Water Rites (5 page)

Montoya shook his head, frowning. “Sara Dorner showed up this morning, all upset. It’s not just me. They’re doing it to everybody between The Dalles and the Deschutes bed.”

“You sound like you think there’s something we can do about it.” Jesse put her cup down.

“We can stick together and stand up to the Association!” Montoya stared into his cup. “If we don’t, if we don’t hang on, we’ll dry up and blow away like the dirt, blow right on out into the Drylands. Or into the camps.” He stood up. “I got to get going. Think about it, Jesse.”

“You can’t fight them,” Jesse yelled after him. “Why don’t you listen to Maria and take care of your own family for a change?” She whipped around to glare down at Dan. “Why didn’t you tell him that it’s no use?” she snapped.

Dan shrugged. The milk was warm as blood, rich and goaty. How long since he’d tasted milk? Out in the Dry, people didn’t have too many milking animals. What you coaxed out of the ground, you mostly ate yourself. When they had it, they didn’t trade it for card tricks. He shifted his weight, stretched his leg tentatively. He could walk, even if it hurt. If he took it slow, he could get around. Another day, he thought. And he’d move on.

Through the window, you could see clear down into the old riverbed and the falls. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but it had been getting dusk. Dan sucked in a breath as he spied a tiny figure standing on the worn lip of the cliff, just like yesterday. A kid, he told himself. Playing. He jumped as Jesse leaned over his shoulder.

“That’s old Celilo Falls,” she said. “My grandmother grew up on the Warm Springs Reservation. She used to tell me stories about the falls. All the tribes used to fish here.” She stared down at the dry ledges. “She talked like she’d been there herself, watching the men spear salmon from the platforms. She couldn’t have been that old.” She laughed shortly. “Hell, maybe she was. I don’t know.”

Jesse turned away. “They drowned it all, you know. Way back in the old days. When they built The Dalles dam. She said the Salmon People kept it safe. When I was little, she told me that one day, the water would go down and it would all be there, just like in the old days.” Jesse laughed.

“When the reservoir started going down and they finished the Trench Reservoir and started the Pipeline, I used to sit here and watch the rocks show a little more every week. That was when I was pregnant and not sure just how I ended up that way. Sometimes I thought I could almost see them — up there on the platforms, stabbing the fish with their long spears. I was just hungry, I guess, and a little crazy. Hadn’t been any salmon in that river for years.” Jesse plunked a heavy pot down on the table. “There’s nothing out there but dust. Here’s the rest of last night’s beans, if you’re hungry.”

She sounded angry, like she was sorry she’d said so much. Dan looked out the window again, but the figure had vanished from the ledge. Jesse was old enough to remember water in the riverbed. Dan couldn’t do it, couldn’t imagine that enormous ditch all full of clear water, millions of gallons of it.

Amy had been able to see it.
This place remembers
, she had said, the first time she’d gone out on a patch crew. The super had let her bring him along, little though he was. You
can see how the river used to be when you stand up here
, she had said. Amy would have recognized Jesse’s watercolors.

“I know what the Association is up to,” he said.

Jesse turned and looked back at him, the empty milk jug in her hand.

“They want your land,” Dan said harshly. “They’re in bed with the Corps. They can bring in crew labor from the Portland camps, make more money farming beans and wheat than they can get from selling you water.”

“That seems like a lot of trouble for the Corps, when all they have to do is send out bills right now.” She frowned.

“It’s getting more expensive to mine water. And protect it.” Dan shrugged. “I bet the Association gives the Corps a kickback, once they take over here. Gang labor’s cheap and permanent. They’re using it in the Willamette Valley. The Association owns a lot of land it got back on water-foreclosure. You got to buy everything from the boss when you work on a gang, and pretty soon, they own you.”

Amy had signed them on. He had been ten, and Amy had been desperate, scared by how close they’d come to dying as they hitched north from California. He remembered that — how she was always scared.

“Profit.” Dan looked out at the dead falls. “They’ve got the water. They can farm the dirt cheap.”

“You worked on a gang,” Jesse said.

“Right here. The Association provided contract grunt labor for the Pipe. When I was a kid.” The silver glitter of the Pipe down in the dusty bed hurt his eyes.

What’s going to happen to you?
Amy had cried, when she had started getting sick and couldn’t work her shift anymore.
I told Mom I’d take care of you.

“You’re not going to beat the Association,” he said.

“I’m not planning to try.” Jesse turned her back on him.

*

Jesse was in the field, cleaning silt out of the feeder tubing, when Montoya drove up next afternoon. Dan sat on the porch, shelling dry beans for market and counting the crop rows, figuring yields. The dry pods crackled between his palms. Jesse didn’t have enough land under hoses to get by. Good thing that she had a trucker daughter to bring in scrip. The necklace was back hanging on the picture. It would be worth a lot in, say, Portland. If he wanted to do that again. Steal. He tossed a handful of pale, pebble-hard beans into the pan. He needed to get out of here. Now. Too many ghosts.

Dan nodded to Montoya as he climbed out of the truck. Maybe he could talk Montoya into giving him a ride into town. He could get a hitch there.

“Lo, Sam.” Jesse came around the corner, wiping sweat and dust from her face.

“Sara Dorner came over this morning,” Montoya said, without preamble. “A couple of Association people came out to make an offer on their land. They offered Matt and Sara a job, too.”

“Let me guess.” Jesse tossed her tube-brush onto the porch. “Matt shot ’em.”

“Nope.” Montoya sighed. “But I guess he did cut up rough, threw a few punches. They took off before he could get around to using the rifle. Sara’s pretty upset, afraid they’ll be back to arrest him.”

“Matt’s a short-tempered fool.” Hands on her hips, Jesse glared at Montoya. “I bet Maria’s real happy about you being in the middle of all this.”

“They’ll get around to us pretty soon, so I guess we’d better talk to the Association folks. Jesse?” Montoya spread his hands. “They got to see we’re all together on this. Otherwise they’re gonna pick us off one at a time.”

Jesse glared at him, gave Dan a quick, hostile look. “All right.” Her shoulders sagged suddenly. “I’ll come be a warm body for you, Sam, but it’s not going to work.”

“It will if we make it work. You got to believe that.” Montoya touched her arm. “That’s all we got.”

Jesse shook her head without answering.

“How about you?” Montoya turned to Dan. “Like Jesse says, we could use warm bodies. After market, I’ll give you a ride west as far as Chenowen.”

As if he’d been reading Dan’s mind. “All right,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Dan met the man’s dark eyes. “You know, if you make this work, if you bring everybody together . . .” He paused. “They’ll just shoot you.”

Montoya said nothing and his eyes didn’t waver.

“I’ll get my stick.” Dan turned away.

*

The Dorner place was way south, at the fringe of the irrigated land. A trailer house sat crookedly on the concrete blocks, surrounded by fields of genetically engineered sugar beets, destined for the ethanol stills. The dark green beet tops drooped in the heat, revealing the black-and-gray network of soaker hose and feeder lines between the neat rows.

“They’re shut off,” Jesse said.

“Looks like it.” Montoya stared at the beet rows and shook his head.

The Association didn’t have to come out personally to shut off water. The Corps controlled the meters from The Dalles. All of them. Dan braced himself as the truck bounced through sun-hardened ruts. The hot wind whipped the dust away from the tires, riffled the drying tops of the beets. Once they went down, beets didn’t come back. The dark roots looked too small to be worth much. By tomorrow, the Dorners would lose the crop.

Montoya pulled the truck up beside a flatbed and a scatter of battered pickups. Tethered to a decrepit wagon, a bony Appaloosa swished its tail at flies. Twenty or thirty men and women milled in front of a sagging wire gate. The wind snatched at their clothes, fluttering shirttails like faded flags.

“Hey, Sam,” someone called out.

“Carl’s just finishin’ up the pipe,” a small, round-faced woman said.

Dan followed the looks. A crooked line of old, galvanized irrigation pipe led from a pile of freshly dug dirt down the slope and out of sight. Someone had the tools and technical skills to cut into one of the Corps’ big feeder lines, then. As he watched, water bubbled out of a joint in the old pipe, darkening the ocher soil like spilled blood. Someone cheered, and, in a moment, everyone was cheering.

They really didn’t know the Association very well. The pipes belonged to the Corps. They’d just stand back and let the Corps deal with it. Dan leaned against the fender of the flatbed. Jesse stood on the far side of the crowd, arms crossed, watching the celebration. She looked up suddenly and their eyes met. Her lips crooked into a faint smile, sardonic and intimate at the same time.

Dan looked away, flushing.

“Here they come.” A lanky kid perched on the flatbed’s cab, pointed.

“They must’ve been waiting for us to do something,” a woman said.

Someone had tipped them off about this little demonstration, Dan thought. Men and women sidled together, bunching up as a van growled toward them, raising a flaring tail of dust.
Columbia River Association
glared from the sides in red letters.

“Where’s Matt?” someone called out.

“Safe. Sara’s with him. And Tom.”

Dan watched the guns come out — old hunting rifles, some shotguns, and a few pistols. The van pulled up in a swirl of dust. Three men got out, wearing the Association’s short-sleeved khaki uniforms. Not one of them carried a weapon.

Dan watched the crowd notice that. He watched the rifle barrels waver and the pistols disappear into pockets again. Folks thought they were the first ever to stand up to them. The Association would send people who knew how to handle a crowd. They always did.

“I’d like to talk to Matthew Robert Dorner.” The shortest of the three stepped forward. His tone was friendly, like he’d just dropped by to chat.

“He’s not here!” someone yelled belligerently, and the crowd murmured, closing in more tightly.

“Look, folks, I’m not here to pick a fight with you.” The short man sounded tired. “We’re down here to oversee water distribution for the Corps, that’s all. They’ve got enough on their plate keeping the Pipeline in operation.” He took his cap off, wiped his face on his sleeve. “You know how far the water table in the Columbia Aquifer’s dropped in the last twelve months? In about five more years, we won’t be able to pump from it at all. Every drop you use will have to come from the Trench Reservoir and the Pipe. The price of water is going to go up fast, starting now.” He turned slowly, his eyes moving from one dusty face to another. “Most of you are hardworking folk. Don’t cut your own throats for the sake of the ones who aren’t. There’s only so much water, folks. That’s it. Beginning, middle, and end of story.”

The wind rustled through the wilted beet tops. Men and women traded sidelong looks, shuffled their feet in the dust.

The Association man cleared his throat. “Water piracy is a big-time felony. You draw a lot of federal years.” He looked over their heads, up into the hard blue sky. “You can get the death penalty, depending on how much you hurt folk down-flow. I know you folks are upset. It’s tough, watching someone you know go under. I suppose, since I didn’t actually see anyone hole that pipe, I could just patch it, write it up as a materials failure.”

Slick. Dan stretched his aching knee gently. The man was putting himself on their side, just one of the thirsty, fighting the drought like everyone else. Underneath his smile, he was letting them know they couldn’t win. He’d do a smooth card trick, Dan thought sourly.

He watched the eyes shift some more, feet scuff up more dust. They were listening to the ugly echoes of felony and
death sentence,
deciding they could meet the rate hike somehow, and that Matt was a reckless fool, not worth risking the family for. Nobody took risks for anyone else anymore. You had enough risks of your own. Dan leaned against the hot metal, waiting to see who’d sneak away first.

“We could maybe understand your rate hike.” Montoya stepped out of the crowd, thumbs tucked into his belt. “We know it costs a lot to feed all those Corps people while they keep the Pipe flowing. And we gotta pay Canada for the water that feeds the Rocky Mountain Trench. We know all that. It’s this
retroactive
bit that’s hard to swallow.” His smile looked weathered, as old as the cliffs. “We’ve given you whatever you asked for, worked ourselves ’till we drop to pay off your water. Matt ’n Sara ain’t no lazy bums. They work as hard as any of us, and they could make the hike. They can’t make the hike you laid on the last six months of water. None of us can.” He tilted his head, his eyes on the Association man. “Seems kind of . . . well . . . coincidental, you offerin’ to buy ’em out like that. You in the land business now?”

“That was charity.” The Association man’s voice had lost a bit of its smooth tone.

“Was it?” Montoya frowned, appearing to consider. “Seems like you could’a waived the
retroactive
hike for charity. Matt ’n Sara work as hard as any of us. If they go down, I figure we’re all gonna go down. Where are we gonna go? Since I don’t think we have any good options, I guess we’d better figure something out.”

Dan heard the responsive murmur, even though Montoya’s tone had been quiet and reasonable. The bodies shifted again, edging closer now. They were a crowd again, not just a bunch of tired, worried men and women ready to slink away and take what they could get.