“Okay. Did you put the bandage on for me?”
“Me and my daddy.”
“Gracias.”
“No hay de que.”
They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, the girl looking at the set. “What are you watching?” Lewis asked.
“Something about monkeys. Wild Kingdom, something like that.”
“Any good?”
“I like nature shows.” She looked at him, offered him chips.
“No, thank you. May I have some water though?”
“Sure.” She got up and went to the kitchen. She came back with a tall glass of water with ice.
“Gracias.”
She returned to her chair, turned up the sound.
Lewis sipped the water. “Where is your father?”
“He said he’d be back soon.”
Lewis looked around the room again. There was a cross on the wall over the mantel of the fireplace. “Where is your mother?”
“My mother is dead,” the girl said without taking her eyes off the television.
“Me llamo Lewis.”
“Carla,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Lewis said. “I wish it could be under other circumstances.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, looked at the old newspapers and magazines. “How long has it been raining?”
“About an hour, off and on.”
“We need it,” he said.
Carla pointed at the screen. “I think they know they’re being cute.”
Mala walked away from Lewis, barked once and sat facing the door. Lewis watched the muscles of the dog’s body, smooth and tense. Someone knocked.
Lewis knew someone was there before the knock. The girl had to know it too, but she didn’t turn her attention from the monkeys until she heard it. She got up and went to the door, opened it an inch.
“Buenas tardes, Carla,” a man said.
“Sheriff,” she said. Mala stood. Carla held up a hand and told him to stay. He sat again.
“Como esta usted?”
“I’m okay.” The girl held the door where it was and let Manny stand out in the rain. “No one is here but me.”
“Donde puedo encontrar Ignacio?”
“I don’t know where he is?”
“Tell him we found his truck.”
“Okay.”
“May I use your telephone?” Manny asked.
Lewis tried to get up and walk into another room, but his head throbbed and he fell back.
“It’s not working,” Carla said.
“Okay. Tell him about the truck.”
“I will. Hasta luego.” Carla closed the door and went directly back to her chair where she again put her eyes on the television screen.
“Thanks,” Lewis said.
She ate a chip.
Lewis laid back down. Mala walked over, sat and watched him. Lewis closed his eyes.
Lewis woke up again to find Ignacio sitting in the chair beside the sofa. Ignacio leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. And thank you for helping me.”
“I want to help your friend, too.”
“You’re a good man, Ignacio.”
“I think the same about you.”
“What do we do?” Lewis asked, sitting up. His head hurt less.
“I’m to bring you to a meeting. Our council must vote on what you want.” Ignacio worked a kink from his back. “Like I said, it is not up to me.”
“I understand. Are we going to the morada?”
“Si.”
“The sheriff was here.”
“Carla told me.”
“She’s quite a young lady,” Lewis said.
“Gracias.” Ignacio looked at the draped window. “It’s raining hard.”
“What time is it?” Lewis asked.
“After midnight,” Ignacio said. He pointed to the end of the sofa. “There are your pants.”
Chapter Twenty-five
It was a hard rain and it had made the night cool. Lewis sat on the passenger side of his truck while Ignacio drove. A draft squeezed through the door and up the rip in Lewis’ pants. He zipped up his jacket and folded his arms over his chest. The wiper in front of him did a lousy job, leaving the glass streaked with each pass. He couldn’t see where they were going and he figured it worked as well as a blindfold.
“Are they going to ask me questions?” Lewis asked.
Ignacio shrugged.
Lewis imagined himself standing before old Mexican men, giving a presentation, candles burning, a skirted Jesus nailed to a cross on the wall behind him. Lewis thought about the sheriff.
“I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. With the sheriff or otherwise.”
Ignacio leaned forward to see the road better.
“What do you think those men were looking for?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t know. Something bad.”
Lewis nodded.
The men watched the windshield. Headlights from approaching cars seemed threatening and each one turned Lewis’ head.
“I hope your friend will be okay,” Ignacio said.
“Me too.”
The rain was falling harder when Ignacio stopped the truck in front of the morada. There were no torches burning outside tonight. Lewis got out and limped after the younger man, through the mud and into the adobe. Inside, the room was lighted as before, torches on the four walls. Jesus was indeed skirted and on the cross above the altar. There was no body this time. There was a table to one side and at it sat five men, Salvador Alvarado among them. A battery-powered camp area-light sat in the center of the table illuminating their still, solemn faces. Lewis nodded to them.
“Sit here,” Ignacio said.
Lewis sat in a cane chair, one in a row, away from the table. He watched Ignacio as he joined the men. He was the youngest of them.
Their meeting began. Lewis couldn’t make out what they were saying. Words were muttered in Spanish. It did not take long before there were louder utterances, no less understandable to Lewis for the volume. Salvador said virtually nothing. Ignacio remained calm, speaking softly to the older men who yelled at him. There were frequent glances over at Lewis. He tried to keep his eyes on them or the floor, so as not to appear to be gazing upon their secret place. Finally, Ignacio shouted and all were silent. They sat without speaking for probably just a minute, but to Lewis it felt like a long time. He adjusted himself in the uncomfortable chair, tried to put his leg out straight so that it wouldn’t go to sleep.
Ignacio spoke calmly again. There was more discussion and then the youngest was standing, walking back to Lewis.
“Are you ready?” Ignacio asked.
Lewis gained his feet.
Ignacio walked out of the morada without looking at the table. Lewis did quickly glance that way, but none were looking at him.
Outside, the two men trotted to the truck. Lewis climbed in on the passenger side again.
“Well, we talked it over,” Ignacio said.
Lewis nodded.
“You cannot speak of this to anyone, not even your friend if she is alive.”
“Okay.”
“And not to me after this night.”
“I understand.”
“I cannot go with you to get Martin.”
“I wouldn’t want you to, Ignacio.”
The words were not coming easily to Ignacio. He looked at the rain rolling off the windshield. “Martin is buried up Lobos Canyon. Arroyo Azul comes down the middle of it. Do you know where I mean?”
Lewis nodded.
“There is a dirt road between mile marker six and seven. Turn there toward the mountain. The road will stop. About forty yards beyond that is where Martin is buried. The grave is not marked.”