Curva Peligrosa

by MacKenzie, Lily Iona;

  She walked along the road’s shoulder. The Scotch thistles had invaded already, the spiky purple blooms almost in view, cluttering the ditch and beginning to assault the fields. She had grown to love not only the thistle but also the many shades of gold and brown vegetation that filled the landscape during the dormant season, visible when the snow melted. Her boots clinked against the fine gravel and scattered it. The sound made a counterpoint with the horse’s hooves, a reassuring rhythm that reminded her of some Mexican songs she knew.

  Still shaken by Shirley’s appearance, she thought of her beehive, her own queen bee status threatened by him. As in the bee colony, it wasn’t just aspirants to her throne she had to fend off. She also needed to put Shirley in his place. It wasn’t something she could settle with guns. If it were, she needn’t worry. No, it would take more than guns, though she didn’t know yet what that might be.

  Curva finally reached the grove near her place and lingered for a moment, enjoying the smell of pine. Pavel whinnied and nudged her shoulder. In the distance, Dios barked and growled intermittently, disturbing her reverie. She started walking again down the lane through the trees to her house, thinking about the butterflies and their southern trip, trying to imagine where they were now and wishing she were with them. Having spent so much time on the road over the years, it was difficult for her to stop traveling altogether. Though she loved her home and enjoyed her new life, occasionally she also still longed to be on the move, facing new challenges and seeing new sights. But most of all she wanted to return to Mexico one day. She missed being part of the fiestas and rituals that mark the year—the vivid colors and songs and food, the friendly people. Weed’s residents had embraced her for the most part, but she knew they would never fully adopt her, especially now that Shirley’s influence had caused so many changes for the town and beyond.

  At the end of the narrow road, her casa, greenhouse, and other outbuildings appeared, a haven in this foreign land. The fountain’s burbling settled her down after the upsetting run-in with that crazy gringo. She planned to hang out for a while with her plants and creatures; working with them always calmed her.

  That’s when she saw Shirley’s plane. It was parked in the same spot where he’d landed during his first visit, as if he had a claim to her place. He stood there, leaning against the fence, Stetson pushed back on his head, lighting up a cigarette. He tipped his hat and said, Welcome home, señora.

  Pavel neighed and rose on its hind legs. Curva pulled on the rope and said, Establezca abajo.8 The horse shook its head from side to side, trying to get away. Tu caballo loca,9 she said, and tied it to the fence, crooning a Mexican song. Then she loosened the cinch and dragged the saddle off Pavel’s back, dropping it on the ground.

  Need some help with that thing, señora?

  Curva brushed dirt off her gauchos and flicked the riding crop towards Shirley. The tip streaked out like a snake’s tongue, grazing his arm, and she snarled, You could’ve killed me and my horse, you fool!

  Shirley laughed. Relax! I was just having a little fun.

  Fun for you but not for the horse and me. Get off my property!

  Curva led the horse past Shirley and turned it loose in the pasture. She said, My horse only understands Spanish. He doesn’t like you, señor. And neither do I.

  Shirley shrugged. Can’t please everyone, señora, he said, tapping the ash off his cigarette. Then he dropped it onto the ground and crushed it under his heel, stepping a little closer and snorting, Your property? Just a minute, señora. I was in town checking the records and you haven’t paid any taxes since you bought this land. Comprendes?

  Don’t treat me like a fool, she spat out, her cheeks flaming at his words as well as at his intense appraisal of her hips and breasts. Of course I comprendo. I speak inglés too. I also read it.

  Shirley hooted: So you should know you owe the government a lot of money. I’m surprised the tax people haven’t taken over the place. They can, you know. You’re just lucky they’re either so lax or so lame.

  Curva turned away and entered the house: You can’t scare me, señor, she said, slamming the door behind her, his laughter following her inside.

  But he had frightened her. The idea that someone could take away the poco paraíso she’d created in this new land made her loca. She didn’t want to admit to Shirley that she never read those boring, official-looking papers the government sent her. She also rarely went near her post office box since she received so little mail.

  Curva stood at her kitchen window watching Shirley’s plane take off and hurling insults in Spanish the whole time. The híbrido! She considered grabbing her rifle and shooting holes in his plane tires, but thought better of it. She had enough problems.

  To calm herself down, she puttered in the kitchen, chopping onions and cutting up beef for carne asada, singing to herself, trying to blot out Shirley’s visit and the threat that now hung over her.

  Taxes?

  Why should she pay the government for land she already owned?

  What did it give her in return?

  She didn’t have an answer to these questions, but maybe Billie or Sabina did. That girl got smarter every day. She learned things in school that Curva never had. Curva lovingly took in every detail of the nest she’d created for herself and Sabina and wandered through the four rooms, pausing in her daughter’s bedroom. Photographs papered the walls, a variety of images that included pictures of Curva herself, shooting her guns at targets. That girl knows how to shoot, too, Curva thought. She stood there for a long time, drinking in Sabina’s world.

  * * *

  8 Settle down

  9 You crazy horse

  To the Rescue

  Shirley’s threats lingered for days afterward, unsettling Curva. During that time, she wandered every foot of her land, absorbing each element of flora and fauna, of buildings she had resurrected and of animals she cared for. The thought of him taking everything away overwhelmed her.

  Inside her casa, she paced, cracking her knuckles and longing to wring Shirley’s neck as she did her chickens. That bad hombre needed to be put in his place. To distract herself, she rolled down the top of her gauchos and tied the ends of her blouse under her bust, freeing her ample stomach. It jiggled and shook, along with her breasts, as she rotated her hips, clicked the finger cymbals she’d made out of bottle caps, and hummed an accompaniment. The exotic rhythms soon eclipsed the concerns she had about her property or Shirley. They also attracted Suelita and Xavier, who burst through the door.

  Suelita said, Olé! You’re getting it, Curva. Just bend your back a little more and push your pelvis out. Like this. Mira. Wearing purple harem pants dripping with gold fringe and a matching top that exposed her middle, Suelita slithered into the room, pulsating her belly, hands above her head and arms moving sinuously. The two women faced each other, Curva imitating Suelita’s movements.

  Olé! I like, Xavier said, clapping his hands and circling them. He was wearing a three-quarter length blue silk kimono over black harem pants. Where’s my guitar? I’ll give you some real music to dance to.

  He spotted it leaning against a wall, slung the strap over his shoulder, and began to play. His fingers made the strings sing. Lively Middle Eastern songs filled the room, and the dancers gave themselves over to the tempos, smiling and swirling and swiveling their hips in that Alberta kitchen, Curva’s worries about losing her land slipping away. The sound carried across the prairies, making even tone-deaf townspeople shuffle their feet and rotate their pelvises. Some men found themselves carried away as they plowed the earth, their feet and their draft horses picking up the rhythms and trying them out. So did the women, whether hanging clothes on the line or shopping at Smart’s.

  Xavier’s music entered Curva and Suelita so deeply they couldn’t stop dancing. Finally he quit playing and the two women—flushed, sweat leaving large half-moons under their ar
mpits—flopped onto chairs, breathing hard.

  I must be getting old, Curva said, fanning her face with a kitchen towel.

  You, old? Xavier threw his head back and laughed. Not you, mi hermana. You’ll never age. Like me, no? A few gray hairs maybe, but the spirit, that’s still young. It’s the spirit that counts.

  Curva laughed: I thought you two were traveling the world. Cuba, Hong Kong?

  Xavier propped the guitar against the wall and strode over to her, bending and brushing his lips across her cheek. So warm, he said. So enticing, mi hermana. We were traveling the world, but I picked up your desolación. I said to Suelita, Curva needs us, and here we are, at your service.

  Gracias, but what can you do to help? Curva explained her problems with Shirley.

  Suelita pointed to herself. This body still leads men astray, right, Xavier? I could keep señor Shirley so busy he wouldn’t have time to bother you. Happily! Or I could cast a spell on him. He wouldn’t wake up for a hundred years.

  Xavier hooted. I could give him the kiss of death. Make him squirm a little. Every time he came by here he’d feel it. That should keep him off your property.

  Curva nodded. Xavier’s solution sounded like the best one.

  He pointed to the scrolled map resting on one part of the tabletop: Any progress?

  Not since you spilled vino on it. Nada!

  Xavier opened the fridge. Nothing here either, he said. I guess you didn’t expect me.

  I’m making carne asada, your favorite.

  And mine, Suelita said.

  Xavier took the jug of dandelion wine from the fridge and glasses from the cupboard. Then he poured them each a tumbler full and said, Salud. To a long life!

  Curva ignored him, opening the scroll and spreading it out on the table. She used the salt and pepper shakers along with the sugar bowl to anchor the corners. Both Xavier and Suelita leaned over the parchment, their breath animating the squiggly lines, causing them to spread like a virus on the page—a combination of incomprehensible words and an outline that looked vaguely familiar to Curva.

  It still looks like Greek to me, Xavier said.

  Sí, Suelita said, yawning. I need a siesta.

  Curva stared at the parchment, waiting for words and map to penetrate, hoping something would come to her if she concentrated long enough. We need Kadeem to help us, she said.

  You know him, Suelita said. He could be on the moon by now. So unpredictable.

  Curva said, Let’s check on the seeds he gave me. Sabina’s been watering and talking to them.

  Xavier did a little soft shoe. Let me escort you, señoras.

  They left Curva’s casa, one woman on each of Xavier’s arms, and swept into the greenhouse, greeted by a variety of birdcalls, lush green vegetation, a riot of color, and the endlessly gushing fountain.

  Where are those seeds, mi hermana?

  Seeds! Seeds! one of the parrots shrieked.

  Curva laughed. Quiet, Manuel. It isn’t feeding time. She pointed: Over there, in clay pots.

  Xavier shrugged. Clay pots? I just see four huevos grandes.

  Huevos grandes? she said.

  Huevos grandes, Manuel cried.

  That can’t be, Curva said. Eggs?

  Transformations, right? Suelita said. Kadeem’s specialty.

  Curva strode over to where Suelita and Xavier were standing, staring at the ground. Four ostrich-sized eggs had shattered the clay pots and were huddled together amidst the terracotta shards. The pots’ remains resembled fractured eggshells themselves. A purple finch was perched on one of the big eggs, warbling and looking protective.

  You think that pájaro pequeño laid that huevo grande? Suelita asked, laughing.

  Suelita and I will have to roost on them if you want them to hatch, mi hermana.

  You? There are four eggs.

  We’ll take turns, Suelita said.

  You have other things to do, no?

  No, Xavier said. Hades is going through a recession, too. Not much happening there these days. This is where the action is. Weed. Your farm. Mucha acción.

  Even Berumba appears dead these days, Suelita said.

  Ouch, Xavier said. Don’t use that word around me, mi amiga.

  Berumba?

  No! Dead. I’m allergic to it. I break out in a cold sweat when I hear it. See? He held up an arm and pushed back the sleeve of his kimono. Goose bumps covered it, topped by a layer of sweat that seeped into the silk.

  DEAD, Manuel cried.

  Ignore Manuel, Curva said. He’s a loudmouth. You’ll catch your death of cold, Xavier.

  He extended his arms wide as if attached to a cross. Don’t remind me, he said.

  You’re so suggestible, mi hermano. You always were. I don’t think I really shot you. You heard the gun blast and keeled over.

  You mean I’m not really a corpse?

  Curva frowned. I hate the word corpse. I hate it more than dead. The dead can live. A corpse can’t.

  I like your logic, Curva. So I’ll be dead.

  Her head nodding, Suelita had curled up on a ratty couch Curva kept in the greenhouse for her trysts. She crawled under the throw that covered it, her eyelids flickering and then closing. A loud snore occasionally erupted from her, causing the birds to scatter and Curva and Xavier to laugh.

  You never snored like that, mi hermana. So ladylike you were.

  Me ladylike? Curva exploded in a belly laugh that rattled the glass and made the giant eggs tremble. You’re mistaking me for someone else. A lady, yes. Ladylike, no.

  To me you are.

  You see things the way you think they should be.

  And you don’t?

  I see things the way they are.

  Xavier snorted. Nobody sees things the way they are. Words make us see what they want. You want me to be dead, not a corpse. But isn’t that what you’re accusing me of doing? Seeing what I want to see?

  All these words make me loca, Xavier. They confuse me.

  They’re supposed to! Eeny meeny miny mo. Catch a tiger by the toe. Does that make sense? He twirled, his kimono flaring open briefly, and pivoted on one foot, doing a karate chop with his flashing hands.

  Curva shook her head, as if she had just awakened. Nothing makes sense, she said. Why are we here instead of in Me-he-co?

  The Old North Trail cast a spell on us. And here we are.

  You mean here I am. You and Suelita are free to go wherever you want. Sabina and my granja depend on me now.

  Did you call me? Suelita said, stretching and yawning. She threw off the cover and stood up, shaking the fringe on her harem pants. I need some carne asada, she said, and headed to the house.

  I thought you liked it here, Xavier said, wrapping an arm around Curva’s shoulders.

  Sí, I do, I do, she said. Manuel cawed I do, I do.

  Shush, Curva said, heading for the butterfly habitat, Xavier following. But I miss traveling sometimes, especially now with all the changes in town and on the land. Anyway, you know me. I still like adventures and visiting new places.

  Curva was surprised at how wistful she sounded saying these words and tried to brush away such thoughts. She had a home now for the first time since she was a girl, and she had her own daughter to think about. She didn’t want to lose what she’d created in Canada to Shirley or to the government or to anyone.

  Suelita returned from the house, and Xavier expanded his arms: Join us.

  Two is company, Curva said. You know the rest. Besides, I can’t leave all my bambinos. Sabina’s too young to care for everything.

  She doesn’t think so.

  You’ve been spying on my daughter?

  Not spying. I’m watching out for her. She’s my niece!

  The drone of a plane passing overhead gave Curva chills. It’s that gringo again, she sai
d. More trouble.

  Don’t worry, mi hermana. I’ll take care of him. Leave him to me.

  She ran outside and looked at the sky. Every time Shirley circled and prepared to land on her property, he ran into a gust of arctic air. Xavier’s kiss of death rocked the plane, creating a kind of vortex that the gringo just barely pulled out of.

  Returning to the greenhouse, Curva found Xavier sitting on two of the huge eggs in a meditative posture—legs crossed, eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. Next to him Suelita perched on the other two eggs, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her hands. She had fallen asleep again, her snores rattling the windowpanes and sending the birds into flight.

  Curva on the Old North Trail

  Hola, mi estimado Xavier,

  The weather is hot again, and I want to be naked so I can feel the heat on all of my skin. I pretend I’m back in Berumba with you, sitting under the banana trees and howling at the moon.

  It was full last night and we travelled under its cool light. Everything looked milky and soft, and I had to trust the horses to find our way. So far they haven’t let me down.

  As I write this, it’s daytime, and my saddle sits on the ground. I lean back against it and grab your guitar. Blow some smoke. Everything looks muy bello now. The sun licks the leaves and turns them yellow. Crickets chirr, even in daylight. Mosquitoes whine near my ear and black flies whiz by. They take turns biting me. Sometimes they attack at the same time and I bite back. Or I blow smoke at them and hope they’ll inhale it and forget me. They just laugh and take a few more nips.

  The sun hasn’t gone down yet. It hangs in the sky like a giant red balloon. I wonder what would happen if someone poked it with a pin. Maybe gold would pour out and make everyone rich. But where would the sun be then? In everyone’s pocket?

  Not a good idea after all, but it makes me laugh.

  The moon is friendly yet not in the same way as the sun. The moon’s glow barely grazes me, but the sun pierces me like a lover does.