The dream skipped forward. The men were in the cave, jumping and dancing, the women singing and holding their arms to the ceiling. The tall man who had killed the animal approached Anda. He smiled and gave her the blood-smeared stone point that had pierced the beast’s great heart. She took it with reverence and moved to the back wall. There she wiped it with fresh grass and dusted the flint blade with powdered red ocher. Anda held the blade in both hands and lifted it upward, for their gods to see. She said words then, words that she couldn’t decipher, but which she knew in her heart. She was thanking the gods for putting such great power into the stone, and she would protect it and place it away for use in another time. Then she took the point and placed it in the crack in the wall.
That was all she could remember. She reached into the pocket in her dress, and felt the flint blade. It was warm. A faint dusting of red ochre transferred from it to her hand. Anda reached the spring and knelt to take a long drink. There were a few small cattails where the water disappeared into the grass, and on the low ridge behind them, maybe twenty yards away, was a clump of prickly pear with a half dozen oblong maroon growths roughly the size of eggs protruding from the green pads. Tunas, the thorny fruit of the cactus were tricky to get but good to eat. Near the cactus was a small mesquite with a dozen bean pods still hanging from the spindly branches. She gathered the mesquite beans first, then picked up two dry sticks under the mesquite and took them to the cactus, where she used the sticks as tongs to pluck the tunas from the cactus. Anda placed them on a flat rock and rubbed them back and forth until she removed all the fine thorns. She took out the flint blade and sliced them, peeling the skin to expose the seedy red pulp. She ate the pulp, seeds and all. The juice left her palms and mouth red-stained. The cattails came up easily when she pulled them, exposing the onion-white bottom portions of the stalks. She cut off the fine roots and ate the mild tasting white part, which extended almost six inches. Anda took another large drink, and used the wet sand in the bottom of the spring to scrub her hands and face. She dried off with her dress, then stood, put a long mesquite bean into her mouth like a grass stem and chewed the end, savoring the sweet taste.
The meal hadn’t been much, but it would stop her hunger until she reached town. Anda looked once more at the cave and silently thanked the gods there. She started toward Ojinaga, not sure at all what she would do when she got there. As Anda walked, she said a silent promise to her unborn child.
***
Bobby Mata sat in the cafe in Marfa, eating
a breakfast of huevos rancheros while reading the El Paso Times newspaper. The interesting stuff was on the front page, bottom right quarter. The Boldface headline read: Presidio County - Freeway to Mexico for Stolen Farm Equipment.
Bobby ate a spicy bite of egg, sipped his coffee and read the article.
First in a six part series:
They are everywhere in Northern Mexico. New farm equipment: tractors, combines, balers, and all the top accessories that go with them. They can be found on poor farms in Zacatecas, in large, commercial operations near Saltillo and Chihuahua City, and in dozens of small villages and towns in between. When asked where the equipment comes from, the answer, usually accompanied by a grin, is always the same, El Norte.
Thieves steal them in the United States and within 24 hours have the equipment in Mexico. We examined seventy-four pieces of equipment during our two weeks in Mexico, and seventy-three were stolen in the United States within the last year.
An unnamed source stated the farm equipment comes from locations all over the United States, but funnels down to pass through Presidio County and into Mexico via the area in and around Ojinaga.
Bobby muttered to himself, “I better find out who that is,” and continued to read.
John Stanton, Vice President for John Deere, said, “Theft is a big problem for our company and for the farmers. Stealing farm equipment doesn’t get the notoriety of car theft, but is a multi-million dollar criminal enterprise and it’s getting bigger.”
Bobby ate more egg and said to himself, “They sure haven’t been looking at my bank balance.” He continued reading.
Mr. Stanton added, “The problem with taking them to Mexico is that we can’t get them back. At least, if they’re stolen in the states and remain here, we can sometimes recover them. Down there (Mexico), it’s been impossible, a complete write-off. We need to stop it, especially down in Presidio County. It’s going right through there, and the Sheriff isn’t doing anything to stop it. They (the thieves) are making the Sheriff look like a total incompetent.”
Presidio County Sheriff Wayne Rockman stated, “We’re doing what we can. This is one of the largest, most sparsely populated counties anywhere in the country. I don’t have many officers to work it, and we have lots of other crimes down here that also require our attention. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
The story will continue in next week’s segment. Don’t forget to watch the televised portion of this story tonight with El Paso’s own Pepper Easton of KPSO-TV 7.
Bobby thought, Calling Wayne Rockman incompetent, Jesus. He looked out the window as the Sheriff and a deputy walked through the front door.
Rockman came in, nodding to several people as he walked into the dining area. He did a double take at Bobby, then walked to his table.
“Interesting reading,” said Rockman.
Bobby put the paper down and looked up at the Sheriff. “That?” He nodded his head at the paper. “I like to read the funnies and the editorials. How about you?”
“I found a few things in there.”
“That’s good. A man should try to expand his horizons.”
The big Sheriff nodded, no smile on his face. “Sometimes you read something that pinpoints a problem, brings it into focus. Gives you a chance to take care of it, once and for all.”
“That’s the American way.”
“You have yourself a good day, Bobby Mata.”
“I always do, Sheriff, I always do.” The Sheriff walked off, followed by the deputy. They sat at a table in the corner and watched traffic out the window. Bobby picked up his paper, left a tip, went to the cashier and paid. When he left, he gave the Sheriff a nod. Rockman didn’t nod back.
Bobby wiped the small beads of perspiration off his forehead as he drove away. Gettin’ a little nervous, Bobby? He thought about recent events, picturing Felipe Godoy first. The Colonel going after him in Mexico, then this, with Rockman pissed at him and watching him in Texas. Not a good situation, no sir. Was he thinking about stopping, calling it quits because of those two? Hell no, it was going to be business as usual. He’d just have to be more careful. He tapped the steering wheel as he drove and imagined possible scenarios. It might be kind of fun, almost a competition. A line from a movie flashed in his mind, Bobby thought it was from Mortal Kombat, where the guy with the deep voice said, “Let the games begin!”
He arrived in Presidio an hour later and checked at his house for messages. No one had called, so he drove across the bridge to Ojinaga. He turned right on Calle Villa and followed it until it turned to caliche and gravel and continued through the outskirts to Outlaw Road.
***