Curva Peligrosa

by MacKenzie, Lily Iona;

  So did Sabina. She thrived in Curva’s triangle, feeling a special kinship with Billie. If anyone had asked her, she would have said Billie was her real father. It wasn’t just the hair color. Nor was it because he’d saved Sabina’s life. Something else linked them aside from his affair with Curva, though Sabina wasn’t sure yet what it was.

  Curva on the Old North Trail

  Hola, mi estimado Xavier,

  I don’t know what day it is. Time swirls around me like snowflakes. And snow covers everything, falling from the sky in huge pieces. They whirl in the wind. If I listen carefully I can hear them land. They cling to everything they touch—kisses from heaven. The gods must be very passionate to send so many at once. They know a lonely mujer is here, longing for their touch. For any touch.

  I got on the trail too early this spring and ran into snowstorms. The bad weather made me stay in one place for days at a time. Dios keeps me warm during long stormy nights. When the wind swoops through the mountains and wails like a hundred bad spirits, Dios yowls back. I join him—another animal.

  It feels good to let loose like the dog. The wind carries my voice so far I can hear it come back to me. I pretend it’s an amiga I haven’t seen in a long time. I pretend it’s you.

  Writing you gives me something to do at night besides howling at the moon and gibbering at Dios, the parrots, the horses, and the goat. It’s also a good way to practice my English. I want to leave something behind if I die here. My words might give heart to other adventurers. They’ll know a woman traveled on this trail and lived to tell about it.

  It’s been snowing for days now. I wear my leather coat all the time. It’s lined with sheep’s wool and the smell underneath it is muy mal. Several layers of socks protect my feet inside fleece-lined boots. I’m grateful the sheep have given up their warmth for my sake. They’re the most useful of animals.

  I’ve hunkered down in the tent. Dios and I go out only to get more firewood and to feed the horses. They look at me with big sad eyes because it’s hard for them to graze with so much snow covering the ground. We’re low on hay but I can’t let them down. That thought keeps me going. They depend on me to make it out of here. And I depend on them for everything.

  I finally had to get some food for Dios and me. A vulture was circling while I was hunting for game. We’re all in the same boat doing our best to stay alive. I’ve never liked the alternative—being put six feet under.

  I had better luck hunting than the vulture did. Shot a fat rabbit and skinned it. I even drank its hot blood and that warmed me. I guess some people would find drinking blood disgusting, but I’ve been doing many things I didn’t think I ever would. Survival has stripped me down to the basics. I did manage to light a fire and roast the meat so at least I ate it cooked. I’m not completely savage. Not yet. But I like flirting with the animal part of myself and feel a deep kinship with the wild creatures around me.

  At times I’ve drunk my own urine when I was low on water. Seriously, Xavier. You would do it, too, if you had to. We didn’t have rain and I hadn’t seen a river, creek, or a lake for days. I pretended it was lemon juice and almost believed it. Warm lemon juice. Or dandelion wine. The color is the same. I was so thirsty anything would have tasted good.

  The rabbit’s warm blood reminds me of vino rojo which I haven’t had in some time. I pretend that’s what it is. I can make anything taste the way I want it to. Urine. Blood. It’s all a game to me. How much I can fool myself. I learned this from Don Quixote. Most people get through their whole life this way.

  You’re the only one who understands why I’ve picked such a hard existence for myself. You shared my excitement about following this trail from one end to the other. If we didn’t do anything else in life we could say we had done that.

  This trail has become my life. Our life.

  Dead Man’s Polka

  Curva slipped out to the greenhouse after breakfast as soon as Sabina had left for school. She made her way between the raised beds she’d planted, fertilizing her sunflowers, lilacs, snapdragons, zinnias, tomatoes, Cannabis, and so much more, caressing their leaves and singing softly to them. She also put grain in the bird feeders.

  In the midst of this activity, something made Curva shiver. She looked around, thinking she’d left open the door. Then she thought she heard someone tapping on the glass and wondered if Henry had stopped by, perhaps taking a lunch break. Or maybe Billie?

  Pushing aside some large fronds, she saw no one there. Hola, she called out. No one answered. Oh Curva, she said to herself. You’re imagining things!

  She continued with nurturing her flora and fauna. Bent over a pepper plant, she sang to it. Some words from Bésame Mucho came to mind, and she began humming it—Xavier’s favorite song. A familiar baritone joined in. It could only belong to one person. The two of them had sung this song together many times.

  Xavier, you dog. Where are you?

  Right before your eyes, mi amor.

  Curva spun around, face to face with one of her parrots. She said, You’re not Xavier!

  No, it’s not the parrot. It’s me, your hermano.

  Where are you?

  Right behind you. Watching over you. I’m always behind you, mi hermana, always watching over you.

  Curva headed for the workbench. She set down her tools, a trowel and a clipper, and wiped her soiled hands on her gauchos. Okay, Xavier. Stop hiding. You’re acting like a niño.

  I’m not hiding. I’m here.

  The greenhouse vibrated with the richness of his voice, booming out another verse of “Bésame Mucho,” though Curva still couldn’t figure out just where it was coming from. The sound seemed to materialize out of thin air, a part of the plants and flowers.

  After he stopped singing, Xavier said, Is that what your lovers sing to you?

  They’re mis amigos, Xavier. I’ve a right to have amigos.

  I’ve a right to be jealous.

  What do you expect from me? I’m your hermana, not your novia.

  I don’t want to lose you, Curva. You’re all I have. It’s cold in the grave. There aren’t any pretty muchachas there. Besides, you promised….

  Curva set down a clipper she was using to prune the plants and poked her fingers into a clay pot filled with soil. She said, I don’t like you spying on me like this.

  You don’t want me to visit anymore?

  Visit, si, but not like a fantasma.

  Then how?

  She extended her arms and lowered her voice several levels so it resembled an hombre: Like a man, Xavier.

  I can’t be like a man. I am a man.

  Stamping her foot, she said, If you’re a man, then face me! Don’t act like my shadow.

  Like this, Curva? He stepped into a pool of sunlight pouring through the glass windows, wearing a blinding white zoot suit, his long hair slicked back into a ducktail. Laughing, he asked, You like? It’s the new me, he said, swinging a long gold chain, one end attached to his waistband, the other to a pocket. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth.

  What’s with you? Curva said.

  I wanted a new look. I got tired of dark, gloomy colors. They’re for the grave. Don’t you think blanco suits me? He took a drag from the cigarette and sucked in deeply, the smoke curling out of his nostrils. Then he flicked the butt onto the ground and crushed it under the heel of his white shoe.

  You look like an ángel in that all-white get up, Curva said. Where are the wings?

  Wings are for those with no imagination. I don’t need them. He did a soft shoe, spinning around in the spotlight and bowing to the row of plants in front of him.

  Curva applauded. You weren’t much for dancing when you were alive. Why this sudden interest?

  It’s boring being dead. I watch a lot of movies. Fred Astaire. Gene Kelly. They’ve taught me a few tricks. Come dance with me.

  Dan
ce? I have work to do. Sabina will be back any time. Don’t you scare her!

  Don’t you want her to meet your brother? I haven’t met her father yet.

  Neither have I! Scoot now, Xavier. I have mucho to do.

  You’ve become too serious, Curva. In Mexico, you never put work before play. You need some fun. Come on. Let me show you the dead man’s polka.

  Dead man’s polka? Are you serious?

  Deadly.

  Xavier grabbed Curva’s arm and planted her hands on his shoulders, his on her hips, and they flung themselves around the greenhouse to an imaginary band playing norteña music, the two them shrieking giddily. The birds screeched in unison, wings fluttering frantically, darting into the eaves. Plants and flowers swayed on their stalks, doing their own modified dance.

  Xavier and Curva tripped over a low bed of newly planted bulbs the size of a freshly dug grave, landing in soft soil that flared around them. Curva found herself in Xavier’s arms and pulled away. To cover her dismay, she howled, My bambinos! We’ve uprooted them all. But she was talking to herself. The earth had reclaimed Xavier. The only sign he’d been there was the chain attached to his keys, now looped around Curva’s neck like a noose.

  Sabina and Victor To the Rescue

  The image of animals trapped inside Billie’s totems haunted Sabina for weeks. In dreams she heard them baying, howling, and yowling, tightly curled up and unable to move, their eyes wildly rolling. She could feel their inability to escape captivity. Finally, she told Victor about her visits to Billie’s place and her concern about what she’d seen. We need to free them, she said. I wake at night and they’re calling to me.

  Victor didn’t like his friend to be so upset, so he promised to help her. He said, Let’s go there when Billie’s at the burial ground. He doesn’t need to know we’ve been snooping.

  Though he wouldn’t admit it to Sabina, he was curious to see where Billie lived and all of the things he had made.

  Sabina felt bad to be doing something behind Billie’s back, but her concern for the animals came first. She and Victor took off after breakfast, riding Curva’s horse bareback. Sabina sat in front, holding the reins; Victor rode behind, fingers inserted in her jeans’ belt loops. They flew over the country road, leaving a plume of dust behind them.

  Billie’s place was on the reserve’s outskirts. On the way, Sabina and Victor saw several abandoned, rusted autos that appeared to be planted in the earth, car parts and other debris scattered around them. Victor wanted to climb inside the vehicles and pretend he could drive, but Sabina said, No, the animals need us.

  The tribal members had seen Sabina with Billie enough times on the reservation that they wouldn’t question her being there. Still, she glanced around, hoping no one was watching. She and Victor even walked the last couple of miles, leading the horse, not wanting the dust trail to give them away. Once at Billie’s place, Victor grabbed the reins and tied the animal to a fencepost. Then he joined Sabina, who was staring at the totems.

  Holy cow, Victor said, they’re weird.

  Sabina shivered. I know. They give me the willies.

  They give me more than the willies, he said.

  See what I mean, Sabina said. The animals aren’t happy.

  Victor nodded and said, Maybe the totem pole is just a shell and they’re caught inside.

  Quivering, Sabina said, They must be frightened too—and starving.

  Victor could feel what it must be like for the animals trapped there, but Sabina’s distress also urged him on. He wanted to free the creatures for her, but he also hoped to win over his friend from Billie and his kind.

  First, though, Victor needed a tool to break into the totems. Retrieving an ax from a nearby woodpile, Victor lifted it over his head and aimed it at one of the posts, striking a wolf between its ears.

  Sabina seemed to awaken from a dream, realizing the destruction she had set in motion. She screamed, Stop.

  But Victor didn’t hear her. He was freeing the animals. He remembered Billie’s remarks about needing to be victorious, and now he was. He liked the thudding sound the ax made as it hit the wood, giving him the strength to strike again and again. Parts of the totems flew in many directions: hands and feet, eyes and ears, wings and claws.

  If there were animals inside the totems, they wouldn’t be there long. He expected to see them dashing across the fields or flying in the sky. But this wouldn’t be his only good deed that day. He’d leave some fine firewood for Billie.

  Though distressed by the carnage, Sabina couldn’t stop shooting the shattered totems with her camera, hoping to catch a glimpse of the creatures before they ran away. But she also wanted to capture the expression on Victor’s face—his brows pinched together in concentration, cheeks flushed, eyes filled with rapture. Never had he been so absorbed by something since she’d known him.

  He didn’t notice Sabina.

  He didn’t notice the horse’s whinnying.

  He didn’t notice Billie’s arrival in his pickup.

  The children froze; their feet felt encased in concrete. They couldn’t run or speak. The horse did it for them, letting out a shrill whinny and stomping its hooves.

  Billie stepped out of the truck and planted himself in front of the children, his face as fierce as one of his animal masks. You got an explanation for this? he asked, motioning towards the destruction. Wood shards littered the ground where only ruined totems now stood, some chopped in half, others splintered into many pieces.

  Sabina tried to respond, but her throat had closed and she couldn’t form words. When she and Victor had taken off for Billie’s place, releasing the animals had made sense to her then, though she didn’t know how they would do it. Now she could see how mistaken they’d been. In horror, she stared at the destroyed remains. No creatures were trapped inside the wood. No voices called out to her for help. Though Victor had been the one to swing the ax, she knew he had done it to please her, and she was just as guilty.

  Fists clenched, Billie walked over to what was left of his totems, his face the color of red clay. He stood motionless for several minutes, taking in the destruction. Then he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, flinging the ax as far as he could. It cleaved the earth where it landed, clanking against something hard.

  Billie opened his eyes and said, Get outta here! He motioned to the horse and went to see if he’d broken the ax blade. Leaning over, he felt what the ax had hit, his fingers gradually exposing what was there. His work at the burial ground had prepared him for what he found: petrified bone. The remains of prehistoric animals were also on the rez.

  Billie and Henry

  Henry’s door flew open before Billie could knock. Victor tried to block the entrance. Go away, he said, my dad’s not here.

  Billie glanced at the pickup sitting in the driveway.

  He’s not, eh? I think I’ll see for myself.

  Billie hollered, Henry, I need to talk to you. Your kid’s causing trouble on the rez.

  Victor ran outside.

  Billie stood there, holding the screen door open, listening, waiting, remembering his former friendship with Henry. The competitiveness between them. The lies they told each other about the number and size of fish they’d caught. Billie’s envy of this white man who could go anywhere he wanted. Billie had always felt like an interloper whenever he left the rez and still did at times. The townspeople had stared at him, even feared him, though it was Billie who felt the most concern. He was afraid someone would tell him to get back where he belonged. Off the reserve, he had few rights.

  Henry approached from the barn. Straw stuck to his coveralls, and his big hands hung limply at his sides as if disconnected from his body.

  What’s up? Henry said.

  Billie avoided Henry’s eyes, uncomfortable because they each shared Curva. Clearing his throat, he said, Your boy came to my place w
hen I wasn’t there and destroyed my totems.

  Henry swiped at flies that were circling his head. Victor? Who told you that?

  No one needed to tell me. I saw it with my own eyes.

  This time Billie looked at Henry directly and was surprised that the other man was studying him intently.

  Henry frowned. What do you expect me to do about it?

  Teach your boy some manners and respect for others’ property. Those totems are irreplaceable. It’s as if he chopped me up in little pieces. I could report him to the Mounties.

  Henry spit. The glob landed next to Billie’s boot. You have a witness?

  Sabina. She was with him.

  Henry grunted and said, Does Curva know?

  She knows. Billie kicked at the dirt with his toe and sent up a miniature cyclone cloud.

  Henry frowned. I don’t have any money to give you.

  I don’t want your money. I think your boy’s trying to get even with me for something. I don’t want any more trouble from him.

  Victor’s a good kid.

  He calls himself Satan. That ain’t so good.

  Satan?

  Billie told Henry about Victor’s visit to the burial ground and their conversation.

  Henry scratched his head. Where’d the kid get those ideas?

  Billie shrugged and said, He doesn’t want me hanging out with Curva.

  Henry stared at the ground, avoiding Billie’s eyes. That isn’t his business.

  He thinks it is.

  Henry glanced at Billie. She’s been like a mother to him.

  I know.

  Henry said, You can’t blame him for not wanting to share her.

  I don’t like sharing her either, Billie said, and headed for his truck. He stopped before he reached it and looked back. Henry was still standing there, and their eyes met. Billie said, I think we need to stop fishing in the same stream. We aren’t kids any more.