Forty-Four Book Eleven (44 series 11)

by Jools Sinclair

  “No problem,” the cop said, still looking back in my direction. “You all have a good day now.”

  The uniform turned around, went down the steps, and back outside.

  I closed my eyes and let out the longest sigh of my life.

  CHAPTER 29

  I never thought I’d be so happy to see that field of chiles.

  Because of the detour, the drive to Hatch took an extra half hour. When we arrived, Cowboy Jake gathered us together and said that the new farm was eight miles north of town and about four times the size of the field we had been working. He said that after lunch there would be two buses parked out by the pay station, one going back to El Paso and another going to the new job. He thanked us for working so hard and told us that everyone had a job on his farm next year if we wanted to return.

  After getting paid, I got on the bus with the old woman, Lupe, Ernesto, and most of the other laborers and we drove down a series of dusty roads before getting to the new place.

  When we arrived there was already another group of workers out in the vast fields. As I picked up a bucket and headed for an open spot, I quickly realized that most of them knew one another. It was the most talking I had heard during the usually quiet work hours.

  Abuelita gave several waves and hugs as she made her way through the neatly planted rows of peppers. But after a brief reunion it was back to business.

  The owner and his two field supervisors, humorless men with dry white hair sticking out of their hats like scarecrows, walked through the fields with stern faces. They made it clear that we were working under a deadline, that these fields needed to be picked before the chiles turned red. Green chiles, I had learned from Jake, were more in demand and brought a better price at supermarkets and from companies that sold them throughout the country.

  The owner said that anyone who couldn’t pull their weight would be replaced. I had no doubt that I was the slowest one out here, but I was getting faster. I hoped it would be good enough.

  The sun paid no attention to the chill of the night before and beat down on us like it was holding a grudge. It never let up. Hundreds and hundreds of glossy chiles danced through my fingers and into the bucket until I wanted to run screaming, but I didn’t have the energy.

  My weary mind went back to the picture in the paper and I wondered how they had found me. In a giant country with almost an endless number of places, they had pinpointed my location to an exact city in Texas.

  There could only be one explanation.

  The ticket clerk back in Las Vegas.

  He had lied to the press. He had remembered where the “sad girl” was going.

  Samael had insisted that I go to El Paso for reasons he still hadn’t explained, but I couldn’t put all the blame on him either. I had been the one who had listened to him.

  I hadn’t seen Samael in a couple of days and I wondered when he would be back. And then I wondered if I really even cared. He seemed to know things but if he kept those things from me, what good was he? I was sick of his secrets, whatever they were. And I didn’t like that he was keeping Jesse away.

  I knew that he would be here if he could, and it made me realize that Samael was probably still close by.

  If nothing else, the events of the last few days made it clear that I was alone, completely on my own. I needed to start thinking for myself and I couldn’t take anything for granted. Just because I was out here in the middle of nowhere didn’t mean they wouldn’t find me again. I needed a plan. And not Samael’s plan, but my own plan.

  In theory it sounded like a good idea to not be stuck commuting to the fields back and forth for all those extra hours, but in reality, it was a different story. Now, instead of resting on the bus, four or five more hours of picking had been added to an already long, hard day.

  It was beyond brutal, and by the time twilight finally put a halt to it, what was left of me staggered away, wondering how the others did it and how I would even be able to move in the morning.

  CHAPTER 30

  As I stood in line counting my tokens, I heard some grumbling coming from the front. The man in charge was saying something I couldn’t hear and a couple of the workers were shaking their heads and gesturing with their fingers, like they were counting.

  The line wasn’t moving and after a few minutes the man made an announcement, with Lupe again interpreting.

  “There has been a misunderstanding it seems,” he said. “First, I thought Jake Davis had explained to you that we don’t pay the same here. We pay sixty-five cents for each bucket.”

  Most of the workers were quiet, but I heard a few sighs and someone said “no” and something else in Spanish.

  “Also, we don’t pay daily here,” the man said. “We write down your totals and cash you out when you leave. That way you don’t have to worry about anyone stealing your money. We’ve had some problems with that in the past. This avoids all that.”

  This seemed to upset people more than losing fifteen cents per bucket and there were more murmurings that passed through the group.

  “We’d like you all to stay, but if you feel that you need to leave, we will pay you now. Of course, I’d like to remind you that we do provide housing here at no extra charge and that you will have steady work until the harvest is finished. You can go back to El Paso and take your chances and do all that driving, but if you think about it I think you will see that this is a good deal for you.”

  People slowly got back in line and I saw three of them ask for their money and walk away, including the young woman who had spent most of her free time glaring at me back at the shelter. When I reached the front the man wrote down my name and thirty-one dollars next to it. Combined with what I had made at the other farm in the morning, it was my best day so far. Still, it was terrible. I had worked more than twelve hours.

  Later I asked Lupe why the workers were more troubled over not getting paid at the end of the day than making less for each chile container they filled.

  “Look, llorona, I’m not your personal guide into all things Mexican. But if you haven’t figured it out yet, a lot of these people are not like you. They don’t spend their money on watches and hair products. They send most of their money back to their families in Mexico. Except now they’re saying there will be no money until the end of the job here. Even you can see how that might be a problem for some of them.”

  The old woman said something and Lupe made a face.

  “She says it is still good here. Better than El Paso. She says we are lucky, that finding work is not always easy.”

  “Es así,” the old woman said.

  Nothing was easy out here, that was for sure. But somehow the old woman found enough energy after the long day to smile at me.

  CHAPTER 31

  We stayed in old, rustic cabins along a small creek at the edge of one of the fields. There was electricity and running water and the bunk beds had mattresses, clean sheets, and blankets, which was a lot better than sleeping on the floor.

  Some of the cabins had kitchenettes as well, with a small stove and microwave. The only real downside was that they didn’t have bathrooms and that the outdoor showers were down the road near one of the barns. The outhouse was several hundred feet away from the cabins, which at first seemed strange but when the breeze blew in a certain direction I understood why.

  Fortunately, the seven women stayed at the cabin farthest from the bathroom.

  The same food truck from the other farm showed up at dusk and most of the men bought their meal there, but the women didn’t. The old woman put herself in charge of making dinner, things like tacos with homemade corn tortillas, tamales, and posole. Sometimes she would even work after dinner, angering Lupe, getting things ready for the next day’s meal.

  It was some of the most delicious food I had ever had and it wasn’t just because I was starving most of the time.

  She collected money and went into town every few days for supplies, catching a ride with one of the ranch hands. Someti
mes she would let us help with the prep work. My hands were still taking a beating and my fingers felt swollen and clumsy, so the first time I cut up some vegetables for her I wasn’t able to go very fast. But it felt good to be in the kitchen again, even if it did bring with it some bittersweet memories of my time at the culinary school and Meg’s Diner.

  As I was coming back from the bathroom after dinner one night I saw José, the ranch hand who drove Abuelita into town, unloading jugs of water from the back of his old pickup truck. He seemed to have various chores on the farm, like driving the bagged chiles into town and feeding the horses and other animals over by the barn.

  I stopped to give him a hand and introduced myself and he said hello and made a little polite conversation in broken English.

  “It is beautiful here, no?” he said. “Muy lindo with the mountains in the back.”

  I nodded.

  José seemed kind and genuine, and the way his white energy floated around his face reminded me a little of Ty. He was old, although not nearly as old as Abuelita who could have been his mother, and had several missing teeth. He wore a straw hat with a black band wrapped around it and a feather on the back.

  “José, can you tell me what mensa means?” I said after we had finished.

  He smiled.

  “Mensa it mean stupid. Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Abuelita say you have trouble,” he said.

  I twisted my mouth as I looked at him, but then relaxed. It wasn’t so hard to come to that conclusion. Of course I had troubles. Why else would I be here?

  “But do not worry,” he said. “She say she will help you.”

  “Help me? How?”

  He shrugged.

  “Who know with that one?” he said, laughing a little. “Many thing she say no one understand.”

  He closed the truck’s tailgate and secured it with a metal pin.

  “Sí,” he said, nodding. “Sí, she say she help you. She say she help you with the reason why you come here to this place.”

  A chill passed through me, even with the warm air blowing in my face.

  CHAPTER 32

  Every night, after the sun went down, the place came to life.

  People smiled and told jokes and laughed as they sat around campfires or on the different porches. They talked in Spanish and sometimes someone would bring out a guitar and sing. As the guitar strummed slow, mournful chords, coyotes would join in, yipping in the distance.

  The women mostly kept to themselves. The owner had made it clear he didn’t want any “mixing of the sexes” or “love troubles” while we were here. People seemed to be okay with that since most of them had spouses or significant others back in Mexico. Plus, the never-ending days in the field didn’t leave too much energy for such things.

  One night three of the younger women were sitting on blankets, feeding the flames with branches they had gathered earlier. I was sitting against an old log, watching the fire shoot higher and higher into the black sky. The women spoke in hushed tones and then began cackling wickedly until the old woman shook her head at them and said something in a scolding tone. But her words just seemed to whip up their laugher even more.

  “What’s that about?” I asked Lupe.

  “Mind your own business, llorona,” she said, glaring at me. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you if you promise not to cry and moan in your sleep tonight.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Abuelita is telling them to stop talking about the men. She says it is not good to speak of such things.”

  “What things?”

  “What things do you think, mensa? You want me to draw you a picture? She says it is vulgar for women to talk like that.”

  After a few minutes things seemed to settle down again and the old woman brought out her cigar, as was her habit every night after dinner. She would only take a few puffs before putting it out and wrapping it back up in some tin foil. The smell had vague hints of vanilla and black pepper and hazelnuts and I thought of an old basketball video I had seen with players and coaches smoking victory cigars. Maybe the old woman’s ritual had a similar purpose. Maybe she was celebrating having survived another day.

  CHAPTER 33

  I was in the lake again. The sun, diffused and without warmth, was getting farther away by the second as I descended through the murky water.

  I could hear a woman crying somewhere above. Somehow, the farther I sank, the louder her tortured shrieks became. I struggled as I fell, my arms and feet bound. Down, down, down I went, sinking fast like a bullet fired from a gun, dropping much faster through the darkening water than my weight should have taken me, until I hit the muddy bottom.

  All the while, the crying never stopped. It only grew in volume and intensity, bouncing off my skull and leaving me chilled from head to toe as I writhed and thrashed in my watery grave.

  I sucked in the water and let out a scream.

  A scream that would wake the dead.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Dolores. ¿Qué pasa? Es solo una pesadilla, m’hija.” I sat up gasping for air and saw that the old woman was by my side, tugging at my arm. “No es nada. Ven.”

  I slid off the bunk and followed her out to the kitchen. She guided me into a chair and handed me a glass of water. It was cold in the cabin. I started shivering and she went back and got my blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders.

  “Gracias,” I whispered.

  She stood there for a moment, looking at me. As cold as it was, I needed some air. I got up and headed toward the door.

  “Baño,” I said.

  “Bueno.” She pointed to the teapot and then at me, a question in her tired eyes. “¿Té?”

  I nodded, smiling as I thought of home.

  I got up, put on my shoes, grabbed the pepper spray, and went outside.

  CHAPTER 35

  A thick fog covered the dark fields. I stood there for a minute taking slow, deep breaths and then figured I might as well go to the bathroom. Trying to get back to sleep would be hard enough without a full bladder.

  The night had an eerie quality to it and I was glad I had the spray. I walked quickly down the dirt trail, unable to see the outhouse through the mist for most of the way. I smelled it long before I stumbled upon it. The odor was ghastly but not as bad as during the day when the sun warmed everything to a nauseating, bubbling brew.

  After I finished I began walking back.

  When I was about halfway, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up.

  “Mamá,” she whispered. “Mamá.”

  I didn’t want to, but I turned around anyway. I didn’t see anything. I went back on my way, walking faster. After taking a few more steps, I heard her again.

  “Mamá, ¿eres tú?”

  This time when I turned around I saw her. She was coming toward me, dragging a teddy bear along the ground as she walked. It was the ghost of the little girl who sat on the swing back at the park.

  Her dress was ripped and tattered and covered in mud, as were her tiny bare feet. Her matted black hair was dirty and wet, the water dripping down her face. But it was her eyes, dark and hateful, that cut through the mist and filled me with fear.

  “Mamá,” she hissed, coming closer, her outstretched arms reaching for me through the fog. “Mamá.”

  My heart raced, outrunning my legs, as I turned and sprinted now down the dirt path leading back to the cabins.

  “¡Mamá!” she screamed, giving voice to her wrath.

  I didn’t look back but I sensed, I knew, she was nipping at my heels and getting closer all the time.

  I finally reached the porch and pushed open the rickety wooden door, slamming it behind me. I stood there, breathing hard, the other women cursing from their bunks, while Abuelita stared at me with large eyes.

  I looked out the window without speaking. I couldn’t see her anymore, just the thick fog drifting through the field. But I could still hear her somewhere out there, close by, ca
lling for her mother.

  When I glanced back at the old woman, I saw that she was deep in prayer, gripping the cross around her neck, her lips moving silently, her eyes shut tightly.

  CHAPTER 36

  It was a miserable morning.

  The fog had given way to clouds, which had brought a steady drizzle that soaked through my clothes and through my skin, blanketing the chiles and making them slick and cold. My fingers were frozen, as were my knees where I sank down three inches into the mud. And the only solution for warmth was to pick faster, which wasn’t a solution at all because my fingers and hands and arms and legs and knees and shoulders and back felt like they were a hundred years old.

  I was relieved when the sun finally broke through, clearing out the mist that had lingered over the fields for most of the morning. Within an hour it had warmed up again.

  As I picked, my thoughts drifted back to the little girl. I had seen her three times now and I knew from experience there would be more. She had latched on to me and she wasn’t going anywhere. Ignoring her would be pointless.

  The look in her eyes had stayed with me the entire morning. She was in agony and she was angry and although I reminded myself that it was not personal, I couldn’t shake the terror I felt as she ran after me.

  She did not or could not express more than the need to be with her mother, but I wondered if there was something more below the surface.

  Below the surface.

  Was the girl somehow connected to the nightmares I’d been having?

  When I got to the end of the row, I stood up and stretched and drank some water as I scanned the fields. Lupe was helping the old woman and José was delivering more gray containers up to the front. I thought about Samael.

  It had been more than a week since I had seen him last. I was holding up my end. I had stayed in the fields, practically killing myself out here every day. So where was he?