Muckers (10 page)

Angie screams before we leap into the sky but she doesn’t let go. Then we land, tumbling down the valley together all entangled and heading for the river until a cottonwood
breaks our fall. And she’s laughing. Just lying there with me, laughing.

“You all right?” I ask.

Angie looks down at her skirt, then feels around the back of it. “My seam split,” she whispers.

“Uh-oh. Is that bad?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” she says. “Close your eyes, okay? And I’ll see just how far it ripped.”

I do what I’m told and after a while she says, “It’s not too torn. I’ll be able to fix it.”

So I open my eyes and Angie’s standing there at the edge of the river, the ends of her skirt flipped up above her knees. “How cold’s the water?” she asks, kicking off her shoes and stuffing her ankle socks inside their toes.

“Not too cold.” I roll up my jeans and untie my sneakers. “It’s had most of the summer to get warm, and the shade hasn’t hit yet,” I say. “Come on. There might even be some trout in there.”

Angie stands at the bank, one foot in the water, the other swirling around at the surface. “It’s warmer than the pool water,” she says, circling her foot wider and wider. “At least—
our
water. Is your water cold, too?”

“Pretty cold.” I turn away and make like I’m eyeing a fish. It’s such a stupid rule. “From what I hear. I don’t go in much. I’d rather swim here in the Verde.”

“It takes me three hours just to bleach it.”

“How’s that?”

“When we’re done with our days and it’s about to be your—
their
turn.” Angie stops circling and splashes her foot in the river. “We have to bleach it after it gets drained. I wear gloves but it’s just so strong. The solution they give us.”

She examines her hands and that’s when I notice they’re
different. They’re covered with patchy stains that don’t match the rest of her skin.

“I’m becoming whiter. See? Isn’t that a laugh?” Angie says, holding up her hands. “I bleach the pool because I’m not a gringa, and then the bleach ends up making me one.” She’s smiling, but it looks pasted on. Her voice has gone all shaky, too, and her lip starts quivering. “I wonder if they bleach it after they’re through and it’s our turn. I mean, who checks?”

“Angie—”

“I never see the sheriff by the gate when they close, like he is when we do.”

“Angie, stop.” I wade over and cup her hands in mine. “It’s a stupid rule, okay?”

But she’s crying. “Maybe they just leave it dirty after white days. Dirty for the Mexicans. Filthy white water.”

I take her shoulders and she lets me bring her close, only I don’t know what else to do. Holding her doesn’t seem like enough. It can’t be enough.
Would a kiss be all right? No, a kiss wouldn’t be right
.

“¡Ay, Dios santo!”
Angie screams. “A fish just swam right by me. I could
feel
it!” She lifts her face from my chest.

Some rainbow trout swarm by us, treating our legs like they’re bulrushes. “See that big speckled one?” I point out.

“Yeah.” Angie nods and follows my finger.

“I’m gonna catch it.”

“Oh sure. And I suppose you’ll do that with your bare hands.”

“You know it.” I’ve caught one before. I’m pretty quick. I can anticipate where they’ll go. I take off my jacket and aim it at the banks. It lands right where I wanted it to—on a ruddy manzanita branch.

Then I go find the fish. It stalls for a split second, barely an inch from the surface, and I pounce. But all I end up with is a face full of water.

“Nice going!” Angie says, and it’s good to hear her laughing. I don’t move, and scan the surface for bubbles. Then I see the fish in between the rocks to the left of me. Wedged between the banks. I know it’s only got one way to go and that if I dive for him, he’ll wriggle out from behind. So I reach for him with my toe and aim my body just behind his tail.

“Got it!” I shout, hoisting him up for Angie to see. “Here, catch!”

“Red, you wouldn’t. Please don’t throw it!”

“What, you don’t like fish?” It’s nearly a two-pounder and slices into my fingers struggling to get free, but I’ve got a good grip on it.

“I do,” Angie says. “But not when they’re moving!”

It would make a good supper and I’d keep it if I were alone. Stuff it in my shirt once it stopped breathing. But not with Angie. She doesn’t know how hungry I get.

I catch a glimpse of the tail shimmering pink and green and blue before I give him back to the Verde and it scares her. His heavy splash into freedom catches her by surprise. Angie slips on a rock before I can get to her but hops back up faster than that trout.

“Hey, you’re quick. Those pearls didn’t even get wet.” I look down at Angie’s skirt and it’s the only part that’s soaked. Still, she’s shivering, and I can see her legs through the wet material as she walks to the bank. She’s wearing pink underwear. They’ve got flowers on them. Angie turns around and I notice that her shirt has splashes on it, in places I’m longing to see once we’ve grown closer.

“My jacket’s dry.” I walk up to shore and give Angie my letterman’s jacket, and we sit on the bank.

“Thanks. It’s really warm,” she says. “Hey, would you look at that cactus? It’s blooming right in the air.”

There’s an agave behind us and it’s loaded with yellow flowers on a spike going ten feet up.

“See. It’s coming back,” Angie says. “The mountain.”

I smile because she noticed, too, and watch as she lies down and gazes at it, the same way I do.

“Maybe it’s because the smelter only belches out half of what it used to,” I say.

“No.” Angie shakes her head. She leans on an elbow and fingers a clump of fuzzy white sage. “I think it’s because Nefertiti’s fighting it. She’s a tough mountain. And she’s still got plenty to give.”

I’m not sure about that. “You know they die right after they bloom, don’t you? Those agave plants. It takes so much out of them just to make it up that far.”

Angie jerks forward and stares at me, disappointed. But a part of me believes that the mountain gave all she had a long time ago, and even though things are blooming, it’s too late. For the mountain, anyway.

“My parents won’t sell the house, you know. Papá doesn’t think the mine will close.”

“Neither does Cruz,” I say.

“What, so you think they will? That they’ll ship every last piece of the smelter to Ajo or Bisbee? Is that what the white folks think?”

“You mean, like me? You really believe I think differently than you?” I look down at my hand where the gill caught my finger and squeeze out some blood. “See this?” I say, showing her the cut. Then I break off a piece of agave. “Now give
me your hand. This won’t hurt much—I promise. You can close your eyes if you want to.”

“No. I don’t need to,” she says.

I prick the fleshy part of her middle finger until there’s a tiny drop of blood. “See?” I put my cut-up finger beside hers. “They’re both the same color, aren’t they?”

Angie sucks her finger and looks up at me with those eyes. “I’m glad you kidnapped me.” She smiles.

“I didn’t kidnap you. And you sure don’t look like a kid to me. You’re already a sophomore.”

“It’ll be strange,” Angie says, “going to Cottonville next year.”

“Yeah, well, don’t plan on talking to any of those Wolves, all right?”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” she teases. “You won’t be here, will you? Not if the mine really does close.”

“There’s no way I’d ever work in the mine.”

Angie looks at me, surprised. “So, what will you do then?”

“Play football.”

“No, I mean after,” she says.

“I don’t think about after. That’s getting too far ahead. ‘After’ makes you forget about what happened before and forces you to lose sight of now. And right now I’ve got to win something.”

“Don’t worry,” Angie says, resting her hand on my arm. “You’ll beat those Wolves this year. That’ll make you happy.”

“No.” I shake my head and turn to face her. “I mean something really big, like going undefeated and taking the Northern Crown. Then the state championship.”

“Is that all you think about?” Angie sighs. “It’s the same with Cruz. And Manny before that.”

“That’s because we have to.”

“And what if you don’t, Red? What if you don’t take Northern and go to the state? You’ll still graduate. Things’ll be the same.”

“Same as what? Nothing’s been the same for a while, Angie. Not like before. I’ve finally got a chance where I can get some of it back and I’m not gonna let that be taken away.”

Our eyes unlock and she leans back into the sand. “I’m getting out of the Barrio,” she says. “It’s practically all I think about—the future. What’s in store. I know I’ll teach. And Mexicans can buy houses right on the main streets in Cottonville.”

“What’s wrong with now?” I ask. But Angie won’t look at me.

“I don’t want to think about now,” she says. “Now means separate swimming days. The Barrio. These hands. You can get the grease off yours if you really scrub, but I can’t wash out the stains. They’re permanent.”

“I don’t care.” I take her speckled hands, pulling her toward me, and she starts crying again.

After a while Angie looks up at me. “You really do have red hair everywhere, don’t you?” she says. Then her face goes pink. “I mean on your arms … your legs.” She runs a finger over my arm. “It looks just like a copper ingot in the sun.”

“Yeah, we all do—” I catch myself. “Did.”

“He played football, too, didn’t he? Your brother.”

I tighten up for a moment, then pick up my shoes.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Angie says. “You’re happier when you forget.”

“Forget? About Bobby? Not a chance,” I say. “Come on, we better head back to catch the next train. It’s getting late.”

We walk past the mesquite brush along the tracks for a
couple hundred yards, waiting for the train to slow down as it reaches the tunnel. Then we scramble on.

Angie’s more comfortable on the way back, maybe because it’s familiar now, and she lets herself be rocked by the motion of the train.

“It was his birthday on Saturday,” I say, looking out at the scenery.

“Bobby’s?” Angie asks. She looks sad when I nod. “I’ll light a candle for him right away when I get home,” she says softly.

“What’ll that do?”

“It will let his soul know that I care.”

I don’t know how to answer that. All of a sudden there’s so much more going on in my head, but the rest of me feels warm, not wound up tight like a coiled spring you’d find under a Chevrolet. Angie leans over, wanting me to look at her, but I can’t. Not yet.

“They’re the same age, Manny and your brother,” Angie says, breaking the silence. “We’re lucky Manny came back, that’s for sure. Even though he’s missing a few fingers. And he still talks about Bobby.”

“What about?”

“Football. That big season they had right before they left to go overseas. He also said—” She waits for me to look at her. “He told me about your brother’s fiancée, Faye Miller. She was at the game last Friday. She has a son.”

“I know. I saw them, too. She said hello.”

“So, how come you don’t visit the Barrio anymore?” Angie asks.

“I haven’t been invited. Not since I was a little kid, anyway. And now Cruz won’t let me. Not if he knew you were with me. I’d be getting shot at every step of the way down.”

“Papá’s gun is so old he’d miss every time.” Angie smiles.

“I like your lips when they’re not so red,” I tell her. The sun and the water wiped away the makeup, uncovering a pale glow, and she’s glistening. There’s really pink underneath where the red was. And both the top and the bottom are all fleshy and shiny, just like the back of that trout.

Angie blushes. “I must have dropped my compact somewhere. Down by the river.” She reaches inside her skirt pockets but comes up empty.

“I’ll have to kidnap you again. To go see a picture show. One that Cruz won’t want to see. Maybe I’ll ask Bigsby for a private screening. I could fix his flats for nothing.”

Angie laughs and says something more about Cruz, but I’m not listening. I’m focused on those pink lips. How they must feel. Then I lean over and kiss her. Just flat out kiss her. “In case I never get the chance again,” I say, not waiting for a reaction.

“Planning on leaving anytime soon?” Angie asks, stroking the spot where my lips touched hers.

“Nope.”

She wraps my jacket tighter around her and I think it looks better on her than me. And I get this feeling inside, like I could rest in this moment a whole lot longer. But I know what happens next, because it always does. Time never gives me more when I need it. It just keeps getting away, snuffing itself out like a dying candle. Like it’s some sort of game, handing me way too much when I could care less—like when I’m alone and wanting to be with someone I can’t, but not giving me enough when I am.

The train slows down and this time I don’t let go of her hand when we jump off. Angie pauses and looks up at me but we don’t speak. I can’t speak.

She hurries down the hill, then rushes back. “I almost forgot. Your jacket!” She hands it to me and leaves much too quickly. I wanted to catch those eyes one more time, but she’s already sidestepping the prickly pears and the bear grass to get down to the Barrio.

I’m alone again. And way past hungry. I’m hungry for a lot of things. Hungry for Angie, hungry to have Bobby here with me, and hungry for a win against Prescott tomorrow night. But I need to eat something first. Too bad I didn’t keep that trout. I’m so hungry I could start up a fire and cook the whole thing right here.

WE BARELY WON AGAINST THE
Badgers last night. It seemed all of Prescott was gunning for us, crowded on the bits of grassy field at the fairgrounds. We were the show, and I wanted to win so badly that it cost us the touchdown that would’ve let us relax in those final seconds until the gun sounded. All I kept thinking was how once we win and notch two victories, I might have less of a reason to get so nervous, since winning two games in a row doesn’t mean you just met some kind of lucky—it means you deserved to win. Then a Badger got me.