The Body of Martin Aguilera

Chapter Twenty-three

As Lewis drove up the mountain he thought about what he had done in Manny’s office. He’d let off steam and perhaps made some kind of statement, but he had learned nothing and had maybe alienated the only person who might have come to his aid. He wondered if subconsciously he was attempting to lure the sheriff into following him. He laughed at himself. Would that he were that smart. He glanced again at his mirror, looking for flashing blue lights.

Lewis went into his house and grabbed the shotgun. He stopped at the door. For all his holding it and gaining comfort from it, he had not loaded it. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and snatched up a handful of shells. He put them in his pocket. If the situation did arise that he would have to shoot at someone, if he could at all, he would not need many shells, the loading of the double-barrelled gun being so slow. He went to the kitchen and filled his canteen with water from the tap, then left the house and put the gun in the back of the truck under a tarp.

As he rolled down the dusty trail to the highway, he spotted a blue van parked a ways up a fire break. He backed up and studied it for a while. Then he was out of the cab and grabbing the shotgun. He approached slowly, looking behind him as much as forward. He stood by the back doors. So, it wasn’t brown, but blue. What was it doing here? He heard moaning from within.

He wondered if Maggie could be inside. He stepped wide cautiously to see that the driver’s seat was empty. He did the same on the other side. He walked forward and looked through the window, but could not see into the back. The moaning continued. He went to the back doors and grasped the handle, pushed down slowly. The handle clacked loudly so he jerked it quickly, pulled the door open and swung the shotgun up.

A woman screamed. She pulled a blanket over her body and the young man beside her pulled discarded clothes into his lap. Lewis knew he had made a mistake, but he was embarrassed and adrenaline filled his bloodstream and heart.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, letting the gun down.

“We didn’t mean to trespass, mister,” the young man said.

Lewis looked at the woman. She was considerably older than the man. The situation was painfully obvious, Lewis thought.

“Well, you did,” Lewis told them. “So, get your clothes on and get out of here.” He closed the door and walked away from them, back toward the truck. He put the gun under the tarp. It slipped from his sweaty palms and banged against the metal of the bed. He got in and just sat behind the wheel for a while. He could have shot someone. His head ached. He could have shot those people, taken them both out with one squeeze of the trigger. He looked up the fire break and saw the back-up lights of the van come on. He started the truck and drove on down the mountain.

The way to Martin’s seemed longer, though there was little traffic. On his way through town, he thought he saw his pickup at a gas station. He looked at everything, trying not to think. He watched young women, fashionable and pretty, walk through the downtown area. He watched one of Manny’s deputies, idle at a red light, not noticing Lewis, and again he was thankful for having switched trucks. As he rolled out the other side of town, he looked closely at the eroding adobe dwellings of poor Mexicans.

He drove on, across the river, past the cafe and up the road to Martin’s cabin. He considered hiding the truck off the road, up a fire break covered with brush, but he thought if he ran into trouble, he might need it in a hurry. He told himself again that he might not find anything up there, but he might luck up. He was overdue. He might find Maggie, alive and uninjured. He shook his head. He had a feeling that Maggie was dead.

He took the shotgun from beneath the tarp, left the truck and started up the trail into the canyon. Again, even more, he was struck by the absence of the sounds of birds. The trees seemed to be suffering now as well, browning, the bark of the firs reddening. He climbed higher and found the leaves of the aspens curling. There were no flies, no bees. He turned over a log and found nothing. If things were dying, they still had to be somewhere, he thought. He walked past the point where he had stopped before. He paused to catch his breath, leaned the shotgun against a tree, and drank from his canteen. He looked at the gun. He broke it open, observed the shells, and engaged the barrels. He walked on.

Lewis saw a fence and two men behind it searching for something. Then he was dizzy. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, trying to see more clearly. He heard a rustling and so he stopped, looked around. He stepped toward some bushes for cover. He heard another sound. In a forest without animals, any noise screamed. Then there were footsteps, definitely footsteps. Something had him. A hand was over Lewis’ mouth, the gun out of his grasp. He tried to kick and his legs were grabbed. All he could do was look and he saw Ignacio in front of him, controlling his legs and holding a finger to pursed lips. Lewis nodded and the hand fell from his face. He looked behind him and there was Ernesto. Ernesto wasn’t looking, but listening.

Lewis tried to breathe normally, quietly.

“Did you two follow me?” Lewis asked.

“Yes,” Ignacio said.

“You’re a crazy old man,” Ernesto said.

Lewis nodded.

“I thought about what you said,” Ignacio said. “But it’s not up to me alone.”

Lewis realized that they were supporting more and more of his weight. Ernesto said something to him, but he couldn’t make it out. He tried to speak, but he wasn’t sure his mouth was moving.

“Do you hear it?” Lewis thought he was saying.

“What?” Ignacio asked.

“Listen.”

He could see Ignacio and Ernesto talking to each other.

“Listen.” His tongue felt huge in his mouth.

He read Ignacio’s lips to say, “It’s okay.”

“No birds,” he said. “No animals.”

The brothers stopped walking and listened. Lewis passed out.