Bandit Queen

by Jane Candia Coleman

“He needs me,” I said, sounding foolish even to myself.

  It was Dan’s turn to shake his head. “Oh, baby,” he said, “you don’t know anything about need.”

  He cupped my chin in one big hand and stared at me, and for a minute, it seemed, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or move away. It was like he had hypnotized me, caught me in a spell.

  Finally I said: “Don’t…,” in a voice that sounded like it came out of a ghost. Maybe it had. Maybe it came out of that other Pearl, the one he thought was there.

  He dropped his hand. “I hope I’m around when you grow up,” he said, and left me standing alone.

  I turned my salary over to Frank, who had no way of knowing about the tips I got for singing encores and requests. That money I hid deep in the toe of an old boot, because, although I hadn’t admitted it to myself at first, the possession of money gave me power. With enough money, one day I might go free.

  But with the closing of the fair, I was out of a job. Dan had packed up and gone, not without asking me to accompany him.

  “We’d make a good team,” he said. “How about it?”

  I shook my head. Freedom, as yet, was a frightening thing. “Maybe some day,” I said, blinking back tears. I had grown fond of Dan in spite of his brusqueness, his constant cussing. Sometimes I wondered if I loved him, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d thought I loved Frank once, and look where that had gotten me.

  “I’m headed to Arizona,” he said. “You need me, I’ll be out there somewhere.”

  I threw my arms around him. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, kid, and that’s a fact.” He kissed me then, a hard, lingering kiss, and I responded in spite of myself. There was a tenderness in him that lured me, soothed me, gave me a confidence that had been wiped away by experience.

  He pushed me away. “You’re a damned dangerous woman,” he said. “You know that?”

  “Don’t make fun,” I told him, still fighting tears.

  He sighed. “You’re also a damned idiot. But like I said…I’ll be out there, if you need me.”

  “Maybe some day,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.” He picked up his bag and walked off down a street that, only a few weeks before, had been filled with people and music, laughter and fun. It took all my strength not to run after him, not to call out his name.

  It was his farewell kiss that precipitated my flight.

  Frank had spent the afternoon drinking and was dressing for a night’s gaming. As usual, I was helping him, laying out his shirt, brushing his good black coat, hoping he’d notice and praise me for once.

  Instead, he looked at me in the mirror. “Where’ll we go now that the fair’s over?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Without thinking I said: “Dan went out West. Arizona.” It was the wrong thing to say.

  “Dan!” he snarled. “He’s all you can think about. You act like he’s your husband.”

  “I didn’t mean…” I walked around to the other side of the bed.

  “Just what did you mean?”

  “Well…there’s all those boom towns out there. Lots of money in them. We could take a train and be in Denver or even San Francisco in a few days.” “And you could catch up to your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not!” I insisted. “Really.” But then I remembered that farewell kiss, and it must have showed on my face.

  “You little whore,” Frank said.

  “I’m not. Please. He was my friend. That’s all.” I backed away from him, but bumped into the dresser.

  “Don’t tell me your lies. You let him, didn’t you? You spread your legs for the-son-of-a-bitch!”

  “Please, honey!” I heard myself whimpering, and hated myself for it. “Please. I didn’t do anything.”

  I tried to climb across the bed, but he grabbed my ankles and hauled me off. I tried to shield my face with my hands, but he pulled them away and slapped me hard, on one cheek and then the other, and the diamond ring he wore ripped open my nose.

  It was my blood, dripping onto my blouse, spattering the floor. My blood. My life. I screamed.

  He didn’t hear. He was hypnotized by his own brutality. He punched, kicked, slapped me, until I fell on the floor and curled myself into a ball.

  Maybe it was my blood, or maybe it was the sounds I was making, like a frightened rabbit. I’m not sure why—maybe I never will be sure—but he came at me then, not even stopping to take off his trousers, came at me, battered his way into me, and raped me.

  “Maybe now you’ll remember who you are,” he said. He rolled off me and lay still.

  Who was I? I was hate. I was a pile of bloody rags, an aching in the place where my heart had been. With what strength I could summon, I kicked him in the groin, not once, but twice.

  “You son-of-a-bitch,” I whispered. “You son-of-a-bitch,” and was happy when he groaned, vomited, and passed out.

  I should have killed him then and saved myself further trouble—stabbed him with a knife, throttled him until his eyes bugged out. Instead, I crawled to my feet and left him, face down in his own filth. Then I packed up and ran for my own life.

  Chapter Eleven

  That night lasted forever. Between the pain and the memories, I slept little. And in the morning Joe found out I was a woman. There wasn’t any way to hide the fact, and I nearly died of shame.

  “God damn,” he said. “I thought you were too puny for a boy. What about the rest? Were you lying or telling the truth? Not that it matters.”

  “The truth.”

  “Beating up a girl,” he grumbled. “You did right, leavin’.” He pulled a piece of jerky out of his pocket and offered it. “You got gumption. I admire that in a woman.”

  I refused the jerky, hoping he didn’t start admiring too much.

  Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid. I like my women all in one piece and in fancy skirts. You ain’t exactly a pretty picture right now.”

  I was sure of that. My head ached, and my face felt swollen, but there was nothing wrong with my mind. I fished out another can of tomatoes. Then I attempted a smile. “My name’s Pearl,” I said. “Can I go with you as far as Arizona? I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

  He gave me a look that said he knew exactly what I was doing. “Just like a female,” he said, taking the can. “But all right. I never walked off and left a lady in distress, and I’m not doin’ it now. But take my advice and stick to being Pete till you get where it don’t matter.”

  We arrived in Phoenix a week later. I was still dressed in Frank’s clothes with a belt wrapped twice around my waist to hold up my trousers. I stumbled across the tracks at the depot, squinting in the sudden sunlight.

  The valley around us was rimmed by mountains, great, rock fists thrusting into the sky, and everything seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon light. The air was soft, fragrant with the scent of flowers I couldn’t name, and I stood there in the warmth, in the space that seemed to go on forever, and felt I was shedding a skin, becoming a new Pearl, a woman without a past, ready to begin again. I felt it—the seed of happiness, of possibility, and I laughed out loud for the first time in what must have been years. I was home. I belonged in this place of sand, mountains, cloud shadows. I laughed, standing there in the dusty street in Frank’s clothes, with sore ribs and a dirty face, my hair matted on my head like an old carpet.

  Joe stared at me as if he thought I’d lost my mind. “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now…something to eat, a bath, clean clothes, a soft bed,” I said.

  He shook his head. “We’ll have to pinch some food somewhere. Then we’ll worry about the rest of it. Maybe find a barn to bed down in till we get our bearings.”

  I dug into my sack. “We aren’t pinching anything, and I’ll be damned if I’ll spend another night in a straw pile. We can pay our way.”

  “You mean you have money?” His eyes, bright blue, were wide.

  “Enough
for a meal and a couple of rooms if we don’t get greedy.”

  “You should’ve told me.”

  “We didn’t have any place to spend it. Now we do. Let’s go.” I handed him ten dollars.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Call it thanks. You saved my life.”

  “Hell,” he said. “You were good company.”

  “So were you,” I told him. “The best.”

  He shuffled his feet in their worn-out brogans, and didn’t look at me. Then he said: “Maybe we should stick together. We make a pretty good team.”

  Dan Sandeman had said the same thing, and I’d let him go on without me. Funny, I thought, how two such different men had been my friends, my partners. And how different they both were from Frank! With them I was like the person I wanted to be. How had Joe put it—a woman with gumption? That being the case, I needed to survive on my own. If I had a second chance at life, I needed to prove that I could live it without help. Once more I shook my head and smiled.

  “I have to do it by myself,” I said to him. “Thanks, anyhow.”

  “Hell, it was just an idea.” He glanced around. The sun was dropping behind the mountains, and the air had turned cool. “Best get settled someplace. This country can get cold at night this time of year.”

  We were walking through what I learned was the Mexican section of town. The houses were adobe with blue-painted doors and windows, and the yards were filled with trees and flowers. Children played there, and chickens scratched in the dirt. The scent of food cooking hung in the air.

  My mouth watered. I hadn’t had a decent meal since leaving Chicago. At the thought I walked faster. “Come on,” I urged. “Let’s find a hotel.”

  “You figure they’ll let you in, lookin’ like that?” he asked.

  I glanced down at my blood-stained shirt, the trousers covered with straw, dirt, everything I’d sat and slept in for a week, and I wanted to cry. Of course, no decent place would have me! Then I caught myself. A fine way to begin living—sobbing in the street. I had money, and there had to be a store in town.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going to find us a horse trough to wash in and some new clothes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  From the little farming community of Pumpkinville, Phoenix had risen, like the bird for which it was renamed, to become the territorial capital. Around the town were fields of squash, lettuce, and beans that were watered by irrigation canals. There were orchards, orange and lemon trees with fruit hanging like lanterns among the leaves, and trees whose names I didn’t know, but whose branches made thin, green magic against the sky. The town itself had hotels, stores, churches, doctors, grocers, and lawyers who helped the farmers fight over water rights to the Salt and Verde Rivers that kept the canals flowing. And, as I discovered, like all frontier towns, it had a busy gambling and saloon district.

  The bruises on my face were fading. With enough powder, I was able to disguise them and appear almost like my old self, except that the old Pearl was gone, replaced by a woman determined to make her own way.

  Joe took the money I’d given him and disappeared. Two days later he returned much richer.

  “Grubstake,” he explained. “What those guys don’t know about poker…” He laughed. “I’ll be off soon as I find out when the stage leaves. Sure you don’t want to come along?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll find a job somewhere,” I said, sounding more certain than I was.

  “Doin’ what?”

  I’d been thinking about that as I walked the city. “Singing,” I said. “I sang at the World’s Fair. Why not here?”

  He studied me across the breakfast table. Then he said: “There’s women crawlin’ all over the saloons in this town. They’re dealin’, pourin’ drinks, some of ’em even try to sing. The gal I heard last night at the Valverde got booed off the stage. If you can carry a tune, I’d say you got a real good chance.”

  “You can bet on it,” I said, annoyed at his doubt.

  “My money’s on you every time, Pete.” He pushed back his chair and stood there, looking awkward. Finally he picked up his hat and put it on. “Good luck,” he said. “See you around, maybe.”

  I was going to miss him. I knew it. Was I doing right, staying in Phoenix alone? Only time would tell. “Go on,” I said. “Get out of here before we make fools of ourselves. And thanks for everything.”

  He did as he was told, and I watched him walk across the room, a cocky man, not handsome, but sure of himself. Little did I think that, within a few years, he and I would be partners in a wild adventure, would once again be on the run, this time with the law on our trail.

  Now, truly, I was on my own, and in spite of my determination I was scared. The years spent with Frank had left scars—on my body, and inside where no one could see. He’d told me I was worthless so often that, down deep, I believed it, no matter what I’d done to prove my worth.

  You’re a dangerous woman. Dan’s words came back to me. Well, at least he’d believed in me, given me a chance. I squared my shoulders, figuring I had to save myself. Either that or crawl back home and listen to the I told you so’s until I died. But I’ve never been a quitter. Lots else maybe, but not that. I was on my own and would make the most of it.

  That afternoon I went shopping and spent almost the last of my money on an elegant, green walking costume decorated with black braid, a matching hat with a green ostrich-feather plume, a simpler dress of white peau de soie, and a fringed and embroidered Spanish shawl. With luck I’d soon be working again and not have to worry about my rapidly vanishing cash. I crossed my fingers and went back to the hotel to change clothes.

  An hour later I pushed open the cut-glass doors of the Valverde Saloon and walked up to the bar. The sudden silence in the room behind me told me the effect my entrance had had. Although my knees were shaking, I managed to sound confident when I spoke to the bartender, a huge man with a mashed-in nose. “I’d like to speak to your boss,” I said.

  He stared at me like he was trying to make sense out of an unaccustomed situation. Finally he asked: “What for?”

  I tilted my chin and did my best to look arrogant. “Personal business.”

  He chewed on that for a minute. “He ain’t here.”

  “Then I’ll wait. Where is his office?”

  “You can’t wait in there. Nobody goes in there without Mister Burke says.”

  He was big, loyal, and dumb. Probably had his brains mushed in the ring. I’d seen a lot of men like him and knew he could be gotten around. So I smiled—and lied. “I have an appointment,” I said. “And I can’t very well wait in here.”

  Behind me the patrons were hanging on every word. One of them called out: “Do what the lady says, Huey. She can’t stand at the bar all day!”

  I turned and looked at a bunch of grinning faces and smiled my thanks. To Huey I said: “You see? Now, if you’ll be kind enough?”

  He gave in, tossing the rag he’d been using to polish the bar onto a shelf.

  The office was little more than a storeroom filled with kegs of beer and crates of whiskey. Two chairs and a small desk stood against one wall, and a window faced into the alley. I looked out and saw the cribs across the way, closed at that hour, their occupants sleeping off the excesses of the night before. Inside each was a woman who sold herself for whatever price she could get. I’d seen those women, some of them old, some of them not even able to speak English. Whatever dreams they had were gone now, shattered by alcohol, drugs, the pitiful act that took the place of love.

  No matter what, I thought, no matter what that will never be me. Never! I turned back into the room and sat on one of the rickety chairs, praying my face and my story of half-truths would find me a job.

  “You lookin’ for me?” The man stood in the door, gawking.

  “Mister Burke?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m Pearl Hart. You’ve probably heard of me.” I held out my hand the way I imagined a queen—or an opera singer�
��would do.

  He took it and held it, wondering what to do next.

  “I see you haven’t,” I said, pulling away and wishing I could wipe my fingers on my skirt. “Well, Phoenix is a little out of the way, I guess. But growing. I am a singer. I’ve been at the Chicago World’s Fair since it opened, singing with the Sandeman Company. And I understand that you’re in need of an entertainer here.”

  He stalled for time. “Well…”

  I took matters into my own hands. “Mister Burke,” I said, “I’ll sing for you. You can make up your own mind.” Without giving him a chance to reply I stood up and sang that sad and lovely ballad, “After the Ball.” It had brought me luck before. Perhaps it would again.

  When I’d finished, the applause began. Burke had forgotten to close the office door, and my admirers from the saloon had crowded near to listen.

  “We ain’t heard singing like that since we been here,” one of them said.

  “Give her a job, Burke,” said another. “Hattie’s got a tin ear. Besides, she ain’t much to look at.”

  I bowed at my audience, then looked at Burke, tilting my head so that the green plume swept past my cheek. “Well, Mister Burke?”

  “I think we can make a deal here.” He offered me a chair. “Sit down, Miss er…?”

  “Miss Hart,” I supplied. “Miss Pearl Hart of Chicago.”

  “Great name.”

  “So everyone says.” I took a deep breath. “My salary for the Sandeman Company was fifty dollars a week,” I said. Then added: “Payable in advance, of course.”

  Burke’s eyes bulged. “Well now…,” he began, “well, now…like you said, this ain’t Chicago. I can’t afford big city prices.”

  The old tightwad! I’d done my homework. The Valverde was the classiest saloon in town, and he could afford twice that.

  I stood up. I’d learned enough about bluffing from Frank to keep my face expressionless. “What a pity.” I offered my hand once more. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment down the street.”

  “Well, now…,” he repeated himself, stalling for time. “Don’t run off, Miss Hart. Sit down, sit down. I think we can come to an agreement.”