A Ballad of Love and Glory(106)
“Wait, not yet—” Ximena said. But then she looked toward the castle and as the dense cloud of smoke cleared, she knew that the priest was right. It was time. Above Chapultepec Castle, the Mexican flag no longer flew. Instead, she caught a flash of red, white, and blue flapping on the highest tower. Her breath caught in her throat, and her knees gave way. Now that Chapultepec Castle was lost, the invaders were that much closer to taking the city.
As she collapsed to the ground, the Yanquis around her, especially Colonel Harney, burst out in cheers.
When the colonel approached the San Patricios, she scrambled to her feet.
“Wait!” she said. “Please, have mercy!”
One of the Yanquis caught her and pulled her back. She kept on screaming. The San Patricios smiled at her and shouted a last farewell. Kerr Delaney said, “Take care of yourself, lassie. May God finally grant you some happiness.”
“Long live John Riley!” they cheered with their last breaths. “Erin Go Bragh!”
And then, at Colonel Harney’s orders, the wagons moved forward, and the San Patricios hung in midair, jerking in a macabre dance. Ximena did not look away, not until the very last man came to rest.
* * *
He came to her that evening. Disguised as a street peddler, rain dripping from his sarape, he walked into the little house she’d moved into when she could no longer bear to be in the barracks without John. He hung his sarape on a hook by the door and then looked at her. His hair was disheveled, his face haggard.
She had been praying at her altar, and before she got off her knees to see what he wanted, he stopped her. “No se levante.”
He limped to her side and removed his wooden leg, using it for support as he bent down to pray with her. He groaned at the pain but knelt on the floor alongside her, lowering his head as his voice joined hers in prayer.
When their throats eventually grew hoarse and dry, she helped him get up. He sat on the chair while she tended to his leg. It was inflamed, and the wound had opened again. She washed it clean. He sighed in relief as she applied her árnica mexicana salve, massaging it into his skin.
“Why have you come?” she asked as she finished dressing his wound.
“To take you with me,” he said. “I depart at midnight. My council of war has decided to vacate the city. I’m withdrawing my troops to Guadalupe Hidalgo.”
“You’re abandoning us? You’re allowing the Yanquis to take possession of the capital?”
“For now. Until I replenish my troops. Until I figure out a new strategy to restore our country’s liberty and honor.”
“You’ve lost. There is no strategy that will change that. You have been defeated.”
He hung his head and fixed his gaze upon the floor. And then, very quietly at first, he began to cry. As his sobs grew louder, she looked away, not wanting to witness the president of the República Mexicana bawling like a spring calf separated from its mother. She wouldn’t comfort him nor join her sorrow to his. Instead, she grabbed the bottle of mezcal she used for healing and poured him and herself a shot.
“Was it true?” she asked as she handed the drink to him.
He took the mezcal and downed it, then held out the earthen cup for another. When he asked for a third shot, she refused. He looked at her and nodded, finally admitting what she had always known in her heart.
“All this time, the rumors were true?” She served herself another shot and sat down.
He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes dry. “While I was in Cuba, living in exile, I dispatched my friend, Colonel Alejandro Atocha, to pay President Polk a visit and bargain with him on my behalf.”
In exchange for thirty million dollars, Santa Anna had promised to give Polk the territory he wanted. But he insisted that Polk attack Mexico first so that it looked as if it was by force. It was crucial for the Mexican people to believe that their government had no other choice but to negotiate with the Yanquis.
“I was the one who told Polk how to attack us,” he said. “I told him that the Mexican people would never yield unless forced to do so. I provided him with the plan of attack—to send his forces to our northern frontier, to send a naval expedition to Vera Cruz and take advantage of our scarcity of ships to guard the coast. I promised him that if he helped me return from exile and establish myself firmly in power, I would convince our government to make peace with the United States and give him what he asked for, the Río Bravo boundary, Alta California, Nuevo México—”
“This was your plan all along then, to sell us out? You were defeated on purpose? You sacrificed John and the San Patricios…”
“No!” He grabbed her hands, and when she tried to pull them away, he squeezed them harder, pleading. “Listen to me, Ximena. I lied to the Yanqui president. I never intended to despoil our country. I just wanted him to help me return from exile. My country needed me to save them, to have faith in me again. You understand? The minute I returned, I placed myself at the head of our army and spent every waking breath trying to restore Mexico’s honor. I betrayed my agreement with Polk. Don’t you see?” he said, kissing her hands. He laughed smugly and said, “I fooled him! The land-grabbing Yanqui believed me and restored me to power, whereupon I dedicated myself to make him understand that I would never consent to despoil Mexico of her northern territories. Ximena, querida, trust me when I say that I didn’t take my troops—I didn’t take Riley and his men—into the battlefield to lose. I meant to win. I meant to bring victory to Mexico. I meant to give us all a little taste of glory.”