Chapter Sixteen
“To the frontier, the American intellect owes its striking characteristics … that practical turn of mind, that restless nervous energy, that dominant individualism working for good and evil, that buoyancy and exuberance which comes with freedom. These are the traits that come with the frontier and now the frontier has gone and with its going has closed the first period of American history.”
- Frederick Jackson Turner
1893 World’s Columbian Exposition118
K-Town is the local supermarket. It’s overpriced, but close, though not close enough. Meats, breads, fruits and vegetables—to purchase such items here would be ill-advised. At K-Town nothing is fresh. This doesn’t concern me, however. Candy, cookies, cereals and sweets have no expiration date making them ideal foods with which to stock up. You also get far more calories for your dollar. Calories equal energy. Energy equals life.
A gap in traffic allows me to enter. The electronic door opens to a dimly lit chamber of the great unwashed. It’s Saturday and the store resembles an ant farm. A large woman, with rusted sweat dripping down her sideburns, shoves me aside to claim a discarded cart and jumps into the huddled mass flowing by like rotted logs in the Big Muddy. Swampish air fills my nostrils like bus exhaust. Filtering in through the greasy fan above the deli counter, the few wisps of oxygen are quickly swallowed up by the rag, tag and bobtail leaving befouled carbon dioxide in their wake. I try to breathe, but can’t draw enough air. I breathe deeper, but nausea overtakes me.
As panic rises like flood-water from my gum-stuck feet, I know only one way to find relief. I brace my arms, hold my breath, and dive in wedging my way to the Baking Section. There, I grab a 2 pound bag of Hershey’s Real Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips, rip open the top, and pour in a mouthful. A sweet wave rises to my head. I close my eyes and nod back into its warm embrace.
The pulse slows. Muscles relax. A whirlwind of thoughts settle like silt to the soddy bottom of a pond after being churned up by a school of fish. The chocolate melts and I take the first swallow and then reload. Thus empowered, I review my list. Locating a shopping cart, I toss out Pampers and Vaseline. After seizing a quart of milk and downing a few fingers for courage, I head for the most dangerous section of any supermarket, “Cookies, Candies and Cereals,” populated by the foulest beasts imaginable—children!
Veintitres de diciembre, esto fué el dia
que el alguacil mayor Pat Garrett nos va llegando
pidiendo a Puerta de Luna su ayuda
la huella seguiendo de “El Chivato” mentado.
It was on the 23rd of December
that Señor Pat Garrett rode into town.
He asked the good people of Puerta de Luna
to lend a hand tracking “El Chivato” down
Cuando ven Americanos se empiezan a escabullir.
¿No darles vergüenza de salir a la partida?
Solo Juan Roybal salió de esa plaza desgraciada.
Particulares no nombro porque sería para nada.
Upon seeing so many armed Americanos,
many young men began to slip away,
but with gold, the others were persuaded
to help the gringos hunt and kill their prey.119
Children—unwashed and unprincipled, their slimy hands paw at everything that impulsive desires crave without regard to decency either in manner or hygiene.
¿A los mas perjudicados pregunto por que no furon
a tomar a los malvados que tanto mal les hicieron?
Llegamos a Fort Sumner cerca de la madrugada;
para las tres de la tarde nos cubría una nevada.
The devil he breathed frost into our hearts.
The moon lit the way with a crooked smile.
Onward we rode to Fort Sumner in the snow
as coyotes howled and shadowed us for 30 miles.120
A boy of about five with bowl-cut, raven-hued hair is involved in a tug-of-war with his mother. He wears a cowboy costume: black hat, simulated leather-frilled vest, and a holster, hung low, with a cap gun that appears unloaded, praise the Gods. A strain of mucus skids to the right side of his face as if a hasty attempt was made at wiping it aside but quickly thwarted. He struggles to pull his harried mother back into the Cookie, Candy, and Cereal aisle, yet succeeds only in blocking the way for everybody else.
“No!” he argues.
“Young man,” I say, “listen to your dear mother. She’s only doing this for your own good.”
“Oh, are you trying to pass?” she replies sweetly. “I’m so sorry.” She smacks the urchin on the back of the head tipping the hat over his eyes. He starts crying as if shot. “Stop that nonsense and let the man pass.”
“Thank you so much, good woman,” I smile politely.
She pulls the cart from his slimy palms and walks away. With tears clearing a clean path through his sooty cheeks, the little fiend shoots me an accusatory look without skipping a howl. A future hoodlum no doubt.
Allí nos dieron razón que salieron ya
para el “Ojo del Taibán” de la manana.
Con repugnancia a José Gallegos le hizo
que le escribiera una notita al “Bilito.”
In town Pat Garrett arrested Juan Gallegos
a shepherd who knew the “Chivatos” well.
Although it took three hours of rough persuasion,
at Ojo del Taiban they hid, Juan did tell.
La notita dijo que para Lincoln retornamos.
Entonces el viejo hospital para cuartel designamos.
Estábamos descuidados en nuestro cuarto jugando
cuando llegó el centinela y el aviso nos va dando.
Garrett helped Juan write “Bilito” a note
saying to Lincoln we all had returned.
Then we set up camp in the old hospital
playing poker but keeping our guns turned.121
There are so many cereals from which to choose, but the choice is clear. At first I have trouble finding it, but finally I spot the familiar orange cuckoo bird smiling down upon me from his perch. The bright yellow beak beckons; the twisted pink-tongued smile excites; the bulging eyes roll as it yells, “GO CUCKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS!”
Only one box left! I reach out to snatch it, but a blood-curdling scream freezes me.
“Noooo!”
I look down to see the costumed simian staring up, it’s beady little eyes full of righteous rage.
“That’s mine!”
Mrs. Sweaty Sideburns looks me over as she passes by.
“Mine!”
Other patrons raise their heads like cows pausing between mouthfuls of cud.
“Now, now little boy,” I reason, “I was here first.”
“No! I was here first and that’s my box of Cocoa Puffs. Mine, mine, mine!”
I try a new tack.
“That’s a nice outfit, child, as whom are you dressed?”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“The notorious boy bandit king, prince of thieves, marauding manchild, Billy the Kid?”
“No, stupid. I’m Black Bart, can’t you tell?” It draws the pistol. “Now gimme my Cocoa Puffs!”
“I was here first. Now run along to mother like a good little boy.”
“No!” it screams, the rodent’s favorite word. I look up to see an audience gathering.
“Hand it over or I’ll shoot.”
“That pistol isn’t even loaded.”
Pouting, he looks down at the empty weapon, back up, and says, “Mommy won’t let me have caps.”
“As well she shouldn’t. You’re a bad little boy. Go back to your mother right away and leave me alone.”
It starts crying again and yells, “Mommy!”
“Shuss, you little hooligan, shut up!”
It re-doubles the volume, “Mommeee!!”
A couple of stock boys with price guns join in the audience.
“There’s your mother.” I point.
As it turns around, I grab the box, hide it behind me, and back up. The stunted savage turns back and looks up for the box. Registering my deceit, it lets out another hair raising scream as I toss the box into the cart and make a clean getaway.
Unos salen por corral y otros fuimos adelante.
Cuándo vinieron, Tomás Folliard montaba adelante.
¡Alto! les gritó Pat Garrett el diputado mariscal
cuando llegó Tom Folliard a la orilla del portal.
Come morning the sentinel give us notice.
Garrett sent men across the road behind the shed.
Through the fog came a figure riding point.
We fired upon him as the others screaming fled.
Su cuerpo fué sepultado con no poca ceremonia
y lo acompaña mos pues se nos quito la ironiá.
El tiroteo antedicho a la tropa de malvados
sucedió como a las ocho y salieron derrotados.
It was Tom O’Folliard who felt Garrett’s lead.
He fell and was dragged by his horse in pain.
We laid him out with little ceremony
and by the fire resumed our poker game.
Pat Garrett le tiró un tiro y el caballo se espantó.
Supimos que iba herido por el grito que pegó.
Su caballo sacó a una corta distancia
a donde se quejó pues estaba con mucha ansia.
To Pat Garrett, Thomas said, “God damn your eyes.
I look forward to meeting you in hell.”
Said Pat Garrett, “I would not talk that way, Tom.
You’re to die in a few minutes. Try to die well.”122
Out of Hershey’s chips, I pass by the dairy section and pick out a log of Fillsbury Pre-Mixed Fudge Brownie Dough with Gourmet Chocolate Chunks. Tearing open the plastic, I nudge out a thumbfull, which reminds me that I need powdered sugar. Powdered sugar is one of man’s greatest inventions. It’s far superior to regular sugar, dissolves quicker—no teeth-jarring crunch on toast or sludge at the bottom of a glass of milk, and how can one eat fruit without it? Fruit is always so sour. The only way to get it down without puckering up is to pulverize it and add liberal doses of the old powder. Fruits are too heavy to carry anyway. I need supplies to last weeks. I prefer canned pie-fillings. It’s sweeter than fruit and lasts forever. Which reminds me of the other great powders: milk and purple Kool-Aid.
De la casa de Brazil la huella vamos tomando
sale cada uno a su rumbo y a poco se van jutando.
Caminabamos dos millas la huella siguiendo.
Todo el camino del Tul ellos iban siguiendo.
We rested until the morning mist had cleared
to a sparkling landscape of virgin snow,
and as if the Devil himself had assisted,
the tracks of the “Chivatos” were there to show.
Acercámonos a la casita sin tener ningún encuentro.
Al ver las bestias supimos que ellas estaban adentro.
Nos estuvimostres horas en la misma posición
sufriendo un frio terrible y con desesperación.
To old Perea’s deserted house the tracks led.
Stinking Springs, by the Gringos, it was called.
Christmas Eve we spent hiding behind boulders,
laying silent and still in the terrible cold.123
Oh, yes—Reddi-Wip! Only three canisters, I wonder if they’ll sell it by the case?
Cuando ya aclaró todo por voluntad de Dios Padre
siete balazos tiramos al cuerpo de Chas. Bowdre.
Fue el primero que salió cierto sin esperar nada
a darles maiz a la bestias pues su signo lo llamaba.
One “Chivato” did emerge on Christmas morning
and was greeted by a bullet from Garrett’s gun.
He fell back into the darkness of the doorway.
All cheered believing that Billy was the one.
A ocho yardas de las casa estabamos agachados
espserando que salieran los “Bilitos” afamados.
Pat Garrett les respondió que salieran todos juntos
con sus manos levantades y si no serían difuntos.
We hushed when from the house “Bilito” yelled,
“You sons of bitches, Charles Bowdre you did kill.”
Garrett ordered, “Come out with your hands raised,
or it’s lead for breakfast until you’ve had your fill.”
El Charley no más salía pues tenía malas heridas
se dirigió hacia nosotros con sus manos levantadas.
Ya se abrazó de Pat Garrett y el hablarle se esforzó
pero ya no pudo hacerlo porque luego falleció.
“Go out shooting,” Billy was heard to tell Bowdre
and into his hands “Bilito” placed a gun.
He stumbled out but could not raise his arms.
He fell at Garrett’s feet and said, “I’m done.”124
As I turn into aisle three, I spy our budding delinquent. He appears engrossed in trying to tear open a box of Jell-0 Instant Double Chocolate Pudding Mix as his mother regards the nutritional contents of Aunt Clara’s Fat Free/Low Cholesterol Pound Cake Mix. I approach coolly, feigning an interest in canned vegetables. Before entering his mother’s hearing range, I whisper in his ear, “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs” and quickly turn the corner to aisle four. From the other side I hear, “Mommy, my Cocoa Puffs! The man! I want my Cocoa Puffs!!”
“What man?”
“My Cocoa Puffs. Mine, Mine, Mine!!!”
“Now I’ve heard enough. You say one more word about Cocoa Puffs and it’s no more cereal of any kind, ever again!”
“But, it’s my Cocoa …”
“O.K. that’s it! I’m taking all the cereal back. No more cereal until you grow up!”
“Nooooooooooo!!!!”
Después de que ya murió tres bestias vimos atadas
y por el silencio se veía que estaban espantadas.
El soltarlas determina Pat Garrett y se sentó
y con dos finos balazos dos cabestros les cortó.
Billy pulled the rope on which his horse was tied,
a mare known for her beauty, bottom and speed.
One shot from Garrett’s gun and he felled her,
blocking the door and their chance to be free.
Los “Biles” al oir los tiros empiezan a cabrestrear
al caballo que quedó queriéndolo hacer entrar.
Garrett no permite esto pues toma una mira cierta
le dió atras de la oreja y cayó en mera puerta.
Garrett yelled, “How are you fixed in there, Billy?”
Bilito replied, “Pretty well but we have no wood.”
“Come out, Billy, collect some and be sociable.”
“Business too confining now; would that I could.”
Ya cuando nos levantamos del lugareite frío
pues por poco nos helamos con el estómago vacío.
El compositor se vió en grande tribulatión
al ver sus pies chamuscados pero no dejó la acción.
Garrett ordered a large fire built to warm us.
Bacon and coffee were roasted over the flames.
“Are you hungry boys?” he yelled to the “Billies.”
“Ate yesterday,” Billy said, “thanks just the same.”125
I find supermarket check-out lines especially confining. It’s bad enough being squeezed front and back by rude shoppers, but why don’t they make the registers wider apart? Adding insult to injury is the check-out girl with long chipped-red fingernails. Yes, the nails guide her blood-shot eyes while she lip reads prices off the clipboard, but then she has to punch in the numbers using the sides of her fingers in order not to break them. She licks her thumb often through smoke and coffee teeth to count money, separate grocery bags, or to paw food and tumble it aside. She pauses to flick tangled branches of black-rooted blond hair over her shoulder where it lasts a tense moment before snapping back. Youthful, plump and pimply, her body bursts out of a pair of white food-stained sweatpants and a sweatshirt that has been cut at the bottom in order to reveal a bread-dough underbelly housing a deeply sunken belly-button. Although the thought of even touching her revolts me, I am humbled by the realization that even if I made advances toward her, she would shoot me a look between gum pops that would freeze a bear after honey.
As I reach for the last Creme Filled Drakes Devil Dog, I feel a rude bump on my posterior. I turn and the devil bites my heart as I stare into the red-veined eyes of …
“Walter, you don’t mind if a senior citizen squeezes in front of you.”
Mrs. Moss wedges her cart in front of me and pulls a fistful of coupons out of her pocket book.
“My, you’ve enough to feed a small army,” she says.
“Just a few minor items. Meats and vegetables are on the bottom.”
She lowers her reading glasses to eye my cart. “Who are you throwing a party for, a bunch of five-year olds?”
Le tocó de centinela en la tarde en un barranco
de la puerta de la casa vió salir bandera blanca.
Dio aviso a los compañeros les gritamos que salieran
toditos nos dividimos mandados por veteranos.
Day turned to night and silent grew the birds.
The coyotes howled as the moon played dead.
Orange coyote eyes glowed in the woods,
but for one pair, the Devil’s, which were red.
A dos allí mancornamos a Rudenbaugh y “Bilito”
con una corta cadena les echamos candadito.
La tomada de estos hombres muy difícil parecia
pues vivos no los tomaban era lo que el “Bil” decía.
As the sun rose and the birds returned singing,
a white flag was seen waving out the door.
Glad was I for it is a bad business
to chase men down as if they are dogs.126
With Mrs. Moss preoccupied torturing a stockboy about a price, I turn my attentions to the cashier as she laboriously tallies my purchases. Blowing a bubble while reaching over for the next item, she reveals a fleshy cleavage. As a mental exercise, I ponder the weight of each mammilla—no less than two pounds each, I’d estimate.
“You got something on your mind wise guy?”
I look up into the smudged eyes of the cashier.
“Why no, I was checking prices.”
“I know what you were doin’. Ain’t that called sex harrassm’t. Hey Mac!”
A barrel-chested man turns his moustache toward us. “What now?”
She yells out, “This wise guy is sex harassin’ me.”
From behind, Mrs. Sweaty Sideburns jams her cart into me. “Yeah, he looks like the type.”
“This is outrageous, I did no such thing.”
“What have you done now, Walter?” Mrs. Moss pipes in.
The mustachioed manager moves in.
“Why Mrs. Moss, you’re my next door neighbor, you can vouch for my character.”
“I’ll do no such thing. As far as I’m concerned you’re an amoral slouch and I wouldn’t put any outrage past you. If your dear parents were alive to see you now, it would surely kill them. Now apologize to the young woman, so we can all get on with our lives.”
“I’m so sorry. No harm was intended. It will never happen again. Please forgive me.”
“Listen up, creep,” says the manager. “This time we’ll forgive you, but I don’t ever want to see your fat face in here again. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now apologize to Mandy.”
“Mandy?”
“Yeah, me, you pervert. Say you’re sorry.”
“Mandy … Allamanda?”
“What’s this guy talking about? You nuts or something?”
“No, please, please, forgive me. I’m so sorry. I’ll never come back. I’ll never burden this fine establishment with my foul presence again. Please accept my sincerest apologies. By the way, I need these items delivered.”
From behind, I hear the voice of Black Bart, “Mommy, mommy, there’s the man who touched me!”
“We gave our word that we would not fire into them. They came out with their hands up, when Barney Mason, a damned old no-good trouble-maker, said, ‘Let’s kill the son-of-a-bitch, he is slippery and may get away.’ He raised his gun to shoot the Kid, when me and Lee Hall threw our guns down on him and said, ‘Just try that you dirty dog and we’ll cut you in two.’ That clipped his horns.”
- James East127