Percival Everett - The Body of Martin Aguilera

Joseph Taylor

“Everything okay?” Ernesto asked.

Lewis balled up the note and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, fine.” He waved goodbye to Ernesto and stepped out into the night air. He looked up and tried to make out a couple of constellations. He found Cassiopeia low in the sky, then just the cap of Cepheus.

He got into his car. He looked back into the office as he waited to pull into the street and saw Ernesto using the phone. He drove downtown and parked in front of De la Peña’s Restaurant, a few blocks from Salvador’s shop. He walked past the ice cream parlor, crossed the street and went down the alley to the back of the House of Boots. Ignacio and Salvador were waiting beside a pickup.

“I thought somebody was coming with you,” Ignacio said.

“No, it’s just me.”

Lewis didn’t think these men would hurt him, but he was glad he’d planted the suspicion that someone else knew with whom he was taking a ride. Salvador looked more nervous than the younger man.

“Turn around,” Ignacio said, letting a scarf fall to its length from his hand. When Lewis complied, he wrapped it over his eyes and pulled it snug, as if to state again his disdain. Ignacio was a good five inches shorter than Lewis and so tied the scarf awkwardly low on the back of his head.

“Can’t see a thing,” Lewis said.

“Let’s go,” Salvador said.

Lewis was helped into the truck. He sat between the two men. Lewis wondered if anyone would see and find interesting the sight of a blindfolded, black man seated between two Mexicans in a pickup in the middle of the night.

Lewis caught himself instinctively trying to follow their route by noting turns and speed, but he stopped because he couldn’t keep it up and because he didn’t want to know where they were taking him. It was their secret and he didn’t want it. They made many turns, he thought, to confuse him. Once the sounds of other traffic were gone, the path was direct.

They ended up on a washboard road. Dust floated freely through the cab. The truck skidded to a stop and Lewis was helped out. Someone was singing somewhere. Salvador talked to him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Lewis, this is a velorio de difunto and it is very important to us.”

Lewis nodded, still blindfolded.

“Many of our members will not like it that you are here. Many of them will not notice. You will see things that are sacred, private. Please see as little as you can.” The old man sighed. “Promise me you say nothing to anyone.”

“You have my word, Salvador. I have no wish to compromise you or your beliefs.”

Ignacio pulled the scarf away from Lewis’ head.

Lewis tried to aid his eyes in adjusting by opening them wide. He was standing in front of a one level adobe. A flame torch burned on either side of the doorway. There were several trucks and cars parked around in no particular order. The singing was coming from inside the building.

“Do not look at anyone’s eyes, especially the rezador,” Ignacio said.

Lewis didn’t understand.

“The singer.”

Lewis nodded, frightened by Ignacio’s hostility.

“It would be best if you tried not to look at anyone at all,” Salvador said.

“Okay.”

Salvador and Ignacio looked at each other. Then Salvador led the way. Ignacio took Lewis’ arm. The room was lighted by more torches and the smell of incense was thick and sickly sweet. Figures moved about and Lewis tried not to see them or recognize them. He looked at Salvador’s back. He glanced ahead and saw the coffin, a simple, lidless box, but he couldn’t see the contents. The rezador was to the left of the coffin. Lewis caught his eyes drifting toward the chanting and pulled them back. Ignacio must have also detected the slip for he squeezed Lewis’ arm. Then, Lewis couldn’t help seeing the procession. Men marched in a wide circle around the body beating themselves. The beating kept time with the chanting. Most men used leather, one a chain. In the glow of the firelight Lewis saw two lacerated and bloody backs. The blood and the incense and strange light made him feel ill, dizzy and then he was standing over Martin.

Salvador and Ignacio stood on either side of him and turned away from what he was doing. Lewis took a deep breath and this turned out to be a mistake for he took in a smell of death. He tasted bile and swallowed. The body was bloated, but Lewis thought not badly and then he wondered to what he was comparing it. The face was strange and lifeless, but it was Martin’s and he tried to avoid it. The body was naked and for this Lewis was thankful, for he did not have to touch it. On the dead man’s legs were several places where the flesh was raw, like burns, but the water had done things. Maybe he had even been nibbled at by fish.

“Let’s go,” Ignacio said.

Lewis was ready. “I’ll close my eyes and you lead me out,” he said.

Salvador and Ignacio took either arm and walked him through the sick-sweet cloud and outside. Lewis felt faint when the clear air hit him, but the men held him up.

“I’m okay,” Lewis said, finding his legs.

“Did you see what you wanted?” Ignacio asked.

Lewis nodded, walked to the pickup and leaned against it.

“Are you all right?” Ignacio asked, his tone different.

Lewis looked at him and found the eyes softer. “I’m fine. I want to thank you.” Lewis stood straight, looked out over the dessert. “Did you see his legs?”

Salvador and Ignacio were silent.

Lewis turned to face them. “Would you call those burns?”

“Get in the truck and we’ll drive you back,” Ignacio said.

“Didn’t you see the wounds?”

“We cannot talk of the dead,” Salvador said.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said, then he had to say, “I think Martin was murdered. I found him dead before he showed up in the river, at his cabin. He was lying on the floor.” Lewis shook his head.

Salvador sighed. “Martin is dead. God called to him and he is dead. It doesn’t matter how he died.” He looked back at the morada . “Please, I can’t talk about it.”

Lewis raised a hand to silence the man. He didn’t want them frightened further. “I’m sorry.”

Ignacio walked around and climbed into the cab. Lewis climbed in behind Salvador on the passenger side. He looked out the window at the morada as they rolled away.

“Don’t you want to blindfold me?” Lewis asked.

Ignacio pulled the scarf from his pocket and handed it across Salvador to Lewis. Lewis tied it around his head. He felt good about this. He felt trusted and that they all understood something together.

Someone turned the radio on and voices sang in Spanish the way into town. They let Lewis out in front of the theater. Nothing was said and the two men drove away.

Lewis went back to his car. There was a ticket on the windshield. He looked and saw that he had parked over the white line in the diagonal space, but not very far. He sat behind the wheel and studied the ticket under the dome light. It had been signed by Manny Mondragon.

Lewis thought about Martin on the way home. He thought about how awful it must be to drown and halfway hoped that he had been hit on the head and killed instantly, not feeling anything. Then he considered not feeling anything. Martin had been a man full of life and would have wanted to fight, even if against the river. Just to have a chance is all anyone can ask. Maggie would laugh if she knew what he was thinking. She would laugh, but she would understand. She would think it herself.

He wondered how much Manny suspected and how much he knew. He didn’t know how to think of the sheriff. Was he the enemy? Was there an enemy? He began to feel paranoid. The wounds on Martin’s legs were real though, regardless of the cause. But what difference did it make? Could he go to the sheriff or the state police and talk intelligently about any of this? Was he closer to any kind of answer? Had he even made Martin’s death easier to take? It seemed all he had really managed to do was spend precious time away from his granddaughter. All of this settled on him and he knew he couldn’t stop. There was something to be found out. Something bad had happened and something bad was going on. Everything smelled sour and he felt something evil lurking about.