Ghost Moon

JOHN WILSON

GHOST
MOON

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

Text copyright © 2011 John Wilson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Wilson, John (John Alexander), 1951-
Ghost moon [electronic resource] / John Wilson.

Electronic monograph in PDF format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN
978-1-55469-880-6

I. Title.
PS
8595.
I
5834
G
55 2011
A
         
JC
813'.54         
C
2011-903512-X

First published in the United States, 2011
Library of Congress Control Number
: 2011907455

Summary
: In the late 1870s, young Jim Doolen travels to New Mexico, where he befriends Bill Bonney and ends up in the middle of the Lincoln County War.

Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council
®.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover design by Teresa Bubela
Cover photo by John Wilson
Author photo by Katherine Gordon

www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.

14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1

For Shaun and Petra,
with thanks for the many April visits.

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

1

“I
t is time for you to go, Busca. The ghost moon is full.”

It's morning, and Wellington and I are sitting on the ledge outside his cave eating a breakfast of tortillas and beans. A light breeze is sending tiny whirlwinds of dust across the flat ledge before us. “What's a ghost moon?” I ask my old friend.

Wellington waves his arm in the direction of the pale, silver globe hanging in the washed-out blue sky above the dark brown hills to the east. “
La luna
,” he says. “The moon is the poor cousin of the sun. Her job is to brighten the night, but she's jealous of her relative who gives so much light and warmth in the day. Every month, the moon tries as hard as she can to be as bright as her cousin. She almost succeeds, but the effort is too much and she fades away, only to try once more the next month.

“Sometimes, when the moon is full, she thinks that this time she will become as bright as her cousin. When she is arrogant like this, the sun decides to teach her a lesson and invites her to a competition during the daylight. Of course, the poor moon always loses this competition, as you see.” Wellington indicates the moon once more. “
La luna del fantasma
, the ghost moon.”

“It does look as if you can see through it,” I agree.

“It is well to know one's place in the world, Busca. The moon has no place in the day.”

I've enjoyed my days with Wellington and Perdido, the mummified conquistador who sits in my friend's cave, telling the story of my adventures at Casas Grandes and listening to his stories of scouting with the army and escorting English hunters. But he's right, ghost moon or not, it's time for me to move on.

After Casas Grandes, I returned to Esqueda, where I spent Christmas with Santiago having my broken ribs tended to by his mad wife, Maria. It was a wonderfully relaxing time with no danger and nothing to do but write letters to my mother back in Yale and read
Moby Dick
. However, by the third week of January, I was becoming restless. It was time to head up to Lincoln and find work, and, on the way, keep my promise to Wellington to return and tell him how my story turned out. I saddled Coronado, and we retraced our route north to Wellington and Perdido's cave.

“It is time for me to go,” I agree with Wellington.

My friend nods. “You are a seeker, Busca. Now that you have discovered your father, what do you seek next?”

“I'll head over to Lincoln County. I've heard there's work there and money to be made.”

Wellington snorts disparagingly. “In my experience, Busca, wherever there is money to be made,
apuro
, trouble always follows close behind.”

“I don't mind,” I say with a shrug. “I want to learn about the world and have adventures.”

“I envy you your youth and enthusiasm, but remember this, Busca: to learn from your adventures, you must first survive them. You were lucky on the trail to Esqueda. Next time it might not be Nah-kee-tats-an who finds you. My people are restless. Many prefer the hardships of living free in the mountains to accepting food from the government on the reservations. I should be sad to see your scalp hanging from a warrior's lance.”

I begin to protest that I'll be fine, but Wellington holds up his hand to stop me. “Do not argue with me,” he says with a smile. “I know you will do what you must. Just as Perdido and I did when we were young men. Just as Nah-kee-tats-an does today.”

Wellington falls silent and stares at the moon. I am about to collect my bedroll and go and find Coronado, when he stirs. “Did you read the book I gave you about the great white whale?”

I'm a little bit taken aback by the question and hesitate for a moment before answering. “I read it in Esqueda,” I say. “It's a good story.”

“It's a long story. I think your story is like that. It is not finished yet.”

I have no idea where Wellington is going with this, but I know him well enough to know he has some point to make. I sit in silence and eventually he continues. “I have been having many dreams lately. You are in them, and so is Nah-kee-tats-an. I think the spirits are telling me that your futures are intertwined.”

I can't imagine how they might be. The last time I saw Nah-kee-tats-an, he was heading east to join Victorio. I doubt very much if he'll come to Lincoln.

“But perhaps that is not what my dreams mean,” Wellington goes on. “I am in these dreams as well. I sit with Perdido in our cave. He tells me that times are changing and that the world does not need old men like us anymore. He says we must leave this place and go our own ways. Then he gets up and goes out of the cave. I follow him, but he dissolves to dust in the sunlight. I turn back, but my cave is gone, replaced by a wide plain. On the plain are a lake and a large building of stone. I think it is a castle like the ones that the Englishman, Lord Alfred George Cambrey Sommerville, Earl of Canterbury, told me about, but it is a ruin. There is a battle raging over the ruins, but I cannot see who is fighting. There are many bodies on the ground and much blood. A voice in my head tells me I must leave this place, but where am I to go? I walk away.”

“What does it mean?”

Wellington shrugs. “
No sé
. I do not know, but I am certain that I must leave my cave. Am I to accompany you to Lincoln?”

“I don't think so,” I say too hurriedly. I've been looking forward to being on my own again. Fond as I am of Wellington, I can't see me arriving in Lincoln looking for work with an aged Apache in tow.

Wellington surprises me by laughing. “Your face is like the page of a book, Busca. Youth does not wish to be tethered to age. I shall leave here, but not with you. Perhaps I am to go and fight with Nah-kee-tats-an. Did you know that he is my son?”

“I guessed from talking with him. But you're too old to fight,” I blurt out rudely.

Again Wellington laughs. “Youth thinks life ends when the first wrinkle appears on the skin or the first ache troubles a joint. You do not know Kas-tziden, known to you white men as Nana?”

I shake my head.

“You would have called him old when he fought with Mangas Coloradas and Cochise, and was married to Geronimo's sister. Now he is older even than me. Some say he has seen more than eighty winters. Yet he fights alongside the young warriors in the Sierra Madre Mountains. Youth is not everything.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I did not mean to insult you.”

“You do not insult me,” Wellington says, the smile still on his face. “But you cannot help me interpret my dreams. Do not worry. I shall not trouble you with my company. And I shall not run to the hills to fight. Not yet. I shall dream and sit by my cave, discussing the world and what it means with Perdido, until things become clear. You must follow your story and find your adventures. But take care. These are troubled times, and there are many traps set out to snare us. This is
a land of many legends. You are making your own
legends, but you cannot escape those around you, both
the legends of the past and the ones others make. We
do not always have control over our stories, and they do
not always take us where we would like or intend to go.
I wish you luck, Busca.”

“I hope you find the answer to your dreams,” I say,
standing.

Wellington nods distractedly. He has finished saying
what he needs to and gazes over the landscape, contemplating
other things. I gather my belongings, leave what
is left of the sacks of flour and beans I brought up with
me and bid farewell to Perdido. Wellington doesn't
even look up as I set off down the hillside to where
Coronado waits for me. Despite what Wellington has
said about these being troubled times, I am happy,
excited to be on the trail once more and thrilled by
what the future might hold.