Many strange things happen in this old world, my friend, as you well know. And one of the strangest things I have ever heard is the story of old Mariano and the wonderful chirrionera.
Now many people do not believe this story, but I will tell it to you and you can judge for yourself. It is said that if you go to old Marino’s house today and look him in the eyes and say the word “chirrionera” you will see that the old man’s brows will come down over his eyes so he cannot see, and his moustache will droop over his mouth to shut in the words. Up around his ears he will pull his sarape; and you may shout at him and wave your hands in front of his face all day if you like, and he will remain so.
Very strange you say? Well listen to the story:
Old Mariano had next to his house a garden and an orchard, the most beautiful and luxuriant imaginable, surrounded by a high adobe wall. Above the wall could be seen the peaches shining in the sun, and the plums red and sparkling like rubies, and so many of them. Many! Many! You could not see the branches. The same of grapes, mangoes, limes, and oranges. Such fruits! The people passing by would stop and stare and swallow as if they were eating. Ah, so delicious and so plentiful, it makes me hungry to think of them now.
And Mariano, quick-tempered, irritable old bachelor that he was, smiled never so broadly as when people would stop to gaze in hunger at this fruits. The few times he was known to laugh were when three little boys who lived nearby would come to gaze up pitifully at the ripe fruits. Juan, Jose, and Daniel, the boys were called; and when they went over to old Mariano’s house, he would point up to the fruits and say: “Ah, you admire my fruit, boys! And well you might. They are even more delicious than they look. Ah, see how the blackbirds and the doves eat them greedily! Is this not proof enough that the fruits are most delicious? Ah, and see how that the biggest blackbird goes from mango to plum just tasting daintily.”
And the three little brothers, Jaun, Jose, and Daniel, from down below on the ground, looking up, would say one to the other, “Just look at the peaches, the plums, the little mangoes, and the little grapes! Why can not we taste of that mango that the blackbird has just knocked to the ground inside?”
But old Mariano would show his wolf teeth and laugh.
No, never would old Mariano give even a partly rotten fruit to anyone. In fact, if a blackbird should alight on an overhanging branch and peck a fruit outside to the ground so that the three brothers could pick it up, devouring it amongst themselves as they ran, the old man would get his rifle, shoot at the guilty blackbird, and then spend the rest of the day talking angrily to himself. Yet he knew that the three brothers were the sons of Juan Santos, a poor mule herder who worked hard every day, only sometimes to spend all his hard-earned and scanty wages on tequila Saturday night, so that some days there were neither tortillas nor frijoles in the house.
But as time passed, the three boys grew taller and their bones harder, while old Mariano began to stoop more as he lifted his feet more slowly from one step to the next. Time is just.
At last one day the three brothers tasted of the jealously-guarded fruits of old Mariano. Early one morning before the dawn Jaun, Jose, and Daniel went down the hill to the creek; and here, working like ants with their machetes, they cut a long pole and made little steps in it so that soon they had a chicken-ladder like those you see going from one landing to the others in the mines. After much stopping to rest, the three carried the ladder up the hill and slowly, slowly over to old Mariano’s orchard. Grunting and panting, they managed to place the small end of their ladder upon the top of the high adobe wall. The youngest brother, Daniel, who did not wear sandals, went quietly, quietly, his bare feet making no more noise on the ground than those of a coyote, up to old Mariano’s door and peeked in. Back he came with the word that the miserable old man was taking his afternoon siesta and was trumpeting snores so loud that surely he would not be awakened if two burros were suddenly to bray into each of his ears.
Like a squirrel, Juan, the eldest brother, went up the ladder. From the wall top he climbed into a peach tree. His hands working as rapidly as those of a young monkey, he snatched fruits in every direction and let them fall over the outside wall to Jose and Daniel, who threw them into sacks slung about their necks in readiness.
When their sacks were nearly full of fruit, the boys began to relax their caution and to laugh. In this moment old Mariano appeared in his doorway. Yelling insanely and swearing, he threw his hands at the sky and broke running towards the boys. Daniel and Jose with their sacks turned and raced into the chaparral and took straight up the mountainside like two young goats who know that the wolf is just behind them. Juan hardly had time to scramble down the ladder. Just as he reached the ground, old Mariano, rushing like a bull, made a grab at the boy and took hold of the one suspender to his pants. Juan jerked away, leaving the old man holding the strip of blue cloth in his hand. Then old Mariano gave chase; but Juan, even though he had to hold up his pants as he ran, soon left the puffing old man behind.
Bellowing curses into the unoffending air and stamping the innocent ground, old Mariano went, not to his own house, but, as do all his kind in cases like this, to the house of the boys parents. Here he awaited Juan Santos and asked him indignantly what kind of vicious creatures he had raised for sons, that they must rob an old man. In the jail, the jail, was where they belonged. They would surely be executed when they grew up, all of them.
“I am sorry,” said Juan Santos, “but every day before dawn I get my mules together and when the sun comes up I am driving the animals over the trails through the mountains. Already darkness has come when I arrive here at the house. How can I know what my sons are doing during the day? I cannot tie them as I would dogs, for they know how to untie the knots. Neither can I put them in a corral as I would goats, for they would fairly quickly climb over and be out. But this I tell you: every time they steal your fruit, I shall let you whip them, as punishment.”
“Very well,” said old Mariano. “it is good.”
Juan Santos told his boys what he had said to their enemy. “But,” he added, “that old man is too weak. He cannot hurt you. He will only drive some of the dust out of your clothes.”
So the next time the boys stole fruit from old Mariano’s orchard, Juan Santos took his boys over to the old man’s house. With a small stick, the old man first worked on Juan, the eldest, who shouted, “Ay! Ay!” at each blow as if his end had come. By the time the old man was ready for Jose, the strength was gone from his arm. But Jose yelled mightily. When finally it came Daniel’s turn, his cries were plainly artificial ones, for the old man could hardly lift his arm for the blow.
Little did old Mariano realize how many years had stolen into his bones, stiffening his joints and weakening his muscles. Daily came the boys to his orchard, and reported faithfully for their punishment, crying loudly, loudly.
Old Mariano was desperate.
“Ah, poor me,” Mariano said, “at first I chopped to pieces the ladders of the little devils; but they make new ones. Chihuahua! I cannot keep up with them. They are three and I am one. Oh, yes, they still come to be whipped. But, with them it is a playful game and with me hard work beyond my years. Loudly they shout and cry when I whip them; but I know that in truth, even while they yell so loudly, they are at me laughing. Poor me! Poor me! I do not know what to do. What can I do? Must I continue suffering injustice from these three young fiends? Ah, if only again I had my youth, my strength. Poor me! What ill luck has befallen me!”
His bad luck caused old Mariano to arise very early one morning. The night before, much tequila had made him fall asleep early; and as he had not cursed all he had desired that day, he arose early this morning so as to spend every bit of the day in the thing that now was his only pastime and consolation.
He had not been seated outside his doorway long, when suddenly, becoming alert, he did something he never before had been known to do. He became suddenly silent in the very middle of an eloquent sentence of swearing, leaving half the curse to float uncompleted in the air.
With open mouth, he stared out in front of his house at the road where an oxcart was passing. The driver lay in the cart sleeping peacefully; but the two oxen went on at a very good pace. Why? A whip would strike out from time to time, hitting the oxen a smart blow. Mariano blinked his old eyes. Surely he couldn’t be still drunk from the tequila of last night! A whip striking the oxen! Yet no one holding the handle! Thus it was.
“Hey there, wait!” Leaping up from his chair like a man truly inspired with the devil, Mariano went running, stumbling, yelling, and waving his arms for the driver to stop. As the old man approached, the driver sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“What a strange whip you have sir!” old Mariano panted.
“You think so?” answered the driver, smiling.
“No handle, and no hand ahold of it; yet it strikes the oxen. Are you perhaps a magician…?”
As the cart came to a halt, the whip curled up like a snake. Mariano’s eyes almost popped from their sockets. The whip was a snake! For a moment the old man was speechless.
“Yes,” said the driver calmly, “many wonder at my Chapo. He is a chirrionera, one of those snakes who stand upon their heads and whip their enemies. I have trained him to keep the oxen going at a steady pace.”
By this time Mariano had managed to loosen his tongue. Now his eyes shone with a new fire – like those of a fox who has suddenly thought of a new and better way to catch chickens.
“Senior,” he said excitedly, “senior, tell me. Can you tell me where I could find such a snake as your Chapo?”
“Sure,” said the driver, “go into the desert at the foot of the mountain called the Mountain of Red Cactus. Make sure that you go directly after a rain. As you approach the mountain, you may become frightened, thinking that someone is shooting at you with a powerful rifle. But do not be alarmed: it will be merely the chirrioneras popping their tails in an effort to dry themselves after their bath in the rain, which falls only once a year in that region.”
So, when the first rain fell, old Mariano made haste into the desert and towards the Mountain of Red Cactus. Before long he stopped and listened. There came through the desert the sound as of many guns firing off. As was predicted, the old man thought of running. Surely, he thought, the bandits and the lawmen were having a terrific battle. But he remembered what the oxcart driver had told him, and went cautiously on again, approaching the foot of the mountain whence came the loud sounds popping and cracking.
As he crept through the tall cactus and the brushy mesquite of the desert, old Mariano clasped in one hand a long pole, on the end of which was a small loop of rope made to snare with.
Slowly, slowly, he crept closer, closer to the little clearing at the foot of the mountains. Hiding behind a large stone, he watched a strange sight. Here were more than one hundred dark purple snakes, most of them popping their tails and sending little sprays of water into the air. From behind his rock Mariano arose stealthily with is long pole. But the wary snakes saw him and went squirming and bounding as fast as deer through the chaparral. All except one. A large, handsome chirrionera stayed. Not yet had he popped himself dry. He was so laden with rain water that he could move only slowly.
Upon this helpless one old Mariano pounced. Soon he had the snake’s head secure in the loop at the end of the long pole. Struggle and squirm as he would, the snake could not work himself free. With a great smile on his face, the old man maneuvered the captured snake on the end of the pole through the chaparral towards his home in the little town of Venaditos.
Old Mariano turned loose the captive chirrionera in his orchard and set out for him every day a big bowl full of the finest fruit. At first the snake, on seeing the old man approach, would crawl rapidly away and cringe, coiled tightly, in the darkest corner of the orchard; but in a little time he became more tame, until soon he would eat fruit not only from the big bowl, but even out of the old man’s hand.
As time passed, the creature came to feel very much at home around Mariano’s house, and grew to believe, like a dog, that he was watchman of the place. Whenever a stranger came into view, the snake would stand upon his head and snap his tail so that it cracked loudly in warning. And if the old man wanted the stranger driven away, he had simply to say to the snake, “Hit him!” Then the chirrionera would race like a dark purple streak along the ground toward the one at whom his master was pointing. Standing upon his head, he would bounce around and around the victim, striking him with his tail from every direction, so that the one being beaten could only think that there were a dozen magic whips surrounding him, beating him whichever way he turned to escape.
So pleased was old Mariano with his chirrionera that he named him Angelito, which means Little Angel.
Now, careful, careful, was the sly old Mariano to keep secret from the three boys the fact that he had this Little Angel snake in his possession. The old fox waited until he had his pet trained perfectly. And then what a lashing the three little fruit-stealers would get!
After some little time, one day the three boys, Juan, Jose, and Daniel, came carrying their ladder to old Mariano’s house. Laughing and joking they came now, for they had grown to regard the old man’s whippings as great sport. They were even a little disappointed that they had received no beatings for three weeks. Working leisurely, they placed their ladder in position against the wall; and Juan raised his foot to climb up.
“Hit them!”
The boys turned quickly and looked. In his door stood old Mariano, a strange smile on his face, pointing at them. At the same time, the boys caught a glimpse of a dark purple shining snake streaking toward them faster than a galloping horse. Before they could move, Angelito had circled twice around them and had dealt them each a smart blow with his tail.
Crying in surprise and pain, the three boys scattered in different directions. Angelito followed Juan and whipped him several blows. Then, streaking rapidly, rapidly, after Jose, the snake caught up and slapped him with his tail as he ran. The same for Daniel.
And all the while old Mariano, standing in his doorway, roared like a bear with laughter and shouted: “That’s it, my precious Little Angel! Give the little devil another slap. Do not let him get away, Angelelio. Ah, how does it feel? Boys, do you like this game? Very good sport, no? Oh, its funny! My stomach! I shall die of laughing.”
After the dutiful Angelito had driven the three boys to their house, he came back to his violently laughing master. And late into that night, old Mariano and his chirrionera sat up, celebrating their victory. For Angelito there was a very big heap of fruit; and the old man a bottle, some the contents of which he poured from time to time into the gaping mouth of Angelito, who seemed greatly to relish a little stimulating drink with his meal. “My Lit-tle An-gel,” old Mariano was saying in the voice of one who is talking to a little baby. “What eyes you have, so beautiful! Eat much that you may have much strength to whip the little fiends hard, hard. Yes, and drink another time, my Lit-tle An-gel.”
And Angelito would drink and smack his lips and say, “Ah.” shaking his head, and resume eating his peaches, plums, oranges, grapes, and mangoes. “Ah, ah, smart, smart you are my Little Angel,” the old man would say, stroking the snake’s head fondly. “Everything I say you understand. Drink another time, Angelito. That’s it. A reward for your good work today. The thieving boys so without shame, how their hides must even now be smarting from the stinging blows you gave them. Ha! Ha! They will not visit again soon. No, no, not while you, my Little Angel, are here. Ah, how I love you, my little sweetheart, Lit-tle An-gel. Here I give you a kiss.”
For several days the three boys did not come near old Mariano’s house. Very different from the feeble taps of the old man were the stout blows from Angelito’s tail. Some way they must get rid of that whipping snake. But how?
After thinking much, Juan, the eldest boy, got together in his head a plan – a plan which made him smile.
One night very dark when the moon had hid her face behind the clouds, Juan, Daniel, and Jose came and placed their ladder quietly against old Mariano’s orchard wall. Angelito and his master were inside the house sleeping heavily after much drinking of tequila. Juan, slinging a sack over his shoulder, ascended the ladder to the top of the wall, climbed into the top of a peach tree and came down through the branches to the ground.
Peering all about him through the darkness, Juan saw over by the house something big and round. Over towards it he went, slowly, slowly feeling with his foot on the ground every step. He felt of the object. It was Angelito’s bowl. And full of fruit. So considerate of his snake was old Mariano that he had prepared the night before his breakfast. Very good, thought Juan to himself. So much the better.
With his knife Juan cut open each mango, peach, and plum, and took out the seeds. Then, reaching into his sack, he got handfuls of salt, chili, and gunpowder and put a mixture of all these into the fruits where the seeds had been. When he had thus seasoned the last fruit, Juan stepped to the peach tree, climbed it to the wall, and came down the ladder.
The next morning before the sun had appeared, and while old Mariano still slumbered, out of the door toward the big bowl of fruit crawled Angelito.
In his fiery eyes was smouldering a slight ill temper – which might well be expected after such a night of drinking. Much, much hunger had Angelito. Straight to his bowl he went and began eating the fruit greedily.
Now, my friend, you know as well as I that in order for food to be savoury it must be seasoned. And I can always win against the strongest garlic, chili, or onion. But surely, anyone knows that enough is plenty. Bad enough it is to overdose food with too much of even one seasoning. But Chihuahua! Such a combination! Salt, chili, gunpowder! More dangerous this than war. One is likely to explode to all parts of the landscape, the right arm to be thrown and left hanging in a pine tree on the top of a mountain where the circling buzzards will perch and feed, the left arm to be sent sailing across the desert to land in some cactus bush about which will gather coyotes.
So greedily did Angelito begin eating that he devoured four fruits immediately. He coughed, strangled. His eyes flashed fire. Bounding into the air, he came down belching, choking, and squirming around like a rope spinning, and cracking his tail.
Cursing in his snake language, Angelito started towards the door. In he went and jumped upon the foot of old Mariano’s bed. Wrapping his neck about the foot rail, the enraged chirrionerra raised his tail quivering in the air. Old Mariano lay on his face, snoring into his pillow. Down came the tail like a black flash. Whap! Old Mariano bounced up off his bad with a great yell. Sitting up, he stared with large eyes at Angelito. Down came the tail again. Whap! “Ay!” Old Mariano rubbed his eyes. Was he dreaming? Another blow from the tail assured him that he was not, and out of bed he jumped. Angelito followed and struck him a blow. Another. Another. “Ay, Angelito, have you gone crazy from so much drink last night? No, no, Angelito! This is Don Mariano, your master and friend who every day feeds you. Oh, oh, oh, poor me! Angelito, stop! You will kill me. Angelito! Angelito! Do you recognize…Oh, poor me, poor me!”
Around and around the room went the old man, Angelito following him like a shadow and showering blows about his head and shoulders without stopping. Dropping to all fours, the old man crawled under the bed more rapidly than an armadillo. But there Angelito followed him. Out on the other side scrambled the old man, crying for help. From his bed he managed to grasp one of the rafters of his house and pulled himself up. Popping his tail on the ground, Angelito gave a great leap and wound himself around the rafter and beat the old man several blows. Down dropped the old man, to run around the room again, shouting, desperation in his eyes. In the corner he saw an axe. This he seized. Standing in the corner, he held the weapon over his head and shouted to Angelito, “Do not approach nearer. I will chop your fiendish head from your cursed body.” With one swift flash of his tail, Angelito knocked the axe spinning from the old man’s grasp.
For a moment the old man cowered trembling like a cornered rabbit. Then madly he dashed past Angelito out the door. Out sprang Angelito also, bounding along on his head behind the old man and whipping him every step with his tail. And at every blow the old man would cry out, jump, and run the faster.
Outside, near the door, stood Juan, Jose, and Daniel. “Just look.” they called out one to the other, laughing. “Just look. How playful are the old man and his whipping snake. A game they are playing. Yes, a race. Can you believe it, the old man has regained his youth! See how lightly his feet touch the ground! See how he leaps the stones and bushes! Hurry, hurry! Little precious Angelito is catching you. Whap! Ah, the game must be tag. Whap! Another love tap! Ah, it must be that the old man also has eaten of the highly seasoned food. Look, look how playful is the little snake!”
For the greater part of a league Angelito chased old Mariano into the desert, beating the dust from his clothes at every step. Over the cactus they leaped; around mesquite trees they circled; down and up the banks of creeks they fell and scrambled madly. Before their path scattered coyotes, armadillos, paisanos, rabbits, and all the other creatures of the desert, running in wild fear and confusion.
Finally, Angelito grew tired of the chase, the high seasoning having made it hard for him to fetch his breath. Back to old Mariano’s house he went, and there he stayed until he and the boys had eaten all the fruit from old Mariano’s orchard. Then back he went to his home in the desert at the foot of the Mountain of Red Cactus. And not until then did old Mariano return to his house.
Today if you go to the little town of Venaditos, there you will find old Mariano. ‘Is he not dead?’ you ask. Ah – no, and yes. If you do not find the old man there, look nearby on the hill and about the city for an old gray burro. For old men of selfish and mean disposition do not die but turn into gray burros, which, it is well known, never die. This old burro will have no mustache to droop over his mouth, no brows to frown down over his eyes, and no sarape to pull up over ears; so you might get from him the whole story of his life as a man.