Fire on the Mountain (22 page)

We drove down the hill, down to the ranch, and through gates left open that didn’t have to be closed anymore right up to the edge of the Salado wash. Lee shifted into fourwheel drive, we dropped into the sand and stormed across through the sand and over the dry streambed and up the bank on the far side. The pale leaves of the cottonwoods twinkled above our heads with a dry rustling noise that seemed meaningless now. A pair of ravens roosting on a dead limb croaked like wizards when we passed. We began the journey to the mountains.

“I see jeep tracks all over the place,” Lee said. “You’d think the Army was having maneuvers out here. If the old man cut back this way we won’t find his sign now.” He drove as fast as he could over the rocky trail, through pockets of sand and in and out of deepening arroyos, straight toward the glare of the sinking sun.

We approached a scene along the road that looked familiar yet uncomfortably changed: a certain arrangement of bushes, rocks, a curve in the ruts—the bristling bayonets of a giant yucca. An instant later I recognized the place and realized, as we passed, what was wrong: the great twelve-foot stalk of the yucca, with its cluster of dry seed pods at the tip, now lay prone on the sand, hacked down by somebody with a big knife or machete. I said nothing to Lee. We bounced and rattled on, trailing a plume of dust that hung in the air for half a mile, golden in the evening sunlight, obscuring our view to the rear.

Down into the ravine and up the other side: another windmill appeared, standing up against the sky, with its water tank, corral, loading chute. No cattle, no horses, waited for us there now. Hot, dusty, thirsty though we were, Lee drove by without slackening his speed, past
the mouth of the canyon and up the narrow wagon road into the foothills.

“I’m not even looking for his tracks now,” Lee yelled at me through the noise. “I feel so sure he’s up there.” He gestured toward the peak of Thieves’ Mountain.

The engine groaned as the pitch grew steeper, the rear wheels spun on the loose stones, and the back of the jeep swung toward the edge of the drop-off. Again Lee had to stop and engage the front axle; with four wheels pulling we ground up into the canyon pine and juniper, over the burnt flowerless weeds of August, pursuing shadowy birds which fled before the clamor of the machine. We passed the south ridge trail, drove beyond the point where Lee and I had routed the Army, and finally reached the junction of the old mine road and the wagon trail. But there we had to stop: several felled pine trees blocked the way that led up to the cabin.

Lee nudged the jeep against the first log and shut off the motor. “I guess we walk from here on up, old buddy.”

We climbed out, stretched our limbs, listened to the quiet stirring of the trees, the dim bird cries, and looked at the barricaded trail. “He doesn’t want visitors,” Lee said. “Not on wheels, at any rate.” He looked around. “My God, it’s quiet up here now. Remember how lively it seemed last June?”

“I remember.” I looked to the north: far out that way, past several fields in the mountain, my mind came to the awful spot where Grandfather and I had found the lost pony with his head broken, his belly ripped open, the vultures feeding on his entrails. “Let’s get up there to the cabin,” I said. “Maybe we better hurry.”

“Listen!”

I was still. A tree limb creaked, a few pinyon jays screeched below. And I heard the drone of an engine coming up the mountain. “My God!” I said. “He followed us.”

“Sounds like a jeep,” Lee said, cocking his head. “It is a jeep. Maybe it’s not the marshal at all.”

“Those Air Police had a jeep.”

“Yes. Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s go up to the cabin.”

“But—we don’t want to—” I hesitated.

“Come on. It’ll be all right.”

I wasn’t sure about that but when Lee climbed over the fallen trees and started marching up the trail I went after him. As we climbed, the sun went down behind the mountain peak and the vast shadow covered us, covered the fear in my heart. We walked up the road through a filtered twilight, cool and gloomy, with the pine boughs whispering over our heads. A huge bird with long dark wings flopped off a limb and sailed away: the limb rose up, trembling.

“What was that?”

“What, Billy?”

“That bird.”

“I didn’t see it. I was watching the road. I think your grandfather walked up here last night. Or early this morning. See this bootprint? That’s him.”

We climbed faster, breathing hard and not talking much. Every now and then the noise of the jeep floated up from the hills below, coming closer.

At last we reached the end of the road and saw before us the level park of waving gramma grass, the corral, and the cabin set against the cliffs which rose up and up toward the summit of the mountain. We stopped for a moment to rest, to catch up with our breathing, and started toward the cabin. A man sat against the wall near the open door, hatless, facing us but with his head bowed, looking at the ground between his legs. He did not see us.

“Grandfather!” I shouted, waving my hand. There was no response. Was it really the old man? At that distance, with the glow of the sunset in our eyes, I could not be certain. I called again: “Grandfather?”

The only reply came from the mountain, as the cliffs
echoed my voice. We hurried forward, staring at the man who sat by the cabin door, completely unaware of our approach.

“Hey, John,” Lee said, as we came close, “are you all right?”

Grandfather did not lift his head. He made no move. He sat in a strange, slumping, boneless way, supported by the wall, his hands resting on the ground, his glasses missing, his eyes half open and gazing blindly at the earth between his sprawled legs. His hat lay on the grass nearby, where it had fallen.

We stood awkwardly in front of him. “Grandfather?” I said softly.

A fly buzzed near the old man’s face and a faint, queer odor hovered in the twilight. I squatted down, looking into his eyes. The eyes I looked at could not look back at me. I reached out to touch him but my hand stopped of its own volition before I made contact. I willed the hand to move forward but it seemed to be paralyzed. I was unable to make myself touch the old man’s body.

Lee took off his hat and brushed the sweat from his forehead. He dropped the hat, put his hand on my shoulders and drew me back. “Your grandfather’s dead, Billy.” He stepped past me, put his arms under the old man’s back and laid him gently out on the ground. He closed the eyelids, picked up the salt-rimed old hat and placed it on Grandfather’s chest.

“He’s been dead for hours, Billy.”

I shook my head unable to speak, and backed away a few steps, staring at the old man.
No
, I thought, but I could not say it.

“Too much for him,” Lee said quietly. “Seventy years—too much trouble. Hiking up this mountain last night, chopping down those trees—oh the goddamned old fool. …” And Lee, kneeling on the ground beside the body, lowered his head, put his hands over his face and began to cry. “Oh the old fool—why did he do this?—damned crazy stubborn old. …” His head sank
lower, his back shuddered in an uncontrolled spasm of sobs.

The sight of Lee Mackie bent double with grief, the awful sound of his weeping, somehow seemed to me more shocking than the death of the old man. I backed off further and turned away, stared out over the hills, watched the shadow of the mountain advance like a wing over the brilliant golden light on the desert. I too wanted to weep, to wail like a child, but I couldn’t do it. I felt only a cold stillness in my nerves, a dark and nameless anger. I envied Lee and his tears, realizing at last that he was closer to the old man and loved him more than I ever had.

After a while Lee stopped crying, got up off his knees and came to me. He put his arm around my shoulders and together we looked out at the light on the plain. Far off to the northeast we could see the first tiny lights of Alamogordo appear, the flash of a beacon on the mountains beyond the city. “Getting dark, Billy. We better take him down.”

“Take him down?”

“We can’t leave him here. The wild beasts will tear him to pieces. We’ll have to carry him down to the jeep.”

“But wait—” I hesitated. “Why—let’s bury him here.”

“We can’t do that. We can’t do that, Billy. People will have to see him. The coroner, the undertaker. Your aunts will want to see him, other relatives. … You know how they do this thing now, Billy.”

I was silent.

“Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t bury him here. Six inches down we’d hit nothing but granite.”

“He wanted to be here, Lee.”

“I know that.” Lee said nothing for a few moments. “We shouldn’t do it,” he said.

“We could cover the body with rocks. Isn’t that what they used to do?”

“Rocks,” Lee muttered, “rocks.” He looked around. “But they could roll off the rocks, take him away.” He
rubbed his jaw in thought, his eyes shone as he searched the field, the corrals and cabin, the edge of the woods, the lavender evening, seeking an idea. His glance went to the cabin.
“Yes
. Here’s what we’ll do, Billy. We’ll cremate the body. We’ll give him a fire, the biggest funeral fire you ever saw in your life. That’s it—we’ll put the old man inside, inside the cabin, on the bunk in there, and we’ll set fire to the cabin. Why not? We’ll launch him off to the stars like a Viking. He’d like that—his name’s Vogelin, isn’t it?”

And Lee went to work. Tenderly he picked up the old man’s body and carried it into the cabin. He laid him on the cot and dragged the cot to the center of the floor, shoving the table aside. But then he hesitated again and stopped. Thrusting his fingers through his tangled hair, he gaped at me in doubt:

“Billy—what are we doing? Do you realize what we’re doing? We can’t ever tell anyone about this.”

I stood inside the doorway, watching. “Why not?”

“It’s against the law. We could get into all kinds of trouble. They might even think—Look, Billy, you must never tell anybody about this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lee.”

“This is a secret between you and me. For the rest of our lives. Agreed?”

“I agree.”

“Okay. Now let’s take the kerosene out of this lamp—”

“Hold on there!” another voice spoke sharply. Marshal Burr stood in the doorway, frowning at us, wiping the sweat from his face. “What are you fellas doing here?” He looked at the body laid out on the cot, the closed eyes, the folded hands, the hat placed like a wreath on the old man’s chest. “Say, what’s—what’s going on here anyway?” He stared at Grandfather. “What happened?”

Lee said, “You can see. He died. Died of heartbreak. We found him here when we came up.”

The marshal came into the cabin, staring suspiciously at the body of the old man. He stepped beside him and picked up Grandfather’s wrist and held it. At the same time he bent down, taking off his hat, and put one ear to grandfather’s mouth. After a minute, satisfied, he replaced the hand as we had arranged it and turned toward us. “Very sorry this had to happen. Very sorry.” He looked sternly at Lee and slapped the hat back on “It’s too late to get anybody out here this evening. But I’ll notify the county sheriff and he’ll get the coroner and an undertaker out here first thing in the morning.” He looked about. “I suggest we close up this cabin tight to keep the varmints out. What was he doing here?”

Quietly I unscrewed the burner from the fuel bowl of the lamp.

“I guess he came back here to die,” Lee said.

“You knew he was here?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lee paused. “I didn’t want to see you and DeSalius and all your dirty-fingered military cops hounding this old man any more. Now get out of here before I lose my patience and kick your ribs in.”

Mr. Burr paled a bit and backed carefully to the doorway, his hands raised and alert, his eyes intent on Lee. I judged the time had come to pour the kerosene.

“You’re talking to a United States Marshal; you’re threatening an officer of the law.”

“I know it. Don’t irritate me.”

The pool of kerosene spread over the floor under the table and chairs, soaking into the aged, dried-out boards. I took matches from the box on the stove.

“What’s that boy doing?”

“We’re going to cremate the old man’s body,” Lee said. “I advise you to step outside if you want to watch. Strike a match, Billy.”

I struck a fistful of matches and dropped them on the spreading stain. Instantly the yellow flames sprang
up, lapping at the furniture and reaching toward the wall.

“You two must be crazed,” the marshal said. “You can’t do this. It’s illegal. We don’t even have a death certificate.” He came in again, moving toward the body on the cot.

Lee picked up a chair and raised it over his head. “Don’t you touch him.”

The marshal stopped. I pulled ancient yellowed newspapers out of the cupboard shelves, spilling tin dishes to the floor, wadded the papers and threw them on the fire. They billowed up in flame, curling around the table legs.

“You can’t do this,” the marshal shouted. “It’s against the law.” Again he made a tentative move toward the old man.

“Stand back,” Lee hollered, “or I’ll brain you.”

The fire began to grow along the edge of the floor, eating at the warped and exposed board ends. A few flames flickered up the wall and touched the shelving. Smoke gathered under the rafters. I stepped toward the doorway.

“Get out of here, Billy,” Lee said. “I’ll hold him off.”

I edged around the marshal and reached the doorway. The light of the fire made the world outside seem dark as night already.

“I can’t let you do this!” the marshal shouted at Lee. “You can’t dispose of a body this way. And this cabin is now Government property. You’re wilfully destroying Goverment property.”

Lee smashed the chair in the table top. He kept one leg of the chair clutched in his right hand and pushed the other pieces onto the fire. Holding the chair leg like a club, he stood against Grandfather’s bier and faced the marshal. I could see the light of the flames in his eyes.

“I’m going to file charges against you,” Mr. Burr yelled. “You’re going to regret this.”

Lee grinned at him, holding the club aloft. The fire
crept around him over the floor, licked at the mattress on the cot, grew bigger under the table and broken wood, filled the cabin with smoke.