coincidental.
Chapter 1 PREFACE
PASSING
…I cried all night. All those people all those lives. Where are they now?…who once lived and loved, full of the same passions, fears, jealousies, hates. And what remains of any of it now? Just this, and nothing more.
Excerpt taken from The Man Who Came to Dinner by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart circa .
SEARCHING
Don’t look for me across the desert skies,
It’s best without me, sure you’ll realize.
Defile this place; lighting, rain and thunder,
By silver moonlight; with solace torn asunder.
Fragile beauty my soul will ever crave,
Won’t be looking back, I had to go away.
You cry for me; since I fell from grace,
No matter how or why, my heart always aches.
CORN MAIDEN
The filmy green trees on the riverbank beckoned to him. He made his way through patches of sand, clusters of spiky yuccas and thickets of cottonwood trees. He smelled the gurgling water of the crick ahead of him. Drumming Boy peered on; the surface of the river bed bubbled. He was amazed but he was not afraid. A shoot of green leaf stretched upward and broke the surface. After that, wisps of gold silk flounced about; he couldn't believe what he was seeing!
A green ear of corn—as wide and tall as a man—unfurled it's coarse leaves to reveal multi-colored kernels; teal, goldenrod, rust and lilac. Drumming Boy was transfixed by the beautiful face of the Corn Maiden. She had the face of a doll, dew drops like crystals about her bare chest, moist brown eyes and sharp features that were framed by waves of flowing corn silk. The Corn Maiden soared, subsided and writhed in a mesmerizing dance.
"Nasha-woyen!" Drumming Boy heard the chants of braves, but he knew that this was just a dream. The Corn Maiden was central to the creation myth of the tribe; guardian of soil, crops, birth and death. She was at the gate of the spirit world.
From the earth, I offer the bounty of my womb.
She didn't speak but he heard thoughts, inside his mind. Drumming Boy was transfixed by her beauty. Hold me close, as I protect all of the Acoma.
He drew near and her husks encircled him. It hardened, as in a chrysalis, a harbinger of the transformation that was to come.
JOSE
Wait here.
José ran up to the front desk of the seedy motel. Christy, his date, waited for him—inside the black sedan, behind tinted windows. He paid in cash, signed with a fake name and snatched the key out of the motel clerk's hand. Once inside, the motel room was dated and gaudy, with an avocado green and mustard gold color scheme. The old carpet and tacky bed spread were worn; the cramped hotel room smelled of stale cigarettes.
I thought about you all week.
José embraced Christy and kissed her neck. Christy was a dancer from The Kitty Cat; he met the stripper at the gentlemen’s club.
Baby, me too!
Christy shook her head as she tossed her jacket onto the chair; her blonde tresses cascaded over her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the bed. I had such a great time partying with you last week.
José crouched in front of her, moving in close. He groped her clothing, opened her jeans and slid them off onto the floor. She quivered as his hands rubbed against her panties, caressed her soft warm spot and traced the outline of her breasts. He kissed her hard and their tongues intermingled. She grasped his back, he had to enter her suddenly and they lay together gasping and panting.
José provided plenty of party supplies; in the form of whiskey, marijuana and cocaine. Both of them had hearty appetites. The young lovers were thrilled to touch each other’s bodies, the sexual tension was electric. José and Christy looked in each other’s eyes. Nothing else existed outside the motel room; he fell into her mystery and intrigue, lost in the moment.
He woke up the next morning in rumpled clothes from the night before, with the odor of cigarette smoke and alcohol on his breath.
We could do this all the time,
José said. She didn’t reply, there wasn’t any response. José rolled over to squeeze Christy around the waist, his nose nestled in the nape of her neck. What do you think about what I just said?
It’s great when we hang out together.
Christy knew José wouldn’t be her boyfriend. It's just that, it's always on your terms. You breeze into town for a couple of days and then you’re gone. When you’re here you expect me to drop everything. I don't see this as anything permanent. But, we’re having fun, right?
It was rough, her words stung a little. José had a hard time, that didn’t allow most women to have a chance. His perfect physical ideal kept him from attaining something more permanent. He stayed away from his mom’s house and his brother more and more frequently. This created suspicion and also accusations; the perception was that he didn’t care about the business.
SILVER MOON
Silver Moon woke up with a stony, queasy feeling. She shivered under her blanket, noticing that the fire in the cast iron stove was almost out. The few glowing embers that remained were black and smoky charcoal. I hope my son feels better. With blessings from: the pueblo, mountain, earth and sky.
Time to get up, son.
Silver Moon was slow to get out of bed, she thought about last night’s bad dreams. Across the room, Drumming Boy was covered in a rough grey wool blanket; he rested on a cotton pad atop pine slats.
A spread covered his torso; hand woven by his grandfather, in the tradition of male weavers. Men’s shoulder blankets, known as chief rugs, were loomed by medicine men with wide stripes intermingled with color blocks. Straight from the sheep, light and dark wool was combed in any variation of ivory, grey or ebony. Great Mountain carded the wool, made dye and spun the yarn; using a dedicated space that housed the loom. Several materials were used: yucca fiber; vegetable and mineral colors; clay powder to enhance the white coloration and crimson bayeta.
Son?
She repeated her question, threw her blankets off and sat at her son’s side on his bed. You need to drink tea and eat something to keep your strength up.
Ring! The church bell rang; she put her hand on the back of his neck and quickly recoiled. No! You feel so cold.
He lay on his side with his knees tucked in and his arms folded across his chest. She prodded his body for several minutes, but he was motionless and stiff. She gasped, knowing for certain that he was dead. No, you can’t leave me!
She blinked hard as a stream of tears spilled onto her cheeks.
He had very few possessions, but she looked across the adobe room, to notice what he’d left behind. A simple cotton shirt and pair of pants hung from a peg; beneath that his moccasins. He also had a natural hard rubber ball that he played with since he was a child. Beside it was a drum, a construction of a scooped out log with a stretched hide laced across at either end.
Silver Moon peeled her son’s blankets back and lay down beside him. She wrapped her arms around his belly and shoulders. A couple of hours passed that morning; she relished the opportunity, knowing that this was her last chance to hold him.
FERNANDO
I don’t want a life full of pain, like my dad’s…with everything hateful and ugly. Fernando’s mind wandered, full of his thoughts, as he drove along the mountain highway. He just finished repackaging the kilos of drugs into small baggies; to sell to his regular johns. Fernando looked in his rear view mirror. Is that car following me? Fernando squinted, trying to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
I need to be ready for anything.
For that reason he always carried a loaded gun with him, stashed under the seat of his truck. Oh shit! Is that Chango? I’m in big trouble!
Fernando wasn’t sure what to do, but then he thought of an idea.
Roar! Fernando slammed on the brakes suddenly. The engine screamed with an agonizing wail. His pursuers slammed on the brakes also, stopping suddenly. Fernando hopped out with his pistol, but he couldn’t go against two men with guns.
Ha! I would love to shoot your punk ass!
Two men, Chavo and Julio stood right in front of him, on the deserted mountain highway. Nothin’ would make me happier than to get revenge on you.
You win, don’t shoot!
Fernando knew there was nothing he could do without back up. He was fully aware of the reason Chavo and Julio stopped him, holding him at gunpoint. They were thugs sent by their boss, Chango. He was a small time crime boss, a rival of Fernando’s father for years. Besides, ever since dad died, Chango wants to put heat on me. He wants to take business away from me, dealing drugs to junkies and keeping whores at the brothel.
Here’s my gun.
Fernando succumbed to the threat and set his pistol down on the asphalt. Do whatever you want, but don’t shoot me. I can’t go against both of you.
The two men bound Fernando with cord and put him in the back seat of their car. Chavo went into his truck, took out the large stash and Julio drove them away.
Orale, Holmes! This stash is gonna bring me a lot of fedia,
Julio said.
Eventually they ended up at San José Creek, hidden in a thicket of cottonwood trees; on the outskirts of San Rafael. I feel sick; nobody knows where to find me right now. What are these dudes gonna do to me?
How ‘bout you forget all of this?
Fernando ran different scenarios in his head, trying to make sense of it, hoping for a way to get out of this situation. Whatever Chango is paying you guys, I’ll double it.
Ha! Don’t worry, ese.
Chavo laughed and brandished the gleaming gunmetal pistol under his nose. That’s right. You’ll pay us, except it will come through your mom. She’s gonna come up with a fat ransom for Chango; if she ever sees her son alive again. The choice is yours. Jacked up or in the hospital, it don’t matter to me one little bit.
Chapter 2 SAN RAFAEL PRESENT
EL MALPAIS
Within the badlands, the light of day doesn’t penetrate Junction Cave. Several species of flora and fauna thrive within the micro-environments. Lizards, frogs, squirrels and mice were black. The coloration was acquired by living on and around the pitch volcanic rock. It’s no accident, as their pigment provides camouflage from predators.
Further along; bears, bobcats, cougars, ravens, owls, hawks and turkeys were found in the valley near El Malpaís. Nature struck a balance amongst its residents. El Correcaminos was the roadrunner; he trotted along his path on ridiculous, large feet. Animals that were unique to the Continental Divide, such as the mule deer or mountain blue jay fought a death struggle, as predator or prey.
What appeared to be smoke … pouring from the mouth of the cave, as night falls? It wasn’t really smoke, but in reality a flock of bats, rushing out of the entrance, in a mass exodus. Mexican free-tailed bats depart from the cave that can last for an hour. The migration goes on and on, without slowing down. Locals called it a smoke signal, actually bats that were on the hunt for flying insects.
The black was oppressive once inside the cave’s interior. Day or night couldn’t be distinguished from one another.
Blind crickets evolved as a result of the absence of exposure to sunlight. The animal adapted and no longer needed to see his surroundings. The cave floor was littered with many sorts of animal dung. Owl pellets abound, little packets of animal skeletons, indicative of the predatory bird’s diet.
El Malpaís meant badlands
in Spanish. In ancient times the tubes formed when red hot rivers flowed then cooled. Lava drained and left behind tunnel-like caves. Its features included spatter cones, an extensive seventeen mile cave system and fragile ice caves. Contained within the system were year round ice caves: with delicate ice stalactites, ice crystal ceilings and floors as smooth as a frozen winter lake. Four types of volcanoes were present within the terrain: basalt cone, cinder cone, shield volcano and composite volcano.
Mount Taylor—otherwise known as Turquoise Mountain—was visible to the north of the badlands. The conical mound was a classic example of a composite volcano; the last eruption took place a million years ago.
In the surrounding rural areas—near the badlands, mesas and mountains—there are regions heavily settled by Native American Indians. The Acoma and Navajo are predominant in this area. Fortunately, tribes managed to keep many of their cultural traditions alive. Despite the encroaching advances of the homogenizing effects of American society. In too many instances, dominant cultures subordinated the indigenous through the effects of colonialism, leaving them devoid of character. Modern times have adjusted the Navajo and Acoma way of life, without complete assimilation.
Long ago, by the standards of archaeology, artifacts were found in the deep recesses of caves. The ancient objects suggested that many of the tube caves were used for storage or funerary. Sadly, most of the archaeological treasures were decimated by illegal pot collecting. These factors result in making it nearly impossible for archaeologists to fully reconstruct the area’s historical significance.
OLD POT
Fernando Martinez and his cousin Meko walked through the desert badlands in an area known as El Malpaís. The cousins left San Rafael earlier that morning and were out in the wilds of the desert near Acomita. This was the sacred ground of the Acoma Native American Indian. They drove down the remote access road, off the paved highway and into a gulley, to conceal the parked truck from the main road.
Not too often, but you might see a ranger or sheriff down here.
Fernando walked past the truck with Meko along the hard curled edge of the lava flow. The dry red dirt kicked up tufts of curling dust on the edge, very near the black flow of lava. Or, you might see a nosey huero rancher around these parts.
This place is a trip!
Meko carried a terrain map from the College of New Mexico library, with a schematic of caves and lava tubes. Every time I come down here it feels like I’m walking on the moon.
They followed the map as they walked. El Malpaís stretched out in front of them for miles and miles, with an appearance of popped bubbles hewn from porous black rock. Curved tubes cascaded in layers and layers on the ropy uneven surface. The air retained a little bit of morning coolness; the cousins were already dripping in sweat at the armpits, elbows and knees. This was because they wore thick pants and long sleeves for protection against the razor sharp lava rock.
Cuz, do you remember that story from one of our cousins, about old pots hidden in caves out here in the badlands?
Meko trekked through the varied terrain, using the map to guide Fernando. I heard an antique dealer paid thousands of dollars for that shit!
Silent and eerie in the
