Monte Alban dominated its low-lying surroundings. Seen from where Gideon sat, the tranquil little village was laid out like a scene on an old picture postcard: two main streets, a covered market, and in the center a domed, turreted eighteenth-century church with two ornate bell towers. Red-tiled roofs. Stuccoed walls. Except for a parked yellow school bus and a few taxis in the squares in front of the market-the drivers lolled nearby, smoking and chatting in the shade of a tree-there was nothing to remind one it was 2008 rather than 1908, and not much to remind one that it wasn’t 1808.
The community was close enough that the sounds of village life drifted up to where he was sitting. Apparently, a morning market was in progress; he could hear the sounds of women’s voices and children’s laughter, along with the occasional dog bark and the cackling of poultry. There were radios playing somewhere too-Mexican pop music-and what sounded like a brass band practicing. And weaving in and out of the narrow streets a truck with a loudspeaker mounted on the cab traveled slowly along, braying its message, too far away for him to make out. Julie had told him that, in the absence of a local newspaper, this was the way the town got its community news. In the parched brown hills behind the Hacienda goats were doing some braying of their own. Interesting, he thought drowsily, so many different sounds floating on the air, and yet such an overall sense of quiet, of remoteness. He could understand why Julie liked the place so much.
All the same, he could sense the first intimations of restlessness already nibbling away at his contentment. What was he going to do for the next few days? Sitting out here, bathing in warm sunshine in the middle of December, was terrific… for an hour or so. And a horseback ride or two into the hills was inviting. And he did want to visit a couple of the nearby Zapotec ruins. Put all those things together and they would account for what, eight hours? Twelve, maybe, if he took his time? Then what? As usual, Julie had been right: he should have brought along some work. What had he been thinking? Why hadn’t he at least “Nice, isn’t it?” Julie said, slipping into a chair beside him and setting a manila folder on the table.
“I can see why you like it.” He pulled himself up in his chair, smiling. “You look pretty. Did you get the annoyed ladies squared away?”
“Oh, I think so. They’re part of a group of ten. Comrades-in-arms of yours; fellow professors, here for a workshop.”
His interest perked up. Maybe things weren’t going to be so bad. “Really? What field?”
“Various, I guess. The workshop is called…” She consulted an index card from the folder. “…Surmounting Gender Politics and Phallocentric Norms on Campus: Building a Feminist Agenda to Challenge Heteronormativity in the Academic Workplace.”
He slunk back down in his chair. “Whoa, I think I better keep a low profile.”
“I told them you were the chairman of your department and that I knew you’d be glad to join them for a session or two, if they liked.”
“It’s a good thing I know you’re kidding… Uh, you are kidding?”
“I’m kidding. Your secret is safe with me. What’s…” She consulted the card. “…heteronormativity, anyway?”
“As far as I understand it, it’s a feminist term for the ‘mistaken’ belief that there are two-and only two-sexes, male and female, which results in the marginalization and persecution of-”
“Never mind. I don’t think I want to go there.”
You and me both, Gideon thought.
She looked up, smiling, and jumped out of her chair. “Dorotea, it’s so good to see you!” she cried in Spanish. Julie’s Spanish was better than Gideon’s adequate but limited command. she had learned it during her teenage summers at the Hacienda and had taken two years of it in high school and another in college in the days when she had planned to work there. Dorotea, who had brought out another mug of coffee for her, seemed more annoyed than pleased to see her.
“They didn’t tell me you was coming until this morning,” she griped in English. “And they sure didn’t tell me you was bringing him .” She wiped her red hands disgustedly on her apron. “If he wants any dinner, I got to send Felix down for another chicken.”
“I suspect he will want some dinner,” Julie said pleasantly.
“I figured,” Dorotea said, stomping back to the kitchen.
“Is it something about me?” Gideon asked, looking after her, “or is she always like that?”
“Pretty much always,” Julie said.
“I seem to remember you telling me I’d like her.”
“I said you’d like her cooking. Those are two different things.”
“I’ll say. All the same, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll have you taste my food before I try it.”
“Oh, you’ll get used to her. That’s just the way she is.” She sank back into her chair and inhaled the steam from the mug, “Mm, isn’t this coffee wonderful? I forgot how good it was. Dorotea told me how she does it, but of course it doesn’t taste the same at home.” She smiled to herself and took a couple of long swallows, eyes closed. “Did you notice that Carl got a little upset there in the car?”
“It was hard not to notice. What did I say wrong, do you know?”
“You didn’t say anything wrong. It’s my fault for not telling you that Annie’s mother is a touchy subject.”
“Are you just being charitable here? It’s not just another case of insufficient attention?”
“I’m just being charitable,” Julie agreed.
Gideon smiled. “So, tell me again and I promise to pay attention. Was she ‘lost’ as in ‘died’ or ‘lost’ as in ‘divorced’?”
“Neither. ‘Lost’ as in ‘ran away and never came back.’ ”
“From her husband and her little baby? Ouch.”
“Ouch is right. She ran off with one of the hands, abandoning poor little Annie and leaving Carl to take care of her. Annie’s not even sure she has any real memories of her.”
“Probably doesn’t,” Gideon said. “She probably just remembers stories she heard.” He shook his head. “That’s tough.”
“Well, from what I can tell, she handles it just fine. But apparently Carl’s never gotten over it, gotten over Blaze. It’s been almost thirty years, but Annie thinks he’s still in love with her. Oh, what’s more, they left with a heck of a nest egg; her boyfriend Manolo robbed the ranch payroll and they took off with it.”
“Robbed the ranch payroll?” He laughed, but Julie didn’t crack a smile. “You’re serious? This is starting to sound like Butch Cassidy and the sundance Kid.”
“Well, you have to remember, this was before the place was a resort. It was an honest-to-God horse ranch, and the hands were paid in cash. And Jamie would drive to the bank in Tlacolula every month-there wasn’t one here in Teotitlan back then-to get the payroll and bring it back. And-well, Manolo robbed him. On the road. At gunpoint. Sixteen thousand dollars. A lot of money in 1979, especially down here.”
“You ain’t just whistling Dixie, kiddo,” Annie put in, having rejoined them, also armed with a mug of coffee. She sat herself down comfortably. “Filling Gideon in on the family skeletons, eh?”
Julie was embarrassed. “I was just explaining to Gideon why your father suddenly clammed up in the car.”
“Yeah, no problem. It’s sad, isn’t it? Almost thirty years and I think he’s still in love with her.”
She gazed down at the village, the mug held in front of her face in both hands. “I was really little, so I don’t really remember it. Besides, they wouldn’t talk about it in front of me; I mean, Blaze was my mother, right?-but I knew something that wasn’t kosher had happened, and later I learned all about it. Jamie was only a kid himself, fifteen years old, so losing all that money that he was responsible for practically killed him. You know what Jamie’s like, anyway-well, you do, Julie-so you can imagine.” And to Gideon, by way of explanation: “Jamie’s kind of… earnest, you know? He takes things to heart.”
“Jamie’s the worrier in the family,” Julie said, smiling.
“A good thing too. This family could use a worrier.”
Annie paused to try her coffee, found it too hot, and blew on it. It had been a while since Gideon had seen an adult do that, but somehow it seemed fitting for Annie. “Anyway, on account of that and some other things, I guess the ranch was on the edge of going bust until Tony conned the mineral people into buying most of it, and turned what was left into…” She spread her arms and gestured, palms up, at the complex of buildings, patios, and terrace around them. “Ta-daaa. And the rest is history.” She sighed, settled back, blew some more on her coffee, and sipped thoughtfully at it.
