Maria's Trail (The Mule Tamer)

by Horst, John

  “I love you Maria. You know I love you.”

  “And I you, Crisanto.” He brightened. “I know I told you that day out with the mustangs that I did not and could not love you, but I was wrong. I love you.”

  With that she stood up and, gently, noiselessly barred her door. She stood over him and slowly removed her clothes. With all his will he moved aside, making room for the love of his life as she climbed into bed with him. She pressed her naked body against his and then, gently, lovingly made love to him, his first and last and best time. He was dead.

  Chapter VII: Rosario

  Maria thought a lot about Crisanto after he died. She wasn’t in love with him but she did love him and was sorry to see him die. She enjoyed making love with him because she wanted to make him happy. He did die happy and she thought that it might very well be the best death for a human being; to die after making love to the one person he loved more than anyone or anything else in the world—and she liked it, too.

  She enjoyed the act and was relieved because she’d worried over that for a long time, off and on over the years, ever since that bastard Sanchez had abused her. She often wondered if that would put her off it and now she knew that it wouldn’t. She had liked it; it made her all tingly and she felt a little convulsion deep inside. She thought it would be good to do again.

  She knew it was what the padre called a mortal sin. She knew the Ten Commandments and she knew that the act was supposed to be between husband and wife. But there was no time for that as Crisanto was dying and she really was too young to marry. She didn’t much care, anyway.

  The more Maria learned about the faith and the church, the less inclined she was to follow it. It was all just too much and she’d already done things that were against the Ten Commandments. She didn’t feel bad for doing them and she was not sorry for anything she’d done. If any of it kept her out of heaven, well, that was God’s problem and not hers. She’d just as soon go to Limbo. It seemed that all the interesting people were in Limbo anyway. She knew she’d never ever go to hell. That was out of the question because she was good, deep down she was good and pure and pure of heart and she knew she’d never go to hell.

  After a few weeks she became ill and did not know why. She’d not given any thought to becoming pregnant. Of course, she knew that having relations could result in such a thing, but she’d known men and women who’d been married a long time and had not gotten pregnant. The old man and old woman had been married for more than fifty years, yet they had no children. She knew that doing it would not result in pregnancy every time and just didn’t give it much thought.

  But along about the tenth week, she felt a bulge and she knew. She was most definitely going to have a baby. She looked at herself in her old mirror, the one the old woman had given her, and could see a bit of a bulge. It was going to get bigger. She thought hard about when to tell the people who cared about her.

  This was all very queer because she wasn’t in the least unhappy about it. She was quite pleased. She knew the old priest would become sad, but he was always sad anyway. The old man and old woman would probably be happy. They loved her and they loved children. It would just be another child to love. There would be room for the child and she’d be happy to give up her fortune to help raise the baby, but they probably wouldn’t take the money. They’d let her keep her money and they’d all raise the baby together.

  She was suddenly excited but still wanted to keep it a secret. Somehow, she had a feeling in the back of her mind that this might not happen. It might not come to pass and there was no reason to bring it up if it wasn’t going to result in a baby. It would be easier on the padre and the old people if they never knew that it almost happened, so she kept it to herself.

  She’d known of that, too. She heard of women in the village and back in the poor village where she grew up that lost babies all the time. They’d be pregnant just long enough to be sick and feel terrible, then the baby would come out dead. She thought about that and hoped it wouldn’t happen. She worried about it a bit too and decided not to ride horses or do anything strenuous that might hurt the baby.

  The old man was starting to wonder because Maria rode as much as she could but now, strangely, she didn’t. He started to ask her about it one day and then decided not to, almost as if Maria had telepathically told him not to ask the question, told him she was in her confinement and was not to be bothered. He didn’t ask.

  After a time she swore she could feel a fluttering and this made her feel very happy. The baby was alive and moving about and she felt a little giddy. At night she’d talk to the baby. She didn’t know the sex of the baby, of course, and resolved to call it Rosario. That could be the name of a boy or a girl. She didn’t know if she’d name the baby Rosario when it was born but, for now, it worked. She did not want to presume the baby’s sex and call it by the wrong name.

  She thought about all the things she’d do with the baby. She didn’t care if they called it a bastard. She didn’t care that she wouldn’t get a man once she had the baby. It didn’t matter to her. Nothing seemed to matter now but the baby and she thought about going to the sea, to show the baby the beautiful water and the fence’s pretty assistant. The fence’s assistant would like Maria’s baby, she was certain of that. She’d take the baby in the sea and hold it and bathe it in the salty water and then lie on the beach in the sun and love her little baby.

  It went on like this for four months. By now she was bulging a bit and she had trouble hiding it because she was so slender. She pulled her skirt up pretty high and puffed out her blouse and then wrapped her rebozo in such a way that it hid everything well.

  The old woman was strange about it all, though. She said nothing and made no comment on Maria’s change in behavior. She seemed to be feeding Maria often, as well. She put food in front of her constantly and Maria was glad for it. She was ravenous these days. She figured she was hungry because she was eating for two. The baby took a lot of her energy and that was also a big change for Maria. She slept well until daylight most days. She seemed always to want to sleep.

  And now, as if all these changes weren’t enough, her breasts began to grow again, and now they leaked. Sometimes she’d have to change her blouse halfway through the day. She found this amusing. It didn’t bother her very much because she had a magnificent bosom already. Now her breasts became downright tremendous and leaky and itchy. She knew it was all for her little Rosario and at night she’d tell the baby of her adventures; all the details of her day and how her body was changing and preparing for when the little one was ready to come out.

  But as with everything in Maria’s life, nothing ever seemed to go as planned and on an early Sunday morning, just as a cock crowed, she awoke to strange goings on down below. She had pains that rolled over her in great waves and she felt again as if she were wetting the bed.

  She managed to sit on the edge of her bed and thought about calling out to the old woman. She waited and the contractions came again. She gave birth to a little, half-sized Rosario. Her little precious one was dead.

  She bundled the babe up in a sheet and climbed back into bed. She remembered what the priest said about babies born and dying before baptism, that even someone who was not a priest could baptize a baby, so she did. She wetted her fingers with her saliva and made a little sign of the cross on Rosario’s forehead. “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  She looked at every inch of her baby. She was beautiful with tiny hands and fingers and toes. She looked as if she was asleep and Maria didn’t even feel like crying. The baby had been baptized and now wouldn’t be stuck in Limbo. Maria had been baptized, too, so they’d both meet up in heaven. She couldn’t wait.

  She finally fell back to sleep and slept until late morning.

  She awoke and, for a moment, forgot that little Rosario was dead. She thought maybe she wasn’t, that she was just sleeping and she’d be able to feed her little baby from her breasts
. They were paining her so much and leaking terribly.

  But she was wrong; her baby was dead.

  Maria got up and cleaned herself. She bundled the baby up tightly. She kissed her one more time and took her out to the desert. She resolved to bury her near the mustangs where her father had gotten his leg trapped. Maria thought it was a fitting place for little Rosario to rest. She dug a small hole and lined it with stones. Rosario was so tiny. Her baby didn’t need much room. Maria rewrapped her snuggly in a rebozo.

  Maria held her to her breast and kissed her cheek then gently placed her in the stony crib and looked at her. She thought about how long they’d been together and knew it wasn’t long enough, just enough to break Maria’s heart.

  Her little sleeping angel. “Sleep well, my darling, I will be with you soon.” She found a large flat rock to seal the tomb and fashioned a cross from some mesquite branches. She spelled out her name with little pebbles. She would never tell anyone of little Rosario for the rest of her days.

  That evening the old man left right after dinner, which was very strange because he never did this on a Sunday. He always stayed with them and played cards with Maria. Now she was alone with the old woman. They sat quietly for a while. The old woman warmed some milk and they drank it together. Finally, when it was time for bed, the old woman stood up and touched Maria on the cheek. She smiled at her and there were tears in her eyes. They spilled down her wrinkled face and the old woman kissed Maria on the forehead. “We are sorry, child.” She turned and went to bed.

  Chapter VIII: The Virgin of Guadalupe

  They were going to Mexico City and the old priest seemed a little happier. They had a good wagon with two horses to pull it. It would be a fairly fast journey as the roads were good.

  Maria was not certain why he’d chosen her to go, but he had. They rode together and she handled the horses for most of the way. She was a good companion and he was falling in love with his little charge, not in a biblical way, he just loved her as did everyone who knew Maria.

  She’d just had her nineteenth birthday and had matured into a fully grown young woman, likely, the most beautiful in the land. No man could resist her charms and everyone, everywhere wanted to do things for her.

  She regarded her city clothes as she rode and worried over the dust kicked up from the desert roads. She didn’t want to look a mess when they arrived and the priest sensed this. He rummaged around and found a long rebozo and threw it over Maria, wrapping her to the neck.

  He’d taken his vows of poverty and did not want for worldly things. He wasn’t concerned in the least about his own appearance, but Maria was different. She was not of the church; nothing he could do or say or teach her would ever make her wholly of the church and he did not regard this as a bad thing. She’d certainly never be a nun. He was delighted, just like a proud father would be of his lovely daughter coming out to the world as a woman. He wanted to show her off a little.

  “And padre, tell me again, why are we going to this place, the big church?”

  “To visit a friend, Maria. Just to visit a friend.” He smiled and looked at her. “And to show you a glorious city. Mexico City, Maria. It is a jewel. We’ll go to see some sights. We’ll go to the Archaeological Museum.”

  “Thank you for the city clothes, padre.” She smiled at him and he patted her arm.

  “My pleasure child.”

  They rode for a long time and eventually arrived at their destination. Maria could see immediately what it was and it made her feel very strange. They were shown to their rooms. Maria offered to spend the day in hers but the old padre wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted that she accompany him and, reluctantly, she complied.

  They went to see a nun about the same age as the priest. She was sitting in a chair in a dark room with shuttered windows. She was reading a Bible and was dressed in her nun’s garb. She looked as if she were dead except for her eyes. They shone with life. She was very glad to see him.

  He introduced Maria to the old nun and the woman touched Maria’s face and then patted it. “Beautiful, beautiful.”

  Maria smiled and said nothing. She didn’t know why she was there and she didn’t want to see the priest look any sadder but this was making him look that way. This was why they’d come to Mexico City.

  Maria tried hard to think of a way to extricate herself from the meeting. Let them be alone together. She had just come up with a plan when the priest turned to her and asked her to help him with a special mass, just for the nun.

  She was disappointed because she found these little masses to be tedious and she hated going through every ritual: making a little alter for the priest and setting up the chalice, the water, wine and wafers. She thought it all somewhat silly and redundant as the nun likely already attended a mass that day. Now she’d have another and Maria didn’t want to do it.

  But then she saw the look in the nun’s eye and, just as funerals are not for the dead but for the living, her ministrations and her assistance at the mass was not for her to endure or be bothered by, but for the happiness and peace of mind of the old woman who was dying.

  When they finished, the old nun was exhausted and the padre was also very tired. A nurse soon came and guided the old nun away. The priest and Maria went to their rooms to rest and recover from the exhausting trip and the even more exhausting meeting with the dying nun.

  At dinner time Maria looked in on the padre. He was lying in bed and there was a half empty bottle of American whiskey alongside him. Maria knew he was drunk. This made her feel very sad as she knew the priest did not normally drink, except for the holy wine and that he mostly watered down. She came into his room and looked at him until he acknowledged her. He’d slept the worst of it off and was no longer so drunk that he couldn’t talk. He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed and beckoned Maria to sit down.

  He’d been crying and Maria decided that she should get him to talk about it. She began.

  “Did you love her a long time?”

  He looked at her and then looked away. “It is so obvious, Maria?”

  “Yes. To me it is.”

  “Now she is dying. She no longer has the church and she doesn’t have me. She’s alone in the world, Maria, and she will be dead soon.”

  Maria thought about what to say, thought perhaps she would be going too far, then went ahead anyway. “Is life not hard enough, padre, that you must heap on sin after sin, so that it is impossible for you to live?”

  He smiled cynically at her. His Maria. He saw it the first day, back when he caught her stealing the candlesticks. She had the wisdom of the ages about her. “It is not so simple as all that, Maria.”

  She harrumphed. “I am an ignorant girl, padre. But I am not stupid. There is a difference.” She looked him over, looked into his sad eyes and continued. “My life has been very hard, padre. I know this, and I don’t know why God has made my life like this. But it is the only life I have and I will live it the best I can. But you, you make all this too hard. You make sins where there are no sins. You make sadness where there doesn’t need to be sadness. Does Jesus really want us to go around with sour faces all day, all day looking so sad that you could make a baby cry?”

  He smiled at her and was embarrassed. “I…, I’m sorry, Maria.”

  He looked out the window as if seeking out someone waiting for him in the courtyard below, someone who could perhaps give him the answers to her questions. “She and I met when we were young. I was a new priest and she a new nun. We fell in love. I was going to leave the church for her, but she could not. She said that she could not leave the church and that she could not be with me.”

  “I see.” Maria thought hard about it. He was the poor Crisanto and the nun was Maria. “So, this terrible thing, this sin, will it make her go to hell when she dies?”

  The priest grinned and looked up at her. Maria was so wonderfully black and white. There were no shades of grey with the girl. He shook his head from side to side. “I don’t know,
Maria.”

  “Well, you need to let her go. You need to be with her when she dies and you need to tell her that she’s forgiven and that she’ll go to heaven. If you don’t know then you have to tell her the best possible outcome for her. It might be that she goes to heaven and it might be that she goes to hell, but if you do not know, then you need to tell her it is heaven. She’ll find out soon enough, but she needs to think, believe right now that it will be heaven.”

  He loved her simplicity and her kindness. She was a thoroughly good person and he smiled at her. “If only a fraction of my parishioners were so good and wise as you, Maria.”

  She stood up and looked out the window. She picked up the bottle and took it with her.

  “No more drinking for you, padre. It does not suit you.” She held out her hand and helped him to his feet. “Now, go to her and tell her. Tell her to expect Jesus at the gates of heaven and that you will meet her there one day.” She thought for a moment, because she loved the padre, “But not too soon.”

  On the ride back to their village, the priest was happier than Maria had ever seen him. The nun was dead and that made him sad, but her last hours had been good and it was because of Maria’s advice.

  Maria saw him regarding her out of the corner of her eye and decided to ask about the old nun. “Was she from Chicago, padre?”

  “Oh, no Maria. She was from Mexico. I met her in Mexico when I first came to this country.” He didn’t know why but he began to speak freely of her. “She was as beautiful as you, Maria.”