about the politics of what happened, but I do know it had something to do with some Frenchman’s bakery in the capital getting sacked.”
    Alejandra had been in England at the time of the incident, but she was well aware of the happenings. It all started ten years ago, and seven years into the chaos following Spain granting Mexican independence.
    A squad of Mexican soldiers had descended on the pastelería. Caught up in what turned out to be a crude fiesta, they gobbled down their eclairs. The situation turned ugly when the proprietor presented the bill. The soldiers not only refused to pay, they destroyed the bake shop.
    â€œIt started with that,” she said as Don Valentin coughed into a linen handkerchief, “but the whole thing got more serious right away.”
    Erasmo nodded. “His demands were a rallying cry to other ex-patriots living in our country. Thousands of them came forth, demanding money for insults.”
    Felix had a pensive look to his face. “Well, I don’t know about the others, but I think that baker deserved a settlement. That’s what the Federalists are working for, you understand. Fair treatment for everyone.”
    Erasmo and Alejandra exchanged covert yet knowing looks. Since he had introduced her to Don Valentin—this was the first time she had been in company with Federalists other than Erasmo—would he also mention to the waiter that she was likewise aligned? He didn’t.
    He responded to Felix’s comment. “The other claims got out of hand. One after another after another, until there were thousands of claimants, they came forth and demanded money from the government. They complained