The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

by John Horst

“I brought you some things.”

  “From the desert?”

  “No, no, old girl, we spent some time in San Sebastian.”

  “Oh, with the whores, no doubt.”

  “Oh, you are a bad old girl.”

  “And you are a bad old man.” She felt him next to her. “You are like a young colt, old man.”

  “I’ve been thinking of you, old girl. I’ve been thinking of you all the time.”

  “Everyone is good?”

  “Yes, all good. Arvel’s better, Chica is alright, little Rebecca’s in the convent down in Bisbee.” He sat up and undressed. The gifts would wait until morning. “And Rebecca’s got a new little sister.”

  “Ay, I’ve heard of this thing.” Pilar climbed onto the old man and kissed him gently on the mouth, then covered it with her hand. “No more talking.”

  “I need to say one thing,” he was beginning to become distracted. Pilar was a powerful woman for her age. “I love you old girl. I don’t think I’ve ever said that, but I love you and I think it’s time I made an honest woman of you.”

  She let out a little sound, a happy sound and went back to the business at hand. “No more talking old man.”

  In a little while she finally spoke. “Roberto, I cannot marry you.”

  “Oh?” He was drifting off to sleep and this awakened him. “This is silly superstition, Pilar. I will not die just because you marry me. It is silly and I expect more out of you.” He looked over at his clothes, too far away to get up for a cigarette.

  “I am from the land, Roberto. I am a peon, a peasant. I would not be worthy of even a shop owner, much less a hacendado. It is not the right thing, Roberto.”

  He was getting a little angry now. He sat up and walked to his cigarettes. He found one and a match. He smoked for a moment. He thought hard about what he was going to say and he could see his love in bed, lying on her side, facing away from him, breathing quietly. She was such a hard head.

  “You listen to me, Pilar.” He waited until she turned to look him in the eye. She’d not heard this tone ever from the kind and gentle Uncle Bob. When he had her attention he continued.

  “You are not in Mexico. You are in my land now. And I don’t mean the US. I mean you are on my land, my land and Arvel’s land and Chica’s land, and your land. I make the goddamned rules here. And what I say is the law around here!

  Hacendado! I cannot believe you’d use that term on me. I am not a hacendado! I am not a tyrant, and we do not live like royalty with serfs and vassals. This is not India with a caste system. This is not Mexico. This is the goddamned united states of Robert! Goddamn it Pilar, you’ve really made me angry.” And we was, but not as angry as he appeared to the woman. A little theatre was in order as far as he could see. He stopped and smoked. Waited.

  “I understand.”

  “Then, what shall it be, woman? I am tired. I want to go to sleep. What shall it be?”

  Dick Welles sat in his new sack suit at the office of the Northern Mining Company. He waited patiently and squirmed in the hard wooden chair until his son sauntered out from the little corner in one of the back offices that had no windows. He’d been working here for six years as a clerk. He had not seen his father for more than seven.

  “Hello, father.” He was shocked to see the old fellow in such a state. Dick grinned sheepishly and held up a hand.

  “I know, boy. I’ve looked worse.”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen.” He was able to relax. When his father called him boy, it was always a good sign.

  They walked together to the hotel restaurant next door and looked over the bill of fare in silence.

  Michael finally spoke up. “I understand you had quite a time in Mexico.”

  Dick nodded.

  “And Captain Walsh’s little girl’s okay?”

  “Yes, all good, Michael. All good.”

  He shuffled in his chair and looked at his son more carefully. He looked good. Michael had beaten the hold that the laudanum and gambling had over him, going on his sixth year.

  He’d taken up housekeeping with a retired prostitute and they had a child together. Dick had helped them over the years, but would never come to visit or even acknowledge that he had a grandchild. Even after his wife had died, and he spent many lonely nights at home, he just could not bring himself to get involved. Now everything was about to change. He swallowed all his stoic pride and decided to just come out with it.

  “I figured something out down there in Mexico, Michael.” His son looked at his father, wondering if it was not some man impersonating his father.

  “Oh?”

  “I figured out that I’m a colossal ass and I’m mighty sorry for all I’ve done, or I guess I should say, haven’t done.” He looked his son in the eye but wanted to look away. “That was a damned fool and prideful thing, and I know it now. Sal seems a good lady…” Michael snorted and his father held up his hand. “Yes, a lady, and I’m damned proud of how you and she put yourselves in order.”

  “That’s the first time you called her by her name, father.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be the last. And little Rick, I’ve been away from him too long…”

  “Actually, you’ve never seen the boy.”

  “Fair enough.” He managed a weak smile. “Fair enough, Michael. You named the boy after me, and I could not even give the courtesy of a visit. And I’ve sent you money over the years, but that doesn’t cut it. I’m damned sorry, Michael. Can you forgive me?”

  Michael sat back in his chair and whistled lowly through his teeth. “My God, you must’ve had a time down there in Mexico, father.” He sat up in his chair and leaned forward. Dick was half worried his boy was going to tell him to go to hell, and Dick wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.

  Instead, the man put out his hand for Dick to shake. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a checkbook. “That is something I’ve been meaning to make right, father.” He wrote a check out quickly and handed it over. “This is what you’ve been giving us all these years, and I thank you for it, father, but if you’d have come around to see us, you’d know we didn’t need it. I’ve been saving it up to give back to you.”

  Dick took the check and stared at the number. “Was it all that much?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  Their food came and they ate quietly for a while. Michael was in a good mood now. He spoke constantly of his little boy and the boarding house he and his wife had run successfully for the past four years. He finally looked over at his father.

  “You know, dad.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Arvel Walsh came to see me a few years ago.”

  “No, I didn’t. What did old Arvel have to say?”

  “He said, be patient with your father. He said that you are the best man he knows in the world, but you are more hard headed than any mule he’s ever trained in all his twenty five years in the business.” Dick blushed and stared at his plate. “He’s the reason why I never gave up on you.”

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  They talked well into the afternoon and then Dick waited for his son to finish work. He went home with him to the boarding house. He’d gotten a bouquet of roses for Sal and candy for little Rick.

  “Salvatora, this is my father.”

  He held his hat in his hand as he came through the door. Sal had never clapped eyes on her father-in-law, yet she knew him immediately. Her husband had his father’s eyes.

  “Ma’am.” He bowed nearly to the waist. “Please forgive me.”

  She took him by the arm and brought him into her home. He was welcome. Little Rick had come out of his room, took one look at him and smiled.

  “Rick, this is your grandfather.”

  “Capitan Welles, of the Arizona Rangers!” Little Rick held out his hand and his grandfather shook it. “Le conozco!”

  “En Inglés”, Rick, en Inglés.” His father admonished him gently.

  “No, no!” Dick smiled at the
m, “Es muy bueno.”

  The child led the old man into his bedroom where a shrine was set up in his grandfather’s honor. Pictures and newspaper clippings, an Arizona Rangers badge, and other memorabilia adorned every wall of the room. Dick looked up at his son and had to look away. It was the first time in his life he’d wanted to cry.

  That evening they sat on the big front porch and watched the town go to sleep. Little Rick came out and kissed his grandfather’s cheek. He’d not known such a thing for many many years and it brought back fond memories. He watched Sal walk with the child back into the home.

  “She’s a beauty, Michael. They’re both a pair of beauties.”

  Michael got a kick out of his father’s new sensitivity. He decided to be a little bold. “In all these years, dad, what was the thing that made you the most put off?”

  Dick looked over at his boy. He was not angry at the question. It was time for candor.

  He began to speak when Michael finished his thought, “was it my nonsense, or the fact that Sal was a whore…”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  “She was a whore, dad, plain and simple, hell, everyone knows it.”

  “I know it, but it’s an ugly word. It is a demeaning word.”

  “Or was it because she’s a Mexican?”

  Dick sat back and lit a smoke. He breathed the tobacco in deeply. “It was everything, Michael. It was everything.”

  “And, so why the change?”

  “Michael,” He turned and looked his son in the eye. Michael looked like a young, fit version of Dick Welles, and the fact of it made what he was going to say that much more significant.

  “I’m seventy years old, Michael. All my life, I’ve been fightin’ to make something of myself. I had in mind that you’d be something too, something big, like Arvel Walsh’s people. You, and what you’ve done, mixing with prostitutes, carrying on, mixing with Mexicans, that didn’t fit into my plan. I was so ashamed of you, Michael. I just pretended you didn’t exist. I’ve always held myself up to a high standard and I could not get beyond all that.”

  “I see.” Michael felt wounded by his father’s words.

  “Then, I finally grew up, Michael. After seventy years on this earth, I finally grew up. Can you believe that?”

  “And this foray into Mexico did all this?”

  “Yes and no.” He looked at the railing around the porch, studied it as if it held the words he wanted to use. “I almost found out the grand secret down there, if you get my meaning.”

  “Well, I imagine you almost met your maker at least a dozen times with the war and your rangering.”

  “Not so, Michael, not so. You’d think that, but I’ve led a charmed life. But down there, it came close. And there was something else. I swear, boy, I stared into the devil’s own lair, I saw something down there that was unnatural, something beyond what decent folks should ever know. It was a wakeup call.”

  “So, you’ve learned to love Mexicans and whores and opium eaters?” His son grinned sheepishly.

  “Well, it’s not that simple. Let’s call it an awakening. I guess old Arvel Walsh had a lot to do with it. I just don’t know, Michael. I just don’t know, but can we at least agree, that maybe I’ve finally figured out that it isn’t my place to look down my nose at you because you’ve had problems, or little Sal because she had to do things that she didn’t want to do, for whatever reason, or that she has a different shade of skin than me.” He laughed at his own foolish words. “Arvel told me a quote one time when we were on the trail, from some minister fellow, a Scotsman, I think, it was; be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. I think that’s how it went.” He felt foolish saying it.

  “I’m not a philosopher, Michael. I leave that up to the learned class, the men like Arvel Walsh. But I know that you’re my son, and I’m damned proud of you. You’re a good man and a good husband and father. You have a beautiful wife and she’s a good mother, and you’ve got a fine son, and he’s going to be a good man. And, if you’ll have me, I’d like to be a part of it.”

  “You’re most welcome, dad. You’ve always been welcome.” Michael smiled and looked off in the distance, down the street at some activity. “Fighting a hard battle.” He looked back at his father. “That about sums it up.”

  “For you?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you now, dad. If I could, I’d drink a whole bottle of that shit right this minute and be happy to do it.”

  Dick smiled, knowingly. “Your mother said it was all her fault. You got it in your blood, from her side of the family, whole line of drunks and opium smokers.”

  “Like Uncle Al.”

  “Like Uncle Al.”

  “I used to think about him a lot when I was really low down. You know, your money and Sal is what saved me.”

  “Was it?”

  “She used to take care of me. One day I looked at her and told her I didn’t want to live this way anymore. You know what she said to me?”

  “What?”

  “She laughed, and said, you rich gringos can pick and choose your misery. She said, I never wanted to live this way.” He grinned at his father. She’d just turned seventeen, wise beyond her years. She’s always been so much wiser than me, than anyone else I’ve ever known.

  “Out of the mouth of babes, eh, son?”

  “Yep. And then I got my ass cleaned up, and Sal and I took the money you sent me and we came here and no one knew what we were in San Francisco, at least not initially, and no one knew about Sal and she worked and worked and saved and took care of me to keep me on the straight and narrow, and, well, even though I’d drink a bottle of laudanum right now, I don’t do it.” He laughed cynically.

  They sat a while and said nothing. Finally, Michael looked over at his father. He was an old man. He was old beyond his years and Michael knew that part of that age was his fault. He finally spoke; “I’m not so sure you’re the ass that you paint yourself to be.”

  “No?” Dick blew smoke at the street.

  “No. Arvel told me about how much nicer you were than you let on. How you were the one who often held him back. I never used to believe it, but now I do. You aren’t as much the hard case as you’d like to think.” He laughed again. “He told me about how good you always were to Mexicans and Chinese and Negroes and how you changed your tune with his wife. He said you’d talk a big game, but your actions never did match your words.” He grinned broader. “The old coot couldn’t keep his eyes of my Sal, by the way. He sure has a weakness for these Mexican gals.”

  “Oh, well, I can tell you, Michael, Sal and Maria could be sisters.” He suddenly felt embarrassed. “You know, Arvel would never do anything like that, you know…”

  “Oh, no, dad. Didn’t mean he would, and he wasn’t crass about it. I’m just sayin’ he sure loves Mexican women.”

  Dick smiled at his boy and became sullen. “Well I sure let you down, didn’t I, Michael?”

  “No dad, you let yourself down. You missed out on a few years with little Rick, and you missed out on the love of a wonderful little gal.” He pointed with a nod of his head toward his bedroom, where Sal was by now sleeping. “But, you’ve only let yourself down, and now it’s time to make up for that lost time.” He stood up and stretched, faced his father and put out his hand.

  Things would be different from now on.

  The next morning Dick Welles went to the bank and opened a new account. He deposited his son’s check and added another thousand in the name of Richard Michael Welles.

  Mother Superior rode next to the brother blacksmith from Bisbee to the Walsh ranch. It was a glorious morning and everyone was happy. Rebecca and Marta rode in the back, amongst their many N.S. Stein boxes. They tatted and talked and laughed the whole way. Marta could be periodically seen, lifting her head, breathing in the cigarette smoke, like a cat who’d just discovered her master preparing fish for dinner. The Mother shook her head slowly from side to side, a brief look of consternation, but said nothing.<
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  By late morning they rounded a bend in the road and it could be seen off in the distance. Rebecca was so excited and proud to show off her home to the little party. “There it is!”

  Marta looked up from her work. She surveyed the land as if she were a potential buyer. A bell could be heard ringing off in the distance, announcing their arrival and when they finally approached the mule ranch, everyone was waiting for them. Like two princesses home from a long journey, their court was standing in a proper receiving line to welcome them home.

  Rebecca could not wait for the plodding horses to get there and she jumped out, ran to her father and literally knocked him to the ground. “Daddy, Daddy!”

  Arvel held her tightly, as if she were an overzealous puppy threatening to squirm out of his grip. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head, then her cheeks. He didn’t try to stand up, and they lay together for several moments as the others looked on.

  Finally, Rebecca helped him to his feet. She held his hand and led him to the newly arrived carriage. “Everyone, this is my Daddy.”

  Arvel shook hands with the brother and bowed while tipping his hat to the Mother Superior. “Ma’am, I am indebted to you.”

  The mother superior blushed and looked down at the ground. Arvel Walsh, despite his years and present infirmity, was a handsome and gallant man.

  “And this is Marta.” He beamed at the girl as he held out his hand to her. Marta shrugged up her little shoulders, a new habit she’d acquired now that she was among human beings. She felt, was beginning to feel more often humble these days.

  She extended her hand and Arvel made a great bow as he took it and kissed it gently on the knuckle. He took off his hat and placed it over his heart. “You are much taller than I expected, my girl.”

  Rebecca stood, proud that the two were finally together. She felt not the slightest twinge of regret or jealousy. She loved them both, little Marta, and her Daddy, and, just like with her mother, she was certain there was enough love to go around.

  “Daddy, you might get a big letter from N.S. Stein.” Arvel smiled at her, now focusing on the little girls’ couture. “It wasn’t Marta’s fault, Daddy. I just got a little carried away.” She looked to the back of the carriage at the many boxes.