by J P S Brown
A bus was unloading its passengers in front of the Restaurant Teresita, Kane's destination. People carrying their bundles stepped off the bus onto the street. They were wrinkled and soiled as people are who have ridden a bus for days and nights. Kane walked through them as they stood milling on the sidewalk, their feet on the ground again, their voices and movements slow and subdued. He asked a busy waitress in the restaurant for the Lion. She pointed through the door to the kitchen. In the kitchen were two tables crowded with vaqueros, the cowboys of Sonora, wearing heavy palm hats and huaraches. The tables were covered with beer bottles. A big, unshaven cowman who was greasily dirty from being too long drunk sat at one of the tables.
"Gringo," the big man said. "What do you want, gringo?"
"I want to see the Lion. Is he here?" Kane asked.
"You can't see the Lion, gringo. It is Sunday afternoon, don't you know? Don't you have Sunday afternoons in the United States? The day of rest? Day of worship?"
"Shut your mouth, drunk," a big, compactly, firmly fat woman said. She had shining brown skin, brilliant black hair and wore great, savage gold earrings. "Be quiet. Be courteous, Juan Vogel," she said. "Or go home and bathe and drink the water. What is it you want, young man?" she asked Kane. The big man laughed at the woman's scolding.
"The Lion, Andres Celaya," Kane said. "I am a friend of his."
"Go up the stairs and all the way down the hall on the right. He is in room number one."
Kane walked up a long flight of narrow cement steps to an open landing where sofas and easy chairs were placed. From this landing, which was shaded by rubber plants and bougainvillea, Kane could see over most of the town of Rio Alamos. This house was one of the few two-story buildings in the town. The whitewash of the buildings of the town had turned brown like old teeth. Kane walked down the hall and knocked on number one. A lion roared in answer.
"¿Quién?"
"Jim Kane."
"Ohhhhhhhl" the Lion roared.
Kane heard the big hind paws hit the floor and the door of the room was yanked open. The door quivered in the Lion's hand. The Lion filled the door. The mussed, heavy, blue-black mane brushed the top of the door frame. The coarse, pock-marked, brown face grimaced in an old Lion's distortion of a broken-toothed smile. One big, padded paw, clawless and callused from traveling too far after the prey, enveloped Kane's hand and pulled him into the room while the other slammed Kane on the back in a mauling Mexican abrazo.
"Ohhh, Jim Kane. It makes me happy to see you. Meet Loli," he said.
Loli was under the covers on a bed. Her bare shoulders showed above the hands that held the top of the blankets tightly. Her black eyes smiled at Kane. She said nothing.
The Lion reached under the bed and pulled out a gallon jug. Raisins, prunes, apricots, and orange peelings tumbled in the jug as the Lion shook it violently and held it up for Kane's inspection. A small head of clear bubbles formed on top of the liquid and then burst away.
"Bacanora. Good mezcal," the Lion said. The jug seemed no bigger than a light bulb hanging on his paw. He picked up two dirty glasses in the palm of his hand and gave one to Kane. He slapped the woman on the rear, moved her over under the blankets, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Kane sat in a chair in front of him. The Lion poured Kane a drink of the bacanora. They saluted and drank the wine. It tasted sweet from the decomposing fruit in it. Underneath the disguise of the fruit was the taste of rocky, spiny, sweltering brush distilled by Indian hands.
"What brings you here, Jim Kane? You come to buy rodeos?"
"Exactly. How did you know?"
"This is my querencia, my haunt, my domain. I know what is best to be had here. If you wanted anything else I would force you to forget it and buy the rodeos."
"What are you doing here, Lion? How come you have made this your querencia? Why aren't you in Norteña?"
"The coyotes are getting too numerous and bold in Norteña. They are rabid and crazy for Lion meat."
"What have you been doing, Lion?" Kane asked.
"I have been buying for the shrill California Greek."
"You mean Panapoulous, the one with the feedlot in California?
"That one." I
"What kind of cattle could you find here that he could profitably feed?"
"Cheap ones. He likes the cheap."
"Be careful. He will make a mistake and blame it on you."
"Who can hurt the reputation of a Lion?"
"He knows nothing about this country."
"But I do. I prowl for him."
"He will panic on you over the time and distance involving his money."
"What can he do but wait and worry a little to make his money?"
"He can squeak."
"Squeaks cannot be heard from so far away."
"Well, you'll have no time to help me if you are buying for him."
"All my time will be for you. But we will talk about it tomorrow. These drinks have tickled me. Today is the first day of the Carnaval in preparation of Lent. We will play tonight and get drunk at the dances with the mascaritas, the little masked ones. All of them will love gringos. Just be careful you don't get a mucho, a male one."
The Lion put on a white shirt and he and Kane went down to Teresita's kitchen. The vaqueros were still at the table. They were loudly drunk now. They all, except for the big man who had spoken to Kane earlier, greeted the Lion with cheerful respect.
"Here is the gringo again. He comes with the Lion to finish us off Lion, what does this gringo have that enables him to take you away from your Sunday afternoon loving? Do you love gringos more? Do you love dollars more than lying with your woman?"
The Lion walked up to the big man.
"Juan," the Lion said. "I want you meet my friend, Jim Kane. Jim Kane, this is Juan Vogel, a love of God when he is sober but vile when he is drunk."
Kane and Juan Vogel shook hands.
"Sit down here beside me, gringo, and have a drink with me and tell me how you plan to screw us poor Mexicans. Look, I have plenty of money. I give you a chance to take it. Sit down and drink with me." He pulled out a large roll of pesos and laid it on the table. The Lion sat down. Kane sat down and lit a cigarette. Juan Vogel watched him.
"And a left-handed gringo at that. To finish off the screwing he is going to do it left-handed?
"All right, Juan. What is it? I recommended the man to you. He is my friend," the Lion said.
"So he is the friend of a cat. Do cats have friends? Maybe other cats are their friends. And for the loving and hunting only. Are you a lover, gringo? Or are you a hunter? Maybe a lover and a hunter. To finish us off. Why are you here? Who invited you? Do you come here to love our women and hunt us? Are you here to finish us off in a green-eyed, left-handed way?"
"I'm here for the Carnaval," Kane said.
"A lie. You are here to buy cattle."
"Sell me some then."
"How strong is your left hand, gringo?" a very brown, white-headed vaquero, his face oily and shiny from too many days drinking, asked.
"Why?"
"Play Juanito the vencidos, arm wrestling."
Kane ignored him.
"Play him vencidos, Juan," the vaquero said.
"You know the game, gringo? Do they play vencidos in the United?" Juan Vogel asked.
"Surely."
"We play it often here. Here we play it to keep our minds off how poor we are."
"You don't look poor to me."
"That is because I am good at vencidos. I get money from the rich at vencidos because my arm is strong from working."
He moved his chair under him so that his chest was against the table. He put his elbow on the table so that his upper arm was flat on the top of the table, his hand relaxed.
"A hundred pesos that I beat you, gringo."
"Eight dollars?"
"No. Here nothing of dollars. Here pesos Mexicanos."
The Lion threw a 100-peso bill down on the table in front of Vogel.
"I'll cover it,
Juan. And I'll cover any more you want to bet against the gringo."
Kane moved up to the table and locked hands with Juan Vogel. Vogel was strong even after many days of drinking but he lacked will. The lock gave evidence that he would have to endure to win and his heart quit on him and he let Kane win it. "Gringo hijo de la . . .he said and sat back laughing.
"Five hundred pesos on the right hand," he said when he had recovered. The Lion laid down the money.
"You cover my money this time, gringo," Juan Vogel said.
Kane took two $20 bills out of his pocket, covered the bet, and shoved the Lion's money back across the table to him. They contested each other again. Kane had a clean shirt on, was bathed and rested. His hide was dry and his head was clear. The first wrestling had warmed him and given him confidence. Vogel's graying hair was matted on his forehead with sweat that ran from under his big hat. His face oozed with oil. The moisture of him ran through a thick growth of whiskers, over his chin, down his neck, and popped through his dirty shirt. He took Kane's hand and his hand was shaking. The two men bore against each other and held. Kane saved himself, waiting for the man to lose his will again. They pushed each other until each was well into his reserves and Kane started feeling the test of his own will. Then Kane found one more bucketful, gambled on it and threw it in, and put down Juan Vogel's hand.
The Lion bought drinks for everyone and Juan Vogel began a long vigil of Kane. After a time of drinking with Vogel Kane asked him what was bothering him.
"Nothing. I guess nothing, gringo. Let's get out of here. It is time for the dances and the mascaritas."
They walked to the Tecolote Bar. The place smelled strongly of urine. The first casualties of Carnaval had fallen and were lying on the floor of the saloon and in drying urine and broken glass on the back patio, their mouths breathing the floor, their bodies so slack their shirttails and trousers had parted, showing bare lengths of their backs and tops of their buttocks. The Tecolote was a serious place. The fun of Carnaval had no place there. At the Tecolote Juan Vogel dismissed the vaqueros who had been freeloading on him. He and Kane and the Lion drove in Kane's car to a dance across the railroad tracks in Old Town.
Mascaritas crowded the dance. They were dressed in long, shapeless gowns that covered them from the peaked and hooded masks on their heads to their shoes. They wore cloth gloves and long sleeves. They spoke in voices held artificially high so no one could tell whether they were male or female. They danced only with the men at the dance who were not costumed.
Juan Vogel danced with every mascarita who would have him. He frolicked. He stomped. He sought liberally with his hands to ascertain the sex of each mascarita he could get on the dance floor. He gravely insulted a slight mascarita who had been pleased with Juan Vogel's advances until they became inordinately crude. This mascarita removed his disguise and threw a beer bottle at Juan Vogel. The companions of the abused man took him in hand and Juan Vogel, Jim Kane, and the Lion laughingly left the dance.
They went to the Paris de Noche saloon and sat at a table. A small band of tambores played the waltzes of Sinaloa.
Dancers danced the fluid prance of the rancherita. Three mascaritas came in to join the dancing. They stopped at Kane's table. One of them, in a fluorescent-orange, satiny costume, took Kane by the hand and led him to the dance floor. Kane towered over the girl. He was sure she was a girl because she smelled, moved and, when she relaxed her vocal chords, sounded like a girl. She could have weighed no more than eighty pounds.
"You are American?" the voice shrilled from behind the mask in English.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Your friend."
"What is your name?"
"Carnaval."
"Where did you learn English?"
"Someday I tell you."
"What do you look like? Take off the mask."
"That is all you Americans know. Take it of. Take it off. I am ugly. That is why I wear the mask."
After the dance Kane left the girl and went back to the table with Juan Vogel and the Lion.
"We had better go now. Juan Vogel is very drunk," the Lion said.
"I think I'll stay. I like the little one I was dancing with."
"Don't be fooled," Juan Vogel said. "They are all putos, queers, taking this opportunity to impersonate the women.`'
"Not that one," Kane said.
"It is a puto," Juan Vogel said. "Do you like putos?"
"No."
"Maybe you like real men then."
"I like women. I also know one when I dance with one no matter how many masks or gowns she wears."
"You will find out that decent women of this town do not come to cantinas. This is a decent town and we protect our women. We do not allow them to come to places like this, nor do they wish to. We know where our women belong, gringo. Our women stay at home. They do not live in the bars like the gringas. Go ahead, gringo. Take the mascarita out. Make love to it. Male or female it is good enough for you."
"Vámonos," the Lion said. "Let's go. It is late and we must work early tomorrow. "
They left the Paris de Noche. The Lion drove the car. Kane sat between the Lion and Vogel. "Where do you want us to leave you?" the Lion asked Juan Vogel.
"To my house," Juan Vogel said drunkenly. The Lion drove away from the center of town and the saloons. Juan Vogel laid his head back on the seat. Kane thought, Good, he has given up.
"I do not wish to accompany the gringo as he goes in pursuit of pig slop," Juan Vogel said. He had awakened with rancor.
"You weren't doing so bad dancing with the pigs when you felt good," Kane said, laughing.
"I never have anything to do with mascaritas, nor with gringos."
"You danced with the mascaritas. You were caressing them in your way, " Kane laughed.
"I will pass all my mascaritas on to you. I will trade them to you, gringo. Do you have a sister? A wife? I have never taken a gringa. That is something I have always wanted to do. Nor have I taken a gringo. How about it, gringo? How would you like it?" He slapped his hand down on Kane's knee. He slapped Kane's thigh. He grabbed so hard at Kane's groin that if he had succeeded he would have ruptured Kane. Kane chopped with the edge of his hand at Juan Vogel's throat. He missed the throat and only thumped him on the chest. Juan Vogel punched Kane in the eye and bright little stars lit up the inside of Kane's head. Kane caught the next punch in both hands and forced Juan Vogel's hands down and went for his throat. He got both thumbs on Juan Vogel's windpipe, straddled him, and forced his upper body over the back of the seat. Juan Vogel had a powerful neck and made it difficult for Kane to choke him by hunching his shoulders and pressing down with his chin. Kane bent him farther over the back of the seat and found less resistance there. He wrapped his fingers around Juan Vogel's neck and began to cut off the air supply.
The Lion stopped the car. He pulled Kane off and held him while Juan Vogel got out of the car. The Lion got out and held Juan Vogel. Juan Vogel held onto the door and argued with the Lion. Kane went out the door on the side opposite them, ran around the back of the car, came up behind the Lion, and, still on the run, hung a Sunday on Juan Vogel's jaw. Juan Vogel went down. Jim Kane had been in too much of a hurry. He had shot the Sunday from too far away. He had been off balance and his bad knee went out and he fell beside Juan Vogel on the ground. Juan Vogel got up. Jim Kane got to his hands and knees but could not get up. Juan Vogel aimed an inaccurate and drunken kick at Jim Kane's head and missed. The Lion pulled him away from Kane.
Kane pulled himself to his feet against the car. The galling pain of the swelling knee sobered him. Juan Vogel and the Lion were arguing and Kane was asking himself what he was doing there on that dark street. What had he done for himself? He had crippled his knee again. This was not a bad break. This was another nothing venture. Now Juan Vogel was staggering down the street cursing Kane.
The Lion took Kane back to a room in Teresita's. He went to his own room and came back with a dust-covered bottle full of a muddy-loo
king, rank-smelling fluid.
"This will cure it. By morning you won't know you were ever hurt," the Lion said.
"What is it?" Kane asked. He sat on the edge of the bed in his underwear watching a scar on his knee swell until it shone from stretching.
"It is volcanic oil. The best remedy for any bone or muscle injury."
"You are crazy."
"You will see. I put this on and rub it in and all your broken and decomposed places will compose themselves by morning."
Kane looked at the swelling knee and knew it was ruined again. He knew from experience that he would hardly be able to walk for at least two weeks. He felt extremely sorry for himself for being in the hands of this ignorant animal. The Lion was an irrational hulk of unreasoning adobe. This big savage was telling him that an ugly oil he was slopping on the knee was going to miraculously, for reasons unknown, overnight, remove the soreness. This was the same man who was going to help Kane advance his fortunes in Mexico. A big, drunken tear formed in Kane's eye and rolled down his nose.
"No llores. Don't cry now. Don't cry," the Lion said, distressed, and picked up a dirty towel from the foot of the bed and pushed it into Kane's face. He saturated Kane's knee with the volcanic oil until the skin was dyed dark brown, then rolled Kane into the bed, turned off the light, and left the room.
He was back in the room at 4:30 A.M.
"You are nocturnal," Kane accused him. "Have you no human qualities at all?"
"Old Lions have no time to sleep. You and I have a long way to go to see cattle today. We are going to San Bernardo at the foot of the Sierra where my friend Arce is holding the cattle. The men that were with Juan Vogel yesterday brought them down from the Sierra," the Lion said and left the room. Kane wrapped his knee in an elastic bandage and hobbled down to Teresita's kitchen. Loud early morning ranch music from a large radio in the kitchen entertained the listless survivors of Carnaval who sat over hot bowls of menudo, the beef tripe soup everyone believes is tonic for the reveler before he retires from a celebration and returns to his normal bed. Teresita sat at the head of one of her tables dictating to the Lion. The Lion was working her accounts for her with pencil and paper. The kitchen was warm and steamy from the great pot of boiling menudo on the stove and smelled of boiled bovine innards, hominy, and green herbs.