A Ballad of Love and Glory(77)
“I’m not running away. I’m protecting my men from being slaughtered. Their performance today was outstanding. They have done their duty, so let us rejoice in the blessings of today. Tomorrow will be a different story.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve watched every soldier fight with strength and loyalty, even without decent weapons, without food and water, without proper shoes and clothing. They’ve fought on an empty stomach, and they’ve held the field. And now you’re taking that from them? Turning them into cowards on the run, like the cocks you disdain so much.”
“It’s not for want of courage, it’s for want of provisions that we leave. I’m saving the honor of our army by sparing them from the shame and certainty of a defeat. Let us claim victory while we’re still ahead.”
“Why won’t you let them fight and die with honor like the brave men that they are? Are you afraid of being captured by the Yanquis… again?”
“Who do you think you are? I do not owe you an explanation for my decisions!” he said, shaking her by the arm. “I am the commander-in-chief of this army.”
“You are the commander-in-cowardice. You don’t deserve this army,” she spat, yanking her arm from his grip. How could she have allowed herself to be fooled by him? “You don’t deserve John Riley and the San Patricios, the eight hundred wounded in the field hospitals, the weary soldiers braving hunger and thirst, the thousands slaughtered in vain. It should be you out there being eaten by cougars!”
He raised his hand, as if to slap her. Instead, he pulled her to him and tried to kiss her. She turned her face, and his lips landed on her cheek. He laughed. “You have more cojones than my chiefs, querida. Your courage is truly admirable. One day, I shall make you a general.”
He saluted her and yelled to his driver outside to prepare the carriage. He held out his hand to escort her.
“I’d rather walk,” she said. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she left the tent and went out into the starless night.
28
March 1847
On the road to San Luis Potosí
The dispirited troops broke camp and undertook the inglorious retreat to Agua Nueva, thence to San Luis Potosí. The weak and the wounded were soon left to the buzzards. As the days progressed, Riley was disheartened to see that they were taking further losses. Soon the bulk of their dead consisted not of those who had fallen in action, but of those who had collapsed on the road and were left to blacken in the sun, or who crawled into the thicket to die alone. He trudged along with the crippled battalions, many of them shoeless and their clothes in tatters, trying not to walk over the bodies of the fallen or trample upon those who had yet to take their last breaths. He turned his eyes from these images, which only increased his feelings of helplessness. He regretted bitterly once again that they had not been allowed to die honorably on the battlefield and had instead abandoned it to the enemy. By committing the folly of this tragic retreat, Santa Anna had compromised the national honor he had sworn to defend and undermined the morale of his army, increasing its misery and hardship.
Without a drop of rain to swallow the choking dust, the camp women left the columns to make fruitless forays into the brush to locate fresh water. The best that could be found was stagnant and foul-smelling, and if it hadn’t been for Ximena, Riley might not have been able to resist. Those too thirsty to care had thrown themselves into the puddles to drink, only to collapse from dysentery hours later, convulsing horrendously in pain. Ximena had filled his water gourd, thrown a chopped nopal into it, and waited hours until the water had been purified before allowing him a drink of it. Several times, he went with her into the brush, and she managed to find enough food to keep them alive for one more day—a small barrel-shaped cactus she carefully peeled and sliced before feeding him the green pulp inside, chia sage seeds she shook off the plant, which he licked right off the palm of her hand, roots she pried from the stingy soil and he nibbled on with relish. Another time, he lifted her high onto his shoulders so she could reach the flowering stalk of a towering yucca plant.
He devoured the precious creamy-white flower petals she handed him. They weren’t enough to appease the hunger consuming them. “Perhaps tomorrow, we will find somethin’ more… If tomorrow comes,” he said, savoring the last of the flowers. He looked at the vast barren land in resignation, imagining his unmarked grave in this lone desert, a coyote howling over it. “We’re goin’ to die here, aren’t we?” The utter defeat in his own voice affrighted him.
She heard it, too, and she wrapped her arms around him. He crushed her against him. “Don’t give up on me, you hear?” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me to the buzzards.”
“?Nunca! I will not leave you behind, soldier.” She stood on her toes and reached for him, nibbled on his earlobe as delicately as she’d nibbled on the yucca flowers, and the bolt of desire that ran through his body jolted his heart, made it palpitate with renewed strength, breathed life back into him.
“I want you, Ximena,” he growled, pulling her against him. “May God in Heaven pity me, but if I’m goin’ to die, then let it be in your arms.” He lowered her onto the ground and pulled up her skirt, and she tugged at his trousers. She clung to him with all her strength, matching his rhythm, both of them consumed by another kind of hunger.