The Day the Rebels Came to Town Read Online Free Page A

looking. After an hour or two, they found the old man lying on the desert floor. He was staring straight up at the sky, not a mark on him, his rifle still in his hands.
    The suit fit Carlos well, though it was a little loose around the waist and hips. He wondered who it had belonged to. He slipped on a belt and put some tonic on his dark hair before combing it. He then looked at himself in the mirror. It was the first time he had done so since his injury. Now that his body was on the mend, he was eating well. He enjoyed taking showers that flowed from the rainwater tank perched on top of the house. Even his bottom lip had healed, though it still looked a little puffy and blue. As he looked at his image, he tried to decide what sort of person was looking back.
    He went outside, where Linda was waiting for him.
    “Wait,” she said. “Wait here.”
    She turned and hurried off. A few minutes later, a peasant chewing a length of straw came by in a cart pulled by a burro.
    “Antonio sent me,” the peasant said. “This is his cart. The funeral is out of town, at the old mission church. The mayor liked to go there to watch sunsets. He’ll be happy there.”
    Carlos slowly climbed on board. Just as he turned to see whether Linda might be coming with them, the driver clicked his tongue against his teeth. The burro pulled away, the wagon bouncing on the bumpy street.
    At the central plaza, they took a lane running south into the desert. The ground grew stony, and the cart started rocking from side to side. Carlos grabbed the seat on either side of him, but the peasant swayed from side to side, giving in to the motion. The cart went up a little hill, toward an old, crumbling church.
    They stopped. The sun was straight above, burning white-hot. A blanket of dust hung in the air, too lazy to float back to earth. The townspeople had gathered around a freshly dug grave. Carlos got out of the cart and thanked the driver. He limped toward the crowd and saw that the caskethad already been lowered into the ground. He spotted Antonio, Fernando, and Madame Felix. They, in turn, nodded toward him. A few women were crying. Otherwise, no one made a sound.
    After a few minutes, Carlos heard footsteps. He turned and saw Father Alvarez walking toward them all. His robes swung as he walked, and his bald head gleamed in the sunlight. He had a prayer book in one hand.
    He stopped at the edge of the grave.
    “We are here today to say goodbye to one of our most cherished sons,” Father Alvarez said. “A man who did his job with love in his heart and pride in his step. A man who loved children, though he never had any of his own. A man who helped those in need, a man who went to church every Sunday. A man who would do anything to protect this town of his, who was simple and brave and just. A man we were proud to call our mayor.”
    As he spoke, Carlos thought of how the old man had stood up to the rebels. He asked himself if a man could be brave without being at least a little bit stupid. Maybe, he realized, this was the nature of courage. It wasn’t just onething, but a mixture of many things. Maybe courage was a thing both good and bad.
    When the service was over, the cart driver met Carlos outside the churchyard. Just as they were about to pull away, Antonio came up.
    “Carlos,” he said. “Father Alvarez and I are going to the tavern. Do you want to come?”
    “Of course,” he said.
    “Then meet us there.”
    The driver clicked his tongue against his teeth. His burro lifted his tail and farted, as if to say, “It’s hot out. I want to rest in the shade.” Then he slowly started for home. After a few minutes, Carlos turned to the cart driver.
    “Do you know Linda?” he asked.
    “Linda? There are many Lindas in this town. It is a well-used name, yes?”
    “The one looking after me.”
    “Oh yes. That Linda. The Indian girl. Yes, I think I do.”
    Carlos paused. “Take me to her house.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Take me to her