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dispatch ten
Mule Factory
by Steve Goerger
debuted 15 August 2009 | kept 1143 times | click to keep
Dan has come out of a terrible relationship, yes, and there is drinking, even drugs. He's never been all that popular with anyone and has just graduated from college, but he doesn’t see any possibility in his life.
On their first walk around the dry, stale grounds, Rudolpho tells Dan and the others: "The production of mules is very simple–a female horse and a male donkey are mated. You may wonder why we call this production, not breeding. Well, the word breeding implies that two animals of the same species are mated to further propagate the species. In fact, we do no such thing: mules are completely asexual beings, incapable of reproducing themselves. So we do the dirty work for them. Thank you friends!–and welcome." Spontaneous applause bursts out, with Dan leading the way, cheering the romance finding him here in Mexico.
As the German standing next to Dan asks about terminology, the mood in the room is strained generosity. At the back of their group a tall dark-haired girl sobs loudly. The next morning Rudolpho teaches Dan and a Japanese boy how to operate a twelve-thousand dollar insemination probe.
There are six of them, interns, at the Mule Factory that summer. Dan. Florian, the German, who is fair, tall, and intelligent. Rico, a Mexican. Inez, the Portuguese crier, whom everyone assumes is Mexican. Shaito, who has come from Japanese business school to learn Spanish. And Don, the other American, who on the very first morning of work, while Dan and Shaito learn the probe, beds Inez in the bunkhouse and steals a carton of Rudolpho’s pre-rolled cigarettes.
Rico and Florian work with the donkeys. Mornings, the donkeys are fed and cleaned; in the early afternoon there is exercise, walking in circles, powering the mill; then comes siesta. Both the Mexican and the German have been around equine beasts all their lives. Over the first weeks they find they have much in common. Rico speaks fluent German. They discuss philosophy as they recline on haystacks in the dusty corral.
"Marx yes, Lenin no–I think we can agree to this!" Rico says, but Florian just chews some grass awhile.
"I have no interest in politics; my thought is purely existential," says Florian. Through the office window he observes the mascara streaking from Inez’s eyes–a Nietzschean Mona Lisa, he thinks–and considers the long chain of cause and effect which has led them here. "Wer war die erste Ursache?" he asks. It is a difficult problem, but these things take time, is all.
In bed at night, Dan wonders who, or what, could have hurt Inez so; wonders exactly how Don helps; what he might be able to do to cool the fever that melts her. Mentally he sends soft bay breezes and a lapping, licking shoreline her way. Recollections of a surfer girl he once knew wash over him: blonde, buoyant in the water. With sudden guilt he shakes his head and tries to refocus on Inez. But only a word comes to mind–Don!
Just then Inez cries "Don!" into the blackness of the bunkhouse. It is her first English word.
"Don!" Shaito whispers to himself the next morning. He considers what the word could mean. He has been listening to the Mexicans, Rudolpho, Rico, and Inez, speak Spanish, and this is the only word he has heard them all say. Both Americans are named Don, he believes, assuming this is only a coincidence. Don is a very common American name, after all: Rumsfeld, Rickles, Knotts. But in Spanish it must be a word of great and secret importance. So secret they leave it out of the dictionaries and it gathers full power only at night. Clandestinely he whispers it to the sun. He smiles at the Don he works with.
One of their jennies gives birth to the first mule of the season. Rudolpho demonstrates standard operating procedure, his arm streaked bloody up to the elbow. The little thing lies silent a few minutes and then suddenly looses a strange almost-bray, an odd throaty little whisper.
Back in the office Rudolpho washes up, then splits a spliff with Don. Don smokes with one hand, kneads Inez’s back with the other. Inez files and shuffles and straightens.
"The girls are in good hands this year," Rudolpho says. "Soft hands–Dan is a fine, dedicated worker. Not like you, eh, Don, making your girl do all the work!"
Don smokes.
The phone rings under Inez’s waiting hand. She picks it up and says: "Estou!" Rudolpho wonders what kind of regional dialect she speaks. Her voice is rapid. Water rushing over rock. He hopes the local touch will help sell mules in her area.
Everyone goes into the nearby city of Chuito for a weekend. Rudolpho leads his charges down the cobblestones and into the colonial heart of the city. All the buildings maintain seventeenth-century faces. He says Chuito was once the great melting pot for the native Indians and the Spanish settlers; now, especially after NAFTA, it is only an American suburb. "Everything for the tourists!" he says, playfully punching Rico in the arm. Dan purchases a nice, inexpensive stetson. He looks in the mirror, tugs the brim, practices saying gityup and purdy.
Dinner and drinks. Florian and Rico try to tackle the language barrier between themselves and Shaito. Rico knows traveler’s Japanese, but not enough to do any good. Florian tries English, German, Dutch, Afrikaans. They finally end up pointing at things, saying their titles in Spanish, letting Shaito repeat and learn. "Cerveza." "Cadera." Shaito speaks the words hardy and wrong.
The rest of the table talks mostly business. Rudolpho praises Dan’s handling of the horses, lets him into his best business secrets. Getting very drunk. A lot of money to be made, and great satisfaction in the job. Because, Rudolpho says, covering Dan’s hand with his, "the thing about mules is: I don’t think God intended them ever to happen."
"God does not intend a lot of things that happen," Dan says. "Especially the bad things that happen to good people." From under his hat he peeks across the table to see if Inez is listening.
"Yes, yes, we are all sorry that Inez cries so much," Rudolpho says. "But this is what is wonderful: even the failures of God are his great successes. Do you understand?"
Consensus is reached–all the heads at the table nod yes. Dan agrees with Rudolpho; Rudolpho bobs along the buoyant sea of alcohol in his belly. Florian and Rico have given up on Shaito; they only agree politely as he mangles their lessons. Inez reacts to Don fingering her under the table. Don hums a happy tune, nods along.
A fax comes through on the machine–Inez retrieves it and takes it out to Rudolpho, who looks it over. "Prices of mules are plummeting," he says. "Not good, not good–maybe I will have to cut labor, let one of you go." He rubs the small bumps of her spine. "Maybe your Don?"
Inez pours hot tears like coffee.
"No, no, not you guys, Inez," Rudolpho says. "I was only joking. I’ll get rid of the uglies first–maybe Rico." With nothing left to say, Inez walks away briskly. Rudolpho watches.
Dan and Shaito help birth thirty mules in June–some tan, some spotted, some speckled pepper and salt. Never two the same. Shaito whispers his word over each of them, blessing infancy with its mighty magic. Dan always thinks Shaito is talking to him. He turns his head toward the pastel sky and pretends not to hear.
Florian plans a week in the mountains, to accost the ponderous questions that fill his soul. In the office he asks Rudolpho to lend him a pack mule and some marijuana.
"Maybe I should have brought more women in," Rudolpho is saying to Don. "Even I myself am lonely. From now on I will arrange pairings ahead of time. One-to-one ratios. Harmonies of scale." He notices Florian.
"And what about you, Florian? Wouldn’t you like to have a nice romantic fling with a Mexican girl, take your mind off some things?"
Florian considers his rhetorical pose. "Off some things, on some others. If you know what I mean," he says. Rudolpho and Don look at him like he is mad, but suddenly explode with violent laughter; they clap Florian’s back so hard it hurts. His wit wins Florian two weeks’ vacation, two mules, peyote, and marijuana.
"But hey, take that Shaito with you," Rudolpho says, still weak with laughter. "Seriously–get that Jap out of my hair!"
Florian invites Shaito into the desert by pointing: first into the distance, then at himself and Shaito, then back into the distance. He makes a walking motion with two fingers, points again, and smiles. Shaito grins, enlightened.
That night, with Don drunk and passed out in his bed, Shaito steals over to Inez. He puts his face very close to hers and whispers the word he feels they share. Inez looks at him like he’s gone crazy. Urgently: Don! The donkeys quit braying, Rico quits snoring, and everything is soft and silent. Shaito’s face is creased with tension, as if he will burst unless relieved. Inez swirls a cool digit around his forehead–a hot sweat is forming there–but Shaito takes her hand and presses it hard to his lips. Never has Inez considered Shaito, but this makes his bold first impression all the better. She would cry, but Shaito’s ardor has strength for the both of them, too much to allow it. Her eyes search this surprise, until finally they rest upon his–and then they kiss. Their passion carries on wordlessly until the sun rises and they fall asleep. An hour later Florian rouses Shaito and they head off into the cool foothills of morning.
Inez stays in to watch American television while the boys tie one on at the Chuito Gentleman’s Club. By now the sun has given Dan a deep tan and dug a purple sweat ring in his black cowboy hat; all the girls coo at him, a true-blue vaquero. "Any girl in here belongs to you!" Rudolpho shouts. But just as Dan considers a sweet-faced, flat-chested, tall young thing, Don slips her a fifty. She leads him to the storage room. Dan follows after a few minutes and peers inside: the shadows tumble in heavy breathing. Envy rises. When finally Don reemerges into the bar, Dan lands a strong left and knocks his countryman into the stage. Rudolpho and Rico come running over. Rico considers starting a full-out brawl, maybe getting at Rudolpho in the confusion of it. But he doesn’t, for Mexico’s sake.
It is in the highlands that Shaito proves his real worth to Florian. Handy with both fire and water, Shaito keeps camp while Florian explores his mind with Rudolpho's gifted drugs. Florian lays the pills and pot on the ground. He points to them, then to his eyes, then to the sky. He hooks his thumbs and flaps his hands like bird’s wings. Points to the drugs again–Shaito seems confused. "Don?" Florian asks; Shaito needs no further explanation. He goes about gathering scrub brush for heat, drilling cacti for water.
Dan and Don wordlessly declare a truce, though Dan is hopeful Don has told Inez it was he who punched him, so Inez might wonder. Any press being good press. But Don never says anything to Inez. Only hums.
The birthing season hits stride and Dan midwives, alone, flawlessly. A large inventory accrues. Dan and Rico wonder why Rudolpho doesn't sell any. "The economy is in such shape that probably no one can even afford a mule anymore," Rico says, keeping to himself suspicions that Rudolpho is simply incompetent. Meanwhile, the corral nearly overflows with sexless animals, standing around, just staring at one another.
Inez answers the phone. Sometimes she tries to explain herself fully, in Portuguese. But she can only try.
"Hello, Inez," a voice says. "I love you. I wish you’d stop crying."
"Que?"
"Of course, things won’t stay the same forever. Someday you’ll stop crying. I wonder if I’ll still love you then."
"Papa?"
"However, Rico says what we are we will always be. Somehow, you will cry, and I will love you forever."
"Don?"
"Dan! Do you understand? Dan. See, I’ve been hurt so much. I don’t know much else. I had a girl I called Joey, Inez, but her real name was Joan."
"Shaito?"
"Don!" Florian screams, waking Shaito from a comfortable sleep near the fire. "Ich weiss jetzt! Er ist Don!"
With two more births, the holding pen bursts at the seams. And there are six more births scheduled for the first half of August. Rudolpho sees that he needs to sell and orders Inez to put ads in all of Mexico's major newspapers. "We’ll undersell even the steepest competition!" he says. "Even those guys in Mexico City! Sell, sell, sell! Two-for-one, free coffee, a juggling clown!"
In the desert, in a hallucinogenic trance, Florian attempts to climb the flat face of a small mountain, to be closer to God. Halfway up he loses his grip and falls fifty feet. Shaito, who has trailed Florian without his knowledge, catches his hand and pulls him back to the rocks.
"Don," Florian says to him, and they begin to climb again. A while later some shadows play tricks on Shaito’s eyes, and he slips and falls into the deep canyon below. Florian summits, beats his strong breast, wails deep and sad and true.
Rudolpho takes Rico aside. "Friend: I must let you go," he says. "Business is bad. I know you understand."
"How do you know that?" Rico asks. He is offended; he thinks again about taking a swing at his already-tipsy boss.
"Listen–we are both Mexicans!" Rudolpho says. "Brotherhood is all we have. Can you juggle? Do you mime?"
The reason Inez cries: shortly before leaving for Mexico her father died. They were very close. To make matters worse, her father was a great lover of horses. Every Saturday morning he would take his only daughter riding with him, through gold fields, wild forests, light blankets of shiny snow. Being near horses is terrible but Inez knows being away from them would probably be worse still. There is no solution to the problem, so she cries. But the feeling of the hot tears on her skin is the least of her concerns: First she would like to know how people live life in a brain full of dead memories!
In the late evenings, after the phones have stopped ringing, after making love to Don, she walks along the country road and thinks about the great loves of her life. Manu, the boy from school, who brought her wildflowers and kissed her cheek raw before he ever kissed her lips. Fun and flighty Pepe during high school. Geraldo, much older, a man clinging to limitless passion in limited years. Lately Shaito has been added to the list, but she has not quite figured out why. She can’t even picture him or remember the sound of his voice. But he looked at her the way her father did–the same green-flecked brown eyes which bathed her in warmth every time they shined her way. She wonders how long Shaito will look at her that way; wonders if this one familiar thing would be enough to fly her to Japan and live among the aliens.
Rudolpho goes into town and buys streamers. He sees a man about a big top tent abandoned by a traveling circus. As they negotiate he envisions the carnival, the shoppers, the free food on the hot grill, Rico pantomiming, maybe atop a unicycle. The farmers will surely bring their entire families to such a festival. Maybe one of them will have a lovely older daughter in need of a husband–maybe he can trade a few mules for a wife! His pulse quickens and his eyes brighten. He pays five thousand pesos for the sun-faded tent.
As he lays the body of Shaito into the ground, Florian gives a short invocation: "Lord, accept into your circle the spirit of your servant, Shaito, perhaps the most righteous man I have ever known. He who was most at home in the wilderness of your creation, he who came across the seas to find his rest here, with you. Though we never actually spoke–communication being hard as communion in this world–I feel that he came all this way only to have his life end nearer to you. Please protect his soul. In your name I pray: Don."
"Ee-haa," the mules say to one another, back at the factory. "Ee-haa?" they ask.
Don walks a few miles out to meet Florian as he comes back to town. Florian rides only one nag; the other he has let run free. When he sees that it is Don who has come out to meet him, he jumps from the steed, falls to his knees. Don grabs him by the arm and hauls him back up.
"No," Don says, "it isn’t me. This is your problem: you think too much. Do you suppose God really thinks about any of this?"
"Your logic seems false," Florian says.
"Exactly," Don says. "But look at it this way: God must surely be alone. I have never been alone. Who would want to be so godly?"
Florian sees his point and rises. They walk back into town together. Florian begins to cry, tells Don about the fate of Shaito.
Don nods his head, hums his tune. He lights a spliff and they share it on the way back to the factory.
With Florian to welcome back and Shaito’s life to celebrate, Rudolpho feels the mule carnival is destiny’s creation. He takes Inez out of the office and puts her to work with Dan, grooming and preparing the animals. He and Florian erect the big top. Don keeps the office afloat, prepares shipping manifests; in his free moments he is to paint a portrait of Shaito, to be wreathed with flowers and hung near the cash register.
Rico has become proficient at the juggling of four, five, six eggs. Or apples, even oranges.
Inez cries day and night for her latest loss. She brushes her tears into the coats of the mules. Dan is revitalized by her sadness. At one point he gathers enough courage to wrap a tender arm around her. He works hard and puts on a happy face, sweating into the grain he feeds the animals. Tears and sweat; and spit, which everyone has always shot into their water. Years later Dan will marry a pretty little blonde from South Dakota. She will give him three children, the youngest of whom they'll name Inez. When she is twelve Inez will take fifteenth place in a local bowling tournament. She'll be her father’s favorite by far.
The scheduled first morning of the carnival comes; everything is silent, still, and ready. The six of them stand shoulder to shoulder, waiting. Rudolpho stands next to Don stands next to Inez stands next to Dan stands next to Rico stands next to Florian. Just behind them is Don’s portrait of Shaito–a childish yellow sun shining above a field of red, pink, and purple flowers which have the vague shape of question marks. They stand that way until late afternoon, when not yet has a soul approached to inspect the restless, fenced animals.
"I guess no one reads newspapers anymore," Rudolpho says. With that, he lets go of a few loose dreams.
That night they throw a party for themselves under the big top. Everyone gets intoxicated. Rudolpho offers Rico a full-time position. Rico tells Florian of his truest feelings for him, opening a wide, empty chasm between them. Inez cries; Dan grins crookedly under his low-pulled brim. Don walks off into the sunset, thinking maybe Italy...
They fall asleep outside, huddled together for warmth underneath the big top. In the early morning the mules’ voices wake Dan. "Ee-haa!" they say to each other. "Ee-haa!" they scream to the sky. Dan gets up and stumbles over to the pen. In the middle many of the animals are huddled; there seems to be some kind of commotion. Dan climbs up on the highest rung of the fence to look in. He wipes his brow, whistles low, tugs the brim of his hat. In the midst of the animals there is a small calf of some kind, some newborn. A small, light, white animal. To Dan’s eyes, it appears winged. Hopefully it is winged.
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Steve Goerger holds an MFA from the University of Alaska-Fairbanks. He has worked as a writer, teacher, and librarian. He now makes his home in Salem, OR. His writing has recently appeared in the Ampersand Review, the South Dakota Review, and the Portland Review. |