Big Maria (31 page)

He took delicate steps down the mine shaft, throwing the light from the flashlight in front of him.

Timber supports were visible every six feet, some in better condition than others. He could see areas of the tunnel that had partially caved in, rocks forming in piles. At the end of the visible light in one direction, it looked like it might be completely blocked. The more Harry studied the condition of the construction, the more the possibility of complete collapse loomed. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to explore.

“Harry! You there?” Ricky’s voice shouted from above.

“Where am I going to go?”

“I’m dropping down a line. Tie the rope to it and I’ll draw it back up.”

“I didn’t think you had anything that’d reach.”

“We figured it out.”

R
icky and Frank stood in their underwear and laceless shoes. They double-checked the knots on the makeshift line made from their clothes, socks, belts, a handkerchief, and shoelaces. They had discussed tearing the clothes into strips but decided that should only serve as a last resort. They couldn’t remember which burro had carried their extra clothes. Nobody wants to be stuck in an artillery range in only their tighty-whiteys.

“Think it’ll reach?” Frank said.

“We can get a couple more feet with our underpants if we need it.”

Frank looked down at the sagging elastic of his underwear. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Ricky got on his belly and snake-crawled to the edge of the hole. Frank stayed behind on his hands and knees, feeding their clothes-rope one foot at a time. Ricky dropped the end into the hole, guiding it down. It grazed the side of the narrow shaft, dropping dust and pebbles into Harry’s face. Harry shook the dust off, holding his hands up for the line.

“Can you see it, Harry?” Ricky said.

“Another ten feet.”

Ricky looked back at the other end. They looked like they were going to have enough.

“You naked up there? I knew you guys partied.”

“We got our underwears on,” Ricky said.

“Sure you do,” Harry said with a laugh.

Ricky felt a tug on the line and gripped down on the leg of jeans. “Don’t pull hard. I don’t got much slack. I drop this thing, we’re done.”

“Sorry. Got excited,” Harry said. “I’ll tie the rope on.”

Ricky waited, gripping the clothes too tightly, his knuckles yellow against the sunburned red of his hand. He felt the weight of the rope.

“All yours,” Harry shouted.

“I’ll pull it up. We’ll tie it down. Get you and the stuff,” Ricky said triumphantly.

“What’re you going to tie it to?” Harry asked.

Ricky turned and scanned the crater, as he carefully pulled up the line. The entire area was flat and treeless and rockless, with a whole lot of nothing but the holes they had dug. There was nothing to tie nothing onto nothing.

“I
can’t hold your weight,” Frank said.

“Yeah. I know.” Ricky’s head hurt from the thinking.

Frank and Ricky lay on their backs and stared at the scattered clouds in the dying light. They didn’t want to leave Harry in the mine overnight. They had about an hour to decide their options before it would be too dark for safety.

“I can’t climb down a rope,” Frank said.

“Yeah. I know.” Ricky needed an aspirin, but of course the aspirin was in the burro’s pack. And the burro was down in the mine with Harry. And also dead, not that that impacted the effectiveness of the aspirin.

It was like a puzzle. A brainteaser. It was like that game with the farmer and the fox and the chicken and the river. He couldn’t remember how it went, but he did remember that he hated that game. The whole thing was stupid. Why would a farmer want to get a fox across a river? The farmer would shoot the fox and then bring the chicken and the feed over. Or was it a dog? It might have been a snake.

“Ricky, you still with me?” Frank’s voice snapped him back. Thinking had always slowed down Ricky’s thoughts.

“Let’s talk it out,” Ricky said. “The two of us, we can lift Harry and the supplies out of that hole. Right?”

“Sure. You’re strong. I bet you could do it yourself.”

“Okay. That’s a start. We drop down the rope. We get the supplies. We get Harry up here. Then it’s all three of us. And all our stuff. Nobody’s trapped. That puts us at square one. But we’re trying to get to the end of the maze, not the beginning. We could
leave Harry down there. Let him roam around, see what he finds. He’s already down there.”

“It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Mine’s dark no matter what time,” Ricky said.

“He can’t get far on that leg.”

“I should be down there. You think you two can hold my weight? You don’t got to lift, just keep the rope steady.”

“Borderline. If we brace ourselves, tie the rope around our waists, maybe. We outweigh you, right? But what’s the difference? Then you’re in the mine, not Harry. Same difference.”

“Totally different. I can get around. Like when we went diving. Same thing, but no water. Even with my arm, I can climb up and down the rope probably. I can move through the mines or shafts or tunnels or whatever they’re called. And we don’t got to worry about Harry getting hurt or trapped.”

Frank turned his head, looking at Ricky’s profile. “Yeah, we don’t got to worry about Harry. Don’t mean something can’t happen to you. You hurt yourself, a rock falls on you, a cave-in. Hell, a spider bite, whatever, you’re screwed. Anything happens so you can’t climb the rope, we can’t get you back up, you die.”

“The gold’s down there. Someone’s got to get it. I got the best shot. And I got faith in God and gold and my family and that weird, soapy head and everything else to know that I’ll be safe.”

“That don’t comfort me. Faith is the surest way to get killed. You can believe, but don’t forget to watch your ass. Something happens, I’m going to feel like hell for not talking you out of this.”

H
arry was the last thing they pulled up. They had lifted all the supplies first, which had been considerably lighter and less squiggly. Harry wasn’t a tall man. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in density. Ricky couldn’t tell if he was getting weaker or if Harry was made out of some kind of fatty metal.

As the remainder of the sun disappeared, Ricky and Frank pulled Harry out of the hole. A one-armed guy and a sick geezer weren’t the optimum pairing, but inch by inch with sweat pouring from their faces, they found a rhythm.

Ricky lifted with his good arm, but couldn’t hold the weight with his bad arm. At first, the rope slid and burned through the weak grip of his withered hand. So Ricky pulled Harry up a foot, and Frank would use what strength he had to hold the rope steady for the second it took Ricky to readjust his good arm. They repeated the process dozens of times. It was slow, hard work, but after fifteen or twenty minutes, Harry crawled toward them, clawing at the dirt and looking back at the hole.

Exhausted, each man found a spot against the crater wall farthest from the two holes. Harry parceled out the food. It wasn’t exactly a feast, but one could do worse than a bag of chips, a box of Hostess CupCakes, and a handful of Fruit Roll-Ups. Water had never tasted so sweet. Frank rolled a joint, lit it, and passed it. Ricky didn’t see the pot as a breach of his sobriety, like taking a doctor’s medicine.

After one hit of the pot, they all broke into simultaneous laughter. No one had said a thing. It was just one of those synchronous moments when the three men were all thinking the same thing, seeing things the same way, seeing the ridiculousness of their situation, the ridiculousness of everything.

The joint got passed until it was almost gone. When it was little more than a quarter inch, Frank popped it into his mouth and swallowed.

They had almost forgotten where they were, sinking into the illusion of a weekend camping trip or overnight hike, but the beating sound of a helicopter returned them to reality. No one bothered moving. There was no place to hide and unless the helicopter shined a light directly on them, they weren’t going to be seen.

The chopper flew straight overhead, its lights streaking the sky and its blades thumping out the silence. The men watched it recede into the distant night sky.

F
inding a comfortable position, Frank squirmed on his back and stared at the infinity of stars in the sky. The Army appeared to be taking the night off from its usual barrage—maybe it was a holiday. No bugs or birds or other sounds of nature dampened the silence. It remained desert quiet. Peaceful in a land for war.

While he may have had his doubts at moments, Frank was glad he had gone on this stupid adventure. The gold was a screwy goal, but Harry and Ricky were the only real friends that he’d made since his closest buddies had died.

When his best friend Chocho had died in ’03, he had been the last of the gang to drop dead, leaving only Frank. Frank had felt completely alone. He and Chocho had known each other since grade school. Even in adulthood, they rarely went a week without at least talking on the phone. That relationship was special, but also unrepeatable. So he never tried. He went lone wolf and repelled everyone except his family. And they repelled him.

Sure, they loved him, but Christ, they weren’t his friends. Mercedes was protective, but intolerable. The boys were dutiful, but adolescent and always high. Not exactly the makings of anything more than grandfatherly time, the bond more spit than glue.

And then Ricky and Harry came along. Crazy, stupid, and tragic, but kindred spirits. Three men with nothing to lose. What would he do with the gold? Who cares? Give it away. But he hoped for Ricky and Harry that they found something. They deserved it.

Old age was odd. Frank never felt like he was very good at it. Didn’t want to be. Funny how when an oldster does something a young man would do, it’s either cute or pathetic. Screw them. Quiet hospital beds are for quitters. I’ll do what I do. I’ll take the rocky earth as my bed any day of the week.

A good boxer steps it up in the later rounds. He doesn’t let up. Those are the most difficult, they take the most endurance, but they are the rounds that win or lose the fight. Frank was going to keep swinging until the final bell. Frank was going to shock Death with a Ron Lyle haymaker and then kick him in the sack when he was on the ground. If it’s ever okay to fight dirty, it’s when you’re fighting for your life.
So bring it on, you bony son of a bitch. Death don’t confront me none
.

“W
hat is that sound?” Bernardo rose to one elbow in the aisle of the school bus. Tiny spiders scattered like dust motes around him. He shook his hands and arms, more spiders drifting to the bus floor.

“Some kind of machinery?” Ramón sat up on the bench seat. He licked his lips and tried to spit, but nothing came out. His dry mouth tasted like cabbage and broccoli left in the sun.

They got to the window at the same time, rubbing the greasy residue until they could see shapes.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ramón said.

Neither Ramón nor Bernardo had ever seen a tank before, but they had read enough comic books to know that that was what they were looking at. Bernardo thought a tank would be bigger, but it was big enough to be scary.

“What is it?” Mercedes sat against the back door of the bus, her legs splayed in front of her.

“A tank. An awesome tank,” Ramón said.

“Get down. Did they see you?”

Ramón and Bernardo ducked. The grinding clank of the tank grew closer and then stopped. The idling engine grumbled ominously outside. Nobody moved, waiting for some sort of clue as to the best course of action.

Mercedes poked her head up to look out the window. “What’s it doing? It’s sitting there. Don’t they have someplace to be? Something to blow up?”

Ramón lifted his head to the bottom of the window to take a peek. “The cannon part is turning toward us.”

“This is bad,” Bernardo said. “They are target practicing and this bus is the target they are practicing with. We must run. Now.”

Bernardo scrambled to the front door and hit the hardpack at a sprint. He tore around the side of the bus, getting as far away as he could. After a moment, Bernardo looked back. Ramón was right behind him. Mercedes was not. She was nowhere in sight.

The cannon of the tank pointed directly at the bus.

“Where is she? What do we do?” Ramón stopped and watched the tank.

Bernardo stopped as well. “Mother will be fine. She just—”

The cannon fired. The sound was huge. The bus didn’t so much explode as leap off the ground. Not high, but when a bus jumps five feet, it’s still impressive. It looked similar to when Bernardo and Ramón would blow up cans with firecrackers. No fire, just destruction and volume.

“Mother?” Ramón said, looking first at the mangled metal of the bus, and then at the tank. He charged the tank. A twenty-second sprint cleared the distance. He clamored up the side of the hulking machine and banged his fists on the top hatch. He clawed at its edges, trying to pry it open with his fingers.

Bernardo walked in a daze toward the blackened husk of the school bus. There was some smoke, but no fire. Reaching the edge and kicking at a chunk of twisted metal, he turned to the tank. He watched Ramón jump up and down on top of the hatch, until it opened and sent his brother flying backward.

Bernardo approached the tank. A blond man in a strange uniform popped out of the hatch, his gaze darting between Ramón and Bernardo, bewildered.

“You killed my mother,” Bernardo said.

“No one was to be here. Who are you? Does your tribe live in these mountains?” the blond man said through a thick accent. It was less exaggerated than the Swedish Chef on
The Muppet Show
, but Bernardo was sure it was Swedish.

“You killed my mother,” Ramón echoed.

The Swede turned to Ramón, who had fallen to the ground. He was covered in dirt and rising to a knee. Bernardo rounded the side of the tank as the man jumped down between them, his hand on the holster on his hip.

Bernardo held up his hands. “Going for that gun—even thinking about bringing a firearm into this—would be a mistake, Drago. My mother was in that bus.”