Shaman Winter (29 page)

“A grandmother.…”

“What did the family tree say about families in the llano?” Don Eliseo asks Lorenza and Rita.

Lorenza answers. “Yes, there is a Mares/Luna branch. They settled in the Pecos River valley. Don Jesus had two children, Rosa and Paco.”

Don Eliseo shouts in Sonny's ear. “She is your grandmother! Raven will be there! You must act in your dream! Understand? Act!”

Sonny knows this.

There is silence in the room, silence in Sonny's dream. He crosses the threshold of the luminous door, returning to the dream he is creating. Like an old Western movie. Keep hold of the story. Become the actor in your dream!

On the other side of the door he is greeted by Coyote. He is dressed in a shiny purple cowboy shirt, Mexican leather vest, a cheap one, the kind one buys in Juárez mercados, and jeans. A red handkerchief adorns his neck, and two low-slung pistols hang at his sides. He peers at Sonny. His nose twitches, smelling for Raven-danger, but he says nothing. His honey-colored eyes continue to stare at Sonny.

Coyote?

Yes.

You're here?

Been here all along, Coyote replies. His pistols are two Colt .45s in well-worn leather holsters.

Can you help me, pardner?

You want to find Billy?

Yes. Billy and Rosa.

You think you're ready, pardner?

Now or never.

Pues, vamos! Coyote calls, like an old Indian scout ready to lead Sonny into the underworld. He mounts his horse, a red stallion that rears and paws the air. He turns it smartly and skids down the slope of the mesa into a wide arroyo, leaving a cloud of red dust behind him. The cloud boils and becomes dark. Sonny follows on a skittish paint pony.

Can I reenter my dream? Can I find Billy? Can I be there to protect Rosa? For a moment he feels lost, a hot panic engulfs him. He can't see Coyote in the darkness.

Coyote, help me! he calls.

Spur that sombitch! Coyote shouts. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!

He laughs, a wild Coyote laughter that echoes in the labyrinth they're entering. A wild howl of the West, for Coyote is the spirit of the West, the guardian animal of even those who hate him and poison him. His laughter echoes all the way from the Rocky Mountains to the Sierra Nevada of California. From the frozen reaches of Alaska to the Sonoran Desert. Even in the eastern cities he haunts dark alleys.

Vamos! he shouts like the old vaquero he is.

Sonny follows. As usual, Coyote is right on target. When Sonny reins in his horse, Billy appears.

Sonny! Billy calls. I'm darn pleased you came back. Boy, you missed the action. Tom and me and Charley Bowdre just rustled us up some cattle.

The cowboys around Billy laugh and disappear in a cyclone.

Life in the dream is no easier than in the other reality, Sonny thinks. In fact, it's damn harder! No matter what he says, he can't seem to control the dream.

You've got to get deep into the dream, Coyote urges. His horse rears up. Coyote is an expert vaquero! A trickster! A carrier of the dreams!

Anda! Vamos! Sonny shouts, gathering his courage and mounting his pony. Let's find Billy! Let's see how deep I can go!

With purpose and gusto he rides into the rustling, gambling, and hard life of the New Mexico territory. From Tularosa to the Texas panhandle, Billy's boys are wanted men, and Sonny follows.

Folks, a reporter for the
Las Vegas Optic
, writes, a dangerous drama is being played out in our territory. Down in Lincoln County a bunch of wild outlaws threatens our civilization. These murderous bullies have had their way with the law long enough. We, the law-abiding citizens, call upon the governor to stop this bloodshed once and for all.

Pat Garrett enters from the back of the stage. Azariah Wild has just made him a U.S. marshal, and Governor Wallace has just posted a five-hundred-dollar reward for William Bonney, alias Billy the Kid.

If no one else can stop Bill Bonney, I can, Pat Garrett vows, his words as dangerous as a rattlesnake bite, his eyes gleaming with determination. I know Billy from a long time ago. I know how he thinks, where he goes. I can be there waiting for him.

Sonny rides into Fort Sumner, hoping to catch up with Billy. He reins in, ties up, and enters the saloon. The fallen doves of the cantina are putting on a play. They take Sonny's arms and direct him to a seat.

I don't want to sit, I want to be on the stage, Sonny replies.

Oh, but this is not your play, a young whore with flaming red hair chides him. This is Billy's play. You just watch and clap in all the right places. Remember, life is but a waking shadow, and we the petty players strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more.

She goes off laughing.

Sonny watches Billy enter and meet his old friend, Paco Anaya. Paco embraces Billy. Oye, Bilito, que gusto me da verte. Anda, vamos a mi casa.

They move to center stage where don Jesús, his wife, and Rosa wait. They greet Billy with open arms. Anda, vieja, dales de comer a estos vaqueros.

Billy takes Rosa's hand and they walk on the open llano. They look at each other with deep attraction.

You've been riding hard.

Riding hard to see you. I hear there's a baile tonight in Fort Sumner.

Yes. Don Pedro Maxwell is having a fiesta. Are you going to the baile?

Only if the girl of my dreams will accompany me.

She must be very brave.

Why?

Because you're a bandido.

Bandido? I only draw my pistol when I have to protect myself.

They say you killed Sheriff Brady.

Brady killed John Tunstall. I was just settling the score.

We don't want the violence of Lincoln to come here. We want to live in peace—

Yeah. Live and let live.… But down the Pecos the Dolan vaqueros don't think like that.

And you?

Some of those vaqueros want my hide.… So I keep my pistol handy.

A person can change.

I've thought about that. Thought about getting myself a ranch, minding my business, running a few head of cattle. Pero no es posible.

Por qué?

The territory changed after the war. All those southern soldiers and Tejanos returning home found nothing but ruin. So this has become the new battlefield, and the man who isn't armed gets pushed out.

My father isn't armed.

Yeah, but the Mexicanos down in Lincoln County carry rifles. A man needs to protect his family.

A man can change.

Become a sheepherder on the llano?

We are happy, we are content. We have our families, the vecinos who help, the fiestas of the church.

There's a U.S. warrant for my arrest. Somebody would come looking for me. Every time I try to change, someone starts a new fight.

So it is your destino.

You are my destino. He kisses her. Now, let's go dancing.

The cantina doves change the set. A wild dance full of polkas and rancheras. Billy and Rosa spin around the dance floor while a jealous Josefina watches. Josefina is Pedro Maxwell's daughter, and one of Billy's old girlfriends.

Sonny tries to rise but the young barmaid pushes him down. Shh. Just watch and listen.

They're in danger! Sonny protests, to no avail. He looks around for Coyote, but the trickster has gotten roaring drunk and is useless.

That moment of distraction is all the dream needs to fast-forward. Sonny hears Billy's plaintive cry, but he can't move.

Where are you? Sonny calls.

He peers into the dream stuff and sees Billy escaping from the old Dolan store in Lincoln, shooting the deputies Bell and Ollinger on the way out.

Billy slaps leather for Fort Sumner. The Mexicanos, who realize that Billy is being used as the scapegoat for the crimes of the rich ranchers and politicians, help him.

As Sonny watches helplessly, he sees a cowboy dressed in black appear.

Raven, Sonny gasps.

I hear you're looking for Billy the Kid, Raven says to Pat Garrett.

The Kid is fast as a rattler, Garrett replies.

Ambush him, Raven whispers.

It ain't right, Garrett replies.

Billy ambushed Brady. An eye for eye. Josefina Maxwell, the woman Billy spurned, will help.

No! Sonny shouts. Or thinks he shouts. In the dream he has no voice.

On the stage, Josefina approaches: Buenas noches, Sheriff Garrett.

Buenas noches. You're up late.

I can't sleep, Sheriff I walk the lonely streets at night … the people call me la Llorona. In my heart I am crying.

I'm looking for Billy. Where is he?

With his querida.

I've got a warrant for his arrest. I aim to take him, dead or alive.

If I cannot have him, no one can.

Do you know where he is?

Yes. Go to my father's bedroom. Wait there.

Garrett moves across the stage to wait.

A light shines on Billy and Rosa as they enter. Sonny attempts to rise to warn him, but he is a mere spectator in the dream.

Espera aquí, Billy says to Rosa, kissing her.

No. Voy contigo.

We have plenty of time to be together, querida. Tomorrow we leave for México.

A new life.

Don Pedro wants to see me.

Why so late?

He owes me some money. Josefina said he's ready to pay.

Josefina? No, Billy, don't go!

Why are you trembling?

There's no light in his room.

The old cheapskate doesn't like to burn his oil. Wait.

Billy.

Qué?

Te amo.

Y yo te amo a tí. They embrace warmly, then Billy turns and softly enters don Pedro's bedroom. He senses Garrett.

Quién es? Quién es?

That's him!

Garrett?

Garrett fires once, Billy grabs at his gut in pain, steps forward, reaching for Garrett. Pat … you got me cold-blooded.

Garrett fires again. Billy winces, stumbles. He falls and the figure of la Muerte stands over him.

There is a scream, and Rosa rushes in to gather Billy in her arms. Billy! Billy! Oh, Bilito.

I love you, Rosa.…

Amor, amor.… She rocks the bleeding Billy in her arms.

Sonny can no longer hold back the tears. Convulsive sobs shake his body as the grief he feels comes pouring out. The cantina ladies have put on a great play, but it wasn't meant to be this way! Sonny knew he was supposed to take a part, to direct the dream play!

The bed shakes with Sonny's sobs, and a worried Rita is instantly at his side. She touches a wet cloth to his forehead and can only guess why tears flow from his eyes.

16

Outside, the storm intensifies. Pre-Christmas snowstorms don't often drop as far south as Alburquerque. Taos, Santa Fé, and the villages of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains receive the snows of early winter. From Chama to Questa to Raton, the same storms that sweep across Colorado strike with cold and snow, but the Duke City is most often spared.

At 5,280 feet above sea level, Alburquerque lies at the foot of the Sandia Mountains, protected from the cold fronts that drop down from Canada when the jet stream dips south. Those cold masses of air slip down as far as the Texas panhandle. The arctic fronts freeze the eastern part of the state, as anyone raised in Clayton, Tucumcari, or Santa Rosa knows.

Such blizzards have been described by those raised in that eastern llano, those whose ancestors traveled there to hunt buffalos. Los cibolleros, comancheros, tough, hardy Nuevo Mexicanos who learned Comanche ways. When the going was good, they sat around and smoked the pipe with the tribes of the southern plains, traded goods, drank rotgut whiskey, mula, the New Mexicans called it. When the going was tough, there were skirmishes on the plains, and those who the prior year had called each other amigos now scalped each other. In the end the Comanches lost, not to the presence of the Nuevo Mexicanos, but to the presence of the Tejanos. The Texans wiped them out.

The Comanches were the Vikings of the plains, Sonny remembers reading in a book. It filters through his dream.

When things got dull fighting the Osages, or after a long, cold winter, they would swoop down to México for horses, women, and kids to work like slaves. They rode south to just plain kick ass with the Mexicanos. And of course, México was warmer than the plains in the winter. There were pretty Mexicanitas there, women to capture and bring north as slaves, to bring to the teepee as wives.

And the pulque, the drink of the Aztec gods, distilled from maguey, the liquid that burned the intestines also burned the mind, and visions came in drunken stupors. One could get roaring drunk and wasted on pulque. A man could go wild, fuck forever, become invincible. There was nothing like it on the plains. So what if the headaches came after days and nights of drinking. The Mexicanos had menudo, a rich stew made from the tripe of sheep. Spiced with hot chile, menudo cured the stomach and cleared the head.

While the young warriors attacked the Mexicanos, the old men, the shamans of the tribe, went out into the desert to collect the peyote buttons. Cactus medicine. Peyote god. Yes, they called him el Señor Peyote, because he deserved their respect and because he brought the visions that were far sharper and more sacred than those of pulque. Don Peyote, el Mero Chingón, un diosito who took you into another world—why, he was worthy of a new religion, a new faith, new followers.

Some of those same Comanches were captured by the Nuevo Mexicanos and brought back to the Río Grande settlements. They became farmers and began to dream of corn, give thanks to the Corn Mothers. They began to pray to the kachinas for rain for their dusty fields.

La Nueva México was becoming the crossroads of the southern belly of the continent, the womb. Here all could mix, produce the mestizaje, and here all could make war against each other. To the northern Río Grande came the Comanches, Navajos, Utes, Apaches, Mexicanos, farmers and hunters, Catholics and converted Jews, peninsular Spaniards and criollos, mestizos and genizaros, all came to the land of the Pueblos. Then arrived the Americanos, the Anglos, the gringos, gringos salados, gabachos, gueros, los Americanos de los estados unidos, speaking a strange tongue, praying to the Christ in the Bible, not the bloody Cristo on the penitente cross. There were the Yankee traders from St. Louis, and there were the mountain men, French fur trappers, too. This mixed bag began to call themselves New Mexicans.