The people of the valley understood and responded to the forces of nature that suddenly filled them with passion. Wide sky clouds, rain, earth, lightning and its sound, the smells released were the essence of passion.
Across the way don Eliseo’s cornfield was soaking up the moisture, the leaves of the cornstalks cupping the precious rain. Don Eliseo had watered the young plants with acequia water all summer, but there was no substitute for rain, the old man always said. The tall cumulus clouds of summer were feminine, woman-clouds, deities bearing the life-giving rain.
Soft, penetrating rain. Lluvia de amor. All night it would make a soft sound on the flat roofs of the valley. Each rain had a name. Manga de lluvia, falling dark and straight down like a sleeve. Or una manguita, a small sleeve. Lluvia de los corderos, the cold, spring rain of lambing season. In summer the monsoon that came to relieve the dry summer, and which sometimes turned into the “pinche rain” because it ruined cut alfalfa in the field, or a picnic, or a baseball game.
In July the tempestades de lluvia, lluvias fuerte, the thunderstorms of the summer, which came quickly and dumped everything in a few minutes. Those were the quickies of the high desert, the sudden rains that came with booming thunder and caused the floods. To make love during a thundershower was to make quick, hurried love. To be like lightning penetrating the earth.
In September showers moved in as sure as the state fair came around, and so people joked and called it state fair rain. There was a rain for every season, because rain was sacred, life-giving.
Now, this first rain was one of those unusual rains for the Río Grande plateau, covering the entire state with a steady drizzle. The gentle mood of rain impregnating the earth was like the semen oozing softly into the juicy darkness of a woman. A rain like this made the rhythm of love slower, long lasting, satisfying. The man’s urges and his sperm changed as the seasons changed; the woman’s needs and moistness also changed. The ozone of the lightning heightened the urge. The tumbling sound of the thunder that rumbled across the valley with a thunderstorm was the drumbeat of love, or lust.
Everything changed according to the weather; desire came and went according to the storms moving across the wide valley. The rain or lack of rain affected the way a woman cried out in love, affected a man’s potency. Men and women lived in harmony with the rains that washed across the valley.
Rita’s body is like the earth, he thought, enjoying her hands moving on his body, hearing her moan, a warmth and moistness ready to receive him. I am the rain. Our perfume of love will be the fragrance of rain and earth.
Rain from Mexico, tinged with the flavor of mangos, strong coffee, the call of vendors in the mercado. It was the soaking kind of rain the earth needed after the long, hot month of June. It would lie like a blanket over the valley and the mountain, over the entire state for a few days, and it would renew the scorched earth.
“Amor,” Rita whispered, and he turned and drew her to him.
“Rain at last,” he answered her, and the sweet mixture in the room held her aroma, her perfume like the red cactus flowers of the desert, fruit flavor of the roses that grew in her garden, everything opening and exuding its soul to receive the rain, as Rita would receive him.
The flavor of the roses would change to sweet apricot as the rain kissed the petals, as the perfume of Rita’s body would change when his body covered hers. The piñon scent of the incense she burned would mix with the sweat of love, and love would create meaning under the blanket of the cool night.
“How do you feel?” she asked, caressing his chest.
“I feel like making love to you,” he replied, and they kissed.
“Ven,” she said, and moved toward the bed.
He followed, thinking, I’m okay, I’m okay, everything’s going to be just fine. He sat on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and pants. She reached out and embraced him. Her body made the hair on his arm rise, a soft, welcome tightness washed over his stomach and thighs. He breathed deep as he pressed his face into the cleavage of her breasts.
“Ahh,” he moaned, felt his penis harden. Oh, Lord, he felt like the lightning in the sky! She the earth!
A strange scent mixed with the perfume of her body. For a moment he felt distracted by the candles. He looked toward the window and Gloria’s image appeared. He cursed silently fighting to keep his thoughts off the case, keep them on Rita.
“It’s good to be alone,” she whispered, trying to draw him out of his thoughts.
He looked at her. “Yes,” he agreed. He looked at the window. The haunting ghost was gone. Damn, if I just stop thinking about the case! he thought. He slipped off his boots and socks, then his pants.
“Ready or not,” he teased and jumped under the sheet.
“Ready,” she replied, meeting his embrace.
“Ah, you feel so good,” he groaned, pressed against her and felt her body taut and ready.
She touched him and sent shivers tingling throughout his body. A moan escaped from his lips. It was going to be all right, yes, it was going to be all right.
A tapping at the window made Rita stiffen.
“What was that?” she asked and drew the sheet around her.
“Nothing,” he whispered, but paused to listen. He, too, had heard the tapping. “Only the wind, amor.” He slid his hand under her T-shirt.
Rita moaned softly, relaxed for a moment, then sat up straight when she heard the second tap on the window. A squeaky voice called out, “Sonny, you there?”
Sonny groaned. Don Eliseo! “Sonny. It’s us! Open!”
“Shhh,” Rita whispered and put her fingers on Sonny’s lips. “He might go away.”
But the beam of a flashlight outside the window revealed more than one person. Don Toto and Concha were with don Eliseo, and they were arguing loudly. They were drunk.
“Don’t step on my shoes, Concha!”
“You got big feet, Toto!”
“Sonny, it’s me!” don Eliseo said.
“Abre la pinche puerta,” Concha hissed. “It’s wet out here!”
“I’m asleep,” Sonny said from under the sheet.
Rita punched him. “Pendejo!”
“I hear you, Sonny. Abre!”
Sonny rose reluctantly and went to the window and parted the curtains. Outside in the drizzle stood don Eliseo and his two friends.
“I don’t want any,” Sonny said.
Concha laughed. “’Cause you already got it, honey. We know Rita’s in there.”
“I’m sleeping—”
“Oh sí, sleeping! Hear that boys, our angelito is sleeping!”
“It’s us, Sonny. Snap, Crackle, and Pop,” don Eliseo cut in. He had been drinking Toto’s Mad-Dog North Valley wine.
“Let us in,” don Toto clamored. “We’re all wet.”
“Now?” Sonny said.
“We know you got Rita with you, Sonny, so don’t act so innocent,” Concha whispered. She held a flashlight, which she aimed at Sonny. “Ah, the evidence,” she said, “he’s empeloto!” The three chortled with laughter.
Sonny looked down, realized he was naked, and drew the curtain around him.
“If you got it, flaunt it,” Concha teased.
“We found something,” don Eliseo insisted.
“We been on the case, Sonny,” don Toto said, and held a large magnifying glass to his face. Concha aimed the flashlight at him, and Toto’s eye bulged in the light like a large oyster.
“We found the cabro sin huevos,” don Eliseo said proudly.
Sonny’s eyebrows arched. “The cabro sin huevos?”
“We found him!” don Eliseo said.
“What the hell you talking about?”
“It’s true, Sonny,” don Toto said, nodding vigorously. “Me la rayo.”
Don Eliseo also swore. “May Tata Dios strike me dead if I lie.”
They’ve been drinking and playing detectives, Sonny thought, and the night with Rita was now an illusion. They would not let him rest.
&nb
sp; He groaned. “The door’s open,” he said, and dove back under the sheet. “Snap, Crackle, and Pop,” he said to Rita. “Drunk.”
“Don’t let them in,” Rita begged, but it was too late. Concha’s flashlight stabbed the darkness as they came stumbling through the front door and into the bedroom, pushing each other, and making jokes about old love affairs, and all together they tumbled into bed around Sonny and Rita. They smelled like wet chickens.
“It sure is good to see you, Sonny.” Concha grinned and shone the flashlight in Sonny’s face. She pinched his cheeks. “You were always a good-looker, too bad you’re so young.”
“A good woman is never too young,” don Toto crooned. He had found Rita; Rita pulled the sheet over her head and tried to hide behind Sonny.
“Who’s your friend, Sonny?” Concha asked and winked.
“Rita.”
“Rita, I didn’t know you slept around,” was Concha’s snide remark.
“I don’t! I just sleep with Sonny!” Rita retorted and sat up. Instantly Concha flashed the light on her, and don Toto peered at her intently.
“Ay que cosas hace Dios,” he said in lustful admiration.
“Oh, you got good taste,” Concha said, smiling.
“Listen to me.” Don Eliseo tugged at Sonny to get his attention.
“Sleep with one, it’s still sleeping around, qué no?” Concha grinned. “Sonny, you feeling better? Can you handle it?” She punched Sonny in the ribs.
“Yes, I’m feeling better!” Sonny said and gave don Eliseo a mean look. Was there anyone in the North Valley who didn’t know his business now?
“This better be good,” Sonny threatened. The old man’s breath was sour with wine.
“We found it, Sonny! We found the castrated goat!”
“You’ve been drinking,” Sonny said.
“Smart dude,” don Toto said.
“We found the goat, Sonny!” Don Eliseo took Sonny’s arms and pressed, his grip strong.
“It wasn’t easy,” Concha said and straightened her bra. “But my compadre here made a big deal out of it, so we went looking and we found it! You want the pinche goat or don’t you, Sonny?”
“Yeah, I want it.” Sonny nodded. There was an urgency in don Eliseo’s voice. If they had really found the goat, that was a big lead. Right to the bastards whose ass he wanted to kick.
“Where?” Rita asked.
“At a house near the Ranchitos Road, back by the ditch,” don Eliseo said. “The woman who lives there raises goats, and that’s where we found the big, castrated red. Just like I told you, Sonny!”
Sonny was already pulling on his pants and fumbling for his socks and boots in the dark. The goat whose testicles were hung on Rita’s porch! But why would some woman be bothering Rita and me?
Sonny paused and looked at Rita. Lord, he wanted her, and now this!
“But it can wait—” he said to don Eliseo.
“No!” don Eliseo replied. “I think they’re going to get rid of the goat! Don’t you see? The goat is a sacrifice. We’ve been watching them. These women keep coming out to the pen and doing all sorts of crazy things with the goat. Washed it, put ribbons on it—”
“Brujas,” Concha said with a shiver.
“Sí, they’re brujas and they’re going to sacrifice the goat,” don Eliseo said, his voice ominous in the dark.
“What do you mean, sacrifice?” Sonny asked.
“Don’t be so tapado!” don Eliseo replied. “Don’t you see? Tomorrow is the first day of summer!”
A summer solstice offering? Sonny thought. Holy caca! The goat is a sacrifice on the summer solstice! If what don Eliseo was saying was true, was Gloria, too, a sacrifice to the sun? But no, she had been killed before the solstice. He was making associations that didn’t fit.
“They kill chickens, Sonny. Están locas,” Concha added. “I’ve seen them.”
“Call Garcia,” Rita said and pulled at him. “I don’t like it.”
“The women with the goat kill chickens?” Sonny asked. “Who are they?”
“The woman who lives there. She’s there alone sometimes, then the others come. I’ve been keeping my eyes on them. They go to the chicken coop late at night. Son brujas, Sonny, I’m sure,” Concha said.
“We watched them,” don Eliseo said. “They came out and cut the chicken’s neck. They offered the blood to the sun, just like the old Aztecas used to do.”
“Pero los Aztecas used virgin blood.” Don Toto grinned at Rita through his magnifying glass, fixating on her breasts. “Ay que melones tan dulces,” he said lasciviously.
“They kill chickens and roosters,” Concha intoned, “and they smear the blood on their bodies. And the goats, Sonny, the goats. A long time ago the devil came in the form of a goat, and the brujas danced with him!”
Sonny shook his head. Concha was going overboard. He turned to don Eliseo.
“I think these brujas put the sign of the Zia on your prima. And on you,” don Eliseo whispered.
Sonny pulled on his boots, Concha handed him his shirt. “You got good buns!” She laughed.
“Do you think they are the ones who killed Gloria?” Rita asked.
“I got to go,” Sonny said.
“Call Garcia. It could be dangerous. Or let me go—” Rita started to get up again.
“No, no, it’s okay. Garcia would just go busting in there. Scare them away. All I’m going to do is look around. You stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“Take a cold shower, honey,” Concha advised.
“Hurry, Sonny!” don Eliseo said anxiously. “If they sacrifice the goat, we got no evidence.”
“I can stay with the lady,” don Toto volunteered and took Rita’s hand.
“You come with us, Buster.” Concha yanked him.
Rita swept the sheet aside to get up, then remembering she was wearing only the T-shirt, she jumped back into bed. “It’s crazy,” she pleaded. “You can go tomorrow.”
“I can’t get no satisfaction,” Concha sang.
“You’re drunk!”
“We may be drunk, but we found the cabro.” Concha smiled. “Snap, Crackle, and Pop Detective Agency at your service.”
Sonny hesitated. Rita wouldn’t wait forever, and the cool summer night wouldn’t last forever. He would rather stay in the warm bed with Rita.
“Yeah, Sonny Boy.” Concha fanned herself with her flashlight, creating an eerie light on her wrinkled face with the red lips and thick glasses.
“We got them where we want them,” don Eliseo assured him.
“I can stay,” don Toto repeated.
“Ándale.” Concha pulled him. “Leave the fooling around to Sonny. Ya tú no puedes.” She laughed, putting the flashlight between her legs and making a lewd gesture with it. “You need Energizer batteries!”
“I’ll be back soon.” Sonny kissed Rita.
“Let me go with you.”
“No.”
“Be careful.”
“Keep the tortillas warm, honey,” Concha said, “and the biscochito.”
They laughed. “Que suerte la mía,” don Toto sang, “comer sin tortillas, queriéndote así.… Que suerte la mía, dejar tu sopaipilla.”
The three went stumbling out of the bedroom. Concha’s light flipped and flopped as Sonny led the odd threesome through the door and into the wet night.
27
The three duendes jumped into the truck cab with Sonny, all jammed together like a pork meat burrito. “Ah, this is heaven,” Concha said and pressed close to Sonny. “Nice and warm. Rita had you pretty calentito, eh, honey?” She winked and straightened her orange wig, which was wet with rain and smelling like wet straw.
As soon as they were bouncing out of the driveway, don Toto took out a bottle of wine, drank, and passed it. Each took a drink in the dark; lips sucked at the hot wine and smacked with gusto, until the bottle reached Sonny. Out of courtesy he took a drink, then wished he hadn’t. The wine was hot and sour. He leaned out the window and spit
.
“Chingao, don Toto, what did you do to this batch?”
“Hey, primo, it’s good stuff.”
“Makes you warm inside,” Concha purred and sang again, “can’t get no satisfaction.”
Yes, Sonny thought, they had had a lot of wine to drink, but they had found the castrated goat, and that meant getting close to those who had left threatening messages on his answering machine. Ah, his mind was racing now, making the connections that had eluded him. These women made sacrifices, and Gloria had been sacrificed. Tomorrow was the summer solstice.… The day the sun stands still, that’s what Raven had called it. Things were falling in place, finally!
Don Eliseo pointed the way, and Sonny obeyed. They followed the bumpy dirt road along the side of the irrigation canal.
“We can come in the back way,” don Eliseo said. “That’s where she keeps the goats. Pull over here,” don Eliseo said, motioning to a vacant, weed-filled space. To the right ran the acequia, one of the old mother ditches of the North Valley. Bordering on it was one of the richest housing additions in the North Valley, the Bosque de Alameda home sites.
From here it was only half a mile to Río Grande Boulevard, close to Frank Dominic’s place, and just down the boulevard was the house of the late Dorothy Glass. From here someone could walk along the acequia path and enter Dominic’s backyard.
Sonny pulled over and turned off the motor.
“This is it,” don Eliseo said. Don Toto opened the door, and he and don Eliseo tumbled out.
“Pinche zoquete,” don Toto cursed and wiped the mud from his pants.
“Tu ojete qué?” Concha laughed as Sonny helped her down from the truck.
“Cállense. You want to wake the dead?” don Eliseo cautioned. “We can walk,” he said, and led them into the dark, thick brush under the canopy of towering cottonwoods. The rain was a thin drizzle, but enough to soak them.
“Que frío,” Concha complained. She shivered and held on to Sonny’s arm.
Sonny knew the ditch road. Young high school kids came to smoke pot here. Lovers came to park. Used Rubber Lane, the local cops joked about the place. Over the years the cops had busted even more backseat romances on this road than drug transactions.