The horses, Lester and Sam, whinnied. For a very brief moment, Joe thought of charging out in the storm and un-tethering them so they could get away or at least so they wouldn’t get tangled up and injured. But he knew better than to do that. The duster would sweep him up in a second, sandpaper him raw, and gag him with enough dirt to kill him. Besides, he couldn’t leave the pregnant girl to fend for herself. He hoped the horses would survive.
Even though he breathed into the blanket, dust still sifted through the pores in the fabric. The inside of his nose itched and his tongue was coated with dirt. The pregnant girl coughed again and he covered her head with his arm this time to help keep the dust from getting to her and clogging her lungs even more. His own lungs burned, so he held his breath. He counted to sixty and then breathed slowly into the blanket. He prayed the storm would pass soon.
Finally the night quieted down. The wind faded to a hushed breeze. The last of the flying dust floated and settled quietly to the ground. The stars and moon came out again.
Joe peeled the blanket back from the top of the pregnant girl’s head to see how she was doing. It was the first time he’d seen her without her hat on since they left home. In the moonlight, her yellow hair glowed. It was all he could see, really. He heard her breathing low and steady. He figured she was probably still sleeping. For a moment he simply listened to the comforting rhythm of her breaths, but then he became more aware of how truly close he was to her, close enough that he felt little strands of her hair brushing against his nose and cheeks. He could smell her hair’s sweet and dirty fragrance.
He worried about her waking up and being alarmed by how close he was, so he gently eased his arms from around her and kicked through a drift of dust that ran up his backside. Stars graveled the black sky. Mounds of black dust shone in the moonlight. After he stood up, his lungs suddenly rattled and convulsed. He hacked up a thick wad of black mucus that he spit on the ground. When he looked around he realized he had bigger worries. The wagon was overturned and the bonnet torn off and blown away. He got a sick feeling when he realized all their supplies might’ve blown away.
He felt even worse when he saw Lester and Sam. Both horses were collapsed and caked in dust. Their tongues hung out and their eyes were goopy with dirt. They looked awful. Joe brushed them off the best he could. Hard chunks of plastered dust fell crumbling to the ground. He needed to get them water to drink, fast.
He ran to the overturned wagon, hoping some water was there, but nothing lay spilled in the immediate area. Nothing turned up when he dug through a nearby dust drift either. He was getting frantic now. Without water soon, Sam and Lester wouldn’t hold on much longer. He searched the scoured land for any signs of the water buckets. He stumbled around, hunched over, zigzagging like a drunken man. He found some of their supplies strewn here and there, but he didn’t bother picking them up. He’d have to get them later.
He scrambled farther and farther away until he almost gave up hope. Then he miraculously found the water bota, which was made from a dried cow stomach, and a few paces away he discovered one of the five-gallon buckets of water. He staggered back to the gully. The heavy bucket knocked against the side of his knee.
When he got to the horses, he gripped the plastic lid on the bucket. It made a cracking sound as it tore loose. He dunked the bota in the water and filled it. He squirted some water over the horses’ heads before he wiggled the nozzle inside Sam’s lips. The horse’s nostrils flared as it gasped for air. Joe squeezed the bota until it was empty. Water dribbled out Sam’s mouth.
“Come on, Sam,” Joe pleaded.
Sam’s purplish tongue slid out for a second to lick the moisture on his lips.
“That a boy,” Joe said.
After he gave him another botaful of water, Joe did the same for Lester, who revived much quicker than Sam. Lester was moving his head as if just waking up. Joe sat back on his haunches and took a deep breath. He looked at the overturned wagon again. He didn’t want to think about what they may have lost, but he couldn’t help it after a startling thought hit him. He was afraid the bundle of diesel had flipped over and some of the precious fuel had leaked out the cap. Every drop was indispensable. He needed it all to get as much money as he could, enough to keep his family secure for as long as possible. Maybe forever.
At the overturned wagon, he crawled through the front window and pulled up the floorboards to the secret compartment. He didn’t smell any fumes. The deerskins weren’t damp. When he shook the bundle, he was happy to hear the diesel slosh inside.
After a while, the pregnant girl crawled out from beneath her blanket. She looked half alive. A tangle of hair was knotted around her face. She held her crushed hat in one hand. She lifted it up and scrunched it on her head, but she didn’t get it on straight, and the hat was twisted to one side. She staggered toward him in the moonlight. When she got to within a few feet of him, she stopped with a jolt, as if she’d run into something. She coughed and retched. Her round belly seemed to rise into her chest and then drop down again.
“Are you okay?” Joe said.
He tried to touch her shoulders, but she stepped away. She stood there for a moment until she must’ve felt better. Then she walked past him and over to the horses. She knelt down slowly on both knees in front of Lester. She looked so small next to his big anvil-like head. She spread her tiny hands over his broad face and gently wiped the dirt from his ears and the dirty goop from his eyes. She slid her fingers into his gaping nostrils and scooped out the dirt and gunk blocking the passages. All the while, she kept murmuring something that Joe couldn’t catch because of how whispery soft her voice was. In fact, he wasn’t even sure they were actual words. It sounded more like mumbling than anything else. Whatever it was, it helped revive Sam. After she finished with him, she moved on to Lester. She cleaned him the same way, ears and eyes and nostrils, and made those soft murmuring sounds in his ears.
In the morning, they dug the wagon out, scooped the dust dunes out of the cab, and gathered all their scattered belongings. Joe tried to determine how much they had lost. They had only one bucket of water left, a few scraps of firewood, and a few jars of food that hadn’t broken. He couldn’t find his hat either. It was gone. Further searching turned up the bag of pinole. The sack of dried meat was nowhere to be found, nor was the fishing pole and bow and arrows. Luckily, the rifle still lay on the ground where he had fallen asleep the night before.
He couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if they hadn’t found the gully to protect them. Out on the flat desolate land, the duster would’ve stripped them bare and choked them to death.
Joe decided they should stay in the gully for another day so Lester and Sam had more time to recuperate. It meant one less day in finding water, which the horses had already half-consumed. Joe filled the bota until it was bulging for him and the pregnant girl. Then he let the horses drink the rest. Later, he got the old map out of the rusty glove compartment. He wanted to see how close they were to the river and the bridge they needed to cross. The map was the one that Frank brought back from Chikowa. Joe unfolded it and found the faded black line for the road and the faded blue one for the river. He knew they had to be close.
Chapter 11
The next day was even hotter. Some kind of breeze might’ve been a nice reprieve. The air was as stagnant and stifling as the hayloft back home. Joe kept Lester and Sam moving at an easy pace so they wouldn’t get exhausted. He stopped now and again and squirted water into their drooling mouths from the bota.
Up ahead in the heat waves, Joe thought he saw what looked like a farm, but it was all too blurry to know for sure. There appeared to be the shape of a barn along with a house and a thin wiggly tower that could’ve been a windmill.
Frank said to beware of mirages, so Joe reserved judgment until they got closer. He kept waiting for the mirage to go away. He blinked his eyes several times, but the image didn’t disappear. Matter of fact, it seemed to grow clearer with each passing minute. Maybe i
t wasn’t a mirage after all. Maybe it was the real thing. Joe got excited, especially for a chance to replenish their supplies. He imagined fresh water from the windmill and a little family with homemade food that they’d graciously share.
When they finally got close enough, there was no mistaking it was a farm or what was left of one. Joe steered the wagon past a string of slanting fence posts, which were half-buried in mounds of dust that were carved with ripples made by the wind. The bodies of two dried-up cows stuck out of a drift. Their ribs had cracked through the brittle skin and their hipbones protruded like plow blades. The small house nearby didn’t look much better. The walls and the roof were gashed with holes. Out back was a faltering windmill with no blades, and off to the side was a short building with a dust drift pushed against it. The place looked completely abandoned.
Joe couldn’t help but think that this was what could happen to his family someday. It was just like Frank and Dad said—when the land was scorched to nothing but blowing dust and no amount of money could change it. However, this place was out in the middle of nowhere. Their farm was close to a river and a still-functioning town. It couldn’t possibly shrivel up like this.
They moved on. By mid-afternoon, Joe dozed off, only to jolt awake and squint into the melting distance. He blinked and tried to focus. The sky and the burnt ground remained hazy. He didn’t know what he was seeing, so he made his eyes go fuzzy to give them a rest, but that only made him doze off again. The next time he awoke, it took him a minute to realize the wagon had stopped and the girl wasn’t in the cab with him.
When he finally saw her, she was standing out in front of the horses, staring over a lip of earth. A hot breeze blew her dress against the back of her stick legs.
Joe jumped out of the wagon, but the instant his feet hit the ground, his legs buckled and he fell. His muscles were so stiff and cramped from sitting in the wagon for hours and hours that they were basically useless. He tried to stand up, but his legs still felt rubbery. He swayed backward a little before he stumbled forward and landed on his knees again. This time he hobbled a few steps on his stumps and then fell flat on his face.
The girl stood there watching him flail about without even lifting a finger to help. He pushed himself up and stared at her.
“You could’ve given me a hand,” he said.
He got to his feet slowly, just in case his legs decided to betray him again. Then she led him to the crumbling lip of earth. She pointed down a sheer six-foot drop to a smooth plane of moving water.
“Wow,” Joe said.
They’d made it to the river, Joe thought. The other side was lined with small trees and pale grass. Along the bank were sandbars that rose above the smooth water like the white bellies of floating bodies. He looked up and down the river.
“I don’t see any bridge,” Joe said. “That’s not good.”
Somehow they had gotten off the road and veered up to the crest of this hill that had been carved away by the river. Where were they?
Back at the wagon, he got out the map and tried to figure out which direction they’d veered. The map showed the river bending sharply south of the bridge. Joe thought he would follow the river a while to see if it led to a sharp bend. If it didn’t, they’d turn back the other way. There was no reason to panic. They were at the river now, and water was the most important thing they needed. They got back in the wagon and rode down the side of the hill to where the ground flattened out along the river.
Joe unhitched the horses and led them to the muddy water to drink. He grabbed the empty water bucket and slapped it down in the river. When it was full, he lugged it up to where the girl stood and set the bucket down beside her. He caught a whiff of his smell and realized he stunk, ripe and sour.
“We’ll wait till the dirt settles to the bottom and then we can drink it.”
In the meantime, he decided to wash and cool himself in the river. He stripped off his damp green shirt and brown pants and stood in only his undergarments, which consisted of a one-piece top and bottom. He felt the heat of the sun burning into the exposed skin on his arms and legs.
“You want to wash off?” he said to the girl. “It will do you good.”
The pregnant girl crouched beside the water bucket like a little bird.
“I guess that’s a no,” he said. “Your loss.”
At the edge of the river, he dipped his toes into the slow-moving water before he stepped in with both feet. He took a few steps out into the water where it deepened and swirled around the top of his ankles. He turned to look at the girl. His feet sank in the sandy bottom but then held firm.
“Watch this,” he said.
He spread his arms out to his sides like a cross. Then he closed his eyes, tipped back on his heels, and fell straight backwards and smacked against the water. The river rushed over him, rolled him a bit in its current and then tried to bounce him back to the surface, but he held himself under as long as he could. The “ooooom” sound of the water played in his ears. He held his breath until he couldn’t hold it a second longer. That’s when he sprang forward, blasting out of the water. When he opened his eyes, he saw the girl standing at the river’s edge. She jumped back.
“Aha!” he shouted. “I scared you.”
She apparently wasn’t amused because she turned her back on him and stomped up the bank where she sat beside the water bucket again.
“Ah, don’t be mad,” he said. “I was just having fun.”
She grabbed the sides of her floppy hat and pulled it down tighter as if to say it wasn’t funny.
“It was only a joke,” Joe said.
She scraped at the ground with her fingers.
“Be that way, then.”
He sat in the water and grabbed handfuls of sand from the bottom and used them to rub the grime and stink off his arms and legs. He glanced at the girl once more. Her head was tilted up a smidge as if watching him from beneath the brim of her hat. He decided to have a little more fun with her. He walked up the bank, stood in front of her, and shook his body like a dog. A spray of water flew off on her. She got him back, though. She snuck her little hand out and pinched his big toe.
“Yow!” Joe yelped, and then laughed. “You got me.”
After Joe sunned himself dry and put his clothes back on, they each took turns dipping the tin cup into the bucket of water and gulping it down. This was the best Joe had felt since they started, and he was beginning to appreciate what the girl had to offer. Before they left on their journey, he didn’t think of her as contributing anything more than their cover story to throw off suspicion.
“You know,” he said, “I don’t know your name, like the name your mom and dad gave you. I’m kind of wondering what it is and if you could tell me.”
He waited for a reply, but as usual, she didn’t answer.
“What if I say a bunch of names and you nod your head when I get to the right one. Let’s see. How about Becky, Susan, Rachel…”
He rattled off ten more but the girl never nodded her head.
“Okay,” Joe said. “Well, why don’t I make one up for you until you tell me otherwise?”
He pretended to be in deep thought. He scratched his chin, narrowed his eyes, and twisted his mouth until he came up with a name.
“Mary! How’s that? I’ll call you Mary.”
She raked at the dirt between her feet and then dipped her knees in together.
“So Mary it is,” he said. “Unless you tell me your real name.”
At that moment, he happened to glance down the river at a stand of trees on the other side. What he saw made him do a double take. He saw a wispy stream of white smoke rising into the air above the treetops. He stood up and looked harder, squinting to make sure it was smoke and not something else.
“You see that?” He pointed toward the trees. “Somebody’s over there.”
The next thing he knew there was a rifle shot from over his shoulder. A puff of dust exploded about five feet in front of him. Joe whir
led around and looked up at the hill.
“Get down,” he said to Mary.
He hit the ground and scrambled over her body to shield her from another shot that he assumed was coming at any second. He crouched low and spied up the hill but he still couldn’t see anything. His rifle was in the wagon cab. Trying to run for it was too risky, especially since it would leave Mary exposed.
Suddenly a man popped up over the hill like a jack-in-the-box. He pointed his rifle at them. Joe flinched and turned his head away in anticipation of another rifle report. When nothing happened, Joe peeked up the hill again.
The man was no longer aiming at them. On the contrary, he looked completely at ease. He held his rifle under one arm while he cupped his hands to his face and lit a pipe. After puffing on it, he shook the match out and flicked it away. He puffed some more. The smoke clouded his face for a moment. The man was short and scrawny with thin bandy legs. He looked akin to a half-starved elf—and he didn’t look particularly frightening, either, but rather peculiar. His ragged clothes hung off him in tattered strips. Squashed on his head was a stovepipe hat. His straggly hair fell from the sides of his head like fringe. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned or nervous. He acted as if he was all alone on that hill and he was simply enjoying a smoke without a care in the world.
He pulled the pipe from his mouth and shouted, “Good day,” in a high gruff voice.
Joe sat up a little.
“I say good day to you,” he said again. “Cat got your tongue?”
Joe got to his knees and stared at the man, still unsure of what to make of him.
“That shot was just to see if you were on your guard.” He laughed. “Which you weren’t. Could’ve killed you and robbed you blind. Never let your guard down.”
Never Too Far Page 4
