“They seem so alive,” said Corrag.
“Having fun,” said Ben. “No doubt about it.”
“How about you?” asked Corrag. In this world without contact with the outside, cut off by lack of reception from Augment or Creative pools, the troupe was evenly divided between those able to adapt and others intent on moving on. Ben as always seemed perched between the two sides, holding back on his final call, unable to commit to one position or the other.
“I’m living the dream, Cor,” said Ben, smiling.
“You seem good. You understand where we are.”
“It’s easy for now. Fisher and them want to move on.”
“I know. You have no desire?”
“I don’t think I do. Should I?” he said, the pitch of his voice and set of his chin denoting some lack of certainty.
Corrag knew where his mind was, the territory of Ben’s psyche more familiar to her than her own. It was funny how she was almost unable to distinguish her own thoughts from his. They were as comfortable together as old gloves. But whose hand wore the glove? That was where it got tricky. In times like these, quiet times, when she desired nothing but a continuation of peace, she was most mindful of the need to direct herself to Ben, to sort out what he needed before he drifted away. And right now, looking at him in profile as he squinted to the river, she could sense him thinking the same thing, focused on some interior gyroscope, the stabilizing mechanism that would direct his next move.
“It’s funny. We’ve been riding the wind now for so many years, Cor,” said Ben.
“I know.”
“I almost don’t trust it when it lets down.”
“It’s been a while. Maybe the years in Juanacinta.”
“Those were good.”
“But you weren’t happy there.”
“As happy as I ever was. I’m always happy with you.”
“But don’t you remember how much you complained about our life back then? There was no money, not enough scope for you. Your needs. Butting heads with the world."
"Myself you mean."
"Well, maybe something inside you makes you need to make some kind of mark on the world.”
"Not so much anymore. I just want to take care of you. And Hera."
"Ben, don't worry about me. I'm fine."
"No you're not, Cor. You might not have any symptoms now, but you're not clear by any means."
"I keep telling you to make plans without me."
"No. Never.The important thing is building, always building for something better. We had to start over after the Federation fell and me losing the Augment. You never had any doubts. You knew the way forward, like some sort of prophetess. Now it's my turn to take care of you. I'm not saying it's going to be great. I'm not like you. I don't have any illusions about that. You always were special, Corrag. But me? I always feel like there’s something missing.”
“Do you still?”
“Of course. Sometimes.”
“When?”
“Oh, I don’t know. When there’s a lull and the quiet catches up to me and I feel a bit of panic in the moonlight, naked, like a child.”
“What’s the fear?”
“Other people. Outsiders. Strangers.”
Hell was the other people, someone had said once. They were right. She put her hand on his arm and held it there reassuringly. He was still so childlike, and that was what she loved in him. Ben reached over and pulled her closer and they kissed down in the grass. For a few minutes they held each other, making love in a reverential recreation of the early years of their connection. For Corrag , the timelessness of it was part of the mystery, the stirring of blood that allowed all of the finest virtues and darkest vices. Ben’s eyes still held pain, though, when she looked into them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, just that some day I’ll lose you,” said Ben.
“You’ve been saying that one for a long time. You won’t lose me, Ben. I'll always be with you.”
They sat up just in time to see Hera coming up through the tall grass from the river. Her hair glinted in the sun and her face, flushed with excitement, beamed at them with an expression of childish joy. Corrag gave thanks in her heart for the moment.
“Did you see Volde? He jumped from the tree. He climbed the tree,” said Hera.
“Really?” said Ben.
“Yes, and did you know that there are snakes?"
“Where?” asked Corrag, a hint of concern in her voice.
“Right here, listen,” said Hera. “You can hear them.”
There it was -- a sound of papery thin shaking, almost indistinguishable from the wind blowing the dried grass. A chill ran up Corrag’s back like a shard of crystallized fear.
“Where is it?” asked Corrag.
“It’s right here, look,” said Hera.
“No, Hera. Don’t,” said Ben, rising swiftly to his feet.
Hera had already parted the grass with her hands, revealing the coiled springs of shimmering flesh. Ben lunged, but too late as the rattler struck, flying and hitting Hera in the calf as she turned instinctively at the last second to protect herself. Ben and Hera rolled in the grass. Corrag found herself hands on mouth, soundlessly screaming.
Ben carried her inside the headman’s house, thick-walled under a rusted tin roof, as the sun was beginning to recede from the midpoint of the day and release its grip on the village of the Yavapais, Altos de Xumai. The headman huddled quietly with his people while Corrag and Ben sat by the bed and waited for the healer. Corrag wiped Hera’s face and spoke with her as calmly as she could. Hera had lost sensation in her leg. It was swollen and bruised. She was lightheaded, and her breathing was raspy. The healer had been located and was on her way, said the chief, Julian. He offered Ben some pulque from a bottle on the back windowsill. Ben thought for a second, looked at Corrag and accepted his offer.
The healer was a former prostitute, Marcelina Gomez Beleven, who knew herbal medicine and acupuncture. She came into the house. Without looking at anybody she ordered everyone out except the mother and father. Fisher squeezed Corrag’s shoulder and looked at Ben.
“She’ll be okay,” said Fisher.
Uko and Shelly, Volde and Zeda -- they all left together with the chief, his wife and several tribespeople -- leaving Ben, Corrag and Marcelina by the bedside. Marcelina let down a faded satchel from her arm onto the dirt floor and opened it, rummaging inside for a while. She took out a parcel and unwrapped the paper around it.
“Glycorizia. I made it,” she said. “Can you get me a plate and knife?” she asked.
Ben found both in the kitchen. He washed them in the sun-warmed water from the hose and dried them with a dishtowel hung on the back of an ancient rustic chair.
“That’s good,” said Marcelina, looking up for the first time. In the dark, her eyes looked concerned and competent. Ben reckoned she was honest.
“How long ago was she bitten?” she asked, while she worked with the plate on the bed, cutting the cake into bite-sized pieces.
“About two hours? Would you say, Ben?” asked Corrag.
“Not sure. It’s been about that,” said Ben.
“We used to have antivenin. Repho made. But that was years ago,” said Marcelina. “What have you done for her?”
“We washed the bite with soap and water and raised her up so the leg was lower than her heart,” said Ben.
“That’s good,” said Marcelina.
“Mama, I can’t see you,” said Hera.
“I’m right here, said Corrag, pushing by the healer to get to Hera’s side. She sat on the floor and stroked Hera’s face, comforting her momentarily.
“Give her these. Make her eat them as quickly as possible. If necessary she can wet them in water,” said Marcelina to Corrag.
Corrag fed Hera the cakes. Hera’s eyes brightened as Corrag placed the first one in her mouth.
“Delicious,” she said.
“Good,” said Marcelina. “Now let’s h
ave a look.”
Corrag lifted the sheet off the bed. Marcelina leaned down and untied the tourniquet that was bound below Hera’s knee.
“So good,” said Hera again. “Can I have more?”
“That’s all for now,” said Corrag.
“Mama, it tastes like a sky full of rainbows.”
“That good?” said Ben, relaxing from his constant pacing. The two women leaned over Hera and stroked her body with their hands.
“Where did you get your training?” asked Corrag.
“My mother and grandmother and generations before that. We’ve always been healers, curanderas, the women in my family. I went away to college in the Repho but dropped out. Spent years on the strip. Vegas. Doped up. Hustling for the cartels. But I got called back. Had a dream. Never thought they’d take me back. But they did. Julian, the chief, is a good man. He encouraged me to listen to the older people. All the medicinals came back to me in conversations with the last of them from my mother’s generation. And then I learned a lot from old books my mama had also.”
“I’m so happy we found you,” said Corrag. “There’s good people everywhere,” she added.
“Except Vegas,” said Marcelina.
Corrag laughed.
“See? Her breath is getting better,” said Marcelina.
Hera’s breathing had indeed slowed down and was less raspy. She’d cleared out some of the mucus from her lungs. She looked like she was going to fall asleep.
“Is it alright for her to sleep?” asked Corrag.
“That’s the best possible thing right now. Let her sleep it off. As long as it takes. She will have problems walking for a few days. Get her to eat the rest of the cake as soon as she wakes up. She will need lots of rest and eat as much or as little as she wants. Some of them have quite an appetite and some of them won’t eat for days. It all depends. Was it a large snake?’
“No, about four or five feet,” said Ben.
“Did you kill it?”
“No,” he said.
“Hmm. Just as well. Angry snake spirits not a good thing for us.”
“Look, she’s asleep. Isn’t she, Ben?” said Corrag, including her husband in the conversation.
“Yes, she’s asleep,” said Ben.
“A very special girl. I hear from Julian. She can read thoughts and see through time.”
"She has the gift,” said Corrag.
“You’re going to take her to see David?” asked Marcelina. “When she's better?”
“We like it here. Not sure we will go up to the city,” said Ben.
Marcelina gestured with her hand for them to follow. They moved over to the kitchen and Marcelina stood by the window and looked out it.
“You people need to understand that you are welcome here, yes. But the world is in pain, on the point of death. Understand what I’m saying?” She looked at Ben and Corrag in turn, calmly, although her words were pointed and angry.
“Yes,” said Corrag. “We understand that.”
“It is not a time for people, people of strength and understanding and experience, to settle with comfortable lives, far from the battle lines. I understand that you have seen much already. I know what that life is like, the uncertainty, the treachery, the bad-hearted ways of people. But here it's different. The wolf is at the door front and everyone must choose. The fighting now is for all the people, for us, the Yavapais, for you who have chosen the rebel path, for all the people against the slavery of the other way. You have talents. David will put you to work. And your little girl here with her gifts of sight. In the war all mental ability is precious, as you know, because it’s a fight on the upper levels where few of us can see and operate. The Augment have the chimera. They have the refined calculus in their that comes with neural networking. They believe they can unlock the power that lies at the heart of the story. But we have the gifts that come from the old ones. The grandmothers are demanding that we fight for our story, the earth's story. That’s what the snake is saying to you in her spirit life where we all are tangled and connected. In her confusion, in her anger, she is saying 'choose.' You must choose. Understand?”
That night was quiet, with the silver of a late rising moon. The river whispered beyond the garden. What it was saying went beyond words. Hera would understand. The corn stalks rattled in a breeze and bats flitted about the eaves of the mud house. Children played a game in the road, their voices carrying in and out of Corrag’s consciousness, her understanding fogged by worry. She sat on the worn and misaligned cinder block steps outside the open front door and fought to regain a sense of calm, to bring her heart rate back down from its panicked heights. Hera was inside the house, still asleep. Julian the chief and his wife, Numero Uno, were checking on her. They had made up a cot for Corrag next to Hera’s bed, which was the bed reserved for the chief’s children when they visited from their scattered places of abode around the world. The chief’s oldest son was living in Tokyo. One girl was married to an orthodontic surgeon in Denver. She occasionally had sent Julian money in the past but she had not been heard from in many years, according to Numero Uno.
Fisher approached the house from around the back. Harper Lee followed around the corner and moved quickly beside him. At first Corrag hadn’t recognized them. That was how scattered her thoughts were. They stood there in front of her.
“Where’s Ben?” asked Fisher.
“He went for a walk up the road. He likes to walk. You know that,” said Corrag.
“You usually go with him. That’s why I wondered,” said Fisher.
“Yes, but I need to stay here with Hera.”
“Of course. How is she?” asked Fisher.
“She’s sleeping.”
“It seems like she’s going to be okay,” said Fisher.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” said Corrag.
“She’s a fighter. She’s going to be all right. We’re all going to be all right,” said Harper. He stepped beside her and sat as he spoke.
“I know,” said Corrag. Her tribe was these people. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses and forgave each other on most points of contention. That was the definition of family.
“This is a good place for us, Corrag. Isn’t it?” said Harper.
“Yes,” said Corrag. There was the unspoken debate in the air as to leaving or staying. As always, it was a matter of feeling the tide of thought in the group to determine their course. She had gotten them through the mountains by keeping the peace between Ben and Harper. They were two brothers who couldn’t move beyond their enmity but kept it under control for her sake.
“I don’t know if it is,” said Fisher. He turned on the road and came back to put his foot on the stoop below Harper and Corrag.
“What’s the point? We’re not rehearsing. We’re not producing. There’s nothing here,” said Fisher, leaning from one foot to another.
“Except peace and shit,” said Harper.
“That counts for something,” said Corrag.
“We used to be a theater troupe,” said Fisher.
“Yeah, and you were the director. Maybe you need to find a role for yourself in this here life,” said Harper.
Fisher twisted his foot and stepped away. Corrag felt sorry for him. She considered him a valuable ally. He had gotten them out of Texas with his cunning and survival instinct. He had a need to seek a larger platform for their work. That all seemed like something that belonged to the world they had left behind in the Dallas Hilton. It felt like so long ago, but it was only a couple of weeks. She knew he would turn and defend himself.
“I appreciate how hard it is to stay hungry, Harper. But goddammit, how many times have I told you what it means to be an artist? You want to be an artist you have to keep your eye on the long curve. That’s where your opportunity is, man. Not the short stretch of road, not the strip mall. This is the strip mall, y’all. Yes, it’s nice to breathe the air and eat the fresh food. And the kids are having fun at camp. I get it. I was a kid once.
But we are adults. We are the theater. We are the play. We are the culture. We are not refugees who need to be given jobs and trained on how the natives survive. If we can’t perform, if we can’t produce, we will die.”
“He’s got a point, Harper,” said Corrag.
“I’m not feeling it. But whatever. Uko ain’t going anywhere.”
“Uko. Don’t give me Uko. We all know what’s up with that,” Fisher scoffed.
Uko and Shelly had been luring men from the surrounding villages to their cabin on the edge of the village. Reportedly, it was a lucrative and fun sideline. They said Shelly sometimes claimed to channel voices during sex and afterwards they offered follow-up counseling and prognostication. Julian was concerned, but predicted in private to Corrag, when she wanted to apologize for the scandal her people had brought, that the fire would die out of its own accord. In a word, they were developing new frontiers of their own in terms of performance, and the feeling in the group was good luck to them. Fisher had already approached Corrag about playing the role of Elizabeth as a stand-in for Shelly in the next tour of The Last American Man. Corrag had to admit, to herself at least, that the prospect was exciting.
“We have to choose,” said Corrag, echoing the words of Marcelina.
“Exactly,” said Harper. “I don’t see what’s wrong with staying here and helping out these people with their lives. We can teach them our way of doing things.”
‘Yeah, well,” said Fisher.
“We can learn a lot from them,” said Corrag.
“Of course. Of course,” said Fisher. “But…”
“But Hera needs to heal. That’s my priority. I can’t think of anything else now.” Corrag stared up the road into the darkness past the last of the village houses. She thought of the words of Marcelina, her warning about staying. There was Ben, striding into her field of vision, as always at the pivotal moment. The choice had been made.
The Saints of David (The Jonah Trilogy Book 3) Page 21