From a hundred yards down the Zamora road in the back of a rusted wheelless and faded turquoise pick-up on the only way in and out of the village, Ruby Ryan lay shivering under a cotton blanket. Going to the fields, the Spanish farmers passed the human form in the truck. It was Ruby, Kate Ryan’s teenage daughter. That, they knew. Accustomed as they were to the shape and stupor of alcohol and drugs in their own families, they paid little attention. They climbed the paths behind the gas station to the precipitous arid plots of land where they surveyed their rows of green chile and squash, the trickling water in the irrigation ditches. They crossed themselves.
“With water life is not bad,” they concurred. Then, crossed themselves again.
They believed they were fortunate it was Taos, not Zamora, that artists, anthropologists, tourists, and Texans discovered decades ago. Zamora had remained poor and shabby, an inhospitable village on a serpentine back road. Neither quaint nor friendly, it had a reputation as a place travelers should pass through quickly. Nothing típico of New Mexican charm had been put on display. No strings of red chiles on the doors. Or terra cotta pots of flowers under whitewashed porticos. Or hand-painted signs to the old church or ruin, the glassblower or weaver.
Only once in recent memory had an intruder violated the village’s unspoken rule and erected a road stand for his raku pots. Sales were not only nil but the village storekeeper refused his business. A month later, his trailer was burned and he fled.
Afterwards, ominous stories about Zamora spread to other members of the nomadic white tribe looking to attach themselves to authentic identities and cheap land. Zamora was authentic and the price of dry earth cheap, but the atmosphere was hostile and tough. Only gringos with something to hide took delight in its dilapidated houses and rusty junk.
Ruby lay on a piece of smelly foam, her head on her denim jacket. Tossed around the truck were her cowboy boots, socks, a dingy brassiere, a few empty cans of Coors. Since her mom’s new boyfriend arrived, Ruby spent more nights in the truck than at home.