John C. Horst's Blog, page 23

“I, I think that God or Jesus or an angel has visited me in the night, padre.”

Rachel Matos “I, I think that God or Jesus or an angel has visited me in the night, padre.”
He nodded. “I see. And how, what form did this visit take, Maria?”
“I think I’m going to have a baby, padre. I think, they did, you know, that.”
“Why do you think such a thing, child?”
“Because, padre, I am bleeding, down there. And it happened only once, a long time ago. When I…” She looked away, said nothing.
“What is it, Maria?”
She’d never told anyone about the time she’d been abused. Only Juana and the yellow-haired whore knew of it. The priest knew nothing of her past. She wondered how he would react to this news. She was committed now and had to tell him. “I, a man did that to me, padre. When I was ten and I bled, so I thought perhaps...”
He stood up and grabbed her up in his arms. He held her for a long time. She could feel him crying. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Why are you crying, padre?’
“This is such a wicked, wicked world, Maria, and what you have told me makes me very sad. I love you very much, Maria, and I did not know such wickedness happened to you. I am sorry, child. I am sorry.” Maria's Trail

“I am no Arab, I am a Sikh.”

Dhuleep Singh In a final attempt, the bad man reached for his six shooter. If he couldn’t knife the dark man, he’d shoot him. But Mr. Singh had other ideas and placed a foot on the man’s gun hand, pinning the six shooter in its holster. He felt the strength leave the ruffian’s body through the sole of his boot. The man breathed out. “Goddamned Arab.”
Mr. Singh waited until the man was nearly gone, then in his soft voice he looked into the dying eyes and said, “I am no Arab, I am a Sikh.” Allingham

Her daydream was interrupted by a tug on her hair and Maria wheeled, instinctively striking as hard as her small fist would allow.

Jesus Helguera She stood up and wandered around again, since she was alone. She liked the smells of the church, the candles mostly, and the hint of the incense that was burned during special occasions. She did not yet know of all the grand celebrations, but she liked the odors. She wandered to the baptismal font and looked it over. It was empty now but she could tell it held water and she wondered what was in store for her when she got baptized.
Her daydream was interrupted by a tug on her hair and Maria wheeled, instinctively striking as hard as her small fist would allow. The boy fell backward onto the stone floor of the church and held his eye. She stood over him, glaring, determining what he was about.
He got up slowly and she pulled her fist back, ready to strike again. The boy backed up and put up a cautionary hand. “I, I, don’t hit me again!” Maria's Trail

So, this terrible thing, this sin, will it make her go to hell when she dies?

Edin Folwell He looked out the window as if seeking out someone waiting for him in the courtyard below, someone who could perhaps give him the answers to her questions. “She and I met when we were young. I was a new priest and she a new nun. We fell in love. I was going to leave the church for her, but she could not. She said that she could not leave the church and that she could not be with me.”
“I see.” Maria thought hard about it. He was the poor Crisanto and the nun was Maria. “So, this terrible thing, this sin, will it make her go to hell when she dies?”
The priest grinned and looked up at her. Maria was so wonderfully black and white. There were no shades of grey with the girl. He shook his head from side to side. “I don’t know, Maria.”
“Well, you need to let her go. You need to be with her when she dies and you need to tell her that she’s forgiven and that she’ll go to heaven. If you don’t know then you have to tell her the best possible outcome for her. It might be that she goes to heaven and it might be that she goes to hell, but if you do not know, then you need to tell her it is heaven. She’ll find out soon enough, but she needs to think, believe right now that it will be heaven.”
He loved her simplicity and her kindness. She was a thoroughly good person and he smiled at her. “If only a fraction of my parishioners were so good and wise as you, Maria.” Maria's Trail

We have good men here. Find one, find the most handsome boy and I will make you queen of the hacienda. I will make all your troubles go away.

PADRE, HIJO, HIJO ~ John Farnsworth So she rode with purpose to the Indios and stopped off to see Uncle Alejandro, who was thrilled and begged her to stay. He worried about her. Maria did not look well. She looked haggard and worry-worn and just not as pretty as she once was.
“Please, child. Stay. You will never want for the rest of your days. We have good men here. Find one, find the most handsome boy and I will make you queen of the hacienda. I will make all your troubles go away.”
She felt like crying at his words and her wound ached. She smiled weakly. “I know, Uncle. I know this thing and I thank you for it. I must make one more trip and then I will return.”
He nodded sadly and Maria thought she could discern just a hint of a tear in his eye. The old man loved her and did not want to lose her. He feared what the next trip would do to his precious charge.
Maria made him this promise and had every intention of fulfilling it. As she rode off, she looked back at the old Jefe. “I will be back, Uncle. I promise you, I’ll be back.” Maria's Trail

“I’ll shoot him. Give me the gun.”

Frida Kahlo ~ Two Nudes in a Forest 1939 Juana grinned and rubbed her cheek. “He didn’t hurt me.” She looked him over. “Should’ve shot the son of a bitch bastard, though. Let’s shoot him now.”
Maria thought about it. She looked at the man. He was out cold. Blood ran freely from the wound she’d given him and a big lump was forming where Juana had hit him. She found her six shooter and pulled it out. She pointed it at the man’s head and looked at Juana.
“I don’t want to. He’s out. He’s can’t hurt us now.”
“I’ll shoot him. Give me the gun.” She held out her hand and Maria complied. Juana gripped the pistol and pointed it at the man’s head. She waited. “Oh, to hell with him. He’s not worth a bullet, and besides, the shot might attract his friends.” She handed the pistol back to Maria.
“I’ve got an idea.” Maria began pulling the clothes off the man. In short order, his boots, trousers, hat and shirt were gone. He lay in the dirt wearing nothing more than faded long underwear. He looked very silly. She grabbed his things and made a sack with his rurale coat, tying everything into a ball. This she threw on his horse’s back and tied it down securely. Maria's Trail

She smelled good: of soap and good tobacco and a little perfume and just the scent of Yanaba; she smelled like a very appealing woman.

Ángel Zárraga It brought Francis out of his trance. He looked at her. She was a child of seventeen, yet she was as grown-up as all the women of the ages. She had known love and birth and death in her short time on earth and this matured her beyond her limited years. She was a woman and he knew that she was smarter and worldlier than he would ever be. He blushed and his pulse pounded in his ears.
“I, I...” He looked at Yanaba, then away. “Yes.”
She stood up. “Okay, Francis.” She stubbed out her cigarette and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell her. She smelled good: of soap and good tobacco and a little perfume and just the scent of Yanaba; she smelled like a very appealing woman. “Okay.” She walked out.
He lay back on his bed and he could smell her again, on the bedclothes. His head pounded. If he’d a been a little drunk, he’d have asked her to stay, maybe. He thought on that. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, even though carrying on with Mags made the act the top item on his list of things he liked to do in the world. Being with a woman made everything else seem boring and mundane and commonplace and just not worth doing anymore. Being with a woman was the most fun he’d ever had in his life, and he could have had the same fun with Yanaba and no one would have been the wiser. Allingham

The patrón called to his boys to move the bodies into the shade, out of the way so that no one could trample them.

HOSTEEN LASKAI John Farnsworth They began taunting the lads as the Indians worked to get things in order for their journey home. Redshirt’s sons were good and were not provoked. They rarely even acknowledge men like these. In this way they avoided having to kill too many loud-mouthed white men. They simply wanted to get on with the business at hand.
Redshirt moved quickly into action. He rode up on the most annoying man, putting himself and his mount between the tormentor and his youngest son.
“You must not do this.” He looked at the man with a countenance that was neither angry nor mean. Redshirt was firm, but was never threatening.
In the span of less than a heartbeat firing erupted and four men lay dead. Redshirt’s sons stood, smoking guns in hand, ready for any other trouble. They did not have to worry, the fifth man ran on urine soaked legs toward the jail. He did not want to fight them now that his pals were done for.
The patrón called to his boys to move the bodies into the shade, out of the way so that no one could trample them. Then they rode out. Allingham

She gloried in the sensuality of it, gloried in the perfection of her body.

Bill Joseph Markowski She stripped naked and bathed in the water running through the old place. It felt good to be out there all alone in the terrific heat, the blazing sun further darkening her dark skin. She was coming to love her Indian identity more and more every day and the idea of it, the idea of being an Indian continuously, progressively becoming easier to her. The problem was not her, it was them, the easterners who looked askance at her dark skin, the dark skin of the Aztecs, the Incas, the great pyramid builders, the people who built beautiful stone structures when the ancestors of the whites who looked down their noses at her were living in mud huts, defecating on the ground.
She reached down and scooped water with a broken pottery shard, a shard that had been formed perhaps a thousand years ago, poured water down onto her raven hair, over her face, breasts, belly, pudenda. She gloried in the sensuality of it, gloried in the perfection of her body. She was beautiful, inside and out and she was now just beginning to understand it. She was beginning to love herself and she wished Del Calle was with her. Perhaps one day she’d bring him here and they’d walk naked together all around the place, play and love and live and walk about as the original inhabitants had done so long ago. The Mule Tamer III, Marta's Quest

Young lady, in all my ninety-three years on this earth, I’ve never seen such a leg

Bareback ~ James Kruse He remembered the collective gasp that went up as, without warning, she put her foot up on one of the powder kegs next to the counter, hiked up the skirt of her long dress exposing her lovely leg and thigh, to check how the gun would ride there, secreted away under her frilly black garter until needed.
He remembered grinning when Arvel blurted out, Je-sus, Chica, you’re going to give these boys a heart attack. He was genuinely embarrassed. He remembered Chica’s reply, Don’ say Dios name in vain, Pendejo. These men are all married; they’ve seen a lady leg. And then old Mose Harper, a man who was likely the oldest resident of Bisbee, leaning forward and, in his frail, laconic voice commented, Young lady, in all my ninety-three years on this earth, I’ve never seen such a leg. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride