Redemption's Blood

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Redemption's Blood Page 15

by Chris G R Webb


  “Tour. I’d like that, princess.” Jensen shares a thought. "There was this real smart man. He put a key on a kite an' flew it in a storm, looking to extract lightning from clouds."

  Mazy looks disconcerted “Why?... He missed the point.”

  Jensen smiles. “I guess to prove smart men can still do dumb things.”

  They both smile and watch the kite bob and weave across the sky scape.

  They breathe and let their thoughts catch the wind, to glide to the clouds. They don’t hold on, letting them drift into the ether.

  Neither could say how long they’d been there, neither paid no mind.

  In the clarity of Mazy’s mind, a thought springs into recognition.

  “Who’s Lidia?”

  These words strike Jensen delivering a physical and spiritual blow.

  They glance at each other.

  Mazy intuitively rest her little hand on his, she adds.

  “In your sleep.” Jensen half nods in response.

  “…She’s my wife.” Jensen takes a moment to spot his mistake. “Was, my wife.”

  Mazy tries to comfort her new found friend.

  “It’s okay in being sad Bear. I lost my Mom; I still cry most days. You can come cry with me sometime.”

  Jensen is quiet; there's nothing to say about his pain, or about the fact that this young girl was trying to ease it for him. Mazy focuses on the kite again; she speaks as if she knew.

  “You must have loved her; she must have loved her Bear, too." Mazy squeezes Jensen’s hand and passes him the kite string.

  “We did…” Confirms Jensen. “Mazy, I know your Ma loves you too… very much.”

  They feel elevated, as the kite itself, in their emotional freedom within one another, in some manner they seem to be looking out for each other.

  Mazy changes direction of the conversation.

  “I don’t let anyone fly my kite, but if we’re going on the road, you better get some learning.” Mazy analyses the kite and Jensen's grip. "Hey, you're gooooddd!"

  He focuses on the kite; Mazy leans her weight into Jensen.

  “I was taught by the best, there is.” He adds.

  They stand, unified by loss, paired by hope, connecting on a level they didn’t expect.

  Mazy pats Jensen’s forearm.

  “This is just the beginning Bear. Just the beginning… Oh and Bear?”

  “Yep Princess.”

  “Can Pa and me have our bed back?”

  The Sun is over the horizon, yet its glory reflects in an afterglow across the sky.

  The Wagons rest nose to nose in a half circle; they harbour a fire, who's agitated body cooks meat hanging above it. The whole carnival sits around the fire, each glow under the light of the flames.

  A whiskey is being shared: Louis, Lynn, Joseph Joseph, Jensen, Little sparrow.

  Mazy's next to her father, she watches as Jensen sits quietly and listens to the stories being shared. Stories that have been shared a hundred times before, yet now they have new ears to rest upon. Mazy notices Jensen's eyes gravitate toward Chief Running Cloud, dressed in full native regalia, slightly sunk into the shadows.

  Jensen enjoyed the atmosphere; there was a welcome embrace of acceptance in the group. Even Little Sparrow smiled at him earlier. Yet Jensen felt the glinting stare of Running Cloud from the shadows. Jensen understood that this man saved his life, yet still he was a stranger to Running Cloud's new tribe.

  "-I said, I don't know where your tree has gone, it's a miss-a-tree." Joseph Joseph's joke elicits groans of pain from his friends.

  “Oh please, somebody shoot me.” Louis cradles his head in his hands.

  Joseph Joseph scrambles for understanding.

  “No, no you see… A missed tree and a my-stery, they sound the same. No?”

  “Darling, darling they get it.” Lynn nestled in Joseph Joseph's arms gently taps his leg.

  “Okay, I’m don’t understand, that’s funny. Yes?” Asks the muscle man.

  "Painfully funny" Louis's response gets a chuckle from around the fire.

  And so the stories went on.

  Mazy approaches Jensen with a plate of fresh meat, breaking the eye contact with Running Cloud. She slumps next to him and offers him the plate.

  “Get yourself round that.”

  "Thank you, Princess, aren't you worried I'll get too fat?"

  She grins. “Ahhh, corpulent…” She processes a response. “Well, winter is coming, we could call it your hibernation coat.”

  Jensen nods, he sees where this is going.

  “A bear bites, you know.”

  “And smells, phew-we.” Mazy waves her hand across her face.

  She grins at Jensen and gets up and thumps his shoulder. To swagger off.

  Jensen surreptitiously sniffs his armpit. He had to agree with the kid's assessment, there was a particular odour, and it's not of fresh flowers.

  Louis sits next to Jensen.

  Jensen stops sniffing himself.

  “Nothing a bit of soap an’ water won’t fix, Jensen.”

  Jensen nods in agreement as he chews.

  Louis continues.

  "Just so that you know, we're heading up North to my cousin's farm. You're welcome to join as far as you need."

  “North?” Jensen enquires.

  “Up near Johnson City.”

  Whatever is happening for Jensen, no matter how happy he feels, relaxed or welcome, he still has that feeling. A feeling that can overcast any moment at any time, the need to make accountable those who are cast unaccountable. To bring down the wrath of justice upon those who have wronged. He reaches into his coat pocket and touches William’s Bible. He remembers moments that were shared, how he had become stagnant and William, like a rush of fresh water, had given him a new life.

  Jensen looks around now at his new life and the people, and the life he had.

  He turns to Louis.

  “Up near Johnson City?”

  “Yep. Just up near Nebraska Territo-“

  “-I know Johnson City. I’ll be much obliged to come with ya.” Jensen softens. “If Mazy don’t get me first.”

  “I would say ignore her, but that’s an act of futility.”

  Jensen’s mind wanders to a thought; he turns to Louis.

  “She said something ‘bout schooling?”

  Louis straightens his coat. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always the exiled Prince of Lilliput. I’m an engineer by trade.”

  Jensen nods in response.

  “You’re not surprised?” Louis enquires.

  “Who a man is, an’ what he does, ain’t the same. I learned that.”

  “I had… got good brain, education with certain obvious disadvantage.” Louis stands up to demonstrate his point. “An’ against certain prejudices. What started as a way of making some quick money, an' travel. Has now become a burden on the future, her future." Louis nods towards Mazy.

  “I been out there, an been in here, an’ I know where I’d rather be.”

  Louis smiles. “That’s very kind, but I would rather she had a choice.” Louis sits back next to Jensen. “Look, we’re all outsiders here, an Eastern European strong man, who’s in love with a man who thinks he’s a woman. Myself, a disillusioned dwarf. A chieftain, who’s the last of his kind and his half breed daughter. And you Mister Hills, a man running from ghosts of his history, to haunt his future… I want it to be different for her.”

  They sit silently and watch Mazy tell a story. She’s been chased by an imaginary Bear, flying an imaginary kite and making everybody laugh with her recounting of the day. A day that Jensen will not forget, and as Mazy and Jensen connect with a quick glance, Jensen knows it’ll be a day she won’t forget for a while to come, the day she met The Bear.

  The last glow of twilight chases from the horizon. Daniels, mounted, watches the Pinkertons: Lester, Hopkins, Curly, examine tread tracks from a wagon.

  "Well, this is the only thing to come out those Injun' territories. I sugge
st we follow and see who's on the end of it." Daniels decides.

  The Pinkerton, Curly, stands up.

  “Well, this ain’t that fella, unless he sprouted a pair o’wheels.” Lester mounts his horse.

  “Daniels, it a fact that no white man is living through The Savage Lands.”

  Daniels rests his hands on the horn of his polished saddle.

  “You all saw what-the-fuck happened back there.” He has their attention.

  “This Hills fella has been stabbed, shot, survived Marujo and the Colonel. I mean on finding who ever came out this land, and seeing if they know anything.” Daniels sits up and grabs his reins. “Now if you ain’t got the spirit, you may as well head back home.” The men look to each other, as Daniels draws out a pistol. “But you’re riding my horses, which means you’ll be walking.” The Pinkertons look to each other; they're with him.

  The four of them ride off into the night.

  Jensen lies on a rough shod bed, of blankets and clothing, with his coat for a pillow. From inside the canvas tent, Jensen can hear the slight rumblings of the bed time rituals of the carnival. The lamp plays with the shadows on tent’s fabric walls. Jensen is with William’s Bible in hand. He squints to make out the words, as he leans toward the lamp intermittently.

  He reads out loud, unintentionally and unsure of his words.

  "I have pursued mine enemies… An' o…overtaken them: Neither did I turn a-gain. Till they were co…nsumed.”

  Jensen ponders hard upon the words. They turn the cogs in his consciousness. He breathes in deep, and continues.

  “I have wounded them. That they were not able to rise. They are fallen under my feet.”

  Jensen closes The Bible. He sprinkles specks of resin in his pipe. He lights the pipe and draws in small clouds of burning poppy tears. He feels the cascade of quiet massage his marrow.

  “I have pursued mine enemies.” He mumbles.

  Jensen lays back, his head in gravities steady pull. He no longer cares to hold it up.

  He watches shadows dance on the wall. He mumbles in broken words.

  "Wounded… Them, not able… to rise." Jensen breathing becomes heavy and rhythmical.

  His hand twitches to the whisper of his dreams.

  “Psst… Bear.” Comes Mazy’s voice.

  She waits a moment before she sticks her head into the tent.

  “I would like to atone for any offence I may have caused today, saying you smell an’ such.” Jensen is motionless as Mazy rattles off her thoughts. “And thank you for returning my sleeping quarters. I missed my wagon… Bear?”

  Mazy cranes a look.

  “…Bear you listening?”

  In cosmic synchronicity, Jensen begins to snore. Mazy smiles.

  “Oh dear, the smelly Bear roars. I’ll pour you a bath come morning.”

  35

  JENSEN RUNS HIS HANDS along his roan’s legs, across her back and shoulders. Her head is buried in a feedbag. Jensen glances across and sees Mazy is doing the same with her mule.

  Mazy is copying Jensen.

  Jensen lifts the roan's hoof, to check its health. Mazy attempts the same; she struggles to get the mule's hoof to raise up.

  “How’s it going cowboy?” He approaches Mazy.

  Mazy struggles to lift the hoof. “This is what happens when a princess becomes a cowboy.”

  Jensen squats down with a bit of a groan, with the ease of experience he lifts the mule’s foot. Jensen points to around the hoof.

  “Ya lookings for any bruising, infection or swelling.” Mazy squints at the hoof and then at Jensen for confirmation. He nods.

  “It’s healthy.”

  They move from hoof to hoof, Jensen guides Mazy in how to clean a hoof, and how to feel the mule’s legs for any niggles. It’s perhaps the first time that Jensen had seen Mazy be serious.

  Mazy and Jensen stand back from the eating mule.

  "Well, the mule is in good condition," Jensen confirms. “I ain’t no animal physician, but I lived with them long enough to know.”

  “I was thinking of a way of thanking you for Daisy.” Jensen looks at Mazy confused – Daisy?

  “You know, Daisy.” Mazy points to the mule. Jensen nods – Oh Daisy.

  Mazy grabs Jensen's hand; she can only grasp a few of his fingers. She pulls him along.

  “I thought I’d make you something, as a way of saying thank-“

  “You didn’t have to-“

  Mazy stops and sternly looks at Jensen. “Are you going to ruin this for me?”

  Jensen, a mix of amused, bemused and shocked, shakes his head in silence.

  “Good, then come with me Bear.” Mazy continues to pull Jensen along; they walk around the Carnival’s caravans.

  On the outskirts of the camp is a small brook, with a low hanging tree, whose branches gently caress the water. Birds dip into the wet, before shaking off the sprinkles to whisk away. But this is not why Mazy has brought Jensen here. Under the tree, is a wooden tub with a metallic base and rim, with the lingering embers of a small fire underneath. From the lip of the tub, hot water vapours form against the cooler air.

  “I made you a bath.”

  Jensen is dumbstruck. He looks to Mazy.

  She explains.

  “You know… to bathe?”

  “I know what a bath is.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it Bear.” At that, Mazy sprints off back to the Caravan.

  Jensen doesn’t have time to say thanks, perhaps because Mazy knows it’s easier this way.

  Jensen places his hand in the placid steaming drink; ripples reach out to the tub's walls. Jensen removes his clothes, his body a tapestry of war, the old, new and the faded forgotten. He slowly submerges into a throbbing tingling sensation, as the water's heat is on the tip of being too hot. Jensen, statue slow, eases in as he becomes accustomed.

  In time Jensen slips to a seated position.

  Jensen is sat for a while in the heat, rubbing the soap over his flesh, rinsing it off to reveal what it has carried off his body. Jensen relaxes into the heat, the sound of the stream, the call of the birds, the whisper of the wind pushing through trees. Jensen delves under the ceiling of water, he feels the fluid rush up his nose, and fill his ears.

  He waits,

  …till he can hear his heart pulse in his head.

  His mind is drawn back to William.

  It always will be, until perhaps this is done.

  Jensen crashes through the surface of the water, like some hairy Leviathan, he gasps for air. He clears water from his channels. He turns to see Little Sparrow staring at him.

  He stares back expectantly. Little Sparrow’s expression remains intact, solemn.

  “You heal quick.”

  Jensen glances to where the Colonel had shot him.

  “Thanks to you, I understand.”

  "I thought the great sky spirit had claimed you for herself… My father felt different."

  “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  Little Sparrow doesn’t flicker of anything.

  "I'm joking," Jensen responds.

  “I know.” Somehow she is more dead pan than ever. Jensen is becoming uncomfortable; she’s not even blinking.

  Then she adds.

  “My Father says death follows you.” Jensen has no reply. She continues. “because you look for it.”

  At that Little Sparrow walks back to the caravan.

  Luckily Jensen was in the bath, cause her ice cold reception would have given him a chill. Jensen splashes his face.

  Beating hooves roll against the turf. Daniels is charging after a trail. A trail that leads to wagons that are nestled on the horizon, a tree sprouting out from behind them. There’s a surge of aggression in their saddles, as the four men bear down towards their potential prey.

  Louis is prepping his horse so that the caravan can head off. Mazy strolls over and begins to feel the horse’s legs, as Jensen did before. Louis opens up the salvo.

  “Darling rascal of mine.


  “Yes, incompetent birth giver.”

  “Where’s that rapscallion oaf, whom is of no consequence?”

  Mazy for a moment takes on board the meaning… She understands.

  “Bears bathing, an’ he needed to. Phew-we.”

  Louis notices the shape of riders that break the horizon and head towards them. They seem to gallop with an unwelcome purpose. Louis glances to Mazy.

  “Darling, you should go and do your homework, your schooling.”

  “Pops, I already have, promise.”

  “Okay, what’s the capital of Italy? What’s eight times twelve? Use the word pitch in a sentence.” Louis has put the pressure on, he wants Mazy, without fuss or worry to go into the wagon.

  Mazy is almost beetroot red with concentration.

  “Rome. Ninety fo- six Ninety-six. Er… The ships pitch… In the pitch of night… that made the… Captain's pitcher spill. There, that's my pitch."

  Louis swells with pride, yet is niggled by annoyance, he decides to change tact.

  "Let's play hide and seek; you hide in the back of our wagon, I'll see if Joseph Joseph can find you."

  Mazy claps her hands with glee and clambers into the back of the wagon.

  Daniels slows as he approaches the caravan camp, he motions for the Pinkertons to keep holstered their pistols.

  They ride into the centre of the camp.

  Daniels scans the wagons for any surprise gunmen. He sees a dwarf, squaw, strong man and transvestite. He notices the squaw has a shotgun in her possession. Daniels recognises this caravan from town, a week past.

  Perhaps, he gets to thinking; they were in cahoots with Hills?

  Daniels still mounted, stands in the middle of the camp, he has everyone’s attention.

  “I’m on the trail of a certain Mister Jensen Hills, over six feet, large obtuse man. He’s a cut-throat by nature, an’ assassin by his trade.” There's no reaction from the people of the caravan; they just glance at each other. "He's wanted for the murder of innocent and there's a handsome reward for the help of his acquisition.” Still no response.

 

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