Bless Me, Ultima(73)

“How was town last night, boys?” my father asked.

They glanced up at him nervously, and Andrew said, “Quiet. The men at the Eight Ball asked for you, send their regards—they were glad to see León and Gene though.”

“Ay,” my father nodded and sipped his coffee, “glad to see the wandering Márez brothers, huh.” His voice was bitter. I guess he knew they would be leaving again, and he couldn’t accept it.

“We’ve been working, father,” Gene said.

“Uh-huh,” my father nodded. “I was just thinking, we used to work together. Hey,” he smiled, “it wasn’t so long ago we built this house, huh. Well you boys did most of it, and I’m proud of it. I would get off work on the highway in the afternoon, and far down the goat path, near the juniper where Narciso died, I could hear the hammering, and no matter how tired I was I would hurry, come and help you. It was a wonderful time, huh, a man working, planning with his sons—”

“Yeah,” Andrew said, “sure.”

“Yeah,” León agreed and nodded.

“Gabriel—” my mother’s voice pleaded.

“Ah,” he smiled, “just remembering old times, no harm in that is there. And remember the summer I took you to work with me on the highway? I wanted you by my side, I was proud of you—” he laughed and slapped his thigh. “You were so small those air hammers just tossed the three of you around like rag dolls—” Tears streamed from his eyes.

“Yeah, those were great times,” León said vigorously. His blue, melancholy eyes lit up. Even Gene nodded his head in agreement.

“We remember, father,” Andrew smiled. Then they were quiet for a long time as they looked at each other, the sons seeing the father suddenly old, and the father knowing his sons were men and going away.

“Well,” he cleared his throat and blew his nose, “I guess those days are gone forever, in the past—” He laid down his cup. “I’ll go fix that windmill now,” he said.

“But the wind, Gabriel,” my mother said with some anxiety.

“It has to be done,” he shrugged. The wind was blowing hard and the ladder up to the platform that held the housing would be thick with ice. He looked for the last time at his sons, but they avoided his gaze. Then he went out.

“He should have waited for the wind to die down,” Andrew said uneasily.

“Or until it froze over and stopped itself,” León added lamely.

“Or until the damned thing broke off,” Gene whispered, “there’s no sense in risking your neck for a hick-town windmill—”

I went to the window and watched my father work his way up the treacherous ladder. It was slow and dangerous work. He worked his way onto the small platform and avoiding the cranking, spinning blades he grabbed the loose wire. Carefully he pulled it down, tied the loose ends and put the brake on the turning blades. When he came back into the kitchen his hands and face were frozen white and he was dripping with the sweat of exhaustion, but there was a look of satisfaction on his face.

Next day León and Eugene left. This time they took Andrew with them. He quit his job at Allen’s Market and dropped his plans for finishing high school and went to Santa Fe with them. My father was not there when they left; the roads were opening up and all the highway crews were working. My mother cried when she kissed her sons goodbye, but she was resigned. I waved goodbye to them with some misgivings. I wondered if I would ever really know my brothers, or would they remain but phantoms of my dreams. And I wondered if the death of Narciso had anything to do with Andrew’s decision to go.





Dieciséis


After Christmas I returned to school. I missed walking with Andrew in the mornings. At first the kids wanted to know about the murder of Narciso, but I told them nothing and soon the news was old and they went on to something else. My life had changed, I thought; I seemed older, and yet the lives of my schoolmates seemed unchanged. The Kid still raced at the bridge, Samuel nodded and walked on, Horse and Bones kicked at each other, and the yellow buses still came in with their loads of solemn farm kids. And catechism loomed in the future for all of us.

I talked only once to Cico. He said, “We have lost a friend. We shall wait until summer to take the news to the golden carp. He will tell us what to do—” After that I didn’t see him much.

I kept, as much as possible, to myself. I even lost touch with Jasón, which was too bad because I learned later that he would have understood. Of course, the dreams that I had during my illness continued to preoccupy me. I could not understand why Narciso, who did good in trying to help Ultima, had lost his life; and why Tenorio, who was evil and had taken a life, was free and unpunished. It didn’t seem fair. I thought a great deal about God and why he let such things happen. When the weather was warmer I sometimes paused beneath the juniper tree and looked at the stained ground. Then my mind wandered and my thoughts became a living part of me.