The Day the Rebels Came to Town by Robert Hough Page B

saw why. Flames began licking out of the window, followed by clouds of thick, black smoke. Then the owner stumbled out the door. He coughed madly while swatting at his flaming left sleeve. Carlos swallowed hard and wished only that his country was at peace.
    Just then, Carlos noticed that he was not the only person in the town square. An old, grey-haired man was walking toward the tavern. He wore denim pants and a cowboy hat, and his feet kicked up dust as he walked. A few seconds later, the rebels came into the square, still laughing and swearing and very, very drunk.
    “Hey,” the old man called in a loud, firm voice. “ You .”
    The rebels went silent and looked over. The captain raised an eyebrow.
    “Yes, you,” the old man said again. “You will stop this.”
    The rebels drew their pistols. The captain sneered.
    “Jesus Christ,” he laughed. “Who in the hell are you ?”
    “I am Roberto Cruz. I am the mayor of Rosita. I am the mayor of this town.”
    “The mayor! So you run this piece of shit town. Well, Mr. Mayor. You got something to say to me?”
    “I do.”
    “Then say it, you old buzzard.”
    “You will leave. You will pack up your men and you will leave this place. We have nothing to do with this war of yours. This is a peaceful place. You have no reason to be here.”
    The captain narrowed his eyes and approached the old man.
    “We ain’t here for the war, old man. We’re here for the women.”
    “You won’t find any here. The brothel closed years ago, and all the other women have run away to the desert. You’re in a town of men, now.”
    The captain looked around, noticing for the first time that he had not seen a single woman in the town. His eyes flared with anger,and the rest of his face seemed to darken. He walked around the mayor in slow, tight circles. Suddenly he stopped, struck with an idea.
    The captain turned toward Carlos.
    “Cook!” he called, an evil grin crossing his face.
    Carlos walked toward the captain. His heart pounded and his legs shook, as though too weak to support his body. He could smell wood smoke and sweat coming up from his damp, dirty shirt. He stopped before the captain.
    “Yes, sir?” he said.
    “Must be a little boring, cooking beans all the time.”
    As Carlos stood there under the baking sun, he knew he had to agree. “Yes, Chief,” he said. “It’s very boring.”
    The captain moved in close. “Ah, well. I have good news for you, then,” he said. “I’m going to make you a real soldier. You’d like that? To be a soldier in our Army of the North? Under the supreme command of Pancho Villa? Of course you would. It’d make a man out of you, eh, cook?” As he spoke, he waved one of his pistols.
    A flock of crows took flight, briefly forming a shadow above. In that moment, the captainseemed to lose his good cheer. He grabbed Carlos’s forearm and put the gun in his hand. He then pointed toward the town’s old mayor. For some reason, Carlos noticed that the mayor was wearing a clean blue denim shirt. It was a shirt that someone must have ironed for him that very morning.
    “We have arrested this man. He is against the rebel cause. Please take care of him.”
    Carlos looked into the eyes of the captain. “No, please, I’m just a cook.”
    “Oh no, you trembling little coward. You are a proud member of the Army of the North. You are under the supreme command of Pancho-god-damn-Villa! Now do your job.”
    “Please, sir. I am begging...”
    “Do it!”
    Carlos didn’t move. The captain grabbed the hand that held the pistol and raised it. Now the gun’s long barrel pointed at the old mayor’s face. Carlos began to whimper. He and his friends used to kill crows and give them to their mothers to bake into pies. Apart from those crows, he had never killed anything in his life.
    “Please,” Carlos pleaded. “Don’t force me to do this.”
    This caused the other rebels to laugh and slap their thighs. One fell to his knees and began to vomit.