Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

“Nope. We got fired.”

  “¡Válgame! For coming over here?”

  “I think that was it.”

  “Oh, that’s no good. Like you said, he’s got bad blood.”

  Red waved his hand. “Ah, it doesn’t bother us that much. As they say, I’ve been thrown out of better places.”

  Raimundo laughed. “We say, De mejores bailes me han corrido. They have chased me out of better dances.”

  “That’s it.” Red tossed a glance at the girls and came back. “Anyway, not havin’ anything in particular to do, we thought we’d drop by and see if there’s anything we could help you with.”

  “I don’t think so. Not right now. We might have to dig a well. That’s a hard job.”

  Red’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, boy. I guess so, if you do it by hand. But a drillin’ rig is expensive. And slow.”

  Tommy’s gaze drifted to the two girls stirring the laundry and to Gabriel hoeing in the garden. If these people had their water shut off, they would be caught pretty short. He said, “Do you think you should be storing up water? If Cushman does what he said, it might be a while until you can get it back.”

  “That’s true. But I don’t know if he’s going to do it.”

  “If he does, you might not have much time.” Tommy glanced around the yard. Even the goats and chickens would get thirsty. “Why don’t you let us help? We can carry enough water to fill up everything you’ve got.”

  “Tommy’s right,” said Red. “We’ve got time for it. We’ve got nothin’ else to do, and this way you won’t be left high and dry.”

  Raimundo looked around. “I guess we could find some things to fill up.”

  Tommy caught another glimpse of the girls and liked the idea of them watching him work. “Sure,” he said. “Anything you’ve got—buckets, barrels, washtubs.”

  Tommy poured the two buckets of water into the wooden tub and trudged over to stand in the shade of the house. The sun had moved west from straight overhead and was blazing in the hottest part of the day. The girls had rinsed the laundry, wrung it, and hung it out to dry. They had gone inside, and the only other person working in the hot sun was Red.

  Tommy let his breath even out. Hauling two buckets of water, time after time, a hundred yards upslope, was taking its toll on him. He was hungry, tired, and sweaty. The amount of water he carried each time, seven or eight gallons, seemed to add very little to the overall total. He wondered how much these people would appreciate the water or be careful with it when they had a full supply with no effort on their part. He imagined the man with the nice-looking bay horse using twenty gallons to take a bath, then pitching the water to settle the dust. Tommy felt himself getting short-tempered. His stomach was empty. From the position of the sun, he figured it must be at least two hours past noontime.

  He had turned his back to the house and was headed to the creek when he heard a voice behind him.

  “It’s time to eat.”

  Tommy could have dropped the buckets right there, but he made a slow turn and squared his shoulders. He needed to keep up a good image with Gabriel. “I’ll put these in the shade,” he said.

  Inside the dim house, Red was already seated in the chair he had occupied the day before. Raimundo sat in his place, and Gabriel took the fourth chair. As Tommy sat down, he stole a glance at the kitchen door but did not see Anita. He sat up straight and took a steady breath. With his eyes adjusted to the interior of the house, he saw that Raimundo had a plate in front of him and had begun to eat. Red sat back with his head up, in an attitude of expectation.

  Movement at the kitchen door made Tommy look around. Anita’s mother appeared with two crockery plates and set one in front of Red and the other in front of her son. Less than a minute later, she brought a plate for Tommy. The sight of the food, plus the aroma, lifted his spirits. Half of the tan plate was covered with cubed meat in a dark reddish sauce, and the other half had a healthy portion of mashed beans.

  Something sparked, and he realized that Anita had appeared at the corner of his vision. He sat up straight as before, taking notice of her dark hair, the white apron snugged at her waist, and the two small bundles she held, one in each hand.

  “Tortillas,” she said, catching his eye. She set one stack between Gabriel and Tommy and the other stack between Red and her father. Tommy hoped for another glance, but she gave no further expression as she returned to the kitchen.

  Tommy helped himself to a spoon and tasted a piece of the meat with the red sauce. It was spicy but very satisfying. The anxiety brought on by hunger was going away. He took another bite, this time getting some beans on the spoon as well. The combination tasted perfect.

  Gabriel flipped the cloth off the top of the bundle and revealed a stack of yellow tortillas.

  Tommy identified the trace of corn as it arose with the light steam. Of course. The yellow tortillas were smaller than the white ones. Gabriel motioned for him to take one. As he did, he asked, “What kind of meat is this?”

  “Pig.”

  “Pork. And the sauce?”

  “Chile colorado. Red chile. Do you like it?”

  Tommy searched for the right word. “It’s magnificent.”

  “Some people think it is too hot.”

  Tommy smiled and looked across the table. “How are you getting along, Red?”

  Red waved his hand in front of his mouth. “A little warm, but just fine.”

  Raimundo said, “You boys gettin’ pretty hungry, uh?”

  Red put on his agreeable smile. “I was gettin’ that way, but this takes care of it.”

  “Yeah,” said the father. “We eat a little later than you do. In the cities, you people have the noon whistle. Twelve o’clock. With the Mexicans, everything closes from one to three.”

  “Siesta time.”

  “Not everyone takes a siesta, but they have time to go home and eat dinner. This is the big meal for us.”

  “It is for some white people, too.”

  Tommy flinched at the blunt use of language, but Raimundo didn’t seem to notice.

  Red went on. “Farmers, for example. Especially during harvest when they’ve got a crew, they’ll put on a big feed at dinnertime, and then the crew works on till dark. Lots of farmers never miss a meal. They’re back at the house for the dinner bell all three times every day.”

  Raimundo smiled. “The cowboys have to work too far away sometimes.”

  “That’s right. Lots of times, it’s a dog’s lunch.” Red looked at Gabriel and said, “That means no food at all.” Back to Raimundo, he said, “And there’s plenty of times you ride out, and your work takes you longer and farther than you thought.”

  “Oh, I know. I been a cowboy.”

  “It’s not for everybody. And even if you like it, not every boss is a good one. We sure found that out.”

  “Oh, yeah. Cooshmon. The zopilote.”

  Tommy paused with his spoon. “What’s that?”

  “The zopilote? He’s the big bird.” Raimundo hunched his head forward, held out his arms, and flapped them in slow motion. “A big, ugly bird, that eats dead things.”

  All the boys laughed, and Tommy said, “The buzzard.”

  “Ándale,” said Raimundo. “That’s him. Zopilote. Buitre.”

  Red had his elbow on the table as he waved his spoon. “You’ve got two words for ’em? We do, too. Buzzard, vulture.”

  “I know those words,” said Raimundo. “But that’s what we call him, the boss.”

  Gabriel tore a corn tortilla in half as he repeated the word with a hard s and in four distinct syllables. “Zopilote.”

  Tommy found Gabriel’s repetition interesting. It seemed like a habit or a matter of course, a way of affirming what the other person had said. At the same time, it sounded like a humorous word to pronounce. Tommy tried it in silence, and it made him smile.

  The afternoon shadows were growing longer when Tommy set his buckets next to the house. Red had already taken a seat in the shade next to Raimundo, an
d the two of them were rolling cigarettes from a sack of Bull Durham that Red had bought in town that morning. A few of the other residents of the village were sitting outside as well. Tommy did not know how many of them had come out of their houses, which warmed up in the afternoon, and how many had come in from work. After carrying water all afternoon, he felt entitled to some of it, so he walked over to the trough and began splashing his face.

  Gabriel showed up alongside him. “You going to spend the night here?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody has said anything.” Tommy glanced at his and Red’s horses, tied to the posts of a little shed where they had left their gear before they went to work. “One way or the other, we should water our horses.”

  “My father says you can sleep where you have your—” Gabriel seemed to grope for a term in English—“your saddles and things.”

  Tommy shrugged. “If no one else minds.” The man who had been brushing the bay horse earlier had brought out a sleek white horse with freckles and was brushing it in the shade. In spite of the heat, the man was wearing dark pants, a dark jacket, a white shirt, and no hat. Tommy had the impression that the man had some kind of status he wanted to maintain, not only in the eyes of the other villagers but with any visitors as well. Tommy met Gabriel’s eyes, gave a small tip of the head, and asked, “Who is that man?”

  “His name is Faustino. Faustino Romero. He is nephew to my uncle Alejo.”

  “I think your father mentioned that the other day. He’s some kind of cousin of yours, then.”

  “Yes, but not a first cousin, as you say.”

  “Oh.” Tommy wondered why it mattered.

  “He has a brother. The two of them are very strong. In the town.”

  “I see. And they have families?”

  “Emilio, the brother, has a wife and two little ones. But Faustino is still not married.”

  A light began to glow in Tommy’s mind. “Do you remember a woman earlier in the day, who went into your house when you went to tell your father that Red and I were here?”

  “Oh, yes. Milena.”

  Tommy glanced at Faustino and kept his voice low. “You know, I saw her walk past him, and I could swear that they both made a point of ignoring each other.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Oh, no. They don’t like each other anymore.”

  “They did at one time?”

  “Milena, she’s a widow. She has two little children. Faustino, he was single, and two or three years older. Everyone thought they should be together. She would be a good woman for him. So Faustino visits her on Sunday and all of that. But little by little he gets cold. And this is at the time that my sister Anita is going to be fifteen. You know, the celebration. She’s going to be a señorita. And Faustino, all he can do is look at her. The other men say, oh, yeah, he wants something new. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t talk to my father, he doesn’t ask if he can come and visit on Sunday, he doesn’t say anything to Anita. He just looks at her. Everybody knows.”

  Tommy took in a breath. “How old is he?”

  “Maybe thirty.”

  “Is he afraid someone will say no?”

  Gabriel scrunched his nose. “That is what people think.”

  “And Anita? If she could say for herself, what would she say?”

  Gabriel seemed to become defensive, noncommittal. “I don’t know. They are all older, and they know more than I do. And like the men say, you never know what a girl will accept.”

  With a slow turn of the head, Tommy observed Faustino Romero. The man gave off an aura of self-assurance, bordering on superiority. Tommy felt resentment welling up. Better not, he told himself. These people had their own rules, and he was an outsider. Rather than get worked up about someone else, he should tend to his own affairs.

  “I think I’ll water our horses,” he said.

  Gabriel nodded. “I have to go find ours.”

  Tommy untied the two horses and led them to the water trough. Again he had the clean feeling of deserving the water, as he had carried it. He let his thoughts wisp away as the horses lowered their muzzles into the water and caused little swirls as they drank.

  The light sound of a female voice, not very close, caused him to raise his head and come back to the world around him. Anita and her cousin Elsa were carrying a sooty cauldron between them. It hung by the handle on an old broomstick that still had the stub of a head on Elsa’s end. They hung the vessel on the tripod where the washtub had hung earlier. They walked back to the Villarreal house, in a motion worth watching, and Elsa came out with a white flour sack that was bulging full. It looked heavy as she carried it against her abdomen. Anita came out behind her, carrying two pails that were smaller than the ones Tommy had used. She dipped each one into the tub he had filled, and she followed her cousin to the fire pit. Elsa set the bag on the ground and took one pail from Anita. They poured the water into the cauldron and went to work on the bag. It was tied with a sack-sewer’s stitch, with two ears sticking up. The girls unwound the string on one ear, pulled it out of the stitch across the top, and unwound the remaining wrap. Then, with each girl holding one ear, they lifted the sack and poured a stream of yellow corn into the large kettle.

  Tommy pursed his lips. They’re going to boil corn.

  The horses were finished drinking, so he led them back by way of the outdoor fire. It wasn’t a fire yet, however. The girls were poking scraps of old lumber beneath the belly of the cauldron, but only a thin trail of smoke drifted up. Elsa settled onto her knees and took up a foot-long board about eight inches wide and began waving air at the bed of coals. Only ashes rose.

  Anita glanced at Tommy as he approached with the horses. She lowered her head and spoke to her cousin in Spanish. Tommy could not understand the words, but the tone was low, urgent, and girlish.

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  Anita did not look quite at him as she said, “We are trying to start this fire.”

  “Maybe I can do something.” Holding the two lead ropes in one hand, he took off his hat and leaned toward the fire pit. He waved his hat several times, finding the right angle so as not to raise so many ashes. At last he saw a faint glow, a little more than a spark.

  “Here,” he said. “Can you hold these?” He handed the two lead ropes to Anita.

  Elsa had stood up and moved back, so Anita stepped back as well and handed one of the ropes to her cousin.

  Tommy put his hat on his head, took out his pocketknife, and knelt. He found a thin piece of lumber and began cutting off shavings. The knife slipped, and the pieces came off small, but that was all right. He blew life again into the little body of coals, then built a nest of shavings on top and blew again. A tiny flame jumped up, spread, and grew. He put in the larger shavings, then the rest of the stick. He split another thin piece into four spindles and laid them on. From there he built the fire with the wood that the girls had put in. Smoke poured out and up around the cauldron, and after a couple of minutes the fire burned cleaner.

  Tommy rose up and stood back. He smiled at Anita as she handed him the two ropes. He looked around and saw Elsa walking toward the back of the Villarreal house.

  “She’s going to bring more wood,” Anita said.

  “That’s good.” After a couple of seconds of silence he said, “It looks like you’re going to boil corn.”

  “Yes, we are. Thank you for helping.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took off his hat and fanned the air in a light motion. “By the way, my name’s Tommy.”

  “I know. My brother told me.”

  “He said your name is Anita. That’s a pretty name.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.” A stick popped in the fire, and she started. She regained her composure and said, “You used to work for the big rancher.”

  “That’s true. I did. But not any longer.”

  “My father says you are a young boy to be working alone, away from your family.”

  “Well, I’m sixteen. Some kids get a younger
start than that. But I don’t have much family.”

  “Oh.”

  From the tone of her voice he thought he had said something disagreeable, so he went on. “I have some family, but not real close. I was raised by my aunt and uncle. In eastern Nebraska. That’s quite a ways from here.”

  “I know.”

  “But they had their own kids to raise, and my uncle didn’t have a farm. He worked for other people. So I did, too. Farm work. I saved up enough money to go out on my own.”

  “And you came here.”

  “That’s right. I came west on the train, and I went to work for a ranch out of Laramie. A place called the Muleshoe. I had to have my own coat and boots and saddle. It took all my money. But I worked for them through the fall and winter, and I saved enough money to buy an old horse. This one. His name’s Pete.”

  Anita looked at the horse and smiled. “And then you went to work for Cushman?”

  The name stung him. “I didn’t know what kind of a man he was. But the Muleshoe didn’t pay me a full wage, and he did. It was a bottom wage, but it was better.” Tommy stared at the blaze. “I know how to work. That’s the good thing. I’ll get another job and keep working my way up.”

  Anita stared at the fire as well. The light reflected on her face and made her eyes shine. “That’s good, that a boy knows how to work. My father makes my brother work all the time.”

  Tommy wished she wouldn’t rank him as a boy, but if she saw herself as just a girl, maybe it wasn’t bad. “And you?” he asked.

  “Oh, he makes me work, too. After we boil this corn, my brother will grind it, and my cousin and I will make tortillas.”

  “You do other work as well. You were washing clothes earlier, weren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Then hanging it, and taking it in later.”

  “Your families work together.”

  “That’s the way. Elsa and I are like sisters.”

  “Is she the older one?”

  “A couple of years.”

  Tommy felt a nervousness rising up, but he made himself go ahead. “How old are you, then?”

  She raised her chin. “I’m sixteen.” A few seconds of silence hung in the air until Anita spoke again. “Here she comes, with more wood.” After another pause, she said, “Thank you for helping us.”