Scent of Tears

by M. Juan Knecht

  Chapter Four

  A week after I had retrieved the stolen horses, Don Topo sent word he wanted to see me. I rode to Monterey without delay.

  For once, he was waiting for me. He started talking when I entered the house, like he had been working on how the conversation would go.

  “You resemble your father, who was a man of great courage. I believe his strength and courage are in you as well.” Don Topo wore a flat-crowned black hat with the heavy silver band. His wife strictly enforced the rule that hats were to be removed in the house. Don Topo, who went in fear of his wife, had forgotten to take it off, indicating the subject he had brought me in to discuss was a serious one.

  “I have a chance to acquire a valuable piece of ground,” he said, “but first I must have gold transported to a bank in San Francisco. I am afraid of being ambushed if I carry it myself, but the people who usually handle these things for me report they are being watched. I’ve heard talk that the wrong people know about the gold. Just having the gold in the house is making me as nervous as a mouse cornered by snakes.”

  He rubbed the sweat from his face with a cloth from the table and regarded me solemnly.

  “You have confidence,” he said. “If you didn’t have confidence in yourself, you could never have retrieved your mare from the horse thieves. However, more important than confidence is common sense.” He began to pace the room.

  “I’m entrusting you with the fastest horse in Monterey. Get the gold to the bank, get the proof of deposit, and come back to let me know you are safe. If anyone approaches you on the road for any reason, you must put the spurs to your horse and run. If you leave tonight and switch horses at my uncle’s hacienda in San Jose, you should be able reach San Francisco at first light, two days from now. ”

  I nodded in hearty agreement at being given such an important task, and lifted heavy saddlebags resting on the table. The bags clinked, and I wondered how I would place them on the saddle so they wouldn’t sore the horse.

  “But to be safe, start out as if you are riding back to the Chualar Ranch, then double back and take the King’s Highway north. There is no way for you to get lost, so everything should go smoothly.”

  Topo stopped his pacing and narrowed his eyes as he looked at me with trepidation.

  “San Francisco abounds with excitement for a young man,” Topo said. “The gambling houses, the saloons and the brothels. Make sure you deposit the gold first before you sink into depravity. If you need some money to see the sights, take one gold piece for yourself before you put the money in the bank and then go and enjoy yourself. The important thing is that the money gets to the bank. If it doesn’t, the whole house of cards I have constructed will fall apart.”

  Knowing that entrusting so much money to a boy who had yet to shave would give even the best of men a case of the runs. I started to hand him back his compass, but he waved me off.

  “You will see this through.” He embraced me with both of his short arms. It felt as if he wanted to embrace his bags of gold as well. After wishing me Godspeed, he ushered me out the door.

  I went down to the barn with the bags of gold coin slung over my shoulder and the map clutched in my hand. At the barn, The racehorse Topo had told me to ride was brushed and groomed where the saddle and bridle would rest, but his neck and flanks had been rubbed with mud, and his mane was a rat’s nest of matted hair. Stickers and burrs had been placed in his forelock. The fine-blooded horse looked as much a tramp as I did.

  I found the main road and made good time. The big horse ate up the distance to San Jose with his long, smooth strides. After we left Monterey, the road was very dark and quiet. The only sound was the lonely clip-clop of my horse’s hooves as they struck the packed dirt. I couldn’t help but think about the tales of bloodshed and robbery I had heard. Bandits who rode past solitary travelers with a smile, only to turn and bury a large knife in their backs.

  Soon, every oak tree and bush looked like it held outlaws waiting to spring out and murder me. As I went deeper into the night, my initial bravado departed like the lights of Monterey.

  Despite my fears, the long night passed without trouble and I reached San Francisco at first light, just as Don Topo had planned.

  I successfully delivered the gold to the bank and then, after resting and filling up on food, I began the journey back to Monterey without delay.

  A few miles from town, it dawned on me that I had done two brave things in less than a week. I felt as if I’d gone from being a child to an adventurer. Had there been a reflective window to ride in front of, I would have looked to see if my experience showed. I wondered if Lucinda would notice that I had changed from a boy to a man.

  It was well after dark when I returned the worn-out horse to Don Topo’s stable and walked back up the dusty street to the house.

  A middle-aged Indian woman who worked as a housekeeper met me at the door. The smell of the food inside the house nearly made me drool.

  “Dõna Inez has left instructions that you are to stay in the quarters behind the house until her husband returns. Wait here. I have prepared a bowl of soup for you.”

  So, I wasn’t welcome to come into the house. Tired and hungry I took the soup and tortillas without comment, then promptly burned my tongue trying to drink the soup. Despite being a hero, I must have looked bedraggled, because the Indian woman clucked her tongue. She brought me two blankets and a towel, which she thrust into my arms.

  On the way to the guesthouse, I stopped at the water trough in the yard to wash my face and hands. It was fully dark and there was no moon.

  Trees separated the guesthouse from the main house, making it quite secluded. As I approached, it surprised me to see a light inside. For a moment I wondered if perhaps the Indian woman had lit a candle for me as well. I dismissed the thought. Candles cost money, and besides, no fire would be left unattended.

  I walked toward the porch, stopped suddenly when I saw movement through the small window: it was Lucinda, walking nervously back and forth inside. She had on a thin white nightgown with a shawl over her shoulders. Her long black hair was down. I could smell oak wood burning in the small stove that stood in the center of the house.

  I moved back into the blackness and squatted down at the base of a tree, and leaned against its trunk. I had the courage to retrieve my horse from bandits and to transport enough gold to get myself murdered, yet I didn’t have enough courage to initiate a conversation with a girl.

  Watching her slim figure glide around the room in the candlelight was making my heart pound. My back had ached from the long horseback ride, but at that moment I was aware of nothing but the wonderful, enchanting vision of a girl dancing around a flickering flame.

  Lucinda opened the door a few inches and peered out. When she moved back into the room, she left the door open. Was there anything I could say to her that wouldn’t result in a plate being thrown at my head? The sweat that soaked my shirt had dried, and I smelled awful from two hard days in the saddle. Despite that, I had just about talked myself into standing up and approaching the guesthouse when a figure clothed in black slipped into the yard. The sound of his spur rowels turning in the dirt caused him to step lightly.

  He walked up onto the porch and murmured a greeting under his breath. Lucinda flew to the door, and then stopped. She was very young to be secretly meeting any man outside the supervision of her family. I imagined for a moment she might be overcome by shyness; however, Lucinda was not like any other woman.

  She coquettishly leaned against the doorframe and said, “You have come for what I promised you?”

  When a calf is roped in the branding corral, the lariat sails out and tightens around his neck until his air is choked off. Another loop laces his hind legs together, and then he is lifted and slammed into the ground. A second later part of his ear is sliced off and his testicles cut out. Then a glowing red iron burns through his hair and sears his flesh. I felt like all of those things were happening to me as I listened to
Lucinda speak to Tiburcio Vasquez that dark night.

  And it was Tiburcio, no error. I knew by the slope of his shoulders and the confident way he had moved up onto the porch. No one else would have been so self-assured.

  He continued to talk to her in melodic tones. Rather than embrace her, he swept his hat off and bowed. He then took her hand in his and gently kissed it.

  I sat there, unable to move. If Lucinda saw me spying on her, I could never safely visit her father’s house again.

  Rather than lead Tiburcio into the cabin, Lucinda brought a chair and a lamp out onto the porch. After hanging the lamp onto a hook set in the wall, she went back inside a moment and then returned, lugging a pot of water and a towel.

  Tiburcio carefully removed his coat and hat and laid them on the railing of the porch. He sat down in the chair.

  Standing in front on him, she untied the silk scarf from around his neck. The soft laughter that floated into the darkness felt like acid dripping onto my heart.

  Lucinda dipped the cloth into the bucket of steaming water, rang it out, and draped it around the outlaw’s face. She then took a brush and worked up some shaving cream. The razor was stropped to give it the proper edge, the cream applied and Lucinda set to work. She kept Tiburcio at arm’s length when she started, but as the shave progressed, she bent down to make sure of her stroke. Her fingers played over Tiburcio’s face, slowly stroking his skin. She would pull the skin tight, and then run the razor over his cheeks. Each stroke seemed to bring her in closer proximity to his body, until her flat belly was pressed against his shoulder. I knew he could feel her breath on his face and smell her hair where it spilled down.

  When she had taken the whiskers and one layer of skin off his face, Lucinda walked behind his chair. She began rhythmically and gently pulling his hair and massaging his face with her strong, elegant fingers. The fragrance of the cream she was applying to Tiburcio’s face carried to where I hid in the shadows. The smell was familiar. No doubt the lotion had been appropriated from Don Topo’s medicine cabinet.

  I wondered how Tiburcio managed to sit quietly for as long as he did. After what seemed like an eternity, he suddenly stood up, lifting his hand to indicate she should proceed through the door.

  She took his hand, draped it over her shoulder, and dipped her head down to quickly kissed his fingers. They disappeared into the house.

  I staggered up from the tree, filled with a choking rage. I thought about circling the house until I found where Tiburcio had tied his horse. I could take my knife and cut the cinch partway so it would break on the trail. I could take the bullets out of his rifle and raise the alarm. Better yet, I could take the horse and tie him up in front of the Sheriff’s Office.

  Rational thought returned. There was nothing to be accomplished by punishing Tibucio. There wasn’t a man in the Alto Sierra that would not be attracted to Lucinda. Most of all, Lucinda didn’t consider me worthy of notice. Tiburcio or no Tiburcio, she would never view me as worthy of her.

  Besides, he had saved me at the outlaw camp. As sure as bacon tastes good in the morning, Anastasio would have slit my throat and thrown me in a ditch without a second thought. It was no exaggeration to say I owed Tiburcio my life.

  What did it matter to me what happened between the two of them? It wasn’t my concern, and there was no point in even thinking about what I had seen. I marched back to the big house and let myself in.

  The maid who had given me the blankets was still awake. She looked up from her knitting in alarm. I raised my eyebrows and snarled at her. She put her hands in front of her, spun and disappeared into the other room.

  I lay down on the fine imported couch, keeping my boots, spurs and hat on. The hell with Dõna Inez and her rules for the house. I had saved the ranch. I would keep my spurs on in the house if I wanted.

  Scent of Tears