Diario las Américas Newspaper, June 16, 1957, Page 24

i re A short story by AMADO MURO MY UNCLE RODOLFO AVITIA was a burly man with herculean shoulders and a booming bass voice. He wore his heavy gray mus- tache in the style popularized by the pulque venders in Porfirio Diaz’s day and he never went out without clamping his big Zacatecas sombrero on his massive head. The mustache and the sombrero were his only obvious vanities. But he had still another. My uncle was very proud of being Chihua- huan. He was proud of everything related to his native state, and in- tolerant of anyone who tried to discredit either Chihuahua or its people. Did feminine beauty exist out- side Chihuahua? Not for my un- ele Rodolfo. For him, Chihuahuan women were many times lovielier than those from Jalisco, who are popularly believed to be the most beautiful in all México. His extra- vagant opinions on this subject, expressed at the slightest pro- vocation — more often without any provocation at all — made the lad- ies in our neighborhood, Chihua- huans all, beam gratefully at Un- ele Rodolfo. And so it was in all things. Could a Mexican born in a state other than Chihuahua become a boxer worthy of the name? My uncle said not. Could anyone but a Chi- huahuan be a success in the bull ring? Uncle Rodolfo thought it most unlikely. Could a statue be fashioned with beauty and artistry by craftsmen from any place but Chihuahua? “No,” said my uncle Rodolfo, y Aware of his invincible opinion that no Mexican of integrity would allow himself to be born anywhere but in Chihuahua, I was not at all surprised when he told me that a swineherd from Chihuahua’ was the only Mexican ever to get to heaven under his own power. He told me about this resource- ful Chihuahuan on the night of my tenth birthday, afier the pinata had been broken. As an after- thought he added that if 1 be- haved better, I would stand a good ehance of being the second Chihua- huan to enter heaven. “Who was that first man?” I asked, already picturing myself as the second. “Pedro Urdemales,” my uncle said. “He was the greatest rogue in all México. Like you, he was born in Hidalgo del Parral, which is, as you know, México’s most de- lightful spa.” I wanted to know all about how Pedro Urdemales got into heaven. So my uncle opened a bottle of Cruz Blanca beer, which is made in Chihuahua, and sat down. This is the story as he told it: Although Pedro Urdemales was born in Hidalgo del Parral at an early age he went to Torreén, in Coahuila State, to be a swineherd in a cotton-growig section of Mé- Pedro xico known as La Laguna. Over the years the Devil kept track of this rascal of swineherd with keen and admiring interest. When he heard that Pedro Urde- males had died, he ordered his imps to build up a welcoming blaze and stepped into his brimstone palace to wait. Pedro was _ not long in arriving. Like the good Chihuahuan he was, he walked in- to hell singing the praises of his home town at the top of his lungs: Ay, Hidalgo del Parral Chihua- hua Tierra en donde vi la luz, No me alboroten el agua, Hijos de Santa Cruz When he finished his song, Pe- dro knocked boldly at the Devil’s door. “Who is it?” the Devil barked, “It's me, Pedro Urdemales.” When he heard Pedro’s voice, the Devil rushed out, sprang to his prickly-pear throne, and com- manded his imps to pour boiling water on Pedro’s head. Impassive as ever, Pedro took off his hat, shook it a few times, and. squeezed out the steaming water. “That little shower was just like the kind we used to have back up in Chihuahua,” he remarked plea- santly. -The Devil gritted his teeth. He hollered to the imps to pile more green live-oak wood on the fire. The flames shot up like orange lances. Knowing that his kingdom had never been hotter, the Devil grinned maliciously and asked Pe- dro how he liked it. “Well, it is a little warm,” Pe- dro conceded. “It reminds me of the days when I was herding hogs back up in La Laguna.” The Devil flew into a rage. He ordered his imps to poke him with their pitchforks. But Pedro only laughed and said it remainded him of the time he had run after a rattlesnake into a_ prickly-pear thicket outside of Parral. At that the Devil sprang from his throne and ground his eloven hoofs in the blazing coals of his kingdom. He rushed over to Pedro and led him into the kitchen, which is and was the hottest room in all hell. “If you won’t suffer outside, then suffer in here,” he snarled. Pedro took a long look around. “Warm,” he remarked. “It’s like a midsummer day back up in Patral, where I was born. Then, too, it is not much codler than it was-when I was herding hogs in La Laguna.” The Devil bellowed at Pedro never to mention Parral or La Laguna again. He was tired of hearing about them. “Cook,” said the Devil, pushing Pedro toward the brimstone stove. So Pedro fried beans and made fat tortillas, just as the women had made them back up in Parral. He had even smuggled in some red pepper to flavor the beans. As cooked, he sang lustily, Reprinted from AMERICAS. monthly magazine published by the Pan American Union in English, Spanish and Portu- guese. From his brimstone palace, the De- vil could hear him. Since hé doted on long, mournful faces, he wine- ed and clapped his hands to his ears. But Pedro’s voice cut through the Devil’s defending hands and thundered in his ears. Gritaba Francisco Villa En la estacién de Calera, Vamos a darle la mano a Don Panfile Natera. Ahora si, borracho Huerta, Haras las patas mas chuecas Al saber que Pancho Villa ha tomado Zacatecas. The Mexican imps began to shout “Viva Villa”. After a while imps from other nations laid down their shovels, and they too began to shout “Viva Villa”, with EuropeaA Asiatic, American, and African accents. The Devil’s discipline was shat- tered, but our Chihuahuan friend wasn’t through yet. The dinners Pedro served made the Mexican imps happy and content with their lot, something previously unheard of in hell. But the non-Mexican imps suffered far beyond their nor- nial quotas. The peppers blistered their lips, and after a few days of Pedro’s cooking they all began to lose weight. The Deivl asked Pe- dro why. “I don’t know,” Pedro said. “It can’t be the peppers. Why, back home in Parral all of us grew up on really fiery peppers. What I’ve been giving the imps can’t com- pare with them.” But the Devil continued to ques- tion Pedro, and finally Pedro told him: “They’re unhappy because they have nothing to wear. They're envious of the angels with their long white robes.” Pedro even volunteered to make shirts for the imps and after a while the Devil agreed. So the Chi- huahuan settled down the job of making shirts. He sewed a big cross on the back of each. When the Devil and his imps saw the crosses, they scat- tered frantically, and Pedro was free to climb up to the golden gates of heaven. He knocked and knocked. Final- ly he heard St. Peter ask: “Who’s there?” “It's me. Namesake. It’s Pedro Urdemales, who was born in Pa- tral not ““~ from the bridge of Guanajuai and who later lived in La Laguna.” “Go away,” St. Peter called out. “Why, Namesake?” Pedro Urde- males asked. “Pedro Urdemales,” St. Peter said sternly, “two days before your death you killed all the hogs you were herding and sold them. EER Ne € eas Illustrations by You cut o} tails, stuc em in the swamp, and told your boss the hogs had bogged down. You show- ed him their upthrust tails as proof. You deceived yours boss not once but many times. There is no place for you in heaven.” “Look, Namesake,” Pedro said, “it’s nice and cool up here, just as it is down in Santa Barbara — that’s a town near Parral — and all I want is.a look at this beautiful place so I can tell others about it.” St. Peter, tired of the servility most: people assumed in his pre- sence, warmed to Pedro Urdema- les. So he opened the gates of heaven a little, Pedro stuck his finger in the tiny opening. “Name- sake,” he cried, “my finger’s caught in the gate. Open it a bit more so I can get it out.” St. Peter did,-and Pedro Urde- males tossed his big sombrero through the gates right into heav- en. “Namesake, the wind blew my sombrero off. Let me come in and find it.” “Al right,” St. Peter agreed, “but you’ve got to leave as soon as you find your hat.” A month went by, and Pedro | AY, CHIHUAHUA! HENRY R. MARTIN rdemales still had not made his requested departure from heaven. Meanwhile, angels complained of mysterious losses. Some of them reported missing feathers and rings. Others said their golden crowns had. disappeared. They told the Lord of these strange happen- ings. “You must be mistaken,” he said. “There can be no dishonesty here.” But the complaints grew in both intensity and number. Finally the Lord called St. Peter before him. It was then that St. Peter admitted that he had let a Mexican swine- herd named Pedro Urdemales pass through the gates of heaven to look for his ‘hat. A party of angels set out to hunt for Pedro, but he could not be found. Finally the Lord called a messenger angel to his side. He said: “I want you to fly down to earth and find a Mexican, a peon wearing a big sombrero, and bring him to me.” The angel flapped his wings and flew away. An hour later he came back carrying a Mexican. “Where did you find him?” the Lord asked. “I flew all the way to México City,” the O gpuioan angel said. “On Avenida Juarez I didn’t see a single man like the one you des- eribed. All wore U. S.-style hats and carried brief cases. I was tired of flying, so I made myself invisib- le and got on a second-class bus marked ‘La Merced.’ A man in the back of the bus had a guitar under his arm. After about a block, he sprang from his seat and started to sing: te Si Adelita se casara con Carram za Y Panche Villa con Alvaro Obregon, ; Yo me casaba con Adelita Y se acababa la revolucién’’” The Lord smiled. “What did the other passengers do while he was singing?” he asked. “They all began shouting ‘Viva Villa,” the messenger angel re- plied. : The smile on the Lord’s face broadened as he turned to the Me- xican and asked, “What is your Rame?” f “Emilio de la Rosa, here to serve you, my Lord.” “Do you know a song called Corrido del Norte?” Be ae IN Te | SUNDAY, JUNE 16, 1957 4