Echoes of a Distant Summer (92 page)

A shot echoed across the landscape. The pigs were coming. Jackson put two fingers in his mouth and gave out a loud, high whistle. He
heard a whistle in response and turned on the jeep’s engine. He wanted to be ready to go. The sound of thunder rumbled more distinctly. The storm was moving fast. The herd appeared coming out of a jumble of sagebrush and tumbleweed. He saw them through his binoculars. The pigs were running hard, but not at top speed. They were scared but not pressed. There were about twenty to thirty animals in the group led by a couple large adults. The wind was blowing toward him so he could smell their gamey odor, but they could not pick up his scent. He sat without movement. Waiting.

The first part of the pack passed in the ravine below him, high ridge-backed bodies, covered with short, bristling brown fur. Their grunting and the sound of their hooves pounding on the hard clay filled the air. His grandfather, El Indio, and Carlos awaited the pigs at the entrance to the box canyon. Their plan was to shoot the first five pigs that spilled out of the ravine. Generally, killing the leaders would turn a pack, but if that failed the three hunters had found a steep path of retreat up the far side of the valley which lay at the mouth of the box canyon. Jackson put the jeep in gear and bumped along on the rough and uneven terrain that lay along the brink of the ravine, trying to keep the pigs in sight. They were outrunning him. The last of them disappeared around the curve of the ravine.

Jackson maintained the highest speed the broken land would permit. He had to circumnavigate a landslide leading steeply down to the bed of the ravine. A fusillade of rifle fire rang out amid the loud squealing of peccaries. Several more rifle shots echoed through the twisted maze of gorges and arroyos. Then there was the sound of a horse shrieking in pain. Jackson drove the jeep around to the end of the ridge and climbed up on the hood. Below him on the far side of the valley lay his grandfather’s horse on its side, waving its legs frantically. His grandfather was not visible. Jackson picked up the binoculars and saw that his grandfather was still in the saddle and that his leg was caught under his horse.

Behind him he heard the squealing of more pigs. He turned and saw the rest of the pack hurtling down the floor of the ravine straight toward his grandfather. They were about a quarter of a mile away and closing fast. Jackson couldn’t get a good estimate of their number as they ran through the brush, but it looked like the herd was in excess of twenty animals. He had no time to go back and find a suitable way down; he had to go straight down the steep side of the ravine. It was
thirty-five feet deep, and the sides were about a sixty-degree slant. He realized he stood a good chance of killing himself, but he sat down in the jeep, fastened his seat belt, and drove it directly over the lip of the ravine. First there was a momentary free fall, then the jeep bounced lopsidedly down the slope, slowly turning sidewise. Jackson gunned the accelerator and got the nose of the vehicle leading his downward plunge. The front tires hit the hard bed of the ravine and Jackson’s forehead banged hard against the metal frame of the windshield and the jeep bounced across the hard clay surface and came to rest within twenty feet of the downed horse and rider.

Blood ran down Jackson’s face and there was a strange drumming in his ears. The pain in his head was so severe that it was numbing. The sensation in his hands seemed to be gone. The edge of his vision was filled with exploding black and red dots. Then he heard a new drumming sound in his ears. The pigs were three hundred yards away and running hard. Jackson pulled the shotgun from its holster and cocked both barrels. The herd was coming right toward him, but at least the jeep was blocking his grandfather. He waited. At twenty yards he would fire both barrels into their leaders and if they didn’t turn perhaps he would have time to reload once.

Rifle shots reverberated along the walls of the ravine. Jackson saw pigs falling, but still the herd came on, a juggernaut on a sea of sand. He waited until he could see the animals’ beady eyes and their tongues lolling out of their mouths. He fired both barrels. The sound deafened him. The gun kicked high. He hit the release and popped it open, discarding spent shells and loading two more in their place. There was a loud thud as a pig’s body collided against the rear fender of the jeep. Jackson waved his gun around seeking a target, but in the time it took him to reload the herd had turned and escaped into the brush. Culio, El Indio, and Carlos rode down into the ravine. Carlos was off his horse before it stopped and he ran to El Negro.

When Jackson’s grandfather had been pulled from beneath his horse and he had dispatched the animal with a pistol shot, he came over and stood in front of Jackson. He pointed to his grandson and shouted to the other men, “That’s my grandson! That’s my blood. That’s my goddamn blood pumping in that body! He’s a man’s man! Ain’t a lot of steam to him, but there’s a hell of a fire in the boiler!”

Both Culio and Carlos nodded knowingly as if to say they expected
no less, he was El Negro’s heir. El Indio took the feather out of his hat and walked over and handed it to Jackson. The act was done without affectation, but everyone knew it was significant. To earn a feather in the field, a man had to show uncommon courage and daring. Jackson was extremely moved. His grandfather was smiling and stalking around like a proud, old rooster. Jackson took off his hat and put the feather securely in the band of his hat. The hat seemed heavier when he put it back on his head.

The men collected nine pigs and concluded that they could take no more. They decided not to field-dress the pigs until they had cleared out of pig country and left the land of arroyos and flash floods behind. It took them an hour and a half to reach the rolling foothills of the mountains. Even though the storm was pressing, his grandfather decided to gut and butcher the pigs away from the hunting lodge. The pigs were hung in a stand of trees ten miles from the lodge and Hernando was sent to bring Alma and Maria to assist with the butchering.

Jackson was digging a hole in which to bury the entrails when Hernando rode off. Culio was building a small, smokeless fire while Carlos, El Indio, and his grandfather moved from pig to pig, gutting each animal. Jackson noticed there was a difference in the way the men treated him. He had earned respect independent of his grandfather. It wasn’t so much his act of bravery that they respected, but rather the nerve he had demonstrated in waiting until the last moment to fire upon the stampeding pigs. El Indio had called him
muy macho
and he had received many claps on the back from the men in the hunting party. Since he had performed a deed that had even earned his grandfather’s grudging acknowledgment, Jackson decided that he would ask him about taking Maria back with him when they returned to Mexico City; that way it would not seem so impetuous a decision. He glanced around at the surrounding countryside, the rolling hills covered with the gold of dried grass. Even with the dark charcoal and gray sky above it, it seemed to be one of the most beautiful spots on earth.

Jackson was not aware of when Hernando had returned, for he had become engrossed in carrying shovelfuls of offal to the hole he had dug. Jackson was concentrating on not letting the slimy, bloody mess get on his clothing. However, he heard the notes of urgency in the voices, then he heard his grandfather barking out orders in Spanish. Jackson dropped his shovel and went to find out what was causing the stir.

Carlos was coming toward him as Jackson ambled over. “What’s going on?” Jackson asked. He saw Hernando’s horse and looked around for Maria and Alma, but there was no sign of them. “Where’s Maria?” he asked.

Carlos hesitated a moment then said without inflection, “The lodge was attacked! Tomas and the rest of the guards are dead. Alma’s been killed and we think that they have taken Maria.”

Jackson was aghast. “What? Attacked? By who? Who would attack women?”

“El Jaguar. He left his signature on the walls.”

Jackson could not believe it. “Why? Why would he attack women?”

“It was a raid on El Negro. The women were secondary. They took Maria because she is the niece of Tigre Melendez. He is one of the Jaguar’s captains and probably the successor to his throne.”

Jackson looked around and noticed that the men were packing up. “What’s going to happen now?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“We’re going after them. But first we need to go to the lodge and take care of some business. We’ll probably be on the road by six this evening. I figure that gives them about a six-hour head start. El Negro wants to know if you want to come along.”

Jackson asked, “Shouldn’t we let the police handle this?”

“The police will only get in the way! Whether they’ll help depends on who paid them last. The best way is to bury the dead. Then deal out our own justice. Do you wish to come?”

Jackson said nothing. If he said yes, he would voluntarily be participating in one of his grandfather’s wars, and once he agreed to that, where would it stop? If he said no, he would be abandoning Maria and the likelihood was that he would never see her again. Why would she want to be with a man who didn’t have the courage to try to rescue her? It was this thought which caused him to nod affirmatively.

Carlos was studying Jackson’s face. “You have proven your courage,” he said with a thoughtful tone. “No one will think ill if you choose not to come. There is a difference between hunting men and hunting animals, and we will be hunting and killing men. If you choose to come along, know that there will be no mercy shown to our enemies. We intend to kill the Jaguar and Tigre, but in the process we will also kill as many of their people as we can.”

“What about Maria?”

“She is your responsibility. If in our other efforts we rescue her, good.
But that is not our objective. We intend to wipe out the Jaguar’s organization.”

Jackson sputtered, “That shows no loyalty to her!”

“She is not family. Her family kidnapped her and took her back with them. She does not expect us to save her, or to risk lives in the search for her. Of course, if she means enough to you for you to join us, we will assist you in every way.”

“You are extorting my participation! If I don’t help, you won’t seek to rescue her! That’s not right! I expected more from you, Carlos!”

“I didn’t say that we wouldn’t seek to rescue her, but that rescuing her was not our objective. There is a difference. I don’t feel strongly enough about her to risk my life to find her. But I feel strongly about you! If you are willing to risk your life to find her, I will join you.”

“Let’s go, men!” King shouted as he led his horse into a clearing. “We got to get the radio workin’ befo’ this storm hits! You comin’, Grandson?”

Jackson looked at Carlos then answered, “Yes, Grandfather. I’m coming!”

King mounted the extra horse that Hernando had brought back from the lodge and ordered, “Then let’s get to steppin’! I’ll see you at the house!” He, Hernando, and El Indio rode off at a gallop.

Carlos and Culio cut down the six pigs that had been gutted and wrapped them in a canvas tarp. The wrapped meat was placed in the back of the jeep. The remaining three pigs were left hanging in the trees. The fire was put out and then they left the grove.

As Jackson drove away, he glanced back at the grove of trees, heavy with the smell of blood, and wondered what he had thought was so beautiful about the little, depressing stand of trees.

When he arrived at the lodge Hernando and Culio were erecting a thirty-foot radio antenna. He pulled down to the stable and helped El Indio unload the pigs and hang them on racks in the smokehouse. Then Jackson was sent out to dig a large grave at the edge of the trees behind the outhouses. Hernando joined him and they picked and dug a four-foot-deep trench in the hard-packed red clay. Culio rode up to the grave site with the bodies of three strange men tied to a travois. He had rigged the device to drag behind his horse. He untied them and rolled the bodies off the travois and into the trench.

“We got four more to bring here,” Culio announced. He rolled himself
a cigarette. “They must’ve come with a pretty big party to lose seven!” He lighted his smoke and guided his horse back toward the lodge. Hernando picked up a large plastic container and shook out white, powered lime across the bodies.

It was strange, depressing work burying human corpses. It made Jackson feel queasy, particularly when he threw lime on the face of one of the dead men whose eyes were still open. The eyes stared upward as if there were still a will to see. Slowly, shovelful by shovelful, the bodies were covered with rocks and dirt. Then he and Hernando covered the grave with large rocks which had been originally collected to build a fence. Jackson returned to the lodge with the image of the dead man’s eyes burning in his mind.

Alma and the three men who had died defending the lodge were placed in graves across the valley from the lodge. It was more difficult for Jackson to see the bodies of people who he knew and liked. Even though they were recognizable, their faces seemed robbed of a vital identifying feature. He was beginning to understand that death was a thief of essence. Their bodies now were merely empty husks, relics of what once was living. They were placed in their separate graves in silence. It seemed a particularly bleak day to die. The sky was dark with nature’s fire and vengeance. Thunder rumbled solemnly while flashes of lightning illuminated the charcoal sky. His grandfather intoned words of prayer over the graves.

As Jackson bowed his head he thought of Maria. She was gone. Stolen away. Her sweet, wonderful smile was gone. The soft feel of her skin was gone. He felt a hollowness in his stomach then he felt anger. She was a victim in one of his grandfather’s wars. He studied his grandfather’s face and thought his grandfather must have intoned the ritual of last rites many times. He wondered if it mattered whether words of sacrament were said over a grave if the man saying them was a man who having sent so many to a premature death appeared to have little or no appreciation of God.