Percival Everett - The Body of Martin Aguilera

Lewis saw a fence and two men behind it searching for something. Then he was dizzy. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, trying to see more clearly. He heard a rustling and so he stopped, looked around. He stepped toward some bushes for cover. He heard another sound. In a forest without animals, any noise screamed. Then there were footsteps, definitely footsteps. Something had him. A hand was over Lewis’ mouth, the gun out of his grasp. He tried to kick and his legs were grabbed. All he could do was look and he saw Ignacio in front of him, controlling his legs and holding a finger to pursed lips. Lewis nodded and the hand fell from his face. He looked behind him and there was Ernesto. Ernesto wasn’t looking, but listening.

Lewis tried to breathe normally, quietly.

“Did you two follow me?” Lewis asked.

“Yes,” Ignacio said.

“You’re a crazy old man,” Ernesto said.

Lewis nodded.

“I thought about what you said,” Ignacio said. “But it’s not up to me alone.”

Lewis realized that they were supporting more and more of his weight. Ernesto said something to him, but he couldn’t make it out. He tried to speak, but he wasn’t sure his mouth was moving.

“Do you hear it?” Lewis thought he was saying.

“What?” Ignacio asked.

“Listen.”

He could see Ignacio and Ernesto talking to each other.

“Listen.” His tongue felt huge in his mouth.

He read Ignacio’s lips to say, “It’s okay.”

“No birds,” he said. “No animals.”

The brothers stopped walking and listened. Lewis passed out.

It was Mala. Lewis focused. Mala the Doberman sat with unblinking eyes, watching Lewis, his tongue moving back and forth in a slow pant. Lewis frowned, his head hurting as he raised it. He was on a sofa. An Indian blanket was over the lower half of his body. He looked under the cover and saw his legs. He was without trousers, though his underwear remained. Mala closed his mouth and leaned forward. Lewis didn’t move. The dog put his cold nose against the side of Lewis’ face. Lewis petted Mala’s head, then sat up, keeping the blanket over his lap. The room was furnished with mismatched chairs and a large china closet, partially filled, in a corner. A television was on across the room. It was dark outside and the room was lit by two ornate standing lamps, one with a ripped shade so that light blared out of it like noise. Lewis looked away from it. Mala stood and leaned his head against Lewis’ thigh. Lewis stroked him some more. Lewis could hear that it was raining outside. He thought how they really needed rain, then laughed. What good could rain do for dead people? He looked at his hands. They had been washed, but the scratches were plain to see.

Slowly, everything came back. Lewis remembered the fence, the masked men, Ignacio and Ernesto. He pulled up the blanket from the bottom to look at his leg. The wound had been dressed neatly in gauze and surgical tape. He could see the sink of the lighted kitchen from where he sat. He heard a rustling and he remembered the woods again.

Ignacio’s teenage daughter walked in from the kitchen with an open bag of potato chips. She stopped when she saw Lewis sitting up. “You’re awake,” she said.

Lewis nodded, still petting Mala’s head.

“I see you made a friend,” the girl said. She sat in an over-stuffed chair in front of the television. “How do you feel?”

“Okay. Did you put the bandage on for me?”

“Me and my daddy.”

“Gracias.”

“No hay de que.”

They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, the girl looking at the set. “What are you watching?” Lewis asked.

“Something about monkeys. Wild Kingdom , something like that.”

“Any good?”

“I like nature shows.” She looked at him, offered him chips.

“No, thank you. May I have some water though?”

“Sure.” She got up and went to the kitchen. She came back with a tall glass of water with ice.

“Gracias.”

She returned to her chair, turned up the sound.

Lewis sipped the water. “Where is your father?”

“He said he’d be back soon.”

Lewis looked around the room again. There was a cross on the wall over the mantel of the fireplace. “Where is your mother?”

“My mother is dead,” the girl said without taking her eyes off the television.

“Me llamo Lewis.”

“Carla,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you,” Lewis said. “I wish it could be under other circumstances.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, looked at the old newspapers and magazines. “How long has it been raining?”

“About an hour, off and on.”

“We need it,” he said.

Carla pointed at the screen. “I think they know they’re being cute.”

Mala walked away from Lewis, barked once and sat facing the door. Lewis watched the muscles of the dog’s body, smooth and tense. Someone knocked.

Lewis knew someone was there before the knock. The girl had to know it too, but she didn’t turn her attention from the monkeys until she heard it. She got up and went to the door, opened it an inch.

“Buenas tardes, Carla,” a man said.

“Sheriff,” she said. Mala stood. Carla held up a hand and told him to stay. He sat again.

“Como esta usted?”

“I’m okay.” The girl held the door where it was and let Manny stand out in the rain. “No one is here but me.”

“Donde puedo encontrar Ignacio?”

“I don’t know where he is?”

“Tell him we found his truck.”

“Okay.”

“May I use your telephone?” Manny asked.

Lewis tried to get up and walk into another room, but his head throbbed and he fell back.

“It’s not working,” Carla said.

“Okay. Tell him about the truck.”

“I will. Hasta luego.” Carla closed the door and went directly back to her chair where she again put her eyes on the television screen.

“Thanks,” Lewis said.

She ate a chip.

Lewis laid back down. Mala walked over, sat and watched him. Lewis closed his eyes.

Lewis woke up again to find Ignacio sitting in the chair beside the sofa. Ignacio leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. And thank you for helping me.”

“I want to help your friend, too.”

“You’re a good man, Ignacio.”

“I think the same about you.”

“What do we do?” Lewis asked, sitting up. His head hurt less.

“I’m to bring you to a meeting. Our council must vote on what you want.” Ignacio worked a kink from his back. “Like I said, it is not up to me.”

“I understand. Are we going to the morada?”

“Si.”

“The sheriff was here.”

“Carla told me.”

“She’s quite a young lady,” Lewis said.

“Gracias.” Ignacio looked at the draped window. “It’s raining hard.”

“What time is it?” Lewis asked.

“After midnight,” Ignacio said. He pointed to the end of the sofa. “There are your pants.”

It was a hard rain and it had made the night cool. Lewis sat on the passenger side of his truck while Ignacio drove. A draft squeezed through the door and up the rip in Lewis’ pants. He zipped up his jacket and folded his arms over his chest. The wiper in front of him did a lousy job, leaving the glass streaked with each pass. He couldn’t see where they were going and he figured it worked as well as a blindfold.

“Are they going to ask me questions?” Lewis asked.

Ignacio shrugged.

Lewis imagined himself standing before old Mexican men, giving a presentation, candles burning, a skirted Jesus nailed to a cross on the wall behind him. Lewis thought about the sheriff.