Muckers

by Sandra Neil Wallace

  * * *

  “We’re throwing the ball this half,” I say to Cruz. “Get open.”

  He slips past his defender and I send him a long, high pass on the first play, like I was aiming for the bucket of that shovel. I get hammered to the ground, but by the time I get to my feet Cruz is all the way to the ten-yard line. Next play I find him in the end zone, and we’re up 6–0.

  The passing seems to loosen up their side, too. Flagstaff marches right down the field in about six plays and takes the lead, 7–6.

  I get sacked on our next possession, then take a vicious hit on an incomplete pass. My nose smashes against the turf and the lights blind me for a second when I turn, making me think about Coach. “The lowly Muckers”—isn’t that what he’d told me?—“against the mighty Warriors …” I catch a whiff of the grass and shake my head clear.

  “No penalty?” I ask the ref. “He hit me five seconds after I threw it!”

  The referee just shakes his head. The Flagstaff tackle—built like the ponderosas lining the stadium—points a finger at me. “Get used to it,” he says.

  Early in the fourth quarter I find Cruz with a bullet in the center of the field. He breaks a tackle and crosses midfield before they bring him down.

  As we huddle up, I see Cruz’s forehead is starting to bleed again. But at least six of us are bleeding, so who cares? I’ve got a cut above my thumb and a gash on my shin.

  “They’re winded,” Cruz says. “Keep up the pressure!”

  I hand off to Lupe, but he’s stopped before he reaches the line. I pitch to Cruz for an end-around, but they maul him after two yards. And then I throw an incompletion with too much pressure from their line.

  Fourth down. Wallinger is signaling for us to punt. I ignore him.

  “Tony, Alonzo, hold the line!” I say. I call another pass play and stare straight at Cruz. He scowls and says, “Just get me the ball.”

  But Cruz is covered tight and our guys can only hold the line so long. I scramble toward the sideline, then Lupe throws a block—it’s beautiful, and one that Coach Hansen would be proud of. I’ve got daylight ahead. I streak down the sideline with everything I’ve got, and Cruz comes out of nowhere to cut down their safety and set me free to score. I hit the twenty then the ten and keep going for the longest run of my life—forty-six yards—and suddenly we’re back on top.

  They block Quesada’s extra-point attempt, but we’ve got the lead and the momentum. It’s 12–7.

  Flag starts rolling up the yardage after the kickoff. Nothing big, just a steady stream of four-, five-, six-yard runs up the middle. Alonzo is wearing down. Lupe drops to one knee and stares at the sky between plays. Cruz curses under his breath.

  Their size is getting to us. “Remember the ledges!” I yell.

  The clock is ticking down and we might never get the ball back. All Flagstaff needs is a touchdown to win the crown.

  They’re at our seven-yard line and the quarterback is barking signals. I inch toward the line, expecting another running play, but he drops back to pass.

  Their receiver has a step on me and he’s sprinting toward the end zone. I hear a crash in the backfield and look over. Tony’s broken through the line and laid out the quarterback. The ball pops loose. Players from both sides dive for it and I can’t tell who recovers.

  Alonzo leaps up from the pile, holding the pigskin. I shake my fist and race toward him, smacking him on the back.

  I try to catch my breath as we huddle. We’re backed up near our goal line and need to get out of here. I call for a simple handoff to Lupe. He never fumbles. But he loses a yard on this one.

  Cruz grabs my jersey. “Throw it,” he says. “I’ll get open.”

  I drop straight back and look for Cruz, but two defensive linemen are on top of me in a second. I dodge past them and fire a short pass over the middle. Cruz grabs it on the run and angles toward the sideline. I sprint upfield, too, hoping to throw a block.

  Two defenders crash into Cruz, and almost without thinking I yell, “Over here!” I’m in a full sprint as Cruz flips the ball to me, and suddenly I’m in the clear again. There’s no one within ten yards of me as I race full throttle until I hit pay dirt.

  That should seal it. Less than two minutes to play and we’re two scores ahead. The Flagstaff fans are dead quiet. Our guys are going nuts.

  “Nice run, Ugly!” Cruz says, smacking my helmet. “Northern champs!”

  “Not yet,” I say, dizzy and puffing. “Play defense!”

  It gets even rougher, but we don’t break. I’m still out of breath as the final seconds tick away, but I’m so excited I don’t even care. We’re Northern champions. We run off the field holding our helmets in the air.

  * * *

  12:30 A.M.

  The stadium went all quiet after the final gun sounded, and I thought somebody had been shot. First time I thought that in all the time I’ve been playing. And I closed my eyes, hoping Coach was still alive. They still won’t let anyone see him except his wife. Cruz says that means he’s going to die, but Coach nearly died a few times before in combat and made it through. Worst thing about it is, he’s in Cottonville, since the miners’ hospital isn’t equipped for operations anymore. But I can’t imagine him missing the championship game. Looks like we’ll be playing Phoenix.

  The bus ride home’s been quiet. Mostly the guys are sunk into their letterman jackets, dozing off in the seats and looking pretty beat up. Rudy’s near the front by himself, making conversation with Wallinger, who’s driving with a stupid-ass grin on his face, like he’s the new coach or something. They should’ve suspended Rudy for what he did to Coach, but they said it was an accident and we only have twelve players left on the team.

  I look over at Cruz, who’s sitting in the row ahead of me staring out the window. But it’s dark and you can’t make things out, especially through the frosty parts of the glass. We’re too deep in the mountains to see any stars.

  “One more win,” I whisper to him. “And the town’ll go wild.” I know that’s what he’d want me to say, so I say it, trying to get back to how things were before that practice, and maybe even before Rabbit left.

  “Do what you did tonight, and we could beat Phoenix right now,” Cruz says. He can barely see through the eye that’s puffed up blue. “Then my father could be there.” Cruz makes an effort to smile, pounding his bloody knuckles together. “His shift starts the day after next, so the whole family’s leaving for Ajo tomorrow. Except me and Manny. Guess I’ll go when I graduate,” he whispers. “Unless things change.”

  “So, just you guys and Angie are staying?” I ask.

  “Uh-uh. Just Manny and me for now. Angie’s going, too.”

  Angie … leaving? This bus is going too slow. If I could, I’d jump out the window, sprint all the way home, and find her.

  “Hey,” Lupe says. “Look at all the candles.” The rest of the guys come over to our side of the bus and Cruz clears a circle on the window, then points to our mountain. Hundreds of lights, flickering red and orange, are sprinkled across the Barrio.

  “They’re doing everything they can to make Coach live,” Cruz says. He and Lupe make the sign of the cross, pressing their fingers against their lips.

  She never told me she was leaving. I was counting on her staying. And I don’t want to think about what’s left for me after Angie’s gone. I look out the window at the candles and hope that Coach will make it. But a part of me feels like it’s me who’s already dying.

  * * *

  1:05 A.M.

  Cruz said Angie’s working the graveyard shift at the Exchange, so I go to the booth across the street and dial the operator as soon as the bus pulls out and the rest of the guys have headed home.

  “How may I direct your call?” Angie says.

  I didn’t think I’d get her straightaway. I thought for sure it would be Mrs. Rodriguez. “Nowhere,” I mumble, hesitating. “I mean, not to somebody else. To you.”

  “Who’s this?”


  “It’s Red.”

  There’s a pause, and I get this panicky feeling like she might hang up on me.

  “And you don’t want to call anybody?” Angie says.

  “I’m calling you.”

  “Red, have you been drinking?”

  “No.”

  “And this isn’t some sort of dare?”

  “Course not. I’m in the phone booth across the street. By myself.”

  I look up at the window and Cuca Hernandez’s face is pressed against it. Angie’s right behind with her headpiece on, all flustered because she’s trying to open the window, only it’s locked.

  “I need to direct the call,” Angie hollers at me after getting the window up. “It can’t just stay here. It has to go somewhere else.”

  “How about here?” I quit talking into the receiver and open the booth door. “I could hang up,” I yell over to her, “and you can call me right here.”

  Cuca sticks her head out the window. “Hey, Red,” she yells. “Nice going! Heard you beat Flag. But don’t stop there. Maybe we’ll get that state championship yet. Won’t Phoenix fall over!”

  “We won,” I tell Angie, trying to make her smile.

  “Is that what you called me up for? To tell me you won? Don’t you think I know that? It’s all the Valley’s talking about on every line.”

  “ ’Cept you.”

  “Uh-oh,” Cuca says, dipping her head back in.

  “When were you gonna tell me, Angie?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you’re leaving.”

  “Red, we shouldn’t be talking like this.”

  “You’re right.” I hang up the phone, climb those stairs to the Hatley Exchange, and knock on the door.

  “It’s him,” I can hear Cuca saying. “Better get that, Angie. I know it’s not for me.”

  “I can’t talk now,” Angie says, opening the door a crack. “I’m working.”

  “Don’t you get a break or something?”

  “I already took it.”

  “I’ll cover for you,” Cuca says, opening the door wider. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  I follow Angie down the stairwell and through the alleyway onto Main, feeling like there’s a million miles between us and I don’t know why. When we get to the pool, I open the gate and Angie looks back, surprised that I’m going in there.

  “Come on,” I tell her. The pool’s still filled—they won’t drain it until Armistice Day—and I lean against the ladder to the high diving board, trying not to look into her eyes or I’ll start fumbling, forgetting what I came to say. “What were you gonna do, just leave without saying goodbye?”

  Angie starts biting her lip. “I was going to tell you,” she says, folding her arms.

  “Oh yeah? When? You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I thought you’d be happy for me. At least, I won’t be in Hatley anymore, stuck in the Barrio. Any place is better than here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Red, wait for you until they say it’s okay for us to be together? I don’t want to sneak into the movie theater, and it’s too cold to swim in the Verde.”

  “We’re at the pool right now, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, and it’s past midnight. Nobody can see us.”

  “I can change that. Hey, everybody! Look! I’m with Angie!”

  “Shhh,” she whispers, tugging at my arm. “I nearly got fired when Mrs. Rodriguez saw me looking at you at the fiesta. Now she can’t decide if she’ll give me a reference.”

  “I don’t care, Angie.” I reach for her chin, but she turns away and I can’t see those eyes. “Come on, can’t you stay until the championship game?”

  She shakes her head. “Papá’s shift starts Monday. You’ll just have to win without me.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Angie finally turns to me and her lips start quivering. “We can’t always get everything we want, can we?” she says. “I’ll be in Ajo. Besides, two years is a long time to wait.”

  “A heart doesn’t go changing all of a sudden and falling for someone else,” I tell her.

  “Who says I’ve fallen in the first place?”

  I have to take a seat on the low diving board after that one; the wind’s knocked out of me, and it feels worse than a punch in the gut.

  Angie sits on my lap, stroking my hair like you would a puppy dog stung by a scolding. “At least, I’ll never be a Wolf,” she says, kissing my ear.

  If it meant her staying, I sure wouldn’t mind.

  “It hurts too much,” she whispers, “when you know you can’t have what you want and even if you could you still can’t. Not really. They’d make it so it wouldn’t be right, somehow.”

  “If we really believed that was true, then we’d never even be here—me and you—and there wouldn’t be a championship game on our field next week.”

  “And what happens after that, Red? What will you do?”

  Wait for you is what I want to say. I’d wait a hundred years for her and even then I’d float above her somewhere—and wait some more. But the fact is I don’t even know if Angie wants me.

  “I have to get back,” she says, rushing out the gate.

  And I let her.

  I lean back against the diving board and just lie there, looking at the stars, feeling dazed, until the old velvet box slips out of my jacket. The one with Maw’s pearls in it that I’ve been carrying for a while, and I wish I could give them to Angie. It’s getting awful crowded in my head and I don’t want to think anymore. I guess I don’t feel much like looking past winning either, if losing her hurts this much.

  WEEKEND EDITION

  BREAKING NEWS: Muckers Upset Flag to Win Northern Crown.

  Going for State Title. O’Sullivan hero of the game. Full story in next edition.

  Weekly Roundup: Cases Give Sheriff Busy Week

  “This was the busiest week I’ve had since I’ve been in office,” Hatley Sheriff Web Doddy said. Cases brought before him ranged from rape to a shooting.

  —On a charge of rape, Len Harper of Hatley was bound over to superior court. The act was said to have been committed Friday night near the path up from the Gulch. The young Cottonville woman, unmarried, claimed she was forcefully taken into the mesquite brush.

  —Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Pratty received treatment for gunshot wounds after their neighbor, Dell Bruzzi, allegedly fired the shots. Bruzzi is being held in the county jail. Returning from a Bisbee trip, the Prattys found jewelry missing. Going next door, Mrs. Pratty accused Bruzzi’s young daughter of taking it. Bruzzi warned Mr. Pratty not to come into the yard, which he did, and shots were fired, though Pratty’s gun did not leave its holster. Bruzzi, who was a conductor at Eureka Copper’s depot but not offered a transfer, was found hiding in the Gulch by Sheriff Doddy. No jewelry was located in the Bruzzi home.

  —Mine superintendent Harold “Wimpy” Elton posted a $500 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the persons responsible for siphoning gasoline from Eureka Copper company vehicles. Sabotage with intent to cause a fatal accident was also indicated when sugar was found in gasoline left in a masher tank.

  * * *

  Monday, October 16, 1950

  Dear Red,

  Bet you’d never believe I’d be in Korea by now. Well here I am. They put me in a mortar company when they heard about me being from Hatley and all that dynamite we use to blow up the mine. I didn’t exactly tell them I came straight from school. There’s plenty of guys younger than me in this outfit and a Korean orphan boy who just won’t leave us.

  There’s mountains everywhere. We’re hiding out in them. When I first saw them it reminded me of Hatley and they’ve got the mud too. I changed my mind. It’s gotten so cold you can barely think and there’s only two pair of socks between Leo and me. Plus the pair he just found. Leo’s from Louisiana so he’s even colder. He’s a Negro. Must be seven feet tall, I swear and real polite, offering to put
the wet socks against his skin to dry overnight. I know where he got them. Off a dead soldier. But the Commie gooks stole the army boots and the socks looked big enough for Leo and were dry with no holes in them or anything. That’s what they call the enemy out here. Commie gooks. They attack at night too, blowing horns and making more noise than Crazy Zolnich does when he goes after the drunks.

  You beat Cottonville yet? Tell Coach Hansen I’ll write about it when I get home. Guess who’s lighter I’m using. You have to smoke just to keep your fingers warm enough to fire.

  Yours truly,

  Pvt. Salvatore G. Palermo

  Chapter 23

  CHURCH MONEY

  TUESDAY, OCTOBER 17

  6:11 P.M.

  THE LATE-DAY SUN CAN BARELY cut through the stained-glass windows in the rectory as I kneel to get out the envelope from my gym bag, watching the trail of dirt from my cleats cake onto the carpet. Mrs. Robinson ended up buying Maw’s pearls for the jewelry store, so now I can pay for the pew. There’s no way Father’s taking Bobby’s nameplate away from us.

  I didn’t expect anyone else to be here, but there’s a younger priest sitting beside Father Pierre in the front pew. I keep kneeling and listen to what he’s saying.

  “I’m afraid there won’t be any money allotted for the leaky roof,” he says. “Not with the mine closing. As difficult as it is, Father, you have to accept that this town is dying.”

  “You’re wrong!” Father says in a harsh tone. “The people in Hatley depend on this church. That’s more important than any mine.”

  “I’m sorry, Father. But with so many parishioners leaving, the diocese has to consider how long the parish should remain open.”

  I start coughing and they look my way.

  “I brought the money for the pew,” I tell Father Pierre. But he’s distracted. “Leave it by the statue of Mother Mary, where it will be blessed,” he says. Then he looks at my uniform and frowns. “You’re still playing without a coach? What for?”