Chapter Three
Mano reached out for the rope, not entirely sure it was real, even once he held it in his grasp. He pulled enough line down to secure himself and could feel resistence. There was someone, someone, on the other end.
Mano looped a large noose with the rope and threw it over his shoulders, bringing it snugly under his armpits. He gave the line a tug and instantly it drew taut. After reclaiming his belt, Mano pulled himself up until he could balance on his one good leg. Giving the line another tug , he tried his best to claw his way up the sheer wall as the force from above slowly pulled him upward. Whenever Mano could get a firm grip or a decent toe hold, he'd tug the line in order that both ends of the rope could rest. It was demanding work. With another tug, the next five to ten feet of progress would begin.
At times the edge seemed further away than when he started. Mano stopped looking for the top, instead focusing his efforts on the next step, and then the next. Finally, he was able to pull himself up with no help from the rope. Body flat against the sloping upper reaches of the arroyo, Mano was able to crawl to safety. Once he reached level ground he rolled over on his back and tried to collect his breath. The exertion and the throbbing pain of his ankle left him feeling nauseous.
A man leaned over and removed the lifeline from Mano's torso. Mano slowly stood, unable to place any weight on his gimpy leg. He looked at his benefactor and instantly recognized the man who had saved his life.
" So, what has it been, amigo. Twenty years?"
The red haired Indian Mano addressed, simply gazed at him.
" Manolito Montoya," he said, "Why is it that I always find you in the water?" His voice had a certain quality, a distinctive accent.
Mano shook his head and let out a laconic laugh. "I do not know. This time, I must say, I am very happy to see you. The other time, maybe not so much..." Mano laughed again but as he did, he stumbled forward and fell to his hands, A screaming bolt of pain shot through his right leg.
The man he had known only as "Cimmaron" helped him to his feet.
Mano regained his balance, as a wave of nausea overcame him. He felt like he might vomit. He was feeling light headed as his body could no longer fight both the injury and his lowered body temperature. Mano had expended all of his limited energy on the climb up from the little shelf. He started to speak, to thank Cimmaron, but noticed that his words were slurred. The red headed Kiliwa noticed as well. He turned and took several steps to a small burro Mano hadn't noticed at first. On the wooden pack the animal bore, was a deerskin bag .The Indian took the bag as he pulled a wooden plug from the top of it. He gestured for Mano to drink. He held the Mexican's body steady as Mano took a swallow.
Mano spit it out. It was possibly the worst, most pungent concoction he had ever tasted. "No " insisted Cimmaron. "Drink it. Drink it all."
Mano gave a somewhat defiant look and then held the bag to his lips. He chugged the bag dry, his face as sour as the contents of the container. His vision began to blur as Cimmaron placed the looped rope and the empty bag onto the burro's pack. He removed Mano's holster and placed it there also. He looked back at Mano and laughed. "Is it working, yet, Manolo Montoya?"
Mano thought about it. The foul taste was still present in his mouth but already the throbbing in his leg was lessening. The nausea was going away and suddenly, almost impossibly, he felt...happy. He giggled.
'Time to leave this place, Monolo Montoya" spoke the Kiliwa. In one swift movement he lifted Mano over his shoulder as he grabbed the lead on the burro's neck. Effortlessly, he began walking up a hogback heading to the heart of the Palisades.
Mano stared down at the rocky path as they proceeded. One step, and then another step, and then another step. .. the simple process mesmerized the slumped Mexican. He began to have odd visions. He saw his mother, seated atop an elephant, calling for him to say a rosary. He saw Buck Cannon, alongside of him at the bar in Tucson, with horns sticking out of his head, a large silver ring in his nose. He saw Sam and Joe Butler. wearing tutus while an audience of hundreds applauded them as they danced. One after another, the vivid scenes whirled in his head until he fell into a deep, deep sleep.
Manolo Montoya slowly opened his eyes and stared at the rock ceiling above him. He didn't move as he tried to establish his coordinates. He had no idea where he was nor how he had gotten there. He was in a cave, clearly, but there was no mustiness in the air, no hint of mildew, just a comfortable earthiness. He could detect the scent of others, not one of body odors like the bunk house, but one more like his sister's clean house where the aromas of good food and flowers greeted one's nose.
He was on a bed, more accurately, a cot, and his hands reached to feel that it was made from smooth , round branches rather than sawn lumber. A large blanket covered him and he sensed he was naked. He lifted the cover and one quick glance confirmed his thoughts. As his eyes wandered a bit further down he could see his right ankle was wrapped with large leaves, bundled with thin strips of sinew. He could feel a numbed, dull throb from his lower leg and laid his head back down on the bed.
It was coming back to him. He had fallen and hit hard on a big rock. He ws trapped on a small shelf with a rosary? and there was a snake...no, a rope... yes, a rope . Mano could feel the cold wet stone against his face as he was pulled back to the top. There was a burro, there was a man...Cimmaron!...
Mano bolted up in the bed, his heart beating furiously. His breathing was deep and rapid. He sat motionless until he could regain his senses, until his pulse slowed.
He looked out at the entrance of the cave and the gray wet sky beyond it. As his eyes acclimated to the darkness of the cave he saw a woman sitting on a rocking chair halfway between himself and the opening, maybe ten, twelve feet away. Her head was bent down , following the path of her finger as it followed the printed words on a page of the large book she was reading. Mano stared at her in silence.
Her long silver hair covered much of her face but he could tell she was Native. She was tall for a woman, very lean and wore a flowered dress with a burgundy blouse. He watched as she gently placed a bookmark and closed the volume. Placing the book on a sidestand , she looked out to the rainy skies beyond the cave's entrance.
"You have been gone many hours, Manoya." she said.
Mano was slightly startled by her words.
She rose and walked to his bed. He couldn't help but notice the smoothness of her movement. She was graceful in a natural, unschooled way.
"I need to check the...the swell ,in your leg. The poltice has done all it can to take away the swell."
Her words told Mano two things. The first was that English was not her native tongue. Her speech had a haltering quality he frequently heard amongst the Mexicans and Indians who never had the benefit of his education. The second thing which was clear to him, was that the person who taught her to speak English was an Irishman. Her voice had that certain lilt, not nearly strong enough to be considered a brogue, yet readily definable. The distinctly peculiar cadence seemed familiar to Mano. She sounded like...like...Cimmaron. Yes. Cimmaron!
The events of the prior day now came into focus. He had fallen. He had slammed into a rock and landed on a small ledge. He had been rescued by Cimmaron, the man with whom he had only spoken to one time, over twenty years ago, the man who once vowed to kill Buck Cannon.
Mano looked at the woman. "Cimmaron?" he asked.
"He will be back soon" she replied.
" You are Kiliwa?"
"Yes, I am the mother of Cimmaron. I am Neetz-ko- geegho, ' The One who Wanders'. To my husband, I was Neetzie." She reached down to pull back the covers in order to examine Mano's ankle when he quickly sat up.
"Ay yi," he chirped. "My clothes..."
Neetz pointed to the wall nearest the cave opening where Mano saw his clothes suspended. "Your clothes were wet and you were shivering. " she started.
'"Who...who took them off ?"
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, " she grinned sweetly as she rose and headed toward the back of the cave . "and you have nothing to brag about, either."
Her comment had a certain maternal quality to it, similar to the tone a boy hears when he believes he is too old to be seen naked by his mother, clearly forgetting the countless times she had seen it all before.
Mano blushed slightly at the thought of Neetz removing his clothes but her manner placed him at ease. He chuckled until she returned holding a large, green, gingham dress.
"This should do." she said. "It is too large for me."
" Ah, no, no." Mano politely objected. "My own clothes, please."
"I need to set the broken bone in your leg, Manoya. You were with luck, the leg bone broke, not the ankle bone. The ankle bone would never heal right. When I set the leg bone it will heal as though it was never broken. I cannot do so if you wear legs. If you prefer, you can walk around here as God made you."
Mano gazed at the green dress and grimaced. He nodded for Neetz to turn her back and as she did, he carefully lowered his legs to the floor and pulled the dress over head. He fought the garment as he weaved his arms through their proper openings. Mano raised himself from the cot and, standing on his one good leg, smoothed out the skirt. He tried unsuccessfully to button the back of the dress, an exercise he had never attempted from this perspective.
"Senora Neetz?" he asked pointing over his shoulder.
Neetz walked behind Mano to button the dress. She had only fastened the lowest button when she stopped. Mano stood silently as her fingers began to trace the ends of the long, serpentine scars which ran across his chest and wrapped around his back, a reminder of a day in his life he tried to forget.
"Apache" she said.
"Si. It was a ritual...", Mano's voice was little more than a whisper.
"I know what these scars mean. I have seen them before during my time with those ... those... That you live to wear these scars tell me you are a man of much courage."
" Ah, " that is me " said Mano with a lightened tone in his voice. "A brave man in a green gingham dress."
Neetz laughed, a sweet laugh which reminded him a bit of his sister, a bit of his mother.
Once finished with the buttons, she walked around Mano and caught him fluffing the skirt, a large smile on his face. "My sister Victoria would be so jealous to see how well I fill a dress." Mano laughed as Neetz took his arm and lowered him back to the cot.
She had the man sit upright as she pulled back the hem of the dress to examine his ankle. She untied the sinew bands and removed the agave leaves. Underneath the leaves was a black salve which coated the lower reaches of Mano's leg and his foot. It smelled terrible. Gently, the woman began to wipe the substance from Mano's extremity. As she focused on the leg, Mano focused on the woman.
With her long hair pulled back he could now clearly see her entire face. It was smooth, with a minimum of wrinkles, most of them at the edges of her eyes. A long healed scar ran from just below her left ear to just below her chin. At a point in time someone had tried to cut her throat. Slightly above the collar of her blouse he saw several rings of scar tissue. The scars made him shudder, The only thing which could leave those scars was a steel collar. He had seen similar scars on a man once, a black man, a former slave. He thought of the stories he had heard, of how she was brutalized by the Apache women and it all came into a clear, painful focus.
Her cheek bones were not as high as those of the Apache women and her jaw not as pointed. As a man who had spent a lifetime studying the subject, Mano had no doubt that she was a beauty in her youth. She still bore her looks well, but the word 'serene' seemed to fit her face better, he thought.
"Cimmaron?" he asked.
'He has gone to let your people know that you are alive. It will be some time before you are able to leave here."
" Oh, no" he sighed. "This is not a good plan. He will be shot before he ever gets near the house."
Neetz smiled quietly. "They will never see him. When they awake , they will find your hat on the porch. There will be a paper in it saying that you are alive and you will be home soon."
"How long will I be in this place?"
Neetz smiled again. "Until you are ready. The leg must heal enough to allow you to leave. It is a very , how do you say , diffcult, way to leave."
" A difficult journey from this place?" asked Mano.
"Aye, thank you. The swell is good now, Manoya. When Cimmaron returns we will set the bone and splint it. Then you will heal. Then you will leave."
She rose and walked to the opening of the cave. Mano rose and hopped lightly behind her, wanting to see the sky, wanting to get some fresh air.
The rain was still falling, not a downpour, but a steady, soaking drizzle. Fifty feet below where the two stood, reached a small valley about a half of a mile long. It was several hundred yards wide and rimmed with steep tall rocks. The far end was filling with water from the steady rain while the upper end sat high enough to avoid being covered. Everywhere Mano looked, plants were growing. A small apricot tree was nestled against one of the rock walls He could see a number of grape vines against another wall . There were squash visible to his eye as well as tomato plants and green peppers. He stared out at the bounty at his feet, mouth agape.
" Ay yi yi what is this pla...?" he began, before catching himself. "Pardon me, I have no right to ask this question."
He gazed to his right and recognized the top ridges which formed the upper profile of the Palisades. Clearly, they were somewhere within its center, a place he had never once heard anyone speak of. Everyone knew this higher country was just an elaborate rock garden, yet here lay this beautiful little valley. It appeared to Mano that the valley ran counter to the lines of ridges and peaks of the Palisades . That explained the water. Much of the rain water from up above would have no choice but to drain into this verdant bowl. Over time, he could see, the sand would become soil which could never wash or blow away. Soil plus water plus sun equals plants. Plants equals food.
The small burro he remembered from the previous day was feeding on the grasses at the edge of the water. It all looked so very peaceful. It seemed inconceivable that such a place could exist in this otherwise sparse land.
"Who else knows of this place?" he asked the woman.
"Only one I know and he has passed." She looked Mano directly in the eyes. "You are the only one Cimmaron has ever brought here. He always helps those he finds alone in the desert, but he helps them where he finds them. They can be angels or devils, it doesn't matter. He will help them as long as they are not Apache. I have forgiven them, but Cimmaron... never. It is the Fitzgerald in him."
"Fitzgerald?"
"Fitzgerald, my husband, Cimmaron's father. He was a man of much pride, he could never forget an insult. Cimmaron is his father's son."
"Come," she said. "Come in from the rain before your clothes are wet again. We shall prepare to eat, Cimmaron will be back soon."
.