A light shines on Billy and Rosa as they enter. Sonny attempts to rise to warn him, but he is a mere spectator in the dream.
Espera aquí, Billy says to Rosa, kissing her.
No. Voy contigo.
We have plenty of time to be together, querida. Tomorrow we leave for México.
A new life.
Don Pedro wants to see me.
Why so late?
He owes me some money. Josefina said he’s ready to pay.
Josefina? No, Billy, don’t go!
Why are you trembling?
There’s no light in his room.
The old cheapskate doesn’t like to burn his oil. Wait.
Billy.
Qué?
Te amo.
Y yo te amo a tí. They embrace warmly, then Billy turns and softly enters don Pedro’s bedroom. He senses Garrett.
Quién es? Quién es?
That’s him!
Garrett?
Garrett fires once, Billy grabs at his gut in pain, steps forward, reaching for Garrett. Pat … you got me cold-blooded.
Garrett fires again. Billy winces, stumbles. He falls and the figure of la Muerte stands over him.
There is a scream, and Rosa rushes in to gather Billy in her arms. Billy! Billy! Oh, Bilito.
I love you, Rosa.…
Amor, amor.… She rocks the bleeding Billy in her arms.
Sonny can no longer hold back the tears. Convulsive sobs shake his body as the grief he feels comes pouring out. The cantina ladies have put on a great play, but it wasn’t meant to be this way! Sonny knew he was supposed to take a part, to direct the dream play!
The bed shakes with Sonny’s sobs, and a worried Rita is instantly at his side. She touches a wet cloth to his forehead and can only guess why tears flow from his eyes.
16
Outside, the storm intensifies. Pre-Christmas snowstorms don’t often drop as far south as Alburquerque. Taos, Santa Fé, and the villages of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains receive the snows of early winter. From Chama to Questa to Raton, the same storms that sweep across Colorado strike with cold and snow, but the Duke City is most often spared.
At 5,280 feet above sea level, Alburquerque lies at the foot of the Sandia Mountains, protected from the cold fronts that drop down from Canada when the jet stream dips south. Those cold masses of air slip down as far as the Texas panhandle. The arctic fronts freeze the eastern part of the state, as anyone raised in Clayton, Tucumcari, or Santa Rosa knows.
Such blizzards have been described by those raised in that eastern llano, those whose ancestors traveled there to hunt buffalos. Los cibolleros, comancheros, tough, hardy Nuevo Mexicanos who learned Comanche ways. When the going was good, they sat around and smoked the pipe with the tribes of the southern plains, traded goods, drank rotgut whiskey, mula, the New Mexicans called it. When the going was tough, there were skirmishes on the plains, and those who the prior year had called each other amigos now scalped each other. In the end the Comanches lost, not to the presence of the Nuevo Mexicanos, but to the presence of the Tejanos. The Texans wiped them out.
The Comanches were the Vikings of the plains, Sonny remembers reading in a book. It filters through his dream.
When things got dull fighting the Osages, or after a long, cold winter, they would swoop down to México for horses, women, and kids to work like slaves. They rode south to just plain kick ass with the Mexicanos. And of course, México was warmer than the plains in the winter. There were pretty Mexicanitas there, women to capture and bring north as slaves, to bring to the teepee as wives.
And the pulque, the drink of the Aztec gods, distilled from maguey, the liquid that burned the intestines also burned the mind, and visions came in drunken stupors. One could get roaring drunk and wasted on pulque. A man could go wild, fuck forever, become invincible. There was nothing like it on the plains. So what if the headaches came after days and nights of drinking. The Mexicanos had menudo, a rich stew made from the tripe of sheep. Spiced with hot chile, menudo cured the stomach and cleared the head.
While the young warriors attacked the Mexicanos, the old men, the shamans of the tribe, went out into the desert to collect the peyote buttons. Cactus medicine. Peyote god. Yes, they called him el Señor Peyote, because he deserved their respect and because he brought the visions that were far sharper and more sacred than those of pulque. Don Peyote, el Mero Chingón, un diosito who took you into another world—why, he was worthy of a new religion, a new faith, new followers.
Some of those same Comanches were captured by the Nuevo Mexicanos and brought back to the Río Grande settlements. They became farmers and began to dream of corn, give thanks to the Corn Mothers. They began to pray to the kachinas for rain for their dusty fields.
La Nueva México was becoming the crossroads of the southern belly of the continent, the womb. Here all could mix, produce the mestizaje, and here all could make war against each other. To the northern Río Grande came the Comanches, Navajos, Utes, Apaches, Mexicanos, farmers and hunters, Catholics and converted Jews, peninsular Spaniards and criollos, mestizos and genizaros, all came to the land of the Pueblos. Then arrived the Americanos, the Anglos, the gringos, gringos salados, gabachos, gueros, los Americanos de los estados unidos, speaking a strange tongue, praying to the Christ in the Bible, not the bloody Cristo on the penitente cross. There were the Yankee traders from St. Louis, and there were the mountain men, French fur trappers, too. This mixed bag began to call themselves New Mexicans.
“What’s he saying?”
“He seems to be telling stories about the people of the llano.”
“Sonny, get to Rosa. Where is Rosa?”
It is don Eliseo telling him to get on the stage. Billy is dead, and Raven will now go after Rosa.
Sonny groans deeply and returns to the dream.
Please be seated. The second act of our play is about to start, the cantina lady with the red hair announces. (Is she doña Loneliness, la puta who comes to sing the blues in the hearts of lonely men?)
It’s July 14, 1881, and Billy is dead, she says in a sad voice. A grieving Rosa walks the dusty street to the church. A dry, hot wind moans across the flat landscape, sweeping up dust and tumbleweeds, whispering as it stirs the sere grass of the scorching summer.
The cantina lady withdraws, and everyone in the bar turns to look at the stage.
Rosa appears, dressed in black, and a lovelier Mexicana never walked that road to the church. The young men take their hats off as she passes, partly in grieving and partly in lust. Oh, what a beauty had given her heart to Billy. Her red lips once so full and warm with the fire of love, now whisper only prayers. Her dark eyes shine with tears. Her black hair is tied in a bun and covered by a black veil. There isn’t a vaquero in Fort Sumner who wouldn’t give his best horse to console the grieving Rosa.
Raven has other plans. He steps out of the saloon where he has been celebrating Billy’s death. He has plans for Rosa. He walks out into the middle of the street in front of her. He, too, is dressed in black. Black hat, black shirt, black kerchief around his neck, black pants. Even his holster and pistol are black.
The villagers see Raven step out into the street, and they scurry for cover. The young men know they are no match for Raven’s fast gun.
Billy’s dead, he tells Rosa, a thin smirk on his face. Now you’re mine.
Rosa looks at him, unflinching. Murderer! she replies. I will never belong to you! You are evil!
Evil is as evil does, Raven answers coldly. It’s time to come with me.
Now! Coyote nudges Sonny. It’s now or never!
Yes, it’s time to act. With Coyote at his side he knows he has the will to direct his dream. He can stop Raven!
No! Sonny shouts from where he sits. Rosa and Raven turn to look as Sonny struggles to stand. They are surprised to see him on his feet.
Sonny!
You don’t belong here! Raven shouts. Stay out of this!
Is he worried that I’ve found a way to face
him in my dream? Sonny thinks, and looks down at his legs. They have been numb for so long, but now they seem to be holding him up. He takes a step and tests their strength.
He turns to Coyote. Help me.
Coyote nods. He understands the soul of this young man, understands the goodness within, and there stands Raven, an old enemy from long ago. Raven can move back and forth into the dreamworld because evil sorcerers taught him how. But this is not the trickster bird of many an Indian legend. This Raven is a sorcerer in the guise of the forest bird.
The world of the spirits is bound to the world of the flesh, Coyote says, twirling a rope. The flesh dreams, the dreams yearn for flesh, both are one. In the heart.
Sonny shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He only knows Raven will not wait forever. He is ready to take Rosa.
Can I play the main role in my dream? His words stumble, one upon the other.
Yes. There are not two worlds. Dream and waking, it’s all the same. Raven and the sorcerers separated the worlds. They set themselves up as the priests who could take you into the dreams to interpret them. But the road of symbols is clear to anyone who wills to see.
This is what Owl Woman taught us.
That and many other things, Coyote replies. The Calendar of Dreams holds your dreams.
Sonny feels the hot July breeze cool the sweat on his neck. He steps forward, slowly, feeling the blinding sun overhead, the shadows of two turkey vultures circling overhead. There’s something rotten on the road to Tucumcari.
He feels the Colt .45 strapped to his side, the pistol of his bisabuelo, Elfego Baca. He has never used the pistol. Can he use it now?
You can’t have her, Raven! Sonny calls. She belongs to my history. She’s one of my grandmothers.
Raven turns and hurls his curse into the wind: I will erase your memory forever!
The townspeople shrink from his words, words that can destroy many of them if Sonny’s history is unraveled. All scurry to hide.
This is my dream! Sonny replies. If you’re going to take her, it’s over my dead body.
Raven’s birdlike eyes narrow. There is concern there. Has Sonny learned to act in his dream?
He curses Coyote: May your name be erased from the legends of all people, Coyote! You meddlesome freak!
Coyote merely laughs. His twirling rope becomes a whirlwind. Hats, tumbleweeds, trash are swept up in the roaring wind.
You belong to me, Sonny says to Rosa. You are my history.
Sonny! Rosa cries and starts toward him.
A young man who would one day be her grandson has come to rescue her from the anonymity with which Raven threatens her. Even Billy the Kid, the young man she had truly loved, had not been able to do this. Billy was too caught up in his karma, too much of the world of the flesh. He did not truly know that to love is to dream. He had been caught up in the violence created by Raven, too trusting in his gun.
But Sonny is different. Sonny knows how to fight Raven, and now he has found her in the dreamworld. He had come to make sure her life is lived out. He knows generations must issue from her womb, and the blood of birth bathe her loins. Yes, she will people the llano, and from her sons and daughters will come one of the families of Sonny’s past.
No! Raven shouts, and grabs her arm. She’s mine!
Let her go! Sonny cries, his fingers resting lightly on his pistol.
You haven’t found the way! Raven tests him. You’re not here! You’re not in the dream! Your grandfather’s pistol is worthless.
Sonny hesitates, looks at Coyote.
You need not be the victim of your dreams, Coyote assures him. The dream is yours, it’s part of the memory of many generations. It’s the blood speaking. The dream is the dream of your ancestors.
Yes. Sonny knows. He turns to face Raven.
I’m here all right, Sonny replies. Make your move.
He glances out of the corners of his eyes. The people of the adobe village have taken cover. Eyes peers from dark windows, from behind parted curtains.
Damn you! Raven cries, flinging Rosa aside and drawing his pistol. The report of his pistol echoes across the dry land, startling men and beast alike. The bullet strikes Sonny in the chest, its force like a fist. Sonny reels from the impact, but does not fall. There is no blood: Raven has met a man who cannot die!
The people step outside and cheer. Raven cannot stop Sonny.
Raven looks surprised. Yes, he knew Sonny would be strong, guided as he was by Coyote, his old enemy, but not this strong. He has withstood the force of the bullet.
I underestimated you, he says with a smile, drawing back.
Sonny advances, walking slowly. According to the rules of the Old West, he now has the right to draw his pistol and fire at Raven.
I’m in control now, Sonny replies with confidence. I claim Rosa, my grandmother.
So you’ve learned to enter the dream, Raven sneers, hate contorting his scarred face. Coyote helped you! He and the meddlesome don Eliseo! And la bruja Lorenza!
Yes, Sonny replies. I can enter my dreams, so can every man, woman, and child. You and your sorcerers have separated us from our dreams for too long. Now we return. Your power is failing you, Raven.
Raven grits his teeth; his voice is strident. We’ll see about that! I promise you, we will meet again! He turns, mounts his horse, and rides out of the village.
Rosa rushes into Sonny’s arms. My son, my son, she cries. You saved me.
You got him! Paco slaps Sonny on the back.
The townspeople rush forward to surround Sonny, smiling, cheering.
The mayor steps forward to place a sheriffs badge on Sonny. Young man, you have saved our town, and our women, from that scoundrel. Please stay and be our sheriff. We’re tired of the violence and murder that sweeps across our territory.
I can’t stay, Sonny replies, looking at the sun setting in the west. Raven is still out there, in the night.
He feels under his shirt and touches the gold Zia medallion. Raven’s bullet struck the medal, and it saved his life.
He mounts his horse. The villagers look up with sadness, the women touch hankies to their eyes, the men take off their hats and hold them over their chests. In respect.
A little boy runs up to Sonny. Don’t leave, Sonny, please don’t leave. He is crying.
We’ll never forget you, Paco says, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Sorry I couldn’t save Billy, Sonny says.
It was his fate, Paco says. You know, el destino. It was meant to be.
Our dreams affect our destiny, Rosa adds. Thanks to you, we can go on dreaming. She reaches up and takes Sonny’s hand. Adiós, mi’jito. Cuidate.
Adiós, Abuela, Sonny replies.
His nervous pony rears up, then Sonny turns it smartly and rides into the sunset.
Tears dampen Sonny’s eyes as he sees himself riding into the brilliant sunset. A private investigator shouldn’t be crying, he chides himself.
“Sonny,” Rita whispers.
Sonny opens his eyes and smiles.
PART III
THE SHAMAN’S GUIDE
17
Sonny opened his eyes. He could sense dawn breaking outside, the first flush of morning light filling the valley. Rita opened the blinds and came to his side.
“How do you feel?”
“He didn’t get Rosa,…” Sonny said hoarsely, and added, “Thirsty.”
She held a straw to his lips and he sipped the water. Chica jumped in bed with him, wagging her tail eagerly, licking him.
“Chica, how are you?” He rubbed her and she responded by turning belly up to have her stomach scratched.
“Can you eat something?” Rita asked.
“No, gracias. I feel like I’m still floating. Lorenza?”
“She was here most of the night, but I sent her home to get some sleep.”
“Don Eliseo?”
Rita nodded in the direction of Sonny’s wheelchair, where the old man sat drinking coffee. Behind him on the che
st, over his right shoulder, was Owl Woman’s bowl.
“Buenos días, don Eliseo.”
“Buenos días, Sonny.” The old man didn’t stand. He looked exhausted. “Did you get him?”
“I scared him off,” Sonny replied, sitting up, then leaning on the pillows Rita offered. Bit by bit he related the dream.
When he was done, don Eliseo seemed pleased. “You learned to follow Coyote into the dream. And you set the stage. A play in a dance hall, you said. Not bad. How were the dancing ladies?” He chuckled.
“Actually one with red hair tried to keep me sitting down and watching for a while,” Sonny remembered.
“Probably one of Raven’s helpers,” don Eliseo noted. “But you got there. Most people see their dreams from a distance, and when they report the dream, they talk about what happened to them. They are never active participants in the dream. Sure, they learn a little more about themselves, but not much. Why? Because the dream acts on them. What you’re learning is to enter a great source of energy.”
“Why me?” Sonny asked.
The old man sipped his coffee.
“You were chosen,” don Eliseo said simply. “It goes back to when the earth was a turtle swimming in the blue sky around the sun. Man and Woman lived in the womb of the turtle. It was very dark. There was no light, little air to breathe. In the dark they heard the frightening sounds of evil sorcerers who also lived with them in the womb of the turtle. Man and Woman wanted to get away from the sorcerers.
“They sent scouts through an opening to the surface. The scouts came back and said there were green forests, mountains with deer, streams with fish on the turtle shell. But Man and Woman didn’t know how to break through the shell. They remained in the dark underworld.
“In those times Coyote and Raven were brothers, they were tricksters. That’s what they were born to be. Anyway, one time Coyote and Raven were walking near a cave where water came up from the ground, and they heard the people beneath the shell calling to them.
“‘Get us out of here, the people said, ‘and we will reward you.’
“Coyote and Raven ran to Owl, one of the wisest creatures in the forest.