Wolves At Our Door

by J P S Brown

  "You have water to drink in the pitcher on the stand, soap and towels and the basin in which to wash," the woman announced. "Warm water will be brought in a moment."

  She started out the door. "Fatima," Kane said again. She turned and her eyes flashed at him with such a malevolent look, he wondered if he was mistaken. She said, ’As soon as you’re ready, come to the dining room where my father waits with your supper." She went out and shut the door.

  "That’s cold," Kane said.

  "I thought so too," Vogel said. "What have you done to the woman? What could you have done? You’ve been on your back in another world far away for a year and a half. Oh, no. You did something to her, didn’t you? I know you did. My God. Only you could make an enemy of a woman five hundred miles and four complete mountain ranges away at the end of fifteen horseshoe trails while you were flat on your back, helpless, and one half a breath from death. What did you do?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don’t tell me that. I don't know how, but you did something"

  "I did nothing. She sent me a beautiful letter when Adelita died and another when the horse fell on me, and I sent nothing back. That’s the story."

  "Why not? You could have written in care of her sons in Rio Alamos. You must have known how much she would appreciate some word in return"

  "I guess I forgot."

  "I don't believe that. You and she were close. She told me she saved all your letters."

  "I wrote to her long ago when she was only sixteen and I was twenty-eight, before I married. I wrote to a lot of girls in those days."

  "How come you wrote so many letters?"

  "I wrote letters to the ranch girls who didn’t have telephones. I wrote them from the ranches where I worked because I didn’t have a telephone. I wrote to Fatima when I was with you at Gilaremos, or El Limon, or Guazaremos, or when I prospected by myself at Tepochici, or on the Mulatos River. It was a way to keep a journal, a record of what I did every day. The letters weren’t poetic, and I didn’t try to kiss anybody on the ear with them. I sent more news about myself to Fatima than anyone else, because she always answered."

  "Well, I know she looked forward to them and felt close to you because of them. Didn’t you ever think that yours might have been the only correspondence she had from a man her whole life?"

  "No, she wasn’t backward. From her letters I knew she was plenty smart and capable enough to make a good life for herself. I didn’t know she wanted me to marry her away from La Golondrina. She did all right for herself, didn’t she?"

  Fatima had married Juan’s cousin Eliazer and birthed and educated four sons who had known nothing but success. She also acquired Eliazer’s ranches when he died.

  "You were the one she loved. My cousin was a drunk when they married, and he managed to drink himself to death as soon as he had sired her sons," Vogel said.

  "I can’t be blamed for that. She was only sixteen when I sent those letters. She told me she wanted to practice writing in English. I wrote to her more as a mentor than a suitor. What she thought is not my fault. I thought we both married well and would always be friends. I did not expect her ever to come into a room as a masked woman with hate in her eyes for me because of some letters I sent, or didn’t send."

  "Well, there you are. You were wrong. How has she treated you in other years?"

  "l haven't seen her in five years, since before Adelita died. You haven't noticed? She’s always been gone to Rio Alamos or Huatabampo when we came for the old man’s cattle these past few years."

  At supper, Lupino no longer acted friendly and open with Kane and Vogel. He put on his formal face, the one they imagined he used with strangers who wandered onto his ranch uninvited. Kane could not imagine who else he used that face on, because he never left his ranch, except to take a packhorse and sleep at campfires by his trails like an old wolf. He had used that face on the partners a time or two before when they would not give in to outlandish stipulations he tried to make when he bought livestock from them, so it did not bother them. They knew he would get over it.

  The partners were not prepared to see all four of Lupino's grandsons at the supper table. Ibrahim lived there, so he was no surprise, but Rafa, the middle grandson, Jacobo, and Ali, the youngest, were there too. Kane and Vogel were interested in observing the new city ways of the three younger ones. They had known the boys all their lives, known them since their toys were rocks.

  At first, Kane thought that the high spirits that Rafa showed were only due to the cordiality he felt at seeing his father’s guests. After a while, the man’s flushed, sweaty face and slurred speech so bordered on the foolish that Kane figured it must be due to some chemical he swallowed.

  Lupino began to ask his grandsons questions about the family enterprises in Rio Alamos. For an uneducated mountain man who never went to town, he seemed to know those businesses in detail. When the grandsons finished their reports, he addressed Kane.

  "You . . . er . . . Kane, I want you to go back and look over the colts that you have of the same age as this . . . er . . . red horse that you rode here today and pick out a stud that I can breed to my burros, mare donkeys." He put disdain into the word burros. "Any one of the eight or ten studs you have should be adequate for my use."

  "Common studs," Rafa interjected.

  "All our stud colts except Gato were gelded last winter," Vogel said. "Even if we might have had one that would breed an ass, it’s too late. They’ve all been cut."

  "A pity," Lupino said. "It seems that I can’t buy any kind of horse at all from you."

  "Why bother with them, Grandfather?" Rafa said. Lupino gave him a sidelong look, but said nothing.

  "You must prefer the hinny mules, the ones sired by a stud horse rather than sired by a jackass," Kane said.

  "I do, and I can’t think of a good reason for it, except that burreros act and look more like a horse and less like a jackass."

  "Some people are also less acceptable to you, because they act as though they have been sired by a jackass, aren’t they, Grandfather?" Rafa smirked.

  "I guess a lot of people prefer the hinny," Kane said, ignoring Rafa. "The trouble is, it’s hard to find a stud horse that will breed an ass. It seems that most stallions have too much self-respect."

  Rafa laughed like a fool at that, but Lupino raised his hand and shut him up.

  "That’s a new one," Lupino scoffed. "What quarter horse, that mongrel combination of Percheron draft horse and corriente, common native stock, ever rejected any animal or any thing when it came in heat. I bet you your red horse would mount a mesquite tree if I painted it with the right scent."

  Kane and Vogel looked at each other. The old musk hog had never been meek about expressing his opinions, but he had always been too hospitable to insult the bloodlines of El Trigo livestock at his supper table. In fact, he had always seemed to admire the stock.

  Vogel gave the old man a chance to soften the insult. "Don’t tell me that you never owned a stud that would breed an ass, don Nesib," he said. "How else have you produced your good hinnys?"

  The old man looked down his nose at Vogel. "I’ve never owned an Arabian stallion that would dirty himself with a burra," he said.

  "Well, then, you must have used corriente. You know it’s not easy to find a stallion that will breed donkey females."

  "I have never owned a corriente stud or mare, not for the past fifty years since I brought my Arabians home."

  "My, my. Imagine that," Vogel said as he glanced at Kane. They both knew Lupino kept a harem of common mares that he bred to jackasses. They wondered that he thought he could make them believe that he had no room for any kind of horse on La Golondrina except his precious Arabians. They knew his Arabians would never have to perform any menial task at all. He needed corrientes for those tasks.

  The partners were not offended by Lupino’s derision of the corriente stock that had helped him make a living all his life. They were past trying to explain why old mountain men like themselves owne
d odd opinions about livestock, or were angered when they could not have their way with their neighbors’ livestock. The discussion did not harm Kane’s appetite, and he could see it did not keep Vogel away from the steak platter and the rice bowl either. Broiled flank steak and rice was not the best fare a man could find in the Sierra Madre, but the table was piled with it, it tasted good, the beef was not too tough to chew, the rice was plain old rice, and the coffee was strong and hot.

  Even though Kane knew he had vexed the old man, he felt at home at his table. Tomorrow he and Vogel would look at the cattle, take their annual tour of the stables, start the cattle on the drive home, turn back to say good-bye, and everybody would cheer up enough to wish each other well.

  Ibrahim’s young wife came in with her oldest child, a boy of nine or ten. Ibrahim sat at the foot of the table, opposite his grandfather. His face softened when he looked down at his son. The boy climbed into his lap and stared at Kane.

  "My great-grandson Abdullah," Lupino said. "Now, here is a horseman. He has his own mount, he saddles him every day and he rides with his namesake don Abdullah. He has wonderful intuition about horses."

  Ibrahim looked from his son Abdullah’s face to Kane’s and said, "Do you have great-grandchildren?"

  "No, not yet," Kane said. "None of my grandchildren are married."

  "And how many grandchildren do you have?"

  "Three boys and a girl."

  "Do you have pictures?"

  Kane produced a picture of eighteen-year-old Cody Joe in Marine Corps blues and a glamorous picture of sixteen-year-old Dolly Ann. He handed them to Ibrahim and thought to himself, Now, eat your heart out. He was proud of the good looks and abilities of his grandchildren and proud of the stock they came from. No Lupino had ever looked as good or ever stood up to them in conformation, disposition, or performance, and none ever would.

  Ibrahim looked at the pictures and passed them on to Rafa, who handed the picture of Cody Joe to Jacobo but grinned into the full-length picture of Dolly Ann. The picture showed off a lot of long, bare, pretty leg and a face that resembled the girl’s grandmother and Kane’s mother too. To Kane, two more beautiful faces had never existed in the history of Sonora, and the women of Sonora, since Emperor Maximilian of Mexico had praised them all over Europe, enjoyed the reputation of being among the most beautiful in the world.

  Jacobo handed the picture of Cody Joe to his grandfather. "Ah, a soldier," Lupino said, and he finally seemed to relent and forget his vexation. "How old is your grandson, Jim?"

  "He’s eighteen, don Nesib, and he’s a marine."

  "A handsome boy so young and already in uniform. Will he go to lraq?”

  "Probably. He’s an infantryman, and he finished most of his training yesterday."

  "Ah, God help him."

  Lupino looked down the table at Rafa, and Kane followed his gaze. Rafa was still grinning broadly into Dolly Ann’s picture. He must have been aware that everybody at the table stared at him, but he did not look up from the picture for a long moment.

  Finally, he smacked his lips lasciviously, turned to Kane, and held the grin. "I have to give American females credit," he said. "They are good at what they know best how to do. What will you take for the granddaughter? I can get a lot of money for a female like that."

  Kane did not answer him, because he did not answer insults with words.

  "I held that picture for only one minute and I’m hot. Just that picture of a common, ordinary American female made me lustful. That’s proof that what they do is done better by them than by any other females in the world. And only by their example, they have begun to teach every other female in the world how to do it."

  Fatima came in from the kitchen and stopped at the door, for a dead stillness had fallen on the room.

  "Practically from their birth, they are truly and naturally the best whores in the world," Rafa said.

  "Rafa!" his mother cried.

  "No mistake. Every single one of them dresses and makes herself up like a whore, acts like a whore in public everywhere she goes, is the easiest and cheapest to get naked for the whole world to see, and then into bed. The very pictures of them arouse the lust of men. Theirs is the most vigorous and popular campaign in the world. Meestair Kane, how does it feel to have a child of Satan call herself your grandchild?"

  None too steadily, because of the long ride he had made to get there, Kane stood up, stepped away from his chair, and walked toward the grinning man.

  Rafa’s grin disappeared. "I don’t know how to fight," he said. He got out of his chair in such haste that he tangled in it and sprawled on his hands and knees on the floor.

  Kane shoved the chair aside so he could put the boots to him while he had him down. Rafa scrambled backward on his butt and kicked wildly at Kane’s legs. Kane started around the feet to get at his head, but Fatima planted herself in his way with both hands on his breast.

  “Please don’t hurt my son, Jim," she said.

  Kane went around her. Ibrahim, with his child still on his lap, and without turning his head toward Fatima, said, "He really needs his mouth smashed, Mother."

  Kane pursued Rafa but could not catch him. He thought, The man can move faster with his butt on the floor than I can move on foot. What is this? I can’t catch a man on his ass? I can’t even kick a man when he’s down? I’m already out of breath.

  Jacobo stepped in front of him and put his hands on his shoulders.

  "Please, don’t hurt my brother, Jim. He didn’t mean anything. He lacks dignity and he makes a bad clown, but he meant it as a joke. You don’t believe he meant to insult your granddaughter, do you?"

  Kane did not shake, or feel weak, but his mind cleared enough so that he realized he was not strong enough to move this young man out of his way so he could stomp his brother. All he could do now was look this one in the eye, pretend to listen, and wait for another chance to stomp the little coward.

  THREE

  Kane’s angry trance began to clear away. With Jacobo planted in his face, he realized he would not be able to stomp Rafa that day. He was forced to see into the young man’s eyes. The brothers had their mother’s hypnotic, black, glittering eyes, eyes so black the pupils could not be seen. Black eyes, black hair, black brows, dark skin. Nesib and Ibrahim wore only mustaches like Vogel’s and Kane’s. Rafa and Jacobo were handsome men, but their elaborately trimmed beards bothered Kane. The pattern, the arrangement of the black hair on their faces, the slender lines of hair sculpted down from the drooping ends of their mustaches to their chin whiskers, the beard lines that scored their jaws from sideburns to chin accentuated the wolfishness of their faces. The trimmed stripes of their mustaches and beards made them look more unmistakably feral, seemed to define them more as beasts than men.

  Wolves wear distinct feral black lines on their faces and jaws, their noses and throats, and the corners of their eyes, lines that help their camouflage and add to the wildness and fierceness of their demeanor. Now with Jacobo’s face two inches from his, Kane clearly saw the reason he had never liked the Lupinos. He saw the evidence of their black hearts in their meticulous beards.

  Rafa and Jacobo needed to use great effort and much time every day to trim those beards. Kane thought the labor of it must have taken hours and made them look like Faust’s Mephistopheles. They must have wanted to look Satanic, because they took enough care to trim the feral lines of the Beast into their own faces.

  Old Nesib, Ibrahim, and Ali used heavy mustaches that almost hid their wolfishness. Their upper front teeth were long and thick. Their lips did not keep their teeth covered. The men were always reaching up and masking them, hiding them with their hands.

  As Kane looked into Jacobo's black eyes, he realized that the faces of all the Lupino men were lupine, wolflike, and not only because they intentionally made them that wav but because they had been born that way. Had the family acquired the name Lupino because of its wolfishness? Or had it become wolfish after it assumed the name? He decided if
he could stop and wonder about them so much, he must not need to stomp Rafa anymore.

  Rafa had scrambled backward only as far as the nearest wall. He still sat on the floor, probably because he figured Kane would not hit him when he was down. Old Lupino stood over him. "Get up, boy," he said.

  "I’m sorry, Grandfather/’ Rafa said and stood up.

  Lupino turned to Kane. "Thank you, Jim, for not killing my grandson . . . or do you still entertain the idea?"

  "I don’t know," Kane said. "I wanted to kill him, but didn’t even come close"

  "Listen. You know how to kill. I’m only glad that you pulled up before you took hold of him." He turned back to his grandson. "Now, apologize to our guest, Rafa."

  "I apologize, Mister Kane," Rafa said. Eyes downcast, he seemed innocent as a child. The sweat on his brow had cooled. He rubbed his face with both hands and did not look at Kane. He did not fool Kane either. Mexicans called an American meestair when they wanted to insult him. Now he was Mister? Wait until the gorge rose in the wolf again.

  "It’s the white powder," Lupino said. "You dipped your nose in the baby powder again?"

  "No, Grandfather. I don’t do that."

  "Oh, I think so. I know it. But who am I to tell you what to do? You’re a grown man and you think you can afford it. However, can you afford to have the foot of a big man like Jim Kane stuffed into your mouth? What do you think, Jacobo? What caused your brother to act like such a fool?"

  "I don’t know, Grandfather,” Jacobo said.

  "If the white powder is not to blame, what is? If a chemical is not the reason he becomes a fool and insults his grandfather’s guests, then God help us, for he must be a born fool and there is no remedy for that."

  "Father, he’s only stupid," Fatima cried. "He doesn’t know the difference between a joke and an insult, never has."

  "That’s right, Grandfather," Rafa said. "I'm not a good clown. I make people angry when I try to make them laugh."

  "What do you think, Kane?" Lupino asked. "Do you want more apology, or do you think he might only be an awkward fool you can forgive?"