water in a stick

water in a stick
survival

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Pietro and Valencia Part thirteen

The old woman, Valencia's neighbor, who had watched the Coyote burn Valencia's families home, and heard the screams of Valencia's Grandmother, asked her grandson to drive her to Estrella's cabin.  The young man did not want to do it, it sounded boring, but his Grandmother insisted and gave him money to buy gas.  They filled the tank of the small car and drove west.  The old woman had gotten directions from the man who owned the gas station, he knew Estrella and would do anything to help her and make life difficult for the Coyote.  The directions were very clear and by mid afternoon the old woman and the young man were turning off of the main road and on to the long rugged drive to the cabin.  The car stopped as soon as the old woman saw the cabin.  She told her grandson so stay in the car and she walked through the dirt towards the home of Estrella.
Before she had walked 100 feet, Estrella came out of the cabin holding a rifle.  "Who comes here?"  She asked sternly.
"I am the neighbor of Valencia.  I have come to warn you about the Coyote."  The old woman stopped talking and waited.  She could see her words had deeply effected Estrella.  Estrella had momentarily slumped, her face cringing with hatred and fear.  Quickly she straightened up, her chin jutting out defiantly.
"Who is in the car?"  She asked.
"It is only my grandson, Estrella, he is a good boy, lazy, but he will not tell anyone we have been here."  The old woman knew how dangerous this visit was.  If the Coyote found out about it he would not hesitate to kill her or her grandson, or worse, torture them until they talked.
Estrella motioned the woman to come to the cabin and invited her inside.  Once they were seated at the table the old Woman began to talk.
"The coyote has burned the house that Valencia's family lived in.  The Grandmother was inside.  She is dead."  Estrella was horrified.  "Mother of God!"  She said.  "How can a man do that?  Did the Policia arrest him?"
The old woman laughed without smiling.  "They do nothing.  It is as if they do not exist when it comes to the Coyote.  And he is not a man, he is a beast sent by the devil himself to torment us.
That is not all, he burned Fredrico Rodriquez's Garage and beat up Jesus Montoya, the brother of  Juan, the man who owns the gun shop.  He has threatened or hurt almost everyone in the village trying to find out where you live.  The Coyote has the whole place terrorized.  And worse, he succeeded.  He could be here any time, but I think you may have a day or two, he will have to get supplies before he comes searching for Pietro and Valencia and he has made the villagers so angry they will try to sabotage his plans and delay him as much as they can.  But, who knows if they will succeed?"  The woman stopped speaking, feeling almost out of breath.  She had held in so much fear and anger that now she felt drained.
Estrella had listened, knowing that this was meant to be.  she knew the Coyote would be coming, but now she knew when, or approximately when.  She was ready she thought.  Her preparations had been carefully planned and executed.  She might not be able to stop the Coyote from searching for Pietro and Valencia, but she would do her best to give them the head start they needed.  Estrella thanked the woman and asked her to go quickly, but not so fast that she would make a lot of dust on the road.  She wasn't going to take any chances.  The two stood and Estrella put her hands out to take the woman's hands.  "I know you took a big chance coming here and I thank you.  I promise your efforts will not be wasted."
"You know, Estrella, the whole town is on your side.  They want Pietro and Valencia to have a chance at life.  Of course, Valencia's father is very upset and angry with Pietro, but he will get over that.  Mostly he just wants his daughter home, safe."  The old woman turned and began to walk to the door. Just as she reached it, she turned and looked at Estrella.  "You should move to town.  But not until the Coyote is gone, dead hopefully."
The woman turned back and Estrella watched her walk to the little car and waited as the car turned and slowly made its way down to the main road.  They drove slowly and made little dust.  Estrella was pleased that they had come, not knowing when the Coyote would find her had been stressful.  Now, she knew it would be very soon, and she knew it would be an unpleasant meeting.
She had driven Pietro's truck several miles away from her cabin and parked it behind some large scrub brush.  She had gathered more brush and packed it around the vehicle until the truck was well hidden.  It had taken her a long time and when she was finished and had walked the long walk back home she was filthy, sweaty and bone tired.  She had removed all traces of any visitors from the cabin.
Now, although her plans were not quite finished, she wanted to make a few more changes to the area around her house.  She would put hazards in the Coyotes path, anything to slow him down, and give Pietro and Valencia more time.  She worked all day and late into the evening.  When she finally did go to bed she was satisfied.  She was almost excited for the Coyote to come.  If he didn't kill her, his visit might provide quite a bit of fun.  For her.  Estrella prayed until she fell asleep.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Pietro and Valencia, Part twelve

The Coyote had a headache.  It made him even meaner than usual.  He had abandoned everything in his life but drink and thoughts of revenge.  He would find Pietro and his whore and make them pay.  He didn't care about the money anymore.  His waking hours were filled with disgusting thoughts of what he would do when he found them; nights, his sick dreams would have horrified a normal person, but the Coyote was not normal.
For days he talked to people in the little town.  He pressured and threatened and he got results. It wasn't long before he heard about Estrella.  As soon as he heard that she lived in the mountains he knew that was where Pietro and Valencia would go.  He could read them like a book, stupid peasants.  It was harder to worm the location of Estrella's home, but after another small fire and several beatings, the coyote had what he needed.
He loaded his truck with several guns and plenty of ammunition, a razor sharp knife, a rope, and a wicked looking machete.  He headed out of town just after dawn, one of the first mornings he awoke without a headache.  He drove with the windows open, dust swirling around the truck, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and an evil scowl distorting his face.  After he finished with Pietro and Valencia, no one would try to cheat him again, they would know who was in charge.  Everyone would fear him.
But.....as with most plans, things do not always go smoothly.  Even though he had beaten and scared several people into revealing Estrella's location, those people had gathered together and formed a plan to make the Coyote's search as slow and difficult as possible.  These people were as angry as the Coyote had been.  One man worked at the gas station where the Coyote filled his tank.  The gas he put in was bad gas.  The coyote's truck would run rough and maybe even quit.  The man knew he would eventually have to pay for his actions, but he didn't care anymore, the coyote had burned part of his garage.
The second man working to stop the Coyote had sold him ammunition.  It wasn't right either.  There was a good chance that when the Coyote tried to fire his guns the bullets might not fire right.  They might even explode.  The man's brother had suffered both a broken leg and a bad concussion from the Coyote.
The third person was the old woman who lived next door to Valencia's family.  She had watched as the Coyote boarded up Valencia's home and set the place on fire.  She had heard the scream.  She had locked her door and cowered in fear that the Coyote would see that she had witnessed his horrible deeds and come after her.  When he did not she was relieved, then angry, then determined to help foul his plans.  The day after the fire she left, she headed for Estrella's.  She would get there before the Coyote.  She would warn Estrella and stay to help her fight the Coyote.
There were others in the town who would have liked to help, but fear kept them cowering.  Most would eventually find ways to make the Coyote's job harder, others went to the church and prayed.  If the Coyote had known he would have smiled.  He would think he had succeeded in his quest to make the whole town fear him.  He had not.  He had made them hard, as hard as they would make his job.  And there were more of them.  Many, many more.  The Coyote had hurt too many people.  The town had had enough.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Taxes

Taxes done!  I am breathing again.  Happy St. Pat's Day to all!

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Pietro and Valencia, Part eleven

Estrella had warned Pietro and Valencia to drive very slowly.   There was no road and the ground was very bumpy, boulders and trees had to be carefully driven around.  They had to look at everything so they would not miss the markers Estsrella had mapped out for them.  If they got lost they would not have enough food or water to finish the trip to Talico and they might wander forever in the desert.
Valencia wasn't feeling very well, her belly ached, but she did not want to worry Pietro so she kept her pain to herself.  She hoped it did not mean anything was wrong with the baby.
Pietro's eyes were gritty with dust and pinched from staring into the morning sun.  He glanced at Valencia and saw that her hand holding the map was clenched.  Frowning he asked her what was wrong.  "Valencia, are you alright?  Don't worry, we'll make it to Talico, God is on our side."
Valencia looked up at Pietro.  "Yes, my love, but ...." .  Valencia grimaced as a new and stronger pain washed over her.  "AH!  Pietro stop the jeep."  Pietro pushed down on the brake pedal and the jeep jerked to a stop.
"Valencia, what is it?  What's wrong?  What's happening?  Is it the bambino?"  Valencia wasn't answering, she was bent over gripping her stomach.  Sweat beaded on her forehead.  Uninteligible sounds came from her throat.  Pietro helped Valencia out of the jeep and grabbed a blanket and spread it out for her to lay on.
"Pietro, something is wrong!"  Valencia cried.  She was getting more scared as each moment passed and the pain worsened.
"What can I do?"  Pietro asked desperation in his voice.
"I don't know, I don't know what is wrong!"  Valencia was writhing on the blanket clutching her belly.  Pietro took Valencia's hand in his, if nothing else he would try to calm her.  "Listen, my love, I am here with you.  Squeeze my hand, maybe it will help you bear the pain."
Valencia looked into Pietro's eyes, she saw his love and also the fear in them.  She tried her best to stop writhing and focus on breathing, in and out, slowly and deeply.  She was a strong girl, she could make it through this, whatever it was.
Pietro watched her.  He was very worried, but he didn't know what he could do.
Some time later, neither knew how much time had passed since the pains began, but Valencia's pain was lessening.  The cramps were not as intense.  But Valencia knew something had changed, she could feel wetness between her legs. "Pietro, look away! Now, please!"  She begged.  She did not want him to see the blood she knew must be flowing out of her body.  She rolled off of the blanket and raising her dress, looked down where she felt the wetness coming from.  There was blood on her thighs and she could see the dark red seeping onto the dusty ground.  Tears formed in her eyes.  She knew what this meant, she had lost the baby.
"Valencia, What is going on?  When I can turn around?  Let me help you!"  Pietro could hear Valencia crying.
"Pietro, I... I think I have lost our baby!  Get one of the towels from the jeep, and some water.  And don't look at me!"  Valencia lowered her dress and covered her bloody thighs.  Pietro handed her the canteen of water and the towel and Valencia tore the towel into strips.  She cleaned her body and put one of the strips folded up between her legs like a pad.  She did not know how long the bleeding would last.  "You can look now, Pietro.  Help me up."  Pietro turned and stretched out his hand helping Valencia rise to her feet.  He jerked when Valencia swayed, and his arms both went around her protectively.
"I am alright, Pietro, just weak maybe.  Dig a hole so we can bury these bloody rags, and our....our baby.   I .... I will be okay, I think."  Valencia leaned on the jeep and watched as Pietro dug the hole and completed the task.  She said a prayer for the tiny lumps of clotted blood that had been and was no more their child. The baby had not been baptized, would God understand and accept the innocent bab into heaven?  Valencia hoped so.  She made the sign of the cross.  Pietro held her hand and kneeled in the dirt, his head hanging low on his chest.  "God, please take care of our little one for us...."  Pietro's voice broke.  He could say no more.  He helped Valencia into the jeep and got behind the wheel.
"What now?  What do we do now?"  He asked softly.
"We go on Pietro.  There is nothing else we can do."  Valencia was pale and her belly still hurt.  Not the sharp pains as before, but a deep aching.  She didn't know if the pain was real or because she was sad about the bambino.  It didn't matter, she hurt.  But she knew they must go on.  Looking up toward the burning sun she knew it was past noon already, they must go on, this had cost them time they could not afford to lose.  And, their baby.  Valencia cried softly as Pietro studied the map and began driving again.  He too felt the loss, not physically, like Valencia, but in his heart.  His child.  Their child was no more.  They had not even given the bambino a name, or known if it was a boy or a girl.  Pietro vowed that the Coyote would not take anything else from them.  His hatred grew as Valencia's tears fell.  They did not talk for a long time.  Neither knew what to say.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Pietro and Valencia, Part ten

Not many in his village new his real name, he was known as 'The Coyote' and occasionally El Diablo.    He was an ugly man.  He was an evil man.  He did not understand love or affection.  He understood hate.  No one had treated him with kindness since his early childhood and would probably never look at him kindly again in his life.  Fear.  This was the Coyote's weapon.  Fear.
The Coyote woke with his clothes on, he didn't even remember how he had gotten home, if you could call the dirty house he lived in a home.  Once it had been grand, a beautiful hacienda filled with beautiful furniture and art, a courtyard full of lush flowers and trees.  Now, it was a wrecked hulk, the furniture broken, scratched, and filthy, the uncared for plants dead brown sticks, the artwork gone; stolen by the Coyote's so called compadres when they had partied.  They were never his friends and now were his enemies.
The Coyote thought about Pietro and how he had left without paying the promised money, the Coyote was not only angry, he was embarrassed.  Pietro had made a fool of him.  That was not to be allowed.
First, the Coyote visited the rooms that Pietro had rented.  Of course the rooms were empty.  Next he went to the home of Valencia, Pietro's woman.  No one answered the door, even when he banged loudly.  He knew there was someone home, he could feel it.  Back in his truck he stared at the house, thinking.  Then he smiled.  He drove off fast, his tires spitting gravel, and dust swirling behind.  A short time later he was back.  He banged on the door again and yelled, threatening anyone inside.
"I shall destroy you!" he shouted.  "You will regret ignoring the Coyote!".
The Coyote made several trips between his truck and the house, dragging heavy boards then nailing them over the doors and bigger windows.  When he was sure that no one left inside would be able to get out he piled sticks soaked with gasoline by the front door.  One last time he yelled at the family to come out and tell him where Valencia had gone.  Only silence answered him.  He touched the gas soaked sticks with his lighter and stepped back.  There was a whoosh and the fire jumped from the small pile of sticks to a raging blaze which ignited the old wooden doors and quickly consumed the dry wooden parts of the structure and then jumped to the roof.  Only minutes had passed when the first scream was heard from the house.  Valencia's grandmother had been the only one home.  She had smelled the fire, then felt the crushing pain in her chest as her heart gave out.  Her screams were not from pain but the sadness she felt at not being able to say goodbye to her family.  She had time only to grasp the rosary beads that lay on the table next to her bed.  The Coyote would have been disappointed to know that the old woman was dead before the smoke even reached her room.  Her screams did not last long.
The coyote waited and watched as the house burned.  He could hear sirens coming.  He climbed back into his truck and roared off.  He had gotten no answers and felt no satisfaction.  How could that be, he wondered?  His truck slid sideways around the corner and into the space in front of the bar he favored.  It was early, no one was at the tables.  Just as well, his mood was nasty and volatile.  He would have challenged anyone there to a fight but the place was empty except for the bartender who quickly put a bottle and glass on the table in front of the Coyote.  No words were said.  The Coyote drank deeply and coughed from the rotgut liquor.  "Don't you have anything but this fucking piss?"  he shouted.
"No Senor."  said the bartender.  "I am sorry, but this is the best the house has to offer."  The bartender hurried to the back room, afraid for his life.  The Coyote glared after him, then his sick face smiled lopsidedly.  "You can run, but you cannot hide forever, you cowardly worm."  The bartender did not hear him.  He was on his way to the Federales.  He had smelled the gasoline when he served the Coyote the bottle of liquor, he knew what it meant.  He hoped they would come in time to save his bar; it was all he had.
The Coyote brought out his lighter and began to flick it on and off, the tiny flame reminding him of his failures.  He guzzled the cheap booze, burping and swearing.  When the bottle was empty he threw it as hard as he could, breaking the mirror that graced the wall behind the bar.  His glazed eyes barely taking in the glistening shards that burst into the room.  Unfazed at the destruction he caused, he staggered out to his truck and headed home.  His pickled brain trying to form a new plan.  He left his lighter on the table at the bar.  It would be a reminder..... to everyone.