by Horst, John
She remembered Bronagh’s words, in her lilting accent, “Go on with ya, girl. Get the wanderlust out of yer system, then settle down.” She looked at Ulla and Juana, “The child’s got the Irish in her, I swear it. The lass has Irish blood.” And Maria was struck by that. Why did she want to move about so? The people, Juana’s people wanted her so badly to stay. She could have had any of the eligible men, and perhaps, even if she were so inclined, some of the not so eligible men. They were a handsome bunch and so sincere, serious, even grave, yet she could tell that they had a deep respect and admiration for her.
She decided to take the coastal route and visit the lady fence. She had the gringo Colonel’s watch and really had no use for it. Maria planned her day according to the sun and the moon, not a timepiece and she thought it would fetch a good price. She also had the bandits’ guns and she’d gotten three gold teeth out of them.
She rode along and was overwhelmed by the beauty and vastness of the Pacific. It felt good with the constant breeze from the sea, and she wondered why more people did not live here. She thought about how difficult life was in the desert with the old woman, and now, near the sea, it seemed one would never go hungry; there was so much bounty from it and along the shore. She resolved to perhaps someday live somewhere along the coastline.
She made her way through various sleepy villages, ate her new favorite, fish, and traded with the locals. She stopped in Acapulco de Juárez and made a little fortune gaming there. She was getting better reading men who played cards or shot craps or generally spent their time gaming and she was especially successful at the ones that did not involve chance.
Maria hated chance, hated games of luck as she’d never had much of it in her life. She thought again about the old woman and the mirror. She stuck with games where the outcome could be determined by her intellect and skill, not by the toss of the dice or the turning of a wheel. It all came down to the only one in the world she could truly rely on: Maria.
And so time passed and weeks stretched into months and Maria slowly made her way north. She was in no hurry and had no intention of taxing Alanza. Her lovely horse was to be preserved and, as she’d brought along an extra mount, a nice dapple grey gelding, the three never got too tired in their travels.
She arrived at the lady fence’s store on a late afternoon and was surprised to see it staffed by a pretty Chinese woman. The woman bowed to her and Maria asked about the lady fence. “I will get her, Miss.”
She looked happier this time and she was pleased to see Maria. She presented her new assistant and gave Maria a knowing squeeze of the hand. Now Maria understood her happiness. “I am glad for you, lady. I am very glad.”
They conducted business and Maria added to her bankroll. Soon she’d have enough to buy Uncle Alejandro out, if he were ever inclined to sell. They dined and then swam at the familiar spot and Maria watched the lady fence in love and it was a relief to see. Her companion was very sweet and Maria learned that she was from the states, from San Francisco, and was traveling south when she stumbled upon the lady fence’s shop. They were immediately compatible and now inseparable.
After a time, the young woman went off to bed, leaving Maria and the lady fence alone. She regarded Maria as they shared another bottle of the French wine.
“You look tired, Maria.”
And she was but not overly so. Maria looked older, more wizened, more cynical, more mature since the last time she’d visited the woman, and this is what the lady fence was now seeing in Maria. It made the fence a little sad. Maria was old beyond her years the first time they met, and now she was like a grizzled war veteran to the lady fence’s way of thinking.
That night Maria slept alone in the garret as the lady fence and her new love had a proper bedroom on the first floor, next to the kitchen. The bed and sheets were as lovely as ever, yet Maria felt a little let down. She was saddened by the fact that she would not be sharing her bed with the lady fence. This was ridiculous as she was not emotionally or sexually attracted to the woman, but some human contact would have been nice. It was one of the things she’d hoped for, looked forward to as she approached the store that day.
She was lying in her bed and thinking of all the people she knew and wondered what they were doing at this very moment. Juana and Gerhard, probably making love; the lady fence and the Chinese woman below her, probably the same. The padre, praying. Ulla, nursing her baby, dreaming of her husband, making love perhaps to a new suitor? She hoped the latter. Bronagh, praying, perhaps just finished making love, or perhaps ordering her German husband to do something, some final chore before bed, then making love.
She snuggled deeper into the sheets, pressed her back against the soft mattress and remembered all those years ago with Crisanto. That was the best gift she’d ever given anyone in the world and she liked it, enjoyed it as well. She wondered when she’d find a man. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was when. She wanted a man, she was sure of it. She didn’t want just a rutting bull, either, or a harem. She wanted one man, her man who would love her and help her raise a family and give her all the love he had to give. She wondered what he’d look like.
He’d not be one of those in the saloon, she knew that. She didn’t like any of them in the saloon. Even the ones who were good at cards did nothing for her and she wondered at that. Why not? She smoked and drank mescal and gambled, yet she found no man who lived that way at all appealing.
She thought about the men who she liked in her life. The old man was really the only one. He was the kindest to her. He taught her to be so good with everything that was useful and important; how to ride, shoot, gamble. He taught her all of it. She liked… she loved him as one would love her father or grandfather. Maybe that is what her husband would be like. It probably would.
Thinking about the old man got her out of her mood and she was no longer lonely. She was tired now but wanted to be cozy under the warm covers. She got up and opened a window and looked at the moon over the Gulf of California. It turned everything silver and the wind off the gulf blew in over her, through her, and she felt a great chill. She hopped back into bed and scooted under the lovely sheets and the heavy covers and fell into a deep sleep.
The Cage
Maria arrived in the states on a clear afternoon, surveying the town of Bisbee. It was one of the bigger towns she’d been to and it would be good for gaming. She had a nice bankroll and planned to double it. After that, she thought she’d move north. Someone told her of a town way up north called Flagstaff where there were lumbermen and she was also told that lumbermen were not good gamblers. She didn’t know if this was true, but thought it would be a good adventure and this is what Maria wanted.
She rode along the bad part of town, which was substantial at this time in Bisbee, and looked for the most ornately decorated saloon. She came upon one that featured a giant gilt bird cage hanging from a fancy scroll bracket at the corner of the building. The sign read simply The Cage, in elegant gold-painted script. It was inspired by the success of the Bird Cage Theatre up in Tombstone where the whores had little cubbies along the walls hanging from the ceiling. This is where they plied their trade.
The owner of The Cage, a wily consumptive and alcoholic showman, decided to take it up a notch and hired a local blacksmith to make giant, human-sized cages which were painted gold. These he hung from the ceilings about the place and his girls would sit or stoop or stand in them and put on a little show. The big joke about The Cage was that you’d never take a meal sitting directly beneath one for fear of things falling down. Mercifully, the whores would take their customers to more private facilities to consummate the business at hand.
Maria regarded them and it made her feel as she had when she met the yellow-haired whore. It was just another example of the inhumanity one person or group of people could heap upon another and Maria decided to look away. She cast her eyes around the room and was immediately admonished by the barman. “No guns, Chica. No guns.”
Maria eyed him and loo
ked at the six shooters on her belt. Before she could respond a drunken man called out. “Awe, Hank, it’s Annie goddamned Oakley.” He leered at Maria; she did not know the joke.
“More like Anita goddamned Oakley. Don’t give a damn if it’s Carrie goddamned Nation, no goddamned guns in the saloon.”
A raspy voice came into it over her head and Maria looked up long enough to see a skinny woman swinging in one of the cages. She was wearing underclothes like the yellow-haired whore, yet she wore nothing on her bottom. “Leave her alone. A lady needs a gun in this shithole. God knows you bastard men have ‘em.”
“That’s the wrong kinda gun.” The drunken man beamed at his own cleverness.
The woman laughed and began coughing uncontrollably and Maria could now feel a light mist of spittle strike her face and neck The skinny woman reeked of sex and sweat and body odor, her pudenda hanging there like a beacon of depravity, naked and thick with matted hair only inches from Maria’s face. She was the most pathetic creature Maria had heretofore seen, yet she was somehow fascinating in her ugliness. Maria regarded her as she removed her guns and pointed them at the man menacingly, “I’m no Chica, gringo.”
The drunken man laughed. “Come on over here, darlin’, I’ve gotta gun for ya.” He was bold now that Maria was unarmed. He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.
Maria smiled at him and did not pull away. She leaned in close, so close that her breath tickled his hairy ear. She whispered, “Gringo, if you don’t let go of me, I’ll cut your balls off and shove them up your ass.” She stood up as his face and grip slackened. She smiled at him and wiped her wrist clean, as if it had just been subjected to a dung heap. She walked on.
By this time Maria had amassed a rather impressive vaquero outfit. Her gun leather was even more ornately appointed with conchos and silver dots. She wore men’s trousers and a pretty print blouse that unbuttoned down the front, displaying all the gifts given her by the Almighty. Even without her six shooters, she looked mean, tough, and this was remarkable for a beautiful woman who stood not much beyond a height of five feet. She was turning heads.
She finally settled on a table with serious men. These men did not ogle or comment about her appearance. They were businessmen and their business was cards. Maria watched them. One man was especially successful, as evidenced by the pile of money to his right. He was a severe looking man and Maria could tell that he was dangerous. She would play him and double her money as quickly as possible.
She sat down without asking and they all regarded her with contempt. “Whores don’t sit at table, woman.”
“Good, gringo, I will tell one when I see her.”
“This is a thousand dollar table.”
“Oh, I will settle for that, I guess.” Maria pulled out a wad of bills, more than two thousand dollars, and laid it on the table. She lit a cigar and waited. She was dealt the next hand.
She bet conservatively until she could get a feel for what the players were about, what cards they had, what they had face up. There were many players at the table and Maria soon had a good grasp of what hands could be left for her adversaries to play. In short order she had a successful run and in two hours had increased her bankroll significantly.
She was becoming comfortable now and a little complacent. She did not follow the old man’s rule to quit when she’d achieved her goal; the cards were good and her opponents mostly bad. The Cage was beginning to intrigue her and the whores were giving her some attention. They liked to see a woman besting the men.
One whore was especially attentive and kept Maria in good supply of drink and cigars. Maria refused liquor and sipped only beer. She did follow the old man’s advice in this always. Never get drunk when gaming. It would affect the mind and she’d not win.
Soon it was down to the severe looking man, his friend and Maria. Most of the severe looking man’s pile was now on Maria’s side of the table, as were the bankrolls of her other opponents. This made the severe looking man very brusque. He still retained his poker face.
In another hour Maria was finished. She had amassed over six thousand dollars. The men were not ready to let her walk away. A crowd was gathering and finally, with the barman standing close behind her, the severe looking man announced, without looking at Maria, that she was a cheat.
Maria grinned as she rolled up her winnings. She pulled her blouse down to expose a little more bosom, just to throw them off a bit. It worked. She deposited the pile of money there and looked up at the gringo through the smoke of her cigar. “Gringo, you are like a little boy who lost his marbles at the school. Why don’ you just take it, like a man?”
The pair leaned forward and the severe looking man’s partner hissed in Maria’s face. “We know you had a fellar planted behind us. He was signaling.”
“That’s a lie.” One of the whores spoke up and Maria nodded to her without taking her eyes from the men. She should not have won so much, she thought to herself. She should have heeded the old man’s advice, but what was done was done and now she’d have to deal with it, she’d have to move fast.
“Gringo. The only thing I did was count some cards, play a good game. If you are too estupido to do the same, then you needa make a better living doing something else.”
“Count cards! Hah, never seen a pepper belly could count beyond ten.” He leaned forward and Maria could not see his hands. Patrons began to move away, out of the path of any lead that might fly.
The severe looking man finally spoke. “You just go ahead and put that money back, Chiquita. You can keep what you brought to the table, but leave the rest. We’ll see that those other fellows get theirs.” He looked at his partner. “Lou’s right, never seen a Mexican yet can count, never seen a Mexican yet who wasn’t a cheat.”
Maria stood up and leaned forward. She pressed her silver hideout gun against the severe looking man’s nose and cocked the hammer back. “I know how to count to five, gringo. There are five bullets in this gun but I only need one to send you to hell.” Maria glanced over at the whore who’d come to her defense. “Lady, go get my six shooters, bring them here.” The whore quickly, happily, did as she was told.
Maria holstered one and now had the other cocked and pointed at the severe looking man’s partner. “I don’ play for fun, boys. If you don’ wanna lose money, you maybe should play with matchsticks or beans. Tha’s how I learned.” She called out behind her. “Gringo barman, get aroun’ here where I can see you.” He did and now Maria slowly backed out of the bar. She made it past the skinny whore swinging above her in the cage, who was grinning broadly at the outlaw Mexicana. She kissed her palm and then blew it at Maria, looking on in delight.
The men were not finished with Maria. One of the bouncers appeared, a big ten-gauge pointed at her head. She looked him over. “Don’ do this, gringo. They don’ pay you enough.” The man didn’t move. “Please, gringo, don’ make it so you go to hell tonight.” He remained unmoving and Maria regretted having to kill him.
He did not really want to fight, she could see this in his eyes and he shook like a dog passing peach stones. He did not even have the presence of mind to prepare the gun; the hammers weren’t even pulled back. The poker players and barman were making their move and Maria fired, punching a hole through the bouncer’s head. She fired next at the severe looking man’s partner, hitting him once in the chest; the barman took a lead pill to the neck. The smoke was thick and patrons were scrambling for cover. The severe looking man stood, stubborn, not going for his gun and not trying to hide. Maria hesitated. She did not want to kill if she did not have to.
“Finished, gringo?” She could see it in his eyes. She could see that he could not be left behind. He’d give her trouble and she remembered the vaquero’s warning, “Never hesitate, Maria, never hesitate.” And, as if on cue, the severe looking man went for his gun. Maria killed him with one shot.
She ran for the door and was quickly outside. Alanza was not where she’d tied her. She looked up and down the str
eet. She’d have to escape on foot.
“Lady! Lady!” It was one of the whores who’d preemptively prepared Alanza and was waiting in an alley. Maria ran up and in one motion was on her beloved pony. She reached down and touched the woman’s face. “Thank you, lady.”
The whore blushed as she’d not been called a lady in a long time. Maria reached into her blouse and grabbed a handful of bills, thrusting them into the prostitute’s hand. “Here’s for you, lady. Get out of this business; get away from this terrible place.” And she was gone.
She rode north through the night and at daylight stopped to check on her winnings. She had over seven thousand dollars and was thrilled. The American money was worth a lot more than the pesos. She would very soon be a wealthy hacendada.
As she rode she thought about the whores and this made her sad. The Mexicans were not really much better, but the Americanos were horrible to the women. Putting them in cages, like wild beasts, was probably the most upsetting. It was demeaning and it was humiliating when the gringos made fun of Maria. She knew she dressed strangely, like a vaquero, but does every woman who is outside of the norm have to be considered a whore? It made her angry. The thought of the Americanos being so mean to her for being Mexicana made her angry, as well. Maybe Juana was right, maybe the Americanos truly were all assholes.
She rode on into the desert and found an abandoned ruin on the side of a high hill. It reminded her so much of her cave-home all those many years ago. She hobbled Alanza and resolved to explore in it for a while. It was fascinating in its similarity to her old home in Mexico and this was something that made her realize how small her world really was. The US was not really a different land. It was the same. The desert was much the same, the Indians from all those many years ago were likely, more or less, the same. They built the same way with the same T-shaped doors and wall construction; all pretty much the same. It made her think hard about it all. She wondered at how similar it was before the white people came. Was it better then? Did the white men bring the greed and ugliness? They brought the guns and the horses, the old man told her that. Before the guns and the greed and the horses, was it better? Probably not. The old man told her the stories of the old Indians. They had the same weaknesses, the same cruelty, the same selfish aspirations, the same lust for gold. It was just being human and humans had a huge capacity for wickedness.