The Day the Rebels Came to Town Read Free

have ever seen. They were going to kill our mayor.”
    “No,” Carlos groaned. “I acted shamefully. I shot myself in the foot.”
    “Well, it worked,” said the man dressed like a priest.
    “Oh,” said Antonio. “Let me introduce Father Alvarez. He is our priest. And this is Madame Felix. She is Rosita’s most important... er... business woman.”
    “Hello,” said Madame Felix. “After beating the living shit out of you, the rebels grew tired with our little town and rode off.”
    “They rode off?”
    “With my girls hiding in every root cellar in town, I think they decided they’d have more fun elsewhere,” she explained.
    Carlos didn’t respond, as the last piece of yesterday’s puzzle was falling into place. When the captain had grown tired of kickingCarlos, he’d stood there panting, his hands on his knees. One of the others had said, “You want me to put a bullet in his head, boss?” The captain spat and shook his head. “Oh no,” he’d grunted. “I want this chicken-shit to live with what he did for the rest of his life.”
    Carlos heard Antonio’s voice. “And I believe you’ve met Señor Cruz?”
    “Do you remember me?” asked the old mayor with a smile.
    Carlos ignored the question. Instead he looked at his four visitors, all of whom seemed pleased to be at his bedside. His eyes and his head now hurt as well.
    “Whose house is this?”
    “It is mine,” said the mayor. “It is the least I could do. I am staying with Antonio until you are better.”
    There was a pause. Carlos glanced at his foot.
    “Who fixed up my foot?”
    “The same woman who gave you some sleeping medicine.” Antonio said. “She is good at such things. You will meet her later.”
    “Now, don’t you worry,” added Father Alvarez. “You will remain here until you’re better. Womenfrom the village will cook your meals. There’s also a girl who will keep an eye on you. She’ll make sure you have all that you need.”
    Carlos felt tired. His entire body cried for sleep. “How long will I be here?” he asked.
    The four looked at one another. Madame Felix answered. “Please, just relax and lie back. If you can do this, I promise that time will pass much faster.”
    After they left, Carlos slept. His dreams were alive with gunfire and sorrow and the pain of his beating. Some time later, the creak of the door startled him awake.
    The village girl was stepping into the room. She carried a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread. She put the tray on the bedside table and smiled shyly at him, showing a row of white, even teeth. She had long, black hair and eyes as big as plums. Looking at her, Carlos felt a little homesick. She was short and wide-shouldered, like so many of the women of the South. Carlos guessed that she was about eighteen years of age.
    She turned to leave.
    “Wait,” he said. “What is your name?”
    She stopped, and turned slightly. “Linda,” she answered in a soft voice. She then nodded and went out the door.
    Carlos sat up with a groan. When he took hold of his spoon, his hand trembled, and pain shot through him. The soup was hot and tasted of chilies and lime. Night air cooled the room. He ate, feeling as alone as he’d ever felt in his life.
    The next morning, pain awoke him from a deep, tossing dream. He sat straight up and fought to catch his breath. He felt as though lightning was shooting through his foot.
    “Linda!” he called, his voice strained.
    The girl rushed into the room.
    “Please,” he begged. “Help me.”
    She blinked twice and fled. About ten minutes later, she returned with an old, bent-over woman who smelled like kerosene. The woman was no taller than five feet and carried a large bundle on her back. Whiskers grew from her chin, and one of her eyes was so milky she had to look at Carlos sideways.
    “Who are you?” Carlos moaned.
    “They call me many things around here,” she answered. “But the name’s Azula. How’s the foot?”
    “Not