Shaman Winter (24 page)

Thinking this, Sonny faced the door of intense light, shading his eyes. This is about Kearny, he thought. I can compose the dream. Let me go to the Las Vegas, New Mexico, plaza on that day that changed history. He walked through the door and looked around.

A very hot mid-August day enveloped the foothills east of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and in the little hamlet of Las Vegas the people were busy making preparations to resist the Army of the West. Col. Stephen W. Kearny had left Fort Bent, the Alamo of the Nuevo Mexicanos, in southeastern Colorado and was marching on New Mexico.

Reconnaissance parties, the best and bravest young men from Taos and Las Vegas, had been sent to the eastern plain to keep track of Kearny's slow march. Kearny's two divisions were mostly volunteers, a green and ragtail army. With it Kearny planned to march all the way to California and wrest away México's northern territory. New Mexico stood in the way, but only momentarily. The gringo entrepreneurs who already had a foothold in the Santa Fé Trail trade had bought out Governor Armijo.

In Las Vegas the wedding of Epifana Aragón to Lisandro Jaramillo had been interrupted by the preparations for war. Near noontime the last scout came riding into town, urging his pony at breakneck speed to bring the news that Kearny was in sight.

Epifana Aragón, a lovely young woman of sixteen, stepped out of her parents' home into the excitement on the plaza.

The gringos are coming! The gringos are coming! the young scout shouted as he rode around the plaza, like a Paul Revere of another time and place. It was Epifana's fiancé, Lisandro.

Lisandro! she called, and he pulled his horse to a smart stop in front of her and dismounted.

Epifana! He gathered her in his arms.

You're safe! she cried.

Epifana's father appeared at her side.

You're a brave man, son, he said to Lisandro.

Of all the young men in Las Vegas, none was braver than Lisandro, none a better horseman or more respectful to the elders. He was a shining example. Because of his family's wealth he could have excused himself from the preparations for war; instead, he had volunteered to scout.

I will go into the very heart of the enemy camp if I have to, he had vowed in front of the council of elders who were organizing the resistance.

Epifana's heart glowed with love at the bravery of her beloved.

They will be here soon, don Jose, Lisandro reported smartly, saluting his soon-to-be father-in-law and the other men gathered in the plaza.

A solemn don Jóse turned and mounted the small stage in the middle of the plaza. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully.

As you know, Governor Armijo has retreated to El Paso. The rumors from Santa Fé are mixed. Some say he sold out to Santiago Magoffin, and Santa Fé is now helpless to resist the invaders.

But we're not, brave Lisandro shouted, holding up his buffalo rifle. Other young men around him cheered and also waved their pistols and rifles. Some only waved pitchforks or sticks, for as herders and farmers, they had only these weapons.

Let the Yankees come, one shouted, and we'll give them a taste of lead!

Go home, Yankees! another young man shouted, and the crowd took up the refrain. Go home, Yankees!

They come to ruin our way of life! Why can't they stay where they belong! a farmer shouted.

We should build a fence to keep them out, his vecino added.

For years the mountain men and traders from the United States had worked their way into the land of the northern Río Grande, and the people reluctantly accepted the intrusion. New goods appeared, farm implements, better rifles, iron pots for the kitchen, steel axes, all useful instruments in the daily life of the paisanos. But still the people feared being overrun by the Americanos, and now that war had been declared against México, their fears were about to be realized.

The shouts for war grew, and only don José could quiet down the young men who were ready to take on the Army of the West.

As you know, he said, the American colonel brings two divisions. Thousands of infantry. He has artillery, and we do not. Kearny has a thousand mules carrying their ammunition and supplies. And what do we have to meet such a force?

The men looked at their weapons. A few wore pistols, and some carried the buffalo rifles that they used to hunt the bison in the eastern plains in the fall, but compared to the army described by the scouts, they would be like wheat before the scythe.

What can we do? one of the elders asked.

We must protect our families, our homes, another said. For many years now we have seen the Yankees come to our land. They speak a different language. They refuse to learn Spanish. Soon they will want us all to speak only English. And … they are Protestants.

A gasp went up from the women, who crossed their foreheads and muttered a prayer at the mention of the word.

So we must fight! the young Lisandro cried out, and again the young men cheered him.

Don José raised his arms. Wait! Sometimes the better part of valor is to listen and to learn, he said. Let us listen to the Americano colonel. Let us see what terms he offers. To resist will mean our young men will die. I do not want to be responsible for so many deaths, for the burning of our fields and homes, nor for the widows left in the wake of war.

The older men around him nodded. Perhaps the Americanos would be kind and show mercy. Don José was correct, the inhabitants of Las Vegas just didn't have the men or armaments to resist. Many would die if they opposed the huge army that even now was at their door. There would be carnage on the grasslands of the land they loved so well.

Don José put his arm around his daughter. If I want peace and time to grow into old age, he said, some will say it is because I am a coward. I am not! If you vote to fight, then I will march alongside you. But you know, and I know, that our armed resistance is useless. We will die. Who will care for my family when I am dead? Who will teach my grandchildren the ways of our ancestors? It is for my family that I vote for peace with the Americanos. We must trust that this occupation of our land will be short-lived and that finding no gold, they will move on to California.

Or go back where they came from! a man shouted, and the crowd applauded.

The older men agreed, but the hot tempers of the young men were not so easily cooled.

If we don't resist now, they will take our land! Lisandro insisted.

Listen to my father, mi amor, Epifana whispered to Lisandro. He wants what is best for us.

I will listen to you, amor, he replied, and turned to the assembly. I will abide by what don José thinks is right, he said, and the people cheered. The young men reluctantly gathered around to slap him on the back and tell him they were with him.

They are speaking as though in a movie, Sonny thought. I am directing my dream! He looked for Coyote, but he wasn't around. It's me, I can do it! Sonny laughed.

I must finish my preparations, Epifana said to Lisandro as she withdrew. Be careful, he replied as the young men lifted him on their shoulders and paraded him around the plaza.

What am I doing? Sonny wondered. Am I really in charge here? What about Kearny?

The scene shifted and for a moment Sonny was caught off guard. He saw the long column of Kearny's army marching across the llano. Dust rose into the hot August day, horses and mules strained at their harnesses. The land of the Nuevo Mexicanos had seen many changes sweep across it, but none was to be as momentous as the coming of the Americanos. Military occupation, a new Code of Laws, a different language, and loss of their original land grants were to follow. The bones of history rattled and ached at the thought.

Sonny grew sad. Should the people of Las Vegas have resisted? No, of course not. Don José was right. A bloody battle would have inflicted casualties on both sides, but the losers would have been the people of Las Vegas. Farmers and sheepmen were no match for an army trained for war.

In the plaza fear turned to curiosity as the assembled people looked at the weary and thirsty volunteers who straggled in. Their faces were covered with dust, their lips cracked from the sun, and their blond hair matted from days on the trail. They were young men far away from home, and they were hungry and thirsty.

A woman took pity on the soldiers. From her pail of water she offered a soldier a drink. He smiled and said in his strange tongue, Thank you, ma'am.

Tanque Mam, she repeated. Se llama Tanque Mam, she said to her neighbors.

Tanque Mam, they said in greeting. The seventeen-year-old from Missouri didn't appear to be much of an enemy at all. He was thirsty and hungry and as appreciative of the drink of water as if his own mother had handed it to him.

Tanque Mam was the first Yankee to receive the hospitality of the Nuevo Mexicanos. While Colonel Kearny gave his famous “I'm taking over this territory” speech in the plaza, laying down the new American law, the soldiers wandered among the people, receiving gifts of cool water, meat rolled in tortillas, combs for their hair. They hadn't laid eyes on a woman for months, and now their eyes flirted with the young Mexican women.

But there was another enemy who dismounted. In the periphery of the dream Sonny spied a shadow. A lone soldier moving down a back alley, in and out of the stables and animal pens. The man, dressed in an army uniform, moved stealthily but quickly in the direction of Epifana's house.

Sonny waited, unable to will himself forward. He had fallen into the dream, but he wasn't constructing it! The image began to shift, as a dream shifts at will.

“No,” Sonny mumbled, knowing he was losing the dream, trying to concentrate. Deep in the recesses of the dream he knew the U.S. soldier sneaking toward Epifana's home was Raven, but Sonny felt mired in a darkness he couldn't break. The darkness itself was the dream, it held the images, but Sonny couldn't order the sequence, he couldn't cast light on the images.

The man reappeared, this time carrying a bundle he lifted on to his horse. Epifana! Sonny gasped.

Raven mounted and turned his horse. He looked at Sonny and held him with eyes so dark and penetrating Sonny felt their chill.

She will give birth to Lisandro's children, your mother's Jaramillo ancestors, Raven shouted. Now she's mine!

He spurred his horse, and the horse's cry shook the ground, the blood from its flanks swirled into a dark whirlwind that swept all the images of the dream away.

“No!” Sonny cried, awakening, flailing out, grabbing at Lorenza, and the van went flying off the road, thumping along the shoulder of the highway until she brought it to a stop.

Lorenza turned to Sonny. “Qué pasa?”

Sonny opened his eyes, gasping for air.

“I was dreaming.”

“Raven?”

“Yes.” Sonny rubbed his eyes, his neck. The dream had been very real. He had smelled the horse lather, the sweat of the soldiers. The cigarette smoke of the men in the plaza. He had heard the flies buzzing in the hot air, the bark of a dog, the lowing of cows in the distant meadows.

“I couldn't get into the dream. Raven took the girl. A young woman, Epifana. She was to marry Lisandro Jaramillo.”

“Isn't your mother a Jaramillo?”

Sonny nodded. “The family was originally from the Las Vegas area.”

“Did Raven see you?”

“Yes.”

“At least he knows you're watching!”

“To really stop him, I had to get
into
the dream.”

“Yes.”

“Where are we?” Sonny glanced out the window. In the dusk the Sandia Mountains loomed oven him, weaning a thick scarf of low-lying clouds.

“We're nearly home,” Lorenza replied, and started the van.

12

They sat at Sonny's table in Rita's Cocina and talked about what they had learned in Taos. Sonny wiped clean his plate, scooping up the last of the carne adovada with a piece of tortilla. He had looked pale and tired when they entered the restaurant, but the meal revived him.

He studied Rita surreptitiously, noting the shadows around her eyes. Running the restaurant and taking care of him hadn't been easy. But tonight he sensed a quietness, something stirring deeper in her.

“And you, amor?” he said, reaching out to hold her hands. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, just fine. When the weather changes, people eat more. We've been swamped.”

“You're working too hard. You look tired.”

She caressed his hand. “It's just a cold. Everyone seems to be coming in with the flu. Nothing to worry about.” She glanced at Lorenza.

“You should see a doctor,” Sonny said.

“I did,” Rita replied. “I had a checkup today. I'm healthy as a horse.”

“Who did you see?”

“Dr. Sanchez. She's with a new group near Osuna.”

“Good.”

“She's wonderful. We talked for an hour. You know, women doctors
really
listen to you. I like that. Anyway, let's not talk about me.”

“I'm concerned,” Sonny said.

“Thank you, amor, but I'm fine. You're worried because I'm never sick. I haven't had a cold since I was in the sixth grade.”

“I wish I had the time to be here more—”

“Hey, it's the missing girls we have to worry about. If Raven has them—”

“He's loose and he's dangerous,” Sonny said. “By the way, did Eddie Martínez, the FBI agent, come by?”

“Yes. Said he'd hang around the restaurant during the day. I told him I didn't need protection, I can take care of myself, but he insisted.”

“I insisted. You have to be careful.”

“Careful? It's you two that have to be careful. I'm fine, really, I am. I keep thinking about the girls.”

One of the waitresses brought hot sopaipillas, and they ate them with honey for dessert.

“Me, too,” Sonny said. “And I don't have a damned clue to go on. I'm sure they're here in the city, but where?” He looked out the window. It was dark outside; few cars moved on Fourth Street.