Good Water Read online

  Tommy put his shoulder under Pete’s neck and laid his head against the horse as he patted him. He felt alone, knowing that everyone in the camp, including Anita, would be drawn together by the new arrival. But he would go to the camp soon enough. There was nowhere else to go on this little spot in the middle of open country.

  By the time he arrived at the wagons and paused at the outside looking in, the Romero brothers had unloaded the top packs and most of the contents of the panniers. The side bags hung open, and the ropes draped onto the ground. Raimundo and Lockwood held the two packhorses while the brothers lifted out canned goods and cotton sacks. As Faustino gave orders, Gabriel and another boy set the provisions on a canvas sheet spread out on the other side of camp. The boys walked back and forth in front of the stranger, who was sitting on a chair.

  In addition to his black hat and vest, the man wore a greyish-white cotton shirt, grey wool pants, and black boots. He also wore a gunbelt, with the tip of the holster hanging free and the ivory-handled revolver in plain view. The man had his hand resting on his knee, where smoke curled up from a thin cigarette. Between his feet on the ground, a whiskey bottle stood with a cork sticking out of the neck.

  Tommy studied the man’s face, less in shadow now than before. The stranger had dark, beady eyes and a clipped mustache. His complexion was shiny and sallow, and his hair lay in oily, wavy strands along his ears and neck. He raised his cigarette, and as he took a drag, his beady eyes peered through the smoke and made Tommy’s pulse jump. Something about the man seemed familiar, but Tommy could not place him. The sensation was like that of seeing a snake; a person knew what it was before he made a full identification.

  Gabriel walked past with a sack of flour, and the man’s eyes shifted. Tommy looked around for Anita, but he did not see her. At that moment, Milena appeared from behind the Villarreals’ wagon and spoke to Gabriel in Spanish.

  The stranger turned, and his eyebrows went up as he took another drag and gave Milena a look of appraisal. Her eyes went hard as flint, then relaxed as they moved toward Lockwood, glancing over his shoulder. The stranger lowered his head, tapped his ash on the ground, and took a slow look at the American. Lockwood had his back turned again, so the stranger settled into himself, hiked one leg over another, and took a casual drag on his thin cigarette.

  Gabriel made a short whistling sound. Tommy thought it was for the other boy, and then he realized it was for him. He came out of his daze as he saw Gabriel beckoning, pawing downward at the air in the way the Mexicans did when they wanted someone to come toward them.

  “What do you need?” Tommy asked.

  “Milena wants you to cut meat.”

  “Oh. All right.” As Tommy walked toward the far end of the Villarreals’ wagon, he felt the stranger’s eyes on him.

  Milena had a cutting board set out on the tailgate of the wagon, and the remains of a lamb carcass lay next to it on a bloody sheet. Tommy picked up a wooden-handled knife, pointed at the meat, and made a questioning expression.

  “Sí. Cortar la carne.”

  He remembered that he had been working with his horse, so he set down the knife. He rubbed his hands together and said, “Agua.”

  Milena pointed at a bucket of water underneath the corner of the tailgate.

  “Bien.” He picked up the bucket and carried it a few yards from the wagon. There he splashed out enough water to rinse his hands. He carried the bucket back to the wagon, found a clean spot on the red-and-white sheet, and dried his hands.

  The carcass was lying on its side, and the hindquarters were gone. He lifted the front foreleg and cut the shoulder away from the rest of the body. As he laid the piece on the cutting board and was deciding where to begin, he became aware of Anita at his left elbow.

  “Well, hello,” he said. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right. It looks like they have work for you.”

  “It’s better that way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. This is the first time I’ve seen you all day.”

  “Oh, you.” She pursed her lips.

  “Be careful. You’ll make me cut myself.”

  “You be careful. Maybe I should leave.”

  “Oh, no, no. Stay here and make sure I do a good job.”

  “You do well. That’s why they give you this work.”

  “I see.” He began to separate the light-colored meat from the shoulder blade. To keep Anita from leaving, he said, “Looks like we’ve got someone new in camp. Do you know him?”

  “We saw him before. When we lived in our houses. He passed by a couple of times.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Alfredo Ortiz.”

  “He looks like someone they brought in for protection.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

  “I thought Faustino was going to go for a sheriff or somebody.”

  “He says he did, but they have to send for somebody. It may be a week or more.”

  “Ah-hah. So they bring in a hired gun in the meanwhile. I wonder what your father thinks of him.”

  “He is not one of us. My father told us before just to stay away from him.”

  Tommy widened his eyes and repositioned the shoulder he was trimming. “I think that’s good advice.”

  For as much as Tommy preferred to stay clear of Ortiz, he could not very well take his plate and walk away from the camp to eat his supper. So he sat in the company of Gabriel, Lockwood, and Raimundo on their side of the camp, while the Romero brothers, two men who came in from the sheep, and Alfredo Ortiz sat on the other. As was the custom, the men ate first, and the women served the food. Milena served the side of camp where Tommy sat, and she ignored the other side. Eusebia brought plates to the other side, all with a minimum of conversation. Gracias. De nada. Provecho.

  Anita did not appear. Tommy had noticed that she kept her distance from Faustino in general, and now with the presence of Ortiz, Tommy was not surprised that she did not come into view at all.

  The meal consisted of lamb meat cut up small and fried with potatoes and onions. Tommy appreciated the variety, thanks to the new supplies. Even though he knew Faustino resented him, and even though Faustino had brought the snake-eyed Ortiz into the company, Tommy acknowledged the competence of the Romero brothers and their efforts on behalf of the group. Faustino put away his food with authority, and Emilio ate with similar repose, though he seemed to make it an exercise as he lifted his elbow and flexed his muscle. Tommy wondered how much of the show was for the stranger’s benefit.

  All the men except Ortiz cleaned their plates. The newcomer set his plate with the half-eaten portion on the ground and leaned back to roll himself another thin cigarette. He kept the whiskey bottle between his feet, and Tommy could not see that the level had yet gone down in it. One of the remaining chickens came near. Ortiz kicked at it as he dug out a match, then lit his cigarette.

  Faustino set his empty plate on the ground and rose to his feet. He held his head up and looked around, taking in a slow breath. When he saw that everyone was finished eating, he began.

  “I believe it is time that we talk again.” He nodded in Ortiz’s direction. “We all speak in an open manner here. Nobody has to hide what he thinks. I do not talk behind someone’s back. I do not throw a rock and hide my hand.” He made a slow turn to take in the whole group. “All of you know that.” After a pause of a couple of seconds, he continued. “But here is the thing. It is not new. As I said before, I believe that these people are part of our trouble.” He made a short wave with his hand. “It began with the two boys. Then the red-haired one, may he rest in peace, went looking for trouble. To be supposed that he did it in our interest, but he only made things worse.”

  Ortiz sat up and took a hard look at Tommy.

  “And now this one,” said Faustino, motioning toward Lockwood. “And in the end, with what motive does he stay with us? Like the young one. I think you can see it. In the form of the feminine persons.”

 
“Look here,” said Lockwood, standing up.

  “Sit down.”

  “I thought you said everyone gets to speak.”

  “Each one in his turn. I believe el señor Ortiz has something to say.”

  Lockwood sat down as all eyes turned toward Ortiz. The man did not stand up, but rather held his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and blew a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth. “Yes,” he said. “If it can be permitted, I would like to say something.” His English was clearer than Faustino’s, and he spoke with a confident air. “This is not my affair, but I believe Mr. Romero is right and just in what he says. For my own part, I have seen this young boy, in the company of his red-haired friend. They were selling a heifer to a railroad crew. A young female cow. The animal had no brand, and the boys took no bill of sale. It was obvious to everyone there.”

  Tommy felt a prickly sensation spread through his face, neck, and shoulders. His mouth was sealed shut. In his dizziness, the scene began to swim. He made himself bear down and hang on.

  Ortiz widened his nostrils and took a slow breath. He didn’t seem to mind drawing out the moment until he spoke again. “Maybe it is a small thing, and maybe they did it only once. But it is the type of thing that does not set well with a rancher. Perhaps for that reason he would like to punish this boy.” Ortiz hiked his boot onto his knee, squinted his eyes, and took another drag. “That is all I have to say. Maybe the rancher has reasons to come after this boy. Anything else, I don’t know.”

  Faustino tipped his head and widened his eyes, in a taunting expression. He said to Tommy, “And you? I think it’s your turn to speak.”

  Tommy’s mouth was dry, and he could feel himself shaking as he stood up. “The story is true,” he said. “I’m sorry I did it. I can’t blame it on Red, though it was his idea and I wouldn’t have done it by myself. And once I did, it was never worth the small amount of money I made on it.” He tried to steady his voice. “But it’s in the past. I’ve decided over and over again that I’m done with that sort of thing.”

  Faustino laughed. He surveyed the audience, which had grown now with women and children, and he came back to Tommy. “How far in the past can it be? From the looks of you, you still have your baby teeth.”

  A ripple of laughter went through the other side of camp, and Tommy almost cried. He was trying to form an answer when Faustino spoke again.

  His tone was serious now. “I go back to what I said before. These people are trouble. They make things worse. We don’t need them.” With a nod toward Ortiz he said, “We have all the help we need. It would be better if our American friends would leave.”

  Lockwood rose again and said, “Very well. We don’t want to stay where we’re not wanted. No one owes anyone anything. We’ll leave.”

  Silence fell on the group. Tommy stood by himself, feeling alone and humiliated. He couldn’t even speak for himself. He could see that Faustino had everything stacked against him, and now with Lockwood speaking for the two of them, he didn’t have much choice.

  Lockwood, with a nonchalant air, walked toward the back of the camp and out between the Villarreal wagon and the next one. The women and children dispersed, and Milena followed in the direction where Lockwood had gone.

  Tommy clenched his teeth and tried to moisten the inside of his mouth. Faustino had shamed him but good, and Ortiz—well, there was no need blaming others, even if they magnified the truth. Tommy took in a breath and tried to build himself back up. He needed to take it like a man and walk out of here with a calm face.

  He went the same way Lockwood did. He felt people’s eyes on him, as if he was walking through town on the way to jail. He needed to get past the wagons, out where he could gather his horse and his gear and try to pull himself together.

  Out in the open, with dusk falling, he saw Lockwood in a subdued conversation with Milena. He could hear Lockwood’s imperfect Spanish. Good for him. Though he had jumped right up and volunteered for both of them to leave, at least he had someone who was sorry to see him go.

  Tommy went around the outside of the wagon to look for his saddle, and he almost ran into Anita.

  “You’re going away,” she said.

  “I don’t have much choice, thanks to Bill Lockwood.” He collected himself. “It’s not his fault.” He met her eyes, and he could tell she felt sorry for him. “I suppose you heard everything they said.”

  “Yes, and what you said, too.”

  “Then you know what they’re making me out to be. But I can’t deny it. I did that one thing. One time. It was the thing I told you about, the day you brought the goats down to the water.”

  “I know. You said you didn’t want to do anything like that again. I believed you.”

  “And do you believe me now?”

  “Oh, yes. I believe you. It’s in the past. You’re not with Red now.”

  “I don’t want to blame it on him, especially since he’s not even here anymore, but I wouldn’t have done it by myself.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s bad enough that someone has to dredge it up from the past, but when that person is as slimy as—well, there I go again, blaming it on someone else.”

  She touched her fingers to his lips. “Forget it. Everything passes. This man won’t be here forever.”

  “Yes, but what he said will be.”

  “And what you said, too. You accepted the blame, and you said you are sorry. You didn’t try to lie. You know, many people do. They lie with all of their teeth, as we say.”

  “I’m sure of that.” He met her eyes again. “I meant what I said, though. I don’t want to do anything like that again, and I think I’m old enough that I can make a decision that will last. I know some people, when they’re young, they say I’ll never do this or I’ll never do that, and then when they get older, they do. But I know that with this, I won’t. Even if I’m young, it’s a long ways in my past, and it’s going to stay there.”

  “I know. I believe you.”

  He was calmer now. He heard people talking in Spanish on the other side of the wagon, and he did not try to hear if they were talking about him. “Well, I need to go,” he said. “I have to find my saddle and my other things.”

  She nodded, but neither of them moved. His hands found hers.

  “I hope nothing bad happens when I’m gone. I hope I’m able to come back and see you, but I can’t say when.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  He still did not move. “I want to tell you something. It’s about yesterday, when we were down by the water. Well, I felt something I never felt before. Actually, I mean, well, you’re the only girl I ever kissed.”

  Her eyes were full and shining, but she did not say anything.

  Now that he had started, he had to go on. “And I don’t care if I ever meet another girl. Even if I can’t see you again. I’ll wait a long time.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything passes.”

  He did not want to think about what Cushman might do to these people, but tears came to his eyes as he realized he might not ever see her again. He put his arms around her and lost himself in their kiss.

  Milena’s low voice brought them back to the present. “Vamos, Anita.”

  In a second she was gone. The voices in Spanish continued as he knelt beneath the wagon and dragged out his saddle, his bedroll, and his bag.

  He did not speak to Lockwood as they saddled their horses next to one another, out on the grassy plain away from camp as the night drew in. Lockwood finished first and stood nearby, whistling a faint tune that sounded like “Green Grow the Lilacs.” Tommy thought he was all too breezy, considering what had happened, but maybe he had had a sweet farewell with Milena.

  When Tommy had his horse ready to go, Lockwood had quit whistling his tune. Lamplight showed from the camp, and the faint sound of voices carried.

  “Let’s walk ’em for a ways,” said Lockwood. “Stretch our legs.”

  “You seem to be cheerful, cons
idering what all went on.”

  “Like our friends say, No hay remedio. There’s not much you can do about it.”

  “I realize things were stacked against us, but I thought you gave up pretty quick. Not to mention speaking for both of us.”

  “Ah, he’s a hard one to argue with, that Faustino. He comes back every time with things twisted just a little bit different. And if you come right down to it, he’s not far off on a couple of things.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Well, for one, I think he’s right about Cushman having it in for any white people who throw in with these people. I don’t think it’s Cushman’s main reason, because, like I said yesterday, I think he’s got a bigger kind of hate. I think Faustino’s exaggerating, and I think he knows it. I argued with him about it yesterday and did all right, but today he had more cards, you might say.”

  “That’s my fault.”

  “Oh, hell, don’t worry about that. If it wasn’t one thing, it would be another.”

  Tommy looked over his shoulder at the camp, which was getting smaller in the distance. Anita was there, growing more out of reach with every step. He looked ahead and kept walking. “Well, that’s one. What’s the other thing he’s right about?”

  Lockwood laughed. “Oh, the way he put it was funny, in his translated Spanish. But of course he was right. We do have an interest in the feminine persons, though he exaggerated that, too.”

  “Well, that gets to me as well. I can see where he’s jealous of me. He has been from the start. But what does he care about you? He could have had her, and he turned her down. At least that’s what Gabriel said.”

  Lockwood was silent, and only their footfalls and those of the horses sounded.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I guess you didn’t know.”

  Lockwood’s voice came back with spirit. “That’s all right. It just took me a minute to put it together. He’s a fool, I can say that. And furthermore, that’s the way some men are. They don’t want a woman, but they don’t want anyone else to have her, either. That’s just a problem he’s got with his own underwear.”

  “Well, it helped him get rid of us, even if the clincher was about me.”