Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene 72 & 73

At the station a large crowd cheered as the wagon pulled up to the platform. Dazed, Chancho failed to understand it. Grady steadied the team while Pepe ran ahead to ensure a doctor got on board and that everything was ready. Esperanza silenced Chancho’s sputtering, trying to explain the situation. “You have inspired people to get involved—to live life rather than watch it happen.”

“But the train, where am I—”

“To Austin. We are riding with you. The entire train is for you. The switches have been cleared from here to the capital.”

“Austin?”

“We will demand a pardon from the governor. He will have no choice.”

“But why? I failed.” Tears streaked his pain-etched face.

“No.” Esperanza shook her head, a ringlet of her dark hair whispering across his cheek as she held her face only inches from his. “Don’t you see? You’ve succeeded.” A tear of her own mingled with his. “When you first came to Santa Polco you said you were in search of a different life.” She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “You didn’t just find one. You created one for all of us.”

“What? The coins?”

She smiled. “Not just the coins, you dense, silly man. The vision behind them.”

Chancho couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. How did she know about the vision behind them? How could anyone have known? And right when he had finally killed all hope of its fulfillment, erased the revolutionary nonsense from his dream-addled head. He uttered one last pathetic question, “What vision?”

Esperanza rolled her eyes. “That if one person’s kindness could make a difference, together we could change everything. That our fears and doubts should not keep us from doing what we know to be right.”

“Oh.” Stupefied, Chancho closed his eyes.

“The ranger is not the kind of leader we need.” She kissed him on the forehead.

“We’re ready.” Grady tucked his head into the back of the wagon. “Pepe found a stretcher to make it easier. Clever boy you got there.”

Esperanza blushed. “Here, help me, and we’ll load him. He needs a doctor. He’s getting weaker.”

In the open air, cheers and thunderous applause greeted Chancho as several men streamed forward to lend a hand at carrying the folk hero’s stretcher. Much of the crowd were brown-skinned, but even more where white. A few Chinese huddled together at the back of the platform. Weak and flustered, Chancho managed to wave as the sea of humanity pushed him forward, lifting him up the steps and onboard the train.

Inside, Esperanza directed the stretcher into a private car where a doctor waited. They transferred Chancho to the bed, before everyone but Pepe retreated under strict orders from the doc. Clinging stubbornly to the bedside, Pepe took Chancho’s hand and placed something cold into it. Finally he relented, joining his mother.

A song broke out among the crowd on the platform, but Chancho couldn’t understand the words. He focused on the object Pepe had placed in his hand. A golden eagle with a snake in its beak shimmered back at him through his tear-clouded eyes. He clutched the last gold coin to his chest as the doctor applied pressure to the wound. Eyes fluttering, he passed out.

The view from Chancho’s third floor window at the Driskill Hotel included the governor’s mansion, Saint Mary’s Cathedral and of course the State Capital. But the opulence of his hotel room distracted him from the view, lifting him out of his skin and dropping him on foreign soil.