If you really want to know what it was like to come from Maryland to an isolated mountain village in northern New Mexico, read this post. The latest free chapter from BUFFALO LIGHTS introduces Part III, San Cristobal. Part of the Digital Potlatch, of course!
This chapter has a completely different feel from the ones that preceded it, and why not? Written in the third person, for one thing, but mainly, by this time in the narrative, we’ve arrived and begun life in totally different surroundings and a very different culture. There’s a taste of that in this post, so please enjoy! The piece is over 950 words, and you’ll have to click through to read the ending. On that page you’ll also find a picture of the interior of our adobe cottage.
To access preceding chapters and the introduction, please visit the Buffalo Lights category page. (The official synopsis is here.)
Part III: San Cristobal
Chapter 1: Full Coyote Circle
It was only a few days until Christmas. Had he ever been this lonely?
His wife had flown back to Des Moines the week before to find a nursing home for her ailing father. She was scheduled to return on the 21st, but who could say? All their plans were up in the air, along with the fate of an 84-year-old man a thousand miles away from the quiet mountain valley. Her parents had been living in an assisted care facility for less than a month when word came that the old boy had gone down to the dining room one evening and couldn’t make it back upstairs. With less than a hundred feet between the dining area and the elevator, this was serious, all right.
Alone now in San Cristobal, he thought about his wife and father-in-law. In Des Moines the nursing homes were mostly full and finding room wasn’t easy. Assuming she did locate a home with a vacancy for her father, she would barely make it back to New Mexico for Christmas. And that very evening the Posadas were coming to the valley.
He had read about the ceremonies, of course, and so had she. Under normal circumstances they would both be looking forward to taking part, but now he was alone, homesick, and shy. Back in Maryland his friends would be gathering on a damp December evening to party and exchange gifts. He pictured the warm country kitchen and tried to remember their faces, but the effort only plunged him deeper into self-pity and regret.
The Posadas would have been a substitute, a chance to get out of the house and meet the neighbors, but without his wife he felt ugly and stiff. She had a pretty smile and a voice like a bell, and everyone loved her. Without her charm to part the waters, how could he make any headway with these people? Besides, it had snowed that morning and the temperature would soon be dropping below zero. The very idea of walking down the road made him chilly, and he pulled on a ragged red sweatshirt. Might as well sit this one out, he decided. That way he wouldn’t have to shave, either.
Darkness fell, and a nearly full moon rose over the mountain. He felt uneasy and guilt- ridden. Deciding not to go hadn’t solved a thing and had even made him feel worse. He thought about his ailing father-in-law, who might never see another Christmas. He thought about the almost-broken promise to himself to meet his neighbors. He remembered other things he’d backed out of from shyness or neurosis and regretted them all. When the self-loathing finally reached an unbearable pitch, he looked at his watch: it was almost 6:30 p.m., time to gather at the village church a mile down the road. If he hurried, he could still make it.
Moving quickly before his resolve faded, he donned a down parka, grabbed a flashlight, and strode outside into a different world. The air was perfectly still. The moon reflected brightly off the fresh snow that crunched reassuringly under his boots. He imagined he could see almost as well as if it were daylight. When he reached the gate at the road, he looked at his watch once more and was stricken with a guilty terror: run, Johnny, run! And so he did.
Slowly at first, then faster as he gained confidence on the frozen, icy road, he ran all the way down the mountain to the church, propelled by the memory of a little boy who had stayed behind once too often. Inside the warm, brightly lit sanctuary, he sat quietly in the back, catching his breath and studying the small crowd of well-dressed Posadistas. Here and there people were praying or murmuring softly to one another. His glasses fogged over. I’m not even Catholic, he worried, as he pulled out the hem of his shirt to wipe the lenses. What would happen next?
They drove to a house at the bottom of the valley and he sang the songs, reading the unfamiliar words by flashlight. He entered the home, welcomed along with the rest, and no one seemed to notice his sweaty everyday clothes. He prayed with the others and thought about his father-in-law. He ate three helpings of food. He stood in the crowded kitchen and washed down a handful of cookies with hot cocoa. He felt like he was among friends, more grateful than anyone could know.
On the long, icy walk home he marveled at the mountains in the moonlight. A pack of coyotes serenaded him all the way to his front door. He took a last look at the snowy scene and listened to the yelps another moment or two, not wanting to break the spell. Christmas in New Mexico, he thought as he stepped inside, alone but lonely no more. A sense of completion and wholeness filled his soul.
It was going to be a very good year.
Related posts:
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part III, Chapter 3, “Day of the Coyote”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part III, Chapter 4, “New Mexico Slow”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part II, Chapter 1, “Betrayal”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part II, Chapter 5, “Moving Hell”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part III, Chapter 2, “Wood Heat”
