by Gayl Jones
Don’t believe the government officials, and don’t believe the military people, Ray is saying. I’m thinking why we riding donkeys when they’s so many horses in the area, but Ray says it’s because he’s a sacerdote, a priest, and then we rides into a part of the park that is a reserve for wildlife. They’s birds and ocelots and Ray starts telling me how secretive ocelots is, and then he shows me some of their habitats and trails. I’m not the resident biologist, he says, but you can ask me anything about ocelots and I can tell you. First, you must know that they are very secretive creatures.
Then we rides into Texas hill country and then we goes on a river cruise, except the river cruise takes us from America to Mexico and we’re in one of them little Mexican villages. They ain’t nothing to do in this village but to go around and talk to the villagers and take their photographs, but there’s this woman named Valdez who doesn’t want her photograph to be taken, but them other villagers lets us take they photographs. We also photographs a hawk and some deer and some wild Mexican goats.
Have you ever seen wild Spanish goats? asks Ray.
I thought they was Mexican goats, I says.
Things not resolved by the imagination are resolved by reason and judgment, says Ray. You’re a valuable acquisition for the Sanctuary movement, for the new Underground Railroad. I don’t mean to say it like that.
You sound like a pamphlet, Ray. You remember when you were first trying to recruit me, you sounded like a pamphlet, Ray. Are you the absolute one?
I mean, we treasure you, Mosquito.
We photographs some white pelicans fishing and a eagle and Ray talks about the pueblo architecture and Native American influences in this little Mexico village. I tries to photograph the woman named Valdez again, but she won’t allow herself to be photographed. Ray gives her some documents and she returns with us on the Texas river cruise until we reach America. Then we rides some donkeys into Galveston. The woman named Valdez wants to see the Moody Gardens because she’s heard that it’s inside a pyramid, so we takes her to the Moody Gardens where Ray says there is thousands and thousands of species of plants and animals and gives us a guided tour, except it’s all on television, I’m watching television, I’m watching us on television on the Animal Channel, and then Ray is telling us about America and the Americas, and Ray calls it a rain forest pyramid, then I tell Ray and the woman named Valdez that I’ve got to go to Tasmania, that I want to get me a horse and I knows exactly where I can find me a tamer of Australian wild horses, though I don’t know why they’re called Australian wild horses when they should be Tasmanian wild horses. I don’t even know if he’s a tamer of wild horses.
How do you tame a wild horse? I ask.
Calling them by name is required, he answers. Calling a wild horse by name is the best method I know of taming a wild horse.
If it a wild horse, have it got a name? I asks. I’m thinking Tasmania kinda looks like the mountains of New Mexico or the brush country of South Texas. I ain’t convinced that this Tasmania. I think I hear somebody say something about the Chiapas project, the Chiapas defense.
Say what? I asks. I’m thinking about getting me a custom truck with a skylight, then I’m telling Ray I would prefer not to attend the strategy meetings. I’m a person of peculiarities, Ray, I’m saying. Then I’m in Tasmania riding donkeys ’cause I ain’t want them to tame one of them wild Tasmanian horses just for me to ride.
Love is a curative power, someone is saying.
Tasman?
Mosquito, he whisper. Sojourner.
Yeah. Who’s it? Tasman?
I’m on my sofa, curled up on one of them pillows that looks like them court jester’s hats—yellow and green and red, whatever the color of them court jester’s hats.
Say what? Raymond. This is Raymond. Who’s Tasman? This is Raymond.
What? I’m dreaming ’bout Tasmania. I’m dreaming ’bout Tasmania. I’m dreaming ’bout Tasmania. I was thinking about us and then I started dreaming about Tasmania. Or maybe I was dreaming about us and thinking about Tasman. I know I was wearing that towel of yours again, but I thought I was Erykah Baduh, you know, ’cause it wasn’t like no ordinary towel, I thought I had on one of them headdresses like I was an African queen, and I was sitting with you and you was reading your correspondences, except it was like when I was actually sitting with you and you were reading your correspondences, I mean you know, when we took the bath together, and then I was dreaming about Tasman in Tasmania.
Raymond. This is Raymond. Who’s Tasman?
Tasmania. Raymond? I’m half-sleep and half-drunk. Raymond.
What you want? I’m dreaming about Tasmania. But I’m always dreaming about you. Raymond, sacerdote, guerrero. Sagaz.
Can you drive me to el centro? I’m at the center. Can you drive me to el centro?
Center?
Community Center. El centro. I’m at the Community Center. Can you drive me to el centro? Who’s Tasman?
Drive you where you are?
El centro. I’m at the Community Center. This is Raymond.
Who’s Tasman?
El centro? That’s in California, ain’t it? Ain’t they a detention camp in el centro? You gotta free someone from that detention camp, ain’t you? I heard them talking about that detention camp at el centro. I thought you were taking that woman to Canada. That La Loba.
Guillermina?
Guillermina, who’s Guillermina?
Can you drive me to el centro? Guillermina’s in Canada, not el centro. I’m at the Community Center.
Naw, I’m half-sleep, Raymond. I been dreaming about Tasmania. You know, Tasmania. Not Tanzania. Except when we were at that cantina. I dreamed that we were at a cantina, but it was in Africa. You and me. That mighta been Tanzania. You heard about the Tasmanian devil?
Yeah. Can you drive me to el centro? Who’s Tasman?
Naw, I’m half-sleep, Raymond. Half-sleep and half-drunk. Me and Delgadina been celebrating her signing up for detective school. Yeah, detective school. Can you imagine Delgadina a detective? I can imagine Delgadina a detective. Except she ain’t call herself a detective, though, she call herself a investigative consultant or some shit. ’Cause a lot of these modern detectives they got a lot of fancy names for theyselves, you know with all the computers and shit. At one of them trade fairs they be telling you how them modern spies and detectives uses computers and shit. You know even them oceanographers they got them computers. I used to think if you a oceanographer you got to know how to scuba-dive but you don’t, ’cause a lot of them oceanographers now, they just sit at they computers and explore the ocean. They can map the whole ocean and put that ocean in them computers. Delgadina, I can imagine that Delgadina a detective. Says us women, Delgadina says us women, us mujeres oughta all learn how to kick ass. We oughta learn how to kick ass, us mujeres. Like at the Community Center. You seen them kicking ass? They be kicking ass, and then bowing to each other and shit, them Oriental bows, ’cept Delgadina say you ain’t supposed to say Oriental you supposed to say Asian. Except a lot of the modern detectives they don’t have to kick ass, just turn on they computer and do they detective work, like them spies them espionage people just turn on they computer, like them oceanographers. My friend Monkey Bread she’s learning them computers, that word processing, ain’t no oceanographer or no detective neither, she work for this movie star out in California. I told you about that Monkey Bread. Anyway we been celebrating Delgadina signing up for detective school. Drinking pulque at a real cantina. Pulque, you ever had pulque? And palm wine. You ever had any palm wine? Except we didn’t have any palm wine, just pulque. I guess pulque is the Mexican palm wine. Or palm wine is the African pulque. Made out of that fermented cactus juice. I don’t think you got to ferment that palm wine, though. Don’t they drink that palm wine straight from the tree? That pulque looks kinda like milk. We went to this storefront cantina—you ever been to a storefront cantina?—and had some pulque. That a real strong drink. You ever had pulque? It ain’t Bud Ligh
t. It’s the Mexican palm wine. It’s a real strong drink, but it looks like milk, though. I can’t drive boo to el centro. I might could drive you when I’m half-sleep, but I can’t drive boo when I’m half-drunk. Not to no el centro. Who you got to free from el centro? Your old girlfriend? I’m just kidding, Ray. Who’s Guillermina? La Loba? Ain’t La Loba and Guillermina the same woman? I’m Mosquito and I’m Nadine too. That the eternal revolutionist’s old girlfriend, ain’t it, La Loba? I met me a real African in Canada. I ain’t been to Africa but I been to Canada. Guillermina your old girlfriend? Delgadina’s boyfriend thinks he’s a drunkometer. The man from Hornitos. Guillermina’s your old girlfriend, ain’t she? I’m just kidding, Ray. I’m half-sleep and half-drunk. Did I tell you about Maria and her cousin? I took them to Middle America to get her cousin free? Maria and her cousin and me and Journal.
Half-sleep and half-drunk, I think he’s gonna convince me anyhow, but he don’t. He says, Fine, I’ll get one of the others, and hangs up the phone.
I’m dreaming he’s on his way to el centro to free his old girlfriend Guillermina from the detention camp, except in the dream his old girlfriend is me. Then I be dreaming about Delgadina and Father Raymond. Delgadina be coming outa the Community Center. Delgadina in her peacock skirt. But she got one of them karate outfits under her peacock skirt ’cause she been learning how to kick ass. Be kicking ass and then bowing and shit. And I’m either a mosquito in the dream or an orangutan. Must be an orangutan. Like I thought that Indonesian woman be calling me a orangutan. I forgot what Father Raymond say that orangutan mean. Maybe that just her word for American.
Uh, this is Father Raymond.
Isabella?
Hello, I’m Delgadina.
Isabellita?
I’m Delgadina. Mosquito’s bartender friend. Except I ain’t a mosquito in the dream I’m a orangutan.
Hello.
I be thinking Isabella must be her code name, her spy name. Or maybe that Isabella the name of the other one—his true love. And then I’m a woman—ain’t no mosquito and ain’t no orangutan—in the back room of a shoe and saddle repair shop in Mexico City mending one of them saddles. And then that Father Raymond—Raymond—he come in the back room of the shop. After we mend the saddle together—must be that labor theory of equality Delgadina be talking about—we put the saddle on one of our wild horses and gallops along that border road. Galloping along that whole border, free as kings.
Ray, I be saying.
Don’t call me Ray, call me Tasman, he be saying.
And then he turn into my ex.
Tasman.
Then we sitting in a cantina, a storefront cantina, except it ain’t pulque we drinking, its palm wine, and the storefront cantina ain’t in Mexico it in Africa. Course I ain’t had no palm wine, so it taste like pulque, but the dream say it palm wine.
And then I’m dreaming about being with Maria and Journal and Maria’s cousin and Clara the guerrilla lawyer and that Haitian man who must be a guerrilla lawyer and then I’m with Delgadina in the cantina again.
We be drinking pulque and she be calling me amiga. Have some more pulque, amiga, and that pulque look like milk. And she be wanting to play that tell me about your ex I’ll tell you about mine game. I be drinking that pulque, but be calling it palm wine.
What’s pulque?
Pulque is pulque.
And then we be eating some of them tacos, real tacos, not them Taco Bell tacos. And I be calling them softail tacos, and she be calling them the great un-American taco. This the great un-American taco, she be saying and sipping on that pulque that I be calling palm wine. Then somebody seen her scribbling in her notebook a gringo that came in the cantina least look like a gringo and be asking her, Are you writing the great American novel and she answered, Naw, I’m writing the great un-American novel. Must be a gringo. And then Delgadina she be saying to me that she should call what she writing a un-American novel ’cause shouldn’t just the gringos claim America for theyselves, ’cause America more than the gringos and all them other Americas, that Latin America and that Brazil. The other Americas, she be calling them, ’cause even me when people say America I be thinking of one America, but then she be talking about the other Americas. Maybe she ain’t writing the great American novel, she be saying, but she be writing an American novel, and be able to claim America for herself too. Or some shit like that. But I’m still sipping on that pulque and calling it palm wine. And she sipping on that pulque and scribbling in her notebook.
But don’t tell Miguelita, that crazy mujer, she says. Women like us, Nadine, we ain’t wifable woman. Crazy mujeres, that’s what we are.
And then this other man come in the bar he ain’t a gringo he a Chicano or Mexican and Delgadina get up and start just a-kissing on him. I think it that vato, the one from Hornitos—did she say Hornitos?—I think it that vato anyway, the one she telling me about, the vato with the wife—or is it the wife from Hornitos?—the vato I know she in love with but maybe it a vato she don’t even know, maybe it just any vato, maybe it just any vato from Mexico or one of them border towns. I know don’t know that vato but I think I know that mujer comes in the cantina and Delgadina and that mujer pointing at each other and I’m kinda disillusioned ’cause Delgadina say she don’t play that. I’m thinking that mujer Miguelita and the man Mr. Delgado who I ain’t never seen but Miguelita a gringa and this mujer ain’t a gringa then I’m thinking she Maria that this Maria and that man the Tarahumara Indian then I’m thinking she Guillermina and that man Raymond his ownself and then I’m thinking that woman is Delgadina her ownself. Ring on her little finger, just like Raymond’s. Didn’t I say so? Maybe she one of the Nicodemuses. Ring on they little finger, maybe that they signal so they know each other. Or ring in the nose.
The next day, when I’m awake and sober, when I come in the cantina a man is standing at the bar talking to Delgadina. He look like a cowboy, got on cowboy boots, cowboy hat, cowboy plaid shirt, cowboy blue jeans, hair kinda long in the back. He one of those macho-looking men. He look part Mexican part Indian maybe Navajo. He kinda remind me of one of them country singers and his voice what I hear of it when I’m coming toward the bar sound like one of them country singers, maybe like that one whenever I see him I can’t tell what race he supposed to be, ’cept all them other country singers treat him like he white, so I figure he must be white, though I know there’s a lots of part of the South they would question his race.
Nadine, I mean Mosquito, this is Charlie T. Juarez, this my ex-husband.
Ain’t she say he a sculptor? He kinda don’t look like no sculptor. ’Cept they’s a lot of artist don’t look like no artist. I mean people idea of a artist.
How you doing, Nadine, he say. You the one they call Mosquito. Real polite-type man. Rugged. Kind you see on them ranges in the Southwest. I guess somebody like him could do that kinda iron and wire sculpture.
He look like lie mighta wanted to say more to me, but he too involved with talking to Delgadina, so I sit down at the bar, kinda away from them, so’s they won’t think I’m spying on them. I get me some pretzels and dip them in salsa on the bar, and reach behind the bar and get my own Budweiser ’cause I know where Delgadina keeps them. She still talking to Charlie T. Juarez. He must like that T. in his name for his own ex-wife to introduce him. Seem like she said her ex-husband named something else ain’t she? Or maybe she had more than one ex-husband. He’s got a mustache and he’s got all these papers with him that’s he’s got on the bar and holding toward Delgadina. I think they’s divorce papers, that maybe they ain’t legally divorced and he’s handing her the divorce papers. When he kinda smiled at me I seen a gold cap on one of his teeth, and he smelled and looked like somebody been riding the range. Kinda musky, you know.
Anyway, Delgadina, like I’m saying, my new wife don’t want the motel and we’re moving back East, so you might as well take the property. I’ll sign my share over to you.
I don’t know, Charlie T. I don’t think I want that o
ld motel myself. I don’t want it unless I can afford to fix it up. I told you you could have that property when we got divorced and you’s still keeping my share. In fact, I told you Eden Pride could have my share.
She’s a Juarez now, said Charlie T.
She’s still Eden Pride to me, said Delgadina. Well, you looking good. I can blame her ’cause you’s looking good. You look like she’s taking care of you.
We take care of each other.
I don’t think I want that property, though. I don’t think I want that old motel. You can sell it to somebody.
Naw, I don’t want to sell it. Got a couple of Navajo gals who’s running it for us now. They might buy it. I think maybe they might buy it. I might sell them my share of it.
Well, you can sell them my share ’cause I don’t want it. I don’t think I want it.
I think you oughta keep it, Delgadina. I can have the Navajos send you your share of the profit.
You know that motel don’t make no profit. I ain’t seen no profit.
That’s ’cause you gave Eden your profit. I ain’t gonna say that it made a lot of profit, ’cause Eden don’t want the responsibility of that motel neither. Anyway, we’s moving East, and you’s closer to New Mexico than we are.
Yeah, I know but.
Well, you can keep the papers anyway. The Navajos got your address out here, and you’s got their address. And you’ll have better access to that motel than we will out East.
Where out East y’all going?