Dark Plums

by Maria Espinosa

  Suddenly she smelled burning and pulled over. Smoke was pouring out from underneath the hood. When the smoke finally stopped, she opened up the hood, but she couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong. Hoping the engine hadn’t been damaged, she was dismayed at seeing a puddle of water underneath the car.

  Around her was a vast expanse of flat earth with a few clumps of brush that merged into a cloudless sky. For almost an hour she waited. The car was so uncomfortable that she got out and paced back and forth along the road, then sat down on the ground in the full glare of the heat. Although the dust made her cough, she didn’t dare drink the last of the water in her thermos.

  Finally, she saw a pickup truck in the distance coming towards her. She waved her arms and shouted. The truck stopped just behind her car. A stocky man of medium height who appeared to be Mexican or Indian got out. He had graying black hair and a copper-colored, lined face.

  “Car break down?” His voice was husky, almost hoarse.

  “Yes.”

  After looking inside the hood, he said, “The radiator hose is okay. I think the radiator sprang a leak.”

  “Is the engine damaged?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  When she coughed, he got out a canteen and handed it to her. She gulped down big, cold mouthfuls of water. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d just about run out.”

  He tucked his fingers inside his broad, leather-tooled belt and looked at her, squinting his eyes against the sun’s glare. “You from these parts?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m on my way to California.”

  “You’re fifty miles from the nearest town, and then it’s only a truck stop. No hotels. It gets mighty cold out here at night. You can spend the night at my place if you like. I’ve got room. Tomorrow I’ll haul your car to town. The one thing they’ve got in that town is a garage. My son works there.”

  “That’s kind of you. But I think I’ll stay here and wait for the police.”

  “No telling when they’d get here. If you’re almost out of water, I wouldn’t stay here overnight.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, not quite sure that she was making the right choice. From the trunk of the car she took out the small suitcase which held her overnight things, and he hoisted it into the back of his truck. He opened the passenger door, and she got in. The ledge beneath his windshield was littered with small white stones and rough turquoises. There was a pungent odor. “What’s that smell?” she asked

  “That’s sage and other herbs. I gather plants from the desert to sell in Tucson.

  She pushed back the straw hat she was wearing. Sweat was on the inside of her open-necked blouse. Her skirt, too, was damp with sweat, and her hair clung in strands to her face.

  “My name’s Manuel. What’s yours?”

  “Adrianne.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, as the truck picked up speed. “I won’t harm you. I told you I’ve got room, and I’ll leave you alone.” His deep, rough voice was somehow reassuring.

  She looked over at him. His hands were square, with straight nails. He seemed genuine. He was wearing a gray, short-sleeved shirt and a white sombrero.

  “I’ve lived in these parts all my life. One of my daughters lives just beyond that rise over there. My youngest son works at the gas station where I’ll be hauling your car tomorrow.”

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  “My wife died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too.”

  They were silent, and she looked out the window. Shadows were lengthening. Although her watch had stopped, she guessed it was about five in the afternoon when they pulled up at an adobe house with a small trailer in back. In the front yard was a cactus tree, several enormous aloe vera plants, and a few spindly plants held up with stakes.

  He got out her suitcase and lifted armfuls of gray-green branches out of the back of the truck.

  “You can help me carry these inside,” he said.

  The fragrant dry leaves brushed against her skin as she carried them into a bright, sunlit room and lay them on top of bundles of drying herbs. The odor, which made her think of wind, filled her nostrils.

  He gave her a tour of the house. “I built it myself, with the help of my sons,” he said proudly.

  The house had white walls and dark tile floors. One of the bedrooms was used for drying and storing the herbs he collected, while he slept in the other bedroom. His bed was unmade and a few articles of clothing were tossed over a chair. “Excuse the mess,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “It’s not messy at all,” said Adrianne, and in truth she was impressed with the cleanliness of the house and with its spare furnishings.

  Then he showed her the trailer, where she would sleep. It was tiny, with a berth-bed and yellow curtains. From a built-in cabinet he took out sheets and woven Mexican blankets for her.

  A wave of dizziness swept over her. “I’m so tired. I’d like to lie down,” she said.

  “Go ahead. I’ll cook up some dinner.”

  Hours later, she awakened in darkness and wandered the house.

  They ate rice, beans, and tortillas, along with a salad of green peppers and tomatoes from his garden. Manuel offered her beer, but she declined. Then he offered her a cool drink made with rice water.

  Halfway through the meal, she got up and vomited in the bathroom.

  “You are unwell,” said Manuel, when she returned to the table. “Are you pregnant?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  He felt her feverish forehead, and his touch was gentle. “You got too much sun.”

  “I was waiting for a long time,” she said. “It was so hot inside that car that I got out and waited outside.”

  “Go and lie down.”

  She went back to the trailer, put on her nightgown, and lay beneath the blankets, but still she shivered. Throughout her journey she had been in turmoil over her mother, and this emotional pain permeated everything.

  Manuel knocked at the trailer door and came in with a damp compress which he applied to her forehead. It felt cool and smelled refreshing. He sat down on a stool beside her and placed one of his hands gently on the top of her skull. She felt the power from his touch surging through her. It swept warmth through her entire body so that her chills vanished. When she looked up into his dark eyes, they beamed compassion. He won’t hurt me. I can trust him, she thought, as she closed her eyes and let the relaxation fill her.

  “Sleep,” he said. “You’ll be all right in the morning.” Then he left the trailer. However, she still felt his force sweeping through her body, filling it with fresh currents, as though he were still touching her. Her dreams were vivid, but when she awakened, the memory of them vanished.

  The next morning the house was empty. His truck was gone. On the table she found a slip of paper with looped, large, almost childish handwriting.

  Adrianne, I am taking your car to fix the radiator.

  Manuel

  When she walked outside, she saw that the sun had already risen high in the sky. A breeze blew her hair, and she was hungry.

  On the kitchen counter she found a stack of tortillas wrapped in a cloth napkin. A pot of beans and coffee were on the stove. She warmed up the food and consumed everything hungrily. Afterwards, she decided to go for a walk.

  As she made her way across the land, she felt impeded by her heavy thighs and large, pendulous breasts and by the weight of her entire body, which ached when she tried to run. So she stopped and sat down to rest. A tumbleweed rolled across her field of vision. The previous night she had dreamed something disturbing about huge black birds.

  Absorbed in her thoughts, she continued walking. When she turned to look behind her, the house was no longer visible and she felt a pang of fear. However, she decided to rest again before she retraced her steps. Red-faced and sweating, she sat down on a rock.

  The vastness of the land now made her perceive her own emotions as trivia
l. Those emotions seemed like the gophers and jackrabbits and other small desert animals that darted past her. It was so hot that tensions in her brain melted. She felt as though hands were pushing down on her. Far off she heard the bleating of sheep. Objects around her started to pulsate. Sagebrush, rocks, pebbles, and bushes expanded and contracted. Their forms shifted. Shimmering waves of air rose from the earth. There seemed to be an ocean in the distance. A mirage, she knew.

  Then there was a gust of wind, and inside the wind she seemed to hear her mother’s voice. From a tumbleweed hurtling across the ground, a shape emerged. Adrianne gripped the edge of the rock. “You’re damned, doomed. You deserve to die,” her mother murmured. The vision faded, but Adrianne felt something pulling on her.

  Heat continued to penetrate her.

  “Adriana,” sounded her father’s thin voice, although perhaps it was the wind which blew his meaning through her bones. Tall, heavy, and stoop-shouldered as he had been in life, he whispered that he wanted her to remain his alone.

  She seemed to hear Lucille’s voice. “Honey, come with me.”

  Her clothing was sticking to her with perspiration; her head throbbed. In spite of herself, she dozed off. When her eyes opened again, she had half-slipped off the rock. Max’s soft hands were on her neck. “Come, Adrianne, come. You are my soul. You are my missing part.”

  “If you love me, let me live!” she cried out.

  “Meine liebchen, I love you.” His voice was thick and guttural, as it had been in life. On one of his fingers flashed a ring with red and blue stones.

  When she rubbed her eyes, he disappeared. All she saw were waves of air rising around her, but still she heard his voice mingling with other voices, enticing her. Then again she seemed to see the shadowy form of her mother beneath some rocks. Elena smiled in that strange way, with the glimmer of satisfaction that Adrianne had seen for the blink of an eye during that last night. “I knew about Gerald,” her mother whispered inside the wind. “I knew a lot about you. When I gaze off, I see things beneath the surface. You have lived out my secret dreams, and now this heat will get you and you’ll die.”

  Her mother was rocking a tiny carcass against her breasts.

  Adrianne stood up. Through her fear, she knew she had to stay awake. The voices fused, pulling her in different directions. “Come with me … with me,” they all echoed around her. Were they coming from inside her brain? The wind intensified, blowing branches of the sparse desert brush. She felt them flow through her with the wind, fill her, and then pass beyond.

  Finally, she was empty, and in spite of the heat she shivered as she had the night before underneath the blankets.

  “Not yet to die, meine liebchen. Not to die. Not to die.”

  The ring with the red and blue stones flashed.

  Just then she heard a bird’s cawing. She blinked and saw a vulture circling overhead. Exerting all her will, she forced herself to run. Her legs felt like tree trunks. Her full breasts ached as they bounced against her. Gasping for breath, she made herself keep running. The murmur of voices continued around her. With a sudden gust the wind blew off her hat, rolling it against a bush. Adrianne retrieved it. Prickly plants hurt her skin. The sky was radiant blue. The wind had died down, and she felt strangely light. A fly landed on her arm. When she looked up, she saw that the vulture was circling lower. She knew she had to keep on walking, walking. Her ankles were covered with scratches and her exposed skin had turned bright red.

  Keep on moving, moving.

  Finally, she saw the house. As soon as she walked inside, she collapsed on the cool tile floor.

  Hours later she awakened in semi-darkness. Then again she fell into a feverish sleep.

  She dreamed that she was making love. A sea wind billowed in through white curtains as she and the young man, her lover, fused in love. His eyes were the same deep blue as hers. His face and body were beautiful to her. With magical hands, he caressed her all over, her breasts, her belly, her cunt, until she felt as if flames were licking her. His cock filled her, as if it were a soft bright flame unfolding its petals through her torso and limbs. She and her lover pressed tight against each other, smooth and slippery with sweat. Flashing light energy flowed between them, opening up her body and mind, as they floated through space. On her right middle finger gleamed a ring with red and blue stones, like the one she had seen Max wearing in her desert vision. Then she fell through darkness, awakening with a jolt, as one of her legs jerked in a spasm.

  For a moment she did not know where she was or even who she was. Slowly the room spun into focus, and she realized she was lying on Manuel’s bed. At that moment he walked in the bedroom door and looked at her with concern.

  “At last you’re awake,” he said. “I was worried. You were burning with fever.”

  He put a glass of water to her lips, and she sipped a little of it. Although she was sweating, chills swept through her. He ran a lukewarm bath for her in which she soaked for a long time. Then she rested a while longer.

  “You need to be more careful,” Manuel said at dinner. “The desert and the heat can kill you.”

  She told him about her visions that morning.

  Manuel said, “I should have warned you. You shouldn’t wander alone here. This land has a special kind of power. I want you to show me where this happened.”

  After they had eaten, they walked outside, accompanied by his sheep dog which bounded back and forth. When Adrianne showed him the place where she’d had her visions, she was filled with a sense of unease. She told him a little about her life and about the recent visit with her mother. Although he didn’t probe, she had a sense he grasped far more than she told him. She talked about how she was now going to study music in California.

  While they walked, the murmur of voices sounded again. This time she let the voices pass through her, not clinging to them. That way they had no power. She felt the ground beneath her feet and the cool air around her.

  Swiftly, the sun sank beneath the horizon, suffusing the sky with a vivid rose light. It grew dark, and the first stars appeared. A coyote howled. She shivered inside Manuel’s leather jacket and walked faster to keep up with him. She felt herself changing as she stepped across the land, which now gleamed ghostly white in the light of the rising moon. She felt herself changing, changing. The stars looked especially large and clear. The old self was slipping away like a skin being shed, and this frightened her. She wanted to hold on to her old self, but the immensity of the surrounding land and sky somehow forced her to let it go.

  “Sometimes I think God is dreaming us, and we are dreaming our lives,” he said in his deep voice. “What we take in through our five senses is like a dream. God is this desert. We’re like grains of sand or like the stars.”

  His words sank into her mind.

  “When we die,” he continued, “We fade the way shadows fade when the sun goes down.” He was silent for a moment. Then his voice took on a different tone as he asked, “Do you wonder how I found you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “After your car broke down, you got scared with that killing heat and your lack of water. You weren’t ready to die. The feeling you sent was so strong, I picked it up like radar. So I got in my truck and drove until I found you.”

  “I see,” she said, pondering his words. On and on they walked. “It’s so quiet,” she murmured.

  “Words can get in the way. They often lie.” His presence strengthened her. Reaching for her hand, he held it for a moment in his warm grip.

  Rays of golden purple light from the evening sky enveloped them, and inside the light she felt safe. She felt, too, as if an enormous burden were being lifted from her. They continued walking in silence until they reached his house again, brilliant underneath the light of the moon and stars.

  The next morning they drove to the gas station. Manuel introduced her to his son Pablo, a slender young man whose eyes were almost pure black.

  “I sealed up the radiator,” said Pablo.
“I also put a new hose on because the old one looked worn-out. You’re lucky the engine’s okay.”

  She thanked him and paid the bill. Manuel took her suitcase out of the pickup and put it into her car.

  “Hey, Dad, take a look at your carburetor,” cautioned Pablo, peering inside the hood of Manuel’s truck. “Come and take a look.”

  “Goodbye, Manuel. Thank you for everything,” she said.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and handed something to her. It was an antique silver ring set with two small stones, one a deep rich red and the other dark blue. The stones glimmered, just as they had in her dream.

  “This ring came down to my wife through her family,” Manuel said. “Somehow I think you’re meant to have it.

  “Oh, Manuel,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “The silver needs polishing. The stones are sapphire and ruby.”

  When she slipped the ring on her middle finger, it fit perfectly.

  “I’ll think of you when I wear it.”

  “Think of the desert,” he said. “Don’t let anything drive you loca, you hear?”

  She smiled and shook his hand. Then he went over to his truck to look at the carburetor. When she started up the engine he tipped his sombrero, and she waved goodbye.

  She drove on and on. Towards afternoon the wind died down completely. Nothing stirred. The sun was brilliant. Far off in the distance a vulture soared. When she glanced at her ring, the stones flashed in the light. As she drove, she felt as if she were one with her body, with the moving car, with the earth, the sky, and the flying bird.

  About the Author

  Born Paula Cronbach in 1939 to a family of German Jews with hidden Sephardic origins, María Espinosa’s mother’s family lived in Spain until the 18th century. They concealed their Jewish identity until the family finally made their way to Brussels, where they could openly practice their religion. From there they moved to Eastern Europe, and finally to the United States.

  Espinosa grew up in Long Island, the child of a sculptor father and a poet mother. She attended Harvard and Columbia Universities and received a MA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. She met and married her first husband, Chilean writer Mario Espinosa Wellmann while living in Paris. In 1978 she married Walter Selig, who had fled Nazi Germany as a child to grow up on an Israeli kibbutz.