Shirley Ann driving her buggy in the bright, bright sun; her golden curls shining even though she always kept the top up to protect her milky skin. He remembered her riding with her father in his automobile, the only one for miles on either side of the Rio Grande, waving at him and his father and his brothers as they worked in the sandy fields.
His younger brothers and sisters: he couldn’t even remember their names or how many there were. He could only remember the three older ones. Inez was sixteen, Magdalena was fifteen. They and his mother worked in the big house.
And the oldest: seventeen-year-old Raphaelo. Dark, handsome Raphaelo. Proud Raphaelo. Proud as a fighting cock. The handsome, proud, smiling, doomed Raphaelo.
Louis had heard a noise in the loft and climbed up to investigate. They were both there, both of them naked. Raphaelo’s dark body covering Shirley Ann, Raphelo breathing heavily as he moved, Shirley Ann’s soft ivory body moving with him. She moane^ and squirmed and turned her head from side to side—and saw Louis watching them.
She made a noise and Raphaelo jumped to his feet like a cornered tiger. Louis ran, but Raphaelo ran after him, too frightened to care that he was naked, and caught him and dragged him back to the loft and threatened to cut out his liver if he told. But Shirley Ann smiled and caressed Louis, telling him that she trusted him, rubbing her breasts against him.
She had turned back to Raphaelo, but Raphaelo was a flower wilted by fright. He sat in a black shame as Shirley Ann coaxed and fondled him. She moaned and squirmed and turned to Louis. She undressed him, touched him, complimented him, guided him, taught him.
Louis’s own pride, his pride at besting Raphaelo even temporarily, overrode his fear. And the next six months were the most glorious he had ever known, better than anything he could have imagined. He had the beautiful, beautiful, golden Shirley Ann Waldrop nearly every day, sometimes twice a day, sometimes only he, sometimes only Raphaelo, but mostly both of them at the same time.
Then, one day, she didn’t meet them. Louis and Raphaelo never saw her after that. She stayed in the big house all the time and suddenly married a junior clerk in Mr. Waldrop’s bank. The junior clerk moved into the big house and they saw him only twice a day as he rode with Mr. Waldrop to and from the bank.
When the brown baby was born, Mr. Waldrop tied Raphaelo to a wagon wheel and whipped him with a silver-studded bridle until the leather was jellied with blood. His mother had screamed and wailed and prayed to the Virgin, and his father had watched, white-lipped, but he hadn’t interfered. Mr. Waldrop was El Patron, and Sancho Ortiz was only a peon, even on the north side of the river.
Louis hadn’t waited to find out if Shirley Ann had accused him as well. He sneaked into the big house, stole thirty dollars, rode one of the plow horses to town, and caught the first train out. He hadn’t been within a hundred miles of El Paso since.
Shirley Ann Waldrop. Why had he thought of her now?
He looked at the woman sleeping on the bed. She had looked a lot better with her clothes on. They were scattered on the floor, where she had flung them in her haste: a boned corset to keep her hips flat, with a tangle of straps, clamps, and hooks to keep her stockings up, a bandeau to keep her breasts flat, enough undergarments to conceal anything.
But the Minotaur didn’t care. He had never turned away anyone Louis had brought him, and some of them had been recruited in desperation. Louis always waited until the second day to hunt a partner for the Minotaur, giving them a chance to get a look at him. He usually didn’t have much trouble, though Haverstock might be unhappy if he knew that Louis sampled the presentable ones ahead of time. But then he might know and not care. Louis had discovered over the years that Haverstock found out about everything sooner or later.
This one had seen the Minotaur in the show last night, and when Louis had brought it up, her eyes had suddenly sparkled. But the sparkle had quickly changed to craftiness.
She demanded an extra twenty dollars. Louis was pretty sure she would have been happy to do it for nothing, but he hadn’t argued. It wasn’t his money.
His bladder felt on the point of bursting. He looked around and then under the bed. He pulled out the japanned slop jar and relieved himself.
The noise woke the woman and she lay watching him. He finished, put the lid back on, and slid it under the bed. He washed himself at the washbowl and felt her still looking at him. He turned. She was smiling. He posed, showing his body, washing erotically. He felt a hardening under the cloth and returned to the bed.
17.
Henry Collins stretched his upper lip down over his teeth and applied the powder puff vigorously, trying to cover his beard shadow. He looked in the mirror critically, twisting his mouth at different angles. He curled his lip and tossed the puff in the box of face powder. Rouge on his cheeks, Maybelline on his brows and lashes completed his Henry-etta face.
Tiny Tim stepped from his packing crate home, smoothing his doll’s suit. Henry had made it from fine batiste, but to Tim it felt as heavy as canvas. He walked across the dressing table and checked himself in the mirror.
Henry settled the orange wig on his head, tilting and tucking until it seemed secure. He stood up and tugged at the low neckline of the green satin gown, shaping the padding in the bodice. He smoothed the skirt over his ample hips, twisting around to check the back in the mirror.
“How do I look?” he asked.
Tim glanced up at him. “Not like anybody I’d take home to mother.”
“Thanks.” Henry grinned. He turned from the mirror and looked at the Minotaur sleeping naked on the other cot.
The Minotaur lay on his back, his hand on his genitals. His mouth was slightly open and he rasped faintly as he breathed. Henry frowned at the new hole the Minotaur’s horn had torn in the pillow. He kicked the leg of the cot.
The Minotaur woke instantly. He looked at Henry with his big, soft, alert eyes. No part of his body moved except his eyelids.
“Get up, you big lummox,” Henry said. “It’s nearly time.” He put Tim on his shoulder and left the wagon.
The Minotaur sat on the edge of the cot, scratching his massive chest. He stood up, stretched, and rubbed his crotch. He took his loincloth from a peg on the wall and slipped it on. He continued to rub himself through the fabric.
Outside, Henry squinted at the setting sun. The canvas of the tent looked like sheet copper. Bullbats circled in the sky, rising higher and higher on warm air currents, then dived like falling stones. They pulled out of their dives with musical bass thrums, snatching flying insects, and began their circling climbs once more.
Henry paused and looked at Haverstock’s wagon with concern. The doors and windows were closed. It sat, still and silent.
“They sure are at it a long time today,” Henry mused.
“Henry, I’m worried about Angel,” Tim said fretfully. “I gave him strict orders not to let on about the gift, not to tell him anything about what happened this morning, but I don’t know if he can keep anything from Haverstock or not.”
“What do you suppose they do in there every day?”
“I don’t know. Angel can never remember, but he’s always completely worn-out.”
“Well, come on. I’ll put you backstage so I can open up the box office.”
18.
Bess Bradley removed the kettle from the stove and poured scalding water over the dishes in the dishpan, then filled the kettle from the pump and put it back on the stove. Evelyn, Otis, and Harold finished their apple pie and brought their plates to the cabinet and put them by the dishpan.