Pablo opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a cot made of branches beneath a canopy of manzanita. There were some weird bird-like sculptures suspended up above him. They were shaking violently in the wind. It was daytime, probably afternoon. Summer? Or early fall, judging from the heat. Okay so he was Pablo Schwartz. He was 36. That would make it . . . He had no idea what year it was. He knew he was Pablo Schwartz, that he was 36 and that he sold pot for a living—he remembered that—but otherwise nothing. The slate seemed to be wiped clean and he could feel the panic inching towards the surface. He kept nudging his brain for answers. What happened? Why did his head hurt so badly? Where the fuck was he? And suddenly he was terrified. Pablo tried to sit up and found that he was bound flat to the cot. “Help,” he yelled. “Somebody.”
The sacapunta kitties were screaming in their little meowing voices, “Cut him up, little bloody pieces, and feed him to the snakes.”
The birds were squawking, “Snakes only eat live animals.”
“Then we’ll eat him,” the kitties said. “We’re hungry. Feed us.”
Rigoberta was still crying. Why? What was her problem now? She said that she was afraid that Hernando, or even worse Ramon, would come and then they’d have to kill the gringo. She didn’t want blood on her hands. Felix had to admit she had a point. Those guys would kill this man and possibly kill Felix just for allowing him into the camp. Hernando was due to make a drop and the plants were ready for harvest. Ramon was going to bring a crew to help with the cutting. It could happen any time.
Don Jefe had been noticeably quiet. Then the man cried for help and Don Jefe suggested that Felix take him some water.
A little Mexican walked towards the cot with a glass of water. He smiled and said something in Spanish, which Pablo could not understand. There was a kindness to his manner that made Pablo relax a little. But still, what the fuck was going on? His head hurt like hell. The man leaned over and took out a knife then cut the tape that was wound across Pablo’s chest and shoulders. It looked like a Griptilian 551. Sweet knife. Pablo was pretty sure that he might have one just like it. The guy stepped back and Pablo tried to situp but his hands were still bound, as were his hips, legs and feet, and with a headache the size of the Lake Mead, he simply couldn’t coordinate the movement. The little Mexican dude helped him sit up. The world spun and Pablo thought for a moment that he was going to be sick but then things calmed down. Pablo was sitting in the middle of a huge pot farm. The man patted Pablo on the shoulder then stepped back.
Pablo held his hands out hoping he would cut the tape but the man looked doubtful. “I’m not gonna try anything. I swear,” Pablo said. “Just give me my hands, please.”
The man shook his head but offered the plastic cup of water, which Pablo took. He was thirsty and the lukewarm water tasted good. He finished it and returned the cup then noticed that the man was wearing a Grizzly Tuff holster and the motherfucker was packing The Judge.
“That’s my gun.” Pablo pointed with both hands. “You’ve got my gun.”
And then suddenly it all came back. Pablo was in deep shit.
The kitties were getting out of control. They were chanting a little song about Ramon’s men and their machetes. They kept yelling “mince-meat, mince-meat, Felix is going to be mince-meat. They’re going to kill him; they’re going to kill him. And all that’s left is mince-meat.” Felix walked over and stomped on the head of the biggest cat then warned the others he would destroy them all if they didn’t shut up. It worked, at least for the time being.
Don Jefe kept thinking that he heard someone approaching, which sent Felix and Rigoberta into a panic, but then he’d apologize and announce that it had been a false alarm.
Rigoberta thought the prisoner looked weak so Felix went to the kitchen and brought out a fresh container of Pringles that he opened and handed to the man. The gringo had trouble getting the potato chips out of the canister with his bound hands so Felix dumped some on his lap. Then they all stepped back and watched the man eat.
These were the facts: Pablo was fucked. A Mexican madman and his army of twig-beasts were holding him prisoner behind enemy lines. They’d confiscated his weapons and secured him to this stick bed. He was helpless. The question was, why was he still alive? Since when did the cartel take prisoners and feed them Pringles?
As his head cleared, Pablo remembered this little guy from his last scouting trip. He recognized the bear over by the kitchen. He had not seen the dog before or those weird little cat-like things. The dude was talking to himself non-stop, weird whispering voices, each one different from the last. This guy was crazy. Pablo had to escape.
“You should probably kill him,” Don Jefe said. “And dispose of the body before Ramon shows up.”
The kitties erupted in cheers.
Felix walked over and stomped another cat. Then they were quiet.
“I won’t,” Felix told Don Jefe. “I can’t.”
“Let him go,” Rigoberta said calmly. “It’s the only way. Cut him free, pretend like you’re aiming at him and shoot a couple rounds up to the sky. Make him run for his life.”
Rigoberta was right and Felix felt a wave of love and gratitude for his dear friend. Don Jefe agreed that the plan could work. The birds and kitties stayed still. Felix removed the handgun from the holster on his chest and aimed it at the prisoner. He walked over and, with his left hand, cut the tape that bound his feet, legs and hips then stood back and told him to run. For a moment the man didn’t move. Felix nudged his shoulder with the barrel of the gun and repeated his command, “Get out of here.”
Pablo ran. He tore through the bushes, scratching his face and neck, stumbling over rocks and vines. There was a shot fired but as far as he could tell, he wasn’t hit. He couldn’t feel his headache or throb of his bruised ribs. The adrenaline had fully restored his memory and he headed straight to the gulley where his bike was hidden. He rode down that canyon as fast as he could. The wind was blasting behind him and he had to hold tight to the handlebars for control. It was only when he got back to his camper, about forty minutes later, that he stopped and looked back up the mountains. And there, on the southern slope of the mountains, was a thick black plume of smoke.
THE FIRE
JANICE SAW IT. SHE WAS STANDING AT THE KITCHEN SINK, rinsing out her coffee cup. Smoke, thick and black, rising off the distant ridge. How distant was that? Ten miles? The winds were howling; ten miles wasn’t very far. She dried her cup and carefully put it away. The kitchen table was covered with brochures and course catalogues from the local colleges. She started humming as she swept all the college info into the plastic file case she’d bought to help her get organized. Biopsychology, social psychology, child psychology, abnormal psychology, clinical psychology, health psychology, animal behavior, sensation/perception. She’d earned an undergraduate degree in geography and she remembered college as one of the best times of her life. It just made sense to pursue an advanced degree now, do something of importance. She thought that this time around she would study psychology because she’d always been fascinated by what made people tick. Plus she loved the idea of someday maybe having a little practice of her own, with patients whom she could help and guide through difficult times. She longed to feel benevolent and productive.
She checked the window. The smoke was getting thicker and she thought she could see maybe a hint of orange flame on that far ridgeline.
Janice opened the kitchen drawer over by the phone. Extension cords, duct tape, an almost empty tube of Neosporin, chalk, toenail clippers, needle-nose pliers, her black alligator belt that had been missing for weeks, an assortment of unidentified keys, WD40, a box of crystallized ginger. She knew that the chaos said something about the state of her life but now was not the time to think about that. She dug around in the drawer until she found the small pair of binoculars then carried them back over to the sink. She’d grown up in southern California and fires were a part of her life but she’d always experienced them on TV. Sh
e’d never actually seen one in person.
It was beautiful. Hot yellow right down at the source where it was burning, consuming everything it touched. As the column rose towards the sky it turned orange then red and finally the flame would whip out the black smoke that billowed in the sky, dark and heavy like storm clouds. Janice adjusted the focus and watched as the gusts of wind drove the fire forward. It was so much like a wave. It would peak, fanned by its own energy, then surge forward, devouring anything its path. The main part of the fire continued to move on, just like a swell in the ocean, but it left behind spot fires in the trees and dense bushes that could then be whipped up again by another gust, join forces and rush off in another direction, in search of its own fresh prey. The fire was like a living creature, a spectacular monster. It scared and excited her. God, she wished she had a joint.
Janice had stopped smoking pot the day after Pablo’s party and was pretty much clean and sober now except for the occasional glass of wine. She and Dr. Deperno had decided. It was time. When she woke up the morning after the party, curled up in the bathtub on a stack of towels, with dried vomit on her blouse, and a pounding headache, she knew something had to change. She took a shower, put on clean clothes and went downstairs to face the music. Frank was sitting in kitchen drinking coffee. He didn’t look so great himself, face puffy, eyes all red. He actually looked more hung-over than she did. The kids were at school, the baby off on a walk with the nanny, the housekeeper upstairs cleaning. They were alone.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Frank put his coffee down on the table.
If he had just come at it from a different angle, if there’d been a tiny hint of sympathy or concern, he might have gotten an apology but something about his smug superiority made Janice furious.
“You, Frank Bane, can take your judge and jury act and shove it up your hairy ass.” Janice grabbed her purse and walked out. She climbed in her car and drove down the driveway as fast as she could and almost hit a gardener at the bottom by the gate. When she got to the coast she turned right, drove five hours, stopping once for gas, found a little motel, checked in and spent the night, then got up the next morning and drove five hours back to the house. She did not call home. She did not check on the kids. No one knew where she was.
It was a little bit scary being out, alone for the first time, but it was mostly fantastic. When evening came, she walked across the street and had a nice dinner of spaghetti with meatballs and buttery garlic bread. She ordered desert, triple chocolate cake, which she hadn’t done in years. By the end of the meal, her hangover was gone and she felt great. Janice went back to her room and watched mindless TV until she fell asleep. She didn’t have to put anybody to bed. Didn’t have to worry about homework and brushing teeth. Didn’t have to take the dogs out to do their poo-poos and pee-pees. Didn’t have to take a shower. Didn’t have to listen to Frank. And the surprising part was that she didn’t miss any of it. Her family life disappeared for that one night and that was okay. When she got home, Frank acted as if she’d just run to the market for a quart of milk and pretended that nothing was wrong. He kissed her on the cheek and asked if she’d like to go out to dinner or stay home. Frank never kissed her on the cheek and he certainly never called her “sweetie”. She said she’d prefer to stay home. They had dinner and afterwards Frank gave her a foot massage, then ran her a bath. He had a sweet side, he really did. And when she really thought about it, the idea of breaking up the family, starting life over as a single woman, was just too much. The party was never mentioned again and Frank had been acting better. She would stay and somehow make a life for herself inside the marriage.
Janice continued to look through the binoculars and watched as the fire leap across a road from one hillside to the next. Yeah, she should call Frank. It was definitely time to do something. But first she thought she’d go upstairs and figure out what needed to be saved and what could be left behind. She’d call just as soon as she organized her thoughts.
THE WAY THE WIND BLOWS
ELLIS STOOD ON HER DECK, BOTH HANDS ON HER BELLY, AND watched the wind blast the lips of the waves into a fine mist that lingered in the air for a few seconds even after the wave had broken and rolled on. It was a powerful Santa Ana, relentless and dry, and it was building. This wind always made her restless. It roared down the canyons, rattled her windows and somehow forced the sand inside her little house even when she locked all the windows. Ever since childhood, Santa Anas signaled the end of summer. It meant back to school, the end of her long days on the beach and in the water. She’d been trained from an early age to watch the sky when those winds kicked up. First puff of smoke and Ellis knew that she had to get home, as soon as possible, to defend what was hers. These winds fueled some of the biggest fires in the country; people lost their homes every year. Still, if Ellis were completely honest, she’d have to admit that a part of her really loved the fire. The sheer force of it, the chaos, thrilled her. She had dreams of a fire taking out all those mansions, wiping the mountains clean, so that the land could be restored to its former beauty. It was a fairytale she liked to tell herself. What she’d really like to see was a huge fire followed by torrential rains so there’d be massive mudslides and the highway would close. Those who didn’t lose their homes would be driven crazy by the inconvenience of no direct route into town so they’d sell their houses and move away. Actually, in a perfect world, the highway would be shut down forever. Those from the outside world who wanted access to this little beach town would have to walk, or ride their bikes. That would be paradise and that would be a world where she could see raising her child.
Ellis felt the baby move. It had started kicking about a week ago, a strange flutter-roll feeling, almost ticklish. A baby. Her baby. When would this seem real? She’d thought that once it started moving around, she would somehow believe it and understand. But she was still as confused as she’d been the day she got the test results. What the hell was she doing?
She’d bought a new truck. It was hard to let the old one go but she realized she needed something safe. Babies aren’t supposed to ride in the front seat. She got an extended cab so there’d be a place for the car seat. And she’d gone with white because she thought it would be cooler in summer. It was a chick truck, a mommy truck.
The secret was out. To anyone who knew her, it was obvious. She had a belly and, for the first time in her life, big tits. Pablo had come to her a few weeks ago and asked her what it all meant. What was going to happen? He’d been very loving and concerned, almost teary. She’d felt equal amounts of tenderness and rage towards him. Was she always going to have to be the one calling the shots? Couldn’t someone else take over? She didn’t know what it meant. Maybe he had some suggestions? But then she realized that Pablo was only capable of so much. He loved her, and he would do anything she asked of him, but she was going to have to direct him because he was incapable of taking the initiative and do anything on his own.
Frank had disappeared completely which was for the best. If this was his child, she definitely didn’t want to be tied to him for the rest of her life. She didn’t like Frank. She hated everything that he stood for. Most of her was glad that he hadn’t bothered to call her since the night of Pablo’s party. Yeah, a big part of her was very relieved. The other part of her wanted to go up there and ring his doorbell and show him exactly what he’d done, show that pretty little wife too. Why should he just walk away, no consequence? Shouldn’t he have to pay? What the fuck was she going to do with a baby? Ellis Gardner, a mother? And yet, it had never even crossed her mind to get rid of it. This was hers; she would keep it. And Frank Bane would have nothing to do with it.
The baby kicked again. Supposedly later in the pregnancy you can feel a little foot or an elbow, sometimes you can actually see it poking at your stomach. That would be cool. She rubbed her stomach and told the baby that they would figure it out together. There was nothing to worry about.
Ellis had given up smoking. They say that
once you’re pregnant you don’t even want cigarettes because your body rejects what’s bad for the baby. That was total bullshit. She was dying to smoke and it was sheer willpower that kept her from doing so. She’d also like a drink, some pot and a nice snort of coke, but that would have to wait awhile. She was-n’t going to do anything to endanger this kid because if there was something wrong with it when it came out, Ellis didn’t think she could live with the guilt. So it was skim milk and lots of organic fruits and vegetables. Ellis was completely unrecognizable even to herself.
The wind was picking up. Time to go put rocks on all the trashcan lids and bring her surfboards inside. Anything that wasn’t tied down would blow away. These winds could last for days. Ellis turned and saw that the southern end of the mountain range was on fire.
NEVER LEAVE
DON JEFE WAS THE FIRST TO SEE THE SMOKE. IT SEEMED FAR away but he was concerned. These hills were so brown now, all that dried out brush, perfect fuel for a colossal fire. Rigoberta was sleeping and Felix didn’t want to wake her. She was still traumatized by the gringo and he just couldn’t handle any more drama from her. Unfortunately the sacapunta kitties saw the smoke too. Apparently cats are terrified of fire—or at least these cats were. They started shrieking, “We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die. Agonizingly burned to a crisp. Help! Help!” That made the birds start squawking and then of course Rigoberta woke up. Before she could add to the mayhem, Felix called a meeting. He arranged everyone in a circle on either side of Rigoberta, except the birds who remained in the trees, and attempted to calm them all down.
Point Dume Page 15