Echoes of a Distant Summer (86 page)

Maria moved up so that she was standing beside him. “I would like to go riding, but Carlos told me that I could not go alone.” She looked him in the eye. “Would you go with me?”

Unable to resist her invitation, Jackson answered, “Sure! Which horse will you ride?” He watched as she walked back along the stalls. She had changed into riding garb. She was wearing a loose white blouse which was tucked into a faded pair of blue jeans that showed off the shape of her hips. Jackson could tell by the way her breasts jiggled under the blouse that she wore no bra. Maria stopped in front of a stall that had a black mare.

“I’ll ride Chaquita. She knows me.”

The afternoon sun blazed in a cloudless blue sky and baked the rolling foothills of the Sierra Madre Occidental. There was no breeze. The only respite from the sun that could be found in the arid landscape was under the occasional stand of scrub oak that grew in the creases and folds of the surrounding hills. The horses moved languidly through the dry, golden grass which covered the land to the horizon. Jackson was headed toward a creek which originated high in the Sierras and joined the Mezquital River below the city of Durango. High above the riders, hawks circled, riding thermals over the golden landscape.

The horses sped up when they smelled water and began to move toward the gorge in which the creek ran. Jackson guided Sangria up to a high tree-covered ridge above the gorge. The ridge provided a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. The creek, in midsummer, was little more than a stream and it meandered through the trees and dropped into the gorge. Large oak trees covered the ridge and offered a welcome relief from the sun.

Under the shade of the trees, Jackson alighted from his horse and tied the reins loosely to allow the animal access to water. He pulled a Winchester lever-action rifle from its scabbard and held it in the crook of his arm. A red fox and her kits barked warningly from a den across the creek and disappeared into the bushes.

Maria slid off her horse and stood beside him. “Did you see that? Those little foxes were cute.”

“Foxes, coyotes, and wildcats are the only predators left in these hills. The wolves and mountain lions have been hunted to extinction and so have their prey, the mule deer and bighorn sheep that used to live in these mountains.”

“You know this country well?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I’ve been coming here since I was about ten, ever since my grandfather bought this place. There were a hell of a lot more game animals around then.”

“Are you hungry? I brought us lunch.”

“That’s great! I’m glad you thought of it. All I brought was two canteens of water. There’s a flat rock under that big oak where we can sit.” Jackson tied Maria’s mare alongside Sangria. She pulled two packets out of her saddlebags and walked to the rock.

A red and gold centipede scuttled for its burrow then Maria and Jackson had the rock to themselves. She laid out a small cloth and set out a block of cheese, a loaf of bread, some cold, baked chicken, and a large bunch of grapes. Jackson leaned the rifle against the rock, put down the canteen, pulled his Bowie knife from its sheath, and began slicing the bread and cheese. Maria prepared him a sandwich of cheese and chicken and then made one for herself. They ate in silence for nearly twenty minutes. From the rock they could see the rolling lowlands falling away to the distant town of Nombre de Dios and the mountains rising in the west.

It was very calm and peaceful. Neither Jackson nor Maria spoke. They were both comfortable simply enjoying the majesty of the landscape. Every once in a while they would look at each other and smile. Other than the occasional snort of the horses, the buzzing of insects, and the distant cry of hawks there was no sound.

“This is very beautiful. This is very much like where I was born,” Maria said in a dreamy voice. “My mother used to take me out to a grove of trees on a hill behind our house and we would sit there and talk about our dreams.”

“What type of dreams would you talk about?”

“My mother would always talk about freedom. If she had been born into another family, she would have been a poet or a singer, or even a dancer. It was a cruel thing that she was born in a family that thought of women only as laborers and breeders of children. She had such a tender heart that she would never kill anything. She used to say, ‘If God gave it life, who am I to question his decision?’ She was always tending orphans and strays. She once found an injured young fox pup when she was walking home from the store and nursed it back to health, but that ended badly, like so many other things. My father was mean to her and over the years, I saw her slowly die like a plant that doesn’t get enough water. She died a heartbroken woman.”

Jackson was silent for several minutes after Maria finished speaking. He didn’t know what to say. It was only because he felt that he had to say something that he said, “I’m sorry. That sounds awful. It must have been very painful for you.”

Maria nodded her head. “It was, but I am stronger than my mother. I would not let pain kill me.”

“What happened to the fox cub? You said that ended badly.”

“My mother’s brother, Tigre Melendez, kept a kennel of fighting dogs, like your grandfather. When the fox was well enough to be released, he took it and threw it in the kennel.”

“Damn!” was all Jackson was able to muster.

“Yes.” Maria looked at him and there were traces of tears at the corners of her eyes. “I know it goes against the laws of God and church, but I hate my family!”

“I know that feeling!” Jackson said with a nod of his head.

“You hate your family?” Maria stared at him with astonishment. “I was told your parents were dead, that you only had your grandmother and grandfather.”

“There are many different ways to be cruel.”

“Your grandfather, cruel?” Maria asked with disbelief. “He is a great man who is loved by many. He has given me hope. At my aunt’s request, he rescued me from my father’s house and brought me to live in Mexico City. He is the one who encouraged me to go to college. I am a student now at university. He even taught me a poem, the first poem I ever memorized.”

“I bet I know that poem!” Jackson declared.

“You know this poem? How so?”

“He only knows one poem! It’s ‘Invictus.’ I know because he made me memorize it when I was eight years old. He used to poke me hard in the chest with his index finger and tell me that I had to learn the words so well that I believed them.”

Maria leaned forward and asked, “Do you still know it?”

Jackson recited from memory, the words flowing out of him as if they were his own:

“That’s it!” Maria interrupted. “Say the last stanza. I like that one best.”

At some part during his recitation Maria joined him and they finished the last line together. There were tears in her eyes. She grabbed his hand and said, “With this poem, I could live even in my father’s house and not be beaten down! It was an act of love that made him teach it to you!”

Jackson admitted, “I never thought of it like that.”

Maria still gripped his hand tightly as she said, “Don’t you see? He has given you something that can never be taken away! You are lucky that someone would love you so much that they would teach you things to make you strong. After my mother died I was alone until your grandfather entered my life. No one in my family wanted to teach me anything. They just wanted to use me.”

Jackson just nodded his head in response. The fervor in her dark, hooded eyes moved him. She seemed even more beautiful than before, but what affected him most was the feeling that he had been invited inside of her own personal hell, that the door had been cracked and he
had been allowed to look into the flames and flickering shadows of her painful past.

The tears streamed down her face. She rubbed away the tears but still they came. “I am foolish to cry,” she said, using the towel that Jackson handed her.

“No, you’re not!” Jackson protested.

“It is because I feel comfortable with you,” she explained. “Your grandfather has told me so many stories about you, I feel that I know you. When I heard you were coming, I was happy. I knew that I would like you! I felt it in my bones!” Maria dabbed her eyes and looked at him. “Have you ever had such a feeling?” Jackson shook his head. Maria took his hand again. “When El Negro told me about your parents, I knew that we shared some of the same pain. Do you not feel this bond?”

“Yes, but I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was because you’re beautiful and attractive. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so close to such a beautiful woman before.”

Maria laughed and gripped his hand tighter. “You’re being kind, no? Even if you are, I love this little lie.”

“I’m not lying or even exaggerating,” Jackson said, feeling the calluses on her hand. He turned her palms up and observed, “These are not the hands of a student. These are the hands of a worker.”

“Yes! Your grandfather pays for everything: my clothes, my education. I would not have him think that I am using him. He has been too kind! I work hard around the house so that he will see that I appreciate everything. Is it that my hands are not feminine?”

Jackson did not say anything. He was staring down into a small arroyo where he had seen a flickering of sunlight. He stood up and went to his horse and got a pair of binoculars. He spent several minutes scouring the countryside until he found the source of the flickering light. It was a man on horseback. Jackson studied the man for several minutes and discovered the source of the reflection: The man also had a pair of binoculars, and he was searching for something. Jackson saw that the man rode Indian-style, without a saddle, and carried a rifle with a scope. It caused a warning bell to go off in Jackson’s mind. He knew that most people in the surrounding area were poor; if they owned a gun, it was an older model and rarely had a scope.

Jackson pulled Maria back into the deeper shade of the oaks and informed her that they had to vacate their spot. She acquiesced reluctantly. She gathered their lunch and rewrapped it.

As she was packing her saddlebags, he brushed past her and she swiveled to face him. They stood for a long moment staring into each other’s eyes. Her breasts were grazing his chest. Jackson bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him back, then they stood looking at each other again. No words were spoken. They kissed again, this time more passionately. She pressed herself against him. He probed the unresisting softness of her lips with his tongue and felt the nipples of her breasts harden against him. He felt himself grow aroused and hard, full of desire for her. When the kiss had traveled its tumultuous course, they stood for several minutes in each other’s arms, her face pressed against his chest. Her head fit right under his chin. He could smell the cleanness of her thick, black hair.

“We have to go,” he whispered. He didn’t want to leave, but he had a greater fear of appearing foolish in Carlos’s and his grandfather’s eyes. Nothing would be said, but the looks that they would give him would be damning.

“I know we have to go,” she answered, squeezing him tightly. “I hope that we can go riding again tomorrow.”

He pushed away from her and said with a smile, “I don’t see why not. Let’s head toward home now. We’ll have to take the back way. We don’t want that rider to see us.”

They crossed the stream and headed down a small ravine on the other side of the gorge. They flushed a bevy of quail as they entered a section overgrown with madrona and piñon, but other than that they saw nothing except the soaring hawks until they arrived back at the lodge.

Jackson had ridden all the way back to the lodge with an erection. It had grown quite uncomfortable, jiggling against the saddle horn and the confines of his jeans. Fortunately, it had grown limp by the time they trotted up to the stables. Carlos walked down to the stable as they were alighting from their horses. Jackson reported the sighting of the rider to Carlos and he sent out two men to investigate. Maria was needed in the house to help prepare the afternoon meal, so Jackson unsaddled the horses, watered them, then curried them down as he had been taught. The grooming and care of the horses helped distract him from the thought of Maria’s firm and voluptuous body. When he finally headed up to the lodge, Jackson had regained control of his thoughts.

After dinner Jackson went to sit out on the porch, where Carlos was giving out assignments to the five men who had joined them for dinner.
Jackson had been introduced to all of them, but he didn’t remember their names except for Hernando de Jesus, the man who had given him directions to the lodge. Most of the men were mestizos, short in stature, but lean and desert tough. One man was pure-blood Indian like Carlos, and Hernando clearly had African ancestry. As Jackson watched, Carlos began talking about sentry duty assignments.

“I’ll take one,” Jackson volunteered. Carlos smiled and the men around him nodded their heads in approval. It was only right that El Negro’s grandson assume some responsibility for the safety of the group. Hernando clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into the circle.

Jackson was given the first four-hour shift on the interior perimeter, which consisted of the stand of trees which circled the house, the stables, and the two outhouses. The outer perimeter of the surrounding hills was patrolled by two men who routinely reported in by flashlight. Jackson armed himself with a short, double-barrel shotgun that slid into a holster across his chest and his Winchester 30.06. When Carlos pointed to the shotgun questioningly, Jackson informed him it was his “pig gun.”

Jackson began his shift at eight o’clock and made his rounds every fifteen minutes or so. There was a cool breeze coming off the western mountains, but the night sky was clear and filled with stars. Other than the gentle rustling of the trees, there was no sound. Jackson found himself enjoying the silence and peace of guard duty. The Big Dipper, the belt of Orion, and the Milky Way appeared particularly bright in the moonless sky and brought to mind Jackson’s feeling that the glistening stars overhead promised adventure to all those who could escape the gravity of their daily lives.