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We rested a spell, relaxing in an armistice, and I glanced over my shoulder to catch Tio’s eye and to reassure him, but he was looking at Nena. Hilario loosened his collar and pulled his shirt wide open and reached out and picked up one of the peppers. I took the other. We put them in our mouths at the same time and began chewing. The heat jolted me. [The roof of my mouth corroded and the tissues inside my cheeks contracted like burning cellophane.] But I knew I was going to make it — I just knew it.
But Hilario was in contorted misery. His mouth was pinched and he was blowing hard, and then the sweat popped out of his forehead and the tears rolled out of his eyes. He was breathing deeply, like a man who had run a long race. I had him.
I heard the Ladinos muttering their boasts, their vaunts of triumph. I saw the Indians and the stricken looks on their faces. They had been beaten again. The mighty had crushed the humble. The meek must remain the downtrodden.
Then I did a crazy thing, I still don’t know why, and don’t ask me why. I had a minute to go and the heat inside me was wearing off. But I reached over and grabbed a tortilla. The Ladinos yelled out of their astonishment and spluttered their wrath. The Indians looked from one to the other, and they could not believe they had won. Hilario was staring at me, probing deep for an explanation. Then he snatched his bottle of beer and drained it and swished the beer around in his mouth and spat and spat.
The Ladinos turned on Tio and berated him, and he seemed not to mind at all, only looking down at me and across the room at Nena and at the Indians. Then the Ladinos stomped out and left much of their money and much of their pride.
“It was too hot,” I said to Tio.
“But it was almost over and he was blowing hard the breath.”
“I was burning inside, Chili. Maybe it didn’t show, but I was burning up.”
He said no more; only shrugged.
Hilario pushed back his chair. “There will be drinks. Beer for all and brandy for those who want it.” He walked behind his counter and stood by Nena. “I will drink first, and to my daughter and my daughter’s man, Tio Felipe Ignacio de Feustes. Only a good man is worthy of the friendship of such a man as Mr. Hoyle.”
The Indians nodded their acceptance of the pronouncement and their approval of Tio. He walked from behind me and over to the counter and near Nena, and she raised her eyes on the floor and looked up at him and then down again. He helped Hilario open the beer. Some of the Indians took brandy and we all drank, and the Hilario said, “And now to Mr. Hoyle, who is not a stranger among us. If there is a favor we can do, we do it.”
It came to me then. I don’t care what has been written or what has been told before; it came to me for the first time, right then. Acid soil. Controlled moisture. A sheltered south slope and the grains of paradise. I had been offered a favor and I asked it: a few of the peppers to remember this day. Hilario was glad to give them to me. He put the Amomum melegueta in a pepper bag and I hung around only long enough for another round of drinks, and then I hurried to the hotel and packed. A bus left at twilight and I was on it, heading home.
The first year I planted them in a hot-house and nursed them through. The green nuggets and their seeds of gold. Then I had enough seeds for a patch, and then enough seeds for several acres. That’s the way it started, and now I know of no place where you cannot buy my peppers or spices from the Hoyle Spice Company. I even ship peppers back to Tobasco, even to Feliz, for there is money in coals to Newcastle if you do it right. I have never been back to Feliz or to Hattiesburg. I have never heard from Tio or from any of them.
Sometimes it bothers me that I let the Ladinos down. We were talking about it just the other day, sitting around my swimming pool. I told this story, and we got to talking about whether I’d done right or wrong. My wife said I’d done right because I’d got Tio and Nena together. Some of the others said I’d been downright noble because I’d sided with the Indians, who had been pushed around so much. A few said that my successful business was proof that I was right, that I was sharp, that I was clever.
However, three of my friends — the three I like the best — said I’d done a lowdown thing, that I had patronized the humble and had thrown down those who had trusted me. The least I could do, they said, was to go back to Feliz and give them a clinic or a movie house, or something. Someday I might do it. I know such gifts are not deductible, but all the same, I might do it. I just might.
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