Mehico by Richard Hulse

Emerson drove all through that warm afternoon. The three of them were quiet most of the way, but at one point Bobby looked over to Charlene in the back seat.

‘So, where’s you and your folks from?’

He felt a little awkward. He was just trying to make conversation. But she said nothing and perhaps she hadn’t even heard the question. She was frowningly immersed in Modern Screen. On the cover of the magazine was a picture of Bette Davis, blonde and alluring.

Emerson didn’t talk much either. He was concentrating on the roads, if they could be called that. Most of them were little more than dirt tracks, and they’d already lost a day or two trying to find the right direction.

‘I’ll bet it was like this a hundred years ago,’ he muttered.

Bobby agreed. A stone age country; burros for most people, a horse if you were lucky. At least they had the Ford, but Emerson had used almost the last of their money gassing it up at Saltillo. It had left a few pesos over to buy tortillas from a street vendor.   

In the evening, Emerson pulled the car over into some mesquite. They made a campfire, and, after they’d munched on the cold greasy tortillas, Emerson passed around a bottle of Kentucky Straight. Bobby took a few slugs but Charlene waved it off.  

‘Big day tomorrow,’ said Emerson. Bobby grinned. Emerson clambered under his blanket and, soon, he was snoring.

Charlene and Bobby sat, watching the flames. Occasionally she threw a stick into them. Bobby pulled his jacket collar up. How could it get cold so quickly at night? Because it was south of the border? It wasn’t that far; the weather couldn’t change that much. But to Bobby, even if it seemed a crazy notion, everything did seem more here.  

He’d told his mother he’d only be gone a week on a job. Then he’d told his brother and sister to be good and when he returned it’d be with plenty of money and everything would be fine for them all, just you see. He’d bring them presents, something pretty for Effie, not a doll, not now she was getting older. Effie had nodded and smiled a bit but said she didn’t need no present, just him to come back safe. Boy, she was a smart kid; she’d guessed something was up. He’d kissed her forehead and told her not to worry.            

‘I’m from Fayetteville, Arkansas’ Charlene said suddenly. The sound of her voice surprised him out of his thoughts. ‘My daddy was a teacher.’ So, she had heard him, hours before.    

‘He’s not a teacher no more?’

She told him how the good Lord had taken her daddy last winter. That was when influenza had been raising hell all across the southwest.  

‘After that, I was thinkin’ about where’s to go. Met Emerson one night in a diner an’ thought I’d go for a drive with him. An’ we been doin’ that for near two months. Takin’ opportunities as they arose.’

Bobby had been wondering how it had all come about with these two. Emerson’d made no mention of her beforehand in his messages. Bobby wasn’t too sure he’d have agreed to join up if he’d known. He hadn’t expected no little bitty girl to be trailing along for this expedition. You needed someone who could handle themselves.

‘So, you’re sort of sweethearts then?’

‘Aww.’ Charlene laughed. ‘Why, if that isn’t the cutest way to put it, Bobby-boy.’

Perhaps she was making fun of him; he was never sure with girls. ‘Just sayin’ I hope it all works out for you both.’    

‘Well, maybe it will at that. Number of times he’s said that him and me was meant to be.’ She smiled. ‘Hey, that rhymes, don’t it?’ She began to sing the sentence quietly as she watched the sticks burn. The land around them had vanished, rinsed in blackness, but the stars were out, a powdering of light. Bobby listened to her voice. She didn’t have an Arkansas accent, not quite. He couldn’t place it.     

***

The afternoon following, they reached San Luca. Emerson had said it was an average-sized town, but as they drove slowly down main street it was quiet. A man led his mule to one side, watched them go past.    

‘There it is,’ said Bobby. ‘On the right. Stop.’

‘Don’t stop,’ said Charlene. This time, she was sitting up front, two bare feet pressed against the windshield.

‘What?’

‘She’s right,’ said Emerson, ‘We might get ourselves attention right outside it.’  

 He pulled in just round the corner.

‘Stay here, Charlie,’ he told her. ‘Make sure no one messes with the car.’  

‘Sure, honey.’ She’d slipped her shoes on and emerged into the sunshine. She smiled at two little kids who were staring at them and then she glanced around the street. ‘But where is everyone?’

‘How should I know? Siesta, maybe. Come on, Bobby.’   

The two men walked back to the whitewashed building they’d just driven by. The plan was simple: they’d check it out first. Then, if everything looked fine, they’d get organised and take it.   

The bank looked like an older place with one small barred window. There was an old man sitting and nodding outside. The heavy front door was closed. Emerson went to it and Bobby guessed what was going to happen. The door didn’t open. Emerson pushed again, stepped back. 

‘What in the…’  He stared at it. It was heavy oak, metal-banded. It wasn’t getting moved any time soon.  

The old man who was sitting a few paces down looked over. ‘The bank is closed.’

‘Closed?’

‘It’s Sunday, sénor.’

Emerson stared at him and then put his hands on his hips.

‘Did you want to make a deposit?’ asked the old man.

‘Nah. Wanted to take some money out.’

Emerson stepped back into the street. Bobby joined him but he was reluctant to speak. Emerson, his temper, you never knew.  

‘Goddamn country,’ said Emerson. ‘Gets you so you can’t even tell one day from another,’

‘Guess we could stay over ‘til tomorrow?’ said Bobby. ‘Come back?’ 

‘Looks like.’ 

They retraced their steps to the Ford. But now something about the way they walked felt awkward. They felt like boys who’d been told to get lost by some bigger stronger world.

When they got to the car, the two kids had grown into a dozen. They were chattering to each other and asking Charlene questions. Charlene herself was sitting on the running board with a little girl on her knee. Emerson explained about the bank, speaking in English.

She burst out laughing.

‘Can’t see what’s so damn funny,’ said Emerson.

‘That’s ‘cause you’re not tryin’. Anyways, I’m starving. Long as we’re here overnight, least we can do is get something to eat.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah?’

Charlene smiled. ‘We just goin’ to keep saying ‘yeah’ to each other all afternoon?’

‘Get something to eat? And pay for it how?’

‘Beg, borrow, or steal.’ She turned to one of the Mex kids. ‘Pablito? Anywhere we can get a meal round here, baby?’   

All the kids began to talk rapidly to each other so fast it was hard to make sense.

‘Whoa,’ said Charlene. ‘One at a time.’ Her Spanish was okay but not great. Bobby had managed to pick up the gist, though.     

‘There’s a wedding goin’ on,’ he said. ‘I mean, there was a wedding, but now they’re havin’ a fiesta the other end of town. Which means food and wine. Everyone’s welcome.’

***

They drove the car slowly a little farther up and around some adobe dwellings. Even before they got there, Bobby could see a large building, a town hall perhaps, and hear a band inside playing a rancheras number. People were coming in and out of the big doorway, laughing, singing.

Some of the kids had hung on to the running board and they jumped off to greet people who were there. One girl who’d emerged from the fiesta, maybe twelve years old, she hugged the littlest.

‘Who’s getting married?’ asked Charlene interestedly.

Bobby asked the twelve-year-old. ‘It’s the wedding of the alcade’s – the mayor’s – daughter.’ He listened some more. ‘She says the bride looked real pretty. When she came out of the church. Says she looked like a princess.’

‘A princess?’ said Charlene. ‘Well, I’ll be. That’s swell.’

They could see through the arched doorway there was a Mex dance going on. Guests – guys – were dancing for a few seconds with the bride. Everyone was clapping along. Then, after the brief dance, the guest pinned a banknote to the bride’s dress. Bobby could see her dress was covered with them. Everyone cheered and applauded after each short dance.

‘It’s their custom,’ said Bobby. ‘Kinda strange, though.’

‘It’s sweet,’ said Charlene. She bumped her shoulder against his. ‘Don’t you think? Helps the couple when they’re startin’ out.’ 

As the music played and the celebrations heated up, more people were going into the building. It was getting quieter on the street now. Emerson had already gone in, heading for the trestle tables and the plates and glasses. Bobby was about to go, too. Then he saw a man in a dark suit and hat standing in the brilliant, dusty street. He had a camera on a tripod. He looked like he was about to carry it inside the building.

Charlene spoke to him. ‘Like to take my picture?’

He glanced at her. ‘I’m the official photographer of the wedding group, sénorita.’

‘Sure. But can’t you spare just one of me?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have many left.’

‘What would one picture be worth to you?’

‘It’s not about what it’s worth in money. This is my job’ 

‘How about a hundred dollars?’

The photographer looked at her. ‘A hundred?’

‘At least.’

‘You have that kind of money?’

Charlene laughed. ‘I haven’t got five pesos.’

Bobby watched them. The man started laughing too. Not at her, just joining in with her laughter since it was so infectious. But he still shook his head.

‘I’m doin’ you a favor,’ said Charlene. ‘It’ll be worth a lot to you. A lot more than this.’ She gestured at the open doorway, the fiesta, the bright colors swirling. She didn’t even bother to look at it, the dancers, the smiling faces.

The photographer cocked his head. ‘Sénorita, you’re an odd one.’

‘Well, that’s a true fact.’   

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Look this way. Keep still now.’

She smiled at him. He adjusted his camera and took her picture.

‘Gracias, sénor.’ She turned toward the fiesta.

‘Hey,’ he called. ‘How will I get it to you?’

‘Oh, I’ll see it everywhere.’ 

She walked out of the sunlight and weaved through the hall, through the guests, toward where the bride was dancing with all the money on her. Bobby followed. She gestured to Emerson who already had a glass in his hand; come here.

Everything happened fast then.

Afterward, whenever that day came back to him, Bobby thought of how it might have worked out all right. For a moment or two, everyone was shocked, compliant. But then the groom moved sharply, shouted angrily, and when he did, Charlene fired. Once that happened, Emerson was yelling and opening up as well. Then everyone was cowering under tables and the air was raw with noise, the booms of the shots, the screaming, and that one girl, the bride, in the midst of it all, eyes stunned, mouth open, trying to find her way back to where the world had been a few moments before. She’d crouched in on herself, her dress ripped from where Emerson had been pulling the pinned banknotes away.

Then all three of them were out in the street, running to the car. As they moved, Bobby was aware of odd flickering things: his breath noisy in his throat, the sun descending toward the far mountains, a goat scampering out of their path. They made it back to the Ford and there was some scattered return fire coming in their direction from one or two men in the crowd. Bobby crouched low, shooting back without looking.

Emerson ducked into the driving seat, started her up. 

Charlene was already in the back seat: she kept the door open, grabbed hold of Bobby’s arm and dragged him in. Handfuls of pesos, some dollars, all around them.  

The car volleyed away, everyone’s heads jerking back and forward as Emerson accelerated. Three minutes later, with the town behind them, he smacked the steering wheel and howled.  

‘Whoo-ee! That was it! See how we took them wetbacks? Yes!’

Bobby breathed deeply. Now that the energy was diminishing, he felt strange. Charlene patted his knee.

‘It’s not on us, Bobby-boy,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Nothin’ would have happened, not too bad I mean, not if he hadn’t gone for his gun.’

‘Who? What gun?’

‘The groom. The gun in his waistband.’

‘I didn’t see no gun.’

‘Honey, come on. You didn’t see it?’ 

Bobby stared at her. ‘He was gettin’ married. Who’d take a gun to their own wedding?’

Charlene shook her head. ‘I know, it’s strange. But I sure saw it. He was fixin’ to shoot us for a certainty if I hadn’t got him first.’      

They drove. Clouds of dust came up in their wake. Bobby wondered if there’d be a pursuit, telegrams sent, rurales hunting them.  

‘They’re goin’ to remember this, the Mexes,’ he said. ‘They’ll remember it hard.’

Emerson grinned. ‘Yeah, won’t they ever! How much we take?’

Bobby looked down. After a moment, he began to count the notes.

Charlene, though, was looking out of the passenger window at the distant mountains. The sun was still there, a falling fire at the edge of everything.  

‘A princess?’ she said. She was speaking quietly, maybe to herself. ‘Like hell she did. I mean, how would that dumb kid even know what a princess looks like?’

Richard Hulse

Image: A small fire burning down to grey ashes from Pixabay.com