Then came Amadis de Gaul, the seminal chivalry character. The scene showed Amadis in the magic archway on Firm Island that no knight except the most valorous on earth could enter. Amadis was fighting invisible warriors, their ghostly nature shown by sheer, spider weblike cloth covering their uniforms.
'Do you hear the poor people around you,' Mateo said. 'They know the meaning of each scene and can even repeat words from the books—yet they have never read a book. They have heard of these characters and scenes from others. The mascarada brings them alive, making them real for people who cannot even read their own name.'
Eh, it was bringing them alive for me, too, and I had read most of them.
Bernaldo de Carpio came along, slaying the Frankish champion Roland at the Battle of Roncesvalles, and a bittersweet scene came to my own mind: When I first saw Elena at the plaza in Veracruz, I had pretended I was Bernaldo.
Along came Explandian, the hero of the Fifth Book of Amadis. This was one of the books Don Quixote read. The chivalric nonsense led the knight-errant's mind astray and was among the romances his friend, the curator, burned. The scenery cart showed an enchantress conveying the sleeping Esplandian to a mysterious vessel called the Ship of the Great Serpent. The ship was a dragon.
'Palmerin de Oliva,' someone said as the next cart came by. The heroic Palmerin de Oliva had gone on an adventure to find a magic fountain guarded by a giant serpent. The waters of the fountain would cure the king of Macedonia from a deadly illness. Along the way he met beautiful fairy princesses who cast a spell to protect him from the enchantments of monsters and magicians.
The Palmerin cart was the most cleverly done and awes and shouts of approval followed it. It showed Palmerin standing by the fountain and surrounded by the scantily clad fairies. Wrapped around the entire cart was a giant, coiled serpent, the monster that protected the fountain. The monster's head had risen behind Palmerin as if it were about to attack the young knight.
And, of course, there was our friend from La Mancha bringing up the rear, following in the footsteps of the literary characters that had twisted his mind. The adventures of the knight-errant was the newest of the characters on parade but had already gained legendary stature. And everyone there, few of whom had ever read a book, knew the story.
Don Quixote was Alonso Quixano, a middle-aged hidalgo, a man who spent his life idle and not at all wealthy, living in the dry, almost infertile region of La Mancha. He became consumed with a passion for reading books of chivalry. These books of knights and princesses in distress and dragons to slay were so farfetched and irrational the poor gentlemen lost control of his mind reading them. Soon he was burnishing his grandfather's ancient armor and preparing his trusty knight's 'steed,' Rosinante, a poor, skinny old stable horse, to carry him into battle. Needing a princess to rescue and love, a necessity for any knight-errant, even ones who confuse windmills for giant monsters, he dubs a simple country lass, Aldonza Lorenza, a duchess. For a page and servant, he induced a peasant, the gullible Sancho, to accompany him.
On his first outing, the don came to a country inn, which, in his fanciful world, he imagined to be a great castle with a moat and lofty towers. There he is waited on by two prostitutes, whom he fantasizes are great ladies from noble families. That night the two 'ladies' help him undress.
The float shows the good don in night clothes but wearing his knight's helmet. Two women are next to him. The women, the inn's prostitutes, had helped him get off his rusty armor but were unable to get off his helmet, which he must sleep in.
The women are costumed so that the side of their clothing facing Don Quixote is that of great ladies and their backside, the side he does not see, are the cheap, gaudy clothes of prostitutes.
I barely got a glance at the scenery cart.
'Let's go,' Mateo commanded.
Ay, faithful, stupid, pudgy Sancho trudged away, following Don Quixote on another mission to joust with windmills.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE
We met with Jaime and a prostitute a block from the warehouse.
'You have given the puta her instructions?' Mateo asked.
'Si, senor. But she requires more money to do the task.' Jaime held out that ever-demanding hand.
'Do you remember what I told you about your ears?' Mateo asked. 'You and she are to do what I tell you, or you will both lose your ears and noses. Here,' Mateo said, giving him a single coin, 'this is the last. Finito!'
The hand dropped. But I did not like the look in the boy's eyes. I said so when Mateo and I left them to get into position.
'You should have given the boy more money,' I said.
'No. The little thief's rich already. He's gotten enough.'
'You don't understand the mind of a lepero. There is always famine after feast, so there is never enough.'
Four guards were at the front of the warehouse. Only one was on duty. The other three were around a fire, two of them asleep and one dozing on and off, waiting for his shift to begin. One guard was at the back. Only one was needed because a yell from him would bring the others.
Jaime and the puta went to work, walking near the back of the warehouse, attracting the guard's attention. Jaime went over to speak to the guard, offering him the woman's service for a nominal amount. It was to be expected that the guard would refuse, not wanting to risk severe punishment by leaving his post. And that is exactly what happened: The boy gave us a subtle hand signal that the guard would not leave his post.
As the boy kept the guard talking, we approached in our costumes.
The guard grinned at us as we came near. Jaime jerked on his sleeve. 'Eh, I offer you a good deal.'
'Get out of here, lepero—'
That was all the guard got out before Mateo put him out with a blow from the hilt of his sword.
'Quick now,' Mateo told Jaime.
The boy and the prostitute left to attract the attention of the men in front of the warehouse, while Mateo and I broke the lock on the back door. With the lock off, I dumped on the ground the contents of a sack I had been carrying. It contained a dozen torches dipped in pitch. Mateo lit straw and used it to light a torch. From it we lit the others.
The earth floor was blanketed with chaff and husks, and corn dust was thick in the air.
'Ah, Chico loco,' Mateo said, grinning, 'this place is a tinder box ready to blow!'
Even as we lit the torches, these remnants and leavings began to ignite, and by the time we threw the blazing brands into the corns sacks, the floor was aflame. I counted us lucky that all that air-borne corn dust hadn't exploded like gunpowder, blowing us all to Mictlan. By the time we left the warehouse, everything was burning. The floor chaff and corn-sack conflagrations were converging into lakes of fire.
We fled that inferno for our lives, tongues of flame licking the sky.
Returning to the house where we were holed up, darkness was falling. Behind us the sky was filled with explosions of shooting flame and high, twisting coils of billowing smoke as the huge warehouse turned into a single hell-fired holocaust.
By now Jaime would be telling people that the viceroy's guards had been seen starting the fire. So would other street people paid to spread the story.
'What if the city burns down?' I asked Mateo.
'Mexico is not a city of wood hovels like Veracruz. It will not burn down. And if it did'—He shrugged—'it would be God's will.'
He was in a jolly mood by the time we were back at the house. I had to argue to keep him from going to a cantina to find trouble and a card game. Still something about the night's work had left me uneasy.
I awoke in the middle of the night, my paranoia as much afire as the warehouse had been. I went into Mateo's room and shook him awake.
'Get up. We're leaving.'
'Are you loco? It's still dark.'
'Exactly. The viceroy's soldados will be here soon.'
'What? How do you know?'
'How do I know the sun will rise in the East? It's in my mind and my blood. I used to be a lepero. This well
