by Sandi Ault
The old man shifted in his seat and pulled a section of his blanket up across his chest. “I think they have that one for them women maybe New Year Day, before we go Quiet Time.”
I gently bit my lower lip lest I say anything and spoil the gift I’d just been given. Sevenguns had overlooked my transgression and told me what little he could. I wanted to hug and kiss the old man!
By this time, we were approaching the pueblo gate. “Since it’s Quiet Time, I can go in the back way, but not to your house in the main village. I know that it’s forbidden to drive in the old part right now.”
“Right here, I am good,” he said.
“Then I will leave you here, my friend. Thank you for keeping me company on the drive.”
He smiled at me as he unlatched his seatbelt. “That other time you catch that big cat and those little ones, help them get free.” He was referring to the previous winter, when I asked for his permission to put a trap on pueblo lands to capture a wounded mountain lion and her cubs, all of them badly in need of rescue. The old man got out of the car, but leaned in before closing the passenger door. “You maybe can set good trap like that, this time, find that one you are looking for.”
14: Evening
The sun was starting to set by the time I made it back to the highway. Mountain was making noises in the backseat about wanting to get out and romp. And I had a lot of reading to do. It was time to go home. As I drove, I passed through a long stretch of open mesa and then crossed the Rio Grande at the Gorge Bridge. Just on the other side, in the visitor parking area, I saw a black Hummer waiting to turn onto the road. I could not make out the driver, as the windshield was tinted, and it was almost dark. I drove past and then checked my rear-view mirror. The SUV turned west, the same direction I was headed, and stayed well behind me all the way to the junction at Tres Piedras. How could this be a coincidence? Though Hummers were no longer being manufactured, there were still a lot of these extra-rugged sport vehicles on the road, especially here, where so many outdoor enthusiasts lived and vacationed. But what were the odds of being followed in two different remote areas by the same kind of vehicle twice in one day? I was trying to decide whether to stop and try to use my radio or cell phone in Tres Piedras when the black car turned north and then pulled in to the Three Rocks diner, leaving me to travel south alone.
My cabin sat in a heavily forested area in the foothills, my nearest neighbor three miles away. No networks other than the rumors the ravens told from the trees, passing news in a cacophonous relay along great distances, or the yipping of the coyotes, their forlorn choruses a common lullaby for me as I was dropping off to sleep. Once in a while a fox would keep me up half the night with its eerie cry, a long harsh shriek crossed with the strangled sound that a cat makes in heat. And even more rarely, a mountain lion might call out from his isolation to see if there was a mate within hearing. These were the only channels I received, but I felt all the richer for them.
I worked alone in the wild for the most part, so I was used to spending long periods of time with no one but the wolf, and sometimes a horse, to talk to. My cabin consisted of one large room, plus a small shed-style add-on with a pass-through closet and the little bathroom that the landlord had constructed years ago to make the place rentable. It wasn’t much, but it was home, and Mountain and I were comfortable there. After such a long day and almost no sleep the night before, I was ready to read a little and then get to bed early.
I pulled down my long drive, turned the Jeep around so that it pointed nose-out facing the road, and got out and raised the hatch. Mountain scampered out the back and headed straight into the woods, and I reached into the floor of the backseat and took out my rifle. I stood watching the road that ran in front of the property for several seconds. Things seemed like they always did: quiet and lovely. I followed the path Mountain and I usually took into the woods, knowing it was his habit to go first to the little stream that ran behind my place, the one called La Petaca. Sure enough, he was snorting around on the banks to see who’d come to drink from the place near one edge where the ice melted and the slow-moving water was cold and fresh. I watched him for a few minutes while he marked every tree within a twenty-yard radius. “Come on, Mountain,” I said, as I turned and headed back toward the cabin. “It’s getting too dark for us to see what we’re doing out here.” The wolf moved in my direction but stopped to sniff something on the ground and then continued to trail after me, lingering here and there to read the news, as I called it. He was enjoying his freedom for the first time that day, but I knew he would be right behind me, wanting his dinner.
On the way past my Jeep, I picked up my backpack filled with the library books and the folder president-elect Vargas had given me, and I stuffed the jar of soup and the roll of cloth with the tortillas from Tecolote’s kitchen carefully inside it, then headed up onto the porch. I reached to open the door and found it barely ajar, a slim sliver of light from inside lining one edge of the frame.
“Don’t shoot, it’s me,” a man’s voice said from within my cabin.
I set my pack down to one side of the entry, shielding my body behind the jamb, readied the rifle, and pushed the door open with my boot, pointing the barrel into the cabin as I peeked around the door frame. I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “Agent Coronel. What are you doing here?”
“Christ,” he said, standing behind my table in the kitchen area, his palms in the air. “You’re so ready to draw down. I tried to call you a dozen times today on that phone we gave you, but you must have been out of range. I wanted a debrief on what you’ve discovered.”
I lowered the rifle. “It’s getting to be a habit with you—barging your way into my home. Where’s your car?”
He put his hands down. “I parked down at the intersection and walked up.”
“I didn’t see a car when I turned onto my road.”
“That’s because I was behind you.”
“In the Hummer?”
He looked confused. “Hummer? I drove the same SUV we used to transport you and the wolf to Albuquerque.”
“Oh. There was a Hummer behind me as I was driving home. And it’s the second time one has followed me today.”
“Well, they don’t make them anymore, but there are still plenty of them on the road. I would guess that a lot of people have them in a place like this. Do you want me to…”?
“No …it could be a coincidence, I guess. Just seems odd. Why did you park down at the intersection?”
“We have a protocol about keeping the cars spotless. Your road and drive…”
“I see. Anyway, why couldn’t you reach me earlier? I was in Taos for almost two hours.”
“I was tied up in the late afternoon.”
“Well, I don’t have anything for you yet.” I picked up the backpack and stepped inside, and the wolf followed me in. He stopped and whiffed at the air, looked at Coronel and rounded the table to sniff his boots.
“He’s not going to bite or anything, is he?” The agent stood rigid as a post.
“I kind of doubt it, or he would have attacked by now.” I grinned and set my pack on the table.
“Very funny.” He continued to watch Mountain. “Have you got anything to drink?”
“Why don’t you sit down? It will put him at ease. You want a glass of water? Or I could make you a cup of tea.”
He pulled out a chair and sat in it. “Anything else?”
“No, sorry.”
I went to start a fire in the woodstove. “Hey, would you bring in an armload or two of firewood? I have enough here to start the fire, but I’m going to need more to keep it going.”
Coronel got up from his chair and went to the door.
“Wait—see that metal bowl on the counter? Fill that up with water and set it by the woodpile, would you? Put it on the south end so it gets sun in the morning.”
“Sure. Who’s that for, your wolf?”
“No, there’s a fox living under my shed this winter and she’
s got a couple of kits. With the pond frozen up in the woods, she will appreciate being able to get a drink close by. It will freeze overnight, but when the sun hits it during the day tomorrow, it will thaw.”
Coronel stood at the sink and filled the bowl, but I felt his eyes on me. When I looked up, he smiled. He took the water with him and went out the door. Mountain started to go after Coronel but I stepped in front of him. “Not you, Buddy. I don’t trust you not to run off if I’m not there.” I tipped the door shut after Coronel went out, but the wolf didn’t look too disappointed. He eyed his food dish and then looked at me.
“First, the fire,” I said.
After the flames devoured the tiny sticks of kindling and began to work on the logs, I left the door to the woodstove open just a quarter-inch to keep the blaze going. I removed my jacket and hung it on the coatrack behind the door, then took the jar of soup and the bundle of towels with the fresh-made tortillas out of my backpack.
The agent came through the door then with a huge armload of firewood and went to the tiled hearth area, where he stacked the logs with the few others left there.
“Are you hungry?”
He straightened. “I could eat. What you got there?”
“It’s goat-meat soup. I imagine it’s really tasty.” I held it up and looked at the contents through the glass. “It has potatoes and carrots in it, and I could smell the garlic when it was cooking. Probably has wild herbs and sheep sorrel.”
“What’s wrapped in those rags?”
“Tortillas. Have you ever had them fresh-made?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat. But Mountain eats first.” At this, the wolf pricked up his ears and came to sit beside the kitchen counter, right where he always did when I was preparing a meal for him.
“So what do you feed a wolf?”
“Elk. Venison. Sometimes we’ll get a fresh trout from the Rio Grande or some bison remnants from the pueblo.”
“And you cook those for him?”
“No, he eats the meat raw, just as he would in the wild. I take a package out of the freezer at night and put it in the fridge for the next day. It may not be totally defrosted, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.” I picked up the wolf’s dish and took it to the fridge, where I filled it half full with chunks of meat for tonight’s meal. I walked up to Mountain and held two fingers up to my eyes, indicating he should meet my gaze.
He looked at me, and a bubble of drool formed on the side of his lip.
“Now, wait,” I said as I carefully lowered the bowl.
Mountain made a false start and I raised up with the bowl still in my hand. “No, you wait. I pushed one palm out. “Wa-a-ait,” I said again. I set the bowl on the floor and returned to a standing position. “Okay!”
He launched his muzzle into the dish, selected one of the chunks, and raised his jaws up as he snapped and gnashed, biting into it several times, then swallowing it only partly-chewed.
“I guess that’s where they get the expression ‘wolfing it down,’” Coronel said.
I laughed. “Yeah, that’s right. He’s an efficient eating machine.” I put the kettle on and lit the burner under it, then poured the jar of soup into a pan and started it heating, too.
“It’s nice of you to share your dinner with me.”
“To tell the truth, it will be good to have the company as well as a hot meal. Normally, I might have a bowl of cereal, if that.”
“You like living alone like this?”
“I’m not alone, I have Mountain. And all the wildlife—and the only reason I have so much of them is because there aren’t any more people.”
“Still, you kind of talked like you don’t enjoy eating by yourself.”
I looked away. “I think it’s because my boyfriend was just here for a while and then he left. We had a lot of fun making supper together every night and then telling stories while we ate here at the table.”
“A breakup is never fun.”
“No, we didn’t break up. He works in Washington State. We both saved up and took three weeks of vacation and he drove down and stayed with me. But he had to go back to work just a couple days ago.”
“Oh, I see. I thought when you said he left…”
“Anyway, I’ll make us some tea. What kind do you like?”
“If tea is all they got at the bar, give me what you’re having.”
“You can set the table. There’re spoons in that drawer over there. And we’ll have to use paper towels for napkins.”
He got the items and focused intently on folding the paper towels.
I brought cups of tea and went back to the stove and started warming the tortillas one at a time and putting them back between the layers of cotton cloth.
Coronel was still folding. After a minute, he placed his creation beside the spoon at the place where I would sit, and said, “ta-dah!” It was a perfect origami bird, a raven with a thick neck, a Bowie knife of a beak, and tiny folded tips of paper extending at the throat like the ruffled neck feathers for which the big birds are known.
“Wow,” I said, leaving the stove to examine the small winged figure on the table. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“You think of things to do with your time when you’re in my line of work. A lot of it is spent waiting.”
“It’s a raven, right?”
“Exactly. As in: Quoth the raven, nevermore!” He grinned. “A lot of people guess that it’s a crow…”
“No, the throat feathers are the giveaway, and the larger body relative to its feet.”
“You know your birds. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I wanted to learn some of the less common ones. Everyone who does origami can do a crane. But very few can do a raven.”
“It’s wonderful. I’m not going to use it for a napkin, though, because it’s a work of art.” I picked it up and set it on the counter. “I seem to be getting a lot of raven messages today.”
“Raven messages?”
“Never mind.” I returned to the stove and ladled the soup into two cereal bowls and brought them to the table. “There’s not a lot here, but I bet the soup is rich. And we can fill up on the tortillas.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful. So, you went to Abasolo’s house. Did you get to look around any?”
I sat down. “Not too much. A nosy neighbor stopped in, and she was really suspicious of me.”
“A neighbor? But that place isn’t close to any other houses.”
“In rural New Mexico, people within a twenty or even thirty-mile radius of you are your neighbors. This woman was a writing student of Adoria’s. I’m going to make some notes tonight and I have things I need to read. I’ve only had a chance to glance at the file President-elect Vargas gave me.”
“Let’s not refer to that person by name.”
“The neighbor?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“From now on, we’ll refer to that person as…The Bartender.” He held up his tea mug and smiled.
“But there’s no one here but you and me…and Mountain.” I noticed the wolf had ceased licking his bowl and was trying to find the comfiest spot on his lambskin rug in front of the fire, his tug toy dangling from either side of his mouth.
“Let’s establish a protocol and keep to that. No more mention of The Bartender by name or specifying the gender, please.”
“Okay.”
Coronel slurped a mouthful of his soup. “Oh, man! That’s amazing!”
“It’s just rustic mountain cuisine, but it’s so fresh and everything in it grew right here—the goat was raised right in Teco—…I mean…right on the land by the cook.”
Harold Coronel looked at me and smiled. The sharp angles of his face seemed to soften. “Not everyone is included in our protocol. Just The Bartender.”
But I hadn’t stopped because of the protocol. For some reason, I did not want to tell the agent the curandera’s name.
We finished our meal over small talk. He had never been to this part of the country and was amazed by how different it seemed from the world he knew. I gave him a brief cultural digest. While we talked, we gobbled down all the tortillas, dipping them in the soup as we went, until we polished our bowls clean with the last ones.
“What did you learn at the pueblo? Do you know which ceremony Abasolo went to?”
“No, but I have a line of thinking on that, and I want to do a little research. I’ll do some reading tonight, and then I’ll make inquiries in the morning.”
“So you have nothing to report at all?”
“Not really. I just got started.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I probably don’t need to tell you that time is of the essence.”
“No, you don’t. The other ceremony, the one with The Bartender, is not that far away.”
“Well, yes. But even more importantly, when someone goes missing, there’s a window of time when there is some likelihood of finding them. And that likelihood dwindles with every passing hour. Generally, after the first few days, the chances are next to nil. There are exceptions, but they are few.”
“I don’t even know when the clock started ticking,” I said.
He looked at his watch: “About 70 hours ago—that’s our best guess.”
I felt the pressure of this bearing down on me. And I felt tired. “I better get busy studying that folder, then. And the other things I brought to read.”
“If you like, I’ll keep the fire going, make more tea.”
My eyes met his. I realized that I wasn’t the only one feeling lonely right then. “No, but thank you. I am really tired. I want to get in my jammies and read in bed, and hopefully get some sleep after that.”
He got up from the table and took his bowl and spoon to the sink. “Can I help with the dishes?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll just rinse them tonight.”
He went back to the chair for his jacket. “I’m sorry I intruded this evening. Maybe I should get you a sat phone since I can’t always reach you on a cell when I need to.”