"Can you tell me when the next train--?" I began.
The little man made a gesture of Spanish politeness.
"Welcome to Mexico!" he said.
"Could you tell me--?" I continued.
"Welcome to our sunny Mexico!" he repeated--"our beautiful, glorious Mexico. Her heart throbs at the sight of you."
"Would you mind--?" I began again.
"Our beautiful Mexico, torn and distracted as she is, greets you. In the name of the _de facto_ government, thrice welcome. _Su casa!_" he added with a graceful gesture indicating the interior of his little shack.
"Come in and smoke cigarettes and sleep. _Su casa!_ You are capable of Spanish, is it not?"
"No," I said, "it is not. But I wanted to know when the next train for the interior--"
"Ah!" he rejoined more briskly. "You address me as a servant of the _de facto_ government. _Momentino!_ One moment!"
He shut the wicket and was gone a long time. I thought he had fallen asleep.
But he reappeared. He had a bundle of what looked like railway time tables, very ancient and worn, in his hand.
"Did you say," he questioned, "the _in_terior or the _ex_terior?"
"The interior, please."
"Ah, good, excellent--for the interior." The little Mexican retreated into his shack and I could hear him murmuring, "For the interior, excellent," as he moved to and fro.
Presently he reappeared, a look of deep sorrow on his face.
"Alas," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I am _desolado!_ It has gone! The next train has gone!"
"Gone! When?"
"Alas, who can tell? Yesterday, last month? But it has gone."
"And when will there be another one?" I asked.
"Ha!" he said, resuming a brisk official manner. "I understand. Having missed the next, you propose to take another one. Excellent! What business enterprise you foreigners have! You miss your train! What do you do? Do you abandon your journey? No. Do you sit down--do you weep? No. Do you lose time? You do not."
"Excuse me," I said, "but when is there another train?"
"That must depend," said the little official, and as he spoke he emerged from his house and stood beside me on the platform fumbling among his railway guides. "The first question is, do you propose to take a _de facto_ train or a _de jure_ train?"
"When do they go?" I asked.
"There is a _de jure_ train," continued the stationmaster, peering into his papers, "at two p.m. A very good train--sleepers and diners--one at four, a through train--sleepers, observation car, dining car, corridor compartments--that also is a _de jure_ train--"
"But what is the difference between the _de jure_ and the _de facto?_"
"It"s a distinction we generally make in Mexico. The _de jure_ trains are those that ought to go; that is, in theory, they go. The _de facto_ trains are those that actually do go. It is a distinction clearly established in our correspondence with Huedro Huilson."
"Do you mean Woodrow Wilson?"
"Yes, Huedro Huilson, president--_de jure_--of the United States."
"Oh," I said. "Now I understand. And when will there be a _de facto_ train?"
"At any moment you like," said the little official with a bow.
"But I don"t see--"
"Pardon me, I have one here behind the shed on that side track. Excuse me one moment and I will bring it."
He disappeared and I presently saw him energetically pushing out from behind the shed a little railroad lorry or hand truck.
"Now then," he said as he shoved his little car on to the main track, "this is the train. Seat yourself. I myself will take you."
"And how much shall I pay? What is the fare to the interior?" I questioned.
The little man waved the idea aside with a polite gesture.
"The fare," he said, "let us not speak of it. Let us forget it How much money have you?"
"I have here," I said, taking out a roll of bills, "fifty dollars--"
"And that is _all_ you have?"
"Yes."
"Then let _that_ be your fare! Why should I ask more?
Were I an American, I might; but in our Mexico, no. What you have we take; beyond that we ask nothing. Let us forget it. Good! And, now, would you prefer to travel first, second, or third cla.s.s?"
"First cla.s.s please," I said.
"Very good. Let it be so." Here the little man took from his pocket a red label marked FIRST CLa.s.s and tied it on the edge of the hand car. "It is more comfortable," he said. "Now seat yourself, seize hold of these two handles in front of you. Move them back and forward, thus. Beyond that you need do nothing. The working of the car, other than the mere shoving of the handles, shall be my task.
Consider yourself, in fact, _senor_, as my guest."
We took our places. I applied myself, as directed, to the handles and the little car moved forward across the plain.
"A glorious prospect," I said, as I gazed at the broad panorama.
"_Magnifico!_ Is it not?" said my companion. "Alas, my poor Mexico! She want nothing but water to make her the most fertile country of the globe! Water and soil, those only, and she would excel all others. Give her but water, soil, light, heat, capital and labour, and what could she not be! And what do we see? Distraction, revolution, destruction--pardon me, will you please stop the car a moment? I wish to tear up a little of the track behind us."
I did as directed. My companion descended, and with a little bar that he took from beneath the car unloosed a few of the rails of the light track and laid them beside the road.
"It is our custom," he explained, as he climbed on board again. "We Mexicans, when we move to and fro, always tear up the track behind us. But what was I saying? Ah, yes--destruction, desolation, alas, our Mexico!"
He looked sadly up at the sky.