by John Horst
“What do ya think this cost?” The lawyer downed another glass. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Waste of damned money.” Look at ‘em, ignoramuses. Lost on ‘em. Like castin’ pearls before swine.”
Curtin ignored him. It was all about perception and he saw something very different. He saw a lady of the manor, celebrating, splurging maybe a little, but the difference was that she didn’t pick and choose who’d benefit. It wasn’t for the benefit of the wealthy and powerful, wasn’t a pageant put on to show off to other wealthy hacendados. It was a party for her people, all of her people, young and old, ignorant and well-read, all of them. It was a celebration of them, celebration of life and it all was due to the oil. The oil, the oil would, could be used for good purposes, as long as the one holding the purse strings was good, decent, a moral and gracious and kind possessor of the wealth and this was what the lady, the lady of the manor, Marta del Toro embodied. Curtin was truly humbled by it all and suddenly lost the little enmity he had for Marta’s devilment, for so deliciously, irresistibly dressing the love of his life to drive him beyond the point of distraction.
It was time for the tournament and Marta rode first. Pumpkin was beautifully adorned with blankets and a hood matching in color and style of her mistress’s costume. It seemed the animal sensed it, sensed it was beautifully matched to her mistress and she performed likewise, she proudly pranced about and was having just as good a time.
Due to her long heavy dress, Marta was forced to ride sidesaddle, adding to the fantastical theme. She did well, and soon had the medieval vaqueros primed to perform. They’d picked it up quickly, were natural riders and took to the lances made up by Adolfo as easily as if they were their beloved reatas. They soon followed suit and in short order a close competition was in play.
Rebecca of course, won the day. She’d been ring tilting the longest, had enjoyed it and loved it for so many years that it was like second nature to her. She stood on a high step, above the second and third place riders as Marta, queen of the faire placed wreathes of laurel, actually Mexican Caesalpinia, but it was an excellent substitute, on their bowed heads. The crowd cheered and as darkness fell, the festivities fully got underway.
They played and sang and danced well after midnight, outlasting the gringos who had to leave, many of them reluctantly, to continue the next day’s toil in the great fields of nodding donkeys.
There was even some swordplay as two young vaqueros donned the armor cobbled together by Adolfo. Marta, like a doting mother, made them give up the steel broadswords. They’d have to content themselves with wooden ones, as she would not risk an injury to any of them. It was especially significant for Rebecca to see, the first time Marta shied away from danger and it was gratifying, hopeful. Perhaps she was losing her fascination with death, living on the edge of reason, living for the thrill, regardless of the cost. It was a good and encouraging sign.
By three they were undressing, readying themselves for bed. Marta watched Rebecca, by now a little sorry to have to remove the gown. It was beautiful and made her feel beautiful, kind of childlike and now it was done, at least for another year, or until Marta got it into her head to put on another faire. She smiled and Rebecca caught her in the mirror.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. You just look so beautiful.”
“And you. The men couldn’t keep their eyes off you.”
“Hmm.” She took a last look and removed the outfit. “Curtin, he was something.”
“You’re a real little brat for that, Marta.”
“What?” She gave her Cheshire cat grin.
“You know what. You set him up, inviting the Americans and he, looking at me, couldn’t touch me, couldn’t even have a little taste.” She grinned sideways at her sister, suddenly realized she no longer felt uncomfortable discussing such things. She looked at the clock on her bed stand and thought it might not be too much of a stretch to see him before morning.
“Shall I go to my own room?” Marta could read her mind.
“No, it’s too late. He won’t be by. Come on.” She jumped in bed and held the covers up for Marta. She held her and kissed her forehead. “You made a wonderful faire, Marta. You are a good hacendado. It was like Christmas.”
Marta beamed. “That reminds me. We’re going to have a grand Christmas, better than what we had today. We’re going to have, have a carnival, with rides. That’s what we’re going to do. Yes, a carnival.”
She lay back and snuggled against Rebecca’s breast. She was played out. She suddenly was gone, off to a deep and pleasant slumber. Marta was happy and this made Rebecca very happy. She kissed her sister’s forehead and too fell into a deep and restful dreamland of knights and dragons, lords and ladies high in a castle keep.
VII Hunting
The summer was progressing and they’d made no further movement on discovering the whereabouts of Dan George. They’d hired a detective, an American from Texas who was Mexican. He’d tracked down the last place Dan George was seen alive, Nuevo Casas Grandes. There he found all of Dan’s traps, his horse and tack. The constable assured him that Dan was not mugged or otherwise molested as far as anyone could tell. There was no sign of foul play. The patrons in the restaurant where Dan was last seen cooperated. Dan George was well known to them. He always stopped here on his way to Marta’s ranch, many people liked and respected the American.
By their accounts, he was dining with two other men. They were speaking of mining business. Nothing heated, all amiable. They did not think anything of it when the three men left. They figured they were simply retiring for the night. They only began to worry when his room remained unoccupied for three days. It was unlike Dan George to do anything without notifying everyone concerned. He was a good customer and always paid his bills.
Marta sent the detective on his way, up to Bisbee to report to Dan’s wife. They had his traps sent back home. There was little left to do now but wait and watch.
Curtin was more often at the ranch now than at the mining office. He was constantly shadowing them. Marta was growing impatient with them both, he and Rebecca sat around as if they were attending a funeral and Marta was bored.
She sent them, separately, down to Vera Cruz. They could at least be together down there without all the sneaking around. Marta was also getting tired of looking at Rebecca’s belly. She was certain it would begin to swell any day now, it certainly should with all the activity, unless there was something wrong with Curtin, but there it was, flat as a pancake and that was vexing as well. She wanted Rebecca to have a baby now and was convinced, confident that giving birth would not kill her.
Adulio could see his mistress growing bored. He recommended a hunting trip and Marta agreed that the change would do her good. Next morning he had everything set up, they’d take a pack mule and camp overnight. Marta looked on at the old overseer and smiled.
“You’re not going, Adulio.”
He looked hurt, looked down at his saddle horn and did not respond. She got onto her saddle and took the man’s canteens. She ordered him to transfer the provisions she’d need from the pack animal onto Pumpkin. Most of the stuff she would not need and she refused it. She tapped her pony’s sides and rode on, leaving the mule behind.
“Be back tomorrow, Adulio.” She was gone.
She thought about going down to Santa Rosalia and perhaps getting into a little trouble there, maybe do some gambling. She liked to pretend to be in the old west when she was at the ranch. It was exciting and hopefully a little dangerous. It never was. The people didn’t want to play. They just wanted to live out their lives and did not pay much attention to a sassy twenty year old Americana.
She thought a lot about Pedro del Calle. She was very sorry she made the comment about him killing his wife. That was mean and hurtful and she regretted it every time she thought about him. She hoped she’d see him again and wrote him a three page letter. It was full of sexually charged innuendo. She thought about him turning red when he read it, hoped it woul
d get him excited and make him want her, make him come up and seduce her at the ranch. She was still bent on losing her virginity soon and she wanted Del Calle to be the one to carry out the deed. She didn’t know why.
By noon it was hot and Pumpkin was limping. She was far out now and she’d turned off the road, she was deep in the desert and in another hour it was apparent that Pumpkin was in trouble.
By the hottest time of the day she’d made it to an abandoned settlement. Uncle Alejandro introduced her to this place. It still had high walls intact and the rattlers were abundant here. One would never go hungry in the desert as long as rattlers could be found. They were bony but good eating and fairly easy to kill.
She cut some mesquite limbs and made a lean-to for Pumpkin who was now in significant distress. The animal was not well at all and Marta examined her leg. Just at the ham she found a slight nick, what caused it she could not tell, it was a curious wound, tiny, yet enough to render the beast useless as a conveyance. Riding her home now or for the next several days would be out of the question.
She loved Pumpkin. Her parents had given the pony to her for her sixteenth birthday. She was gentle and smart and a peculiar buckskin color, the color of a whitetail deer in June and that is how Marta arrived at such a name. Pumpkin was pumpkin colored.
Marta surveyed her camp. Uncle Alejandro was the quintessential bandit as he always saw terrain through the eyes of a man running from the law or a posse as he’d run from so many and it was imprinted on his brain. He liked this place because it had high walls still, like a fortress. With just a couple of Winchesters he could hold off twenty men. It had water, too.
So, Marta and Pumpkin were not in bad shape. She could stay here for days if needed. Once Pumpkin was better, she could walk back to the ranch or at least back to the road where a search party would surely find her.
She dug around the settlement for the rest of the day, playing like a child, exploring, imagining, discovering. It was fun as there were so many remnants of her ancestry left behind. She found half a dozen projectile points, a nearly intact clay pot and pieces of a sandal made of yucca fibers. She held it up to her foot and it would have fit. She felt akin to the owner, dead now for these many centuries. They likely could have been mistaken for sisters, perhaps they were actually related, perhaps she was the woman, reincarnated, now living in the twentieth century and it made Marta feel connected to the land, the people.
She stripped naked and bathed in the water running through the old place. It felt good to be out there all alone in the terrific heat, the blazing sun further darkening her dark skin. She was coming to love her Indian identity more and more every day and the idea of it, the idea of being an Indian continuously, progressively becoming easier to her. The problem was not her, it was them, the easterners who looked askance at her dark skin, the dark skin of the Aztecs, the Incas, the great pyramid builders, the people who built beautiful stone structures when the ancestors of the whites who looked down their noses at her were living in mud huts, defecating on the ground.
She reached down and scooped water with a broken pottery shard, a shard that had been formed perhaps a thousand years ago, poured water down onto her raven hair, over her face, breasts, belly, pudenda. She gloried in the sensuality of it, gloried in the perfection of her body. She was beautiful, inside and out and she was now just beginning to understand it. She was beginning to love herself and she wished Del Calle was with her. Perhaps one day she’d bring him here and they’d walk naked together all around the place, play and love and live and walk about as the original inhabitants had done so long ago.
By evening Pumpkin was settling down and Marta had set up a nice little campsite. She had a good fire going and plenty of wood and makings for the morning. As was typical in the desert, when the sun went down it got cool and she snuggled under the blankets naked. She liked to sleep naked though Rebecca would not have it. Rebecca thought it just too naughty to sleep without clothing of some kind but Marta always was most comfortable unencumbered by a nightgown.
She looked on at the fire then the stars overhead. A shooting star streaked by and she made a wish, though she did not believe in such things. It made her feel good nonetheless and she listened to the night come alive. She was never scared when camping, never fearful of the animal sounds in the desert all around her. Coyotes started crying far off and she wished they’d come around. She loved the coyote and would not let them be killed on the ranch. They did no harm and there was no reason to kill any animal if it was not creating problems.
She drifted off to sleep and had good dreams, mostly of Del Calle but also of Rebecca and Abuelita. She hoped upon hope that Abuelita was being tricked by the cousin in Paris. She did not want to worry the old woman as she loved her very much. She dreamed and resolved in her dream that she would not be going to Smith College in the fall. She was going to live out her days on the ranch and run it and be a good hacendado and help to calm the unrest in her land. She was Mexican and she’d be Mexican until the day she died and she hoped that it would be later than sooner because now she was happy to be alive and she wanted to live a long time.
She slept late, well until daylight and after a light breakfast finally got moving and checked on Pumpkin. She discovered that the animal could walk better. She’d definitely not take a rider but she could at least walk. She put the bare minimum on the pony’s back and left the rest. She could come back for it later, or have one of the ranch hands retrieve the items for her as it was not really so far. She carried her rifle in her hands and began to make her way back home.
It was a fine day for walking and she made good progress before the sun got too high. Off in a distance she saw a rider and, for some reason she could not articulate in her brain, decided not to let her presence be known. She settled down on a high hill after hiding Pumpkin in an arroyo and watched the rider’s progress.
It was Adulio and she could see that he was tracking her. She watched him and saw something very strange. He was hunting, had his rifle ready, in his hands and he never did this as there was no reason for it, no animals existed in the area any longer that were capable of doing him an injury and no wild Indians or even bandits were known to be around.
She waited for him to come under her little perch, his face to the ground, picking through the desert for her sign. He was doing a pretty good job of it too. When he was thirty feet away she called out to him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He raised his rifle to shoot and Marta called out again.
“Calm yourself, Adulio.”
He recovered. “Señorita! I am so pleased to find you. I was worried sick.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Señorita. I don’t know, it maybe was una premonición? I told my wife that it was not right, something is wrong with the Señorita, I don’t know.” Adulio did not look good. He was frightened, nearly terrified and she felt sorry for him. He handled stress poorly and as he got older, it weighed more heavily on him.
Marta settled him in some shade and went back to retrieve Pumpkin. Soon they were together, on the trail. She looked on at Adulio who seemed now to be having difficulty breathing. She stopped again and made him sit down as she prepared some wet rags for around his neck. She looked on him and he was crying.
“Adulio, tell me. What’s wrong?”
He held up a hand and wept like a child. “Señorita, I am sorry. I am sorry. I am just so afraid. I’m afraid and I’ve brought you to this and I’m afraid you will die.”
She patted his shoulder and thought hard about their present situation. He looked as if he could fall over and expire at any moment. He couldn’t ride in this condition and he couldn’t pass the night this way.
She grabbed his horse and jumped on. Adulio looked up at her through tearful eyes. “I’ll be back with a wagon, Adulio. Don’t worry and try to rest. Try to breathe, just breathe and relax. Pumpkin will keep you company.”
She was back by afternoon and he was better. The men had the wagon pre
pared for him and plenty to eat and drink. She left them to rescue Adulio and Pumpkin and rode on ahead, alone.
It was a queer interaction and gave her a lot to think about as she rode. Adulio was completely panicked and she’d never seen him this way. She began to wonder if she’d been too carefree about all this. She didn’t want to die and she most certainly didn’t want Rebecca to die. She felt queasy, a little sick to her stomach.
What did Adulio know? He could be trusted. Dan George said he could be trusted, but that meant nothing as Dan was gone, despite the notes to the contrary, was likely dead. Adulio said he had a premonition. Are such things real? Animals have them, she knew that. It had been documented, she read about that in history class. It happened when the Krakatoa eruption occurred. The animals knew of the impending tidal wave and headed for higher ground. Was Adulio like that? Was he like the animals? It was all very confounding to her.
By late evening she was washed and had a good dinner and a smoke on the veranda. As she dressed for bed she found another note, another telegram that had been placed on her pillow. It read:
The horse was not lame by accident. Dan George growing weaker by the day. Z
Marta del Toro was becoming very angry. She was beginning to believe in Adulio’s ability to have premonitions and she was determined to bring this to a close.
VIII Emiliano Zapata
Rebecca returned from Vera Cruz refreshed and more in love with Curtin than ever. They saw Pedro del Calle as well and were treated as royalty by his fellow marines. Rebecca was the belle of the ball wherever they went and Curtin was so very proud to have her on his arm.
Marta was pleased to hear about Pedro. Rebecca reported that he could not stop asking questions about her sister and had four letters to deliver to her, all written by Pedro while they were there. He’d received her letter and was so happy for it that he absent mindedly asked Rebecca to tell Marta how happy it made him feel no fewer than half a dozen times.