The Body of Martin Aguilera (8 page)

“I thought somebody was coming with you,” Ignacio said.

“No, it's just me.”

Lewis didn't think these men would hurt him, but he was glad he'd planted the suspicion that someone else knew with whom he was taking a ride. Salvador looked more nervous than the younger man.

“Turn around,” Ignacio said, letting a scarf fall to its length from his hand. When Lewis complied, he wrapped it over his eyes and pulled it snug, as if to state again his disdain. Ignacio was a good five inches shorter than Lewis and so tied the scarf awkwardly low on the back of his head.

“Can't see a thing,” Lewis said.

“Let's go,” Salvador said.

Lewis was helped into the truck. He sat between the two men. Lewis wondered if anyone would see and find interesting the sight of a blindfolded, black man seated between two Mexicans in a pickup in the middle of the night.

Lewis caught himself instinctively trying to follow their route by noting turns and speed, but he stopped because he couldn't keep it up and because he didn't want to know where they were taking him. It was their secret and he didn't want it. They made many turns, he thought, to confuse him. Once the sounds of other traffic were gone, the path was direct.

They ended up on a washboard road. Dust floated freely through the cab. The truck skidded to a stop and Lewis was helped out. Someone was singing somewhere. Salvador talked to him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Lewis, this is a
velorio de difunto
and it is very important to us.”

Lewis nodded, still blindfolded.

“Many of our members will not like it that you are here. Many of them will not notice. You will see things that are sacred, private. Please see as little as you can.” The old man sighed. “Promise me you say nothing to anyone.”

“You have my word, Salvador. I have no wish to compromise you or your beliefs.”

Ignacio pulled the scarf away from Lewis' head.

Lewis tried to aid his eyes in adjusting by opening them wide. He was standing in front of a one level adobe. A flame torch burned on either side of the doorway. There were several trucks and cars parked around in no particular order. The singing was coming from inside the building.

“Do not look at anyone's eyes, especially the
rezador,”
Ignacio said.

Lewis didn't understand.

“The singer.”

Lewis nodded, frightened by Ignacio's hostility.

“It would be best if you tried not to look at anyone at all,” Salvador said.

“Okay.”

Salvador and Ignacio looked at each other. Then Salvador led the way. Ignacio took Lewis' arm. The room was lighted by more torches and the smell of incense was thick and sickly sweet. Figures moved about and Lewis tried not to see them or recognize them. He looked at Salvador's back. He glanced ahead and saw the coffin, a simple, lidless box, but he couldn't see the contents. The
rezador
was to the left of the coffin. Lewis caught his eyes drifting toward the chanting and pulled them back. Ignacio must have also detected the slip for he squeezed Lewis' arm. Then, Lewis couldn't help seeing the procession. Men marched in a wide circle around the body beating themselves. The beating kept time with the chanting. Most men used leather, one a chain. In the glow of the firelight Lewis saw two lacerated and bloody backs. The blood and the incense and strange light made him feel ill, dizzy and then he was standing over Martin.

Salvador and Ignacio stood on either side of him and turned away from what he was doing. Lewis took a deep breath and this turned out to be a mistake for he took in a smell of death. He tasted bile and swallowed. The body was bloated, but Lewis thought not badly and then he wondered to what he was comparing it. The face was strange and lifeless, but it was Martin's and he tried to avoid it. The body was naked and for this Lewis was thankful, for he did not have to touch it. On the dead man's legs were several places where the flesh was raw, like burns, but the water had done things. Maybe he had even been nibbled at by fish.

“Let's go,” Ignacio said.

Lewis was ready. “I'll close my eyes and you lead me out,” he said.

Salvador and Ignacio took either arm and walked him through the sick-sweet cloud and outside. Lewis felt faint when the clear air hit him, but the men held him up.

“I'm okay,” Lewis said, finding his legs.

“Did you see what you wanted?” Ignacio asked.

Lewis nodded, walked to the pickup and leaned against it.

“Are you all right?” Ignacio asked, his tone different.

Lewis looked at him and found the eyes softer. “I'm fine. I want to thank you.” Lewis stood straight, looked out over the dessert. “Did you see his legs?”

Salvador and Ignacio were silent.

Lewis turned to face them. “Would you call those burns?”

“Get in the truck and we'll drive you back,” Ignacio said.

“Didn't you see the wounds?”

“We cannot talk of the dead,” Salvador said.

“I'm sorry,” Lewis said, then he had to say, “I think Martin was murdered. I found him dead before he showed up in the river, at his cabin. He was lying on the floor.” Lewis shook his head.

Salvador sighed. “Martin is dead. God called to him and he is dead. It doesn't matter how he died.” He looked back at the
morada
. “Please, I can't talk about it.”

Lewis raised a hand to silence the man. He didn't want them frightened further. “I'm sorry.”

Ignacio walked around and climbed into the cab. Lewis climbed in behind Salvador on the passenger side. He looked out the window at the
morada
as they rolled away.

“Don't you want to blindfold me?” Lewis asked.

Ignacio pulled the scarf from his pocket and handed it across Salvador to Lewis. Lewis tied it around his head. He felt good about this. He felt trusted and that they all understood something together.

Someone turned the radio on and voices sang in Spanish the way into town. They let Lewis out in front of the theater. Nothing was said and the two men drove away.

Lewis went back to his car. There was a ticket on the windshield. He looked and saw that he had parked over the white line in the diagonal space, but not very far. He sat behind the wheel and studied the ticket under the dome light. It had been signed by Manny Mondragon.

Lewis thought about Martin on the way home. He thought about how awful it must be to drown and halfway hoped that he had been hit on the head and killed instantly, not feeling anything. Then he considered not feeling anything. Martin had been a man full of life and would have wanted to fight, even if against the river. Just to have a chance is all anyone can ask. Maggie would laugh if she knew what he was thinking. She would laugh, but she would understand. She would think it herself.

He wondered how much Manny suspected and how much he knew. He didn't know how to think of the sheriff. Was he the enemy? Was there an enemy? He began to feel paranoid. The wounds on Martin's legs were real though, regardless of the cause. But what difference did it make? Could he go to the sheriff or the state police and talk intelligently about any of this? Was he closer to any kind of answer? Had he even made Martin's death easier to take? It seemed all he had really managed to do was spend precious time away from his granddaughter. All of this settled on him and he knew he couldn't stop. There was something to be found out. Something bad had happened and something bad was going on. Everything smelled sour and he felt something evil lurking about.

He considered the next day. He would put a horse in a trailer, drive it to Garapata Ridge and follow the trail down to Plata Creek and into the back end of the canyon. He recalled the absence of animals in the canyon and a chill traveled over him. Suddenly, he was afraid of going alone. He couldn't and wouldn't ask Maggie. Besides, someone had to stay with Laura. Then he remembered Peabody. Maybe the vet would go and he was a perfect choice, a scientist, a man who knew animals. He looked at his watch. It was only ten-twenty. He was glad. Maggie could stop worrying. He would call Cyril when he got home.

He could still hear the chanting of the
rezador
.

Chapter Sixteen

Lewis managed to get dressed and out of the house without waking Maggie or Laura. Only some of the light of the day to come helped him as he took the battery from his car and put it into his truck. He backed the truck to the horse trailer. It was a two-horse, front-unloading trailer that he had bought after watching a man get stepped on trying to back a horse out of a tight place. He closed the horses off in the corral and went to get the tack from the shed. The saddles were in good shape. He grabbed a couple of curb bits; the horses hadn't been ridden much lately and he'd need leverage on some of the slopes. Cyril Peabody had said he'd take the morning and ride with him. Lewis breathed easier knowing he wasn't going alone. He went to the corral and saddled the mare without much trouble. The gelding was a little stubborn. The horse blew up his belly when Lewis went to tighten the front cinch. He didn't want the cinches tight now, but he knew he'd have to poke the horse in the ribs when he cinched him. He loaded the animals into the trailer and left.

Lewis had gone through the business with the horses without realizing how tired he was. He found during the drive down the mountain that his eyes wanted to close. He rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck, shook his head. Finally he just stopped and napped for about five minutes. When he awoke, he found that just those few minutes had allowed morning to come on fully. He enjoyed the rest of the drive to Cyril's office on the outer-bounds of town. He stopped once to check the horses.

Cyril was sitting in his Jeep in front of his office. He waved when he saw Lewis and got out. He carried a bag. He climbed into Lewis' truck.

“I brought us some food,” Cyril said.

“I forgot all about food. Thanks.”

“I guessed you were inviting me for a reason.”

Lewis pulled back onto the highway. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“No sweat. Want to fill me in?”

“Like I told you, we're going to drive up to Garapata Ridge and take the trail down to Plata Creek and into the canyon.” He looked at Cyril and saw he was waiting for more. “A lot has happened and I just don't feel like going into detail.” He took a deep breath. “I saw Martin Aguilera's body last night.”

“Where?”

“I can't say.”

“I heard it was stolen. How'd you see it?”

“Really, I can't talk about that. I saw him and that's what matters. Cyril, he had wounds on his legs like the squirrel had.”

Cyril just looked at him.

“Burns, well, like burns. I think they were the same. I have a really bad feeling.”

“That's why we're headed out to the canyon.”

Lewis nodded. “Something's going on. Remember when I told you there were no animals up there.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty weird, all right.”

Lewis watched the road. The men were silent for a while. Lewis turned the car off the highway onto a dirt road which got progressively rougher as they went. The truck hit big holes and Lewis looked into the mirror to see how the trailer was taking the hazards.

“Some road,” Cyril said.

Lewis groaned. He winced as a rock bounced them high. “I hope the horses don't get spooked too badly. This road is always worse than the last time. What's it take to run a grader over it now and then?”

“Look at it this way, keeps the tourists away.”

“Yeah.” Lewis stopped the car even though the road continued. “We'll ride from here. It'll be just as fast and easier on the horses.”

They unloaded the animals. Lewis took the gelding because he was more prone to crankiness. When he went to tighten the cinch, the horse did like he had suspected and blew out his middle. Lewis hit him in the ribs with his elbow and pulled the strap hard. They mounted and rode southwest.

A mile across the flat went quickly and they were headed down toward the creek. Lewis loved the land. The high dessert was every color he had ever found beautiful, every shape that had ever interested him.

On the first steep section of the trail the gelding tried to hold up, but Lewis fought with him and made him go on. Lewis could feel the short fight in his arm muscles. He felt his age.

“They don't like downhill,” Cyril said.

“They're fat and lazy. This is good for them.”

“Any idea what we're looking for?” Cyril asked, following.

Lewis looked back. “No. Anything.”

The trail began a series of switchbacks. The gelding surprised Lewis and performed well. He was glad because he was unsure if he had the energy for a lot of fighting. They stopped at the creek, dismounted, and ate the sandwiches Cyril had packed.

“Good,” Lewis said and took a swig from his canteen. “How's your daughter doing?”

Cyril looked at him. “Fine. The question is how am I doing. Paying for this stuff is something else.”

Lewis nodded.

“Brown's a good school though.”

Lewis scratched his chin. “I thought she was at Bennington.”

“What am I saying? She's at Bennington. B's, you know.”

“Yeah. What's her name?”

“Donna.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Tell me about those burns you saw on Martin's body.”

“Not much to tell. I'm not even sure they were burns.”

“Where'd you see him?”

“I promised I wouldn't say,” Lewis said.

“Clandestine stuff, huh?”

“I guess.”

“It is strange though. Bizarre wounds, missing animals.” Cyril half-laughed.

They sat and rested for a few minutes more. Lewis studied the sky. There were no clouds. He watched Cyril push the trash into the bag.

“What about your wife?”

“Divorced,” Cyril said. “She's remarried and lives in Ohio.”