Maria's Trail (The Mule Tamer)

by Horst, John

  But now, with the lady fence’s take on it, it all started to come together for Maria. Maybe no one really knew any of it. Maybe no one ever would. Maybe all this about Jesus and priests performing miracles and the Virgin and even the crucifixion and the dying for our sins was just a lot of stories that people told and retold until they got muddled and no one really knew any of it.

  She stopped at one of her favorite spots, settled her horse and made a good camp. The lady fence gave her a couple of bottles of the delicious French wine. She drank one and ate some jerky and beans. She missed the lady fence. She thought about the woman seducing her and it made her feel good and also, sad, because she thought the lady must be very lonely. Maria could not do or be for the woman and it must have been very frustrating as Maria knew how beautiful she was to the woman. She was more beautiful than almost anyone in all the places she’d ever been.

  She pulled out her page from the Bible and looked the Commandments over again. They were good rules and necessary for a good society. Maybe there was something to them. Certainly people could not live against them. Was she really living against them? She did steal, but from people who needed to be stolen from. She lied but only with the best intentions. She’d take a man if she wanted one, but not a married one. That would be unkind to the man’s wife and she would never hurt a woman or a child.

  She killed, but again, it was right to kill the two bandits. She did curse, but was saying God’s name in vain really all that bad? She thought about the lady fence again. Was God just a spirit and not an old man with a big white beard floating around on clouds up in the sky, in heaven? If he was just a spirit, or even just a great force, how could you offend Him?

  She got sleepy and let the fire die down. She finished the bottle of wine and felt very dizzy. She closed her eyes and slept for a long time until a pine knot flared up and made the fire very bright. She sat up to find Juana across the way, chewing on a piece of jerky. Maria got up and sat across from her.

  “You could have left a swallow of wine.”

  “I have another bottle. Do you want me to open it?” She was pleased to see her little friend.

  “No, save it for tomorrow. That woman’s right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “God and heaven and such.”

  “Really?” Maria was intrigued as she thought that Juana must know, she was dead and in that world. “What of this reincarnation? Is that right?”

  Juana shrugged her shoulders and Maria became a little annoyed.

  “What sort of answer is that?”

  “I don’t know, Maria. I don’t know.” She grinned at Maria. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know, but she’s right, and you don’t have to be mad at God so much.”

  “Oh, so you think I should stop?”

  “No. I didn’t say stop. By the way, you did good by those bandits. My goodness, you were a wildcat.”

  Maria blushed. “Oh, that wasn’t so hard. They were drunk.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to have a fair fight with a pair like that. Just rub ‘em out.”

  “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “Oh sure.” She became distracted and was looking for something else to eat. “How ‘bout a cigar, Maria?”

  Maria handed her one and lit one for herself and they smoked together.

  “So, what happened to them?”

  “Who?”

  “The bandits I killed.”

  Juana shrugged.

  “Damn it, Juana, stop shrugging. What happened to them? Did they go to hell?”

  “I don’t remember.” She stood up and threw her cigar into the fire. “I’ve gotta have a pee.” She got up and Maria became tired. She closed her eyes while she waited for Juana to come back and soon fell into a deep sleep.

  She made it to the little village where she had lived for the first ten years of her life. It was pathetic and very poor and it looked even worse than she remembered. She rode over to where her hovel was. It was all grown over and she couldn’t even tell where it had been. She thought about the old woman with the terrible treatment painted on her chest and the old woman telling her to wash it off as it stunk of shit. She smiled and was not so sad now at the memory of the old woman. She was always good to the old woman and she made her happy and the woman lived a long time, so she had a pretty good run of it. No one could ask for more than that.

  She remembered how to get to the nice woman’s shack and was about to dismount when she thought better of it. She was proud of her traps. Her horse was splendid. She had traded her stuff for a really fancy saddle that the lady fence had. It once belonged to a vaquero who was very fond of tooled leather and conchos. The saddle was very bright and gaudy and it looked better with a woman sitting on it than it did with a man. She wanted to show it to the mean man and watch him look at her. She wanted to see if he’d be a little humble and not so quick to call her a whore’s spawn.

  She stopped outside their door and called out. Soon a skinny man emerged and bowed respectfully to Maria. She was afraid that the nice lady and mean man had perhaps moved away. Suddenly the nice lady emerged and she squinted up at Maria. The sun was to Maria’s back and she quickly dismounted so the woman didn’t have to squint.

  “Do you remember me, lady?”

  “No.”

  Maria dug in her saddle bag and pulled out the flint and steel and the knife the woman had given her many years ago. “You gave me this.”

  “You are Maria.”

  “Yes.” She grinned. “The whore’s spawn.”

  Maria looked behind the woman, into the dark hovel. “Is he here?”

  “Dead.” The woman spoke automatically. She looked at the skinny man who bowed again and smiled, baring rotten teeth. He extended his hand and Maria took it. “This is my new husband.”

  They welcomed her into their home and the woman prepared a meal while the skinny man sat silently and smiled at Maria. They ate and chatted about the village and what had happened over the past ten years. They asked Maria no questions about her life.

  “I need to give you something, lady.” She stood up and pulled out a wad of money, rolled into a neat cylinder. She handed the woman the money and could see the confusion in her eyes. “This is a gift. You were good to me and I want to repay you. I want you to have this money, lady.”

  She looked at the skinny man and they looked at the money in the woman’s hand. It was more money than they could make in a year. Enough money to buy ten times the goats they owned. It was money an aging couple could use.

  “This… this is too much.” She looked at Maria and her eyes were tearing. She looked at the skinny man who stood a little stupidly, not knowing what to do.

  “I will not take it back, lady.” She smiled and looked around. “How ‘bout a little celebration?”

  With that, the man found his voice and ran to a shelf. He grabbed a clay jug and poured for them all. They drank and smiled and Maria sat back, enjoying the happiness she brought to them; enjoying the realization that she had the power to do this again and again and she would.

  Their celebration was interrupted by a neighbor. He poked his head in, scared and nervous. He was shaking nearly uncontrollably.

  “They found her.”

  The woman began to cry and Maria followed the man out. “What is this, Mister?”

  “A bandit.” He tipped his head to the south. “He’s been here for a week. He won’t go away and he took a girl. A little girl. We didn’t know what had become of her, but they found her. He, he…” the man began to cry. Maria had heard enough. She knew what to do and she instructed the man to wait with the nice lady and the skinny man.

  The bandit had taken up residence in the nervous man’s shack and he sat, cooling off and drinking mescal. He was fairly drunk and continuously called out for more food. A frightened, frail old woman was working diligently to bring him more beans and Maria intercepted her. She took the pot from the woman and indicated, with a finger to her lips
, to be quiet. She told the woman to go away.

  Maria ducked down through the low doorway and regarded the man. He was a fancy bandit, with a frilly embroidered shirt and tight trousers, a big beaver sombrero and he wore his long moustaches in a deep frown. He was a tremendous man, tall and fat and he looked like a bloated pig sitting on a mat on the floor by the fire.

  “What’s this?” He looked up at Maria and then slowly looked her over. He’d not seen this one before. He liked abusing children above all others, but a good looking woman would do.

  Maria moved a little too quickly and pretended to trip. She fell toward him then caught herself, but not before dumping the pot’s hot contents into the man’s lap. He howled in anger and pain and looked at her with hate in his eyes.

  Before he could say or do another thing, Maria was on him, the little gun she kept in a sleeve pointed at the man’s head. She fired and the lead ball slowly did its work on his brain.

  He looked up, pondering what had just happened, tried to talk, tried to move, but nothing would work. Maria casually sat down beside him and watched him die. She leaned in close and regarded him. He mouthed words and she could see gold teeth. This one would bring some good cash.

  They sat this way for a long time. The man still looking about, ponderously, stupidly, mouthing words that had no sound, wondering what was happening. Maria lit a cigar and smoked and blew smoke at his face. His nose wrinkled and he leaned his head back and sneezed. A great gout of blood flew out of his nose and blood and clear fluid ran from his nostrils and soaked his long moustaches, dripping onto his bean covered lap. He still said nothing.

  And then, when Maria could tell he was about to die, she regarded him. “Hey, Mister.” He looked up at her, into her eyes, trying to figure it all out. “I’m going to cut your goddamned head off when you die. You know why?”

  The man didn’t respond and she continued.

  “So, when you go to hell, your body will wander around and you won’t be able to see anything. You won’t be able to hurt little girls again, pig. How do you like that?”

  He seemed to comprehend, but Maria could not be sure. She was growing tired of all this and it was getting late. She wanted to move on and the bandit was not dying fast enough. She put the little gun behind his ear. She fired again and he flopped over. He was finally dead.

  Maria had made inquiries about the man with the ugly growth on his face who she was certain had murdered Juana and decided to stay in the region a little longer. People did remember the man, but they’d not seen him for many years. The trail was cold. But, as she had plenty of money now, she felt compelled to stay around. Perhaps something would turn up and she’d have the opportunity to kill him.

  She rode to the caves and wandered there all day then decided to camp a while. It made her feel very strange as many of her improvements remained. No one seemed to ever come to the caves and things would stay the same there from one year to the next.

  She found her old bedroom. The mice had torn it up a bit, but it was livable. She put her horse in the box canyon corral and untied her prize. It was leaking a lot and she resolved to soak the head in the nearby stream for an hour or two. It would not damage the head and it would drain all the blood and brain fluid out and make it easier to transport. She was not really sure what she was going to do with the head, but this bandit made her especially angry and she wanted to heap as much shame on the corpse, the memory of the man, as she could. She would, from here on out be especially brutal and merciless to anyone who harmed a child.

  She took the head out of the sack and looked it over. She was able to get one of the gold teeth out quite easily as the tooth was dead and could be pulled without much effort, but the other one was a different story and she didn’t want to damage the head by bashing the tooth out with the handle of her six shooter. So, it remained and looked odd, reflecting sunlight because the head now had a slack jaw and the mouth hung open as if it were catching flies. She breathed in deeply and spit a great gob onto the face, then tethered it and held it under water with a big rock. This had the desired effect, and when Maria came back several hours later, the head was as pale as porcelain and no longer drained blood or other fluids.

  As she shook the head dry, she heard someone coming and stood, one hand on the grip of her six shooter and the other holding the head by its long hair. She looked like Perseus standing there.

  The prospector seemed to know the story, as he averted his eyes from the head, looked down at the ground and held up his hands in surrender.

  “Howdy, Miss.”

  “Hello.”

  He was a gringo and the first one Maria had met, other than the priest. He wore heavy work clothes of canvas and pulled a mule along behind him. He did not expect to find another human being out here, let alone a beautiful female holding a severed head.

  Maria returned to her task and wrung out the burlap bag. She put the head in and tied it off.

  “That fellar’s seen better days.”

  Maria smiled and liked the little joke. She liked the prospector right away. He had an old six shooter hanging precariously from his waist, but he was obviously not in the bandit trade. He looked as if he was just a hardworking man looking for gold or silver or some other things, anything really, to keep his belly full.

  She invited him to eat with her in the cave and he offered some of his own food for the pot. They sat down together and he began muttering words in English. She made out most of the words. He did not cross himself and she thought that was interesting.

  “What is this religion of yours?”

  He grinned. “I’m a Christian.” He began eating and hoped that would be an end to it, but he could tell it was not. Maria had something on her mind.

  “You did not make the sign of the cross.”

  “I’m called a Lutheran, ma’am.” He went back to eating.

  “What’s this Lutheran?”

  “Oh, pretty much the same as a Catholic. Just a few changes. It’s all the same, really.” He grinned. “All the same God.”

  “I am doing His work.” She looked at the head lying near the fire. “When God doesn’t do His job, I do it for Him.”

  “Hmm.” The man didn’t look up from his meal.

  “What’s this, hmm?” She demanded. He was giving responses the way Juana had and it was starting to make her a little angry.

  “Nothing.” He smiled and then became serious. He could see she had a lot of anger and it was sad to see in such a young and beautiful woman. He decided to continue. “It’s a cruel world, Miss. It’s a cruel, cruel world.”

  “Yes.” She stood up and remembered the last bottle of good French wine. She liked this man and he knew some things she didn’t know so she thought she’d loosen his tongue and try to learn something. He still wouldn’t talk, so she probed.

  “Why do you think God makes such a cruel world, Mister?”

  “Oh, He doesn’t.”

  She flashed with anger. “Oh,” she pointed at the head, “you know this hijo de puta? You know what he did? He abused a little girl. You say that is not cruel?”

  “No, that is cruel. I said God doesn’t make it cruel.”

  “Huh!” She got up and poured for him again. He was disarming, this prospector and she was not necessarily angry at him now.

  He thought he should clarify. Go ahead and just say it all and get it over. She wasn’t going to let it go and his cryptic answers were just going to exacerbate the situation.

  “Ma’am. Look at it this way. In the animal world, there is no cruelty. The animals eat other animals, that is true, but it isn’t in malice. Only humans can act cruelly. So, if God made all of the universe and the animals, both human and non-human, and He didn’t make any of the other creatures of the world cruel, and only humans can be cruel, then how can we say God is responsible for cruelty?”

  She’d not thought of it that way.

  “But He made that pig cruel.” She pointed to the head.

  “No,
no ma’am. He made the man, but the man chose the cruel and wicked path. God is not like a manipulator of the marionette…”

  “What’s this marionette?”

  “A puppet. You know, puppets, the kind on a string, the manipulator is the one holding the strings, making the puppets dance or whatever they do. That is not God.”

  She sat quietly and got cigars out. They smoked and she looked into the fire. This man was very interesting. She thought of something else. “So, when a person, when a person has many bad things happening. That’s not God punishing them or making them have a bad time? That is what you are saying?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what I am saying. We have a great gift. We have something the other animals in the world do not have.”

  “A soul?”

  “Well, yes, we have that, but that isn’t what I was going to say. We have a thinking, reasoning brain.” He pointed at his head. “We have free will.”

  “Free will?”

  “Sure, you know, the ability to pick and choose. You can be good or you can be bad. You can sleep all day and not work or you can get up and make something of yourself, make something for yourself. You,” he pointed at her and she suddenly remembered the old woman showing her the reflection in the mirror. “You can make the world as you wish.”

  He shrugged, “Of course, there are some things out of our control. If I get struck by lightning, or fall off a cliff by accident, or get wiped out by a bandit or an Indian,” he smiled, “no offence, I can’t help that. But I can control a lot of my life. And that, I think, is God’s plan.”

  He poked at the fire and continued. “It’s like, God kicked it all into motion, but then He stepped back, left us alone and let us figure it out. We can make good choices or bad and, of course, bad things do happen to good people and it’s not their fault, it’s just bad luck, but we need that in order to be really free. We can’t have it both ways, we can’t be free and then expect God to come in and intervene and make the bad things not happen to us. That’s not possible.”

  She thought a lot about that. The old woman was very wise and now this prospector was saying a lot of the same things. She wondered why the padre was not so smart as them. He had more book learning. It was as if his teaching was a sort of opposite teaching to this: That we were powerless. That only through the faith in the church could we survive. Like we were forever children who just had to sit there and take it and pray to the statues in the church and hope that God and Jesus would be merciful to us.