He took her hand. Ten’a miedo que no vendr’as, he said.
She didnt answer. She leaned against him. Her black hair falling about her shoulders. The
smell of soap. The flesh and bone living under the cloth of her dress.
Me amas? he said.
S’. Te amo.
He sat on a cottonwood log and watched her while she waded in the gravel shallows. She
turned and smiled at him. Her dress gathered about her brown thighs. He tried to smile
back but his throat caught and he looked away.
She sat on the log beside him and he took her feet in his hands each in turn and dried
them with his kerchief and fastened with his own fingers the small buckles of her shoes.
She leaned and put her head on his shoulder and he kissed her and he touched her hair and
her breasts and her face as a blind man might.
Y mi respuesta? he said.
She took his hand and kissed it and held it against her heart and she said that she was
his and that she would do whatever he asked her if it take her life.
She was from the State of Chiapas and she had been sold at the age of thirteen to settle a
gambling debt. She had no family. In Puebla she'd run away and gone to a convent for
protection. The procurer himself appeared on the convent steps the following morning and
in the pure light of day paid money into the hand of the mother superior and took the girl
away again.
This man stripped her naked and beat her with a whip made from the innertube of a truck
tire. Then he held her in his arms and told her that he loved her. She ran away again and
went to the police. Three officers took her to a room in the basement where there was a
dirty mattress on the floor. When they were through with her they sold her to the other
policemen. Then they sold her to the prisoners for what few pesos they could muster or
traded her for cigarettes. Finally they sent for the procurer and sold her back to him.
He beat her with his fists and slammed her against the wall and knocked her down and
kicked her. He said that if she ran away again he would kill her. She closed her eyes and
offered him her throat. In his rage he seized her up by the arm but the arm broke in his
hand. A muted snap, like a dry stick. She gasped and cried out with the pain.
Mira, he shouted. Mira, puta, que has hecho.
The arm was set by a curandera and now would not straighten. She showed him. Mires, she
said. The house was called La Esperanza del Mundo. Where a painted child in a stained
kimono with her arm in a sling wept in silence or went wordlessly with men to a room at
the rear for a price of less than two dollars.
He had bent forward weeping with his arms around her. He put his hand over her mouth. She
took it away. Hay m‡s, she said.
No.
She would tell him more but again he placed his fingers against her mouth. He said that
there was only one thing he wished to know.
Lo que quieras, she said.
Te casas conmigo.
S’, querido, she said. La respuesta es s’. I marry you.
WHEN HE ENTERED the kitchen Oren and Troy and JC were sitting there and he nodded to them
and went on to the stove and got his breakfast and his coffee and came to the table. Troy
scooted his chair slightly to make room. You aint about give out under this heavy courtin
schedule are you son?
Shit, said JC. Dont even think about tryin to keep up with the cowboy.
I talked to Crawford about your horse, said Oren.
What did he say.
He said he thought he had a buyer if you could come to his figures.
Same figures?
Same figures.
I dont believe I can do it.
He might do a little better. But not much.
John Grady nodded. He ate.
You might do better to run him through the auction.
The auction aint for three more weeks.
Two and a half.
Tell him I'll take three and a quarter.
JC got up and carried his dishes to the sink. Oren lit a cigarette.
When will you see him? said John Grady.
I'll talk to him today if you want.
All right.
He ate. Troy got up and took his dishes to the sink and he and JC went out. John Grady
wiped his plate with the last bite of biscuit and ate it and pushed back his chair.
These fourminute breakfasts are goin to get you in trouble with the union, Oren said.
I got to see the old man a minute.
He carried his plate and cup to the sink and wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers
and crossed the room and went down the hall.
He knocked on the jamb of the office doorway and looked in but the room was empty. He went
on down the hall to Mac's bedroom and tapped at the open door. Mac came out of the
bathroom with a towel around his neck and his hat on.
Mornin son, he said.
Mornin sir. I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.
Come on in.
He hung the towel over a chairback and went to the oldfashioned chifforobe and took out a
shirt and shook it unfolded and stood undoing the buttons. John Grady stood in the doorway.
Come on in, Mac said. Put your damn hat back on.
Yessir. He took a couple of steps into the room and put his hat on and stood there. On
the
wall
opposite were
framed
pho
tographs of horses. On the dresser in an ornate silver frame a photograph of Margaret
Johnson McGovern.
Mac pulled on his shirt and stood buttoning it. Set down, son, he said.
That's all right.
Go on. You look like you got a lot on your mind.
There was a heavy oak chair covered with dark leather at the far side of the bed and he
crossed the floor and sat in it. Some of Mac's clothes were thrown across one arm of the
chair. He put his elbow on the other arm. Mac swept up and tucked in his shirt front and
back and buttoned his trousers and buckled his belt and got his keys and his change and
his billfold from thedresser. He came over to the bed carrying his socks and sat and
unrolled them and began to pull them on. Well, he said. You wont never have no better of a
chance.
John Grady started to take off his hat again but then he put his hands back in his lap.
Then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
Just pretend it's a cold stockpond on a hot day and jump on in, said Mac.
Yessir. Well. I want to get married.
Mac stopped midsock. Then he pulled the sock on and reached down for his boot. Married, he
said.
Yessir.
All right.
I want to get married and I thought for one thing if you didnt care I'd just go on and
sell that horse.
Mac pulled on the boot and picked up the other boot and sat with it in his hand. Son, he
said. I can understand a man wantin to get married. I lacked about a month bein twenty
when I did. We kind of finished raisin one another. But I might of been fixed a little
better than you. You think you can afford it?
I dont know. I thought maybe if I sold the horse.
How long have you been thinkin about this?
Well. A while.
This aint a haveto kind of thing is it?
No sir. It aint nothin like that.
Well why dont you hold off for a while. See if it wont keep.
I cant really do that.
Well, I dont know what that means.
There's some problems.
Well I got time to listen if you want to tell me about it.
Yessir. Well. For one thing she's Mexican.
Mac nodded. I've known that to work, he said. He pulled on the boot.
So I got the problem of gettin her over here.
Mac put his foot down on the floor and put his hands on his knees. He looked up at the
boy. Over here? he said.
Yessir.
You mean across the river?
Yessir.
You mean she's a Mexican Mexican?
Yessir.
Damn, son.
He looked off across the room. The sun was just up over the barn. He looked at the white
lace curtains on the window. He looked at the boy sitting stiffly there in his father's
chair. Well, he said. That's somethin of a problem, I reckon. Aint the worst one I ever
heard of. How old is she?
Sixteen.
Mac sat with his lower lip between his teeth. It keeps gettin worse, dont it? Does she
speak english?
No sir.
Not word one.
No sir.
Mac shook his head. Outside they could hear the cattle calling along the fence by the
road. He looked at John Grady. Son, he said, have you give this some thought?
Yessir. I sure have.
I take it you've pretty much made up your mind.
Yessir.
You wouldnt be here if you hadnt, would you?
No sir.
Where do you plan on livin at?
Well sir, I wanted to talk to you about that. I thought if you didnt care I'd see if I
could fix up the old place at Bell Springs.
Damn. It dont even have a roof anymore does it?
Not much of a one. I looked it over. It could be fixed up.
It would take some fixin.
I could fix it up.
You probably could. Probably could. You aint said nothin about money. I cant raise you.
You know that.
I aint asked for a raise.
I'd have to raise Billy and JC both. Hell. I might have to raise Oren.
Yessir.
Mac sat leaning forward with his fingers laced together. Son, he said, I think you ought
to wait. But if you got it in your head to go on, then go ahead. I'll do whatever I can
for you.
Thank you sir.
He put his hands on his knees and rose. John Grady rose. Mac shook his head, half smiling.
He looked at the boy.
Is she pretty?
Yessir. She sure is.
I'll bet she is, too. You bring her in here. I want to see her.
Yessir.
You say she dont speak no english?
No sir.
Damn. He shook his head again. Well, he said. Go on. Get your butt out of here.
Yessir.
He crossed the room to the door and stopped and turned.
Thank you sir.
Go on.
HE AND BILLY rode t0 Cedar Springs. They rode to the top of the draw and rode back down
again throwing all the cattle out downcountry before them and roping everything that
looked suspicious, heading and heeling them and stretching the screaming animals on the
ground and dismounting and dropping the reins while the horses backed and held the
catchropes taut. There were new calves on the ground and some of them had worms in their
navels and they doused them with Peerless and swabbed them out and doused them again and
turned them loose. In the evening they rode up to Bell Springs and John Grady dismounted
and left Billy with the horses while they drank and crossed through the swales of sacaton
grass to the old adobe and pushed open the door and went in.
He stood very quietly. Sunlight fell the length of the room from the small sash set in the
western wall. The floor was of packed clay beaten and oiled and it was strewn with debris,
old clothes and foodtins and curious small cones of mud that had formed from water
percolating down through the mud roof and dripping through the latillas to stand about
like the work of oldworld termites. In the corner stood an iron bedstead with random empty
beercans screwed into the bare springs. On the back wall a 1928 Clay Robinson and Co.
calendar showing a cowboy on nightherd under a rising moon. He passed on through the long
core of light where he set the motes to dancing and went through the doorless framework
into the other room. There was a small twoeyed woodburning stove against the far wall with
the rusted pipes fallen into a pile behind it and there were a couple of old Arbuckle
coffeeboxes nailed to the wall and a third one lying in the floor. A few jars of
homecanned beans and tomatoes and salsa. Broken glass in the floor. Old newspapers from
before the war. An old rotted Fish brand slicker hanging from a peg in the wall by the
kitchen door and some pieces of old tackleather. When he turned around Billy was standing
in the doorway watching him.
This the honeymoon suite? he said.
You're lookin at it.
He leaned in the doorframe and took his cigarettes from his shirtpocket and shucked one
out and lit it.
The only thing you aint got here is a dead mule in the floor. John Grady had crossed to
the back door and stood looking out.
You think you're goin to be able to get the truck up here?
I think we might could comin up the other side.
What's this we shit? You got a rat in your pocket?
John Grady smiled. From the kitchen door you could see the late sun high on the bare
ridgerock of the Jarillas. He shut the door and looked back at Billy and walked over to
the stove and lifted one of the castiron eyeplates and looked in and lowered it again.
I may be wrong about this, said Billy, but it's my feelin that once they get used to
lights and runnin water it's kindly hard to wean em back off again.
Got to start somewhere.
Is she goin to cook on that?
John Grady smiled. He went past Billy into the other room. Billy straightened up in the
doorway to let him by and then stood looking after him. I hope she's a country girl, he
said.
What do you say we ride back down on the back side and see what the old road looks like.
Whatever you want to do. We'll be late gettin in.
John Grady stood in the doorway looking out. Yeah, he said. All right. I can ride up on
Sunday.
Billy watched him. He unlimbered himself out of the doorframe and crossed the room. Let's
do it, he said. We're goin to be ridin back in the dark either way.
Billy?
Yeah.
It dont make any difference, you know. What anybody thinks.
Yeah. I know it too well.
That's a pretty picture, aint it.
He looked at the horses across the creek where they stood footed to their darkening shapes
in the ford with their heads raised looking toward the house and the cottonwoods and the
mountains and the red sweep of the evening sky beyond.
You think I'll outgrow whatever it is I got.
No. I dont. I used to but I dont no more.