The Wild Girl (29 page)

Now Tolley cleared his throat. “Excuse me, my good fellow,” he said, approaching the white Apache. “Permit me to introduce myself.” He thrust his hand out. “Tolbert Phillips Jr. here. Of the railroad Phillipses of Philadelphia.”

“What the hell are you doing, Tolley?” I asked.

The white Apache looked at Tolley with contempt and said something in Apache.

Tolley laughed his high whinnying horse’s-ass laugh. He was clearly very nervous and jabbered away ridiculously. “Oh well, I’m all for ‘when in Rome,’” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t speak a word of the language. Well, that’s not entirely true, I do know one phrase . . .”

“Don’t even think about it, Tolley,” I warned.

“Tolley, you fool,” said Margaret, “don’t you understand that he doesn’t speak English?”

“But he’s as white as we are,” Tolley said. “Why, he looks like an Irishman to me.” He looked expectantly at the man. “I’ll wager you have Irish blood, sir,” he said.

“What do you think this is, Tolley, the Princeton campus?” I said.

“I’m simply trying to have a civilized conversation with this gentleman who appears to have some influence here.”

The white Apache spoke again. And this time the girl answered him.

“He wants to know,” Albert translated, “why they brought White Eyes men into the
ranchería
instead of killing them.”

Now Joseph stepped forward. He was so tiny that he looked like a child standing next to the giant man.

“‘I am the warrior once known as Goso. Many years ago I captured a boy named Charley, who was traveling in a buggy with his mother and father on the road from the White Eyes’ mining town of Silver City. That boy lived with me and my wife, Siki, and our children, and he became like my own son. When the American soldiers came into Mexico and attacked our
ranchería,
I was away with Mangus and Geronimo raiding against the Mexicans. When we returned, many of the People were dead, and many others had surrendered. We held a council and decided to surrender ourselves, and when we came into the
nantan lupan
’s camp carrying our white flag, I believed that I would find my wife and children and the boy Charley already there. But I did not. I never saw them again.
Daalk’ida ’aguudzaa
. This was long ago.’”

The white Apache looked for a long time at Joseph. “‘I remember the warrior Goso. But in my memory he was a large man, a man with big Power, and I feared him.’”

“‘That is because you were only a small boy. And because I am an old man now. As we grow old we become smaller and smaller, and our Power seeps back into the earth whence it arose until there is nothing left and then the wind blows us away.’”

“‘Now perhaps the warrior fears the boy,’” said Charley, looming over the old man.

Joseph smiled. “‘No, no more than he fears the wind. But perhaps the boy still fears the warrior.’”

The white Apache laughed with disdain. “‘I do not see a warrior standing before me. I see an old man who has lived so long among the White Eyes that he is nearly a White Eyes himself.’”

The old man nodded. “‘Yes, that is so. And I see a White Eyes who has lived so long among the Apaches that he is nearly an Apache himself.’”

“‘He is more Apache than the old man. Why have you come back to us now? Why do you travel with White Eyes?’”

“‘I return this girl to you. Did she not tell you that we rescued her from a Mexican jail?’”

“‘Yes, and it is only for this reason that you are still alive.’”

“‘We bring you your granddaughter and we ask that you give us the Mexican boy in return.’”

“‘Have you not sufficiently betrayed the People? Now you lead the White Eyes and the Mexicans to us again?’”

“‘They only want the boy back.’”

“‘Do you understand that no one who comes here is ever allowed to leave again? Why should we give up the Huerta boy? He belongs to us now. The Mexican ranchers are our enemies. They kill us on sight. And except for this woman and the Mexican boy, who may be useful to us, these White Eyes you bring among us will all die in the morning.’” Charley looked now at Albert, who had continued to translate this conversation for us. “‘Including this one, who speaks our language but looks and dresses like a White Eyes himself. As for you, old man, I remember the warrior Goso. I remember him as a large, strong, brave man. Then we heard that he had surrendered to the
nantan lupan
and became a scout for the White Eyes. I will let the old woman Siki decide if you are really the warrior Goso and what is to be done with you.’”

“‘She is still alive?’”

“‘You will come with me, old man.’”

Charley gave an order, then abruptly took hold of Margaret’s arm and began to lead her away. Margaret tried to shake loose from him. “Hey, you don’t have to rough up the girls to prove that you’re a big man,” she said. She turned and smiled at us bravely. “I’ll be all right. Take care of Mr. Browning.”

Tolley gave a wave. “We’ll see you later at the dinner dance, darling,” he said with bravado.

Joseph and the girl followed them. Indio Juan watched them go with an expression of loathing on his face.

Albert, Tolley, Mr. Browning, and I have been lodged in one of the caves at the base of the canyon. A boy with a rifle has been posted in front to guard us. All of our possessions have been taken from us, along with our mules and burros. I have only the notebook that I carry in the pocket of my jacket, and a pencil. Mr. Browning sleeps.

“I must say, I’m terribly disappointed in the big white man,” said Tolley. “I felt certain he would feel some racial loyalty to us.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Tolley,” Albert said. “He is as Apache now as if he had been born among them. The others don’t even think of him as being a White Eyes any longer.”

“Oh, they don’t notice the fair hair and beard, the pale skin and the fact that he’s a foot taller than anyone else?” Tolley asked.

“He doesn’t even speak English anymore,” I said. “But don’t you think there must be some buried part of him that remembers his old life, his white parents, his first language?”

“That’s the part I’d like to get in touch with,” said Tolley. “The part that doesn’t believe all white men need to be murdered. “‘Hello in there,’” Tolley mimed, his hand cupped to his mouth. “‘Come out, little Charley, wherever you are.’”

Exhausted from the day’s travel, we dozed off, to be woken just as darkness fell by the monotonous beating of a single drum, then a second and third. We peered out from our cave to see flames rising from several fires in the center of the
ranchería
. As if ignited by the flames themselves, an enormous orange moon blistered up behind the high savage peaks of the sierras. The scent of roasting meat carried to us on a faint breeze, reminding us that we had not eaten since morning. Mr. Browning still slept fitfully. We tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Two other Apaches came then to join the boy who guarded us, and they led Tolley, Albert, and me down from the cave, poking us along with the barrels of their rifles, laughing and mocking us as we went.

Now to the music were added the plucked notes of a string instrument that sounded like something between a banjo and a guitar, then the rattling of shaken gourds, the tones of a high haunting flute, the ringing of bells, a harmonica—all creating a strangely discordant but somehow hypnotic music.

Some of the women tended to the fires, stirring cooking pots and turning the meats which were impaled on long sticks supported over the fire by rocks. Two whole deer carcasses were suspended from a cross pole over another fire. Everyone was beginning to congregate now for the feast, and some of the children had already begun to dance.

Margaret was standing with the girl in front of the central fire. She was dressed in a billowing brightly colored skirt and loosely fitting blouse, with several strings of beads around her neck, and a large silver medallion on a chain. She was flushed and seemed strangely excited by all the activity.

“Well, it didn’t take you long to go native, did it, darling?” Tolley said.

“They gave me these clothes to wear for the dance,” Margaret said. “I learned in the Amazon that the sooner you adopt the native customs and attire, the quicker they accept you.”

“Are you all right, Margaret?” Albert asked her. “Have they hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Albert,” she answered. “No one has hurt me. How is Mr. Browning?”

“He’s sleeping, Mag,” I said. “But he doesn’t look so good.”

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” she asked, looking out again at the assemblage, her cheeks glowing in the firelight. “How this isolated population has become a cultural island, a specific, one-of-a-kind mélange of cultures. Can you hear the Mexican influence in the music? Look at their clothes and the fabrics. Almost everything they own has been stolen over the years in raids on Mexican villages and ranches, and probably from time to time over the border as well. At least three or four of the women here are Mexicans, and there are several women from the Tarahumure tribe as well, a tribe that lives farther south with whom the Apaches trade. But you know what’s most interesting to me from an anthropological point of view? How uniformly Apache all the children look. It’s as if their genetic structure is so strong that it completely overpowers the other races. Look at this girl, for instance,” she said, tenderly cupping
la niña bronca
’s cheek in her hand. “She’s a little taller than most of the others, but other than that, would you ever guess that her grandfather was a redheaded white man?”

“Darling, aren’t you having rather too much
fun
?” Tolley asked. “Have you forgotten that your friends are scheduled to be executed in the morning?”

“I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “It’s something else my father taught me about fieldwork. When you feel threatened or afraid, take refuge in your work. Be professional, because it’s all you have, your last illusion of control. I guess I’m trying to pretend that this is all an anthropological exercise.”

“I know what you mean, Mag,” I said. “I’d do exactly the same thing if I could get my hands on my damn camera bag. God, I hope they didn’t destroy it. All my film . . . my notebooks . . .”

“Good
Christ,
” said Tolley. “
What
is wrong with you two? Our lives are in jeopardy and you’re talking about your jobs. As if any of that matters now.”

Just at that moment one of the Apache men strutted proudly by dressed in Tolley’s white leather riding breeches and silk smoking jacket. “Scoundrel!” Tolley cried after him. “Thief! Those are my clothes!”

“I have your knapsack with your camera in it, Neddy,” Margaret said, “and your notebooks. They’re still going through our possessions, discarding anything that has no practical value to them. They’re dividing up our clothes, food, tools, utensils. They fought like dogs over Tolley’s wardrobe, but no one was in the least bit interested in your camera. This is not exactly a machinery-oriented culture.”

“Will you take care of it for me, Mag?”

“Who cares about your
fucking
camera?” Tolley hollered. He suddenly seemed near tears. “Are you all insane? They’re going to
kill
us in the morning.”

“Calm down, Tolley,” Albert cautioned. “If you fall apart now, they’ll kill you before morning.”

“Maybe we should make a run for it,” Tolley said in a panicked voice. “Look, no one’s paying any attention to us. We could just slip away.”

“We wouldn’t get a hundred yards,” Albert said. “They’d send the boys after us with sticks and rocks to kill us like rabbits.”

“Oh,
God,
” Tolley whimpered. “Why does everybody want to kill us? What have we done?”

“Look, Tolley.” I said, “I’m going to worry about my camera, Margaret’s going to worry about cultural anthropology, and you can worry about getting your clothes back. That’ll give us all something to live for.”

“Okay, okay, you’re quite right, old sport,” Tolley said, collecting himself. “I’m sorry. I had a brief moment of weakness there. I’m a little on edge.”

“Who isn’t, sweetheart?” said Margaret.

“What do you have to worry about, darling?” Tolley asked. “You’re going to be the bride of the big white chief. I’d trade your fate for ours in a heartbeat. In fact, though he’s a bit old for me, I find him rather attractive in a brutish sort of way.”

“I’m not going to be anyone’s bride,” Margaret said.

“You do understand, don’t you, Margaret,” said Albert, “why the Apaches always kill the men they capture and keep the women and children?”

“Of course,” she answered. “Because like most seminomadic indigenous people, they don’t have a structured penal system. And no practical way to imprison male captives for any length of time. Thus as long as they’re alive, men from other tribes pose a threat. So it’s more practical just to kill them. Whereas women and children are more docile and more easily assimilated.”

“And also useful for breeding purposes,” Albert added. “To broaden the genetic pool.”

“Oh God, I think he’s jealous,” Tolley said. He waved his hand in front of us, as if to get our attention. “Can we please concentrate on our most immediate problem? Which, as Giles points out, is the fact that my wardrobe has been plundered.”

We had to laugh; as desperate as was our situation, we were relieved to see that Tolley had at least recovered his sense of humor.