Stars Always Shine (25 page)

Mitch was taken by the argument. Her skin itched and seemed to undulate like the slow movements of an exploring snake, and a warm, comforting glow soothed her stomach as it turned into a blue flame that reached for her heart. She sat straighter and prepared her statement, grateful for the rational jousting Place had incited in her. She dissected his argument; she charitably acknowledged the strong points of his position; she formulated careful equations with ideas, assumptions, and values. She explained to her husband that there were very few common denominators that could be clearly factored in, and finally she showed Place how in the mathematics of language and thought, “You’re always going to have that annoying remainder of one. It doesn’t fit neatly, Mr. Moreno. Not at all. Not at all.”

In the tentative early spring days, the two owners and the three ranch hands worked side by side reviving the fences, pastures, sheds, and other structures of the ranch from the long, wet winter. In the evenings Mitch and Jacqueline visited with Duchess and talked informally and even amiably about things each would like to do with various aspects of their lives. In the calming quiet that seemed to emanate from Duchess’s aura, the two women of the ranch shared more and more with one another.

Mickey too appeared to be more settled, and each afternoon when the work day was declared over he visited Bunny, often combing the burrs and twigs from the long, white feathers on his legs and feeding him carrots as a possessed gambler feeds a slot machine.

Salvador had wondered one early morning before beginning another day of work if the Kittles’ new animals were having a therapeutic effect on them. From the first day they had moved in, the Kittles no longer exuded such a strict sense of urgency or desperation. Duchess’s aged wisdom and Bunny’s complacent presence were like doses of comforting sedatives, and more work was accomplished with less stress now that Jacqueline and Mickey could benefit from the calming vibrations of their animals. Surveying the couple from a safe distance, Salvador reminded Mitch and Place how important it was to have someone or something to care for. There was a sense of humble pride in knowing that one animal, whether a biped or quadruped, had another to rely on, to care for, to cry to, and to comfort.

Standing short, bent, and haggard, Duchess displayed a sense of patient fortitude and faith. She was an example of constancy and a chamomile of an animal. Indirectly she reminded those who cared for her that long-range goals were vital to doing and being. Bunny, standing tall, straight, and vigorous, foretold of promise in what the future could bring, and residually his presence meant effort and reward. He was an animal that represented potential and possibility.

As the two new members of StarRidge Ranch modestly assumed center stage and Jacqueline and Mickey’s focused attention, the calves, burros, and other horses paid homage to Duchess’s fortitude and Bunny’s size. Calves bellowed in a chorusing tribute, burros blasted trumpets of praise, and gregarious horses whinnied in royal pride at the arrival of their new ranch mates.

The spring days became longer and StarRidge Ranch grew greener. White fences sparkled brightly, announcing who belonged where and who owned what. From the balance that Duchess and Bunny brought to the ranch and especially to the Kittles, the scales of sensibility and interaction evened out more reasonably than they ever had since the day the sixty-acre spread had oozed into the lives of Mitch, Place, Jacqueline, Mickey, and Salvador.

T
he three men stood clear as the third and final pine tree came crashing to the ground. Seismic vibrations shook the earth around the fallen trees, and shards of shattered branches cracked, snapped, and burst in explosions of long life cut dead by the unfeeling bite of Mickey’s chain saw with its long, phallic blade. Flat-topped stumps sat like warts, skinned blemishes that would remain rooted in the body of StarRidge Ranch. As soon as the earth settled and it was clearly safe to move on, Place and Salvador attacked the trees with hand saws and pruning shears, amputating dying limbs from their corpses. A high pile of entangled branches grew as the trees were turned into tapered logs.

Bunny stood in workmanlike devotion as he waited for Mickey and Salvador to adjust the choker of chain to one of the trees. Place held Bunny’s harness loosely. He looked closely into the enormous horse’s eyes and could see a distorted reflection of himself. Bunny stared back knowingly. Mickey checked the chains that ran on either side of Bunny, and once he was sure the log was secure, he clicked softly with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. Click, click, click and slowly, Bunny marched forward, dragging the lifeless log to an open space on the ranch. A skid road beveled into the earth as the last log was dragged to where Place and Salvador would begin incremental cuts of rounds that would later be split into fireplace-ready wedges.

Cutting logs would have to wait, however, and as Place and Salvador walked away from the death camp of dead wood, Mickey inspected Salvador’s round help house.

The plans were elaborate. Mickey spelled out carefully to Place as he translated to Salvador how the squat house would be transformed into a functional unit, complete with its own toilet and a new roof. Windows would have new panes of glass; the floors would be linoleumed and carpeted; walls would be painted and bordered “in farm colors” as Mickey explained, and new tenants would be able to rent this Cinderella of a house. Salvador, who was granted an extended but vague stay of employment by the Kittles, would be moved to a stall in the stall barn. His outhouse would follow him as they repositioned it closer to the backside of the barn.

Mickey was an artisan. Place and Salvador stood like eager apprentices while Mickey worked out problems on plywood with a broad, flat pencil. Salvador was impressed as Mickey circled the answer to an algebraic or geometric problem and then declared to himself that they would need this many two-by-fours, and that many sheets of sheetrock. From an ancient Aztec inheritance, Salvador explained to Place what and how Mickey was calculating. Mickey estimated the amount of linoleum and carpet that would be sufficient. They climbed to the top of the house, and Mickey figured out how many rolls of tarpaper and bales of shingles would patch up the perforated roof. He determined what types of nails would bring the little house into the current century. With his hammer, Mickey knocked on various parts of bearing walls, testing for stoutness and stability. He listened carefully, lightly tapping, reaching high and low—his hammer serving as a stethoscope and his diagnosis confirming what he suspected. They would proceed immediately with surgical diligence and precision.

Almost daily, Jacqueline and Mitch visited hardware stores, furniture lobbies, and specialty shops as they looked for just the right porcelain knobs, brass fixtures, appropriate doors, thick enough carpet, and a linoleum pattern that was ranch ready. Jacqueline ran her fingers and thumb over material that could be cut and sewn into tasteful curtains. Together, they judged various designs of wallpaper. At a paint store, Jacqueline held a swatch of curtain material against a panel of various colors. She asked Mitch for her opinion, and gratefully yet carefully, Mitch offered her point of view, always reminding herself to measure her words, to restrict a true judgment, deferring to Jacqueline the private pleasure of being the one who really knew how to appoint and furnish her own homes.

Over fluffy croissants and fancy, foamy coffee served in petite cups, Jacqueline and Mitch sat at an umbrellaed table in front of a fashionable European-style bakery. Men with sweaters draping their shoulders and women wearing riding boots sat at their own tables talking about wine, polo, and good years. Blondes with big teeth laughed indifferently, and men whose muscles were developed from “working out” rather than “working at” gave serious consideration to a menu that listed flavors and blends of chic coffees. Jacqueline explained in architectural detail the plans she had for StarRidge Ranch. The Kittles would bring two trailers onto the property—one was really a mid-sized mobile home—and they would situate them behind the remodeled help house. Mickey’s skills in eclectic plumbing would allow him, with the help of Salvador and Place, to tap the new dwelling’s plumbing into the aged septic system of the remodeled help house. More tenants—human ones—would move in to help offset the ranch mortgage by renting the trailers. A well-written ad using phrases like “country charm” and “quiet living” would bring them in.

Mitch shrank as she listened, trying to hide her shock at the news of what she considered would develop into StarRidge Mobile Home Park. She tried to recall what she knew about landlord and tenant law. More vital to her concerns and to those who presently lived on the ranch, Mitch wondered about health codes, fire codes, building codes; a collection of codes and county regulations snapped in front of her as she mentally listed the possibilities and improbabilities. Jacqueline casually and with familiarity raised her hand to summon a garçon, and as he returned with another dainty cup of creamed coffee with chocolate shavings slowly disappearing in it, she worked out the figures for Mitch to show how the trailer park business could be as lucrative as the horse business.

Mentally Mitch evaluated the backward progression of StarRidge Ranch as she explained to Place and Salvador what would be occurring in the near future and how the living arrangements would be altered.

Place maintained his superior smugness about the Kittles, wearing an I-told-you-so expression on his face and commenting, “Yeah, they’re going to alter this place like a bad plastic surgeon alters an already fine face.”

Salvador now privately hated the Kittles and he searched his memory to see if he had ever hated anyone in his life before. He knew that his growing rage was wasted energy. Living in the barn was only temporary, and really all life was, but he interjected to ask, “¿Cómo voy a comer?” Then he answered his own question about how he would eat with an explanation of how he could not cook in the barn: “No puedo cocinar en el barn. ¿Qué creen ellos?” And again he answered his own question, this one about what the Kittles could be thinking: “Creen que soy como un burro. ¡No! Ni los burros ni los otros animales se tratan así.” He choked on his last words as the emotion constricted his throat and he shook his head as he stared over at where his new home would be.

“Poco a poco,” Mitch counseled as she stared at the two men. “I’ll talk to both of those freaks and see if we can work something out. For now, let’s just proceed with their game plan and not try to change anything. What they don’t know is that we’ll be calling the plays soon.”

Place started early on the help house, stripping it of dead and decaying material. He peeled the weather-worn shingles from the roof as if peeling skin from a sunburned body, and with the spring breeze fanning him, he enjoyed the life of a carpenter. It was a constructive life. It was a productive life. He, with Mickey’s guidance and Salvador’s assistance—once the animals were fed and cared for—could help to resurrect the short shack of a house. It would be a new life, a new beginning, building permits notwithstanding, and to bring life to something that was dying was rewarding.

Mickey assigned specific hammers and tape measures to both Place and Salvador and told them to keep them. Occasionally he would gift them with various things like a nail bag or utility belt to hold various tools. Each morning, Place and Salvador cinched their tool belts with deliberate confidence. They liked the feel of the weight that hugged their waists—holstered tools that they knew how to use or were learning about, and from that knowledge a strange sense of assured power. They each earned a personal saw, and Place and Salvador laughed as they joked about the superior dientes or teeth of their respective new tools.

One day after many hours of wrenching clinging, screaming nails from their once secure strongholds and rebuilding walls and window joists, Mickey approached the deck of the ranch house where Place and Salvador sat. Casually, he rewarded each man with a level. Place stood and inspected the instrument and thanked Mickey. Oddly, Place liked Mickey. He admired him. He relented to the ensnaring force of knowledge as he had in college when professors offered their regal, doubtless intelligence and persuasive suggestions. Salvador placed the level on the picnic table and looked carefully as one would look through a microscope or telescope. A bubble of fluid leaned dramatically to the leftmost end of the little glass cylinder. He nodded his head approvingly as Place caressed his new tool and found an appropriate home for it in his utility belt. He loved his tools, especially because they came from Mickey, the maestro who could master angles, see designs where none existed, and bring life to empty spaces. Tools from Mickey were merit badges, and in his enthusiasm and new learning, Place wanted more.

Inside the help house, Place and Salvador banged in nails as the walls were converted to an unpainted yet brighter and less blemished complexion. They measured and cut rectangles of plywood to fit flush with other sheets of wood that gave the walls new skin. They hardly spoke as music from a dilapidated radio groaned out sad songs in Spanish. Steadily, they raced the sun to see if they could finish the living room walls and move on to another room of the house the next day, each day measuring their success and each day bringing more learning.