CHAPTER 15: "Search for Relatives"
An hour after setting out on their return journey, the three men and Felipe passed the now-charred ruins of the pueblo and the bloody battlefield, dotted with rows of wooden crosses. Apparently, all the dead peons and soldiers had been buried there.
Wisps of smoke rose from the ruins of the buildings. Not a single live person appeared in sight.
As Don Diego gazed at the rows of crosses, sadness lay in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone. He wondered how on earth the little boy had managed to survive the battle if his parents hadn't. A guardian angel must have been watching over him. Sighing heavily, Diego put an arm around the little boy.
"Don't worry, muchacho," Diego told the child. "We'll help you. I promise." With a reassuring smile, he bent to kiss the boy's scalp. The boy gazed down at his trouser-clad legs.
Suddenly, the jolting wagon halted. Don Diego raised his head. What's going on? he wondered.
An elderly priest had just stepped around the ruins of the bastion. His brown woolen habit flapped in the wind. He lumbered toward the men and stopped near the supply wagon. "Can I help you, my sons?"
Diego and his tutor smiled at each other. "We hope you can, Padre." Don Diego half-turned to face the priest. "We're trying to find this little boy's parents. Do you know who they are?"
The padre stood on his toes to gaze into the wagon. The boy gazed up at him as he did. The priest shook his head and lowered his body.
"No," he said. "But then, I didn't minister to the refugees who stayed in the town barn; they had their own priest. I just ministered to those who stayed in the camp. I still do." He fingered his rosary as he spoke.
"Do you know where the camp is?" Jonathan asked.
The priest nodded. "It's 10 miles away from the town. Behind it." He turned and pointed as he spoke. "The refugees there mostly survived, though a number were killed by stray shells, and some others were shot dead by government soldiers. The survivors are building temporary huts until they can pick up the pieces." He sighed. "That won't be an easy task. Especially since the government troops have put them under martial law."
Diego frowned. "Why?"
"They think the peons are in favor of the revolution. The soldiers fear they'll revolt. They're keeping the peasants under a heavy hand, señores, until their alcaldes who sent them here call them home. It's just possible someone there will know whether the boy's parents are alive, or if he has any other relatives."
Jonathan nodded. "Gracias, Padre."
"Vaya con Dios." The priest blessed them, then furrowed his eyebrows. "A word of warning, señores. The soldiers not only think that the peons are revolutionary sympathizers, they also think that those peasants who stayed in the barn were rebels, themselves. Some of them joined the rebel army before the siege began, you see; that's why the government troops attacked this village. They were going to slaughter the refugees staying in the barn, had they survived the battle. The survivors in camp may well be afraid to help this boy."
The two gentlemen frowned at the news. "Thank you for the warning," Jonathan said. As they left, the boy began to cry noiselessly. Don Diego put his arm comfortingly around the boy's shoulder and hugged him gently to his side.
The group traveled onward, past the ruins of the pueblo. On the other side, they picked up speed in their efforts to reach the camp as quickly as possible. Two hours later, they arrived.
Don Diego felt heartsick as soon as he saw the pitiful camp. When they had gotten close enough to see the people, he could see that the siege and the battle had disrupted the survivors' lives, and that they were in desperate straits. He saw gaunt women building small huts, aided only by small children. None of the refugees were wearing shoes, sandals, or warm clothing. Soldiers shouldering muskets milled about among the peons, who did their best to ignore them.
Diego's heart bled as he watched these people struggling to recover from the devastation. He wished there was something he could do to help them. First, they'd had to endure the hardship of famine and the ravages of war. Now they were forced to endure the cruelty of the government troops. If only there were something he could do!
Señor Spencer pursed his lips. "Well, let's get started." He dismounted. "If we're going to make inquiries, there's not a moment to waste."
Nodding, Don Diego climbed out of the wagon, then lifted the boy out. He set the child on the ground and led him into the camp. Felipe inserted his index finger into his mouth and stared wide-eyed at the people. The breeze ruffled his brown hair.
"Con permiso, señor." Diego tapped a peon's shoulder. The man whirled around and froze.
"What--what do you want, caballero?" The man backed up as he spoke. Fear welled up in his eyes.
Diego raised his hands to indicate that he intended no harm. "Only to help this little boy, here." He put his arm around Felipe's shoulder. "My tutor, here, and my driver and I found him alone on the desert, six miles from town. He was lost for three days. Can you help us?"
The man looked at the boy. "I don't know him, señor. I've never seen him."
The two gentlemen glanced at each other and nodded. "Señor, do you know anyone who could help us identify this boy?" Jonathan asked. "We're looking for his parents. He can't speak or hear, so we don't even know his name."
The peasant shrugged. "I can't even help myself." He sighed. "The soldiers have taken our food, caballeros. And our supplies, our animals. A lot of us have lost loved ones. We all lost our jobs and homes." He shook his head and spoke bitterly. "We didn't even support the revolution, and look what happened! We're only alive because we didn't stay in that barn near town, but we're sure not much better off. I pray our alcaldes'll send for us soon! I don't know how much more we can take."
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I can't help you find this boy's folks, and I can't take him in and raise him. Con permiso?" He turned around to resume his work.
Diego sighed, in his turn. As he turned away, he noticed an old man glaring at them. The man's face was gaunt, and he wore a tattered, homespun cotton shirt and trousers. As Diego started to approach him, the man turned away and disappeared.
"We're going to spend the night here." Señor Spencer looked around. "We're going to have to rent a hut to sleep in."
They approached another peon and asked permission to sleep in his hut that night. "We'll pay you well, if you'll allow us to rent your hut," Don Diego promised. "We're trying to reunite a lost little boy with his family, and we may have to spend the night here to do it."
The man furrowed his eyebrows. "You're tryin' to help this boy?!" He glanced at the little boy, then back at Don Diego, disbelief on his face.
Don Diego and his tutor glanced at each other, amused. "Señor, Don Diego's not the sort to turn his back on a man in need," Jonathan said. "He certainly won't turn his back on a lost war orphan."
"I certainly won't." Diego gazed down at the woebegone child and patted his shoulder.
The man shrugged. "Si, señor. I got no family now; the soldiers killed them."
Diego took several pesos out of his pocket and handed them to the man. "Do you have any friends here who have finished building their huts?"
Suspicion welled up in the man's eyes. "What do you want, caballero?"
"Only to enlist your aid in helping this child." Don Diego spoke soothingly. "Would you be willing to speak with some of your compadres, to find out if his parents are alive, or if he has any other relatives?"
The man gazed down at the money for a long moment, then at the boy. "Si," he said. "Wait here." He disappeared.
Minutes later, he returned with several other men. Don Diego explained the little boy's predicament to them, and asked them to inquire of their neighbors. "If the boy's loved ones cannot be located here, we will take him with us and go. But first, we've got to try."
Jonathan handed each man several pesos. "We will pay you more tomorrow morning, after you have conducted your search. And if you succeed in finding his loved ones, or in finding out who he is, we will give you more than that."
One of the men sighed. "We will look, señor."
The men disappeared, except the one who had rented out his makeshift hut. He nodded. "You can sleep in my hut tonight."
"Gracias." Diego smiled gratefully. The man left.
For the rest of the afternoon, Don Diego, Jonathan, and Jose went from peon to peon, to family after family, to inquire if they knew the boy. Some of them, he learned, had previously slept in the barn where the boy and his parents had slept, and had moved to the camp upon learning that the peons in the barn had been branded as rebels. A flash of recognition appeared in their eyes when they saw the child, but all denied having ever seen him. Not one of them agreed to take the little boy in. Not one of them acknowledged him, or told the three men his name.
Several times, the two gentlemen saw the strange, hostile peon who had watched them earlier. He always turned and disappeared when any of them tried to approach him. If they didn't approach him, he just stood at a distance and glared fiercely at them.
When nightfall came, Don Diego took the boy to the hut the three men had rented. Together, they ate cold tortillas for supper, then said their prayers. The child had been crying off and on all day. As he lay on the reed mat, he wept again. Diego felt like crying himself as he gazed at the little boy. Deep down, he feared that the child's parents had been killed in that battlefield, a field that had been soaked by too much blood. It had begun to appear that the boy had no surviving relatives or friends to take him in.
Gently, Diego pulled the wool blanket over the boy's shoulder and kissed his soft cheek. He took the boy's hand and held it until the child had cried himself to sleep.
"Señor Spencer?" Diego turned to his tutor. "Would you please sit with the boy? I need a breath of fresh air."
Jonathan nodded. "Si, Diego. I will."
Don Diego rose to his feet and tied the strings of his cape around his neck. "Thank you for helping." He smiled gratefully. "You're a good man."
Señor Spencer chuckled. "I can't just turn away from this child, either." He gazed at the sleeping boy and shook his head sadly. "He's been through too much, as it is."
"He certainly has."
The tutor gazed at the little boy. "He's a sweet, adorable, lovable child," he said. "And a handsome one. I suspect he's a lot tougher than he looks. Only a tough child--and a brave one, I might add--could have survived what he went through."
Nodding, Diego stepped outside. He could only agree. The cool night breeze caressed his face; clusters of glittering stars dotted the sky. He decided to take a walk around the camp.
As he did so, he saw the same gaunt women still at work building their huts, with the help of their children. Even though the air felt chilly now that it was dark, they still wore no sandals, shoes, ponchos, serapes, or capes. Don Diego's heart bled as he watched them. He wished there were more he could do to help them, besides paying those who had agreed to conduct the search. At the same time, he was surprised to find out that the prying eyes of the soldiers had finally left the people alone for the night. Apparently, they believed that revolt could only happen during the day.
Don Diego wondered why none of the refugees would cooperate. After much thought, he suspected that fear was the main reason. After all, the soldiers had assumed that the peons who had stayed in the barn had supported the revolution. They had branded those peons as rebels and had attacked the village because of them. Since to accept the boy would draw suspicion, none dared take him in. The same fear had kept everyone from talking to Diego and his compadres, which in turn had kept them from even finding out the boy's name.
He feared that the peons he'd hired as detectives had fared no better. None of them had returned to Diego or his tutor to announce that they'd found the boy's relatives or someone who had agreed to raise him.
I'd better go back, he thought. Señor Spencer and I have much to discuss before we go to sleep.
He turned around and trudged back to the hut they'd rented. When he had almost reached it, he ran into the old man he'd seen repeatedly from a distance that day. This time, the man did not turn and disappear. Instead, he just stood there and glared at Don Diego with a hatred in his eyes that Diego understood. After all, it was his own class that mistreated this man's people so badly. Peon and caballero stood for a moment in silence, and then the gaunt man spoke.
"The boy's parents are dead," he spat, with pure loathing dripping from his words. "They stayed in the barn. His folks came from south of here, and his father was a peon farmer like me."
Don Diego nodded. "Do you know his name, señor? The name of his family?"
The peasant shook his head. "He had no other family, and no one here wants him. Take him with you and leave us in peace, caballero!" Without another word, he turned and left.
With a sigh, Diego entered the hut. Señor Spencer rose to his feet. "I overheard your conversation with that peon," he said, quietly. "He's probably right. If the men we hired don't have any news when they come to us, we'll have to take the boy with us."
Don Diego nodded. "We'd better find him a home, then, hadn't we? Perhaps in California, there'll be someone who will want him."
Jonathan nodded. "Perhaps. I will pray that someone will."
Don Diego yawned. "Before we do, though, I'd like to go to the next town and arrange for the purchase of some supplies to send to these people."
"All right. We will." Jonathan patted Don Diego's shoulder. "Jose has already gone to sleep. We'd better do the same, Diego."
Diego nodded. Yawning, he lay down on his reed mat and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he fell asleep.
END OF CHAPTER 15