Chapter Fifty-Seven

Donovan opened his eyes slowly. He could tell from the sunlight streaming in the window that it was morning. For a moment he couldn't think how he had overslept or why he felt like he did: thirsty, headachy and just plain bad. Then he remembered the whiskey. And the sake. No wonder. But then he remembered the papers and reached for his pocket.

Where were his pants?

He sat up, frowning. He hadn't remembered undressing, but here he was, wearing nothing but his underwear. And where were the papers? A sudden panic seized him and he looked around in confusion.

"I have them over here," Amalia said. She was sitting in the upholstered chair under the window. "Alvi did a good job. It must've cost you a fortune."

"It did." He pushed himself off the bed and stumbled over to her.

"Why didn't you tell us this was what you were working on?" Amalia's eyes shone unnaturally clear in the morning light. "This ought to be a big help to you. Of course, it's not foolproof."

He took the papers out of her hands. "I need to find a way to carry these on me at all times." He looked around for his pants.

"I hung them up," Amalia said, guessing what he was after. "I'll take a look through my parents' things. I think one of them may have had something like what you need— a sort of leather billfold you can wear underneath your clothes, against your skin so no one can pick your pocket."

Donovan was putting his clothes on blindly, fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. Sake and scotch were a bad combination.

"But why didn't you tell us?" Amalia asked again.

Donovan sat on the bed. "I wanted it to be a surprise, and I didn't want to deal with a lot of questions about how I was getting the money to pay for it."

"You cheated at cards again in Macrina."

"Not always. Sometimes I won legit."

"Any outright stealing?"

"Only a little."

Amalia stood up. "Well, none of that is anything I haven't heard before. I try to understand we've all been a little perverted by the times we're living in, but it still doesn't seem like a good way."

"I got what I needed, didn't I?"

"Sure, but what about the people you stole from? They needed things, too."

Donovan rubbed his aching head. "Can we talk about this some other time, because right now..."

Amalia put her hand on the doorknob. "What do you want? Coffee?"

"I don’t know if I could keep it down."

"Didn't you know Alvi can drink anyone under the table? You should never try keeping up with him. Sounds like you need some greasy eggs with lots of salt. I saved you a plate of migas."

"Thanks. And later..."

"What?"

"Do you think you could read these papers to me?"

* * *

Alvi left that day in a cloud of dust, after much animated flirting and fussing. As always, the women were sad to see him go. "He sure has a way of livening up this place," Carina said. She had been watching the red cart disappear down the road but now turned toward the path that led to the barn and paddock.

"He's funny," Will agreed, joining her on the way to the barn before Amalia could task him with something more onerous.

Tasha looked at her feet in their colorful new sandals. "When will he be back?"

"There's never any telling," Amalia said. "It's usually summer and winter, but...well, there's just never any way to be sure."

The chores seemed harder than usual that day, the sun hotter and mealtime duller. The peddler had brought a flavor of the exotic into their day-to-day existence and his unexpected arrival and quick departure left a little shock in its wake— a sudden sense of tedium where before, things had seemed to move along pleasantly enough.

Life soon resumed its normal rhythms. In the face of unending heat, they rose early and tried to do as many chores as they could before the sun hit its zenith. They spent the afternoon napping in the cool of the adobe house underneath the solar-charged fans. They soothed their parched throats and cooled their bodies with water brought up from crocks in the root cellar. As the sun went down each night, they released creek water into the irrigation lines, so that by the time they ate their supper on the porch, the plants, which had wilted under the blistering summer sun, had begun to straighten and show themselves alive again, hardy survivors in this burning land.

Finally came a morning when something new blew in on the desert air. Amalia noticed it first, straightening from a row of stunted summer squashes, sniffing the air like some savvy forest creature. She dropped her pitiful harvest and scanned the western horizon. At about the same time, Carina came loping from the paddock. "Rain!"

Amalia sniffed the air again. It smelled unmistakably of water and life, and there on the horizon was a faint smudge of gray. She stood on her toes, trying to get a better look.

"It's coming," Carina said.

Amalia had her doubts, but for a little while, all work was suspended. When Will came up from the creek, Amalia sent him for chairs and they sat and watched the darkening line across the western horizon. After awhile, dishearteningly, the sky began to lighten. There would be no rain today.

A few days later, the sky to the west darkened again. Again everyone grew excited and stopped what they were doing to watch, only to be disappointed. So when a faint smudge of gray appeared over the mountains for a third time, they kept working. Either the rain would come or it wouldn't. Chores had to be done, just the same. But soon it was clear this line of storms was different. The wind picked up, heavy with moisture and the scent of damp earth. Dust blew across the yard, the wind carrying dead leaves and weeds in its wake. Like an ink stain, the dark clouds spread out across the sky.

There was no time to bring out chairs, no need to gather and discuss. The women ran to bring the laundry off the line while Donovan herded the children toward the house.

They were gathered in the safety of the front porch when the first big drops came, plopping fat and lazy into the dust. Then others joined them, lighter, faster, and finally so numerous that they dissolved into a gray curtain that shimmered and beat a rhythm against roof and earth. The women took deep breaths of the humid air, sat back in the porch chairs and sighed. Donovan leaned over the railing, the mist dampening his face and clothes. Rain had never seemed anything but a nuisance before he came to the farm, but now it was the essence of life. He watched it, impassioned with the desire to dance among the raindrops and drench his skin and clothes for the pleasure of it. He turned to the women with elated eyes. "Do you think...?"

Amalia laughed. "Go ahead."

Donovan went to the edge of the porch and the children followed, guessing what he was up to. As one, they tumbled down the steps and into the gray, wet world, stomping in the rivulets, splashing in the puddles, dancing wildly to the rhythm of the rain. Carina and Amalia looked at each other, the question unspoken, but understood. They jumped out of their seats, and with excited whoops and giggles ran down the steps and joined the others in celebration.

It was a dripping and sodden group that greeted the clearing skies a little while later. The rain hadn't lasted long, but it was enough to feed the crops and the wild plants and herbs around them. It was enough to raise the creek so they could continue irrigating the fields. It added water to their storage tanks. Most of all, it gave them hope.

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