Cities and Throngs and Powers

by Alma Boykin

  “Indeed. I will get baskets out of the shed.” He returned with old-fashioned bushel baskets, like the ones she remembered from before the collapse, back when her family bought their food from the fancy grocery stores. He pulled a roll of red string out of the basket. “If you would be so kind as to dust these out, Miss Salazar, I will mark the section to leave standing so it can dry for seed.” He disappeared into the tall stand of flapping leaves and she gave the baskets a very light spray with the hose, just enough to get the worst dirt off the flat bottoms, and knocked the dust out of the faded red and green containers.

  Alicia took one basket and began picking the corn. I shouldn’t have to be doing this, she grumbled. Mama and Papa always said I would go to college and Mona and Caritas and I would never have to do manual labor like Abuelito and Tio Antonio and Tia Manuela did.

  Mr. Mills worked from the other side of the corn patch. Despite not having any meat on his bones, as her Mama would say, Mr. Mills filled his basket just as fast as Alicia did. He took the first load into the kitchen and returned before she’d quite finished. Oh yeah? I can beat that. She set to work with grim determination and lugged her next load into the kitchen and dumped the ears into the now-full sink before he’d gotten 2/3 through. It helped that he seemed to be slowing down.

  The end of the harvest was in sight, at least of the fresh corn. Alicia spotted the red string. “Yeah!”

  She heard laughter from several rows over. “I heartily concur with your sentiments, Miss Salazar. I fear I overestimated my energy.”

  Maybe this is an OK time to ask. She couldn’t see him, and that made it a little easier to gather her nerve. “Ah, Mr. Mills, not to be rude, but you are so thin. Are you sick?”

  She heard two more ears drop into his unseen basket, and heard corn stalks rustling before he replied. “No, Miss Salazar. I am not ill. It takes me longer than most to eat, and if I am working, as I have been, I forget to take the time necessary.”

  “Oh. My Abuelo was like that. His false teeth broke and there was no money to replace them, if we could have found a dentist, so Mama made him stews and soups.”

  They’d reached the end of the corn. Too tired to do a victory dance or cheer, she tried to lift her basket and decided against it. Instead she straightened up and began pulling her corn basket to the back step. He picked his up and walked beside her. All the bending and twisting up and down loosened his scarf, and as they came around the corner of the house, a swirl of wind caught the end, tossing it over his shoulder. With his hands full, he couldn’t grab it and Alicia bit her tongue to keep from gasping. Ugh! He looks like a movie monster.

  A stringy pink mask covered the lower half of his face. His nose was short and flat, with oversized nostrils. He didn’t have lips, really, and she understood why he said it took him a long time to eat, and why he spoke so carefully. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his tan shirt, and Alicia saw more of the ropey, strange skin running up from his mangled hands to just past his elbows. The pink and white scars clashed with his dark brown forehead and upper arms, and covered what she could see of his throat and neck, up into the back of his hair. “Oh Mr. Mills, what happened?”

  He set the basket down and draped the burnoose back into place. “I will tell you while we prepare the corn, Miss Salazar, but I must ask that you not carry tales.”

  I think that means it’s a secret. I can see why. “No, sir, I won’t.”

  She filled the large stockpot with water while he sorted the corn and got out the broiler pan to hold the husks. Half the corn he set aside for the moment, and a few more ears he pulled out. “To broil this evening.” She ripped the husks off and he cleaned the silk away, twisted and stubby fingers working as fast as her Mama and Tia Rosa’s ever did. He began, “Are you familiar with the name ‘Homer’s Rovers’?”

  Her eyes went wide. “That’s the gang that used to control the turf closest to Cherry Creek, south side, before the fires and before the Latin Master-15s moved in.” She’d had to learn the gang borders in case she needed to go with Mona or Caritas to look in on Tio Antonio or Tia Manuela, because they lived in the old barrio.

  “Used to is correct, as you say. I grew up, no,” he corrected. “The woman who gave me birth turned me loose to roam the streets as soon as I could cross the street and duck out of sight of the police and social workers. My heroes belonged to the gangs, especially Homer’s Rovers—they looked big and strong, they had food and brothers. I could not join because I was too young even to be a lookout or courier, but I knew where to find them and imitated them.”

  He shivered as he put the first cobs into the now-boiling water. “When I was twelve, a group of boys in different colors came onto our turf. I threw rocks at them and called them names, thinking the Rovers’ brothers would protect me. I was in error. Have you ever heard of ‘necklaceing’?” She shook her head, feeling sick at her stomach as he explained. “I will spare you the details, Miss Salazar. Suffice it to say it is a barbaric practice imported from South Africa that involves a tire, gasoline, and fire. I only survived because they used a bicycle tire, and because I managed to get it off. An older man saw it and called the fire department. They didn’t want the housing project to burn down, you see.”

  Mr. Mills used the canning tongs to pull the corn out of the water and to set it aside to cool, then added the next batch. “A miracle happened, Miss Salazar. A man doing construction work at the hospital saw me. He told his employer, and his employer took interest in me. He was the last Illif heir, and he and his wife had no children that lived past age ten. When my mother refused to claim me at the hospital, his lawyers filed papers requesting custody of me, and the court agreed, no doubt because the case workers believed I was dying and so there was no harm in allowing a white couple to adopt a black child this once.” He snorted. “Which shows just how blinded by foolishness the case workers were, to think that a child’s success in life depends only on having a parent of the same skin color. But I digress.

  “Mr. Illif paid for the surgery I needed, most of it. The surgeons could not do a full reconstruction at that time because I was still growing. Mr. and Mrs. Illif offered me a new life and I took it with both hands, Miss Salazar, even selecting a new name. They paid for me to learn how to speak again, and for tutors to teach me to read and write and do math. Mrs. Illif helped me teach myself science, history, and other subjects, and gave me a thorough education in bookkeeping. Mr. Illif also taught me to shoot and hunt. Fish, alas, laugh at my efforts with rod and line.

  “When they died, they left me the Illif lands. The construction company passed to the former manager, the man who found me at the hospital.” He’d loosened the burnoose to wipe perspiration from his forehead, and Alicia watched as his mouth twisted in what could have been a grim smile. “After all, a good contractor must be able to meet with customers and bankers face-to-face.

  “The Collapse came just as I prepared to schedule the first of the surgeries to finish the reconstruction. As you know, the surviving hospitals in Denver had no room for elective surgeries such as mine, since I could survive without it.” Alicia nodded as she sorted through the cornhusks, picking out the best to save and use later. “Perhaps in the future, now that things are growing more stable.”

  “Are they? Papa still cannot rebuild his business and there are no full-time jobs for many people.”

  Mr. Mills moved the now-full bowl of corn back to Alicia’s side of the sink and put the next set of ears into the boiling water, after getting a second bowl. Alicia found a sharp knife and began stripping the kernels from the cobs. He waved the tongs in emphasis. “Yes, things are growing more stable. That is to say, chaos no longer dominates the big cities, and prices are no longer rising because of government manipulation of the money supply. You see, one of the difficulties, Miss Salazar, is that the former system developed over many years, and it will take almost as many years to correct the wrongs and reset the balance.”

  Alicia finished the cobs and started ti
dying up ahead of the next batch. “You mean all the stuff the government used to provide, like water and schools and retirement and groceries? How was that wrong?”

  Mr. Mills sighed. “It was not wrong, in the sense that helping people who found themselves in need through no fault of their own was wrong. But there are very few things that federal governments do well, and you will not find ‘providing everything from baby-blankets to retirement homes’ on that list. What happened, to simmer eighty years of history into thirty seconds, was that we, and I refer to Americans in general, grew used to certain things and policies and luxuries, much as you grow used to laying in a hammock.” He stopped and changed out the corn. “You do know what a hammock is?”

  She nodded and stuffed the last of the cornhusks, empty cobs, and silk into a paper bag to get them out of the way.

  He continued, “The hammock was comfortable and convenient, even though the holes and weak spots grew bigger and bigger as more and more people climbed in. When the remaining rope could take no more, the bottom ripped out of the hammock, splat!” Alicia giggled at the picture in her mind.

  “So now we are, so to speak, sitting in a heap on the ground wondering what the hell just happened and why is our rump so sore? First, everyone must separate his and her own legs, arms, and other parts from his neighbor’s arms and legs and get out of everyone else’s way. Then we can stand up, brush ourselves off, and go back to doing what we need and want to do.” She heard a smile in Mr. Mills voice and his eyes gleamed. “Or so it appears. I for one do not care for hammocks, Miss Salazar.”

  After they finished freezing and canning the corn, Mr. Mills returned to his earlier ways, leaving notes for Alicia but otherwise staying out of sight. She worked on her jewelry and by two weeks before the Colorado Springs show, she had finished eight necklaces and necklets, four beaded belts or trim strips, four bracelets, and twelve pairs of earrings. The collection featured cheerful sunset and sunrise colors, and several of the pieces could be worn together as a set. Alicia hunted around and found a box and old paper for padding. She packed the items, along with an inventory and suggested prices. Mr. Mills addressed the box and Teddy took it to town to ship.

  Three weeks later an envelope appeared, addressed to her. Alicia set aside her work and opened it. A deposit receipt and a letter fell out. Alicia read the letter. “Dear Miss Salazar,” it began. “Congratulations on your sales. I confess, I’m a little jealous, but you seem to have timed the market perfectly. Pastels and fall colors are very in. Tell Fabian to help you set up a web-site and you will do very well with internet sales, I can assure you. Several people wanted to leave orders and advanced payment with me, but I wasn’t certain what you wanted to do, so I took their information but made no promises. The receipt is for the deposit I made via Fabian’s account.

  “Oh, and you need to charge more. Your prices are far too low for the effort behind your designs. People won’t buy cheap jewelry at shows because they assume that the quality is crap, pardon my language. I raised your prices closer to mine. You might want to look up the collectors’ values for the antique findings you’ve incorporated in the necklaces and add those in as well. Yours, Sarah A. Hardeman.”

  Alicia stared at the signature. Sarah Hardeman? The Sarah Hardeman who has pieces on display in the folk-art museum? Her mouth formed into an “o.” The “o” grew larger when she saw the value on the deposit. She’d never made that much at a fair or show, ever. How much did she charge for my pieces, anyway? This is … oh, Dios mio ave Maria Stella Maris she thought, imitating her mother’s favorite exclamation of surprise. The receipt fell from her fingers and fluttered across the floor, under her worktable. Alicia bent down to get it and straightened up without thinking. “Ow!” She backed out from under the table, rubbing her head.

  Still rubbing her head, she retreated to the kitchen for some ice to put on the bump. She left the receipt on the table and decided to go sit on the back steps. Maybe fresh air would help her brain start functioning again. The numbers on the receipt kept swirling around in her mind like cartoon birdies. Alicia sat with a thump, looking past the fire shelter and other outbuildings to the Flatirons and the mountains beyond. That’s almost as much as Mona needed for two classes at the community college. That’s a month of groceries, well, flour and beans and lard at least. It would cover the cost of a rebuilt sewing machine for Caritas and fabric as well. I could get enough beads to make a pile as tall as I am! Well, maybe not quite that many, and she giggled, giddy with the idea of having so much money.

  Alicia took a deep breath, then another. “Ok, settle down … what’s that smell?” Something spicy and sweet, almost rich, blew to her on the wind. The scent made her nervous, and she got up, still holding the ice on her head, and ventured around the north side of the house.

  She found Mr. Mills standing there, looking north through a pair of binoculars. “What is it, Mr. Mills?”

  “Do you see a faint hazy brown area just east of the northern Flatiron, Miss Salazar?”

  Alicia squinted, opened her eyes wide, and squinted again. “Just barely.”

  “Now look northeast, please, past the trees but close to the horizon.”

  “It looks blue. Not sky blue, but a very dark brown blue.” The wind puffed and she smelled more of the cinnamon smoky smell. Smoke? “Is it smoke?”

  He lowered the black glasses. “It is. Grass fire, supposed to be a controlled burn although why they are burning this time of year completely escapes me, Miss Salazar. However, the greater question is: will they have sufficient backfires and equipment in place when that,” and he pointed northeast, “Blue Norther’ comes in. I am not completely convinced that they will, but I am inclined to be a pessimist in those cases when fire is involved.”

  “The brown with the Norther’. Is that dust?”

  “Yes. I believe it is time to secure everything in the garden and take in any laundry still on the line, lest it be found on Pikes Peak.” Alicia giggled again. He said the funniest things in the most serious way. Or is something wrong with my head after that bump? Well, she needed to get the garden settled, that much she could do without thinking too much.

  They finished just as the first cold, dusty wind slammed into the north side of the old house, shaking the windows and whistling down the chimney. The cloudy sky turned gray-brown and the wind smelled dirty. Alicia sneezed. “I heartily concur,” Mr. Mills said. “I also believe that if you need to do computer work, now is the time, before the power lines go down.”

  “They wind will blow down the power poles? That never happens at the house.”

  He seemed to be listening to something. “Not the wind, the wet snow and freezing rain. This will be a wet storm, Miss Salazar. I believe I shall finish my work, and then make bread.”

  Before she thought, Alicia blurted, “How come you know how to cook? That’s women’s work.”

  Mr. Mills laughed! The sound bubbled out, lively like a stream in the mountains. “I apologize for my mirth, Miss Salazar, but, you see, Mr. Illif’s hobbies included cooking. Mrs. Illif encouraged this pursuit, as you can well imagine,” and she could see the smile in his eyes, bringing her into the joke. “After their passing, if I had not known how to cook, I would have starved to death.”

  “Ah, that makes sense, sir.” He pointed to the stairs in the main hall and she led the way. She did need to tell her parents about her sales, and to look up places to find the cost of the antique jewelry parts, now that she knew they were antique.

  She finished quickly and followed the now-familiar routine of logging out, turning the computer completely off, turning off the power strips, and unplugging everything. Alicia cocked her ear, listening hard to a faint noise. A familiar diesel sound passed by the house, barely audible under the wind. She trotted back downstairs to find Teddy and Mr. Mills talking in the kitchen.

  “I have everything set, Mr. Mills, and I’m going to call in the Chow and Miera boys as soon as it’s safe, if it gets that bad.”


  “Do so, please. I have no qualms about eating other people’s beef, but hauling carcasses to the road holds no appeal for me. And it will be bad. I’ve unstepped the wind-charger so it will not tear apart.”

  Teddy nodded. “Good. I’ll tell my people to ignore the weather frogs and brace for a multi-day blackout. I’ll be on my way, then, sir,” and he tugged the brim of his hat a little, then leaned around so Alicia could see him clearly, “Ma’am.”

  He drove off. Alicia glanced out the back window. It looked a lot darker than it had when they’d come inside even though there seemed to be less dust in the air. She shivered as the wind whistled.

  “Have you ever seen a blizzard, Miss Salazar?”

  She turned around, watching Mr. Mills as he began measuring flour and milk. “No, sir, at least, I don’t think so; snowstorms but no blizzards. We lived well inside Denver and the city broke up the storms, or so Papa says.”

  “You have been fortunate. Teddy should not have stopped here. If you are caught out and a storm appears, Miss Salazar, do not stop unless it is absolutely necessary. Get to shelter and stay there.” He paused, listening again. “It sounds as if we succeeded in securing everything, Miss Salazar.” He began sifting the flour, raising a small white cloud in the process. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve the venison that is in the white package in the mud porch?” She brought the paper-wrapped meat in from what she’d learned was the mudroom, and shook her head as she saw the label. It read, “Bambi, 2015, stew.”

  He explained, “That is the last of the meat from 2015, Miss Salazar, although there are still several pounds in the freezer and in cans from last year. I will be hunting when the season opens. We will freeze and can the meat, and make jerky depending on the quality and size of the animals.” He cracked an egg into the bowl, then a second egg and a third. “Please set the oven for one hundred fifty degrees, and check the temperature of the milk.”