Lord of California

by Andrew Valencia

  I know. I remember.

  She nodded and proceeded to take the paper plate up by the rim and lick the remaining sauce like a cat lapping up the last bits of food in its bowl. That whole business with Jennifer felt like an episode from the distant past, even though it had occurred only a day before our tussle on the porch steps. Ellie had stayed up all night by her mother’s side, and by the next morning she was stumbling from room to room in a state of hostile anxiety, snapping at everyone and anything and making the whole household nervous along with her. Looking back on it, she was bound to let loose on somebody that week, so I was glad it happened to the person on the farm who deserved it most. It was Beth who brought her betrayal to our attention, who found the phone and smuggled it from one house to the other so we could inspect it firsthand.

  There’s only one number saved on it, she’d said, and the area code is from somewhere on the coast.

  There are times when the people in your family surprise you, when their response to a situation defies everything you’ve come to expect from them, though not necessarily in a bad way. For me, that moment came when Ellie stood and rose up out of the ashes of her mother’s depression and went marching across the yard to bring war down upon the heads of Jennifer and her two trembling brats. It’s almost comical, seeing a hundred-pound girl pulling a grown woman out the door by her hair. Almost. Until you hear the shrieks of the older woman, and the wailing of her kids and parents beside her, and you have to run up and restrain your sister from doing something she might regret. The rest of the family, meanwhile, had already gathered outside, ready to judge the situation for themselves according to who was really in the right.

  Who are you going to believe? Jennifer asked, circling round with her arms outstretched. This girl’s crazy! She’s an unstable lunatic just like her mother!

  She tried to sew discord among us, right up to the end. But the weight of evidence against her was damning. Will and Logan moved her personal belongings out from the house while me and Ellie stood guard over the seething, indignant Judas. They took care not to damage the kids’ stuff, but as for Jennifer’s expensive wardrobe, they showed no concern, dumping one pile of clothes after another into the trunk of her car, unfolded and unstowed. With as long as it took to send them on their way, our combined rage had all but fizzled out by the end, leaving only guilt and uncertainty to take its place. The look on her kids’ faces was the hardest thing to bear. All of history contained within those two pouting mugs. Someday they would think back on what had happened that day like exiled aristocrats dreaming of the old country, remembering us only as the vicious rebels who had driven them from their homes, while our little brothers and sisters, in turn, would be brought up with stories about how their self-proclaimed betters had once tried to swindle them. An entire branch of the family tree, hacked off in one clean stroke. And their crime was still less severe than what the prisoner was guilty of.

  I guess I’ll have to keep handling him on my own, I said. Though I’d feel a lot better if we could reach an understanding about what needs to be done. One way or another, we’ve got to end this soon, before it gets any more out of hand.

  Ellie leaned an elbow on the table and propped her head up with her hand. Agreed, she said. But if reason won’t work, and faith won’t either, then we’re not left with a whole lot of options. I don’t like to say it, but it might be better if we don’t give ourselves too much time to think on it, or we might become so paralyzed with doubt that we never reach a decision.

  I could take care of it. Even now, I believe I could make myself do it, for the good of family. But I need to know if you can handle it. Knowing I did something like that for you.

  She looked across the table at her mother, who was working so contentedly at her stitching you’d have sworn she had earplugs in. She didn’t, though, and probably wouldn’t have used them no matter what grim subjects we discussed. All those years married to Dad, she must’ve learned to drown out what she didn’t want to hear. Same as the rest of them.

  I wouldn’t starve myself out of guilt, if that’s what you mean, Ellie said. All the same, though, I’d like to avoid it if there’s a way. You said it yourself, bad things happen to people who go down that path. Karma has a way of balancing the scales.

  Karma is a pagan lie. It’s not something we need to worry about.

  As Ellie stood up from the table, I thought at first that she was going to carry her soiled plate to the trash bin. It wasn’t until she’d been standing a few seconds that I noticed the look on her face and turned to see what she was seeing, though I was in no way prepared for what was there when I saw it. Dawn stood trembling under the aura of the florescent kitchen light, soft tears falling down her face. The prisoner stood directly behind her, one arm across her waist, the other pressing the sharp point of the corkscrew into her jugular. The chain trailed behind him back into the hallway. He must’ve used the corkscrew to pry one of the bars on the bed rail loose. Sandra dropped her sewing to the floor. I stood and stepped forward and spread my arms out to signal her and Ellie to keep back.

  Not another step, he said. Where is it? Where are you keeping it?

  Keeping what?

  The car. The one I drove here. Where are you hiding it?

  Who says we’re hiding it?

  Right. Like you’d really keep a Lexus out front for all the pickers to see.

  I closed my eyes and opened them again. I breathed out slowly. The butcher knife was resting on the counter not five feet behind them, its blade held in a scabbard of sauce and hard white grease. I felt like the sheriff from one of the shows we liked to watch, talking calmly to the armed madman when all I wanted was to get a clear shot. It’s in a supermarket parking lot, I said. Few miles up the road. It’s safe there. We just checked on it this morning.

  Lot of good it does me there, he said.

  His dark eyes were always shifty, but now they were zipping around like two trapped squirrels searching for a path to freedom, and growing more desperate as they failed to find one. Dawn, on the other hand, appeared the model hostage. In spite of her tears, the rest of her face was marked by the most serene, albeit vacant, stillness. Clearly she was somewhere far away, deep inside that hidden place girls and women go to when they can’t control what happens to their bodies and things get too awful to handle.

  All right, he said. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to bring me the satellite phone I had on me when I first arrived. You have exactly one minute to find it before I start drawing blood. One minute. You hear me?

  I got it, I said, and I moved to pass through the rest of the kitchen and into the hallway. But then he took several steps back, pulling Dawn’s limp body along with him.

  No. Not you. You. He gestured to Ellie with the tip of his chin. You get it, he said. Sixty seconds, starting now.

  Ellie stood still, watching him, before the ticking of the clock began to weigh on her and she rushed off down the hall with her bare toes scraping the carpet. The prisoner moved himself and Dawn to the side of the kitchen, putting more space between them and the counter. If I could find a way to get a hold of the knife, I was sure that overpowering him would be easy. He may have been older than me, and crazy to boot, but he was still a soft-ass from the city, and two weeks tied to a bed hadn’t made him any harder. The problem, of course, was Dawn, and how close I could hope to get before he made good on his threat. As it was, the point of the corkscrew was pressed in tight against her windpipe, in such a way that it wouldn’t have taken more than a knee-jerk flinch on his part to break the skin. Slowly I raised my hands above my head.

  You’re not going to do this, I said. You’re not going to hurt her.

  He smiled. I warned you about underestimating me, he said. Your sister has thirty seconds and then the whore gets skewered.

  Don’t call her that.

  You mean you don’t know? This girl was a regular old harlot before Dad lifted her up. Spent more time on her knees than a Catholic con
vert.

  I kept my eyes on him, if only to keep from giving myself away by glancing at the knife. All this time I could’ve guessed what Dawn’s past was like even without being told. It never bothered me, really, in the same way I refused to let Mom’s past bother me, shameful as it was. Ellie once accused me of using the pain of the women around me to serve my own vanity. She may have been right. But now all I could think of was finding a way to free Dawn from the grasp of the vengeful madman in front of me. The point of the corkscrew had moved slightly, revealing a wine-red mark on the flesh where it once had rested. I was so tense I didn’t notice Sandra approaching from behind me.

  Please, she said. Her voice was more than a whisper but less than anything else. You don’t have to do this. Whatever problems we have, it’s not worth hurting an innocent person.

  Innocent? He asked the question without sarcasm, as if the mere fact that she’d use the word was baffling and fascinating to him. No, he said. She’s not innocent. You all knew I was chained up back there. Someone has to pay, one way or another.

  The shot rang out so suddenly, me and Sandra both jumped back and bumped our thighs against the side of the table. His collapse was immediate—he didn’t even have time to react until he was already on the floor. His screams filled the kitchen as Ellie came in from the hallway. She discharged the empty shell and planted the butt of the rifle squarely on the linoleum and kicked the corkscrew to the corner. Then she turned to Dawn.

  Are you all right?

  Dawn was shaking in Sandra’s arms. Now that the danger had passed, the realization of just how close it had come seemed to be hitting her all at once. I can’t, she said. I can’t stand it. I won’t be threatened like this. Not here.

  You won’t be, Ellie said. Not ever again. She looked at me, then, to see how I was doing. It’s embarassing to admit, but my mouth was hanging open. She nodded to the space on the floor where the prisoner lay writhing. See what the damage is, she said.

  I grabbed the knife off the counter and used it to cut away the section of pant leg where the bullet had gone through. More blood than I had ever seen was pouring from the wound. Tears streamed down the prisoner’s face as he completed his final transition from villain to victim.

  Help me, he said. I’m dying. Dear God, I’m really dying.

  You’re not dying, I said. The bullet tore through the side of your calf. It’s not pretty, but it’s a flesh and muscle wound.

  I won’t say it wasn’t a let-down, and in fact I think he could hear the disappointment in my voice as I gave the diagnosis. Pretty soon most of the extended Temple family was crowding into our kitchen at the same time. Ellie, Beth, and Katie all worked at comforting Dawn while Sandra kept watch over the little ones in the living room. Logan helped me fashion a tourniquet of sorts out of dish towels and a leather belt and together with Will we managed to get the prisoner onto his feet and lead him back down the hall to his room. Mom scowled as he hobbled by. Desgracia, she said. It was the first time I’d heard her use the word.

  The prisoner was bawling so uncontrollably it seemed doubtful to me that it could’ve all come from the pain in his leg. Maybe this was the worst thing that ever happened to him, I don’t know. Since arriving at the farm he’d been struck in the face, bashed over the head, and chained to a rail like an animal. But something about the loss of blood really triggered something in him. He was shivering as we laid him out on the bed.

  Go get some hot water and the first aid kit, I said. We’ll do the best we can to clean it up.

  A few squirts of iodine and a bandage roll later and the wound was sterile enough to leave unattended. I almost forget to refasten the chain to the bed, not that it would have made much difference. We took his bloodied bed sheets and left him whimpering in solitude.

  Get some rest, I said at the door. I’ll be back later with dinner.

  Will and Logan gave me strange looks on the way back up the hall. I didn’t blame them. Though they trusted me with the responsibility of a situation neither of them wanted to be saddled with, their patience had been shallow since Ellie’s bruises first appeared. Now the well was all but dry.

  There’s a lot of space out there in the orchards, Logan said.

  Yep, Will said. Hundred and twenty acres. Whole lot of space.

  Space enough to where you could lose something out there and never find it again.

  Lose it under the soil and it’s gone for good.

  Bury it deep enough and it’s like it never existed.

  Ain’t that the truth.

  Yep.

  I nodded along with their insinuations, but refused to commit myself to anything aloud. Back in the kitchen, Beth and Sandra were mopping up the blood, leaving damp bright streaks of red across the linoleum. I took Ellie’s arm and led her away from the group of women and secured us a private space to talk in the pantry. She still had the rifle with her, propped up at her side with her hand around the barrel, keeping it steady. Months ago, when we were still getting to know each other, I would’ve teased her and called her a lesbian and demanded that she give it back to me right away. Now I could’ve given a rat’s ass about any of it. My priorities had finally been put in order.

  Is he really going to make it? she asked.

  The wound’s shallow but it’s wide, I said. It’s liable to get infected.

  He’ll need stitches for it to heal properly.

  Yeah, but he’s not getting any. There’s no point in trying to find a doctor. Not now.

  Ellie nodded. You’re right, she said. There’s no going back from it. No way we could ever feel safe with him around.

  I’m glad you feel that way, I said. And I understand why you couldn’t do it yourself.

  Believe me. I would’ve if I could. But I was afraid of hitting Dawn by mistake. His leg was the only part of him that was open. Otherwise I’d have dropped him right then and there. Never thought I’d be able to do it. But seeing Dawn like that erased all doubt from my mind. We’ve got to take care of this before he destroys us all. You were right. You were right all along.

  Gratifying as it was to hear her praise me in earnest, instead of with her usual sarcastic double-edge, I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy any of it. No, I said. I was never anything but talk. If I’d been able to handle the meaning of the thing, I’d have done it when I had the chance.

  Don’t blame yourself for that. There was nothing you could do. He was too quick.

  I had the shot. I had him on his back with the barrel on his chest. But he took a good look at me and knew I’d never go through with it. He knew I was scared shitless about what it would mean for my soul.

  Let’s not pretend like we know how he thinks. We’ve been burned twice already.

  I need you to do me a favor.

  Of course. Anything.

  I need you to give me a couple more days with him. Before I carry it out.

  What for?

  I’m going to keep reading to him from the Bible. I’m going to try to save him before I set his spirit loose.

  Christ. What’s the point if you’re just going to kill him?

  Everything. That’s the point. If I’m going to take a life, then I have to know I gave him a fair chance to be redeemed. Or else I’ll wonder about it forever, and it’ll tear me up inside.

  She looked at me with her lips slightly parted and her tongue drawing compulsive circles over the roof of her mouth. If she tried to keep the rifle away from me, then she’d have to be the one to take care of the problem, and then before long her own thoughts would get to her, and she’d be the one in need of saving. That was my figuring, anyway, as she pondered my request, moving her cold eyes over me, like doubting Thomas looking for nail marks.

  I don’t understand you, she said. You’re my brother, but I don’t understand you.

  I know, I said. But I’m asking you, as a brother, even though you don’t understand me, to trust that this is something I have to do.

  All right. I can do that. Work your magic
, padre. See if you can make a miracle happen.

  There’s only one person who can make miracles happen, I said. And right now I’m hoping he loves Mexicans.

  We each came out of the pantry carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glass Mason jars in the other. Whatever qualms the widows had about us drinking were rendered moot by our introduction to the world of violence. We passed the afternoon sipping wine from jars right beside our mothers. No one said much of anything on any topic. We drank wine and stared at the walls and tried to ignore the groans of pain echoing softly from the far end of the hall.

  And I have seen my father drunk and uncovered, the pale immensity of him turning pink in the heat of the sun. And I have tried to turn my head away and be respectful and ignore the wine soaking into his whiskered chin. My brothers will never know the shame and fear our father could cause in a child’s tender heart. To them he is already a shade and a memory, who can do no more harm to anyone. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and there’s no greater absence than death. But to me he will always be close, terribly close, close and not forgotten. No, never that. And I have felt his breath on my neck from time to time when I’m alone. And I have heard his voice in the high narrow halls of our house, in places he never walked except that I walked there and he walks with me. Always with me. But if I am cursed then every part of me is cursed. My family is cursed and my nation, too, and even he, the curser, will feel the burden of his cursing words in time. A snake eating its own tail, a bear killing its cubs to keep the sow in heat. And I have been desperate in body and heart. And I have fallen for the fickle and depraved.

  Chris taught me about killing before he taught me about shooting. The first time we went out into the orchards, he only brought one rifle. We walked along the edge of the fence posts and out past the end of the property line and onto the neighbor’s parcel. A brown hawk glided high overhead, rising effortlessly on the slope of the wind. Chris planted the rifle butt against his shoulder and dislodged the safety and fired a single shot into the air. The hawk seemed to shrink inside itself before rolling over and falling already dead through the barrier of leaves and creaking branches that separated sky from earth. Chris reset the safety and looked at me.