The Mule Tamer

by John C. Horst

  This time, she wore the dress she had taken from Rebecca’s wardrobe. She looked stunning, and more dangerous than when she had her gun rig on, earlier in the day. They strolled on to the show grounds, and were treated like royalty. Everyone seemed to know of the Mexican woman.

  She talked as they made their way to the back lot of the show, the part not accessible to the customers. The place had a queer atmosphere, lighted by large torches; it put Arvel in mind of a medieval town, as if they were in King Arthur’s Camelot. Everyone was happy and pleasantly talking and singing, many of the performers were practicing, or simply engaging in their craft, just for the sheer joy of it.

  Chica told Arvel about Joaquin. She knew him as a boy. He was a few years younger than Chica, and everyone in the village where he lived was afraid of him. His mother had had a liaison with a traveler, and became pregnant with Joaquin. When he was born, the villagers believed that she had been cursed for having the illicit affair. He was scorned and taunted all his life. Chica was the only one in the village to ever treat him with compassion, and one day, after she had gone off on one of her adventures, she discovered that a gringo had come to the village and bought Joaquin from his mother. They were told that the man was evil and mistreated Joaquin, and was planning to put him in a show. The man made Joaquin wear a chain and nothing else, and forced the boy to act like a wild animal, and eat raw flesh of goats and pigs. He had a horrible life, and Chica vowed to kill the man if she ever caught up with him. After she had left Arvel outside of Flagstaff, she wandered south, along the rail line, and saw the image of Joaquin painted on one of the rail cars carrying the contents of the show.

  Arvel now understood Chica’ behavior. She was planning to rescue Joaquin. He looked on at her with a new appreciation. He held her arm tightly as they walked around the grounds.

  Chica, “What happened to the bad man?”

  “Joaquin says the bad man sold him to some Mexican bandits, but they killed the man instead of paying him. They just let Joaquin go on his own, as they were afraid of him. Then he wandered a while, and met an old man selling medicine from a wagon, and the man sent him to this place. He has been here ever since, and the man here is good. He pays Joaquin three hundred dollars every month, and Joaquin keeps any extra money he can make. He gets ten cents to let a gringo touch his beard. He has a house in Bayonne New Jersey, and a wife, and a child who is not hairy.” She thought for a moment. “Is Bayonne, New Jersey good, Pendejo?”

  “I’ve never been there, but I’m certain it’s fine, Chica.” Chica, the avenging angel. He smiled at her, and reached over to kiss her forehead. “You are full of surprises, Chica. You are full of surprises.”

  They wandered through the staging area of the show. A young woman walked up to them and handed them paste jewel encrusted goblets, filled with wine. She told them that Joaquin would be with them shortly.

  As they waited, Arvel glanced between the flaps of a tent and saw a large glass jar which contained the severed head of a dark haired man. The man had a stupid look on his face, which was swollen from soaking in the alcohol bath for God knows how long. It reminded him of the story told by Billy Livingston. “Chica, have you ever carried heads around in a sack?”

  “Wha’…hey!” She pushed him out of the way and walked into the tent. She examined the head in the glass. There was a plaque with and inscription on it. “What do this say, Pendejo?”

  She was forming the words, but read English poorly.

  “This is the head of Enrique Gomez, the famous murderer of California, who was killed by a posse in 1861. Too far out in the desert to carry the entire body, the industrious lawmen severed the brigand’s head in order to prove his demise.”

  “Tha’ is not right, Pendejo.” Before he could say or do anything, Chica had the head upended, and removed the lid.

  A young man rushed in to stop her. “Madam, please, please.”

  Chica continued her work. “This is a not Enrique Gomez, or whatever you say, Pendejo.”

  “Miss Maria?” Another man joined them. This one was wearing a Prince Albert suit and long cape. He wore a high silk topper. He had a strange accent, never heard by Chica before.

  “Si, I am Chica.” She looked up from her work of removing the head from the jar.

  The man in the topper bowed to Arvel and Chica. “I am Ivan Yakovlevich.” He reached out and took Chica’s hand, began to kiss it, then thought better of it. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed it clean. “Mr. Joaquin has told me so much about you.”

  The young man interjected, “Mr. Yakovlevich, the lady is taking the head out of its container.” He was flush with excitement.

  Yakovlevich patted the man on the shoulder, “now now, Vladimir, it is okay. Miss Chica, how may we help?”

  “This is not Enrique Gomez. And none of that written there is right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “These hijo de puta is just a head, because I made him that way.”

  Yakovlevich chuckled. “Miss Chica, he died a long time ago, and you are a young lady. Perhaps you are thinking of another head?”

  “This is my head, go ahead an’ look at his mouth. He has a gold tooth, right here, she pointed at the upper front tooth of her head. And he has a no tooth next to it.”

  “How so?” said Arvel. He was intrigued now. Chica never stopped surprising him.

  “He had two gold teeth, and I pulled one, but the other, I could not pull. Go ahead, and look.” She began to reach into the blood tinged alcohol to retrieve the head.

  Yakovlevich waived her away gently, “Madam, please, you will soil your dress.” He nodded to Vladimir who, unwillingly carried out the morbid task, peeling back the bloated lips to reveal the interior of the miscreant’s mouth.

  “See, see, I told you.” She looked at the men, satisfied. “I sent this one to hell. Look, pull his hair up; you will see the bullet hole. I shot him in this side.” She pointed at the left side of the skull. “A little hole, I used a little gun, two shot. I had in my sleeve. I cut his head off and carried it in a bag for three days, then sold it to a prospector. This was at lease’ let’s see, four years ago.”

  “What did he do to you?” Vladimir asked, intrigued.

  “This a excremento did nothing to me. He hurt a child I knew. He did not kill her, but he hurt her. And that is all I will say. He is in hell now, where he belongs, but he has no head, so he cannot see where he is going. He cannot hurt little children anymore.”

  “Then the plaque will be changed, and Miss Chica, we shall make certain it is accurate.” He asked Arvel for permission, and took Chica by the arm. “In all my years, traveling the world, I must say, Miss Chica, that you are the most lovely and remarkable being I have yet to meet.” He patted her hand, and leaned close to her ear. “But please, don’t tell any of the others I have said that. I have many remarkable ladies here, and some have rather fragile egos.”

  Chica smiled and looked back at Arvel. She gave him a wink and walked proudly with her new admirer. He led her to a bonfire, surrounded by benches. Joaquin was there, as were a man well over seven feet tall, two ladies who were identical and joined at the hip, two young men with beady eyes and sloping pointed heads, known by all as the lads, and a middle aged woman who looked like anyone you’d pass on the street. Her talent was that she could swallow a sword three feet long and breathe fire. Her name was Pat. The men stood up when Chica arrived, except for the lads who had no more understanding than a three year old child. They smiled and laughed and looked on at Pat, whom had become their surrogate mother. Arvel sat down next to the sisters who had a penchant for flirtatious behavior. They loved reserved men like Arvel who were typically shy around women. They liked to make them blush. One placed her hand high up on Arvel’s thigh, then pulled away abruptly, and smiled at him, stating, “I am sorry! I thought you were my sister.” They would then giggle together in a high pitched tone. They were really quite lovely, and Arvel could not help to think what it must be like to be i
ntimate with conjoined twins.

  Joaquin sat next to Chica. He hugged her and told her how happy he was to see her. He told her how he never forgot her compassion toward him. Out of all the people he had ever known before the show, she was the only one to ever offer him any kindness. He put on a fresh suit and looked more dapper than he had when she had seen him earlier in the day. He smiled at Chica admiring his suit. “I have eleven suits, Chica.” He was not telling her this to impress her or to show off. He wanted her to know that she did not have to worry about him. Yakovlevich was a good man. He respected the people in his show. If it had not been for him, most would end up in asylums or destitute. They all felt wanted and loved. They were treated with great respect, and every one of them was well compensated for their work.

  They were especially festive tonight. The Tucson show was bringing in major crowds, and people were in a spending mood. They laughed and drank and talked well into the night. Arvel had gotten used to the twins, and began regaling them with stories of Chica, which inspired Yakovlevich to make his move.

  “Miss Chica, I do not know if Joaquin mentioned anything to you, but the Wild West is big business in the East, and beyond. In Europe, the people cannot get enough of it. And, well, ma’am, I will cut to the chase, I would be honored if you would be part of our show.”

  Chica smiled, she had moved close to Arvel, sitting across from the twins, who had been taking turns running their fingers through his hair. She pressed her fingers into his arm. “That is a very interesting, how do we say, que es asunto?” She looked at Joaquin.

  Joaquin leaned forward, “Proposition.”

  “Si, Proposition. That is a very interesting proposition, Senor Yakovlevich. What would I do in your show?”

  “You would be Chica.”

  “I don’ think anyone would pay money for this, Senor.”

  Yakovlevich laughed, and held up his hand. “Miss, Chica, you are wrong. You are…”

  “Magnificent!” Vladimir blurted out without thinking, the moment, and the wine, and the allure of Chica too much for him to contain. He looked down at his hands, trying to hide in the shadows of the dancing fire.

  “Bravo, Vladimir, bravo!” He bowed to Chica. “You see, Miss Chica. Just as the others around the fire have a special gift, given them by the Almighty, you have a gift, too. You are Chica. There is nothing more to be said.

  She leaned next to Arvel. She pressed her cheek against his. “What do you think, Pendejo, should I get a house in Bayonne, New Jersey?”

  Early next morning, Chica woke Arvel. “Pendejo, I have to go.”

  “Why?” He looked for his watch.

  “I gotta go, Pendejo. But, you see, I did tell you. Are you not happy?”

  “Yes, Chica.” He wanted to tell her not to go, but something kept him from committing to it. He looked at her, and thought about how much he loved her now. “Where are you going? When am I to expect you back?”

  “I gotta go, I gotta get these things to my Indios babies, Pendejo.” She waited for a moment, put on the last of her bangles, and fixed her hair. She waited a little longer, then shrugged. She was gone.

  XV Indios

  She rode back up to the Indian family. She felt strangely sad. She was so happy to see Joaquin, and she was so flattered at the attention paid to her by the show people, that she should have been happier. The fortune teller gave her good news, and she had fine presents to give the children. She even had a wonderful time with Pendejo, but, she could not deny to herself that she was deeply hurt when he did not ask her to stay. She wondered what was wrong with the Pendejo. She was trying her best to behave herself, without not being herself, and this time, she even woke him, and she stole nothing from him. She wondered if the Pendejo really cared very much for her. He seemed to be much happier with her. She could not help but see that he was proud of her before the show people. She could see that the head did put him off a little, especially when she pulled it from the bottle, and that confused her. It was just a dead head, it would not hurt anyone, it was beyond doing any harm. What did the Pendejo think the head would do? Talk to him? Bite her? She had a hard time figuring the gringo out.

  She rode along, wondering what it would be like to be in a traveling show, with all the strange people. Joaquin seemed happy. Really happy. She did not like the thought of all those gringos touching him, and saying bad things about him, but what else could Joaquin do? He could never be paid so well doing anything else, that was certain. It was easy work. He did not have to toil in the fields, and he seemed to have picked up a great deal of book learning. He sounded more like Pendejo than how he sounded, or would sound, had he stayed in his village. So, really, the horrible curse that befell him was almost a blessing.

  When she arrived at the Indians, the two youngest ones and the women of the village greeted her. She often spent time here with a small group of Indians who herded sheep in the area. They had escaped the white man. They did not have to live on the reservation, as they gave the white man no reason to torment them. The land held no value to the whites, so they did not need to kick them out and onto a reservation. They were good to her and so poor, she’d never take their food. She brought the fruits of her labors, so to speak, to these people whenever she could. The money from a stolen watch would go to buy a bag of flour, or the price fetched from a stolen saddle, a few chickens.

  They ran to see her when they realized the traveler off in a distance and moving their way was the mysterious woman who would periodically come into their lives, adding excitement to an otherwise relentless quest for survival. They were happier to see her than were the traveling show people. She showed off her latest acquisitions, new bangles and necklaces and earrings. She gave the women coffee. She dabbed some of the perfume the Pendejo had given her behind the ears of each little girl.

  She lined the children up, by height, and gave the little ones their gifts first. They did not know what to do and Chica urged them to take the toys and candy. In unison, they suddenly understood and ran off to play.

  Chica removed Alanza’s saddle, and hobbled her near the Hogan. She decided she would stay here for a few days. The weather was hot but not unbearable, and it would be no better in any town. The women unpacked her bags and washed her clothes. They placed Chica’s traps in her own hogan, and laid out her hair brushes, mirror, jewelry, cigars, and extra cartridges near her bed which was freshened and made extra comfortable for their special guest.

  This called for a special celebration and that evening everyone sang and played and prepared special dishes for the occasion. Chica sang for them and did a little play. They celebrated late into the night. Chica was offered a bottle and declined. She did not want to drink now. She was enjoying the children and glorying in the moment of community. She felt at home here and wondered if her life would ever be this way, to have a real family, to live out her days with a clan of her own.

  The next morning she was up early. She felt good. The sun was still a long way off from rising. She saddled Alanza and took out her fancy rifle. She counted the bullets left for this rifle. She had eighty left. She did not know what she would do when they were gone, but decided that one would be worth using to get something good for the Indios. She and Alanza were ready when the sky began to show the first signs of light. She could survey a wide expanse of desert, and she used the telescopic sight to explore the range. She spotted a small herd of elk a quarter mile away, and rode around them, setting up from the southeast to avoid having them wind her. She checked again, and a warm breeze blew in her face, she should be undetectable to them as she approached.

  She hobbled Alanza when she was within a hundred yards leaving her in an arroyo, undetected by the herd. She killed a young cow and the rest ran off a short distance, they looked on as Chica dressed the animal and loaded her hind quarters onto Alanza’s back. She would get the clan to come for the rest. She rode Alanza back to the hogans, proud of her accomplishment and proud that she could provide such a tasty treat for her adop
ted family.

  After the chores were done, and the young elk broken down into its most basic elements of usefulness, she taught the older ones Mexican Monte. At least they would have an advantage in this when they got older; maybe the gringos would not be able to cheat them at cards. The old women watched as they worked on the green elk hide. They had already stripped it of its connective tissue and were liberally rubbing its brain into the flesh side of the skin. They would work tirelessly until it was preserved and as supple as the finest tanned calfskin.

  To make things interesting, Chica had the children collect their money; shards of broken pottery that had been left by their ancestors over the course of many centuries. The children would run about, digging through the brush, looking straight down at the ground, looking at places they had trampled over all their lives, never before seeing the treasures at their feet. They would run to Chica, showing what they had found. The more beautiful and ornately designed, the higher the value, but Chica would always encourage them. Even the most mundane shard was considered a great discovery.