Cities of the Plain(69)

Yessir.

And now I’m goin to bed.

Yessir.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.


FROM THE PASS in the upper range of the Jarillas they could see the green of the benchland below the springs and they could see the thin standing spire of smoke from the fire in the stove rising vertically in the still blue morning air. They sat their horses. Billy nodded at the scene.

When I was a kid growin up in the bootheel me and my brother used to stop where we topped out on this bench south of the ranch goin up into the mountains and we’d look back down at the house. It would be snowin sometimes or snow on the ground in the winter and there was always a fire in the stove and you could see the smoke from the chimney and it was a long ways away and it looked different from up there. Always looked different. It was different. We’d be gone up in the mountains sometimes all day throwin them spooky cattle out of the draws and bringin em down to the feedstation where we’d put out cake. I dont think there was ever a time we didnt stop and look back thataway before we rode up into that country. From where we’d stop we were not a hour away and the coffee was still hot on the stove down there but it was worlds away. Worlds away.

In the distance they could see the thin straight line of the highway and a toysized truck running silently upon it. Beyond that the green line of the river breaks and range on range the distant mountains of Mexico. Billy watched him.

You think you’ll ever go back there?

Where?

Mexico.

I dont know. I’d like to. You?

I dont think so. I think I’m done.

I came out of there on the run. Ridin at night. Afraid to make a fire.

Been shot.

Been shot. Those people would take you in. Hide you out. Lie for you. No one ever asked me what it was I’d done.

Billy sat with his hands crossed palm down on the pommel of his saddle. He leaned and spat. I went down there three separate trips. I never once come back with what I started after.

John Grady nodded. What would you do if you couldnt be a cowboy?

I dont know. I reckon I’d think of somethin. You?

I dont know what it would be I’d think of.

Well we may all have to think of somethin.

Yeah.

You think you could live in Mexico?

Yeah. Probably.

Billy nodded. You know what a vaquero makes in the way of wages.

Yep.

You might luck up on a job as foreman or somethin. But sooner or later they’re goin to run all the white people out of that country. Even the Babícora wont survive.

I know it.

You’d go to veterinary school if you had the money I reckon. Wouldnt you?

Yep. I would.

You ever write to your mother?

What’s my mother got to do with anything?

Nothin. I just wonder if you even know what a outlaw you are.

Why?

Why do I wonder it?

Why am I a outlaw.

I dont know. You just got a outlaw heart. I’ve seen it before.

Because I said I could live in Mexico?

It aint just that.

Dont you think if there’s anything left of this life it’s down there?

Maybe.

You like it too.

Yeah? I dont even know what this life is. I damn sure dont know what Mexico is. I think it’s in your head. Mexico. I rode a lot of ground down there. The first ranchera you hear sung you understand the whole country. By the time you’ve heard a hundred you dont know nothin. You never will. I concluded my business down there a long time ago.

He hooked his leg over the pommel of the saddle and sat rolling a cigarette. They’d dropped the reins and the horses leaned and picked bleakly at the sparse tufts of grass trembling in the wind coming through the gap. He bent with his back to the wind and popped a match with his thumbnail and lit the cigarette and turned back.

I aint the only one. It’s another world. Everbody I ever knew that ever went back was goin after somethin. Or thought they was.

Yeah.

There’s a difference between quittin and knowin when you’re beat.

John Grady nodded.

I guess you dont believe that. Do you?

John Grady studied the distant mountains. No, he said. I guess I dont.

They sat for a long time. The wind blew. Billy had long since finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the sole of his boot. He unfolded his leg back over the horn of the saddle and slid his boot into the stirrup and leaned down and took up the reins. The horses stepped and stood.

My daddy once told me that some of the most miserable people he ever knew were the ones that finally got what they’d always wanted.

Well, said John Grady. I’m willin to risk it. I’ve damn sure tried it the other way.

Yeah.

You cant tell anybody anything, bud. Hell, it’s really just a way of tellin yourself. And you cant even do that. You just try and use your best judgment and that’s about it.

Yeah. Well. The world dont know nothin about your judgment.