Midnight Cactus

by Bella Pollen

  ‘Actually . . . no.’

  ‘I should come back tomorrow then.’

  ‘My husband is in Europe.’

  ‘Oh, that’s too bad.’ Hogan shakes his head. ‘I’d have come sooner had I known. I’ve been neglecting you and I’m sorry for it.’ He looks so genuinely remorseful standing there, clutching his hat, that I relent and offer him a drink.

  ‘Why, that’s kind, thank you, ma’am and I’ll take a beer if it’s no trouble.’

  I fetch him a Budweiser and a glass. Then, because there seems no other option, we sit down and examine each other politely. He has a pleasant, rather earnest face and thick white hair which falls boyishly across his forehead.

  ‘Hope it’s no imposition coming in like this.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I hear you’ve been doin’ work to the property.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Bought it off those Canadian fellas, I understand?’

  ‘Well ... in a sense.’

  ‘And your husband’s not here to oversee the job?’

  ‘He’ll be in Europe for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘That sure is too bad,’ Hogan repeats. He gazes round the room, as though it must surely be Robert’s absence which accounts for the domestic disorder.

  ‘I like your neckpiece,’ I tell him.

  ‘My bolo tie?’ He grips the metal flag and tightens it. ‘Patriotic, ain’t it?’

  ‘It certainly is. I should get one for my son.’

  ‘Why, certainly you should, ma’am.’ He gazes round the room a little longer.

  ‘So . . . you live at Fishsprings?’ Reluctantly, I prolong the conversation.

  ‘Yes indeed, ma’am, I own ten thousand acres of prime cattle land. Bought them back in ninety-six when I happened to be passing through with my wife.’

  ‘You’re a rancher then?’

  ‘No, ma’am, a dentist. I have my practice in Houston.’

  ‘Oh! What a pity you weren’t here last week,’ I say gaily and touch an explanatory finger to my mouth.

  ‘I’m in the cosmetic end of the trade, ma’am.’ He leans forward eagerly. ‘There are dentists who’ll give you a whole mouth of new teeth for next to no money but, heaven help you, you’ll look like you’ve gone and got Chiclets stuck into your gums. You want work done, you’d better come to an outfit like us. Different ball game altogether. We charge, but we’re worth it.’ He coughs discreetly. ‘My daughter always prided herself on having the best teeth in high school.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  We stare at each other a little longer.

  ‘Mrs Coleman.’

  ‘Call me Alice.’

  ‘Mrs Coleman . . . ma’am,’ he falters.

  ‘Alice,’ I say firmly.

  The whole ma’am thing drives me mad. In Ague, where they address anything in a skirt as ma’am, Emmy bares her teeth like a weasel on hearing it. ‘I’m not a mam,’ she snarls. ‘I’m a litttle girl ...’

  ‘Alice ... ma’am, see here ... I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn but, well, I ... well ... I understand you were involved in an er ... well, an incident a few days back.’

  ‘Me?’ I frown. ‘No.’

  ‘Robbed I heard.’

  ‘Uh . . . no.’

  ‘Scared pretty bad too.’

  ‘Nope.’ I shake my head. ‘Not me.’

  ‘And well,’ he persists, ‘it made me feel all the worse for not paying you a visit sooner.’

  ‘Look it’s very kind of you, but it’s simply not tr—’ I stop as it finally occurs to me what he might be referring to. But how had he heard? I’d hardly mentioned it to anyone . . . well, except Benjamín, of course, who, as soon as I delivered the description of the dog, had sucked in his breath and put a hand to his jaw. ‘Mal de ojo’ he whispered awfully. ‘Mal de ojo.’

  ‘What is that? What do you mean?’

  ‘It is the evil eye. Is very bad, Alice.’ He looked shaken. ‘Very bad.’

  ‘It was just a dead dog, that’s all.’

  ‘Noh, noh . . .’ he said vehemently, ‘the mal de ojo causes illness, Alice . . . sometimes,’ his voice sank lower, ‘la muerte . . . death.’

  However, I couldn’t see Benjamín as a confidant of Jeff Hogan so it must have been Sue, to whom Emmy had blurted out, ‘Mummy got burgled,’ as soon as we arrived at school yesterday, whereupon I’d been obliged to tell the whole story.

  ‘That’s too bad,’ Sue commented. ‘But you know, Alice . . . all this used to be theirs.’ She made an expansive sweeping gesture with her hand.

  ‘All what?’

  ‘Arizona, California, Texas, everywhere. It all used to belong to Mexico before we took it away from them. We stole from them, they steal from us.’ She dipped her head. ‘I believe it’s fair that they should take back what’s rightly theirs.’

  ‘Well I’m not sure you could argue that my half-pound of Cheddar and that jar of pickles were rightly theirs, but let’s not quibble about details.’

  ‘Alice,’ Sue said firmly, ‘did you know that our government has never even formally apologized to the Native Americans? Chaos will endure as long as there is no proper stewardship of the earth.’

  Hogan waits, twisting his hat nervously through his fingers.

  ‘You’re talking about my shopping getting stolen, right?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says gravely.

  ‘Okay, well, yes,’ I concede. ‘But it was no big deal.’

  Hogan shakes his head. ‘Mrs Coleman, you’re being brave and I admire you for it but, believe me, I know just how frightening these things can be.’

  ‘Really, Mr Hogan, it’s fine.’

  Hogan looks in no way satisfied. ‘This is very awkward, Mrs Coleman, you without your husband and all . . . but my wife . . . she rang all the way from Houston and she said to me, “Jeff, they’re your neighbours and you have a duty both as someone with standing in the town and as a leader of the community . . .”’ On and on he stumbles and all the while I’m thinking – it’s true, the snail’s thread I spin out behind me has crossed with the Mexican’s and here come the repercussions.

  ‘Mrs Coleman . . . ma’am, what I’m trying to say is . . . well . . . were you in any way . . . well . . . hurt?’

  ‘Hurt?’ I say surprised. ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘Well now that’s a considerable worry off my mind . . . story I heard was that . . . well . . .’ He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘What story?’ I say, mildly interested.

  ‘Folks have been saying that you were . . . violated in some way.’

  I nearly laugh out loud. It’s the look on his face. Fatherly concern mingled with agonizing curiosity.

  ‘Well, in actual fact it was my truck took the brunt of the attack, but I’m sure, with counselling and gentle handling, it will recover in time.’

  ‘This ain’t no laughing matter, Mrs Coleman,’ Hogan says solemnly. ‘Next time it could be far worse, you could be harmed in some way.’

  I shut my eyes. The Mexican’s face looms.

  ‘It was nothing, really, you mustn’t worry.’ In the pocket of my corduroys, my fingers close round a single Skittle, sequestered from Jack’s private stash in the car. I set myself the task of getting it to my mouth without Hogan noticing.

  ‘But I do worry.’ Hogan’s voice rises with indignation. ‘Why, I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen. You here alone! No husband! Two small children! Ma’am, it’s not right. It’s not safe. Your property is no more than six miles from the border. The hills round here are overrun with illegals.’

  The way he says ‘illegals’ makes it sound as though a new and ferocious breed of groundhog had been identified which was even now cavorting in the mesquite in their thousands, chomping on Indian grasses and breeding prolifically while horrified locals were forced to hole up in fortified cabins.

  ‘The problem’s not only here on the border,’ Hogan is saying. ‘My mother-
in-law is up in a retirement home outside of Phoenix. They got Mexicans tending the lawns up there – like they got ‘em everywhere,’ he adds darkly, ‘sweeping the trash and mopping the floors. Believe me, these people have no respect for the folk they work for. My mother-in-law has suffered terribly at their hands.’

  ‘How dreadful.’ It’s my expression now that is surely one of agonizing curiosity. Had the poor woman also been violated?

  ‘Yes, dreadful,’ he echoes bleakly. ‘She had her finest brooch go missing.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ The Skittle is a tropical flavour. Mango? Kiwi? ‘Well I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘These illegals are everywhere.’ Hogan shakes his head sorrowfully. ‘They cross our land, stealing animals, threatening our people. My own wife lives in fear.’

  ‘All the way from Houston?’ I say gently.

  Hogan reddens.

  ‘Look.’ Hastily, I try to make amends. ‘It’s really nice of you to be concerned, honestly it is, but the poor man was probably more frightened of me than I was of him.’

  ‘Well that may be so,’ he replies stiffly, ‘but my wife insists we offer you our protection. Rest assured that I’m prepared to pass by this way every evening if it will give you some measure of peace of mind.’

  Oh, God forbid. ‘It’s very kind of you really, but I have Benjamín.’

  ‘That fella who caretakes the place?’ Jeff Hogan splutters into his beer. ‘You think he’d turn a gun on his own kind?’

  ‘I very much hope he wouldn’t turn a gun on anyone,’ I reply primly, pushing back my chair and standing up.

  He makes no move to go. ‘Mrs Coleman, ma’am . . .’

  ‘Mr Hogan.’ Resolutely, I remain standing.

  He sighs and scrapes back his chair. ‘Mrs Coleman, I’d be grateful if you’d give me the telephone number of your husband. As a property owner he has an investment to protect, same way I do. The troubles are not good for business, not good at all.’

  ‘They’re affecting dentistry?’

  Hogan appears not to hear. ‘Tombstone ain’t the only place around here that’s got itself some history,’ he says. ‘A bunch of fellas and I have invested a lot of dollars into Ague. I don’t know whether you’re aware, but the fine hotel there, Prestcott’s, is mine, the restaurant too.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was real pleased to hear your husband had taken over Temerosa. A commercial venture here will be beneficial for us, and a town near by with attractions and shopping and fine eating to offer tourists, well, I’m thinking that’d be good for your husband too.’

  Something sour rises in my throat. I’m rapidly beginning to dislike this man with his faux folksiness. Any second now, he’s going to start calling me little lady.

  ‘So can I count on your cooperation?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘There’s a meeting in the town hall tomorrow night. I’m hoping you’ll find the time to attend.’ He looks towards the door as it opens and Duval comes in, a roll of plans in his hand. The two men regard each other with mutual dislike. ‘Duval,’ Hogan says disagreeably. He plucks his hat off the table.

  ‘Jeff.’ Duval leans against the door and eyes Hogan insolently as he walks past.

  ‘Say, Duval.’ Hogan stops and turns. ‘Those Mexican fellas you got working here, they all legal, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘Why, Jeff?’ Duval says, smiling grimly. ‘What would make you think they weren’t?’

  ‘No offence meant, I just think Mrs Coleman has a right to know. She wouldn’t want to be getting into any trouble with the INS.’

  ‘Trouble?’ I ask quickly. ‘What kind of trouble?’

  Hogan puffs out his chest like a homing pigeon with a vital message to deliver.

  ‘Well, ma’am, we have something here called a resident identification programme. It’s a visa that allows Mexicans to move freely across the border for work purposes only.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Every employer round the border area needs to have their paperwork in order.’

  Duval holds Hogan’s gaze effortlessly. He maintains his arms-crossed pose, the very picture of laid back, and my guess is, if there’d been a toothpick to hand, he’d be chewing on it.

  ‘See, Mrs Coleman,’ Hogan says as he turns back to me, ‘if by chance your permits weren’t in order and someone put a call through to the INS,’ he pauses, ‘why, ma’am, there’d be agents crawling all over this place within hours.’

  ‘How are those fish of yours getting along, Jeff?’ Duval interrupts pleasantly. ‘Still having trouble with poachers?’

  The veins in Hogan’s neck stand taut. I lay my hand on his arm. ‘Please don’t worry, Mr Hogan, I’ve seen the permits and everything is fine.’ I studiously avoid catching Duval’s eye. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. It was very nice of you.’

  Hogan exhales noisily. ‘Just glad to have been of service, is all. I’ll get that number for your husband another time.’

  ‘You do that,’ I say soothingly and steer him to his waiting Chevy, feeling Duval’s eyes drilling into my back.

  ‘Can I expect you at the meeting then, Mrs Coleman?’ Hogan bends his long body like a folding ruler into the leather seat.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Everyone round here has to pull together. We need to take care of our own.’

  He yanks at the power steering and throws a wintry look at Duval. ‘You should have come to me first before hiring that fella,’ he says. ‘You watch out for that man, Mrs Coleman. You watch out for him!’

  Dust hangs in the air from the departing Chevrolet. I stomp back to Duval, brimming with self-righteousness. ‘Why didn’t you just tell him what he wanted to know?’

  ‘I don’t answer to Jeff Hogan.’

  ‘So you just assumed I would back you up?’

  ‘You don’t answer to him either.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I don’t want any trouble with the IN whoever it is.’

  ‘Hogan’s a fool,’ he says mildly.

  ‘Well that may be, but so would I be, if I was knowingly hiring illegals to work in the town.’

  Duval smiles thinly. ‘You think these men would risk their lives and freedom smuggling themselves backwards and forwards over the border every single day just for the privilege of working for you?’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘So they can build a resort?’

  I’m so angered and embarrassed by the contempt in his voice, I can barely get the words out. ‘Do you have the paperwork, Duval, yes or no?’

  ‘Why, I surely do,’ he drawls, in full hick mode. ‘Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Yes, if it’s all the same to you, I would like to see it. I’d like a copy, please, so I don’t have to have my afternoons ruined by people like Jeff Hogan.’

  Duval pulls a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket.

  ‘H2 work visa.’ He hands it to me. ‘There’s already one copy in the back of your file with the plan revisions and a second copy pinned to your photographic “montage” in the boarding house.’

  I scan down the tiny print. An official-looking seal is dated and stamped by USA Customs, Nogales. ‘And this covers everyone?’ I say lamely.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says. He folds the visa and puts it back in his pocket. ‘Now, if that’s everything, I’ll leave you with these,’ he hands me the rolls of plans, ‘and be on my way.’

  He ambles down the steps, tipping his hat, but I cannot curb a childish impulse to have the last word.

  ‘Actually, there is one thing.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ He turns with exaggerated civility.

  ‘If one more person round here calls me ma’am, I’ll kick them in the fucking teeth.’

  He stops for a moment, his boot on the bottom step, and into his eyes comes a flash of pure amusement.

  14

  Ague’s town hall is a red-brick building set back from the main street by a flight of wide steps dividing two rectangles of all-year-round grass. Ba
nners hang across the windows of the ground floor, presenting passers-by with those comforting reminders – ‘United we Stand’ and ‘Proud to be American’.

  Directions to the meeting are marked on paper with thick green arrows. I follow them up the stairs and into the main auditorium, a large characterless room with rows of municipal chairs facing a stage. It’s only a few minutes after seven o’clock, the posted start of the meeting, nevertheless the room is packed, standing space only, and attention already focused on two men sitting at a table on stage, one in jeans and a flannel shirt, the other in the navy-blue uniform of US Customs. I edge along the wall and try to merge inconspicuously with other latecomers, wishing I was back in Temerosa with the children, watching Enunciada’s descent into romantic purgatory on TV from the comfort of Benjamín’s sofa; and up until a couple of hours ago, I’d had every intention of doing just that, with a shortlist of excuses including ‘sick child’, ‘burst pipe’ and ‘uncontrollable vomiting’ at the ready should Hogan ring and coerce me into attending. I’m a big fan of the last-minute excuse and in London used it as often as I dared for extricating myself from some of Robert’s more turgid evening plans, taking a rather guilty pride in fielding the sympathetic follow-on calls – ‘Poor old you, but you really shouldn’t eat takeaway curry, everyone knows it’s just boiled cat covered in cream’ – and in spite of the fact that I can drink battery acid without any adverse effects, amongst Robert’s cronies I’ve acquired a reputation for being of a delicate disposition. Still, I’d made the tactical error of mentioning Hogan’s border troubles to Robert when he called to speak to the children.

  ‘What kind of troubles?’ he said, his radar flicking from green to amber.

  ‘Oh, just something to do with his property,’ I hastily backtracked. ‘Nothing that concerns us really.’

  ‘Well you should definitely go to this meeting,’ he said. ‘Get in with some of the locals. I bet there are some major property owners out there who could be useful to us.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’

  ‘How’s it all going anyway?’

  ‘Fine, it’s going fine.’ I was careful, as always, to keep the faintest tinge of ennui in my voice. It’s not so great that you’d want to be here, Robert, but then you don’t have to worry about us either.