Cities of the Plain(57)

Christmas came and went. In the afternoon of the first Sunday in January Billy rode up and crossed the little creek and halloed the house and stood down. John Grady came to the door.

What are you doin? Billy said.

Paintin windowsash.

Billy nodded. He looked about. You aint goin to ask me in?

John Grady passed his sleeve along the side of his nose. He had a paintbrush in one hand and his hands were blue. I didnt know I had to, he said. Come on in.

Billy came in and stood. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it and looked around. He walked into the other room and he came back. The adobe brick walls had been whitewashed and the inside of the little house was bright and monastically austere. The clay floors were swept and slaked and he’d beaten them down with a homemade maul contrived from a fencepost with a section of board nailed to the bottom.

The old place dont look half bad. You aim to get you a santo to put in the corner yonder?

I might.

Billy nodded.

I’ll take all the help I can get, John Grady said.

I hear you, said Billy. He looked at the bright blue of the sash of the windows. Did they not have any blue paint? he said.

They said this was about as close as they could get.

You fixin to paint the door the same color?

Yep.

You got another brush?

Yeah. I got one.

Billy took off his hat and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. Well, he said. Where’s it at?

John Grady poured paint from his paintcan into an empty one and Billy squatted on one knee and stirred the brush into the paint. He passed the flat of the brush carefully across the rim of the can and painted a bright blue band down the center stile. He looked across his shoulder.

How come you to have a extra brush?

Just in case some fool showed up wantin to paint, I reckon.

They quit before dark. A cool wind was coming down from the gap in the Jarillas. They stood by the truck and Billy smoked and they watched the running fire deepening to darkness over the mountains to the west.

It’s goin to be cold up here in the wintertime, pardner, Billy said.

I know it.

Cold and lonely.

It wont be lonely.

I’m talkin about her.

Mac says she can come down and work with Socorro whenever she wants.

Well that’s good. I dont expect there’ll be a lot of empty chairs at the table on them days.

John Grady smiled. I expect you’re right.

When have you seen her?

Not for a while.

How long a while?

I dont know. Three weeks.

Billy shook his head.

She’s still there, John Grady said.

You got a lot of confidence in her.

Yes I do.

What do you think is goin to happen when her and Socorro get their heads together?

She dont tell everthing she knows.

Her or Socorro?

Either one.

I hope you’re right.

They aint goin to run her off, Billy. There’s more to her than just she’s good lookin.

Billy flipped the cigarette out across the yard. We better get on back.

You can take the truck if you want.

That’s all right.

Go on. I’ll ride that old crowbait of yours.

Billy nodded. Ride him blind through the brush tryin to beat me back. Get him snakebit and I dont know what all.

Go on. I’ll ride behind the truck.

Horse like that it takes a special hand to ride him in the dark.

I’ll bet it does.

A rider that can instill confidence in a animal.

John Grady smiled and shook his head.

A rider that’s accustomed to the ways and the needs of the nighthorse. Ride the bedgrounds slow. Ride left to right. Sing to them snuffies. Dont pop no matches.

I hear you.

Did your grandaddy used to talk about goin up the trail?

Some. Yeah.

You think you’ll ever go back to that country?

I doubt it.

You will. One of these days. Or I say you will. If you live.

You want to take the truck back?

Naw. Go on. I’ll be along.

All right.

Dont eat my dessert.

All right. I appreciate you comin up.

I didnt have nothin else to do.

Well.

If I had I’d of done it.

I’ll see you at the house.

See you at the house.


JOSEFINA WAS STANDING in the door watching. In the room the criada turned, one hand lofting the weight of the girl’s dark hair for her to see.

Bueno, said Josefina. Muy bonita.

The criada smiled thinly, her mouth bristling with hairpins. Josefina looked back down the hall and then leaned in the door. Él viene, she whispered. Then she turned and padded away down the corridor. The criada turned the girl quickly and studied her and touched her hair and stood back. She passed her thumb across her lips gathering the pins. Eres la china poblana perfecta, she said. Perfecta.

Es bella la china poblana? the girl said.

The criada arched her brows in surprise. The wrinkled lid fluttered over the pale blind eye. Sí, she said. Sí. Por supuesto. Todo el mundo lo sabe.