“Ah, and so we see how fun it is. For both the snake and for Butch, ¿no? The snake gets his head chopped off and is buried in a shallow grave in the desert. Butch gets to go to the hospital to see if they can save his eye. And if there’s venom from the snake, maybe his life. Fun, ¿no? ”
“The snake didn’t bite him,” Francisco said. “How could there be venom?”
“Because the trimmer gouged out a chunk of the snake’s mouth parts, hijo. The snake was mad to begin with, and feeling threatened. Lots of venom loaded, ready to go. If a fang flew into Butch’s eye, then there’s probably venom with it.”
“Will he die?”
“We hope not.” Her son did not need a sugar coating of this situation. She touched her own face by way of demonstration. “But eyes are close to the brain, hijo. That’s a bad place for venom.”
The boy looked off into the distance, and Estelle felt the odd mixture of emotions-relief that the flying fang hadn’t struck her son, anger at Butch Romero for initiating such a stupid stunt, and finally sympathy for both boys and what they would endure.
“This will be expensive, won’t it?” Francisco asked quietly.
“Hijo, hijo, hijo, ” Estelle sighed, impressed nevertheless…from little boy playing with snakes to the precocious nine year-old that he was, seeing into the complications. Life had been so much simpler before the great, wide world had started to beckon her sons. “Yes. It will be expensive.”
“Do you know how much?”
“I don’t know, hijo. But a lot, I bet. Paying that will be fun, too.” She glanced across at him. She could see that the little boy was miserable. Estelle hesitated, but now was the time to say it, now when she had his attention. “You always have to think, hijo, ” she said. “Before, not just afterward.” She reached across and patted his leg. “I’m glad you didn’t let Carlos go with you.” Francisco and his little brother were usually inseparable.
“He doesn’t like snakes,” Francisco said.
“Ah. Well, maybe you and Butch won’t after this, either.” The car thumped down onto the asphalt of Eighth Street. “How was school today?”
“It was okay.” He sounded grateful for the change of subject.
“You still don’t like Mr. Reynolds?”
“He’s okay. He wastes a lot of time.”
Estelle kept a straight face. The concept of a nine-year-old who might be concerned with wasted time was something that would challenge first-year teacher Marv Reynolds, she suspected.
The drive back to Twelfth Street took only a moment, and as she pulled up to the curb in front of her own home, she saw Tata Romero on her hands and knees in the front yard two doors down the street, the sun hot on her back, grubbing around a spectacular bed of red hot pokers, the tall, homely flowers that thrived under the blistering sun. The house across the street had blocked her view of the field beyond. She had no inkling of the episode.
“Take the trimmer, hijo. ” Estelle touched the remote trunk release. “And then you go keep your brother company until I come home. And hijo, ” she added, and waited until he was looking at her, “you stay in the yard when you get home.”
He nodded soberly, and set off down the rough sidewalk with the trimmer. Estelle followed. Tata Romero saw them coming and eased out of the flower bed.
“Butch and I borrowed this, Mrs. Romero,” Francisco said. “Do you want me to put it back in the shed?”
“Well, hi, hijo, ” Tata said. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” She stood up and brushed her knees. “Estelle, how are you these days? Here we live two doors down, and we never get to see much of you. The boys have been doing yard work for you?” She dusted her gardening gloves together.
“I wish that were the case, Tata. Butch and my son were over in the field by the arroyo. They were teasing a rattlesnake with the Weed Whacker.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Tata exclaimed, and it was clear that her assumption was that some sort of mild delinquency was afoot…neither of the Romero boys, Butch or his older brother Freddy, were strangers to that. And then she realized that neither son was part of the equation here. She craned her neck, looking down the street. “And now where is the young man?” she asked sternly.
“Tata, the EMTs took him to the hospital. He suffered an eye injury.”
“Oh, my gosh. The snake bit him?” Her face drained of color, and she looked after Francisco’s retreating figure as the little boy trudged back toward his own home. “What has he gotten into now…”
“The trimmer line struck the snake in the head. I think that maybe a piece of fang, or maybe a piece of jaw bone…something… something struck Butch in the right eye. They’ll do a preliminary assessment here and administer the anti-venom if they have to, but the EMTs tell me that it’s likely they’ll want to fly him to University Hospital in Albuquerque if there is significant damage to the eye.”
Tata raised a hand to cover her mouth.
“Let me drive you to the hospital,” Estelle said. “Then I’ll stop by the dealership and have George come down to be with you.”
“I need my purse.” Tata turned toward the house. She stopped. “Will he lose the eye?”
“I don’t know, Tata. They’ll have news for us at the hospital.”
The woman nodded and hurried into the house. Estelle waited on the sidewalk, and then escorted Tata back to the county car.
“How did you find out?” Tata settled into the car, looking apprehensively at the racked shotgun, the computer that invaded her knee space, the radios, all the other clutter of Estelle’s mobile office.
“One of the neighbors saw the two boys playing out by the arroyo and was worried that they had cornered a snake. She was watching them through binoculars. She called me to check.”
“Oh, my. These boys.” These boys, Estelle thought, and she could inventory all the toys and gadgets that the two Romero brothers, cherished in their pursuit of their own adrenaline rushes. The Romeros’ fleet grew by the season-motorcycles, four wheelers, even now a powered skateboard that enchanted her sons. The idea of a cocoon around her own two little boys grew more appealing with every week. Estelle relished the beginning of school, when the day’s activities separated the three boys, Francisco now in fourth grade, Butch a freshman, Freddy a senior.
“The caller saw Butch fall to his hands and knees, so she knew that he was hurt. By then I was just up here on Bustos. The EMTs were right behind me.”
Tata heaved a great, shuddering sigh. “Oh, these kids. Francisco is all right?”
“Yes. He’s fine. Scared, but fine.” In a moment they swung into the driveway leading to the emergency room of Posadas General Hospital. Inside she handed Tata off to one of the ER nurses. “I’ll send your husband over,” she said. “And then I’ll be right back.” She squeezed the woman’s hand.
Posadas Chrysler-Jeep was three minutes away, and Estelle made her way through the cluttered service area to where George Romero stood gazing at a diagnostic computer screen as if he didn’t believe what it was telling him about the fancy sedan on the rack. He listened to Estelle, keeping an eye on the computer at the same time, then shook his head. “Christ,” he said, obviously vexed. He finally looked directly at the undersheriff but said nothing, as if waiting for her to break the rest of the news.
“I dropped Tata at the hospital,” Estelle said.
“Well, I’ll see if I can break away,” George said. “Is Freddy with her?”
“I haven’t seen him, sir.”
“Well, he’s probably out burnin’ up more gas,” Romero said, and let it go at that. Without any further questions, he turned and stalked off toward the service manager’s counter, adding over his shoulder, “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”