Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring

  “Yes, a raven trap,” Lorenza said. “His nagual makes him very powerful, and the only way you can stop him is to learn to use the power of the coyotes.”

  “Why the coyotes?”

  “For now it seems that is the energy calling to you. There are other ways, but this is expedient. For now.”

  “And later?”

  “Later you travel through your dreams, later still through moments of meditation, until you can at will step from one world to the next.”

  “So I’m just beginning,” he said. “Okay, let’s do it. My abuelo used to tell me, ‘Whenever you’re in trouble, maybe you have a problem you have to think about, go to the river. Go to that safe place where the coyotes live.’ Maybe he knew the coyotes would help me.”

  “They will help,” she said. She took his hand again. “Tell me more about those river coyotes.”

  “I spent summers with my abuelos. There was an oxbow at the river. The river curved in and out, like a horseshoe. The water was calm, deep. I could fish there, go swimming. I would sit still, and even though the family of coyotes could smell me, would know I was there, they didn’t run away. They had their den under the huge roots of the alamo. The cubs played in the shade …”

  “How many?”

  “Four. Male, female, two cubs.”

  “The four you saw in your vision.”

  “Yes. I can see them now.”

  The vision suddenly appeared, so clear it overwhelmed him. Did it have something to do with Lorenza’s touch? Was she hypnotizing him and taking him into his past?

  “You are there now?”

  “I can see it clearly …”

  She stood and moved to the tape player, turned it on, and the drumming began. “Lie here, on the floor,” she said. “On your side.”

  He obeyed, and she lay next to him, along his back.

  “Are you sure this—” he started to say but she cut in.

  “Do as I say,” she whispered. “Listen to the drumming.”

  He could feel her warmth, hear her steady breathing.

  “Keep the image of the pond clear.… You will enter there.… Sing your song.”

  He closed his eyes and began to sing, softly, barely audible, to the beat of the drum. He saw his grandfather’s farm, the adobe house, so cool in the summer, the fields of alfalfa being mowed and packed by the men, the summer drone of cicadas, the scattering grasshoppers as he ran through the grass, the call of birds in the orchard, the pungency of the chile verde his grandmother roasted for the noonday meal.

  So much of his childhood was smell, touch, sound, dreams. When did the senses of the child leave off and the dreams begin? Life then had been like a vibration, a steady pulse droning with a strange energy, like a low current of electricity passing through his body.

  He felt it all again, so clearly that he felt he could reach out and touch the burst of sunflowers along the irrigation ditch as he ran toward the river, could feel the whip of the wild grasses, the fragrance of the yellow clusters of flowers on the Russian olive trees, the warmth of salty sweat trickling down his cheeks, along the back of his neck.

  The river was serene, peaceful. The canopy of the cottonwoods was the underworld of his childhood. He had fallen back to childhood, and there on the damp bank of the pond sat the four coyotes. Two grown ones and two large cubs. It was a family.

  He stepped into the middle of their circle. The coyotes stood around him, east, north, west, south. Quiet sentries marking the sacred directions, and he at the center. Their energy flowed to him, filling him with lightness, exuberation. He was running, close to the ground, close to the scents of the other animals, running with the coyotes, free, flying.

  He saw a different kind of forest: the Sandia Mountains’ pine tree forest where he had first found Raven’s compound. The vision dissolved, and the forest became a jungle, people running. Thunderous gunfire filled the air, as did the sound of mortars. He saw a dark shadow rising from the trees, and suddenly helicopters swarmed overhead. People were dying. They disappeared into the smoke of the battle.

  “The homeless,” Sonny muttered. There was nothing he could do to save the brown-skinned people being slaughtered.

  “Raven!” Sonny heard himself shout. He was challenging Raven to come out in the open.

  A large moving van appeared. At first he thought it had something to do with the homeless, and then he saw the top of the van open and Raven’s dark balloon rise into the sky.

  “Ah,” Sonny heard himself whisper.

  The pounding drum told him it was time to go deeper.

  “Go deeper,” the voice said. “Go deeper …”

  He found Gloria. Her body wasn’t cold from death as he had seen her that day in June, but warm, inviting, as she had been the night she gave herself to him.

  She put her arm around him, drew him near.

  “Gloria,” he whispered. Finally she was there in front of him! She had haunted his dreams and waking hours, driving him relentlessly. She wanted revenge for her murder, and she was using Sonny.

  The coyotes tugged at him, forcing him to look closely at the woman in his arms. It wasn’t Gloria holding him, it was her spirit. He had followed the coyotes into the world of spirits. They had brought him here so he could be released from her.

  “Release me,” he said, and she was gone. A luminous light moved away from him and he stood alone, gasping for breath. He felt a tremendous surge of energy as the light moved away from him, moved toward the setting sun.

  “I’m free,” he sobbed. “I’m free …”

  The drumming was so low now he could barely hear it. He felt Lorenza rise, heard her praying; then the eagle feather passed across his closed eyes, and he felt the stir of air. She clapped loudly, four times, and gently touched her hands to his eyes.

  “Open your eyes. Open them very slowly. Use the coyotes to return to this world …”

  He turned from the world of spirits and ran with the coyotes. Ran low to the ground, like them, sniffing as he went, flying as he went.

  “Breathe in, deep, then out, slowly. Open your eyes slowly,” she said, giving careful instructions, and the glare of the world returned.

  He was lying on the floor, Lorenza sitting beside him.

  “Feels like I’ve been smoking pot.” He smiled. “Or peyote.” He had done the medicine with don Eliseo once. “I thought you were Gloria …”

  She smiled. “You called her name. What did you see?”

  Sonny told her his vision.

  “You are free of Gloria’s spirit,” she said. “And now we know the guardian spirits will help. Great news, Sonny Baca.”

  She smiled and walked out of the room. Sonny stood and looked around him. The reality of the room felt so mundane compared to the trip he had just taken. And why could he take such a trip without smoking grass or chewing peyote? Was it that easy to call on the guardian spirits and go to the world of spirits? Or had Lorenza given him something in his coffee?

  She returned with two cups of tea and offered one to Sonny. He took it and sipped, enjoying the aroma, the soft, warm liquid silky on his tongue. He was thirsty.

  “Do you put something in the drinks?” he asked.

  She laughed. “It’s all in you, Sonny, all in you.”

  “I can call the coyotes?”

  “Any time,” she said.

  “Great medicine.”

  “It is. Powerful stuff.”

  “Too bad more people don’t know about this.” He smiled. “We’d be tripping to the world of spirits all the time.”

  “No,” she cautioned. “It has a very serious purpose.”

  “I thought Coyote was a trickster.”

  “He is, but that doesn’t mean he’s around just to pull pranks. Coyote is an old trickster. Sometimes he forgets and turns to beguiling the young women he meets in the bars along Fourth Street. Drink and dance and take them to bed. They love his ways and words of honey.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Sonny muttered,
his face growing red.

  She laughed. “You’re learning. The journey into the world of spirits can be full of danger. At first you don’t understand what you see. You took the form of the coyote in the vision and had a very pleasant trip.”

  “I feel great.”

  “Ah, good.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  He sipped the tea and looked into her clear eyes. She was attractive, alone, and he knew he pleased her.

  “My role is only to guide you,” she said. “The journey is dangerous. A lot of spirits live in that underworld, a lot of ghosts live in your unconscious. Right now the goal is to get you in touch with your guardians, your source of power.”

  “I felt like I was flying.”

  She laughed. “Brujos fly.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded.

  “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been there. Yes, it was being there. And the other things I saw?”

  “They are signs. Think carefully on them. They are signs.”

  “Gracias por todo,” he said. “And the Zia medallion?”

  “It’s been blessed by your guardian spirits. It is yours to wear. Now it will protect you.”

  He went to the altar and retrieved the Zia medallion. For a moment he hesitated, thinking this is what would bring Raven to him, then he slipped it around his neck.

  He went to her and gave her an abrazo, feeling again, momentarily, the warmth of her body. “Gracias,” he said again, then quickly walked out of the house, not daring to look back.

  “Ve con Dios, los santos, y tu nagual,” she whispered.

  13

  Sonny got in his truck and felt a new mood wash over him. He was feeling stronger. Gloria’s dread was lifted from him, and her soul, which so desired revenge, was winging its way to heaven.

  Or wherever souls went after their life on earth. Back to the cosmic wind, the light of the universe, as don Eliseo said. Gloria’s soul was now following its natural evolution, and Sonny was free.

  The guardian spirits helped, he thought as he peered at the edge of the river bosque, where shadows shifted in the afternoon light. The coyotes were close by.

  A blanket of light lay across the valley. The slanting rays of October sun suffused the land with the glow of golden pollen. The Sandias were mauve.

  Ah, to be able to enjoy the light falling across the land is a good sign.

  Before he picked up Peter at the television station, he stopped by the library. Ruth had a few notes on the people he was tracking.

  “Not much,” she apologized, “but I’ll keep digging.”

  “This is a great start,” Sonny said, and thanked her. At TV 7 he found Peter talking to Francine Hunter in the parking lot. She had just wrapped up her report for the evening news and was also on her way home.

  “Tough luck,” Peter greeted him.

  “Hi, Sonny. Anything new?” Francine asked.

  Sonny shook his head.

  “It’s a black eye for the fiesta.” She walked to her car. “Are you working for the fiesta board?”

  “Yes,” Sonny replied.

  For a moment her newswoman instincts almost caused her to ask the next questions: Who do you think murdered Mario Secco? And why? But she didn’t. “Well, good luck on it,” she said. “It’s a terrible thing. See you in the morning, Peter. Thanks.”

  “Be here eight o’clock sharp.” Peter waved as she drove away.

  “Did you shoot the Secco murder?” Sonny asked as they drove home.

  “Yes. Francine is like a bulldog. Worse than that guy Barker. Once she starts on a story, she doesn’t let go.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “No. We were outside the police cordon. They said the killer was in a black balloon. Like the one we saw, I’m sure. So this evil man who haunts your tracks has killed again.”

  “Yes,” Sonny replied.

  At Rita’s Sonny dropped Peter off in the backyard, where Peewee and Busboy were resting and talking about the day’s work.

  Inside, Sonny found Cristina trying on the new clothes Rita had bought for her. She was showing them to her father.

  “Quíhubole, bro,” Diego greeted him.

  “Amor.” Rita kissed him. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “And I’m glad to see you,” he said, holding her for a moment and looking in her eyes. He wanted to tell her about his visit to Lorenza, but it could wait. “What’s this?” he asked, turning to Cristina.

  “My tía Rita bought me these clothes,” Cristina said, embracing Rita.

  “Beautiful.” Sonny smiled, picked her up, and whirled her around.

  “And my hair,” she said, showing it off. Her glossy black hair was tied in two braids accented with ribbons. “For school,” she said.

  “School?” Diego looked at his wife.

  “Los Ranchos Elementary is close,” Marta answered.

  “She should be in school,” Rita explained. “It might as well be here. I know the principal. A wonderful woman. She’ll make sure Cristina will be welcome.”

  “I want to go, Papá,” Cristina said. “I miss school.”

  Diego looked at his daughter, his wife, and shrugged. “You need money to go to school,” he said, “and I don’t have a job—” He paused. “I’ll check on the boys,” he said, turning and walking hurriedly outside.

  Sonny started to follow, but Marta touched his arm. “It’s not easy for him. We tried to leave the river before, and it never worked out. We always have to return. If he could find a real job, he could make it.”

  “We’ll work on it,” Sonny said. “Cristina should be in school.” He kneeled and looked in her eyes. “You like school?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied.

  “Good. Now go get your papa and the others. Tell them we’re going to celebrate by having the best meal in town.”

  Cristina ran outside, calling her father.

  Sonny looked out the back window, where the men were sitting. They were laughing and joking, as men will do after a hard but satisfying day’s work. It was only part-time work, but it was a beginning. Still, he knew he couldn’t assure Diego and his family that in a few weeks, when the part-time jobs were over, they wouldn’t have to return to the river.

  “I heard the news on the radio,” Rita said when Cristina was out of the room. “It was Raven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish I knew,” Sonny replied.

  “What now?”

  “Maybe just forget about him,” Sonny said.

  He didn’t tell her about the flight scheduled for tomorrow.

  “Vamos, let’s eat,” he said to change the subject.

  Rita had insisted it was her treat at her restaurant, and so they packed the women in her car and the men in Sonny’s truck and drove to Rita’s Cocina.

  “First time I ever came into a restaurant to eat and not to wash dishes,” Busboy said when they entered.

  “First time we’ve come in the front door of any place in a long time,” Diego added.

  The story of Mario Secco’s death had scared people away; many balloonists were leaving town. The consequences already showed in Rita’s place. Last night it had been packed; now it was half full.

  Sonny sat across from Diego; they ordered cold Coronas.

  “How did you get along with don Eliseo?” Sonny asked Diego.

  “Bien,” Diego answered. “The old man reminds me of my grandfather. I grew up in a little ranchito like his. Don Eliseo’s place needs a lot of repair.”

  “He needs help,” Sonny agreed. “He has a couple of boys, but they live in the Heights. They’ve got their families, and little time to help the old man. One’s a high school teacher—music, I think. The other’s an engineer at Sandia. They come around once in a while, try to help, but they only stay an hour. Then they leave. Farming the old ranchito is not their thing.”

  “Families change, they scatter,” Diego said. He understood. “When I came back from
Nam, it was like that.”

  Sonny wanted to know more about the man he had befriended, but he was cautious and did not question him further.

  “Nam. Seems like a generation ago,” he mused.

  “I guess people have forgotten it, but those of us who were there won’t. I never saw action. Hell, compared to some of my brothers in the field, I had it made. But when I got back, my sister had sold the house, and after my mother died, I had nothing to come back to. I have brothers. Three. One here, two in California. They sold Grandpa’s place.”

  “Did you get anything from it?”

  “I didn’t want anything. I was burned out. In Nam I was on a Graves Registry detail, picking up and bagging body parts. The guy I worked for was a mortician, not regular army. He turned me on to dope. It was the only way to do the job …”

  He sipped his beer.

  “All of us should be dead by now. We did things in a crazy way. Charlie would wire the bodies, and we were always so toked up we just ripped in. A couple of the guys bought the farm that way. I was busted for doing drugs, but that didn’t mean nada. They needed us. You know, some of the guys were so hooked, they signed on for Graves again. For the dope. I got out when my mother died, started drinking. I lost track of the years. I mean, I was so deep into booze and crap, nothing mattered. I spent five years on the streets of ’Burque, drinking, living by the river. Then I met Marta. She saved me. Helped me get clean. Then we had Cristina. I tried to climb out of the hole, but it’s hard. I have no education, no skills. Part-time jobs came and went. We sank, hermano, we sank. The worst curse is to have no home for your kid. You know God is really punishing you when that happens.”

  Diego fell silent. Peter filled the silence by telling them about his day with Francine Hunter and the Mario Secco murder scene, but Diego’s gaze was elsewhere, out the window floating over the North Fourth Street traffic, and beyond. He knew the city, but the city didn’t know him. His family had lived for generations in the state, but when the ranchito was sold, he was left hanging, and no one gave a damn how long the family had lived in the valley or how many centuries ago their ancestors had colonized the area.