Part 24 (1/2)
”Can you tell me when the next train--?” I began.
The little man made a gesture of Spanish politeness.
”Welcome to Mexico!” he said.
”Could you tell me--?” I continued.
”Welcome to our sunny Mexico!” he repeated--”our beautiful, glorious Mexico. Her heart throbs at the sight of you.”
”Would you mind--?” I began again.
”Our beautiful Mexico, torn and distracted as she is, greets you. In the name of the _de facto_ government, thrice welcome. _Su casa!_” he added with a graceful gesture indicating the interior of his little shack.
”Come in and smoke cigarettes and sleep. _Su casa!_ You are capable of Spanish, is it not?”
”No,” I said, ”it is not. But I wanted to know when the next train for the interior--”
”Ah!” he rejoined more briskly. ”You address me as a servant of the _de facto_ government. _Momentino!_ One moment!”
He shut the wicket and was gone a long time. I thought he had fallen asleep.
But he reappeared. He had a bundle of what looked like railway time tables, very ancient and worn, in his hand.
”Did you say,” he questioned, ”the _in_terior or the _ex_terior?”
”The interior, please.”
”Ah, good, excellent--for the interior.” The little Mexican retreated into his shack and I could hear him murmuring, ”For the interior, excellent,” as he moved to and fro.
Presently he reappeared, a look of deep sorrow on his face.
”Alas,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, ”I am _desolado!_ It has gone! The next train has gone!”
”Gone! When?”
”Alas, who can tell? Yesterday, last month? But it has gone.”
”And when will there be another one?” I asked.
”Ha!” he said, resuming a brisk official manner. ”I understand. Having missed the next, you propose to take another one. Excellent! What business enterprise you foreigners have! You miss your train! What do you do? Do you abandon your journey? No. Do you sit down--do you weep? No. Do you lose time? You do not.”
”Excuse me,” I said, ”but when is there another train?”
”That must depend,” said the little official, and as he spoke he emerged from his house and stood beside me on the platform fumbling among his railway guides. ”The first question is, do you propose to take a _de facto_ train or a _de jure_ train?”
”When do they go?” I asked.
”There is a _de jure_ train,” continued the stationmaster, peering into his papers, ”at two p.m. A very good train--sleepers and diners--one at four, a through train--sleepers, observation car, dining car, corridor compartments--that also is a _de jure_ train--”
”But what is the difference between the _de jure_ and the _de facto?_”
”It's a distinction we generally make in Mexico. The _de jure_ trains are those that ought to go; that is, in theory, they go. The _de facto_ trains are those that actually do go. It is a distinction clearly established in our correspondence with Huedro Huilson.”