Tortuga

by Rudolfo Anaya

  “You had to do it,” Ronco said, “that’s the only thing you can do when an animal’s busted up that bad …”

  “Yeah,” Buck agreed, “but it sure as hell ain’t like the movies … I found that out.”

  “No, it ain’t the movies,” Mike nodded, “nothing is. The movies paint it too easy … Tom Mix shoots his horse with a broken leg, says goodbye Ole Paint, jumps on another horse and rides to catch the desperados who have kidnapped his woman … it all comes out right in the end. Here it’s different. But at least you came out of it alive, let’s be thankful for that …”

  “Yeah, they can’t keep a good man down,” Buck tried to smile.

  “That’s the spirit!” Mike nodded and we smiled and tried to let him know we were pulling for him, even Sadsack who cut loose an explosive bomb cried out joyfully, “Yeah Buck, catch that and paint it red! Har-har-har!”

  “My ole man always said I was full of piss and vinegar,” Buck winked, “I’ll be throwing a lasso on one of those chairs before long—”

  “We got a whole corral of them,” Mike said, “just waiting to be rode.”

  “Yeah,” Buck groaned. “But it sure do hurt in the meantime—” He closed his eyes. He fell into a painful, troubled sleep, feverishly mumbling that he could rope anything that moved, including wild snakes, cyclones and hurricanes. He swore over and over that the horse hadn’t been born that could throw him, and there wasn’t a steer he couldn’t toss on its back. He hated fancy drug-store cowboys who’d never rid’ a hoss or roped a dogie and who’d never dirtied their boots in cow shit. Later he shouted that this sure as hell wasn’t his last round-up and that he wasn’t ready for Hill Billy heaven, and that ole JC, the toughest trailmaster of them all, could just trail boss a little longer without him. He sang parts of “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” yodeled like a sick calf, then finally quieted down as his fever broke and he could rest.

  The room was quiet while we watched over him. Someone whispered that it was a strange coincidence that the searchers had gone out looking for Jerry and found Buck, and that Buck had come to sleep in Jerry’s bed.

  The following morning they found Jerry’s body. We had spent our time glued to the radio, waiting for news, but all we could get were the frequent sermons of a hill billy preacher who piped in from KRST, Del Rio, Texas. After that there was only garbled static and occasional snatches of music. We felt cut off from the outside world. There was a radio in the reception room, and that’s how the news first came to us. It spread quickly throughout the ward, so by the time Danny and Mudo and Tuerto came running in with a newspaper they had swiped we already knew. The ward was very quiet.

  “It says he froze to death,” Danny said.

  “He didn’t have a chance crossing that mountain,” Ronco said, “but it happens every year. Sooner or later one of us gets homesick, and when the call comes you don’t plan on anything, you just go. There’s nothing stronger than the call to be home. The time came for Jerry and he went. Home was his life … it was everything. He couldn’t live in a hospital like this, damn, can’t they realize that!”

  “Yeah, home was grandfather … home was a place where he could have his religion without having to hide it,” Mike nodded. He had taken Jerry’s death harder than anyone, because he had tried so hard to talk with Jerry and understand what was going on in his mind.

  “There was no way he could get over Flechado Pass,” Buck said, “I know that. It was frozen solid. And all the other trails over the mountain are covered over too, either that or they’re fenced in. I’ve been up in that mountain in the summer, and there’s barbed wire everywhere. If the Forest Service isn’t closing off trails then it’s the big ranchers … Maybe Jerry didn’t know that. He didn’t know the old trails are wiped out …”

  “In a way I’m glad he went,” Mike whispered to himself, “at least he had the guts to make a break for it.” Then he slammed his fist against the nightstand and cursed. “But he never had a chance! Damnit, he never had a chance!”

  We all shared his anger and frustration, because we felt like he did, but there was nothing we could do.

  “We should take this case to the Committee,” somebody suggested.

  “You’re damn right we will!” Mike exclaimed. “The whole world should know what’s happening here, and that creep of a director won’t tell them!”

  “Swanson? Shit, he doesn’t know a damned thing!” Danny said angrily. “He never leaves his office. He’s afraid of us, thinks we’re freaks. Steel’s the one that does all the work!”

  “Did you hear what Swanson told the reporters? It was on the radio, somebody said. He told them Jerry was the Little Beaver of the hospital … and we were going to miss him, but we all knew he had gone to his happy hunting ground!”

  “His real name was Geronimo,” Mike said, “and he was Navajo—

  We said no more, but later that afternoon someone asked how Dr. Steel had found Jerry and someone, I don’t know who, said that when Steel came running to our room he looked out the window and he cursed. Seems like right then and there he knew Jerry would be heading west, into the Gila … and he also knew the mountain was packed with snow and ice and every friggin’ pass was closed. Jerry would have to go over the top … even Flechado Pass was closed that day. By then the sheriff had already been called, he and the state cop were here, asking questions … and Steel just grabbed a jacket and told them to get going because they had to find Jerry before nightfall. He knew it had to be that way, because he knew that night it was going to be freezing cold as hell on the top of that mountain. So they went out in the jeeps, and first they found Buck … that’s something ain’t it? If they hadn’t gone looking for Jerry they would never have found Buck, cause like I said, the road over the pass was already closed to traffic. Anyway, Steel climbed all day … and next morning he brought Jerry down. But what happened up there on the mountain is what’s interesting. It took him all day to bring Jerry down, but he did it, and he did it alone because his own horse was frozen to death. He brought him down all the way, dragging him, carrying him over his back, anyway he could, down to the camp, down to the surprised men, never saying anything to anyone, just watched him loaded on the ambulance … then he came back to the hospital, and they say the first thing he did was to go over to Salomón’s room … nobody knows why, but they say he talked with Salomón for a long time. Nobody knows why, but I got an idea. Know what it is? I think he knows Salomón makes stories, and it was important for him to tell him because one of these days Salomón is going to make a story of it. Yeah, just wait, one of these days you’ll hear his story, maybe not right away, and maybe he’ll change it a little, cause he’s a good storyteller, but you’ll hear it. He’ll tell about the way Steel ran down to the river through the wet, frozen snow, how he was gasping for breath and how his eyes were burning with tears. And most important, he’ll tell what Steel was thinking all that time, which I don’t know because I wasn’t even there. And he’ll tell what he felt when he saw those tracks turn towards the mountains to the west … He will tell you exactly how Steel looked when he got back to the hospital, how wet and tired he was, how he didn’t say anything as he put on the shoes and heavy clothes and finally the sheep-skin jacket. He’ll tell you details like I couldn’t, so you’ll feel you’re right there, with the searchers getting on the jeep and trucks, quietly kidding each other, checking their equipment, passing the whiskey bottle so the sheriff and Steel won’t see, looking up at Solazo peak and somehow wishing they weren’t going on the search, wishing they were back home sleeping late under warm blankets, getting a screw from their women, feeling the warmth of their homes. You’ll see them drive up to where the tracks turned into the mountains, how they looked over the side and spotted Buck’s tangled wreck and saw him waving and shouting where he was pinned in the cab, hear the murmurs of dissension when Steel wanted them to climb, listen to the hassling of the sheriff and the rancher over the price for the horses, hear the stamping feet of the packed ho
rses, smell their sweet smell and hear the creaking of saddles and halters as the sheriff and Steel and the deputy mount up and head into the tall drifts, barely moving forward in the thick snow. The men at the camp rejoice inside that it’s not them going, and they can settle down and play cards and drink all day, and joke with Orlando, the state cop, about the raid he made over in Santa Rita, and how he took one of the prostitutes home with him and she’s been there ever since. He’ll show you plumes of frozen breath marking the still, quiet air. Dots against the mountainside, dots which are the three riders making slow progress. You’ll feel the cold wind coming down off the mountain, covering everything with the snow it’s blowing around. Then you’ll see two of the dots turn back as the sun dips over the mountain and it begins to get winter-dark very fast, and you’ll hear them making up excuses to tell the others down at camp, excuses for turning back, the cold, the darkness, Steel’s insanity … You’ll see Steel get down and have to break the trail for his horse and pull him past the really thick drifts … and then he’ll tell you about Steel’s night on the mountain and how the moon grew so big and blue it looked like a giant balloon just within reach … and the silence and the peace of that frozen mountain top. And you’ll realize that right in the middle of that cold beauty, right in that entire Gila wilderness on the back of a mountain that stretches a hundred miles, Jerry and Steel are sitting very close to each other, that’s what really gets you, how Steel was right about the tracks that weren’t there. You’ll see the blue snow clinging to everything … and Jerry, sitting against the pine tree, looking down at us, waiting for the sun to rise, smiling … Maybe that’s what Steel wanted Salomón to know, that in the midst of all that silence, with the ice cracking and groaning as the trees swayed in the wind, and with the moon so full and mysterious, Jerry was sitting so still and peaceful.…

  “Did Steel get sick?” somebody asked.

  “Yeah. Got a really bad cold, but he’s okay now. Saw him going rounds yesterday.”

  “Best bones doc this place ever had!”

  “You bet.”

  “He don’t say much, but he knows—”

  “What about the newspaper story?” somebody asked.

  “That’s all there is to it,” someone answered. “The Director says he doesn’t know why Jerry ran away. He told the papers Jerry had everything he needed right here: beads to work with, good food, the best medical care in the world. Everything!”

  “Ah what does he know! He never comes out of his office! I saw him once and the guy looks like someone that’s dead! The Committee hires him to direct this place, but he don’t give a damn about us. Sometimes I don’t think the Committee gives a damn! Damn old biddies, hired just cause they’re friends of the governor, come here once a year and poke around! What do they know? Nothing. They don’t know nothing … and they don’t really give a damn!”

  Maybe it was true that they didn’t care, and thinking about Jerry didn’t help the mood; we were quiet for awhile, then Mike said, “Jerry left us something, he left us his sign—”

  “Where?” one of the smaller kids cried.

  “On Tortuga’s shell,” Mike gestured with his chin.

  They drew close and looked at the outline of Jerry’s hand on my cast. Híjola, they whispered. It was his sign. He had been here. We had known him for awhile, now he was gone. But it was important that he had left his mark, like so many others before him had scribbled their names on the sand of the desert. Mike took a pen and wrote ‘Algo es algo, dijo el diablo’ under the outline of the hand. Ronco drew a screaming eagle. Other scratches and names appeared as the kids signed my cast.

  “He’s going to be a walking story!” someone exclaimed.

  “But he can’t walk!”

  “Yeah, but it won’t be long till he’ll be able! I heard KC say he’s the best worker she ever had. Then he’ll tell them Jerry’s story, and the story of anybody else who ever ran away from this madhouse.”

  “Tell ’em mine!” Danny interrupted and looked at me. “I’ve run away more times than anybody else!”

  “Ah, Danny, all you do is go to the movies in town. They always know where to pick you up!”

  “Nobody’s ever run farther than Juanito Faraway,” Mike said. “Jerry made me think about him, except Juanito made it—”

  “Yeah boy,” Ronco nodded and smiled. “He was from a pueblo up north, a place in the mountains—”

  “I’d like to go north,” Sadsack groaned, “see some green mountains with real trees, get out of this damned desert that boils in the summer and freezes in the winter—Hey! Maybe we could write Juanito and go see him! Maybe we could go hunting and fishing with him!”

  “How in the hell are we ever goin’ go huntin’ wrapped up like Christmas packages as we are! How in the hell can you climb a mountain in a wheelchair, stupid!” Buck shouted. We looked at him. We knew he was nervous because of what had happened to Jerry. “I’d like to see you try to climb a mountain, or anyone of us! Did you ever see a goddamned cripple on a mountain? Fishin’ and huntin’ and havin’ fun? No! No you haven’t! And you never will, cause there’s just some places we’ll never be able to go!” He looked at us, realized he was shouting and turned to face the wall.

  “I was just thinking out loud,” Sadsack frowned.

  We were quiet. I thought about the green mountains to the north and the foamy streams that cut down rocky canyons. Once we could have fished there, and chased deer up and down the mountain side, but like Buck said, the mountains were hard on cripples. I looked at Tortuga. Gray clouds washed across the empty desert and threatened more snow, but they were dry clouds. They would bring no moisture to Tortuga. There were no green, towering pines on the side of the old mountain, only the slag of old lava, granite boulders and the brittle grass and chamisa which clung to the harsh shell. Ismelda had told me that a huge, old gnarled juniper grew at the top of the mountain, and that there was a small meadow with grass. I wondered how she knew.

  “Tell me about Juanito,” I heard myself say.

  “Juanito really missed his pueblo and he was always homesick,” Mike said. “He kept looking at the calendar and telling us about the feast day he didn’t want to miss. There was going to be dancing, races, clowns, lots of food and women, so one night he slipped out of here, went down to the bus depot and crawled into the luggage compartment of a bus headed north. He didn’t know he got on an express bus. He fell asleep and never got out of that luggage place until the bus reached some small town in Montana. That’s when they found him.”

  “Eeeeho la! Imagine us in Montana!” Ronco cried.

  “Hot dog!” Buck yahooed, “there’s good rodeos up there!”

  “Maybe my arm would get better there,” Danny said wistfully.

  “And there’s lots of mountains, green mountains,” Sadsack moaned.

  “When they found him they asked him what his name was and where he came from and Juanito pointed to show them he’d come a long ways and said ‘Juanito, faraway’ and they thought his name was Juanito Faraway and that’s what they called him. They took care of him till they found out where he belonged and shipped him back here. But in the meantime their Chamber of Commerce came up with the bright idea of celebrating Juanito Faraway Frontier Day every year. So they drummed up a rodeo, Indian dances, fiddling contests, jeep races over the mountains and they made a fortune with it. They even have a Juanito Faraway museum! Juanito’s crutches are there, and a picture of the Greyhound bus he rode up north. Now it’s an annual attraction. Tourists go from all over the country. The little town that wasn’t even on the map is now a city, and everybody makes a living from celebrating Juanito’s day. Can you imagine that?”

  We couldn’t, but we laughed. Sadsack peered from behind a comic and said, “When I run away it’s going to be farther than that!”

  “How far?”

  “It’s not going to be anyplace you know about, brother. There won’t be any wheelchairs or crutches or braces there. The sun will always be shini
ng, and there will be lots of green grass and trees, and lots of food to eat, plenty of booze to drink, and nothing to do but play around with the women, who wear nothing but thin little skirts, like they did in Greek times—”

  “There ain’t no such place!” Danny protested.

  “There is if I say there is!” Sadsack responded. “Why can’t there be a place where there aren’t any twisted bodies, no polio, no diseases, no cripples in dark alleys! Why can’t there be a place where nobody has to work, and there’s fruit on the trees, and the grass is always green, and everybody just spends their time making love, all day long, just making love …”

  “Yeah, why not?” someone said, and some of us shut our eyes and imagined that paradise. Then Pee Wee, a small kid without arms and only stumps for legs, pushed his coaster into the room and said it was dinner time … And when I saw him I cursed Sadsack’s dream and hated myself for letting it creep into the reality of the ward.

  That night the ward was quiet. We listened quietly to Franco’s sad lyrics.

  They say a man should never cry

  But when I saw your surgery knife

  My heart stopped,

  And my blood ran cold …

  Now I don’t know … how long

  I can go onnnn,

  Cause it keeps right on a’hurtin’

  Since you sliced …

  “He’s in a bad mood tonight,” Mike said, “sounds like he’s cruising the halls and looking for Steel. He blames Steel for losing his legs, but there was nothing Steel could do. The disease was eating away the legs, something in the blood, nothing he could do to save the legs.…”