Under the Stars
1065 Words
After a few moments, Chancho reappeared from his wagon and washed for supper. With considerably less manure on his person, the three friends enjoyed their meal and settled in for coffee as they discussed how to keep the goats out of the cáñamo patch.
“I’ll sleep in the field tonight,” Chancho offered, “in case any of our amigos pequinos get the munchies.”
Nena scoffed, “I think it’s so you can whisper sweet nothings to your machine.”
“Nothing of the sort.” Chancho waved her off. “If you cannot accept my selfless gesture...” He looped his hand around in the air as if to finish his sentence visually. “Besides, I whisper substantialities, never nothings.”
“I’m sure—”
Chancho cut her off. “No, no, I’ve made up my mind. Tonight the stars will gaze down upon my substantialities and be blessed.” Nena and Muddy both snorted, but Chancho continued. “Within twenty-four hours, mis amigos, we will adventure north with a wealth of goats and m*******a. Tres amigos, we ride. You will see.”
When only a few streaks of color remained in the sky, Chancho grabbed his things and marched down the slope toward the field for the night. An orchestra of crickets accompanied him.
Nena had started to shake with her desires even before she finished her coffee. Now that nothing stood in her way, she released a fury of kisses on Muddy’s face and neck. The air had chilled just enough to emphasize the heat emanating from their bodies. Before she could go further, he rose with her in his arms and carried her to their wagon.
She felt all the familiar intimacy they had built together. In addition, today’s events unleashed a storm in her that had remained dormant—lulled to sleep by months of relative safety. The fresh thought of her lover’s life at risk brought urgency to her lovemaking. She had to feel him as close to her as possible, to wrap him up inside her and keep him safe.
For the rest of that evening they nourished each other. It did not dispel the fear of loss, but it expressed her gratitude for the possessing. Tomorrow would come bearing secrets, but tonight she would know and be known fully. Whatever happened tomorrow, tonight she had a good life.
They pressed into each other and quaked. The wagon fell still as the lovers rested in the midst of their thanksgiving, bathed in the delicate scent of almond oil and the musk of mohair. Nena lay her head over Muddy’s heart. Its beat gradually slowed.
She tasted his sweat on her lips, and after several minutes she spoke. “I remember the first time I saw you. So menacing, and so proud. I knew instantly it would never do to have you as an enemy.”
He ran his fingers down her shoulder and arm where her sweat started to chill. “And you, standing one foot in front, even of your father. I had to stare past you to stare at him, yet he was not offended in your presumption. He was proud that you stood there. That fact made me stare at you.”
“You were angry.”
“I knew my people would lose if we fought.”
“Oh?” Nena lifted her head from his chest to look him in the eyes.
“I already wanted to make love to you more than kill you.” He smiled. “It would have been a conflict of interest in war.”
She slapped him on the chest and repeated his last word as she lay back down. “War. War had already changed by then. My father taught me to fight using the words and the laws of the Mexicans, and then the Anglos. He accused the Mexican government of handing our lands over to you and your people. Our fight was with them.”
“Yes, but we fought alongside them. Los mascogos. They favored us, at least while we remained useful to them.”
“Your people did what they had to, same as mine.” She wove her fingers through the curly hair on his chest. “Now you are my people. You and Chancho, that crazy Mexican.” She always attached the epithet. It was her pet name for him. “And we are again at war.”
“War?” Muddy repeated the word.
“We are outsiders here, with only each other for family. Chancho has been spit out by his beloved revolution. Our peoples do not accept our love, and the Anglo lusts only for the land, making us rivals.”
“And?” Muddy raised his brows. She could tell he was waiting for her to lead up to something.
“Chancho, that crazy Mexican, he is a dreamer. You said it yourself. He can see impossible things and make them possible, and I love him for that. But, for all his vision he could not see lightning if it struck him. He will get us into trouble if we do not shepherd him.”
Muddy smiled. “So what is your plan?”
She always unveiled her deepest thoughts and most intricate schemes immediately after rapturous s*x. Of course her husband was most attentive and compliant then. It was not really manipulation, but cunning. It was her way. "What if the hunting party is not just hunting El Chupacabra?”
Muddy nodded. “You mean what if they are after us.”
“They may accuse us of stealing goats. They may be angry or jealous of the land. They will not need good reason, especially if empowered by the law. My father taught me well that the law is a false god to many. And the Ranger—”
“He is trouble.”
Nena continued. “If he is anything like los rinches in Chancho’s stories, yes, he is trouble.”
“We need to be ready to fight,” Muddy said.
“There may come a time when we cannot run, not with the whole camp on our backs. The wagons will be too cumbersome and slow. If they come after us, we’ll have to leave everything but the horses. Chancho won’t like it, and so he won’t prepare for it. We will have to.”
“Of course, you’re right.” Muddy shifted onto his elbow. “Tomorrow—”
“I will finish the rest of the preparations while you and Chancho play with your toy. I don’t need you spoiling the surprise.”
“Oh really? Should that comfort me?” Muddy asked.
“Whatever you like, but right now you should be comforting me so I can sleep. I’m chilled.” Nena grabbed Muddy’s arm and draped it over her exposed skin as she rolled over and nestled herself in his stomach. He wrestled free of her in order to pull a large mohair blanket over the two of them.
- Writer
