CHAPTER 8: "Siege!"
"Siege!" One of the peons rushed past the Cortezes' stall. "We're under siege! The government soldiers have come!"
Felipe froze. "Mommy, what--uh, what does that mean?"
Consuela patted the ground next to her; Felipe crawled toward her and climbed on her lap. The familiar sweaty stink of her clothes wafted toward Felipe's nostrils as he nestled against her bosom. "There's a battle," she said. "Not here, but close."
"Too close." Juan pursed his lips. "We can't leave the town now, even if we had the cart and burro. It's not even safe to go to the plaza to get any water."
All the time they spoke, cannonballs exploded repeatedly in the distance. Felipe had occasionally overheard them in San Miguel, but never before had they meant danger for him.
"What does it mean, Juan?" Consuela hugged Felipe to her side.
"Like I told you, yesterday, we've been branded rebels." Juan spat on the ground. "Some of the men stayin' in this barn joined the rebel army, and now the government's goin' to punish us all."
Consuela turned to her son. "Felipe, we must never leave this barn, except to go to the plaza fountain or an outhouse," she warned. "Not until it's over."
Felipe wrapped his arms around his mother's neck and scrooged his eyes shut. The distant booming echoed in his ears. "That's cannonfire," Consuela explained. "The soldiers are shootin' off cannons."
Panic surged in the little boy's heart. His heart pounded. What was going to happen?
"Mommy, I'm scared!" he whispered.
Consuela clasped him tightly and rocked him back and forth. "The fightin' is not here, Felipe. We will pray it don't come here."
When Felipe opened his eyes, he saw his father's eyes rest on him, disgust evident in them. Without a word, Juan rose to his feet, draped his folded serape over his shoulder, placed his straw sombrero on his head, and left the stall.
Guilt welled up in Felipe's heart. He thinks I'm bein' a baby, he thought, pouting. I'm a bad boy. I'm not supposed to be scared. Papá's not scared. He never is. He inserted his finger into his mouth and sucked it.
That morning was the beginning of a long, terrifying ordeal, and of a deep, intense struggle within Felipe's heart. Day after day, the cannonballs exploded incessantly. Some of them exploded near the pueblo, hurting Felipe's ears, but fortunately, none of them injured or killed any of its residents or refugees. Felipe's parents forbade him to ever leave the barn without their express permission. Too scared to risk it, Felipe obeyed.
Twice a day, Felipe would accompany his mother into town, so they could get some water, and relieve themselves if they needed to. The streets and plazas were mostly empty. People were afraid to go outside unless they just had to. In the distance, the cannonfire went on and on. The nightly songfests ceased.
For hours at a stretch, Felipe would nestle in his mother's arms and suck his finger, while his father stood guard in the doorway, alert for danger to his family. Felipe knew that Juan was determined to protect his wife and son if he could possibly do so. Even if he had to put himself in harm's way, he would do it. And so would Consuela, if that was what it took to save her son.
"Pray the soldiers never get here," Felipe overheard a man say in the next stall, once. The little boy leaned against his mother's chest and listened. "If they do, they'll kill us all."
Felipe gaped at his mother as fear surged through his heart once again. Consuela hugged him.
"Your papá'll do everythin' he can, to keep that from happenin', mijo."
Felipe nodded. That was true. His father was a fighter, brave and strong, and he would certainly do all he could to guard his family.
Papá's never scared, Felipe thought, ruefully. Mommy's brave, too. Guess I'm the only coward. I'm a bad boy.
Again and again, his father's angry accusations replayed over and over in Felipe's mind. Even though his father was now too preoccupied to scold or punish his son, Felipe couldn't stop thinking about it. Try as he did, he couldn't shut his father's scoldings out. Was he a baby? Was he a coward?
I wish I was brave and strong like Papá, he thought. Like he wants me to be. Maybe if I was, he wouldn't be so mad at me all the time.
Every day, while Consuela held her little boy in her arms, she would pick up her rosary and pray for protection. Together, she and her son would take turns praying with it until both felt better. Please, God, help me be brave, Felipe would pray silently. Please protect us from those soldiers!
END OF CHAPTER 8