Death of a Songbird by Christine Goff Read Free Book Online Page B

insisted.
    Lark turned to face Velof. “There must be some reason the people believe it is.”
    Velof cupped his hands, slapping them against his sleeves with a popping noise. “Just before NAFTA, the PRI repealed an article of the constitution that protected the communal land holdings of the Indian people.”
    “Who’s the PRI?” Lark interrupted, curious how Velof knew so much about the political climate of southern Mexico.
    “The Institutional Revolutionary Party,” Teresa answered. “The ruling party.”
    “All the repeal did was open the door to privatization of the Indian communal property,” Velof continued, “and most of the Indians already work their own plots of land.”
    Jacobs slid forward in his chair. “Don’t you get it? It’s the same thing that happened in the 1700s in the Scottish Highlands. The English government forced the Scots to privatize, pitting clan against clan. It destroyed their cultural base.”
    “No one in Chiapas is being forced to do anything,” Velof said.
    “No? What about La Mascara Roja?” Teresa shivered, and Jacobs draped a protective arm around her shoulders.
    “Who?” Lark asked.
    “La Mascara Roja,” Velof scoffed. “The so-called ‘red guard.’ A group of opportunists, if you ask me.”
    Teresa straightened her carriage. “They are PRI gunmen.”
    “How are they any different than the masked rebels? Or the large landholders with their ‘white guard,’ for that matter? I wonder if you’ve ever considered that your people might benefit from a little civilizing.”
    “Stop,” Lark ordered. “This is getting us nowhere.”
    Teresa mumbled something in Spanish.
    Lark looked at Velof. “Care to translate?”
    Velof shook his head.
    Teresa flashed a haughty smile, then spoke directly to Lark. “In December of 1997, the PRI stole the coffee harvests of Las Abejas. Just before Christmas, they came back and killed forty-five women and children in Acteal. I was there. I got away, but my mother was killed.”
    Lark stared at Teresa. The girl had lost a parent and witnessed a massacre. Was that the reason her father had sent her to the United States, the reason he distrusted the Mexican government so much? “Does your father think you’re in danger?”
    Teresa bowed her head. “He made me leave because of what I saw.”
    Things were starting to make sense. It’s natural to feel afraid with the Mexican army on your tail. “It’s time we called your father, Teresa.”
    “No!” The girl squeezed Lark’s hand tightly, making her wince. “The town’s telephone… it is listened to by the government. It is not safe.”
    “Are you saying there’s no way to reach your dad?”
    “Sometimes he calls me.” Teresa pulled her hand back and studied her nails.
    Velof pushed away from the windowsill. “Let’s get back to addressing the green card, shall we?”
    Lark bristled. “Back off, Stephen.” She stood and walked around the desk. While Jacobs nervously finger-combed his beard and Teresa fidgeted, Velof dusted his lapels. “How is it you know so much about what’s happening in Chiapas, Stephen?”
    Velof shrugged. “I worked a resort in Veracruz, a place called Fortin de las Flores.”
    “Yes, I know it,” Teresa said.
    Velof ignored her. “It’s a beautiful little town, a former Spanish outpost.”
    “It has beautiful gardens there, and very sweet fruit,” Teresa said.
    Velof turned his back and faced the small window, looking out over the Drummond lawns. “A lot of wealthy Mexican families own private homes there or visit the area on vacation. I worked at the Palacio, the largest resort club in town.”
    That explained how he understood Spanish.
    “While I was there, guerrillas attacked a small military post near the city. They had heard that the president of Mexico was staying at the Palacio, and they stormed the club. I was held hostage. One of my friends died.”
    “ Lo siento,” Teresa whispered.
    Velof glared at the girl. “The