Land of a Hundred Wonders

“It doesn’t like me,” I say, feeling the kicks.

“It don’t even know you,” Clever chuckles. “That’s just what it does. ’Specially up against my ribs.”

“Goodness. That’s really something, isn’t it? A miracle.”

Clever radiates proud. “I’m not givin’ this baby up no matter what anybody says. Already got a name picked out and everything. ” She weaves her fingers through mine. “I changed my mind. We gotta go after that treasure. Ya still game?”

“A course I am, Kid. First off, what we gotta do is-” I start up, but am so crudely interrupted by a hell of a ruckus at the cottage door.

Bang-bang. Bang-bang.

’’Y’all in there? It’s Sheriff Johnson checkin’ up on ya, Miss Gibby.”

Bang-bang. Bang-bang.

I lay my fingers across Clever’s lips. She shakes them off, and yells out, “Nobody’s home.”

The brass knob on the cottage door circles back and forth, forth and back. Followed by a jumpy jiggle.

“Keep quiet, goddamn it,” I tell her, heading toward my bedroom window that looks out on the porch. My neighbor is standing out there next to the sheriff with a shit-eating grin on his face. I tiptoe back into the kitchen. 'LeRoy’s got Willard with him. They’ve come for the map.”

Clever shoves back her chair and starts to get up. “I’m gonna open that door and turn Willard in to the sheriff.”

“No, you are n-o-t,” I say, pushing her back down.

“But smokin’ hemp is against the law,” she says, struggling against me. “He’ll have to take Willard down to the jail.”

Bless her heart. Having a baby must make you get amnesia because Clever knows damn well the law around here can’t be trusted. She’s had plenty of run-ins with the sheriff that have ended with less than favorable results. I so wish Grampa was home. He’d sock LeRoy Johnson clear off our porch with a one-two punch.

“Open up in there,” the sheriff yells, louder and meaner.

“No matter what, they ain’t gettin’ the map,” Clever says, tough. “Just like you said, I need that treasure for the baby.” It’s either candlelight or desire flickering in her eyes, can’t tell which. “Hey, I know what we gotta do! We gotta go on the lam to Bolivia! Just like Butch and the Kid did.”

“I believe there’s a large body of water between here and there. Don’t ya think a boat’d be more appropriate?”

“No, goin’ on the lam doesn’t mean… ya, ya, a boat would be fine,” Clever says.

Recalling the language problems Mr. Cassidy and Mr. Kid encountered in the movie, I say carefully, “Maybe runnin’ off to Bolivia is not that smart ’cause neither one of us knows how to speak much Espanol.”

“But… but…,” she sputters.

“Maybe we could invite Senor Bender to join us.”

“Siiii,” she says, grinning. (Clever has always considered the Senor one hot tamale.)

Bang-bang. Bang-bang.

The knock this time is no joking matter. Those two are not going to give up on their idea about getting in here.

“Then again,” I say, “Grampa’s in the hospital and I need to keep track of him and I don’t recall there bein’ any telephones in Bolivia.”

“But… but…”

“I didn’t say we can’t run off. We just need to run off someplace closer. Someplace that’s got pay phones, all right?”

“I got a good idea! We could go over to Browntown. They got a phone at Mamie’s.”

“No, that’s not a good idea.” Browntown woulda seemed like a fine place to lay low before Vern Smith warned me about the coloreds not liking us whites so much anymore. “Give me the map,” I say, not at all trusting Clever when it comes to matters of the heart. If Willard starts in again on how sorry he is, and how much he wants her, I know her, she’ll hand over the map faster than Secretariat does the quarter mile.

Clever slides the paper out of her skirt and into my hand, not complaining at all when I lock it up in my briefcase. “If we’re not going to Bolivia, and we’re not goin’ to Browntown, then where in the hell are we goin’?” Clever asks, hands-on-hips belligerent.

“Let us in or I’m gonna knock this goddamn door down,” the sheriff shouts. I can picture him out there huffing and puffing.

“Well?” Clever asks.

“I believe Land of a Hundred Wonders would do us just fine, Kid.” I haul her up out of the chair, push her toward my bedroom. “Vamanos!”

On the Lamb

After I kiss good-bye the picture of Mama above my bed, Clever and me squirm out my bedroom window, sneaking around the sheriff and Willard like a couple of tenderfooted Apaches. Of course I have my Eveready flashlight in my briefcase, but I dare not switch it on until we are farther down the path. On account of Clever’s tummy being so protruding, we can’t belly-crawl, even though that’s what Billy woulda suggested. All we can do to stay hidden from the two of them is to crouch over like a coupla old crones and make our way steady toward Hundred Wonders.

When a who… whoo… whoo comes from somewhere behind us, Clever lets loose with a squeal. “They’re comin’. Run, Butch!”

“It’s just the horned owl,” I say, grabbing for her. “Hush, they’ll hear us.” You never got to light a fire and breathe on it hard to convince Clever Lever to haul ass, but she’s especially jittery this evening. Must be ’cause she’s about to become a mother. Mothers can become quite alarmed when their children are in peril. My mama came looking for me in the gully after we crashed. Miss Lydia told me she called my name over and over, arms outstretched and smoking. It took all the fireman’s muscles to get her into the ambulance.

“Ya think we’re far enough away to slow down?” Clever pants out when we come up to the fork in the path.

Glancing back, I say, “Seems like they lost our scent for now, but I wouldn’t count on that being a permanent situation. You know what an excellent tracker the sheriff is.” (He’s not the best in the county, that would be an honor taken by the Brandish Boys. But ole LeRoy, he’s pretty damn good.)

“Oh, the hell with the sheriff and Willard. I gotta pee,” Clever says, hopping from foot to foot and eyeing the bushes.

“Careful,” I say, sorta laughing when I remember the day she got her driver’s license and somehow talked Grampa into borrowing his truck so she could take us to the drive-in to celebrate. Halfway through The Appaloosa, she had to tinkle, but you know Clever, she wouldn’t miss a chase scene if her life depended on it, so she ended up squatting in the scrub that rims the 57 and came back howling with stinging nettles in a most inconvenient place and…

Oh, Jesus.

“You okay?” Clever asks. “You’re tremblin’.”

“I… I… don’t know. I’m not sure, but I think I just remembered something from…”

“Well, good,” she says, disappearing behind a leafy bush.