ONE
Here is what she told Hart and Mother and me about how it began.
She said it was the noise.
Said that the chickens were so loud clamoring for their morning meal that Elena never heard the horses' hooves over the din inside the barn.
She had always hated chickens and now she had them to thank for all the rest of it.
Sleepy-eyed this morning like any other she had watched them swarm across the floor of the barn and tossed the feed from the bucket out the door to lure them outside and watched them flow like lava into the yard and thought as she sometimes did that they were more akin to ants than anything else she had observed in nature or perhaps like darting schools of fish feeding in the river. Though no ant or minnow would ever stink as they did. That they depended upon her amazed her in some way. They were quick and moved with violence and their eyes were cold. How and why creatures this fierce had come to the reduced state of pensioners disgusted her.
She by then had called out twice for her sister Celine to come gather the eggs but Celine was young and lazy mornings and she had to call again before she saw the door flung open and her sister appear in the doorway, pretty and half-asleep and petulant looking so that despite her annoyance Elena had to smile. The door slammed shut and she watched her father behind the cloudy window pulling up his suspenders, glancing at them and turning away.
She passed her sister wordlessly in the yard and as Celine disappeared into the barn spread the last of her feed in a series of wide arcs from the heavy old bucket and then headed for the house and that was when she saw them riding toward her just outside the yard.
Four men. The horses young and strong.
Three of the men Mexican. The fourth Anglo. All of them filthy with the dust and sweat of travel. Armed with rifles, pistols. Bandoliers slung across their chests.
Warriors , she thought.
Their presence frightened and angered her. The huge bald Anglo especially who watched her deliberately with grey eyes unwavering as he rode through the sea of chickens scattering them beneath his horse's hooves until he was close enough so that she could see the livid scar, the letter D branded across his cheek from jaw to cheekbone and back again.
To hell with you , she thought and returned his gaze. We have had enough of war .
She heard the Mexicans laugh as they giddied their horses into the yard maddening the chickens and perhaps the horses too unused to so many small creatures darting under and away beneath their feet so that they bucked and whinnied. She heard the slide of rifle out of scabbard and saw the tall thin one with the Indio blood like her dead mother's blood raise his carbine and fire into the hardpack and saw dirt fly and the man fire again and this time where once there was a chicken there was now only some headless wingless carcass clawing toward its end.
It happened very fast then.
Except for the Anglo who remained calm and still all of them began firing riding into the chickens shouting comida! comida! yet creating more confusion than damage to the birds. She saw Celine peer out from the barn at the gunfire and dart back in again but not before the fat one she would later know as Fredo noticed her and rode inside. She glanced at the window and saw her father and watched him turn away and knew he had gone for his rifle.
When the fat one rode out of the barn he had Celine up astride the saddlehorn in front of him squirming and kicking and trying to scratch. The man was laughing. So were his friends. Even the Anglo was smiling. She took three steps forward and swung the heavy wooden bucket at the back of the fat man's head and heard a sound like a stone dropped into a deep dry well and felt the impact all the way up to her shoulder and with great satisfaction saw blood fly.
The man howled and dropped her sister to the ground and only a lunge for his saddlehorn prevented him from falling but she said it was exactly
Here is what she told Hart and Mother and me about how it began.
She said it was the noise.
Said that the chickens were so loud clamoring for their morning meal that Elena never heard the horses' hooves over the din inside the barn.
She had always hated chickens and now she had them to thank for all the rest of it.
Sleepy-eyed this morning like any other she had watched them swarm across the floor of the barn and tossed the feed from the bucket out the door to lure them outside and watched them flow like lava into the yard and thought as she sometimes did that they were more akin to ants than anything else she had observed in nature or perhaps like darting schools of fish feeding in the river. Though no ant or minnow would ever stink as they did. That they depended upon her amazed her in some way. They were quick and moved with violence and their eyes were cold. How and why creatures this fierce had come to the reduced state of pensioners disgusted her.
She by then had called out twice for her sister Celine to come gather the eggs but Celine was young and lazy mornings and she had to call again before she saw the door flung open and her sister appear in the doorway, pretty and half-asleep and petulant looking so that despite her annoyance Elena had to smile. The door slammed shut and she watched her father behind the cloudy window pulling up his suspenders, glancing at them and turning away.
She passed her sister wordlessly in the yard and as Celine disappeared into the barn spread the last of her feed in a series of wide arcs from the heavy old bucket and then headed for the house and that was when she saw them riding toward her just outside the yard.
Four men. The horses young and strong.
Three of the men Mexican. The fourth Anglo. All of them filthy with the dust and sweat of travel. Armed with rifles, pistols. Bandoliers slung across their chests.
Warriors , she thought.
Their presence frightened and angered her. The huge bald Anglo especially who watched her deliberately with grey eyes unwavering as he rode through the sea of chickens scattering them beneath his horse's hooves until he was close enough so that she could see the livid scar, the letter D branded across his cheek from jaw to cheekbone and back again.
To hell with you , she thought and returned his gaze. We have had enough of war .
She heard the Mexicans laugh as they giddied their horses into the yard maddening the chickens and perhaps the horses too unused to so many small creatures darting under and away beneath their feet so that they bucked and whinnied. She heard the slide of rifle out of scabbard and saw the tall thin one with the Indio blood like her dead mother's blood raise his carbine and fire into the hardpack and saw dirt fly and the man fire again and this time where once there was a chicken there was now only some headless wingless carcass clawing toward its end.
It happened very fast then.
Except for the Anglo who remained calm and still all of them began firing riding into the chickens shouting comida! comida! yet creating more confusion than damage to the birds. She saw Celine peer out from the barn at the gunfire and dart back in again but not before the fat one she would later know as Fredo noticed her and rode inside. She glanced at the window and saw her father and watched him turn away and knew he had gone for his rifle.
When the fat one rode out of the barn he had Celine up astride the saddlehorn in front of him squirming and kicking and trying to scratch. The man was laughing. So were his friends. Even the Anglo was smiling. She took three steps forward and swung the heavy wooden bucket at the back of the fat man's head and heard a sound like a stone dropped into a deep dry well and felt the impact all the way up to her shoulder and with great satisfaction saw blood fly.
The man howled and dropped her sister to the ground and only a lunge for his saddlehorn prevented him from falling but she said it was exactly
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