by Jory Sherman
“I’ve heard that. Seems crazy to me. Dumb, maybe.”
“Texas has already voted to secede from the Union. Did you know that?”
“No. But, it seems like we’d be goin’ backwards, you ask me.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we just got our statehood not long ago, fought the Mexicans and all, and now here we are ready to break away. Might as well give Texas back to the Mexicans.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. If Matteo brings slaves in here, we’d be just like those other states holding a gun to President Lincoln’s head. If a man keeps slaves, he’s bound to get pretty lazy, maybe.”
“Maybe. I don’t hold with owning another man, black or white.”
“You don’t?” Martin asked.
“I don’t think it’s right,” Roy said lamely, and looked away, as if he thought he had said the wrong thing. “But, if you want to …”
Martin laughed.
“Hey, hold on, Roy. I didn’t say I was going to buy any slaves from Matteo Aguilar.”
“No, sir, you didn’t.”
“Fact is, we’re going to take those slaves away from Aguilar, by God, and set ’em free.”
“Huh?”
Martin laughed again, slapped Roy on the back good-naturedly.
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I, well, I—I just don’t rightly understand what it is you aim to do. After you take the slaves I mean. Just cut ’em loose in the brush?”
Martin laughed more loudly this time and doubled up in the saddle.
Roy looked askance at Martin, his eyebrows elevated.
“Here’s my idea, Roy,” Martin said. “When we get the slaves, and they were stolen anyway, I’m going to make them offers, each and every one.”
“Offers?”
“Sure. They can come to work for you and me at regular wages, or they can go back where they came from or head north. Just whatever they want to do.”
“Sure enough?”
“Yes, and I brought you along in case you might want to hire some hands to help you with that land I gave you. Seems to me you’re building a family and getting yourself some new muscles breaking your back to get started.”
“Well, I don’t know. I did have plans to build me a herd and there’s one hell of a lot to do, like building fence and putting up a regular barn and corrals and such.”
“So, you might be able to use a black man or two to help you.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m not going to ask you about those women you have there. I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But, it seems to me that Wanda has her eye on you, and Ken told me as much, and her mother looks like she can work right alongside any man in the field.”
“Yes, sir,” Roy said, meekly.
“There are a dozen slaves at the Rocking A. I can’t use but a half dozen or so. If you could maybe hire you one or two, or two or three, I’d help you with the cash until you could pay me back.”
“I am short on cash.”
“Who isn’t?” Martin said. “Well, what do you think?”
“Give me a minute, will you?”
Martin said nothing.
Roy thought about the land Martin had given him, the cattle and horses he wanted to raise. Wanda had talked about getting a dairy herd and selling milk in town to raise some cash and Hattie wanted to grow a big enough garden so she could sell her crops in Baronsville. It all seemed possible, but he could use help. He had thought to hire some Mexicans when he could afford to, but that would take time. Martin’s offer was beginning to sound pretty good, especially if Martin would help him with the wages.
“I reckon we could try it,” Roy said, after a while. “But, seems to me, Matteo ain’t goin’ to give up them slaves without a fight.”
“No, I don’t expect he will,” Martin said.
“You figure there’ll be some shooting tonight?”
Martin chuckled. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Roy said nothing, but he was thinking about his mother and David Wilhoit, and hoped she wouldn’t be around if there was any shooting.
But, he wouldn’t mind if David got in the way of a lead ball if he was stupid enough to back Matteo Aguilar.
It was something to think about, all right.
31
CAROLINE GAZED DOWN at her unconscious son. Anson’s eyes were closed and there was a large bump and a bruise on his forehead. Nearby, a smear of blood marred the surface of a large rock. She shivered in the sun and the water splashed over the sides of the vessel.
“I-is he dead?” Caroline asked.
“No’m, just knocked cold,” Peebo said.
A few yards away, the horses were strung to a mesquite bush with rope. One stood hipshot, the others eyed the humans warily, their ears pricked to pick up any warning sound. Peebo glared at the horse that had thrown Anson and then turned away to look at Anson’s mother.
Caroline knelt down and cradled Anson’s head in her arm. She lifted it gently and poured a little water onto the wound, then pressed the glass against his lips, bending his neck. The water spilled over his mouth, but did not enter. She set the glass of water on the ground.
“I reckon we better carry him down to the house, get Anson in some shade,” Peebo said.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Anson, can you hear me, son?”
Anson did not move.
“I’ll get his shoulders, if you can lift his feet, ma’am.”
Caroline laid her son’s head back down on the ground and scooted to his feet. Peebo walked over to Anson, leaned over and grabbed his shoulders. “Okay, lift his feet,” he said.
Caroline stood in a crouch and grabbed Anson’s legs just above the ankles as Peebo lifted him by the shoulders. “We’ll walk sideways, be quicker,” Peebo said.
“What happened?” Caroline asked, and Peebo heard the croak in her voice, the gravelly sound that told him she was weeping.
“Rattlesnake.”
“It bit Anson?”
“No’m, the horse he was riding. On the leg. I’ve got to go back and cut some and suck out the poison.”
“You both look like you’ve been in a fight. What’s all that black stuff on Anson’s clothes and face?”
Peebo told her about the fire, the Apaches stealing the horses. He did not tell her about Bone or the white bull. They walked down the slope toward the house. Caroline was puffing for breath, but kept on, and Peebo tried not to walk too fast.
Waiting in front of the house were Esperanza and Lazaro. Peebo saw the Mexican woman bend down and say something to the boy, then she left him there and started running toward them.
“Qué pasa?” Esperanza asked as she came close.
“Anson is hurt,” Caroline said in English.
Esperanza crossed herself and uttered a sacred oath, then looked down at the face of Anson. His complexion was drained of blood but his face and neck were tanned from the sun. He had smudges of soot on his face and clothes.
“I will go back and open the door for you,” Esperanza said in Spanish.
A few moments later, Caroline and Peebo carried Anson inside the house. They laid him on the couch in the front room. Lazaro was silent, waiting patiently as if sorting out the sounds before he asked any questions. Esperanza went to the kitchen, returned a few minutes later with towels and a bowl of cold well water. Caroline knelt by her son, wiping the sweat from his brow, careful not to touch the lump on his forehead.
She spoke to him in near whispers, coaxing him to wake up, but Anson lay there without moving, his breathing shallow, his face wan, almost colorless.
“I better get them horses before they run off, ma’am. Is there a place I can put ’em?”
“In the bam,” Caroline said, not looking at Peebo, but only at Anson. Esperanza began cleaning up the blood, using care, wiping around the bump, laving his face, wiping away the smoke smudges.
Peebo left without another word and did not slam the front door.
“What is the matter?” Lazaro asked.
Esperanza explained to him that Anson was hurt. Caroline said that he had fallen from his horse after a snake bit the animal in the leg.
“Will Anson die?” Lazaro asked.
“No, no,” Caroline said, and then broke into tears.
Esperanza soothed her with soft words and patted her back. Then, she leaned closer to Anson and began to whisper into his ear, speaking English.
“Wake up, Anson,” she said. “Rise. Open your eyes. We will take care of you.”
“Let me speak to him,” Caroline said.
Esperanza stepped away, her features wooden, impassive. Lazaro stood like a sentinel, frozen in place, his closed eyelids twitching as if he was trying to blink, or open his eyes.
“Anson, son,” Caroline said, gently shaking his right arm, “please wake up. It’s your mother. Please wake up.”
“He sleeps,” Esperanza said.
“He must wake up,” Caroline said.
“I want to touch his face,” Lazaro said. “Let me touch him.”
Caroline sighed and stepped away. “You might as well,” she said.
Esperanza led Lazaro over to Anson and put his right hand on Anson’s cheek. Lazaro lightly moved his fingers over the nose and eyes, to the forehead and back down to the mouth and chin. Then, he laid his palm flat against Anson’s left cheek.
“He does not have the fever,” Lazaro said. “Maybe he is only asleep.” His fingers touched both of Anson’s eyes. He did not try to open the eyelids, but kept his fingers there. His lips moved slightly, but Lazaro did not speak for several moments.
“You can do nothing, Lazaro,” Caroline said.
“He can feel my fingers, my mother. I am talking to him in my mind. I am telling him to wake up. He can hear me in his mind.”
“No, he can’t,” Caroline said.
“Wait,” Esperanza said. “Maybe the boy has the gift.”
“Gift?” Caroline asked. “What gift?”
“The gift of the curandero. Sometimes God takes away one sense from a person and grants another. Perhaps Lazaro can heal Anson with his touch.”
“That is silly superstition,” Caroline said. “You should not say such things to Lazaro.”
Lazaro lifted his left hand, put a finger to his lips, calling for silence. Caroline and Esperanza watched the blind boy, whose lips quivered as if trying to form speech.
“Abre los ojos,” Lazaro whispered. “Open your eyes.”
As Caroline watched, Anson’s eyelids quivered beneath Lazaro’s fingertips. He withdrew his hand and Anson’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. Caroline gasped; Esperanza crossed herself.
Anson stared upward until the image came into focus: Lazaro’s face. Lazaro stood there, unmoving. Anson blinked his eyes twice, then kept them open.
“What are you doing here?” Anson asked.
“Me?” Lazaro said.
“Yes. Did you touch me? Did you touch my face?”
“Yes,” Lazaro said.
“Then, get the hell away from me,” Anson said.
“Anson,” his mother said sharply. “What’s got into you? You’ve never spoken to Lazaro that way before.”
“He never put his goddamned hands on me before.”
Lazaro backed away. Esperanza came up behind him and touched his shoulders with both hands. Lazaro started whimpering, and tears leaked from his closed eyelids, seeped down his cheeks. Esperanza whispered something inaudible to the others into his ear.
“Now, you’ve gone and hurt Lazaro’s feelings, Anson,” Caroline said. “Tell him you’re sorry.”
Anson lay there, an expression of annoyance on his face.
“I’m sorry, Lazaro. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But, don’t you ever put your hands on me again.”
Lazaro did not reply. He tried to stifle his sobs, and Esperanza slipped a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and wiped his face. He turned to her and she led him away, out of the room.
“There, you’ve gone and done it now, Anson,” Caroline said. “How cruel. Why did you ever say such things to that poor boy?”
“Because he’s filthy, that’s why. Did you see the sores around his crotch? Jesus.”
“Be quiet,” Caroline said quickly. “That’s not nice.”
“He’s got the pox, that blind boy,” Anson said. “And I don’t want to get it.”
“You can’t get it that way,” she said.
“No, I reckon not.”
“What do you mean by that?” Caroline was defensive.
“Nothing.”
“Must I pay for one mistake the rest of my life?”
“Some of us have to. Ma, how’d I get here? Where’s Peebo?”
“Don’t change the subject. It’s about time you and I thrashed this out.”
“Ma, my head hurts like fire.”
“I imagine it does. Anson, we must talk about this now. You’ve broken Lazaro’s poor heart and you’re breaking mine.”
“Ma, I’m sorry. It just struck me all wrong, that’s all, Lazaro putting his hands on me like that. He ain’t no doctor.”
“Isn’t. Haven’t I taught you to speak correct English?”
“Sure, but it’s easier, sometimes, to just talk like everybody else.”
“I want to know what you mean by how one gets the pox.”
“I was talking to someone about it.”
“About me?” she asked, her tone sharp as a nail.
“No’m, not about you, in particular. Just about …”
“About what you saw on Lazaro?”
“Yes’m.”
“And what did you tell this—this Peebo?”
“Ma, I told him about them sores on Lazaro’s pecker and on his balls.”
Caroline stiffened as if stung.
“That’s an ugly thing to talk about. To a complete stranger at that.”
Anson put a hand to his head and sat up. His body swayed as if he was off balance.
“You’re dizzy?”
“Yes’m. Some.”
“Well, it’s no wonder. Getting thrown from your horse like that.”
“I don’t remember much about it. I heard this rattling sound and the horse bucked and next I knew I was flying through the air. Then, everything went black I guess.”
“Well, you had a nasty fall. Anson, who told you how Lazaro got that—that disease?”
“I don’t rightly want to talk about it right now, Ma. Where’s Peebo, anyhow?”
“He went to fetch his horses. Anson, please. We must discuss this. I—I don’t want you to hate your own mother. I don’t want you to hate me.”
Anson shook his head gently as if to clear it, and looked everywhere in the room except at his mother. She sat down beside him, wringing her hands. “Oh, Ma,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. It was just talk between Peebo and me.”
“Peebo told you what?”
Anson stiffened both arms, set his hands on the divan to steady himself. He drew in a deep breath and let it out, moved his head as if to clear out the cobwebs and see if he was all right.
Caroline rubbed the arm closest to her, stroked it up and down with soothing motions.
“Are you afraid of me touching you?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
“No’m, I reckon not.”
“I have the same disease as Lazaro. He got it when he was inside his mother’s womb. I got it from my indiscretion, I guess.”
Anson shut his eyes. “Ma, please.”
“No. If I tell you about this, maybe you’ll tell me what your friend Peebo told you.”
“Ma, I don’t want to talk about it none.”
“I have the same sores as Lazaro has. Only mine are worse. They’re all over my privates, eating at me, eating me up. I think they’re eating inside my body. In other places, I mean. Sometimes, I think there must be sores in my brain. I—I—”
Anson turned to her, grabbed the hand that was stroking his arm. “
Ma, you don’t have to … you don’t have to tell me nothing.”
“Anything,” she said. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“You can’t treat Lazaro as if he were a leper. Not unless you treat me the same way.”
Anson looked into his mother’s eyes for the first time. He saw the pain there, saw the deep sorrow that made him hurt inside as he had never hurt before. As he looked at her, he saw the tears well up in her eyes and trickle over the edges, and her pain struck even deeper inside him and he squeezed her hand and felt the tears strain at his own eyes.
“Ma, I—I can’t think of you that way.”
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she said, her voice almost a croak. “Just horrible. I can’t look at myself anymore. I put salve on the sores and Esperanza has brought herbs for Lazaro and me and she says she prays for me and—”
“Ma, don’t … .”
“Well, it’s from my sinning, you know. I made a terrible mistake and I don’t know why I let Bone do that to me, but I didn’t stop him and God has seen fit to punish me for that sinning.”
“Jesus, Ma.”
“Wha-what did Peebo tell you?”
“It—it wasn’t only Peebo. I heard some men talking about it in New Orleans when we took the herd there that time.”
“What did they say?” Caroline’s voice was husky with penitence and regret, husky with the weight of sin and eternal punishment in the fires of hell.
Anson felt his heart breaking and he could no longer stay the tears. They bubbled out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks and he saw that his mother was quietly weeping, not sobbing, just letting the tears flow down her cheeks and make her sallow skin glisten as if she had been in the rain.
“Peebo, he said, well, he said it was something the whores got from sailors.”
“And, where did the sailors get it?”
“Ma.”
“Tell me.”
“Peebo said the sailors got it from humping animals in Africa and other places.”
Caroline sighed deeply and squeezed Anson’s arm until the blood drained from the skin and left chevrons where her fingers had been. Then, she arose from the divan and wiped her face with both hands.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “Now, I know why your father looks at me the way he does. When he looks at me. Now I know why he doesn’t want to be with me. Why he does not sleep in my bed.”