Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

  “No, thank you.” Faustino was wearing a white shirt and a black vest, with a silver watch chain drooping. He took out the watch, gave it an unhurried glance, and put it away. With a nod each at Tommy and Lockwood, he rested his gaze on Raimundo and said, “I have heard the news of the young American with the red hair.”

  “It is very sad.”

  “Yes, and of course, I am sorry for it.” Faustino gave another nod to Tommy. “There is nothing good to it. But at least it happened over there.”

  Tommy stared at the man. Faustino had the face of a man of thirty, with no wrinkles or blemishes but starting to fill out. His skin was smooth, not very dark, and although the flesh on his cheeks and cheekbones looked soft, the set of his mouth and the glint of his eyes expressed a hardness like granite.

  Faustino caught Tommy’s eyes and moved back to Raimundo. “It is no pleasure to say that I warned of it.”

  Raimundo took a slow breath and raised his head. “Faustino, if you are trying again to run this boy away, you do not have . . . there is no use. I have told him he can stay with us. He is a guest in my house. And also, he has no family. The boy who was like a brother to him has died. This boy does not cause trouble. He is a worker. Even if he came here with nothing, which he did not, for he brought meat, and he has his own horse, I would not turn him away. To the contrary, I invited him. So he is here to stay with me if he wants to.”

  Faustino sniffed through his well-trimmed mustache. “You know as we say in Spanish, that which begins bad ends bad. Trouble follows some people.” His gaze took in Lockwood. “And we do not know the motives of some.”

  Raimundo answered. “And as we also say in Spanish, before you say someone else is a cripple, look at your own feet.”

  Faustino’s face stiffened.

  Alejo spoke a full sentence in Spanish. Tommy turned to Gabriel for an explanation.

  “He says that my father is older and knows many things, and the younger man should not try to argue with him.”

  Faustino shifted his feet and continued in English for the benefit of all present. “You are right, uncle. I will not argue with don Raimundo, and I will not fight about a boy.” His chest went up and down with a labored breath, and he turned to Lockwood. “I am sure you are just visiting, and I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  Raimundo said, “Leave him alone.”

  With full repose as before, Faustino addressed his elder. “Very well. I will say this in general. The American visitor is welcome. Good. He sits around all day talking. Smoking cigarettes and drinking tequila. Good. If this were a village where no trouble happened, he could sit with the other holgazanes and peel peanuts all day long.” Faustino’s face tightened, and his eyes blazed. “But trouble is going to come, and we need to take care of our people. We don’t need a conchudo sitting around in the middle of it.”

  Lockwood stood up. “I know what that word means. If you want to call me a moocher, that’s your privilege, here in your own place. But I’ll tell you one thing. I pay my own way in life, and I pay for what I break. I thought I might be able to lend a helpin’ hand here, but there’s nothin’ to keep me. I’ve got my own camp to go back to anyway, so now is just as good a time as any.” He gave a tug at his hat brim and turned to Tommy. “You’re free to ride along or stay here, either one.”

  Tommy exchanged a glance with Raimundo and said, “I think I’ll stay here with my friends.”

  “No harm in that.” Lockwood turned away and walked to the lean-to with a steady gait.

  He came back leading his horse. He stopped a couple of yards away from the gathering and tightened his saddle cinch. Tommy expected someone to say something, if not that he was welcome to stay, at least that he was welcome to come back. No one said anything, though they all stood up, and Lockwood remained nonchalant. He swung into the saddle, touched his six-gun as if by habit to make sure it was settled in place, and reined the grey horse aside. He had put on his buckskin-colored riding gloves, and he cut a good figure as he touched the brim of his dusty black hat.

  “So long,” he said. He nodded at Tommy and said, “See you later, kid. Take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks, Bill. Good luck.”

  As Lockwood rode away in the dusk, Tommy thought Faustino was a fool to run off an ally with a gun.

  The sound of voices woke Tommy in his bed in the lean-to. He did not pick out words, but he could recognize the sounds and intonation of Spanish. He rolled out of his bed and sat up.

  Across the yard, between the houses and not far from the fire pit, Faustino and his brother formed one side of a conversation with Alejo and Raimundo on the other. The voices went up and down, and Faustino made gestures with his hands. Meanwhile, his brother stood by with his arms folded and his fists pushing out his biceps.

  Tommy pulled on his boots and put on his hat. As he was rolling up his bed, Gabriel dropped by in his usual cheerful mood.

  “Sounds like they’re at it again,” said Tommy.

  “Faustino says we should all leave. Go away.”

  Tommy wondered if it was some other strategy to try to get rid of him. “What’s his reason?”

  “He says Cooshmon has warned us, and now with you here, Cooshmon has even more reason to come and push us.”

  Tommy let out a breath of exasperation. “He doesn’t give up, does he? At least about me. It seems like he’s givin’ up with Cushman.”

  “I don’t know.”

  The voices rose, and then the conversation came to an end. The group separated, with Faustino and his brother going in the direction of Faustino’s house while Alejo and Raimundo headed toward the Villarreal house. There the two older men stopped and resumed their conversation.

  Gabriel left Tommy and stood by his father as the two older men talked. After a couple of minutes, Alejo left for his house, and Raimundo went into his own. Gabriel came back to the lean-to.

  “Well, what’s going on?” Tommy asked.

  “Faustino is going away.”

  “Really? Is he pulling out?”

  “I don’t think so. My father says he is going to take care of his own interests, which I think means money. But he wants people to think he is leaving because they will not listen to his good judgment.”

  “So he’s leaving in a sulk. Doesn’t he have money that belongs to other people?”

  “Some, but he leaves that with Emilio, his brother.”

  “Does he just want everybody to do things his way?”

  “I think so. And he gets jealous when they don’t. My father says we see which foot he limps on.”

  Tommy laughed. “He’ll be back, then.”

  “I think so.”

  Tommy looked across the empty yard where the men had stood. Maybe he could breathe easy for a while. He would not miss Faustino Romero, and the man’s absence might make it easier for him to see more of Anita.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The morning sun glistened on Pete’s back as Tommy combed the horse’s mane. Chickens clucked as they scratched the earth. The speckled goat and the brown-and-white goat poked around, now and then emitting a low, clear meh-eh-eh-eh sound. A sand-colored burro with a dark, striped cross on its neck and shoulder stood at Alejo’s back door, as if it was waiting for a crust of bread or a tortilla with a trace of salt. Smoke came from the fire pit, curling up around the sides of the laundry cauldron and drifting on the air. It had a thick, acrid smell that Tommy correlated with the chunks of old posts that Alejo had put on the fire a little earlier.

  The back door opened, and Elsa and her mother came out, carrying a basket of laundry between them. The señora said, ¡Ay, burro! and pushed the animal on the nose to move it out of the way. Elsa did not look in Tommy’s direction. She kept her back to him as she and her mother lifted the garments one by one and dropped them into the pot. After a couple of minutes, they shook out the empty basket and went into the house.

  Tommy slipped the small steel comb into his back pocket and took out an oval-shaped brush not much
bigger than the palm of his hand. He slipped three fingers through the strap and began brushing Pete’s neck.

  The back door of the Villarreal house opened, and Tommy felt a wave of pure admiration as Anita stepped into the sunlight. Her long, dark hair was shining and made a pretty contrast with her yellow dress. At her side she carried a tin pail. In a glance Tommy saw onion skin, corn cobs, pieces of corn tortilla, and chile stems. He met Anita’s eyes, and she smiled.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning.” He took off his hat and put it back on, but he thought she missed the gesture as she turned and pitched the scraps out onto the ground.

  The chickens came scurrying, and the two goats were not far behind. Then came the sand-colored burro in a lumbering trot. It forged ahead between the two goats, lowering its large head and plowing the two smaller animals aside. The burro curled back its lip, showing big, wide teeth, and settled onto a corn cob. It lifted its head and began chewing the dry cob.

  Anita stayed clear of the horse as she took a couple of steps toward Tommy. She raised her hand and brushed her hair in back of her shoulder. In a quiet voice she said, “I’m sorry about your friend. I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday.”

  “It’s all right. I appreciate you mentioning it. I don’t think I’ve gotten a hold of it yet myself.” He ran the brush across Pete’s shoulder.

  “It’s very sad. We knew that he was like a brother to you. And now you are alone.”

  “I was alone before, but it feels worse now. I didn’t have any enemies then, at least that I knew about.” He met her eyes. “I appreciate your father inviting me to stay here, but I’m not a helpless kid. All these grown men treat me like one, but I can take care of myself. I can work and pay my own way. I can cook my food. I can wash my own clothes when I need to.”

  Anita nodded and let him speak on.

  “I realize that I am a kid in some ways. I mean, I’m not grown up like your father, or Bill Lockwood, or—” He was about to say “Faustino,” but he shifted and said, “or like Vinch Cushman and some of his riders.” He brushed along Pete’s back, above the ribs. The sorrel coat was shiny. “Not to brag, but I’ve earned what I’ve got. I told you that before. To live and work in this country, I need a horse and a rifle and a coat and gloves, plus a bedroll. I have those, and I’m building my way up.”

  “And you have a pistol.”

  “Well, yes. I take it out when I need it.” He gave Pete a long sweep with the brush. “I saw Elsa a few minutes ago. I didn’t see her all day yesterday.”

  “She stays in the house. She was very sad about Red, also. She was crying. My uncle told her he wasn’t worth crying about, because he got himself in trouble. But that just made her cry more.”

  A feeling of dread diffused through Tommy’s upper body. His throat was tight, and he set his teeth as he fought back the tears. “People can say those things,” he said.

  “My uncle is old-fashioned, very traditional. He doesn’t want to be mean, but—”

  “I know. Boys are careless, and they get in trouble. I can’t deny that Red was that way. It’s just too bad that things ended so soon for him.”

  “Well, we hope he is at peace.” Then in a lighter tone she said, “I like your horse. He’s pretty, and he seems to fit you well.”

  “Thanks. I’m kind of proud of him, though he’s an older horse.” Tommy stood out of the way so that Pete’s white blaze and white front socks showed to advantage.

  “And he’s not a big horse. That’s better. I get afraid with the big horses.”

  “Smaller horses can be trouble, too, of course, but I know what you mean. Seems like sometimes a big horse doesn’t see you and wants to back right over you. But it’s a matter of the horse. Big ones can be dog-gentle.” Tommy smiled. “Just seems like you have to climb a long ways to get on top of ’em.”

  Anita laughed. “Well, I like this one.”

  “He’s good for me.” Tommy patted the horse on the neck. “His name’s Pete. I might have told you that before.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “You can pet him if you’d like.”

  With the pail still in her left hand, she stepped forward and patted the horse on the shoulder. She smiled and stepped back. “I’d better go back in,” she said.

  Tommy wondered if he should try tipping his hat again, but the scene was interrupted by the sand-colored burro. The animal came up behind Anita and drove his nose down into the pail.

  The movement jerked her out of her graceful posture for a second and turned her until she lowered the pail and swung it away. “¡Ay, burro!” she said, in a scolding voice. Then she looked over her shoulder, smiled at Tommy, and resumed her cheerful tone as she said, “Goodbye.”

  “See you later,” he said as he watched her walk away.

  He came back to himself and looked around. He expected to see Faustino Romero giving him a disapproving scowl, but no one else was in view. The chickens were pecking away at the scraps, one of the goats was nibbling on an onion skin, the burro with the striped cross was nosing among the chile stems and seeds, and the smoke continued to rise from the fire pit.

  Children’s laughter carried on the air as Tommy crouched at his job of splitting kindling. The fire beneath the laundry cauldron had burned out. Elsa and her mother had rinsed and hung the clothes, and a woman from a couple of houses over was bathing two of her children in a metal washtub. She dipped water from the cauldron and poured it over the two children, who stood naked in the tub. Tommy took care not to look at the naked children, but the occurrence seemed normal to everyone else, including Gabriel, who was hoeing in the garden patch, and Anita, who crossed the yard and went into the house where Elsa lived. Three other children played nearby, chasing each other and laughing.

  Tommy heard a woman’s voice and looked up from his work. Milena had come around the front of Alejo’s house and was speaking in a commanding tone. Two children, about four and six years old, detached themselves from their game and went to her. She took one by each hand and marched away, looking once in the direction of the creek.

  Tommy stood up from his work and walked out to the open area to get a better view. Coming up the slope from the creek was Fred Berwick, once again in the company of Walt McKinney. Tommy’s eyes tightened. A second later, two more riders came into view. Tommy did not recognize them. They were heavier built than either Walt or Fred, almost as large as Lew Greer. They could be brothers, Tommy thought. Then he saw that they were riding horses that he and Red used to ride. These would be the two bulldogs Red referred to.

  Even at a distance of forty yards, Tommy saw surprise register with Fred Berwick. But the horses did not slack their pace. They came forward at a brisk walk, picking up their feet, until Fred and then Walt came to a stop. The other two riders hung back and stopped as well.

  Raimundo and Alejo came out of their respective houses and met where Tommy was standing. Faustino had left earlier on his bay horse, and as far as Tommy knew, the other men of the village were out with the sheep.

  Fred did not speak right away. He was clean-shaven and dressed in neat clothes as always, but he had a queasy look about him, as if his mission did not set well with his stomach. Walt had his casual, half-attentive air as he slouched in the saddle and rolled his head from one side to the other. The two bulldogs in back had their brims pulled down against the sun, and so their faces were in shadow.

  “Good afternoon,” said Fred, looking up as if to be sure of the time of day and then squinting as he refocused.

  Raimundo answered. “Good afternoon. In what way can we help you?”

  Fred shifted his gaze and put his hands on his saddle horn. His mouth moved one way and then another until he said, “Well, I have another message from Vinch Cushman.” He paused, and when no response came, he continued. “He says he thought you should have gotten the idea before, but now he needs to make it clear. The water gets cut off today. You have until the end of the day tomorrow to
pack all your things and leave.” Fred’s voice was quavering, and he pulled in a deep breath. Steadier, he said, “This is Vinch, not me. I’m just delivering the message. But he says that if you people don’t leave, something very bad will happen to you, your animals, and your buildings.” Fred’s eyes swept across the village.

  Raimundo made a slow, nodding motion. He lifted his eyebrows and looked square at Fred. “He has to know that whatever he does, sooner or later, he will be in trouble with the law.”

  Fred shook his head. “I can’t tell you what he thinks, because I don’t know. Like I say, I’m just the messenger.”

  “Well, you delivered your message.” Raimundo looked at Alejo, gave a small toss of the head, and turned away. Alejo followed.

  Fred spoke in a low, matter-of-fact tone. “Tommy. If you’ve got a minute.”

  Tommy walked forward a few steps. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Look, Tommy. This is none of my doing. I’m sorry about what happened to Red. I didn’t have anything to do with it. And I don’t like being a part of this, either.”

  “Then why don’t you ride away?”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Tommy gave it a second’s thought. “I’ve got different reasons than you do.”

  “Then let’s leave it at that. I didn’t come to argue with you, Tommy. I didn’t even know you were here. But I’ll tell you this. You know how Vinch is. He really has a vendetta against these people. He hates them.”

  “I know that.”

  “I mean it. He’s serious. I hope they take his warning. For their own good. If they don’t want to, I hope you can talk some sense into them.”

  “No one listens to me, Fred. I’m just a kid.”

  Fred grimaced as if his stomach was still in turmoil. “Well, just remember. It’s nothing personal between you and me.”

  “I don’t know, Fred. As long as you ride for Vinch Cushman and carry his messages, there’s got to be something. But I’ll try. No hard feelings.”

  “Thanks, Tommy. And good luck.” Fred reined his horse around and made a clucking sound.