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But Valderrama did not hear him; he had no eyes for the fight; he was reciting an impassioned soliloquy as he watched the sunset over the hills. With solemn gestures and emphatic tones, he said: "O Lord, Lord, pleasurable it is this thy land! I shall build me three tents: one for Thee, one for Moses, one for Elijah!" "Valderrama," Demetrio shouted again.
In the first stage of his drunkenness, Valderrama had been counting the crosses scattered along the road, along the trails, in the hollows near the rocks, in the tortuous paths, and along the riverbanks.
Before Juchipila was lost from sight, Valderrama got off his horse, bent down, kneeled, and gravely kissed the ground. The soldiers passed by without stopping. Some laughed at the crazy man, others jested.
Interrupting his prayer, Valderrama frowned, burst into stentorian laughter, reechoed by the rocks, and ran toward the officer begging for a swallow of tequila. Soldiers minus an arm or leg, cripples, rheumatics, and consumptives spoke bitterly of Demetrio.
Valderrama, deaf to all about him, breathed his unctuous prayer: "O Juchipila, cradle of the Revolution of 1910, O blessed land, land steeped in the blood of martyrs, blood of dreamers, the only true men..." "Because they had no time to be bad!" an ex-Federal officer interjected as he rode.
His vermilion eyes closed slowly, revealing eyelids of pink coral; his tangled feathers quivered and shook convulsively amid a pool of blood. Valderrama, who could not repress a gesture of violent indignation, began to play. With the first melancholy strains of the tune, his anger disappeared. His eyes gleamed with the light of madness.
Whenever anything was said about shooting someone, Valderrama, the romantic poet, would disappear for a whole day. Hearing Anastasio's voice, Valderrama was convinced that the prisoners had been set at liberty. A few moments later, he was joined by Venancio and Demetrio. "Heard the news?" Venancio asked gravely. "No." "It's very serious. A terrible mess!
"Come and sing 'The Undertaker' song for me." "Hey, crazy, the General is calling you," an officer shouted. Valderrama with his eternally complacent smile went over to Demetrio's seat and asked the musicians for a guitar. "Silence," the gamesters cried. Valderrama finished tuning his instrument.
With a confidence as sudden as it was courageous, he hit the General across the chest. The General smiled benevolently. Valderrama, the tramp, the crazy maker of verses, did he ever know what he said?
"Bring me anyone you find hiding or running away," he commanded in a loud voice. "What? What did you say?" Valderrama cried in surprise. "The men of the sierra? Those brave men who've not yet done what those chickens down in Aguascalientes and Zacatecas have done all the time? Our own brothers, who weather storms, who cling to the rocks like moss itself? I protest, sir; I protest!"
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