Bandit Queen

by Jane Candia Coleman

  I squirmed against him, heard him laugh low in his throat. My arms were still pinned behind me, but my legs and feet were free. I lifted a foot and brought my sharp heel down on his toes once, twice, with all my strength. Then I kicked him in the shins.

  Startled, he took his hand away from my face, and I screamed as loud as I could. He slapped my face, splitting my lip, and dragged me further back into the dark. He was panting like an animal and mumbling to himself, words I barely heard and didn’t want to understand.

  Then came the click of a pistol being cocked. “Let her go.” The voice came from the entrance to the alley.

  Simmons held me in front as a shield. “You want me, you’ll have to shoot her,” he said. “Or you can wait till I cut up this pretty face.”

  As he spoke, I felt the cold prick of a knife by my cheek. He would do it. I knew that as surely as I knew that, since he was now holding my wrists with only one hand, I had the slightest of chances. I stopped struggling and forced myself to relax, waiting for his grip to lessen. When it did, I said: “Don’t cut me. Please.”

  “Tell your friend over there to back off,” came the answer.

  Without warning, I wrenched myself to the left, away from the knife and, almost, out of his grasp, giving my rescuer a clear shot.

  But Simmons was quick. He shoved me toward the other man and took off into the dark warren of the gulch.

  “Pearl. Are you all right?”

  I shook my head to clear it. Surely I knew that voice. Surely I was dreaming. I said, “Cal?” tentatively.

  He put an arm around my waist, and I saw his face and the blue eyes I remembered. “Let’s get you home.”

  Home. I had no home. I started to laugh, a chuckle at first and then a surging that shook my whole body. Home. Simmons. Cal. The nerve-wracking business of standing on a stage like a freak in a sideshow. My life was like one of the novels I’d read so eagerly as a girl, except there was never an end, it went on and on, each chapter worse than the one before.

  He pocketed his pistol and put both arms around me. “Don’t cry,” he said softly. “You’re safe now.”

  But I knew I wasn’t. Simmons was out there in the dark, waiting his chance. He’d find me again, maim me, kill me, have me sent back to live out my time in that cell.

  I said: “I thought you were dead.”

  “Not a chance.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a handkerchief to wipe my face. “But I thought you were. When you didn’t answer my letters, I was sure something had happened.”

  “Something did.” I swallowed another hysterical chuckle and leaned against him, storing up the feel of his body, its warmth, its masculine strength.

  “I wish I’d known,” he said. “I wouldn’t have let you take such a risk.”

  “Well,” I said, “you just saved me, and I can’t thank you enough. How did you get here, anyhow?”

  He took my arm and led me toward the lights of the Gulch. “I’ve been working in Cananea and came up for supplies. The first thing I saw was that poster, and I bought myself a ticket for the show. Luckily I came back to find you.

  Who was that guy?”

  “A prison guard.”

  He looked down at me, concern shadowing his eyes. “Do you want to file charges?”

  That would mean going to the law and revealing the fact that I was still in Arizona. I shook my head. “No. I just want to leave the territory. Have to, or they’ll send me back. That was a part of my parole. They’ll send all of us, and I can’t go back. I won’t!” I was trembling from shock and the memory of prison.

  “You won’t have to,” he said. “I have an idea. But let’s get you back to the hotel, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “There’s Rosa and Tally, too. I can’t leave them. At least not Tally. She’s got no place to go.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “She was in prison with me. We all helped each other, like a family.”

  He listened calmly, the kind of man to whom nothing came as a surprise. Then he said: “There’s no reason you all can’t come to Cananea, is there?”

  Chapter Forty-one

  “This man, he loves you.”

  We were at the station in Naco, waiting for Dan and Cal to come with our tickets, and Rosa was embroidering her favorite fantasy. But any chance of love between Cal and me had vanished in prison.

  “Don’t,” I said, and turned away.

  “Don’t what? He finds you, saves you, and now takes all of us out of this hell, and you tell me don’t! I tell you, marry him. Give your niños, all of them, a father and yourself a new name. Who will know in a year, in five years, who you were? No one.”

  “I’ll know.”

  She snorted. “Forgetting is easy when you have a place to live and food in your belly. All over this country are women good at forgetting. Women who got themselves a husband, and never mind that they were whores first.”

  “I had a husband,” I reminded her. “And, anyway, Cal hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

  “He will,” she prophesied. “And you will say yes, because you’ll never find another like this one.”

  Talking to Rosa, listening to her unswayable logic, was like facing a swarm of bees. I lifted my hands to put them over my ears and saw, as I did, the bruises on my wrists. For a moment I went dizzy. I might have been killed, left with my face in tatters. That was the fate of a woman alone. That and an old age peopled by ghosts.

  “No more. You’ve said enough,” I told her, and turned as Cal and Dan came toward us.

  Cal was smiling that somehow shy half-smile that had touched me years before, and his eyes were as blue as a summer lake. As if in recognition, the child moved again, a gentle motion different from the night before, a turning, like a sigh.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I let him lead me toward the train without answering, then sat, looking out the window as we left the station on our way to Mexico. At first, he didn’t notice my silence but talked as if to make up for all those undelivered letters, as if he could blot out the empty years with words and a history lesson. I let him go on, touched by his attention.

  “They say Coronado came through this valley, looking for gold and the Seven Cities of Cibola. It must have been something to see. All those men in armor on horseback, all the carts and burros and flocks of sheep to feed his army.”

  “Did he find it? The gold?” I asked, interested in spite of myself.

  “Not as much as he expected. Funny that now the copper mines are making more money than he ever dreamed of. Mexico is a rich country, if a man lives long enough to discover the wealth.”

  That startled me. “Will we be safe in Cananea?”

  He took my hand and smoothed a finger over the bruises. “I’ll make sure of that. And I doubt Simmons will follow you there.”

  “I’ll be watching over my shoulder.”

  “Why you?” he asked. “Why was he after you and not Tally or Rosa?”

  I wanted to tell him, to be free of secrets, lies, misunderstandings, but all I said was: “He’s crazy. He hated me from the first, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

  “I see,” he said, but he didn’t. He’d never been in prison, never been helpless, and at the mercy of another.

  “It was hell,” I said.

  His hand tightened over mine. “You’re a courageous woman.” “Desperate,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  “Not the way I see it.”

  “There’s some who’d argue with you.” I turned away to watch the land blurring into daubs of color—tawny grass, the dark green of juniper and oak, and always the mountains pushing against the sky.

  How strange it was that twice in my life I would be fleeing for safety down the same valley that had been traveled by Coronado. Everything, it seemed, was all of a piece, a giant tapestry woven together with people meeting, parting, meeting again as if pulled by a common thread. I closed my eyes as much to shut out thought
as for need of sleep, and felt him move away, respecting that need.

  “I’ll wake you when we get there,” he said, his breath warm on my cheek. And then, so low I almost didn’t hear, “Sleep well, my dear.”

  Oddly enough, I did.

  We got settled in the Sonora Hotel, and Dan went off to scout a place for a performance. Rosa and Tally wanted to gossip about Cal, but I was tired and depressed. The hotel was bleak, the town a typical raw mining town, ugly and totally lacking refinement. Although I was grateful to have been rescued, it seemed I had also been abandoned, and for no reason other than my notoriety. Cal was staying up on the hill where the mine owners lived, while I had been left behind, the criminal turned showgirl. So much for the hopes of my companions!

  I lay down on the bed without even taking off my shoes. “Let me alone. I want to sleep.”

  Tally pulled a cover over me. “You do it. Rosa and me’ll go out and see what this town is all about.”

  They hadn’t been gone ten minutes before I was awakened by a knock on the door.

  “I’ve come to take you to dinner.”

  Cal stood there, dressed in a dark suit and tie, looking very much a man of the world.

  What harm? I asked myself. The evening would be another treasure to add to my memories. But, as it turned out, that innocent acceptance was the keystone of my future.

  He took me to a Mexican cantina, adobewalled and warmed by a fire that flickered in a stone fireplace. The heat was welcome, for the night was cold, and he apologized as he seated me in a chair beside the hearth.

  “Cananea doesn’t really have a good restaurant. If it did, we’d be there. But this is an interesting place, and I hope you like it.”

  “I do,” I said, looking around with pleasure at the tiled floor, the tinframed mirrors on the walls that reflected the firelight. “This is lovely.”

  “Because you’re here, it is.” He smiled that quirky smile.

  “Please,” I said, remembering Rosa’s words and hoping to stop the inevitable.

  “I was only saying what I thought,” came his response. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s just…” I hesitated. “I’m not used to flattery. In prison I got used to the opposite.”

  “Flattery is one thing. The truth is another.” He leaned his chin on his hands and gave me a level look. “I remembered how you sang that night in Globe the whole time I was gone. And I promised myself that I’d find you again. You’re a lovely woman and good company. That day we spent together gave me more pleasure than I’ve ever had. You were so happy. I’d like to see you like that all the time. But what I want to know is what you’re going to do. You can’t really want to spend the rest of your life on the stage or hiding from Simmons.”

  I sat back and looked at my hands clenched in my lap. “As soon as I have the money, I’m going home,” I lied. “It shouldn’t be long. You saw the crowds in Bisbee.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I’ll live the rest of my life in peace. I’ve earned it.”

  He nodded in agreement. Then he asked: “Is there anyone waiting for you? Anybody special?”

  Ah, Cal! So obvious. So honest. While out of necessity I had to be devious.

  “No,” I said. “There’s nobody. I’ll never marry again,” and wished I could erase the years.

  “Marry me,” he said, unfazed by my determination. “Say yes, Pearl.”

  “I…I can’t!” The words burst out. “Please don’t ask me, because I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Of course, he wanted an explanation. I cast around in my mind for something believable. “I’ve been in prison. I’m a criminal. A bad woman. You don’t want to be saddled with a wife like me. I won’t let you be. You deserve better.”

  He reached across the table and took my hand. “I know why you did what you did, and it’s over and done with. Nobody else has to know. You’ll be Pearl Jameson. My wife. That’s all. And you can bring your children out. I’ll be good to them and to you. You know that. At least, I hope you do.”

  I pulled away. “It’s out of the question. But I thank you with all my heart.”

  Any other man would have accepted that statement, but Cal wasn’t just any man. He was himself and determined. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Something is, but I can’t help you unless I know.”

  When he heard, he’d hate me, and I’d be finished with the whole nasty performance. I spoke around a pain in my throat that nearly choked me and told the entire story, leaving nothing out. It was as if I were seeing it for the first time, reliving the utter humiliation, the brutality. When I was through, I buried my face in my hands, refusing to look and see my shame reflected in his eyes.

  He was silent a long time. When he spoke, it was in a tone I hadn’t expected, serious and deadly. “I should have killed him. And I will if I ever see him again.”

  “No!” I dropped my hands and read the determination on his face, in the set of his shoulders. “No! There’s been enough violence. Leave it. Forget it. I’m sorry I told you. I’m sorry I ever was born. There’s a curse on me and on everybody around me, so leave me alone. Let me go.”

  “It’s not that simple when you love someone,” he said.

  “If you trust love, you’re a fool.” Bitter words but necessary, and, worse, I believed them.

  “Then I am, and you’re stuck with me. You can’t help what happened with Simmons, but you can help what happens from here. I love you, I want to take care of you, and I will, whether you want to be pigheaded about it or not.” And then he smiled, and his eyes turned to blue fire, and the wall I’d built so carefully around myself began to crumble.

  “You’re the one who’s pigheaded,” I snapped, desperate. “You don’t know anything about who I am or what I’ve done. You’re in love with some person who isn’t there.”

  “I know you’re tough, inde pendent, and a damn’ fool,” he said, raising a hand to summon a waiter. “All of which I respect and admire. And now let’s eat and decide where the wedding is going to be.”

  He hadn’t even kissed me, had hardly touched me, and we’d known each other for a total of three days. How could he be so certain? How could I? But, in the heart that was beating so wildly behind its crumbling wall, I knew.

  Chapter Forty-two

  It sounds romantic—like the happy ending to a novel with its twists and turns, villains and heroes. But, as the saying goes, “Truth is stranger than fiction,” and the story of my life certainly proves that.

  Cal was a man with his mind made up. If I hadn’t agreed, he’d have dragged me to the altar, and he’d have had plenty of help. Rosa and Tally were ecstatic when they heard. Dan was horrified.

  “But the show!” he blurted. “What’ll we do about the show?”

  “Stop thinking about yourself,” I said, irritated. “The hell with the show. I’m getting married.”

  Rosa intervened with a seductive smile. “You and me will do the show. Here, in my country, they will love us.”

  “And Tally stays with me,” I said. “So that’s settled.”

  “He’d better treat you right,” Dan retorted.

  “Otherwise he’ll be sorry. You tell him I said so. And tell him I’m damn’ sick of rescuing you.”

  Once I’d thought there was something between the two of us. And there was—a loyal friendship. I patted his arm. “I think I’ve grown up. I’ll be fine.”

  “Jesus, I hope so,” came his belligerent answer, accompanied by a scowl that turned into a grin. He put his arms around me. “Be happy, and keep your nose clean.”

  Years before I’d made a vow that no man would ever lay hands on me again—a foolish utterance made in the depths of anguish. The fact that all of my children were conceived by a rape proved the impossibility of keeping such a vow. And now, here I was, married to a man of a different caliber than the others, a man whose eyes blazed with passion of a kind I’d never known. And I was terrified. Ashamed of
the swell of my belly that made me ugly in my own eyes and, I was sure, in his.

  I undressed behind a screen, pulled a shapeless nightgown over my head. It had long sleeves and a high neck and was full enough to hide my condition. But he would know. Even in the dark, he would know.

  “Please,” I said. “Put out the light.”

  He did as I asked, but the moon was full. It drenched the room with its own brilliance, a light so strong that even the curtains cast a moving shadow across the floor. I stood there in that moonlight, thinking of excuses, wanting to say it had all been a mistake, that marriage, good or bad, was not for me, and that my body, such as it was, was mine.

  And then Cal spoke. “Come to bed. You’ll freeze out there.”

  I thought of my honeymoon with Frank. How he’d kissed me, touched me until I cried out—and how soon it had all turned ugly.

  “I’m afraid.” The words were a whisper, like the sound the curtains made, moving in the wind.

  He got up then. “Don’t be. I’ll never hurt you, my love.” He cupped my face between his hands and looked down at me for the longest time before he kissed me, softly, gently, the littlest touching, like a moth wing brushing my lips.

  Did he know I’d ask for more? Did he understand the hunger in my heart, and how far I’d fallen from grace? I think he did. I think he was prepared to do nothing more than hold me through the night. But, like the Sleeping Beauty, he woke me with a kiss. I put my arms around him, felt him trembling, even as I was, with the holding back of desire, and I pulled his head down, met his mouth with my own, and drowned in the sheer joy of being honest with a man whose goodness knew no boundary.

  Chapter Forty-three

  One minute I was standing in the parlor of our rented house, and the next I was in bed holding a baby who looked at me out of a face that was a miniature copy of my own. He lay quite still in my arms, as if he knew we’d come through a long struggle together, and he’d given me the gift of an easy birth and knew it.

  “He’ll never be any trouble to you,” Tally pronounced. “Not now, not when he’s growed. This one was born old.”