Randy White - Night Vision

The bear had struck the girl as being very sad, an animal as repulsed with itself as it was humiliated by its captivity. The scene was even stronger in Tula’s mind because her father had taken her to the zoo the day before he was murdered.

Slowly, the girl walked toward Squires. She was embarrassed for him and sad in the same way that she had felt sad for the bear. She placed the little bird a safe distance away, in case the big man moved, and then hesitated before touching her fingers to Squires’s shoulder.

Tula patted the man gently as she might have patted the bear, given a chance. And then said to him kindly, “I must go behind a tree and use the bathroom. I can’t stand it anymore. Please. But promise me something. It’s important. Promise me you won’t look. I know that you have seen me without clothes. But I don’t want a man ever to see me that way again. Do you promise?”

Rocking and sobbing, the giant nodded his head.

Tula said to Squires, “My mother had a little doll like this. She wore it pinned to her blouse. Even the same color, bright orange and green, instead of blue like most of them. They’re called worry dolls in English. At night, you tell your worries to the doll and put it under your pillow. The next morning, all your worries are gone.”

The girl sniffed the doll, knowing it couldn’t be her mother’s-not way out here, so far from where a woman could get work cleaning houses or mopping floors in a restaurant-but, then, Tula had to wonder, because the odor of raw cotton was so familiar.

Maybe it seemed familiar because everything else inside this man’s trailer was so foreign.

Squires had started the generator, and they were inside the RV that smelled sour and stale like the ashes of a cold cooking fire. Tula had found the doll, only an inch tall, mounted on a brooch pin in a strange room where there was a camera, lights on tripods and a bed with a strange black leather contraption hanging from the ceiling.

The doll was on a table piled with photos of naked women. The women were frozen in poses so obscene that Tula had looked away, preferring to focus on the miniature Guatemalan doll in traditional Mayan dress.

The photos were of Mexican women, judging from their features, but a few Guatemalan women, too. Tula didn’t linger over details and closed the door to the room behind her, feeling as if the ugliness of that space might follow her.

Squires was sitting in a recliner, looking dazed, eyes staring straight ahead as he drank from a pint bottle of tequila. He had found the revolver, which was now lying in his lap, and Tula sensed that he was rethinking what had happened out there in the cypress grove. She had witnessed his breakdown and he would begin hating her for it soon, the girl feared, if she didn’t get his mind on something else.

After pinning the worry doll to her T-shirt, Tula went to the kitchen, where she found cans of beans and salsa and meat but no tortillas. There was a can opener, too, and plates, and a cheap little paring knife with a bent blade, but sharp.

“You need food, that’s why you feel so tired. I’ll cook something,” Tula said to Squires as she carried a pan to the stove. A moment later, she said, “We have a gas stove at the convent, but I can’t get this one to light. Unless I’m doing it wrong.”

Squires blinked his eyes, seeming to hear her for the first time. It took a while, but he finally said, “You’re a nun?”

“Someday, when I’m older,” Tula replied. “I am going to dedicate my life to God and to helping people. My patron saint is Joan of Arc. Have you heard of her?”

After a few beats of silence, Tula added, “I am modeling my life after the Maiden. That’s what the people of France called her, the Maiden. But to her friends, she was called Jehanne.”

“The gas isn’t on,” Squires said to the girl but didn’t get up from the chair. His indifference suggested he didn’t care about food. But he did appear interested in the convent Tula had mentioned because, after several seconds of silence, he said, “You live with nuns? No men around at all, huh? That’s got to be weird. Not even to fix shit?”

“The convent is where I live and go to school. I work in the kitchen, and the garden, too. That’s how I learned to speak English and to cook using a stove.”

Tula had been twisting the dials for the burners without success. Now she was searching the walls, looking under the stove, hoping the man would take the hint and make the gas work. He needed food, not tequila, and Tula wondered-not for the first time-why so many men preferred to be drunk and stupid rather than to eat hot food.

The giant took a sip from the bottle and told her, “I was raised Catholic. I used to be, anyway. But then all that stuff about priests cornholing little boys-and the goddamn Pope knew about it ’cause he was probably screwing boys himself before he got old. Little boys are in big demand in the Catholic religion. That’s probably the problem with you. You’ve been brainwashed by all that sick Catholic bullshit. Why else would you pretend to be a boy?”

Tula wondered if Squires was trying to upset her, give himself a reason to get angry again and shoot her. So she changed the subject by saying, “I’ve been thinking of a way to solve your problem. I don’t want you to go to jail. There’s another way, I think, to keep the police from arresting you.”

That surprised the man, Tula could see it, so she added, “I believe you when you say you’re not a murderer. Just looking into your face, you couldn’t do something like that-not by yourself, you couldn’t. I don’t want to tell the police what I saw. That’s why I’ve been thinking about this problem.”

“My guardian angel,” Squires said in his flat voice, not bothering to attempt sarcasm. “I forgot. You were sent by God in case I get into trouble. Lucky me.”

He took another drink, and Tula could feel the anger building in the man.

Getting irritated herself, the girl turned away from the counter where she had the salsa open and had used the sharp paring knife to cut the meat into slices. “Listen to me!” she said, frowning at the giant. “I want to find my mother and brother. That’s all I care about. I want to go home to the mountains. If I’m home in the mountains, your policemen can’t ask me questions. That’s why I’ve been thinking of a way to help you.”

That made Squires snort, a sound close to laughter. “What do you want me to do, buy you a plane ticket?” he asked. “Drive you to the airport and wave good-bye? That easy, huh? I don’t think so, chula.”

Tula felt the Maiden flow into her head, giving instructions, which is why she calmed herself before crossing the room, where she placed her hand on the giant’s curly blond head. “You may not believe it, but it’s true,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here unless God wanted me to help you. He loves you. He wants you to come back to Him. You can believe me or not believe me, but you can’t deny the goodness that’s in your heart.”

The girl didn’t say it, but her recent words came into Harris Squires’s mind. Do you remember the goodness that was in you as a child?

The girl patted the man’s head as he stared down into the tequila bottle. Tula could feel Squires’s brain fighting her, but she continued, “The Maiden has told me how to help you. We must go to Immokalee and ask the people there about my mother and my brother. I have two aunts and an uncle somewhere, too. When we find them, I want you to come home with us to the mountains. In your truck, you can drive us.”

Tula looked around the room, seeing the stained walls, the carpet, a peanut can filled with cigarette butts, sensing in the next room the obscene photos staring up at the ceiling tiles.