They had now become a political football, however, operated by the government not because they were thus more profitable or efficient, but because they thus offered employment to deserving voters. The railway men, of course, knew something of railroading, and the Vera-Cruz-Mexico-City road—as well as the other more important roads—was kept in repair. But the Obregon government, although an improvement over its predecessors, was still maintaining itself by force, and after paying its generals, had little money left for keeping in order such railways as those that meandered through its southern jungles.
President Obregon’s term was drawing to a close; there was soon to be an election; there had never been an election in Mexico without a revolution; in view of the forthcoming excitement, work of any kind was practically at a standstill. An escort of troops was still to be seen on every train—better-uniformed and equipped than in the days of Carranza, but with the same villainous faces. And a garrison was lined up at the platform of each hamlet through which we passed—a small garrison, so that towns could be classified as one, two, three, four, or five soldier towns—a mere handful of men, but always present.
Conditions had improved during my four years’ absence from the country, but the land was by no means so pacific and prosperous as Obregon’s propaganda—circulated widely through the United States at the moment when Obregon was seeking recognition by our State Department—had led Americans to believe. Mexico was still Mexico.
III
It was quiet, and peaceful, and sunny, however, as always.
This southern Mexico was a paradise of tropic luxuriance. On the infrequent banana plantations the foliage was so thick that the tunnels beneath the trees were black as night. The jungle not only slapped the face of any passenger who poked his head from the window; it even scratched along the sides of the car, seeking an opportunity to reach inside and stick a thorn into the passenger’s eye.
The air was hot and moist. Inhabitants had reduced clothing to a minimum. Naked children ran races with the engine. The ox-drivers, leading their patient yokes with a barbed pole, wore only a straw hat, a pair of pants, and a machete—a big two-bladed knife—wherewith to hack their way through the undergrowth. The women were garbed in what appeared to be a thin, loose-flowing nightgown. The houses were of cane and thatch, festering usually in pools of filth. Swarms of pigs came out at each stopping-place to nose about in search of the melon-rinds or fruit-skins that passengers might contribute to their welfare. The people, lolling usually in hammocks of grass-rope, surveyed us with interest, but made little effort to sell us anything.
Here was the true languor of the tropics, and the train conformed. We were supposed to reach Santa Lucrecia, the next transfer-point, at 8.30 in the evening, but in this country a railway schedule is much like a party platform in the United States. Night descended. Dew saturated the jungle, and the branches swishing past the windows sprinkled every one inside the car. A golden moon peeped out from a rank mass of silver clouds, and flitted through the palm-fronds for hour after hour. There was a brief halt at another railway restaurant, where a sleepy proprietor had given up all hope of the train’s arrival. He brought out cold rice, and heated coffee. Milk, señor? Ay, but although there were cows, the people here did not bother to milk them. If one wished to buy a can of condensed milk, yes, but it was expensive in this country.
We finally crawled into Santa Lucrecia at 2.40 the next morning. A boy led me upstairs to a room in the station hotel. There was a canvas cot there with a sheet badly soiled. But, señor, it had been washed only last week! And its occupants since that time had all been white persons, except one! The boy’s tone implied, “What more do you want?” So I turned in, and fell promptly asleep, lulled by the scratching of cockroaches upon the wall. And here—alone of all the station stops I found in Mexico—one could sleep late the next morning, for the train, instead of starting at sun-up, did not leave for Tehuantepec until noon.
Santa Lucrecia was a straggling village of tin and thatch, perched upon stilts as a precaution against the floods of the rainy season, its several houses connected by ramshackle board walks. Although in the center of the isthmus, it had an altitude of only twenty-six meters above the sea; its air was dank and humid and depressing. Its inhabitants lived on the porch, usually in hammocks, which, although not completely bug-proof, gave the insects the trouble of scaling a wall and finding their way across a hook before they could reap their harvest. All intimate daily functions were performed in public, preferably on some conspicuous knoll or hilltop, as though the town were eager to proclaim itself a formidable rival in filth and vileness to Manzanillo.