She died out there; I left her with the coyotes. I held the
money for a while, the leather bag in my clawed hands. Caked with sweat and
dust, after so many days of cacti and sunsets a hundred thousand seems to mean less.
The javelina wont stop charging ‘cause I waive some marked bills.
When we left she was wearing a navy suit with a jackets with
big shoulders; I told her that it made her look right, professional. She bought
it from goodwill, along with my jacket and the shoes I’m wearing. All told they
cost three dollars by the pound. She wore it to the interview at the bank when
they offered her the job. Maybe if they’d looked closer they’d have known she wasn’t
a good fit; they’d have told her ‘we’ll keep your resume; let you know if
something turns up.’ Then I’d never have had this idea and her bones wouldn’t
be licked by the blue blooded animal I hear screaming after sun down. But
that’s not how it went down and that’s not going to help me get water now.
The desert is God forsaken land, he threw the snake to here,
on his stomach, in hell-that’s where I chose to run. The people here before, we
saw pictures in books back in grade school, they built homes in the side of the
mountains, hiding from the world. That’s what brought me here-needing to run,
hide. The thing about the desert is there doesn’t need to be a place to hide-no
one comes looking. God won’t look for you out here ‘cause anyone who comes this
way aint looking for God. Sarah’s mom bought a house in Tucson: sent us picture
of flowers and green grass: we all create mirages, I wish mine had a damn pool.
I kept the gun. Seemed more likely I’d need protection than
money but I think the sound would wake hell and I can’t see Sarah yet.
I see gila monsters and trees now that stab me with green
thorns and give no shade. They all lie to me; they hide the water and lie. They
started talking to me in the morning when the sun conspired. I started hearing
the tails going, mechanical sounds like they were getting wound up, sent lose
on a mission, the flowers closed up and the birds tried to get me to follow
them as they disappeared before my eyes inside green men with outstretched
arms. The night is no better: bound by mud that throws off heat from satan
himself. Still no water.
I hear the voices more. I don’t worry about food. I want to
know who talks to me. The dead guard? My pop? I shut my eyes and go back to
sleep-safety off, dreaming of water and death.
When I wake, old man Christmas is in front of me. He’s fat
and his beard twirls around a mouth with scabbed lips and missing teeth. He’s
chewing something, looking down at me. I think of shooting him but what’s the
use of wasting a bullets on ghosts?
“You come for me?” I ask not caring the answer. The sand is
stuck in my mouth, between my teeth, catching my tongue.
“Nope,” His gray face flat.
“What ya want ol’ man?” I start to get up but there doesn’t
seem a use now. “Why you out in the desert? You die here with me, today?”
“I'm not ganna die, son.”
“You ain’t got no water, neither. You’re not lasting any bit
longer than me.” Everything hurts. My body heavy and the sand burns running
over my skin.
“I don’t need any.”
I don’t bother to ask, my body wont move.
“There’s water all around. What you think them animals live
on? No, I don’t need any water ‘cause I know it’s here, I know it’s an option. That’s
that gives me freedom to not hunt for it.”
I feel my pupils grow wide, everything is bright. Sarah and
the man stare at me-waiting to stake a claim.
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