Banana Rose (40 page)

I parked beside Mohammed, Sam’s 1940 red Chevy pickup, got out, and looked around. Boy, this was big space. A person could get lost here. Not me. I smiled. I’m going to paint.

I went right over to the bus. Even though I could already see lightning in the distance, I opened some windows. It was hot in there.

Okay, I said to myself, we’re inside, but let’s paint what’s outside.

I drew a straight horizon line. Above it would be mountains. I’d keep the bottom flat and full of sage. Yellow sage, I decided. Who could ever capture the mysterious dusty blue-green color it really was?

The painting pulled me in. I concentrated on a red mountain, then a purple one. Rain pelted the hood of the bus. Lightning flashed. I drew a jagged silver line half across the sky and half across the mountain. The landscape informed me of what I should paint. There was no way I could do an abstract painting here. The land demanded my complete attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something moving. I ignored it. What could be out in this rain? Even the jackrabbits had more sense. I went back to the red, and then, surprising myself, I dipped the brush in black. I wanted rain in this painting.

Something out there moved again. I put down my brush, crossed over to a window, and shut it. Water streamed down the glass. Repeated strikes of lightning lit up parts of the mesa. I squinted to see if I could catch that moving object. I wonder if it’s dangerous to be in this bus? Wait a minute! I saw it again.

“Sylv—!” Just as I began to scream, lightning hit the ground right in front of where I was looking. There was a blinding light and a huge crackling sound like fat sizzling. Then it was gone. The sage on the side of the bus was dwarfed and blackened.

I ran out. There he was, looking like a burned marshmallow. I picked him up. Hanging from his body were those dinosaur feet. They were almost untouched.

I heard a car and looked up. I could see its lights moving slowly on the muddy road. It was Blue and Sam.

I ran toward them. My right sandal got sucked off in the mud. I pulled it out and put it back on.

We met at the driveway. “Honey!” Blue yelled as she opened her door. “What are you doing out in this rain?”

“Blue—” I held Sylvester at arm’s length in front of me.

“Oh, lord!” She ran toward me and took the charred heap. “Sylvester? Yes, Sylvester.” She saw his feet. She turned, showing the carcass to Sam, who now was out in the rain, too. “It’s a sign. It’s a sign!” she yelled. “Nothing that little and low gets hit.”

“Of what?” I was cold in a sleeveless shirt, clasping my arms full of goose bumps.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. An omen. Why didn’t his feet sizzle? Let’s get in the house. We’ll toss the runes. We’ve got to do something! Poor biddy Sylvester.”

We got in the house and Blue put the corpse right in the middle of her wooden kitchen table. “Now, Sylvester, don’t you worry. As soon as this rain stops, we’ll bury you out back next to Nijinsky and Mrs. Montoya in the poultry cemetery.

I began to feel a little crazy. What was going on here? In Brooklyn we ate chicken, we didn’t have a graveyard for them.

“Sugar, why don’t you go dry off? I’ll heat up some soup.”

I nodded.

She handed me a towel.

When I came out of the bathroom, there was hot tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches on the table where the chicken had been.

“Ohh, that looks good.” I sat down. “Where’s Sylvester?”

“I put him in the greenhouse,” Sam said as he put the spoon to his mouth.

“Nell”—Blue took my arm—“that must have been a terrible experience. I threw the runes. It said, ‘More darkness to come.’ ”

“Geez, it’s already been raining so much,” Sam said.

“Not that kind of darkness, Sam.” Blue turned her head to me. “Nell, you better do some paintings full of light to ward this off.” She shook her head. “Poor Sylvester. Wasn’t he just the most special rooster?”

The ground was very wet when I walked back to the bus. The distant mountains almost looked navy blue and clouds still hung heavy. There would be more rain. The sage filled the mesa with its pungent aroma.

I stood in front of the canvas I had begun earlier. I had no taste for it. I took it off the easel and leaned it against a bureau. I sat down in the overstuffed red rocker I had dragged from Blue’s shed a week ago and picked up a book of Mark Rothko’s paintings that I’d borrowed from the owner of The Plaza Gallery.

I turned the pages. How could there be so much in a simple colored square? I looked at the thin line of black separating a white and a gold square on a background of red. Below the white space was a square of hot pink. I could swear God had crawled into that painting. How’d Rothko do it?

It was a thick book, and I got lost in it, lost in the same way as when I painted. Time disappeared. I even disappeared. I was all eyes, pulling color into my body. Nell Schwartz from Brooklyn was gone.

It began to rain again and the sound of the drops hitting the roof of the bus brought me back. I closed the book and then my eyes. The drops penetrated my skull and I felt sound. A moment ago I was square colors, now I was rain.

T
HE HEADMASTER BLEW
his nose. “Excuse me, Ms. Schwartz. Yes, from time to time someone from Red Willow stops by, but I assure you Taos Prep is a very different place. I’ve heard about the old days. They sounded a bit crazy to me. A little on the wild side. Parents today want their children to be educated, to go to college. It’s different now.

“However, I do see from your application that you have regular credentials.” He shook his head. “Sometimes people come in here wanting to teach Sufi dancing or meditation. One fellow came in last year wearing a shirt with peace symbols pinned all over it. He wanted to teach, of all things, bread baking. We’ve worked hard to turn the reputation of this school around. Though it may be the same building, it’s not the same institution.

“I’m sorry there are no regular openings, but we are looking for a part-time music teacher. Am interest?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. “No, I’m a painter. I think I’ll earn money this year doing individual tutoring.”

“Suit yourself.” His hands were folded in front of him on the desk.

I pinned up a sign on the bulletin board at the post office: “Professional reading tutor available for all ages. Inquire at Lee’s Bakery next door.”

Lee said she’d keep messages for me. Blue had a phone, but it was in a box outside and you couldn’t hear it ring unless you were walking right by it.

Then I looked for any notices for rooms for rent. I decided I’d live in town and keep my studio out in the bus.

I went to box 804 with my new key and peeked in the window. A white envelope lay on its side. I unlocked the door and reached in for it.

It was from Anna. I stood right in front of the box and opened it. There was a folded page ripped out of a lined spiral notebook. I unfolded it and read. Holy shit, I whistled under my breath.

Dear Nell,

My mother died a week after you left. She slipped away around midnight. No one was there with her. That’s the part that bothers me most. I can’t stop thinking of her lying there all alone. But otherwise I feel oddly relieved.

Last night I spoke to my brother. He said he understood when I told him I wanted to move back to Taos and that he didn’t mind looking after Dad, that I should go where I can write.

Summer school’s out. I’ll head down to Beatrice to visit for two weeks and leave some of my stuff. Should be in Taos by the end of September—I can’t believe I’m writing this! I have a little savings, so I won’t need a job right away.

I’m going to drive down through Kansas. It seems romantic, Kansas. Where Dorothy lived. Daniel’s number is 402-555-3068. He lives right near Dad. I’ll be staying there in case you need to reach me.

All my love,

Anna

Holy shit! I said it again. She’ll be here the end of this month! I leaned against the cool wall of the post office. My best friend’s coming back. I stared at the sign across the way: Parcel rates have their UPS and downs. Theirs go up. Ours stay down.

Maybe I can’t have Gauguin, but I’m getting something. My body breathed in a whole new kind of gratitude. I put the letter back in its envelope and walked to the car.

I’ve got to tell Blue. I headed for the blinking light and then took a left out to the dirt road. I passed a herd of sheep by the arroyo and two pure white horses. Farther down there were three black ones standing close to each other by a fencepost, and there was that mutt Cheesecake with his crazy red eyes, trying to bite my tire again.

It was early. As I pulled up, I remembered Blue had left soon after I did this morning for her walk in the mountains. She took their two dogs, Saltine and Chariot, with her. I wondered when they’d lost Bonnie. That was one dog I liked out of maybe a million.

I pulled my car right up to the school bus. I had a book with me that I had checked out of the Harwood two days before. It was filled with haiku. I sat down on the high green stool I had placed outside by the door of the bus and flipped through the pages.

Nothing intimates

How soon they must die,—

Crying cicadas.

Hmmm. I liked that one. I read it again. I read it a third time and then stared off into the distance. I stood up, book in hand, and walked directly into the bus and over to the easel. With gray paint, I wrote the haiku across the white canvas. Then I wrote the poet’s name: Basho.

I waited for it to dry. Then I took charcoal and drew diagonal lines down and across the poem. I had no thoughts. I began to paint. Lots of yellow, every color green, a deep blue sky. An hour and a half passed.

I stood back. It was almost finished. I stepped forward and continued. After another half-hour, I was done. I had painted a big cottonwood I had passed on the side of the road this morning, its leaves shimmering in the light at the beginning of the end of summer.

And the haiku? It was completely covered. There was no sign of it, but it was my foundation and the painting’s secret.

I stepped back. Suddenly I felt exhausted, as if I’d been hiking up a straight incline all day. I went outside and sat back down on the green stool in the shade of the bus. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky. I must have sat there for twenty minutes. I was as still as a wood tick.

Then I went over to the house, drank a tall glass of water, and lay down on the couch. I must have been sleeping an hour or so when Sam slammed the door and woke me up.

“Oh, sorry, Nell, I didn’t know you were here.” He stood by the sink but was looking over at the couch.

“Oh, Sam,” I said, raising my head. “Is Blue back? I found out that Anna’s decided to move back. I’m so excited!”

“That’s great. I’ve heard so much about her, I feel like I know her. Is that what made you fall asleep?” he joked.

“No.” I laughed and shook my head. “Hey, want to come out and see my painting? It wiped me out completely. I’m not sure what it looks like, if it’s good or not.” I got up off the couch. “Hey, is that Blue’s car?

We both walked out to the car. “Hey, sweet things, I like this entourage greeting me.” She reached behind her and opened the back door. Saltine and Chariot bounded out. “You bad dogs,” Blue called after them. “They chased every chipmunk.”

“Nell painted a picture this morning she wants us to see. Let’s go over.” Sam leaned into the car, kissed Blue, and nodded toward the bus.

When we’d climbed into the trailer, Sam let out a whistle. “Whew, Nell, that’s the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Blue was silent. Then she said, “It’s lit from within. That’s some tree. Nell”—she turned to me—“it’s so full of light, it wards off any trouble that the other day might have brought.”

“Huh?” I cocked my head.

“You know, when poor Sylvester fried. You created light out of darkness,” she explained.

“Oh.” I nodded.

“Nell, what do
you
think of it?” Sam asked.

“I... I like it, I think. I’m a little stunned. It’s good, isn’t it?” We stood there awhile.

Then we descended from the bus and headed for the house. “Blue!” I grabbed her arm. “Anna’s moving back! The end of the month. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.” I pulled the letter out of my pocket.

Blue’s face lit up as she read Anna’s letter. Sam looked over her shoulder. “That’s great,” she said. “Let’s have a welcome home party for her. Should I make noodle cake again?”

I made a face.

“How ’bout an apple pie? They’ll be nice and ripe by then.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

“I’m gonna leave you two ladies now. I have to work on the well.” Sam began to step away.

“Sugar, we’re women. Remember? W-o-m-e-n.” Blue made a face.

“Of course, sorry.” He waved.

Blue turned to me. “I’m starting a new book today. I’m so excited. I’m gonna take a bath and then begin reading.”

“Uh-oh,” I teased. “What is it?”

“Shogun.
Tiny and Pebbles say it’s great. It’s about Japan. I love that little country.” Blue shaded her eyes with her hand.

“I read it while I was with Gauguin. Trust me, you’ll be out of it for a month. Knowing how you are, you’ll probably start cooking teriyaki.”

She laughed. “Do you miss Gauguin?”

“I feel him a lot here in Taos. Yeah, I miss him. Probably all the time. I don’t know what to do about it.” I leaned against the dome of the chicken coop.

“But now Anna is coming.” Blue ran her hand along the rough surface of the dome.

I smiled.

“And that’s not all,” Blue added. “You’ve really become a painter, Nell.”

“You think so?” I asked.

“I know so. Don’t you remember back in Talpa how much you wanted it and didn’t know how to do it?”

“I guess I’ve forgotten. It’s in me now.”

“It sure is, honey. That was a humdinger you did today in the trailer.” She leaned back next to me on the dome. We both looked out at Taos Mountain.

“Y
UP,
A
NNA SHOULD
arrive am day now. I spoke to her a week ago at her brother Daniel’s.” I was sitting in Steven’s Kitchen. It felt as if she might appear in the doorway any minute.