Dark Plums (28 page)

“I'm sorry, Mama,” cried Adrianne, impulsively hugging her so close that she could feel the shape of her mother's bony body and small breasts. With a cry, Elena pushed her away.

“I'm sorry,” Adrianne said, bursting into tears.

Elena gave her a stony gaze.

Moving back a safe distance, Adrianne straightened her body. “I want you to know what happened to me while I was gone,” Adrianne said defiantly through her tears. “I hustled men for a living.” Ignoring the horrified look on her mother's face, Adrianne continued. “I was a prostitute. Before I married Max, I was in love with a pimp.”

Her mother gazed at her in stricken silence.

“As for Lucille, she was more than a friend,” Adrianne added.

For just an instant Adrianne thought she saw a strange flicker of joy in her mother's eyes, the trace of a smile. Or was she imagining it? Was she herself going crazy?

Then her mother shrieked hysterically, “You shouldn't be telling me these things! I don't want to hear them! Why are you telling me?”

“I want you to know the truth.” Summoning all her courage, Adrianne took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. “Three years ago I got pregnant. Gerald arranged an abortion. It would have been a girl.”

Her mother gave a cry of anguish and clutched her prayer book. Her face was white. “You are a murderer. I don't want you under my roof.
¡Solamente Dios puede salvarte!
”

“Mama!”

“I don't want to hear anymore. Just leave. Leave me. Right now.” Her mother closed her eyes and whispered, “
La niñita está muerte. Pobrecita
.”

Adrianne fled.

In her bedroom, Adrianne contemplated slashing her wrists or hanging herself with an electric cord. She could leave right now and find a motel room, but it was after two a.m. Rolling her body into a ball, she clutched her knees and sobbed convulsively. Finally, she began to doze off. Softly, the dream-mother comforted her. “
Meine leibchen
,” murmured Max's voice, floating near her. Then he vanished. After a brief, restless sleep, she awakened with the thought of seeing Lucille. How could she have cast Lucille off so heartlessly when Lucille had shown her more compassion than her own mother?

At eight in the morning she phoned Lucille's house. Lucille's husband, Barney, answered.

“Hello. This is Adrianne,” she said. “Is Lucille still in the hospital?”

“Lucille died six weeks ago.”

Completely overwhelmed, Adrianne left the house without eating or drinking anything and drove around for hours. Several times she barely escaped colliding with other cars on the highway.

Late that afternoon she drove back to her mother's house. Elena's station wagon was in the driveway, but the house was empty. When Adrianne peered through the blinds of her bedroom window, she saw her mother bent over in a faded gardening dress. She was digging up earth around a white rose bush.

In a daze, Adrianne packed and put her suitcase in the car. Then she walked back into the garden. “Mama, I'm leaving,” she said.

Elena stood up and turned around to face Adrianne. In her gloved hands she gripped a pair of rose clippers. “Where are you going?”

“I want to go to California and study music.”

“What will you live on? Your earnings as a prostitute?”

“Max left me enough money to live on for a few years. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused you pain.” Adrianne took a step towards her, but Elena backed off with an anguished look.

“
Qué Dios te salve
,” Elena murmured. Then she went quickly into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Adrianne drove west. Cities became prairie which gave way to desert. There were few cars now, and heat rose in shimmering waves from the road. Drops of sweat rolled off her face; the steering wheel was slippery. As the sun rose higher and the light became more brilliant, the heat intensified. Days later on a deserted stretch of highway in southern Arizona, she turned off at an exit where a faded sign advertised a diner. The diner was boarded up, but she kept on driving, hoping to find a restaurant further along. Instead, she found herself in isolated country, rimmed by distant mountains. The car began to make noises, and she grew uneasy. A rabbit scurried across the road just in front of the car. Far off she could see what looked like buildings or trees, but she knew they were mirages.

Suddenly she smelled burning and pulled over. Smoke was pouring out from underneath the hood. When the smoke finally stopped, she opened up the hood, but she couldn't tell exactly what was wrong. Hoping the engine hadn't been damaged, she was dismayed at seeing a puddle of water underneath the car.

Around her was a vast expanse of flat earth with a few clumps of brush that merged into a cloudless sky. For almost an hour she waited. The car was so uncomfortable that she got out and paced back and forth along the road, then sat down on the ground in the full glare of the heat. Although the dust made her cough, she didn't dare drink the last of the water in her thermos.

Finally, she saw a pickup truck in the distance coming towards her. She waved her arms and shouted. The truck stopped just behind her car. A stocky man of medium height who appeared to be Mexican or Indian got out. He had graying black hair and a copper-colored, lined face.

“Car break down?” His voice was husky, almost hoarse.

“Yes.”

After looking inside the hood, he said, “The radiator hose is okay. I think the radiator sprang a leak.”

“Is the engine damaged?”

“Can't tell.”

When she coughed, he got out a canteen and handed it to her. She gulped down big, cold mouthfuls of water. “Thank you,” she said. “I'd just about run out.”

He tucked his fingers inside his broad, leather-tooled belt and looked at her, squinting his eyes against the sun's glare. “You from these parts?”

“No, I'm not. I'm on my way to California.”

“You're fifty miles from the nearest town, and then it's only a truck stop. No hotels. It gets mighty cold out here at night. You can spend the night at my place if you like. I've got room. Tomorrow I'll haul your car to town. The one thing they've got in that town is a garage. My son works there.”

“That's kind of you. But I think I'll stay here and wait for the police.”

“No telling when they'd get here. If you're almost out of water, I wouldn't stay here overnight.”

“I'll go with you,” she said, not quite sure that she was making the right choice. From the trunk of the car she took out the small suitcase which held her overnight things, and he hoisted it into the back of his truck. He opened the passenger door, and she got in. The ledge beneath his windshield was littered with small white stones and rough turquoises. There was a pungent odor. “What's that smell?” she asked

“That's sage and other herbs. I gather plants from the desert to sell in Tucson.

She pushed back the straw hat she was wearing. Sweat was on the inside of her open-necked blouse. Her skirt, too, was damp with sweat, and her hair clung in strands to her face.

“My name's Manuel. What's yours?”

“Adrianne.”

“Don't be afraid,” he said, as the truck picked up speed. “I won't harm you. I told you I've got room, and I'll leave you alone.” His deep, rough voice was somehow reassuring.

She looked over at him. His hands were square, with straight nails. He seemed genuine. He was wearing a gray, short-sleeved shirt and a white sombrero.

“I've lived in these parts all my life. One of my daughters lives just beyond that rise over there. My youngest son works at the gas station where I'll be hauling your car tomorrow.”

“Are you married?” she asked.

“My wife died a few years ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I am too.”

They were silent, and she looked out the window. Shadows were lengthening. Although her watch had stopped, she guessed it was about five in the afternoon when they pulled up at an adobe house with a small trailer in back. In the front yard was a cactus tree, several enormous aloe vera plants, and a few spindly plants held up with stakes.

He got out her suitcase and lifted armfuls of gray-green branches out of the back of the truck.

“You can help me carry these inside,” he said.

The fragrant dry leaves brushed against her skin as she carried them into a bright, sunlit room and lay them on top of bundles of drying herbs. The odor, which made her think of wind, filled her nostrils.

He gave her a tour of the house. “I built it myself, with the help of my sons,” he said proudly.

The house had white walls and dark tile floors. One of the bedrooms was used for drying and storing the herbs he collected, while he slept in the other bedroom. His bed was unmade and a few articles of clothing were tossed over a chair. “Excuse the mess,” he said. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“It's not messy at all,” said Adrianne, and in truth she was impressed with the cleanliness of the house and with its spare furnishings.

Then he showed her the trailer, where she would sleep. It was tiny, with a berth-bed and yellow curtains. From a built-in cabinet he took out sheets and woven Mexican blankets for her.

A wave of dizziness swept over her. “I'm so tired. I'd like to lie down,” she said.

“Go ahead. I'll cook up some dinner.”

Hours later, she awakened in darkness and wandered the house.

They ate rice, beans, and tortillas, along with a salad of green peppers and tomatoes from his garden. Manuel offered her beer, but she declined. Then he offered her a cool drink made with rice water.

Halfway through the meal, she got up and vomited in the bathroom.

“You are unwell,” said Manuel, when she returned to the table. “Are you pregnant?”

“No, I don't think so.”

He felt her feverish forehead, and his touch was gentle. “You got too much sun.”

“I was waiting for a long time,” she said. “It was so hot inside that car that I got out and waited outside.”

“Go and lie down.”

She went back to the trailer, put on her nightgown, and lay beneath the blankets, but still she shivered. Throughout her journey she had been in turmoil over her mother, and this emotional pain permeated everything.

Manuel knocked at the trailer door and came in with a damp compress which he applied to her forehead. It felt cool and smelled refreshing. He sat down on a stool beside her and placed one of his hands gently on the top of her skull. She felt the power from his touch surging through her. It swept warmth through her entire body so that her chills vanished. When she looked up into his dark eyes, they beamed compassion. He won't hurt me. I can trust him, she thought, as she closed her eyes and let the relaxation fill her.

“Sleep,” he said. “You'll be all right in the morning.” Then he left the trailer. However, she still felt his force sweeping through her body, filling it with fresh currents, as though he were still touching her. Her dreams were vivid, but when she awakened, the memory of them vanished.

The next morning the house was empty. His truck was gone. On the table she found a slip of paper with looped, large, almost childish handwriting.

Adrianne, I am taking your car to fix the radiator
.

Manuel

When she walked outside, she saw that the sun had already risen high in the sky. A breeze blew her hair, and she was hungry.

On the kitchen counter she found a stack of tortillas wrapped in a cloth napkin. A pot of beans and coffee were on the stove. She warmed up the food and consumed everything hungrily. Afterwards, she decided to go for a walk.

As she made her way across the land, she felt impeded by her heavy thighs and large, pendulous breasts and by the weight of her entire body, which ached when she tried to run. So she stopped and sat down to rest. A tumbleweed rolled across her field of vision. The previous night she had dreamed something disturbing about huge black birds.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she continued walking. When she turned to look behind her, the house was no longer visible and she felt a pang of fear. However, she decided to rest again before she retraced her steps. Red-faced and sweating, she sat down on a rock.

The vastness of the land now made her perceive her own emotions as trivial. Those emotions seemed like the gophers and jackrabbits and other small desert animals that darted past her. It was so hot that tensions in her brain melted. She felt as though hands were pushing down on her. Far off she heard the bleating of sheep. Objects around her started to pulsate. Sagebrush, rocks, pebbles, and bushes expanded and contracted. Their forms shifted. Shimmering waves of air rose from the earth. There seemed to be an ocean in the distance. A mirage, she knew.

Then there was a gust of wind, and inside the wind she seemed to hear her mother's voice. From a tumbleweed hurtling across the ground, a shape emerged. Adrianne gripped the edge of the rock. “
You're damned, doomed. You deserve to die
,” her mother murmured. The vision faded, but Adrianne felt something pulling on her.

Heat continued to penetrate her.

“
Adriana
,” sounded her father's thin voice, although perhaps it was the wind which blew his meaning through her bones. Tall, heavy, and stoop-shouldered as he had been in life, he whispered that he wanted her to remain his alone.

She seemed to hear Lucille's voice. “
Honey, come with me
.”

Her clothing was sticking to her with perspiration; her head throbbed. In spite of herself, she dozed off. When her eyes opened again, she had half-slipped off the rock. Max's soft hands were on her
neck. “
Come, Adrianne, come. You are my soul. You are my missing part
.”

“If you love me, let me live!” she cried out.

“
Meine liebchen, I love you.”
His voice was thick and guttural, as it had been in life. On one of his fingers flashed a ring with red and blue stones.