Read Online The Campaign by Carlos Fuentes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carlos Fuentes
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back. Baltasar remembered his dream on the stagecoach. He knew that a herd of wild horses could surround a man for days, not letting him pass, or drag along post-horses, endangering the lives of passengers and drivers. This was worse, José Antonio said. What? Come see tonight.
The old man gathered a small army of his best, his fiercest gauchos. He rounded up his men, ordered them to bring in the scattered cattle, tie the animals to the fence, and then have a squad of gauchos collect the old, useless horses. They were to slaughter the nags by the ravine just beyond the front of the ranch, so the cimarrons couldnât miss the scent of the fresh blood.
José Antonio Bustos himself, mounted on his best horse, rode out. He ordered Baltasar to ride a barely broken stallion so the gauchos would look on him with respect. The troop of gauchos followed them on their own fast horses, half with lances ready, the other half with torches, all headed for the hollow where the caranchos, the vultures of the pampa, were already circling the spot where the old horses had been slaughtered. José Antonio ordered the place to be surrounded as cautiously as possible and then had the men attack without mercy the pack of wild dogs devouring the fresh, bloodied meat. The dogs, startled and barking, blinded by the torches, their muzzles and eyes red, couldnât recognize a master but would attack with the same ferocity with which their terrorizing packs pursued the herds. Lanced and then clubbed to death, their bodies were tossed on top of the dead horses until there wasnât a square foot in the hollow unsullied by blood or death.
âDidnât I tell you?â José Antonio looked at his son. âThereâs too much abundance here. Meat is just left to rot on the pampa. The dogs run off because they eat better in the wild. In two years they regress two centuries. Theyâre a plague. This hadnât happened for a long time here. Then they started coming closer to towns. They have lost any fear they may have had, so we have to teach them a lesson.â
He ordered everyone to move on to the nearest caves.
There, José Antonio Bustos and his men found the dog cemetery packed with bones that glinted in the night. Cow and mule bones, but also the bones of dogs whoâd died there, mad, wild, gorged with food. The patriarch ordered the cave sealed with mortar.
It was a rapid, efficient expedition. Baltasar understood the pride of the gauchos, and his respect for the old patriarch was renewed. The gauchos did not look at him. What had he done? Less than his sister, whom they found, when they got back to the house, standing in the drainage ditch. She was covered with blood, along with the servants and women from the farm, all engaged in an uncertain, dim action. Baltasar saw Sabina stained with blood, a knife in her hand, cutting the throats of dogs, which she then flung back into the ditch, which was filling up with carcasses. Watching his sister wield a knife with the strength and skill of ten men, Baltasar was suddenly aware that she loved knives. With what pleasure she sank hers into the throat of a dog, burying it right to the hilt, grasping the animalâs neck between her thumb and index finger, her female fingers implacable and eager. With what delight she pulled it out and plunged it into the animalâs guts, repeating the gesture of pleasure, feared love, closeness to the enemy body, to the heat of the beast.
âSabina!â shouted José Antonio in horror when he saw his daughter. She passed her hand over her mouth, smearing it with blood, and then ran to the ranchâbut without dropping her knife.
That night, Baltasar heard the muffled, wounded, strident voices of the father and the daughter: that echo of family combat neither time nor walls could silence.
He waited for José Antonio in the hall outside the bedrooms. The old man was upset when he saw him there.
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The old man gathered a small army of his best, his fiercest gauchos. He rounded up his men, ordered them to bring in the scattered cattle, tie the animals to the fence, and then have a squad of gauchos collect the old, useless horses. They were to slaughter the nags by the ravine just beyond the front of the ranch, so the cimarrons couldnât miss the scent of the fresh blood.
José Antonio Bustos himself, mounted on his best horse, rode out. He ordered Baltasar to ride a barely broken stallion so the gauchos would look on him with respect. The troop of gauchos followed them on their own fast horses, half with lances ready, the other half with torches, all headed for the hollow where the caranchos, the vultures of the pampa, were already circling the spot where the old horses had been slaughtered. José Antonio ordered the place to be surrounded as cautiously as possible and then had the men attack without mercy the pack of wild dogs devouring the fresh, bloodied meat. The dogs, startled and barking, blinded by the torches, their muzzles and eyes red, couldnât recognize a master but would attack with the same ferocity with which their terrorizing packs pursued the herds. Lanced and then clubbed to death, their bodies were tossed on top of the dead horses until there wasnât a square foot in the hollow unsullied by blood or death.
âDidnât I tell you?â José Antonio looked at his son. âThereâs too much abundance here. Meat is just left to rot on the pampa. The dogs run off because they eat better in the wild. In two years they regress two centuries. Theyâre a plague. This hadnât happened for a long time here. Then they started coming closer to towns. They have lost any fear they may have had, so we have to teach them a lesson.â
He ordered everyone to move on to the nearest caves.
There, José Antonio Bustos and his men found the dog cemetery packed with bones that glinted in the night. Cow and mule bones, but also the bones of dogs whoâd died there, mad, wild, gorged with food. The patriarch ordered the cave sealed with mortar.
It was a rapid, efficient expedition. Baltasar understood the pride of the gauchos, and his respect for the old patriarch was renewed. The gauchos did not look at him. What had he done? Less than his sister, whom they found, when they got back to the house, standing in the drainage ditch. She was covered with blood, along with the servants and women from the farm, all engaged in an uncertain, dim action. Baltasar saw Sabina stained with blood, a knife in her hand, cutting the throats of dogs, which she then flung back into the ditch, which was filling up with carcasses. Watching his sister wield a knife with the strength and skill of ten men, Baltasar was suddenly aware that she loved knives. With what pleasure she sank hers into the throat of a dog, burying it right to the hilt, grasping the animalâs neck between her thumb and index finger, her female fingers implacable and eager. With what delight she pulled it out and plunged it into the animalâs guts, repeating the gesture of pleasure, feared love, closeness to the enemy body, to the heat of the beast.
âSabina!â shouted José Antonio in horror when he saw his daughter. She passed her hand over her mouth, smearing it with blood, and then ran to the ranchâbut without dropping her knife.
That night, Baltasar heard the muffled, wounded, strident voices of the father and the daughter: that echo of family combat neither time nor walls could silence.
He waited for José Antonio in the hall outside the bedrooms. The old man was upset when he saw him there.
âWant to know
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