Beaufrey had looked at Serlo sharply, but Serlo had been refilling the fountain pen and pretended not to see. Serlo didn’t care if David found out; the David game was about played out. Serlo was sick of Beaufrey’s pretending to console David. Beaufrey brought out more cocaine and offered it first to David before he passed it to Serlo.
RAPTURE OF THE PLAIN
DAVID HAD BEEN pleased at how sharp Beaufrey’s glance at Serlo had been. The excitement of having so much of Beaufrey’s attention and concern had made even the painful loss of the infant recede naturally into the distance. With Beaufrey in love with him, even that loss seemed bearable. David had been surprised at Beaufrey’s sudden change of heart just when David had feared everything might be over between them. He did not want to upset Beaufrey any further. He did not press Beaufrey for details. Beaufrey said only the child had died in Tucson of natural causes. Whores such as Seese produced defective offspring; nature’s way was best; only the fittest survived. David felt strangely relieved now that Beaufrey had confirmed the worst. There was nothing more David could do for the dead child. If he ever saw Seese again, David vowed to kill her.
Beaufrey’s games ended when he wanted them to, and not until then. Serlo refused to be suckered into a shouting match by Beaufrey. They fucked while Serlo rode horseback alone. They rode horseback for hours together while Serlo supervised the ground-breaking for the institute facilities. Serlo had spoken to Beaufrey once, even twice, each day by phone while Beaufrey had been in Bogotá; now they slept under the same roof but did not speak to one another, sometimes for days. Beaufrey was soft, Beaufrey was a slave to urges and desires of the flesh. Beaufrey confided that the secret had greatly increased his sexual desire for David. Beaufrey really got hot because David had never even suspected what had happened to the infant: something terrible. Nothing got Beaufrey hotter than pumping away at an unsuspecting asshole such as David; ignorant of everything.
Time was getting short; unrest was spreading across the Americas; Serlo and Beaufrey had both lost ancestors to the guillotine. Epidemics, accompanied by famine, had triggered unrest. Mass migrations to the North, to the U.S. border, by starving Indians had already begun in Mexico. Serlo and the others with the “hidden agenda” had only a few more years to prepare before the world was lost to chaos. Brown people would inherit the earth like the cockroaches unless Serlo and the others were successful at the institute. Dedicated to the preservation of the purity of noble blood, the facilities would provide genetically superior semen.
Serlo blamed the United States for the crisis in the hemisphere because the U.S. CIA had encouraged government authorities, the worst criminals, to smuggle cocaine for them. Very soon the others had learned the fabulous profits that could be made, and the U.S. CIA had fierce competition in the cocaine trade from mestizos and Indians. Serlo had seen the black men and the brown men with semiautomatic carbines they had bought with the profits of the trade. Serlo had seen a message in the eyes of these people: guns make us equal, white motherfucker.
Enemies of the United States had actually tried to cut off the supply of heroin to the United States near the end of the Vietnam War. During the summer of the disruption of heroin supplies, dozens of U.S. cities had burned night after night. Without cocaine and heroin, the U.S. faced a nightmare as young black and brown people took to the streets to light up white neighborhoods, not crack pipes. Secret U.S. policy was to protect the supply of cocaine. Without cocaine, the U.S. would face riots, looting, even civil war. The downfall of the United States had been those civil rights laws passed after the Korean War.
Serlo seldom joined them horseback riding since Beaufrey had returned from Bogotá. David spotted Serlo approaching rapidly on his black hunter-jumper across a grassy, dry lake-bed; he had not seen Serlo ride a horse so fast before. Beaufrey had reined in his horse when he saw Serlo. David was intrigued because Beaufrey acted genuinely surprised, as if he had not expected to see Serlo. Beaufrey had always denied Serlo was jealous, but David knew better.
The sorrel mare tossed her head and opened her mouth wide to escape the bit. Beaufrey was critical of David’s lack of control of the mare. Whenever Beaufrey felt out of sorts, he liked to criticize David’s “seat,” and the atrocious position of the reins in his hands. This bitching at David was meant to cheer up Serlo. David dug his heels into the mare’s ribs and pulled her around sharply as she leaped into a gallop in a tight, clockwise circle around them. Beaufrey was worried about David’s control; well, let him watch this! Serlo saw David’s horse break away from Beaufrey’s mount, but instead of riding in the direction Beaufrey had gone, Serlo had turned his horse to follow David.
David had turned hard in the saddle to try to see Beaufrey’s reaction, but the little mare seemed to accelerate even as David struggled to rein her into a circle. Then he could see Beaufrey was galloping after Serlo. David felt a big smile on his face. How romantic and dramatic! The thrill of the chase across the grass and through the scrubby trees across dry lakes had overcome David. He could feel the little Thoroughbred did not want to stop; the farther she ran, the faster she ran. The speed whipped tears in his eyes as he fought to pull the mare’s head around; he would let her run in a big circle until she was exhausted. To otherwise stop or control the horse was hopeless. Serlo had kept shouting at David, but the excitement of a chase was too keen to halt. David glanced over his shoulder and saw Beaufrey’s horse stumble and nearly go down. Neither Beaufrey nor Serlo dared race as fast as David had over the grassy plain.
The sorrel mare had gradually slowed as she tired; David pulled her to a stop. Sweat dripped from her neck and legs. David had dismounted and was walking the horse when Serlo rode up. David heard Serlo’s words, but had difficulty making any sense of what Serlo said. David had stopped to allow the mare to rub her sweaty head and ears against David’s shoulder. He looked up at Serlo on the lathered hunter-jumper. What was Serlo’s news that simply could not wait?
But Serlo had said nothing; instead he had handed David an eight-by-ten manila envelope. To see was to believe. David stared at proof sheets of 35mm color negative strips; most of the proof images had been almost too small to see without a magnifying lens, but a cold chill and then sweat had made the hairs on David’s neck stand up. Beaufrey rode up while David was still holding the proof sheets in both hands helplessly. Beaufrey did not answer when David asked him if what Serlo had said was true. David kept his eyes on Beaufrey’s eyes as he deliberately trampled the proof sheets under his boots, then remounted the mare.
David refused to let Serlo or Beaufrey, but especially Serlo, play any more mind-fuck games with him. Serlo had tried all along to drive David away from Beaufrey. David did not doubt that Beaufrey had videotapes and enlarged color photographs of autopsies and organ harvests of Caucasian infants. David simply refused to believe the tiny cadaver in the images was that of his infant son, Monte. That simply was not possible because the cadaver had been considerably larger than his baby.
Beaufrey hated surprises such as the one Serlo had just sprung. Beaufrey had been furious, but he pretended the photographs were only Serlo’s sick joke. Of course the photographs were off the black market; it had been a bad joke. Beaufrey’s lips gradually drew back in a sly smile; he winked at David and shrugged his shoulders. Serlo was Serlo. Only the greatest passions drove men to deeds such as these. Serlo had only pretended cool detachment. Serlo was a man of great passion. But David would not be outdone. The sorrel mare’s coat was still damp from the previous run, and she trembled with anticipation; David held the reins tight and the horse stepped backward nervously. David had not ridden so far onto the llano before; off in the distance, a great open plain dropped away from the scrubby trees and ran forever to the horizon. A light breeze swept across the llano.
David wanted to reassure Beaufrey that he did not believe the lies Serlo had told. Serlo must have lost his mind completely to accuse Beaufrey of something so gruesome. David blamed the stupid institute for Serlo’s delus
ions and accusations. Nazi-thinking caused mental illness. David did not care if Serlo heard what he said to Beaufrey. David had never trusted Serlo. Beaufrey should be careful. Serlo considered himself heterosexual; he might turn against his friends and lovers any day. Beaufrey should remember Hitler’s solution for homosexuals.
David guided the little mare into a slow canter, keeping the mare’s head tucked under the arch of her neck. For weeks David had ridden the mare to practice control. He had practiced to please Beaufrey, but also to prove to himself he could control the mare. Sports and games were always about control; control was everything. One person wanted to control the other. Dope or sex, it was all about control, and the slave, the one who served and obeyed. Seese had taught David that; she had asked David to fuck her while he was shooting her up. He had hated her for wanting that, and he had wanted to hurt her, to miss the vein. But his cock had got hard and curved up to his belly just as he got the needle in the vein; warm and white he fed it to her in steady streams and spurts.
The sorrel mare heard the hoofbeats of Serlo’s and Beaufrey’s horses behind and raced faster over the plain until the scrubby trees and yellowing grass were blurred from the mare’s speed. His arms ached from fighting the mare. He hated the fever of the mare’s need to run. He hated Beaufrey’s gibe that the rider must “husband” his horse. As the ranch hands said, the mare suffered from the rapture of the llano, the rapture of space and endless horizons.
David had tried. What more could a man do? He rejected that responsibility bullshit. If the horse wanted to run, let it run. The little Thoroughbred had fought to break loose for miles, and David was beginning to tire. If the horse wanted to run, let it run. Serlo and Beaufrey were far behind. The mare would slow as she began to tire.
David felt a great sense of relief and freedom as he let the reins go slack. He crouched low over the neck and clutched mane and reins in both hands. For an instant the little Thoroughbred hesitated, then she bolted forward, hooves scarcely touching the earth, her sinew and muscle cracking as she raced over the plain toward the horizon’s pale blue. “You want to run? Then run! Run goddamn you! Run!” David had screamed, but the speed of the mare swept the words from his mouth almost before he could make their sounds. Let Beaufrey try to forget this! Truly he had the sensation he was flying. The faster the horse ran, the smoother the ride. He wanted Beaufrey to see how fast the little sorrel could run so Beaufrey would agree to sponsor the horse next season in Caracas. None were as surefooted as this mare! None had her guts, her heart! She leaped the grass clumps, brush, and gullies of the llanos like a deer; she never missed a beat across rocky terrain. The mare’s balance and surefootedness were phenomenal. David had left Beaufrey and Serlo miles behind on their thick, slow dressage horses.
When the ranch hands came, one of the grooms examined the tracks and the position of the fallen horse. The sorrel mare had run until her heart stopped in midstride and she had dropped like a rock. David had not been thrown free, but had become entangled with the falling horse so that Beaufrey and Serlo had had to drag the dead horse by the tail and bridle reins to roll it over to free David’s battered corpse. Serlo watched Beaufrey’s face for signs of regret, but Beaufrey was grinning. He had sent a ranch hand to bring his camera. They rode a short distance to some scrubby trees to escape the flies that swarmed over David’s corpse and the horse carcass. The late-afternoon light gave the entire llano a violet-blue-green color. A refreshing breeze stirred while they waited for the camera.
David was worth more dead than he had been worth alive. The Eric series would appreciate in value, and even pictures of David’s corpse would bring good prices. Beaufrey knew Serlo disapproved of selling these photographs; but here was what gave free-world trade the edge over all other systems: no sentimentality. Every ounce of value, everything worth anything, was stripped away for sale, regardless; no mercy. Serlo and his associates feared the rabble were about to seize control of the world, but Beaufrey knew the masses in the United States and England were too stupid to turn on their masters; all slaves dreamed of becoming masters more cruel than their own masters. Serlo and the others had to realize the best policy was to allow the rabble their parliaments, congresses, and assemblies; because the masses were soothed and reassured by these simulations of “democracy.” Meanwhile, governments followed secret agendas unhindered by citizens.
Serlo and the others were alarmists. Socialism would never be a threat because it was too soft on the weak and unproductive. Capitalism stayed ahead because it was ruthless, Beaufrey said after he had finished the roll of film. They left the ranch hands to bury David. Carrion birds were welcome to the horse.
PART FIVE
THE FIFTH WORLD
BOOK ONE
THE FOES
FROM THE ANCIENT ALMANAC
LECHA COULD READ the old notebooks and scraps of newspaper clippings for hours and forget all about the pain. The first time Lecha opened the notebooks, she had recognized here was the real thing. Despite all of Yoeme’s lying and boasting, the “almanac” was truly a great legacy. Yoeme and others believed the almanac had living power within it, a power that would bring all the tribal people of the Americas together to retake the land.
For hundreds of years, guardians of the almanac notebooks had made clumsy attempts to repair torn pages. Some sections had been splashed with wine, others with water or blood. Only fragments of the original pages remained, carefully placed between blank pages; those of ancient paper had yellowed, but the red and black painted glyphs had still been clear. The outline of the giant plumed serpent could be made out in pale blue on the largest fragment. The pages of ancient paper had been found between the pages of horse-gut parchment carried by the fugitive Indian slaves who had fled north to escape European slavery.
Lecha speculated that some keepers of the old almanac had been illiterate, but had not bothered to hire someone to read the pages for them. If they had any curiosity about the writing, then their fear, which was greater, had prevailed. What they had feared were the spirits described in the writing and the glyphs on the pages. There was evidence that substantial portions of the original manuscript had been lost or condensed into odd narratives which operated like codes.
The great deal of what had accumulated with the almanac fragments had been debris gathered here and there by aged keepers of the almanac after they had gone crazy. A few of the keepers had fallen victim to delusions of various sorts. Here and there were scribbles and scratches. Lecha found pages where old Yoeme had scribbled arguments in margins with the remarks and vulgar humor Lecha and Zeta had enjoyed so many times with their grandmother.
Whole sections had been stolen from other books and from the proliferation of “farmer’s almanacs” published by patent-drug companies and medicine shows that gave away the almanacs as advertisements. Not even the parchment pages or fragments of ancient paper could be trusted; they might have been clever forgeries, recopied, drawn, and colored painstakingly.
Europeans called it coincidence, but the almanacs had prophesied the appearance of Cortés to the day. All Native American tribes had similar prophecies about the appearance, conflict with, and eventual disappearance of things European. The almanacs had warned the people hundreds of years before the Europeans arrived. The people living in large towns were told to scatter, to disperse to make the murderous work of the invaders more difficult. Without the almanacs, the people would not be able to recognize the days and months yet to come, days and months that would see the people retake the land.
Yoeme alleged the Aztecs ignored the prophecies and warnings about the approach of the Europeans because Montezuma and his allies had been sorcerers who had called or even invented the European invaders with their sorcery. Those who worshiped destruction and blood secretly knew one another. Hundreds of years earlier, the people who hated sorcery and bloodshed had fled north to escape the cataclysm prophecied when the “blood worshipers” of Europe met the “blood worshipers” of the Americas. Montez
uma and Cortés had been meant for one another. Yoeme always said sorcery had been the undoing of people here, and everywhere in the world.
Fragments from the Ancient Notebooks
The Month was created first, before the World. Then the Month began to walk himself, and his grandmothers and aunt and his sister-in-law said, “What do we say when we see a man in the road?” There were no humans yet so they discussed what they would say as they walked along. They found footprints when they arrived in the East. “Who passed by here? Look at these footprints. Measure them with your foot.” The Mother Creator said this to the Month, who measured the footprint. The footprint belonged to Lord God. That was the beginning for Month because he had to measure the whole World by walking it off day by day. Month made sure his feet were even before he began the count. Month spoke Day’s name when Day had no name. So the Month was created, then the Day, as it was called, was created, and the rain’s stairway to Earth—the rocks and the trees—all creatures of the sea and land were created.
The Almanac of the Dead: A Novel Page 67