The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela Read Free Book Online

a moment. She wipes a few stray locks of hair that had fallen over her eyes from her drenched face. Then she digs her two hands deep into the earthenware tub and pulls out two large handfuls of cooked corn, dripping a turbid, yellowish water. “I don’t have any. You should ask Señora Dolores, though. She’s always got all kinds of herbs.”
    â€œâ€™Ã±a Dolores left for the convent last night. They came to get ’er without any warning so she’d go help Uncle Matías’s girl.”
    â€œGo on, Señora Pachita. You don’t say!”
    The three old women form a lively chorus, gossiping in very low, hushed tones, but always in a very vivid, animated manner.
    â€œAs sure as there’s a God in heaven above us!”
    â€œWell, ya know, I’m the first one who said anything about it: ‘Marcelina’s big,’ I said, ‘she’s really big ’round the middle! ’ But no one wanted to believe me.”
    â€œWell, poor thing. And what if the baby turns out to be her uncle Nazario’s?”
    â€œGod help her!”
    â€œNo, woman, it’s not her uncle Nazario’s, no way! It’s those damned Federales, curse ’em all!”
    The old women’s racket eventually wakes Demetrio up.
    They quiet down. Then Señora Pachita reaches into her bosom and brings out a palomo 3 — the small pigeon’s beak is open and it is barely breathing—and says:
    â€œOh, tha’s right, I nearly forgot, I came to bring the señor these substances. But if he’s bein’ looked after by a doctor . . .”
    â€œWhat you brought there won’t do nothin’, Señora Pachita. Tha’s somethin’ ya rub on the skin.”
    â€œSeñor, forgive how poor and how little this is, this gift I bring you,” said the wrinkled old woman, drawing close to Demetrio. “There’s nothin’ like this substance for blood ’morrhages.”
    Demetrio quickly nodded his approval. They had already put slices of alcohol-soaked bread on his stomach, and even though they cooled off his belly when they were removed, he still felt very feverish inside.
    â€œGo ahead, Señora Remigia. Go ahead and do it, since ya know it so good,” the other women said.
    Señora Remigia pulled a long, curved knife typically used to slice cactus fruit out of a reed sheath. Then she grabbed the small pigeon in one hand, held it just above Demetrio’s belly, and slashed it in half with a single swipe of the blade, as skillfully as a surgeon.
    â€œIn the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Señora Remigia said, blessing the room, and very quickly applied the two halves of the pigeon, dripping warm blood, on Demetrio’s abdomen.
    â€œNow ya’ll see how ya’ll start feelin’ a lotta relief real soon.”
    Obeying Señora Remigia’s instructions, Demetrio remained still, his head tucked in as he lay on his side.
    Then Señora Fortunata told of her troubles. She felt much goodwill toward the señores of the revolution. Three months ago the Federales had stolen her only daughter away, leaving her inconsolable and beside herself.
    When Señora Fortunata began telling her story, Quail and Anastasio Montañés, sitting on their haunches at the foot of the stretcher, raised their heads and listened, their mouths hanging open. But Señora Fortunata went on to recount the story in so many details that halfway through Quail grew bored and went outside to stretch his legs in the sun. When she finally finished up—by saying in a solemn tone, “I pray to God and the Blessed Virgin Mary that you do not leave a single one of those damned Federales alive”—Demetrio, facing the wall, feeling much relief from the substances on his stomach, was thinking of the best route to proceed to Durango, while Anastasio Montañés snored as loud as a trombone.

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    â€œWhy don’t you call the