Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t. He was in a place where he shouldn’t have been.”

  Tommy felt as if all of his strength had run out. He cast his eyes around at the ground in front of him. “I don’t know what to say. It just doesn’t—”

  “I know. I hate to be the one to have to tell you.”

  “Someone had to, I guess. If anyone knew, or anyone cared.”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t think this was any place for you to be, all on your own.”

  Tommy’s eyes were swelling, and his throat was closing. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Maybe you can,” said Lockwood. “But you can come along with me if you want. You can stay at my place until you’ve got a better idea.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tommy looked back once as he and Lockwood rode away from the campsite. With no trees, just the chokecherry bushes where he and Red had tied their horses and the willow bush that had given a bit of shade, it didn’t look like much of a camp. Even the fire pit was unnoticeable from a distance of fifty yards. Tommy wondered if that was the way his life was going to be, just stops and stays along the way and leaving hardly a mark. What was it that Gabriel had repeated from his father? Something to the effect that a person never knew the hour when death would come. That seemed to be the case with Red—eighteen years old and gone out of this world already. Tommy fought the tightness in his throat and tried to brush the thoughts away. He touched a spur to Pete and took off at a trot to catch up with Lockwood.

  The grey horse was moving along at no great hurry. Lockwood swayed in the saddle with the antelope wrapped up in Tommy’s ground sheet and tied on behind.

  As Tommy rode alongside, he said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about it.”

  Lockwood gave a casual, rolling motion with his head. “Yeah?”

  “That meat is not going to last long in this weather.”

  “Good chance you’re right about that.”

  “I think I’d like to give most of it to some friends over this way. The Mexican people. We stayed with them for a little while, and this would be a way of, well, not really paying them back, but sort of returning the favor.”

  “Reasonable enough.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I’ve met a couple of ’em. I stopped in one day. They’re friendly—to me, at least. I always get along well with Mexicans, anyway.”

  “If you don’t mind, then, we could drop in on them.”

  “Sure. No trouble at all.”

  They rode on without talking. The horse hooves struck the ground in dull thuds, and dust rose in the warm air. Saddle leather creaked. Now and again a grasshopper whirred away with a light clacking sound and a show of pale yellow wings.

  Lockwood led the way, keeping to the south side of the creek until the small group of buildings came into view. He turned the horse and rode to the water’s edge, where he stopped. The grey horse lowered its muzzle to the shallow stream. Tommy let Pete stop and do the same. The water ran clear and smooth, with a few pebbles in the silty streambed. One of Pete’s hooves nudged forward and roiled up a small cloud of mud.

  “Water’s still runnin’,” said Lockwood. “I wonder how much longer it’ll last.”

  Tommy gathered that Cushman’s plans were well known. He said, “It seems to me like a lot of trouble to go to.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. A lot of trouble.”

  “Does he even have a right to dam up a stream?”

  “Not really. But it’ll take a while to get someone to come here and do something about it. It could even go to court. Either way, by the time it’s all done with, the most he’ll probably have to do is let the water flow again.”

  From the tone of Lockwood’s voice, Tommy did not think that the man sided with Cushman or even sympathized with large landowners. As far as Tommy knew, range detectives worked for cattlemen and operated under the philosophy that might made right. Lockwood was seeming less like that kind of an individual, but if he was something else, Tommy was yet to figure out what it was. With his riding gloves and his snug-fitting gunbelt, he did not look like a drover or a cowpuncher, much less a punkin-roller. He had the look of a man who spent most of his time outdoors, a little rugged to be a horse trader and certainly not slick enough to be a card sharp or a liniment salesman. Tommy wondered if he would know the man long enough to find out.

  Lockwood tightened his reins, raising the horse’s head, and gigged the animal into motion again. Tommy followed on Pete, crossing the creek and jogging up the slope toward the village.

  The light-colored dog appeared by itself and began barking. Gabriel came out from behind the house, held up his hand to shade his eyes, and then went back out of sight. Tommy imagined it took Gabriel a minute to be sure of each of the two riders who were now in the company of one another.

  A brown-and-white goat with low horns and floppy ears stood aside and watched. The goat had yellow, bulging eyes and bony hips, and it seemed unbothered by the passing men and horses.

  Raimundo emerged from behind the house, carrying a pitchfork. He held it with the head up as he stopped and said, “Hola, Beel.”

  Lockwood stopped his horse. “Buenas tardes. You know this lad here, don’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. Tomi.” Raimundo motioned with his head. “What you got there?”

  “I’ll let him tell you.”

  Tommy said, “I killed an antelope, but it’s a lot more than I can eat myself. So I thought I’d like to give you a good part of it.”

  Raimundo’s eyes widened. “That’s nice you think of us.” He gave an uncertain look toward Lockwood and came back to Tommy. “We’re sorry to hear about Red. That’s a bad thing.”

  Tommy took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s not an easy thing to deal with. It’s hard to . . . understand, I guess.”

  “I know you were like brothers. I was afraid something happen to you, too.”

  “No, he was off on his own. I was waitin’ for him to come back.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. My whole family, we’re sorry. You got no family, and now even your friend, you lose him.”

  Tommy’s throat was tight. “I just try to get by,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  Lockwood spoke in a cheerier tone. “Why don’t we get this meat out of the sun?”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Raimundo. “We gonna eat in a little while. We can use some of it right now.” He spoke in Spanish to Gabriel, who had come up beside him. Then in English he said, “Here, you let Gabriel take your horses, and we take care of the meat.”

  “I’ll help,” said Tommy as he slid down. “We just watered ’em, so I think tyin’ ’em up will be good enough.”

  Lockwood was on the ground, untying the bundle. He spoke with an air of familiarity as he said, “Any more trouble with Cushman?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I don’t think he’ll do anything while we’re here.”

  “Ha-ha. Maybe you better stay.”

  Lockwood smiled. “We’ll have to see. It wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

  Tommy tied the two horses to the lean-to where he and Red had tied them before. He loosened the cinches and left the horses standing in the shade.

  Inside the house, he let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The antelope carcass, wrapped in the light canvas sheet, lay on the table. Raimundo sat in his usual place, and Lockwood sat in the place where Red had sat. The two men were smoking cigarettes and had a relaxed air about them. As Tommy approached the table, Lockwood looked around at him.

  “I didn’t want to take any liberties with your animal,” he said, “but I can help you cut some meat if you’d like.”

  “I can do it myself,” said Tommy. He turned to Raimundo. “I’ll need a knife and a board.”

  Raimundo called to the kitchen in Spanish, and a minute later, Milena appeared with a cutting board and a butcher knife. Tommy t
hanked her, and she went back to the kitchen. Lockwood did not miss a bit of the movement.

  Tommy did not want to hold up dinner, so he decided to cut up a hindquarter. Working from memory, he cut around the hip joint and trimmed the leg and thigh free. He set it on the board and went about separating the meat from the bone. After a little more than ten minutes, he had a pile of boned meat. Milena reappeared with a second board and knife, and she joined him in the task of cutting the meat into bite-sized pieces.

  Lockwood gave an occasional glance as he continued to chat in a mixture of English and cow-country Spanish. Tommy did not know much Spanish, but he could hear Lockwood’s imperfect pronunciation as he knocked the corners off of words and pronounced the r’s and d’s as he would in English. Thus carne came out “carney,” tarde became “tardy,” and becerro, the word for calf, was trimmed down to “b’sero.” Raimundo took it all in with no reaction, though his clear, crisp intonation made a noticeable contrast.

  Milena scraped all of the cut-up meat onto her board and carried it into the kitchen. Tommy figured that dinner was still at least fifteen minutes away, so he went to work on the other hindquarter.

  Gabriel came in, and Tommy gave him the first thigh and leg bone to give to the dog. Gabriel returned and watched until the second set of bones was free. After flexing the hinged joint as if the bones were a toy, he took them to the dog as well. By then, the first plate of food arrived, so they set the meat and other items on a wooden armchair in the sitting area.

  Milena served all four plates as well as two stacks of warm corn tortillas. Tommy wished Anita would make an appearance, but by now he was conditioned to take whatever came out of the kitchen. He turned his attention to the antelope meat that was swimming in red chile sauce as the pork had done. The first bite was chewy, but it tasted as if it had been tenderized somewhat by the sauce being cooked into it. He ate one piece after another, chewing and savoring, then began to combine the meat with the beans. He was so hungry and the food was so satisfying that he forgot about the tortillas until he was almost finished with his plate.

  Lockwood had made short work of his meal as well.

  Milena materialized again from the kitchen and asked the single-word question, “¿Más?”

  Lockwood flattened out his r’s as he said, “Por favor.”

  By the time Milena came back with Lockwood’s second serving, Tommy had cleaned his plate. He was ready for her question.

  “¿Más?”

  He put all he could into his r’s as he answered, “Por favor.”

  She brightened and smiled. “Un momento,” she said.

  Tommy’s second plate arrived, and he went at it with a little more leisure. He helped himself to a tortilla. He listened to the conversation between the two men.

  He picked up the words for water, dirt, and men. He recognized Cushman’s name in its variant pronunciations. Raimundo seemed to be explaining his people’s circumstances in a plain way, while Lockwood seemed to be making an effort to make his statements with effect.

  Tommy’s spirits picked up when he saw both Anita and Milena standing in the kitchen doorway. They were listening to Lockwood. So was Gabriel. Tommy paid attention.

  Now with an audience, Lockwood spoke in straight, deliberate English. “It is not right what this man Cushman does. He does not own the water. He may think he does, but it only flows across his property from somewhere else. He may use it, and draw from it, but he does not own it. In higher laws, water belongs to everyone. No one has a right to cut off someone else’s water.” He pushed his plate away and shrugged, as if to say that it was only his opinion and not well said at that. But the others seemed impressed, as they nodded in agreement. Anita relayed the contents to Milena in Spanish, and Milena nodded as well, saying, “Pues, sí, es cierto.”

  It was a brief moment but a high point as it held the people together. Within a few seconds, they went about their separate activities. Anita and Milena cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen. Lockwood brought out his cigarette makin’s. Tommy and Gabriel put the remainder of the antelope on the table, along with the board and knife.

  Tommy severed the two shoulders from the carcass and began to cut out the remaining backstrap. As he did so, Gabriel cut up the hindquarter meat that Tommy had boned before dinner. Tommy took out the backstrap in one long, neat piece and set it aside. It was pleasing to see. He imagined it making about fifteen or twenty nice chops, suitable for pan frying.

  He went to work on the shoulder. The meat and tendons were tougher here, and the bones were more difficult. He became absorbed with separating the meat from the shoulder blade and from around the joints. When he looked up, Gabriel had cut up the whole backstrap and put the meat onto the general pile.

  Tommy felt an immediate sinking of the spirits, but he figured it was too late to say anything, so he went back to work. The best meat would go into the pot with the toughest, and in the long run it wouldn’t make much difference.

  Milena came out of the kitchen and traded a clean board for one that was stacked with meat. She said something in Spanish to Gabriel.

  Tommy gave him an inquisitive look.

  “She says they’re going to make pozole.”

  “What’s that?”

  Gabriel tipped his head as if he was picking the words. “It’s like a soup, with meat and onions and corn. Big corn.” With his thumb and forefinger he made a circle about the size of a chickpea.

  “Are they going to use all the meat?”

  “I think so. Cook it all so it doesn’t go to waste.”

  “Just as well, I guess.”

  Tommy took a seat on the shady side of the house where Raimundo and Lockwood had retired after dinner. The men were smoking cigarettes and drinking liquor out of two small glasses. Across the bare ground, the cauldron was hanging over the fire pit again, and smoke was rising up around the sides. Life had eased into a casual pace, and Tommy let the tension flow away. He closed his eyes and picked up a few stray words from the men’s conversation. The aroma of spices and boiling meat drifted on the air. At some time a few hours from now, he would find out what pozole was like.

  He awoke with a haunting, hollow sense of Red’s death. Red had sat in this very place, had smoked cigarettes with Raimundo as Lockwood was doing now. But no more. Never again would Tommy’s friend ride a horse, scheme on an unbranded calf, mock the boss, or go after a girl. He was here one moment and gone the next, never to come back. The largeness of it all, the finality, had Tommy in a daze.

  Life and its familiar aspects came back to him as he heard the continuous, low-toned conversation between Lockwood and Raimundo. Lockwood commented on how good the tequila was. Raimundo agreed with a casual “Ah, sí.” Lockwood remarked that the sun was very strong this time of year. Raimundo agreed again. Lockwood said that he thought the pozole would be very good. Raimundo said, with more enthusiasm, “Oh, sí.”

  Tommy blinked and opened his eyes wider to look around. Anita and Milena were standing at the large kettle. Milena was stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. Anita gave him a glance and smiled, then took the spoon that Milena handed her. Anita stood up straight and showed nice form as she dipped the spoon into the cauldron, brought it out, and blew the steam off of it. Tommy looked around for Faustino and did not see him. He recalled Gabriel’s account of Faustino dropping his interest in Milena as he became fixed on Anita. Tommy smiled at the possible nuances to the situation. Maybe Milena’s presence upset the man’s composure.

  Anita and Milena went inside, and the afternoon emptied again. The shadows began to stretch out. Tommy nodded off and woke up. Raimundo had left, and Lockwood was dozing in his chair. Tommy closed his eyes again.

  The evening began to liven up as Gabriel and then Alejo joined the group. Milena set out a wooden box to serve as a table. A minute later she brought a small bowl of dried red chile and a smaller bowl with a dried, crushed herb. Then, with Anita at work with the ladle, she served the bowls of pozole.
Each man added a spoonful of chile and half a teaspoon of the dried herb. Lockwood seemed at home with the routine and fit right in with the others.

  Raimundo pointed with his spoon as he said to Tommy, “Put some chile. And orégano.”

  Tommy did as he was told, then sat down and stirred the new ingredients into the soup. The pozole consisted of antelope meat, hominy, and cooked onions. The combination was excellent, notwithstanding a slight gamy flavor from the antelope and one mouthful in which he came down on half a clove of garlic.

  Everyone ate in silence for a while until Raimundo said, “This is very good.”

  Lockwood’s voice was cheerful. “I can’t complain.” He smiled as Milena took his bowl for a second serving.

  Even Alejo, who had kept an untrusting eye on Tommy most of the time, relented. “Yes, berry good,” he said. “You bring good meat.”

  “He is a good boy,” said Raimundo. “He has no family. We are sorry for his friend. May he rest in peace.” Turning to Tommy, he said, “This is your house. Like before, you stay with us.” Then to Lockwood he said, “You, too.”

  Lockwood smiled and held up his hand. “I don’t want to impose. Besides, I have my own camp.” He smiled at Milena as he took the bowl she handed him.

  “You go there and get your things.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Milena served a second bowl to each of the others, and the meal went on in silence.

  The fire burned down, and Milena and Anita went inside. The bowls stacked up on the wooden box, and Lockwood brought out his tobacco and papers. Raimundo and Alejo each rolled a cigarette, and as the makin’s came back around to Lockwood, everyone looked up to see Faustino, who had appeared in the group like a stranger out of the dusk.

  All of the men, including Lockwood, greeted him in Spanish. As if to put himself on a higher plane and to set the mode of the conversation, he answered in English.

  “Good evening. Everyone had a good supper?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Raimundo. “Please have some. Con confianza.”