Curva Peligrosa

by MacKenzie, Lily Iona;

  Sabina loved it, slipping the pistol into a special holster Ian had made for it. Her other camera had been bulky and difficult to carry around. Now she always had one at the ready.

  Later that day, she stumbled across a dead horse in a nearby field. Maggots had invaded its carcass, and the grayish-white, fleshy worms swarmed over what remained of the body. Sabina stood transfixed by this run-in with death. The stench from the decaying corpse finally drove her away, but she couldn’t leave before taking a picture of flies buzzing around the animal’s head and the flesh riddled with maggots. The image burned in her mind and would live in her memory. But she had to capture it on film as well.

  It wasn’t just Ian’s storytelling and darkroom skills that drew Sabina. She also was fascinated with his magic tricks. He entertained her with bouquets of flowers that he plucked mysteriously from the sleeve of his jacket or hundreds of hankies that he pulled from his trouser cuff. And he had numerous card tricks as well. His fingers nimbly flexed the deck and produced impossible combinations of cards.

  After, he sat in his chair in front of the living room window and whistled through the wide space in his upper teeth, tapping his fingers on the arm. During those times, he seemed lost to Sabina, inhabiting a fantasy world she couldn’t enter except through the stories he told her.

  He described a girl who had special powers. Whenever she raised a hand, she upset the natural order, causing mammals to fly—without magic carpets—and generally creating mayhem. The girl didn’t seem aware of her unusual abilities, innocently making those around her do phenomenal things, from turtles turning into roadrunners to the elderly regaining their youth.

  Sabina listened, her eyes on Ian the whole time, not wanting to miss a word that came from his mouth. It amazed her that he could know such things. Ian’s fictions were as interesting to her as Billie’s, yet the men’s tales were no more compelling than Curva’s stories about her travels, especially along the Old North Trail.

  Curva on the Old North Trail

  Hola, mi estimado Xavier,

  You must be wondering what I’ve learned all these years on the trail? You won’t be surprised to hear I can be a foolish woman and I hate being one. Foolish, I mean. Only a fool would think she could stay in the womb forever with her brother and that’s what I believed before you died. Curva! Curva! Curva! I shout at myself sometimes. How could you have been so estúpida.

  I wasn’t the only foolish one. So were you. You really believed I could be su mejor muchacha. I believed it too. It seemed normal for us to love each other totalmente. It made me feel special when you stroked my hair and said no other muchacha could measure up to me. I believed you.

  Now, I don’t know what to think. I look at myself in the mirror. Ordinaria, I think. Not special. Not beautiful. Grande. Muy grande for a woman. Not soft and cuddly like so many muchachas. So I wonder what you saw when you looked at me. It must have been yourself you were in love with.

  I don’t blame you. I fell for you, too. No. I didn’t fall for you. I always loved you. As a bebé. As a muchacho. As an adolescente. As a hombre. We should have been conjoined twins. Then when you died, I would have too. You and I were that close.

  Why tell myself these things? It’s like putting salt on an open wound. It burns. And for what reason? To punish myself some more?

  No. Thinking about you helps me to keep you alive .

  Four

  Bone Song

  How hopeful a false

  spring feels, the buds

  bursting to bloom

  but holding back,

  the earth lessening

  its grip on plants,

  daring them

  to expose themselves

  too soon.

  Black Gold

  While Curva might stop clocks at times, she ultimately didn’t control time, and it continued its inexorable march, and so did Shirley. He had become a frequent visitor to Weed, having leased mineral rights from many landowners surrounding the town, as well as from the nearby Blackfoot reservation. Executives from the organization he represented had started drilling wells on some parcels of land and found oil.

  Shirley swept up Curva’s neighbors with stories about the area’s growth and subsequent stature on the prairies. He stood in front of a group at the Odd Fellow’s Hall, his Stetson pushed back on his head, words slithering out of his mouth: You’ll make a bundle when these wells start to produce. If you haven’t signed up yet, I still can contract with you. I’ll make sure you have real concrete sidewalks in this town—not just these rickety wooden ones whose boards are rotting—and good roads. This gravel surface wrecks our vehicles!

  Some resisted, but those who sold out to him suffered brief tugs of remorse whenever their clocks slowed, reminding them of Curva and her warning. But these feelings weren’t enough to prevent the oil boom.

  Meanwhile, word had spread that Southern Alberta was experiencing a lot of expansion. Job hunters and entrepreneurs got wind of it and made their way to Weed. The rebuilding after the tornado had attracted newcomers to the area. Workers on the dusty plains were laying iron, adding railway lines to Weed, and reshaping everything. Nathan Smart added on to his general store so he could carry more supplies—doubling its original size and forcing his wife Sophie to work there full time.

  A Swiss gentleman from back east visited the town, liked the possibilities, and built a bank.

  A Greek immigrant opened a café.

  A Chinese woman started a clothing store.

  Some Germans opened a laundry service and dry cleaners.

  A French Canadian family built the Weed Hotel, its billiard and beer parlor attracting patrons from miles around; after a night of gaming, gambling, and drinking, many of them ended up in the hotel rooms, too far gone to navigate home.

  The Odd Fellows enlarged their hall, used for many purposes, from church services to funeral services, from bake sales to meetings. The occasional Odd Fellow gathering took place there, too.

  The resurrected Weed thrived after the post-tornado chaos, and the town still catered to the farmers and ranchers that surrounded it. But it had extended its boundaries, attracting those who were more interested in commerce than agriculture.

  Whenever Curva visited, she walked the rapidly expanding streets and watched the workers hammering and sawing and pouring concrete. Not even the occasional streams or sinkholes that sprung up around her could halt the new construction. She stopped at times to chat with Catherine Hawkins, Sophie Smart, and other neighbors and friends, urging them not to give in to Shirley’s attempts to buy their oil rights. He’ll turn this into another American boomtown, she said. It will be filled with outsiders.

  Nathan Smart, whose business was thriving, rolled his eyes. You’ve got to be kidding, he said. Why should we turn away newcomers? You were a newcomer once yourself.

  Curva smiled, her gold tooth glinting in the sunlight, but she didn’t like being put in the same box as these strangers. She hadn’t come to the area to exploit its resources. Surely she had more to offer than these new arrivals did. But she didn’t say what was on her mind.

  On the way to her truck, she ran into Inez Wilson. Curva said, Hola! I miss seeing you and the others at my place.

  Shuffling her feet, Inez studied the ground and said, Shirley’s asking a lot of questions. He wants to know all about you.

  Curva shivered and said, Shirley? What’s he up to?

  Inez shook her head: I don’t know, but he’s telling everyone you’re illegal. My husband and some of the other men think we women should stay away from you. They say you could cause trouble.

  Me cause trouble? Curva laughed: Shirley’s the one causing mucho problemas. They should be watching him.

  Inez nodded: I tried to tell my husband that, but he just threw his hands up in the air and said you had blinded me.

  Curva pa
tted Inez on the shoulder: Don’t get into trouble on my account, mi amiga.

  Turning away, Curva strode to her truck, not looking right or left, ignoring the rivulet that followed her. Once she reached her casa, she paced the rooms, brooding about the massive changes taking place and the way her friends now viewed her. Illegal! Furious, she grabbed her rifle and ran outside, shooting several bullets into the sky, releasing a little of the anger she was feeling and wishing Shirley were flying over just then.

  Curva’s subsequent visits into Weed grew more infrequent.

  And Shirley? He found several sections of land for himself—not far from Curva’s property—and held the mineral rights. He expected to be a wealthy man in no time—more wealthy, that is, than he already was. Yet he hadn’t expected Curva’s continued resistance to his presence there. He thought she should be delighted to have his company strike oil at her place, but she wouldn’t have any of it, one of the few residents to refuse his offer.

  One night, he stopped by unannounced. Sabina answered the door, and Shirley invited himself inside, plopping down on the lumpy sofa, kicking up a poof of dust. He planted his Stetson next to him. Your mother around? he asked.

  Yeah, sure, Sabina said. She’s in the barn.

  Can you get her? I have some business we need to discuss.

  Sabina skipped out the door. A few minutes later, Curva appeared, Sabina at her heels. She turned to her daughter and said, Can you finish feeding the animals. Glaring at Shirley, Curva said, I didn’t invite you inside, señor. What do you want?

  He chortled: I need a little of that dandelion wine I’ve heard so much about.

  Turning away, she said, I only make it for my friends and myself.

  You mean I’m not a friend?

  Leaning against the sink, Curva eyed him suspiciously and fingered the pistol she had slipped into her pocket. She shook her head and said, No, señor, you’re no one’s friend.

  He wagged his finger at her and flashed a wad of leases: You could be rich and fix up this house. Hell, build a new one! Buy new furniture. Put Sabina in college. Why are you so stubborn, woman?

  Curva scowled. Why are you so blind, señor? You think I came all this way just to watch Weed turn into another Berumba?

  Berumba?

  Yes, señor, Berumba.

  Okay, señora, so what’s the big deal about Be-rum-ba?

  I learned many things there.

  What “things”?

  Curva scowled. I don’t think you’d understand.

  Try me!

  She stared out the window a few minutes—envisioning the Berumba she loved—before answering. The place started out muy tranquillo, she said. People helped each other. They spent mucho time together when they weren’t working— eating and drinking. Enjoying life. Satisfied. No one had much money, but it was okay. They got by. Everything was in harmony. The animals. The people. The land.

  Shirley lit a cigarette, sucked deeply on it, and flicked the used match onto the floor. He said, You make it sound like some paradise.

  It was paraíso before hombres like you showed up. The Banana Company people came to town and took over. They didn’t give a damn about us. Made mucho dinero and then left. We were never the same after that. That will happen here.

  Shirley waved off her words. He said, You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.

  Shrugging, Curva wiped the counter with a dishcloth. No, I’m not, she said. You’re out for all you can get. You’ll tramp on anyone in your way. Including me. I heard you’re telling everyone I’m here illegally.

  You got papers saying you’re legal?

  I’ve got papers saying I own this place. You think I’m illegal just because I’m from Me-he-co. You’re an americano. Are you legal?

  She threw the dishrag into the sink and wiped her hands on her skirt. She hated everything about Shirley and what he represented. She also hated the attraction she had felt whenever she saw him. This time she was grateful to only feel disgust.

  Shirley startled her when he got up and stubbed out his half-finished cigarette on a nearby plate that held the remains of Sabina’s dinner. He said, You make it sound like I’m ruining your nice little nest here. Birds can’t stay in their nest forever, you know. They need to get out and find food. Fly. You can’t protect this town, Curva. It’s taking off without you. He made a flying motion with his right hand.

  Curva heard Billie’s truck pull up outside. He appeared on her doorstep minutes later, giving a light knock before entering. Shirley shook his hand: Hey, Billie, good to see you. Did you bring the signed leases?

  Didn’t know you’d be here, Billie said, or I would have. Stop by tomorrow and I’ll give them to you.

  Leases? Curva said.

  Billie pulled up a kitchen chair and straddled it. Yeah, Billie, said, they’re gonna drill on the rez.

  The rez?

  Sure, Shirley said. The surveys show Billie and his people are sitting on oodles of black gold.

  Curva looked dismayed and said, Bee-lee, you’re not going to let this gringo take over your land?

  Shirley shoved his Stetson on his head and headed for the door. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bee-lee. Let me know when you want another ride in my plane, señora. You’ll see things differently from up there. He winked and walked out, the screen door slamming behind him.

  Billie leaned back on the chair, watching Curva carry dishes from the table to the dishpan, her hips swiveling under the thin fabric of her skirt. She poured water into the pan and a little soap. He missed hearing her usual laughter and chatter.

  He asked, What’s on your mind?

  She swung around. I can’t believe you of all people would give the gringo your mineral rights.

  Billie spit out, You think I’m some noble savage? You expect us to stand by and let everyone else get rich? Doesn’t matter if we’re dirt poor as long as we’re true to our ideals?

  I thought you cared about nature. Being one with the land.

  Billie hit the table with his hand. We do. Oil is part of nature!

  Curva slammed a pot on the counter, punctuating her words: Oil is black and slimy and evil. You’ll see, Bee-lee. It will rule. Ugly oil wells will be everywhere.

  Billie pulled a tobacco pouch from his pocket, took a cigarette paper from inside it, dropped some tobacco onto the tissue, and rolled it with one hand, licking and pressing the paper together. He popped the smoke into his mouth, struck a wooden match against the bottom of the chair, and lit it, puffing greedily, spurts of smoke mingling with the words that left his mouth: You know what kind of land we have on the rez. It doesn’t grow much. Never has. This is a chance to make something useful from it. There’ll be enough money in our tribal fund to build my museum and more. I thought you were all for that.

  Curva walked to the screen door and looked out into the night before answering, afraid Shirley might be there, listening in on their conversation. She noticed the light was on in the greenhouse and pictured Sabina watching the butterflies mate, one of her favorite things. It touched her to think of her daughter in that way, so involved with these incredible creatures. Then she remembered that Billie was waiting for her response.

  She said, I’m all for you building a museum. I just don’t like financing it this way. This guy is bad news with his airplane and beeg talk. You’ll see. Once the oil is all gone, Weed will be a ghost town.

  But I’ll have my museum! And the Blackfoot will have some money. We can be self-supporting. Not children waiting for handouts. You can afford to be honorable. You’ve got an income, some savings. You own this place. We can’t ever own our land, but we can hold the mineral rights.

  Curva wasn’t listening to Billie. She was sure she heard Shirley’s plane buzzing overhead, circling her place. Suelita Flores stood next to her, whispering in her ear Sí, sí, mi amiga, él es muy atractivo, es hora de
volar,6 and she laughed heartily, making Curva laugh, too, the sound disturbing the air above them, causing mucho turbulencia in the sky for Shirley.

  * * *

  6 Yes, yes, my friend. He’s very sexy. It’s time to fly.

  Oil Fever

  The next few months flew by in a flurry of activity in and around Weed. New people arrived every day. Oil wells sprouted on the land like giant erector sets. Everything shifted into high gear. The high level of excitement made residents feel they were gripped by something uncontrollable.

  Catherine Hawkins found herself eyeing the guys who flooded the place to work on oilrigs. Curva’s words still rang in her ears that a young man was in her future. The future was now, and Catherine was ready. She didn’t want to run out on her husband and kids, but she did long for some diversion. Caught up in the heady atmosphere, she fussed with her hair and applied lipstick and rouge before prancing downtown in a pair of new spike heels that showed off her shapely legs. Passing a group of oilrig workers, she got some whistles, which created flutters in the pit of her stomach. It added flavor to her life just to know other men still found her attractive.

  Catherine wasn’t the only one feeling the effect of rapid changes. No longer able to linger in her garden or meet with the Ladies Aid Society at the Odd fellow’s Hall, Sophie Smart had to help out at their store. She missed gossiping with the women and working on their many sewing projects for poor children in other lands—quilts, coats, dresses, shirts. But Sophie also liked the extra money she had in her bank account and the new places to spend it that were sprouting around her. Between customers, Sophie leaned dreamily on the counter and thought about all the things she would buy with the money she and Nathan were making—an electric toaster, a new washing machine, a poppy red dress she fell for in the nearby ladies ready-to-wear store. She spent hours fantasizing about these new purchases and the way they would enliven her days.