Chapter 3

When the thirty-five year old General Obregon received the communication sent him by Colonel Sanchez, he felt completely awed. And then he was nauseated, especially so because he never intended to hold on to Mexico City.

Obregon was a former businessman from Los Alamos, Sonora. And being a businessman he always performed under two plans. Always, he held an alternative plan in view. Thus he was always prepared to meet any eventuality.

His short-term objective was to hold Mexico City until the right moment. At this point, his two plans would blend and he would apply his forces to realize the long-term objective: the destruction of the Villa and Zapata armies.

In effect, he wanted to hold Mexico City long enough to serve as the bait that would bring Villa's army flowing down south from the north while Zapata's army rushed north from the south. It was a risky business, but under no circumstances did he intend to lose the harbors of Tampico and Veracruz. Once he abandoned Mexico City and President Carranza had provided them with more arms, he would have his forces from Tampico move into Leon and Celaya. Thus he would control Central Mexico.

At the same time, he would move his forces from Veracruz back to Mexico City. And thus he would crush the rebel armies.

In the meantime, however, he was trying to do everything possible to save Zapata from his own destruction. He sympathized with Zapata on one significant point.

Back in 1910 when he decided to join the Madero movement against the dictatorship of Don Porfirio Diaz, one of the main factors entering into his decision had been the dreadful and wretched condition of the common peasant.

To be sure, he was a businessman and he believed in the profit system. But what Don Porfirio Diaz and his Cientificos, Diaz' economic advisers, had done to the Mexican Indian was very bad business. The Cientificos were great patrons of material development but regarded the Mexican Indian as being less than civilized. So they were convinced that Mexico's only hope of progress lay in the importation of foreign capital. Accordingly their policies promoted crass materialism, which made the rich richer and the poor poorer.

And, by God, it was bad business. He had crossed the border into the United States many times and with his own eyes he had seen that a huge middle class with money made for great national prosperity. But as it was, Mexico was actually a very poor country. There were fifteen million Mexicans who couldn't even be considered a market of one because not one of them had a centavo to spend. To be really ridiculous but nevertheless true, all of Mexico could be considered as a market of about one thousand people, since only about one thousand people, Mexicans and foreigners, controlled all the wealth they were the only ones with money to spend.

So he sympathized with Zapata and his followers. The government should decree a law which would return to many Indians their communal lands. Back in the 1890's Don Porfirio Diaz had confiscated all communal lands held by Indian villages. And the government should also assume the obligation of breaking up the great landed estates to provide plots for all those people who were now peones.

The trouble was that Zapata and his followers wanted their lands and their liberty now-not tomorrow, nor an hour from the present, but now. And the point was that even if the government was willing to do right, it would take it decades of argument and compromise.

No, he did not want to destroy Zapata if he could help it. He hoped Zapata would pay heed to a communication he had earlier dispatched to him. But for now, he would proceed with his campaign. He ordered the main body of his troops to retreat to Veracruz and Tampico, leaving only enough troops in Mexico to offer a fierce and convincing resistance. And he sent Carranza a communique advising him of his retreat. He hoped Carranza would not give him any difficulty on this intention. As far as he was concerned Mexico City had no significance, except political. But then, Carranza was very much a politician.

Zapata was, however, no politician and at this moment he was a very tired soldier.

Compelled by an intrinsic restlessness, too weary to sleep, over-awed by his responsibilities: Zapata, chosen leader of his people, gazed upward at the dark, impersonal, sky of his beloved Mexico.

"God," he whispered emotionally. "How long? How long will this senseless slaughter go on?"

Once he had believed. The one way of making people share the land and wealth of Mexico: the one way of forcing people to care: the one and only way to hurt them, and to hurt them badly. This he had believed.

And God knew, and well He must know, the common people had been exploited far too long, God's own church helping the landlords to enslave the people.

Zapata didn't know anymore. It had lasted too long and nothing had been accomplished. He had waged the Revolution for nearly four years and it had achieved but one thing.

That was the corruption of nearly all the revolutionary leaders. The people wanted land and liberty, and by every right, land and liberty should be theirs. And while the people still starved for their rights, what had the revolutionary leaders done? With the possible exception of Pancho Villa, the other leaders were after their own selfish ends.

After the betrayal of Madero, there had come Huerta, whose only interest had been the sheer joy of power. And now Carranza had named himself President. It would not do, for Carranza. was not at all interested in the poor and downtrodden of Mexico.

No. He did not know anymore. The Revolution had become bigger than life, too vital, too complex for any one person to control. But he was determined to fight all the way up to Mexico co City and there destroy the forces of Obregon.

To protect his rear he would leave behind a force of five hundred men, and dispatch them westward to destroy the garrison near Cuernavaca. At the break of dawn, he and the remainder of his troops would move northwest towards Mexico City.

"But dear God," he mumbled. "For what? Were I to destroy both Carranza and Obregon, what then?"

Suddenly he burst out in hysterical laughter, shaking his head, and was even embarrassed before himself. Had he really been that foolish once? Had he really thought once the Diaz dictatorship was crushed that everything good would follow? Had he really felt that?

Yes! In the name of a thousand devils, yes! Had he but known! Had he but guessed that every man, that every leader and follower, were but after his own goal, his own desires! Had he known, he would never have helped unleash this monster, this disease that was corrupting his Mexico!

No. He did not know where it would all end. But this he knew. The monster was unleashed. It was there. And he was mounted on it, and he dared not get off it.

He closed his tired eyes and tried to sleep. But he kept thinking of Madero, the little man who convinced the people that land and liberty would be theirs. Of all the betrayers he had been the worse. He had seemed so God damn sincere! What had the lying son-of-a-no-good whore told him. "Emiliano, you start a rebellion in the south and land and liberty will be ours." So he had believed the little bastard and while

Pascual Orozco and Pancho Villa raised hell all over Chihuahua he carried out his rebellion for Morelos.

What had the little man told him after he was elected president. "Yes, Emiliano, yes, I know I have not carried out my promise. But you don't know, you just don't know what I am facing here. The conservative element keeps blocking me at every turn, the State Department of the United States insists every minute of the day that I must not jeopardize American property. Even my own father and brother keep threatening me that I must not destroy what took Don Porfirio Diaz thirty-five years to build."

Well-what the hell did he care. Either Madero was his own man or he wasn't. "Yes," the little man had said nervously, "I will keep my promise, but I must have more time."

More time! No! No! No! "Not one second more," he had screamed at Madero.

And he had thought that Madero understood the people: their hunger, their humiliation, their chains. But the son-of-a-bitch had understood nothing.

So he started another rebellion, this time against Madero. But before his movement had gone very far, Huerta disposed of Madero.

Then Carranza had gotten in touch with him. "We must coordinate our rebellion," he had said, "take my word for it, Emiliano, Huerta represents the conservative element and he will carry on in the tradition of Don Porfirio Diaz."

Nothing more needed to be said. The fight against Huerta had been as all struggles are, hard and bitter. But when Huerta had been defeated and Carranza had been named provisional president, Pancho Villa had asked, "Now, mi Presidente, what about land and liberty."

"Yes, of course," had been the answer, "Land and liberty will follow an orderly process of laws and regulations."

"And how long will this take?" Zapata had demanded.

"Five, ten years," Carranza had answered, "maybe even longer."

Zapata opened his eyes and stood up. He felt much, very much older than his thirty-two years. He felt as ancient as the rocks; but like a woman who is nine months pregnant, he felt he had a job to do. And he ordered the mobilization of his troops. It was dawn and for many it was time to get up, only to go and die.

The rebel column had been on its kill or die march for some twenty minutes when a lone rider was spotted.

"There, over there," said the Captain riding next to Zapata. "Do you see him!"

Zapata spotted the tan uniformed man bearing a white flag, his horse running fast and hard.

"Should I shoot him?" asked the short, heavy-bearded Captain.

"No!" snapped Zapata. "Let's see what he wants."

"I think I should shoot him." insisted the little Captain, remembering the many times the white flag had been dishonored.

Zapata turned to the Captain, his eyes burning and furious. "No! He's bearing the white flag!"

The Captain spat twice, two times hitting the same stone, but obeyed. "Si, mi General!"

The man bearing the white flag came to a sudden stop some thirty feet away and then proceeded at a slow trot. "General Zapata?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "I have a message from General Obregon."

Zapata received a bright red, very impressive-looking envelope. Breaking the seal he unfolded a sheet of very delicate paper.

"Read it to me," he ordered, handing the perfumed piece of paper to the heavy bearded Captain.

"I can't read," replied the little Captain, wrinkling his nose nervously.

"Ignorante," smiled Zapata. "You!" he said to the messenger. "You read it!"

The messenger took the letter and while his fingers played nervously with it, he read it in a steady voice.

"General Zapata. You cannot win. Return to the mountains, return to your home. And advise your people to do the same.

"You cannot win. You cannot win for you are no longer fighting for the people.

"No. You cannot win because you are now fighting against the people.

"Go home before you and your followers are declared criminals.

"The power to decide the destiny of this land is now in the hands of the Convention of National Delegates. It is they who represent all the peoples of this land; and it is they who will now argue and negotiate among themselves as to how best implement the ideas of the Revolution.

"Good friend, you have already done more than enough. To the people you are the spirit of the Revolution. It was you who stood proud and strong at a time when it was supremely dangerous to do so.

"But don't spoil it now. Don't try to force your singular ideas, no matter how noble they may be, upon a whole nation. Let this nation decide for itself, and according to its own best interests.

"The Convention of National Delegates have refused to recognize the claims of Gutierrez to be president. This refusal does not mean that they have also refused to recognize the claims of many people to own their own piece of land. It does mean that they have decided that other matters have priority in the overall interests of Mexico itself."

The heavy bearded Captain interrupted furiously, spitting in the messenger's face. "Other priorities," he almost gagged. "Thousands upon thousands of men died because they wanted a miserable piece of land and to be free of the Dons! And this miserable burro claims there are other priorities! Por Dios, I am going to cut your tongue out!"

"No!" screamed Zapata. "Let him finish."

He was sweating under the morning sun and he finished in a nervous voice.

"And you will understand, therefore, that you are no longer fighting against Carranza the individual or Obregon the individual nor their personal aspirations but fighting in fact against a Convention of National Delegates representing the peoples of Mexico and therefore their combined interests.

"You have fought long and well. The Revolution has spawned many excellent ideas which in time will become realities. If you sincerely desire to shorten the required time, put you weapons down that we may concentrate our full energy to the real problems of Mexico. Sincerely your, General Obregon."

"Now, can I cut his tongue out?" asked the still enraged little Captain.

"Yes!" answered Zapata. "Cut his lying tongue out! But don't kill him!"

Did Carranza and Obregon think him so ignorant! A Convention of National Delegates! It was probably composed of alcoholics they picked up in the streets and alleys of Mexico City!

Priorities! Priorities to land and liberty! What the devil were they talking about! That's what the Revolution had been all about! That's what it was all about!

"What do I do with it?" asked the little Captain, the bloody tongue in his left hand.

"Place it in the red envelope," replied Zapata, "and give it to the messenger when he comes to."

When the messenger regained consciousness he was placed on top of his horse. And with the red envelope tied to his mouth, he heard Zapata fuming behind him. "Tell Obregon and Carranza that the same thing awaits them!"

But Carranza was a man who did not need to be told what awaited him. He was a man of imagination, if somewhat pessimistic.

Tired and disgusted, Carranza, el Senor Presidente, received the message sent to him by General Obregon.

He took a long, deep breath. He loved the smell of the sea, here in Veracruz. Still, he missed his home in Coahuila. Sometimes he wished he had never left his rancho, despising his present involvement in the politics of this troubled land.

He hated the present chaos; the senseless, hopeless misunderstanding existing among former friends; the complete disagreements as to what the nation's goals should be. He hated this chaos with passionate conviction.

Certainly there should be labor and social legislation and the abolishment of peonage. Many people had sacrificed their lives for that, too.

And Mexico should certainly have more controls pertaining to the exploitation of its natural resources. Mexico, after all, did belong to the Mexican people and the benefits of its wealth should go to them, and not to the Americans or the English or the French.

But what Zapata and Villa and others did not wish to understand was that all these changes required great spans of time. No, to them it was an easy matter; a proclamation was all they offered and to them the problem was solved. Fools! Ignorant fools is what they were!

And what did they do when their proclamations were not accepted ? More war! More revolution! More destruction!

No! A nation seeking international respect could not afford to behave in such a foolish and irresponsible manner.

Changes must come but they must come about through a system of law and order. True, such changes require a great deal of time, but they are more stable and secure, too.

He read part of the message and smiled. It was a step in the right direction. Perhaps, there was still hope.

A convention of delegates representing the various Mexican states had refused to recognize the claims of Eulatio Gutierrez to be President of Mexico.

Yes, perhaps Mexico was beginning to regain its sanity. Someday, perhaps soon, Mexico would stand free and proud among the world's communities.

He yawned; very, very tired. It had been a long, long time since he, and Madero, and Zapata, and Villa, and Obregon, and many others had overthrown the thirty-five year dictatorship of Don Porfirio Diaz.

"The Mexico of Don Porfirio Diaz already has the respect of the world" Carranza heard a far away voice inside his brain. "Why do you dislike his regime so much ? " The voice had belonged to his father, a wealthy landowner from Coahuila. "If anything he has made us richer. And look what he has done for the nation. You may not remember because you were very young then. But before Diaz was elected president every other man was a bandit and nobody was safe. But he has given us internal order now for more than three decades. And under his regime, rail lines have been extended, harbors have been built, communication lines have been built, water systems have been improved, drainage and canal projects have been completed, and thousands of public buildings have been constructed, and now petroleum is being exploited!"

"Yes," Carranza would argue with his father, "but look how he has done it. By borrowing foreign capital, that's how."

"Ay, mi hijo, mi hijo," his father would say in a condescending manner, "My son, don't be stupid. On a national level it is not a dishonor to borrow money. On the contrary, foreign investors only lend their money to nations whom they consider honorable and willing and able to pay back."

"Maybe so, maybe so," Carranza would answer his father, "but you must admit that the man has become an absolute dictator."

"So what," the old man had said, smiling suspiciously, "unless you want to become President."

"No, no," he had objected faintly, "I just want to be Governor of Coahuila but I don't think Diaz will approve my election this time."

"Why not?" his father had asked. "He has approved your election as a Congressman in Mexico City. Why won't he approve of you now?"

"Well," he hesitated and decided not to answer. The old man had an awful temper and a bad heart. But the truth was that everyone knew that the presidential elections of 1910 had been rigged, and when Madero challenged the balloting he had backed Madero's challenge in Congress!

No, Don Porfirio Diaz had not approved his becoming Governor. And instead of waiting and possibly facing further persecution, he joined the Madero movement.

After Madero became president he assumed the office of Governor of Coahuila. But when Madero was so cowardly assassinated by Huerta, he knew the conservative elements behind Huerta would soon attempt to destroy him. It had been either he or them. And so he had destroyed Huerta. But now that he was President, Zapata and Villa were trying to break his back.

Yes, he had always dreamed of being President and now that he was, he must try and do the right things. But God, oh God, it was difficult enough to know what was right, with everyone pulling at him from a different direction. But this civil war had him emotionally exhausted.

Well, first things first, he thought to himself and finished reading the message sent to him by General Obregon. He was shocked, then he felt furious and again he went into shock.

Of all times for this to happen, why now? When total victory had been so near, why didn't Obregon put up a better defense for Mexico City?

Carranza was beside himself; his eyes were wild, almost in a trance.

His fingers played with a pen and out of desperation broke it in half. What did Obregon expect in reply? Hadn't he known how important it had been to hold Mexico City, especially now!

He looked at the messenger standing before him and shook his head. No. He still couldn't believe it. He read the message again.

"Have retreated from Mexico City. Will see you soon and will explain in person."

"But we must hold Mexico City." he pleaded, his begging wild eyes fixed on the messenger. "We must!"

"Mi senor Presidente," replied the messenger nervously. "It's too late. We have already retreated ! "

"Yes, of course," whispered Carranza, taking hold of himself.

Something must be done and fast. Mexico City must be regained, and the sooner the better.

He glanced at the papers scattered on top of the desk. From everywhere! From America, from South America; good, solid news! But what good would they do now? Certainly no good to him, or Obregon, nor to Mexico.

Tears flowed down his cheeks and he slammed the desk with the palm of his right hand. According to all the information laying on his desk, and God, now how he wished it were false, a number of the South American countries together with the American government would soon agree to recognize that Mexican government which showed the greatest success in maintaining law and order. And God Almighty, this was of supreme importance: whoever controlled the capital city would be recognized as the established government.

"What does General Obregon need to regain control of the Capital?" whispered Carranza, his voice an anguished cry.

"Weapons, mi Presidente," the messenger answered. He, of course did not know what his General was planning to do. "Weapons of all kinds and sizes! We need more men of course. But if we could get more weapons, we would have no problem in recruiting more men."

"Weapons," said Carranza. "Weapons, yes, of course." That had always been the main problem.

Weapons! That was the tricky solution to the whole problem. Whoever was recognized as the established government would enjoy the sympathy of the various governments to the south and more important the Americans to the north. And sympathy translated into reality meant weapons; weapons to crush rebellions, to protect foreign property, to enforce law and order, to create good will among the foreign communities of the world.

And that was the only way to proceed in a world which was like a den of hungry wolves; by creating good will and not antagonism.

"Mi Presidente," the messenger interrupted the silence, concerned about the President's visible paleness. "Is everything all right? I mean do you feel well?"

Carranza shuddered. Terror! Horror! Disaster ! In a moment's vision he saw all of Mexico burned to the ground!

If Zapata, Villa, and their bunch took the reins of control what would they do ? God, what wouldn't they do!

Well-meaning men, yes! But ignorant, God they were utterly, hopelessly ignorant! They knew nothing, nothing, but nothing of world politics!

They would take control and wait but for enough time to accumulate all the weapons being offered by foreigners. They would crush the opposition.

And then, dear God, then they would bring instant destruction to Mexico!

Yes! He saw it all too clearly. They would divide all of Mexico among the peasants and then proceed by confiscating all foreign property!

And what would the foreigners then do ? God, oh God! In a month's time, foreign troops would have trampled Mexico to death!

"Mi Presidente," insisted the messenger. "Are you feeling ill?"

"Huh?" Carranza was perspiring heavily even though the room atmosphere was cool and fresh. "No," he said. "I'm all right.

"Tell General Obregon to hold on," he ordered, lips trembling, muscles visibly twitching. "Retreat no further! I will immediately get in touch with influential people in America, France, and England. Then we will see."

"Will that be all, mi Presidente?"

"Yes," said Carranza. "I am afraid so."