Brother William, in his lime green guayabera and khakis sat motionless, stumped.
Circling back around, Fulgencio returned toward the Brother, “What’s wrong, Brother William?”
“It won’t go.”
“What?” Fulgencio grinned. “Trueno loves to go. Just relax. Trueno is a very tame horse. He used to ride in a charro show near the beach.”
Brother William patted the horse with the slightest tinge of apprehension and flailed his legs in a futile attempt to spur it on, but Trueno stood still as a statue.
“Make a kissing noise,” Fulgencio suggested. “He likes that.”
Brother William puckered his lips and blew kisses into the breeze. Nothing.
“Loosen the reins,” Fulgencio said, circling like a showman around the inert steed and his would-be rider. “Just don’t let go of the saddle,” he said, showing the Brother how he kept his right hand on the handle at the top of the saddle while steering the horse with his left hand on the reins. Just the way Fernando Cisneros had taught him as a young boy.
Flush with embarrassment at being tutored by a prospective pupil, Brother William did as he was told, flapping his legs against the side of the horse in frustration.
“Pat him on the back,” Fulgencio said, “Like so.” And he gave Relámpago a firm slap on the rump, at which point she gave a little spurt of speed, circling Brother William and kicking up a cloud of dust.
Sneezing, Brother William followed the example. And suddenly, Brother William burst into childlike laughter as Trueno sprung to life, chasing after Relámpago as they headed out of the clearing.
“I was a bit rusty,” Brother William explained, as they trotted along the fence bordering the eastern edge of the ranch. “Thanks for the refresher course.”
Fulgencio smiled. He liked Brother William. The Brother made him feel like he could do things, like he was worth something. He talked to him like an equal even though Fulgencio couldn’t begin to believe that they were. And he respected Brother William’s authority all the more for that very reason. He only hoped that Brother William would accept this piece of land in exchange for his education.
They circumnavigated the ranch, along a horse trail that Fernando Cisneros and Fulgencio had worn through the years on their long afternoons scouting the ranch, singing and talking. The land formed a north-south rectangle, with the house and clearing at the lower left-hand corner adjacent the highway, facing east toward the beach. The wrought iron gate, adorned by the same symbol found on the branding iron, was found on the lower right-hand corner, also facing east toward the sea. All along that lower line, between the gate and the clearing was the long line of mesquite saplings he and his brothers planted as children. And from that—most traveled—end of the ranch toward the north, the land rolled flat and green, tall, wispy grass flowing in waves. The farther north one headed, the closer one neared the Rio Grande, Fulgencio told Brother William.
Intrigued, Brother William asked Fulgencio to lead the way to the river. Beyond the northern fence, past a couple other tiny ranches, the dirt road eventually wound to a stop on a vast, open prairie. There, on that communal piece of land, the ejidatarios allowed everyone’s cattle to roam, graze, and drink at the banks of the river.
“It is a desolate place,” Brother William noted. “As is often the case in nature, one can feel the presence of God close at hand.”
Resting atop Trueno and Relámpago, Fulgencio and Brother William silently admired the wide river flowing out toward
the sea.
Then Brother William shot upright in his seat, startling Trueno, who snorted and shook his head in protest at his rider’s erratic actions.
“Who is that, over there?” Brother William pointed toward a dune in the distance, at the edge of the river. The figure of a lone woman stood at the crest, gazing north across the water.
“You see her too?” Fulgencio marveled. “Not everybody does.”
“Yes, who is she?”
“I am not sure, but she is not ‘alive’ in the same way we are,” Fulgencio explained.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s been seen now and then standing there for about a hundred years. She never changes. She never speaks to anyone. She is a spirit.”
Brother William rubbed his eyes and shook his head, realizing he had crossed more than a border between two neighboring countries.
Fulgencio continued, “They say that she is waiting for her husband to return, that she is part of a curse on this land placed long ago. People call it la maldición de Caja Pinta.”
“Caja Pinta?”
“Yes, that was the name of all this land when it was one large grant from the Spanish King to the Cisneros family, before my grandfather and his ancestors sold off bits and pieces or lost them playing cards.” Fulgencio paused. “Do you wish to go closer to her?”
“No, we must leave her be.” Brother William made the sign of the cross. “Let’s head back to El Dos de Copas. The heat is becoming unbearable.”
As they headed back, Brother William rode deep in thought. After circling the entire perimeter of Fulgencio’s ranch, the trail came to an end at the edge of the serene pond behind the hut. Brother William and Fulgencio dismounted and dove into the water for a refreshing swim. Afterward, Fulgencio showed Brother William the miraculous relief of the Virgen de Guadalupe, introduced him to the ghost of his grandfather Fernando Cisneros doing card tricks for the Virgen from his spot at the wooden table, and stepped out for a moment while the Brother prayed on his knees before the apparition. When the Brother emerged into the scorching afternoon sun, they felt like cows dying of thirst, so they rode the jalopy back up the road to the ejido of El Refugio.
There, in front of a modest wooden structure, they were greeted by the ear-to-ear smile of a wiry, dark-skinned ten-year-old boy.
“I’ve known Cipriano since he was a baby,” Fulgencio explained to Brother William. “My grandfather was always friends with his family.”
Brother William purchased some sodas, icy cold glass bottles of Joya Manzana pulled from a giant metal icebox by Cipriano. Then, they sat on the porch, quenching their thirst and wiping the sweat off their brows as Brother William told the boys and Cipriano’s grandparents about his conversation with the Virgencita. She had advised him what to do about Fulgencio’s proposal to exchange the ranch for his education.
“Fulgencio,” Brother William said, “never let go of that ranch. It is in your blood and in your soul. While it may seem worthless to others, it is a precious piece of Heaven for you. Now, I still expect you to let me come out here and visit, however. Spend time with the Virgencita. Ride Trueno. Drink Joyas here at El Refugio with these good folk.”