Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene 20 & 21

After a few moments Chancho reappeared from his wagon and washed for supper. With considerably less manure on his person the three friends enjoyed their meal and settled in for coffee as they discussed how to keep the goats out of the cáñamo patch.

“I’ll sleep in the field tonight,” Chancho offered, “in case any of our amigos pequinos get the munchies.”

Nena scoffed, “I think it’s so you can whisper sweet nothings to your machine.”

“Nothing of the sort.” Chancho waved her off. “If you cannot accept my selfless gesture,” he looped his hand around in the air as if to finish his sentence visually. “Besides, I whisper substantialities, never nothings.”

“I’m sure—” 

Chancho cut her off, “No, no. I’ve made up my mind. Tonight the stars will gaze down upon my substantialities, and be blessed.” Nena and Muddy both snorted, but Chancho continued, “Within 24 hours, mis amigos, we will be adventuring north with a wealth of both goats and marihuana. Tres amigos, we ride. You will see.”

Finally, when only a few streaks of color remained in the sky, Chancho grabbed his things and marched down the slope toward the field for the night. An orchestra of crickets began their nightly performance.

Nena had started to shake with her desires even before she finished her coffee. Now that nothing stood in her way she released a fury of kisses on Muddy’s face and neck, the air chilled just enough to emphasize the heat emanating from their bodies. Before she could go further he rose with her in his arms and carried her to their wagon.

She felt all the familiar intimacy they had built together, but today’s events unleashed a storm in her that had remained dormant. Lulled to sleep by months and even years of relative safety, the thought of her lover’s life at risk brought urgency to her lovemaking. She had to feel him as close to her as possible, to wrap him up inside her and keep him safe.

For the rest of that evening they nourished each other. It did not dispel the fear of loss, but it expressed her gratitude for the possessing. Tomorrow would come bearing secrets, but tonight she would know and be known fully. Whatever happened tomorrow, tonight she had a good life.

They pressed into each other and quaked. The wagon fell still as the lovers rested in the midst of their thanksgiving, bathed in the delicate scent of almond oil and the musk of mohair. Nena lay her head over Muddy’s heart, listening to its beat gradually slow. She tasted his sweat on her lips, and after several minutes she spoke. “I remember the first time I saw you. So menacing, and so proud. I knew instantly it would never do to have you as an enemy.”

He ran his fingers down her shoulder and arm where her sweat started to chill. “And you, standing one foot in front, even of your father. I had to stare past you to stare at him, yet he was not offended in your presumption. He was proud that you stood there. That fact made me stare at you.”

“You were angry.”

“I knew we would lose if we fought.”

“Oh?” Nena lifted her head from his chest to look him in the eyes.

“I already wanted to make love to you more than kill you.” He smiled. “It would have been a conflict of interest in war.”

She slapped him on the chest and repeated his last word as she lie back down, “War. War had already changed by then. My father taught me to fight using the words and the laws of the Mexicans, and then the Anglos. He accused the Mexican government of handing our lands over to you and your people. Our fight was with them.”