The Body of Martin Aguilera

Chapter Twenty-five

It was a hard rain and it had made the night cool. Lewis sat on the passenger side of his truck while Ignacio drove. A draft squeezed through the door and up the rip in Lewis’ pants. He zipped up his jacket and folded his arms over his chest. The wiper in front of him did a lousy job, leaving the glass streaked with each pass. He couldn’t see where they were going and he figured it worked as well as a blindfold.

“Are they going to ask me questions?” Lewis asked.

Ignacio shrugged.

Lewis imagined himself standing before old Mexican men, giving a presentation, candles burning, a skirted Jesus nailed to a cross on the wall behind him. Lewis thought about the sheriff.

“I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. With the sheriff or otherwise.”

Ignacio leaned forward to see the road better.

“What do you think those men were looking for?” Lewis asked.

“I don’t know. Something bad.”

Lewis nodded.

The men watched the windshield. Headlights from approaching cars seemed threatening and each one turned Lewis’ head.

“I hope your friend will be okay,” Ignacio said.

“Me too.”

The rain was falling harder when Ignacio stopped the truck in front of the morada. There were no torches burning outside tonight. Lewis got out and limped after the younger man, through the mud and into the adobe. Inside, the room was lighted as before, torches on the four walls. Jesus was indeed skirted and on the cross above the altar. There was no body this time. There was a table to one side and at it sat five men, Salvador Alvarado among them. A battery-powered camp area-light sat in the center of the table illuminating their still, solemn faces. Lewis nodded to them.

“Sit here,” Ignacio said.

Lewis sat in a cane chair, one in a row, away from the table. He watched Ignacio as he joined the men. He was the youngest of them.

Their meeting began. Lewis couldn’t make out what they were saying. Words were muttered in Spanish. It did not take long before there were louder utterances, no less understandable to Lewis for the volume. Salvador said virtually nothing. Ignacio remained calm, speaking softly to the older men who yelled at him. There were frequent glances over at Lewis. He tried to keep his eyes on them or the floor, so as not to appear to be gazing upon their secret place. Finally, Ignacio shouted and all were silent. They sat without speaking for probably just a minute, but to Lewis it felt like a long time. He adjusted himself in the uncomfortable chair, tried to put his leg out straight so that it wouldn’t go to sleep.

Ignacio spoke calmly again. There was more discussion and then the youngest was standing, walking back to Lewis.

“Are you ready?” Ignacio asked.

Lewis gained his feet.

Ignacio walked out of the morada without looking at the table. Lewis did quickly glance that way, but none were looking at him.

Outside, the two men trotted to the truck. Lewis climbed in on the passenger side again.

“Well, we talked it over,” Ignacio said.

Lewis nodded.

“You cannot speak of this to anyone, not even your friend if she is alive.”

“Okay.”

“And not to me after this night.”

“I understand.”

“I cannot go with you to get Martin.”

“I wouldn’t want you to, Ignacio.”

The words were not coming easily to Ignacio. He looked at the rain rolling off the windshield. “Martin is buried up Lobos Canyon. Arroyo Azul comes down the middle of it. Do you know where I mean?”

Lewis nodded.

“There is a dirt road between mile marker six and seven. Turn there toward the mountain. The road will stop. About forty yards beyond that is where Martin is buried. The grave is not marked.”

“Thank you.”

“You can take your truck.” Igancio opened the door and started to get out, stopped and spoke without looking back. “Martin was not buried in a box.”

“Okay.”

Ignacio shut the door. Lewis slid across the seat. His whole body ached and the cool night air was stiffening him. He could not see Ignacio cross the yard to the morada, but he saw him when he pulled open the door and the strange light shown behind him.