BILLY THE KID
There’s no one else for me, Sallie, but we can’t run out on your father. I’ve got to go back now, honey. I’ve got to clear my name. Until I do, Mr. Chisum will never accept me as his son-in-law. When Governor Wallace grants me the pardon he promised, I’ll prove to your father that I’m no outlaw. Then together we can return to America, and ask for your father’s permission to marry.
SALLIE CHISUM
But Billy, there’s a price on your head and what if the governor doesn’t grant you that pardon. Why then you’ll be hunted down and killed.
BILLY THE KID
Don’t you fret now, my wild cactus rose. I can take care of myself and I do believe the governor is an honest man. He believes in the Bible like Tunstall and McSween did and he’s writing a book to prove it. He would not cross me.114
Breathing heavily, I descend, Virgil by my side guiding me to the chilly bottom. I pry open the final portal, and I’m embraced by the warm light of the lobby. The doorman is preoccupied with a resident complaining about mail service. It’s the battered anorexic and her puppy. The little beast nips at my heels as I scurry past. I make it to the street unscathed before being nearly blinded by the first daylight I’ve seen in ages.
Billy gets on his horse.
BILLY THE KID
You do understand, don’t you darling?
SALLIE CHISUM
Of course I do, my love.
He bends down to kiss her.
BILLY THE KID
I shall return.
SALLIE CHISUM
I’ll be waiting.
He turns his horse around and rides off into the sunset. At the top of a nearby hill, he turns and shouts.
BILLY THE KID
Farewell, my love.
Silhouetted by the sun, Billy takes off his hat and rears his horse. Then he turns and descends out of sight on the other side of the hill. Sallie, with tears in her eyes, speaks almost in a whisper.
SALLIE CHISUM
Yes, my love …
A lone tear falls down her cheek as the setting sun darkens her face.
SALLIE CHISUM
… farewell.
FADEOUT115
My eyes adjust to the shining world. A car whizzes by, startling me. Slightly dizzy, I feel the blood rise to my head and the first pounding of a migraine. Virgil has surely abandoned me, but it will be all right. I’m out and any self-respecting Igbo would exempt me from danger. I must now find a good spirit, maybe a mailman. Until then, keep my head down. Composing myself, I make my way to the store, bravely ready to face whatever dangers befall me.
Chapter Fifteen
The man at the stationery store eyes me suspiciously as I check lottery numbers while eating a king-sized bag of Twizzler’s Cherry-Flavored Licorice. My card has no hits at all, rare enough, so I save it. Checking older numbers on a hanging chart, I fill a new lottery card. I avoid numbers that hit too much, but find it very difficult to concentrate with that man’s eyes peppering me.
Dear Sirs,
I admire your publication greatly and would like to add this to the recorded history concerning the south-west’s most notorious desperado, Billy the Kid. John Luna, an old family friend who recently passed away, God rest his soul, was a clerk who worked in the old Tunstall store in Lincoln, New Mexico. In the summer of 1935, he made an interesting discovery while cleaning out the basement for his then boss, Mr. Penfield. As he put old books and papers in boxes to throw away, a very old envelope, yellowed and tattered at the edges, fell to the floor. He picked it up, placed it in his pocket, and forgot about it until days later while he was doing laundry. When he opened the letter, it read:
Dear Mrs. MacSween,
I buried some money in the basement. If I die, there is no one else who deserves it more than you. Dig itup and start over.
Your friend,
Wm H. Bonney116
I finish off a “crispety-caramel” 100 Grand Bar and move on to a “crunchety-peanut” Butterfinger. I try to give the man a foul look, but he continues to eye me unimpressed. I open up a Dark Chocolate-Coconut Mounds Bar, “Indescribably Delicious.”
John eventually saved up enough money to purchase the old store from his boss, but he never found the buried treasure. He was saving up to purchase the old MacSween property as well in hopes of finding it there, but died before so doing. Shortly thereafter, the Rio Bonito river, flowing past Lincoln, changed its course and the town had to be abandoned.
Yours Truly,
Patrick Kennedy117
I fill in the last number and put the card away. No need to purchase it. I never buy a lottery ticket. It’s a much greater gamble to take a chance on losing a million dollars than on losing a mere buck. I’ve gambled millions of dollars this way and I haven’t lost once.
Outside, I’m relieved to be free of the store owner’s gaze. I polish off a Milky Way and move on to a 3 Musketeers Bar, “Big on Chocolate, Not on Fat!”, but I like it anyway. Relishing the slight nausea from eating too much too quick, I look forward to the first fresh milk in weeks. I’ll open a quart as soon as I get into the supermarket.
I pause before the entrance. Automatic doors swallow and spit out drudges laboring with satchels of goods. My chest tightens.
Chapter Sixteen
“To the frontier, the American intellect owes its striking characteristics … that practical turn of mind, that restless nervous energy, that dominant individualism working for good and evil, that buoyancy and exuberance which comes with freedom. These are the traits that come with the frontier and now the frontier has gone and with its going has closed the first period of American history.”
- Frederick Jackson Turner
1893 World’s Columbian Exposition118
K-Town is the local supermarket. It’s overpriced, but close, though not close enough. Meats, breads, fruits and vegetables—to purchase such items here would be ill-advised. At K-Town nothing is fresh. This doesn’t concern me, however. Candy, cookies, cereals and sweets have no expiration date making them ideal foods with which to stock up. You also get far more calories for your dollar. Calories equal energy. Energy equals life.
A gap in traffic allows me to enter. The electronic door opens to a dimly lit chamber of the great unwashed. It’s Saturday and the store resembles an ant farm. A large woman, with rusted sweat dripping down her sideburns, shoves me aside to claim a discarded cart and jumps into the huddled mass flowing by like rotted logs in the Big Muddy. Swampish air fills my nostrils like bus exhaust. Filtering in through the greasy fan above the deli counter, the few wisps of oxygen are quickly swallowed up by the rag, tag and bobtail leaving befouled carbon dioxide in their wake. I try to breathe, but can’t draw enough air. I breathe deeper, but nausea overtakes me.
As panic rises like flood-water from my gum-stuck feet, I know only one way to find relief. I brace my arms, hold my breath, and dive in wedging my way to the Baking Section. There, I grab a 2 pound bag of Hershey’s Real Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips, rip open the top, and pour in a mouthful. A sweet wave rises to my head. I close my eyes and nod back into its warm embrace.
The pulse slows. Muscles relax. A whirlwind of thoughts settle like silt to the soddy bottom of a pond after being churned up by a school of fish. The chocolate melts and I take the first swallow and then reload. Thus empowered, I review my list. Locating a shopping cart, I toss out Pampers and Vaseline. After seizing a quart of milk and downing a few fingers for courage, I head for the most dangerous section of any supermarket, “Cookies, Candies and Cereals,” populated by the foulest beasts imaginable—children!
Veintitres de diciembre, esto fué el dia
que el alguacil mayor Pat Garrett nos va llegando
pidiendo a Puerta de Luna su ayuda
la huella seguiendo de “El Chivato” mentado.
It was on the 23rd of December
that Señor Pat Garrett rode into town.
He asked the good people of Puerta de Luna
to le
nd a hand tracking “El Chivato” down
Cuando ven Americanos se empiezan a escabullir.
¿No darles vergüenza de salir a la partida?
Solo Juan Roybal salió de esa plaza desgraciada.
Particulares no nombro porque sería para nada.
Upon seeing so many armed Americanos,
many young men began to slip away,
but with gold, the others were persuaded
to help the gringos hunt and kill their prey.119
Children—unwashed and unprincipled, their slimy hands paw at everything that impulsive desires crave without regard to decency either in manner or hygiene.
¿A los mas perjudicados pregunto por que no furon
a tomar a los malvados que tanto mal les hicieron?
Llegamos a Fort Sumner cerca de la madrugada;
para las tres de la tarde nos cubría una nevada.
The devil he breathed frost into our hearts.
The moon lit the way with a crooked smile.
Onward we rode to Fort Sumner in the snow
as coyotes howled and shadowed us for 30 miles.120
A boy of about five with bowl-cut, raven-hued hair is involved in a tug-of-war with his mother. He wears a cowboy costume: black hat, simulated leather-frilled vest, and a holster, hung low, with a cap gun that appears unloaded, praise the Gods. A strain of mucus skids to the right side of his face as if a hasty attempt was made at wiping it aside but quickly thwarted. He struggles to pull his harried mother back into the Cookie, Candy, and Cereal aisle, yet succeeds only in blocking the way for everybody else.
“No!” he argues.
“Young man,” I say, “listen to your dear mother. She’s only doing this for your own good.”
“Oh, are you trying to pass?” she replies sweetly. “I’m so sorry.” She smacks the urchin on the back of the head tipping the hat over his eyes. He starts crying as if shot. “Stop that nonsense and let the man pass.”
“Thank you so much, good woman,” I smile politely.
She pulls the cart from his slimy palms and walks away. With tears clearing a clean path through his sooty cheeks, the little fiend shoots me an accusatory look without skipping a howl. A future hoodlum no doubt.
Allí nos dieron razón que salieron ya
para el “Ojo del Taibán” de la manana.
Con repugnancia a José Gallegos le hizo
que le escribiera una notita al “Bilito.”
In town Pat Garrett arrested Juan Gallegos
a shepherd who knew the “Chivatos” well.
Although it took three hours of rough persuasion,
at Ojo del Taiban they hid, Juan did tell.
La notita dijo que para Lincoln retornamos.
Entonces el viejo hospital para cuartel designamos.
Estábamos descuidados en nuestro cuarto jugando
cuando llegó el centinela y el aviso nos va dando.
Garrett helped Juan write “Bilito” a note
saying to Lincoln we all had returned.
Then we set up camp in the old hospital
playing poker but keeping our guns turned.121
There are so many cereals from which to choose, but the choice is clear. At first I have trouble finding it, but finally I spot the familiar orange cuckoo bird smiling down upon me from his perch. The bright yellow beak beckons; the twisted pink-tongued smile excites; the bulging eyes roll as it yells, “GO CUCKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS!”
Only one box left! I reach out to snatch it, but a blood-curdling scream freezes me.
“Noooo!”
I look down to see the costumed simian staring up, it’s beady little eyes full of righteous rage.
“That’s mine!”
Mrs. Sweaty Sideburns looks me over as she passes by.
“Mine!”
Other patrons raise their heads like cows pausing between mouthfuls of cud.
“Now, now little boy,” I reason, “I was here first.”
“No! I was here first and that’s my box of Cocoa Puffs. Mine, mine, mine!”
I try a new tack.
“That’s a nice outfit, child, as whom are you dressed?”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“The notorious boy bandit king, prince of thieves, marauding manchild, Billy the Kid?”
“No, stupid. I’m Black Bart, can’t you tell?” It draws the pistol. “Now gimme my Cocoa Puffs!”
“I was here first. Now run along to mother like a good little boy.”
“No!” it screams, the rodent’s favorite word. I look up to see an audience gathering.
“Hand it over or I’ll shoot.”
“That pistol isn’t even loaded.”
Pouting, he looks down at the empty weapon, back up, and says, “Mommy won’t let me have caps.”
“As well she shouldn’t. You’re a bad little boy. Go back to your mother right away and leave me alone.”
It starts crying again and yells, “Mommy!”
“Shuss, you little hooligan, shut up!”
It re-doubles the volume, “Mommeee!!”
A couple of stock boys with price guns join in the audience.
“There’s your mother.” I point.
As it turns around, I grab the box, hide it behind me, and back up. The stunted savage turns back and looks up for the box. Registering my deceit, it lets out another hair raising scream as I toss the box into the cart and make a clean getaway.
Unos salen por corral y otros fuimos adelante.
Cuándo vinieron, Tomás Folliard montaba adelante.
¡Alto! les gritó Pat Garrett el diputado mariscal
cuando llegó Tom Folliard a la orilla del portal.
Come morning the sentinel give us notice.
Garrett sent men across the road behind the shed.
Through the fog came a figure riding point.
We fired upon him as the others screaming fled.
Su cuerpo fué sepultado con no poca ceremonia
y lo acompaña mos pues se nos quito la ironiá.
El tiroteo antedicho a la tropa de malvados
sucedió como a las ocho y salieron derrotados.
It was Tom O’Folliard who felt Garrett’s lead.
He fell and was dragged by his horse in pain.
We laid him out with little ceremony
and by the fire resumed our poker game.
Pat Garrett le tiró un tiro y el caballo se espantó.
Supimos que iba herido por el grito que pegó.
Su caballo sacó a una corta distancia
a donde se quejó pues estaba con mucha ansia.
To Pat Garrett, Thomas said, “God damn your eyes.
I look forward to meeting you in hell.”
Said Pat Garrett, “I would not talk that way, Tom.
You’re to die in a few minutes. Try to die well.”122
Out of Hershey’s chips, I pass by the dairy section and pick out a log of Fillsbury Pre-Mixed Fudge Brownie Dough with Gourmet Chocolate Chunks. Tearing open the plastic, I nudge out a thumbfull, which reminds me that I need powdered sugar. Powdered sugar is one of man’s greatest inventions. It’s far superior to regular sugar, dissolves quicker—no teeth-jarring crunch on toast or sludge at the bottom of a glass of milk, and how can one eat fruit without it? Fruit is always so sour. The only way to get it down without puckering up is to pulverize it and add liberal doses of the old powder. Fruits are too heavy to carry anyway. I need supplies to last weeks. I prefer canned pie-fillings. It’s sweeter than fruit and lasts forever. Which reminds me of the other great powders: milk and purple Kool-Aid.
De la casa de Brazil la huella vamos tomando
sale cada uno a su rumbo y a poco se van jutando.
Caminabamos dos millas la huella siguiendo.
Todo el camino del Tul ellos iban siguiendo.
We rested until the morning mist had cleared
to a sparkling landscape of virgin snow,
and as if the Devil himself had assisted
,
the tracks of the “Chivatos” were there to show.
Acercámonos a la casita sin tener ningún encuentro.
Al ver las bestias supimos que ellas estaban adentro.
Nos estuvimostres horas en la misma posición
sufriendo un frio terrible y con desesperación.
To old Perea’s deserted house the tracks led.
Stinking Springs, by the Gringos, it was called.
Christmas Eve we spent hiding behind boulders,
laying silent and still in the terrible cold.123
Oh, yes—Reddi-Wip! Only three canisters, I wonder if they’ll sell it by the case?
Cuando ya aclaró todo por voluntad de Dios Padre
siete balazos tiramos al cuerpo de Chas. Bowdre.
Fue el primero que salió cierto sin esperar nada
a darles maiz a la bestias pues su signo lo llamaba.
One “Chivato” did emerge on Christmas morning
and was greeted by a bullet from Garrett’s gun.
He fell back into the darkness of the doorway.
All cheered believing that Billy was the one.
A ocho yardas de las casa estabamos agachados
espserando que salieran los “Bilitos” afamados.
Pat Garrett les respondió que salieran todos juntos
con sus manos levantades y si no serían difuntos.
We hushed when from the house “Bilito” yelled,
“You sons of bitches, Charles Bowdre you did kill.”
Garrett ordered, “Come out with your hands raised,
or it’s lead for breakfast until you’ve had your fill.”
El Charley no más salía pues tenía malas heridas
se dirigió hacia nosotros con sus manos levantadas.
Ya se abrazó de Pat Garrett y el hablarle se esforzó
pero ya no pudo hacerlo porque luego falleció.
“Go out shooting,” Billy was heard to tell Bowdre
and into his hands “Bilito” placed a gun.
He stumbled out but could not raise his arms.
He fell at Garrett’s feet and said, “I’m done.”124
As I turn into aisle three, I spy our budding delinquent. He appears engrossed in trying to tear open a box of Jell-0 Instant Double Chocolate Pudding Mix as his mother regards the nutritional contents of Aunt Clara’s Fat Free/Low Cholesterol Pound Cake Mix. I approach coolly, feigning an interest in canned vegetables. Before entering his mother’s hearing range, I whisper in his ear, “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” and quickly turn the corner to aisle four. From the other side I hear, “Mommy, my Cocoa Puffs! The man! I want my Cocoa Puffs!!”
Billy’s Blues Page 11