The Reality of a Story Writer

by Bob Johnson

Charlie White Cloud glimpsed the quick glint of reflected sunlight as he kneeled down on a dried greasewood plant, vegetation that was barely surviving in the hot New Mexico summer. He knew immediately what had caused it and who was behind the binoculars in the trees six hundred yards away. The shimmering hot afternoon air was not playing tricks on his trained eyes. Charlie had tracked his prey for three days and this was as close as he had gotten to Levi Little Pony. That six hundred yards may as well been six miles. The only way he could reach that destination was to ride down the backside of the flat butte he stood on, wind around the arroyos that were like a spider’s web in that low lying land, then climb another rocky ridge. He knew it was a waste of time.

He looked high in the thin blue sky to see a lone red-tailed hawk ride the upward push of the hot air currents, his head most likely swiveling to look for a desert mouse or rabbit that is unaware of any pending danger.

“What do ya see?” sheriff Wyatt Tomes asked as he swatted away a swarm of black flies that seemed to be everywhere.

The tall lanky man, with a round face sporting a huge bushy mustache, and a mean nasty scar across his nose looked down with expectation.

“Got nothing.” Charlie lied.

He knew Tomes would continue the chase no matter how fruitless the continued effort would be.

The sheriff of Silver City and a small band of deputized locals had followed their tracker  through the Gila Wilderness and most of those boys were getting pretty disgusted with the chase.

Charlie, earlier in the week, was quite happy just sitting outside the swinging doors of the Cowboy Saloon, watching the tumble weeds being sent on down the street by an ever present warm wind. The sheriff had made him an offer of enough cash to keep him in good straits throughout the winter.

“Levi Little Pony done robbed the Wells Fargo Bank in Buckhorn and that lazy sumbitch Yankee that got appointed lawman in that god forsaken town got there shut the cell door on his leg and is laid up. I been elected to catch that scalawag and bring him in.” Tomes spouted.

“I need you to lead this posse and track down that crazy Indian. We catch him, you get five percent of the take from the bank. You the only one around these parts that I believe can do the job. What say, Charlie?” Tomes asked.

“I’d be willing to pay you a little something out of my own pocket for each day we are on the trail. Catch him or not you still get paid.” The man added.

Levi Little Pony and Charlie had been scouts together for the Eighth Calvary in the New Mexico, Arizona area for a long time. On one expedition the two were part of a troop led by Lieutenant Sylas Somerby that came on a group of friendly Hualapai Indians. Somerby, for some reason, gave the order to round up the tribe and move them to another area. There was a disagreement with the chief of the group.

A skirmish that soon ensued left almost every buck, squaw, and child dead at the hands of the U.S. Calvary. A seething Little Pony resigned immediately because of that type of action, but was belittled by the command, and his pay was withheld for some unknown reason.

“Come with me, Charlie White Cloud the younger scout said.

“This is not a good place to be. It hurts my heart to be here.” Little Pony said in a quiet moment.

“I will not leave but it is important for you to do what you think is right. Never look back at your actions and feel badly. You are a good man and must remain so. Good travels Levi Little Pony.” Charlie said as he held his arm up in the air as a sign of peace.

 It was shortly after that time that Levi Little Pony began to wage his own war.

He became a legend in the land, as he relieved the whites of whatever valuable they have had, stole guns and goods from the U.S. Army every chance he had, stopped wagons on the trail, and distributed the booty to the displaced Indian tribes in the area.

“I think we ought to consider going home.” Charlie said as he stood up and squinted at the lawman sitting on his horse.

“Yea, Wyatt, one of the newly appointed posse members said, I got to get back to the store, my wife can’t run it on her own.”

“I agree, another said, we’ve wasted enough time on another law man’s problem.”

Sheriff Tomes sat in his saddle looking out across the vast wasteland of scrub, rocks, and trees.

“No, I was given the responsibility of getting this guy and By God, I’m going to do it.” The sheriff said with some conviction.

“Well Sheriff, Charlie White Cloud said, it looks like you’re on your own. I’m heading back to town.”

Wyatt Tomes narrowed his eyes and looked at the former scout.

“You be passing up a passel of money, you know.” He said.

“Not worth it, Charlie said, and started to walk toward his pony.

Just then a gun shot rang out.

“What a bunch of crap, Adam Bennett said, as he ripped the paper out of his old Smith-Corona, what do I know about cowboys and Indians?”

Adam looked down at what he had written, shook his head, tore up the few pages he had typed into little pieces, and threw them unceremoniously into the overflowing garbage can that stood in the corner of his bedroom.

“I am not a Louis L’Amour or McMurtry, not even close.” Adam said as he chastised himself.

“So why am I wasting my time writing this drivel.” He continued in a private diatribe.

The writer wondered how this story had even materialized. This was even worse than the writer’s block he had been experiencing. It was something at least he thought, but what?

“I need to get a drink, clear my head.” He muttered.

The ex-factory worker turned writer grabbed his pea coat, neck scarf, red beret, and left his apartment.

He wondered why he had listened to people who said he had real talent for writing. They gushed over his seasonal stories he had submitted to the Dollar General quarterly newspaper generated by his employer. The little poems he included in cards and letters to friends and family were well received, and a professor,teaching an evening courses he attended, said he should continue to pursue the idea of being a writer.

“Maybe I really just wanted to get away from that company’s distribution center, a lousy job I had held onto for twelve years doing the same things over and over again.” He said to himself.

His wife of four years was long gone, their marriage a mistake from the beginning. She had said she was pregnant and Adam did the right thing and married Laurie. It turned out to be a lie, she wasn’t, and things went downhill from there. She continued to live a life as if she was free and single while Adam added overtime hours every week just to make ends meet. They had nothing to show for the years together when they finally and legally divorced. No love lost, no tears, no anger, but more of a mutual relief.

Adam started putting together thoughts of their relationship and the consequential parting then put it down on paper. It was not great but honest. He submitted his work to a small literary magazine and the effort was accepted for publication. The money he received wasn’t much, but in his mind he could do more and do it better. He chucked his job, got a little apartment and began to live a bohemian lifestyle. Simple, spartan, and frugal.

He kept telling himself the next big deal was just around the corner.

What was around the corner, however, was a dive bar aptly named the Dead End.

Adam pushed open the old beat up door to the entrance of the old bar and was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The place had been around for years, the ancient dark wood fixtures and back bar darkened even more by years of tavern air. He looked up and down the long bar, the usual customers sitting in their usual spots. It wasn’t even noon. A Dean Martin song was playing on an antique juke box along the back wall.

“Hey Abe, what’s happening?” yelled the voice of one of the characters in the place.

Adam somehow had been bestowed the nickname by one of the patrons months ago. With the muddled mind of a drunk, the old boy was putting together the first and last initials of those around him, and thought himself quite clever to come up with Abe for Adam Bennett. Most of the folks since, assumed that was his name. So Abe it was.

“Just taking a break from the typewriter, Phil.” Adam answered.

“Hey, you got Hemingway shaking in his boots, for fear he’ll be replaced?” came a loud voice and a cackle from an old gal that Adam knew only as Bloody Mary.

The laugh turned into a deep raspy cough. Her cigarette never left her mouth.

“Just a coffee, Jack.” Adam told the bartender.

The bartender brought over an oversized heavy duty mug filled with something that looked like coffee, smelled like coffee, but didn’t taste much like the stuff. A couple sugars and creams and it was palatable.

“You making a fresh pot?” Adam asked Jack.

The bartender put down the racing form he was studying, looked a bit perturbed at Adam, and began to start another supply of the stuff.

Adam sat there looking around the bar, taking everything in, trying to form some ideas for another story, or novel, or poem, or just something. Nothing was happening. The imagination was taking a vacation and there was no notification that it may be back soon.

The wannabe writer sat for another hour, downed a couple more cups of coffee, read the local newspaper that had been left, talked small talk with a young lady who had just gotten into an argument with her boyfriend and she easily parlayed that drama into drinks from the regulars, then quietly left the place.

Wired on coffee, Adam grabbed a sub sandwich from Porky’s, a nearby sandwich place, and set off back to his apartment.

“I’ll just sit at the desk and see what happens.” He decided as he spoke again to himself.

He had been doing a lot of that lately.

He sat and stared at the paper in the typewriter. Soon the clacking of the keys began.

All of their riders quickly twisted their heads toward the rear. They could see a lone rider racing across the open grass land. In pursuit were two fellows pushing their horses as hard as they could. The two were firing handguns as they rode.

“Alright, I guess we better see what that’s all about.” The sheriff said.

The group turned their horses and spurred them off into the direction of the action.

Charlie White Cloud stood still and gazed in the direction he had been looking earlier. He raised his arm high over his head, his hand in a fist. Seconds later, a lone figure emerged from the bush, and gave the same motion back. Charlie White Cloud jumped on his horse and headed back to Silver City.

Hours later the sheriff, the deputized posse, and another lone rider slowly rode down Main Street past the kicked back chair Charlie White Cloud was sitting in and stopped at the jail.

The tired bunch straggled past him as they walked into the tavern, no doubt looking for something to wash the trail dust down. They were a sorry looking bunch.

“Well, we never caught up to Little Pony, but we nabbed ourselves a small time rustler.  He was picking a couple of head from the Bar J, when he was sighted a couple cowpunchers and lit off. We hadn’t come up when we did those two cowboys chasing him would have strung him up right there and then.” The excited store owner spouted.

“I guess the Sheriff’s going back out then.” Charlie asked.

“Nah, he’s done. I think common sense caught up to him.” Was the answer.

Charlie White Cloud leaned back in his chair until it hit the wall. He dropped his hat over his eyes and took a nap.

“Well that’s all well and good but that must be the end of the story.” Adam muttered.

“Now what.” He continued on his own conversation.

Adam sat as his desk wondering where he came up with such a story. Nothing he had ever written before had anything to do with the old west or even the 1800’s. He decided it must be a desperation from somewhere in the far dark reaches of his mind. Charlie White Cloud, Levi Little Pony, and Wyatt Tomes had appeared from nowhere.

“I’m out of here!” Adam said to no one, again grabbed his warm weather gear and left his apartment.

He stood at the bottom of the steps to his building, listening to the noises of the small city. The constant traffic, interspersed with an occasional obnoxious horn honking, a jack hammer chipping away at some concrete or pavement, some kids yelling at each other as they kicked at a ball in the park across the street, and a couple in his apartment behind him arguing in obnoxiously loud voices about some matter.

Adam tried hard to conjure up some idea or story in his head that would involve any or all of what he was experiencing. Nothing was there.  He turned and trudged downtown. Las Cruces had always been a special place for Adam ever since he had moved here with his mother, the artist. He was nine years old and the life change from what he had experienced in Los Angeles was wonderful. He immediately made friends in the neighborhood and at school, participated in sports, and was happy. None of those things happened in Los Angeles. He and his mother left an unhappy domestic situation and an alcoholic abusive father. She, as a painter, found a community of like-minded people and became successful in her own right. The air was clear, the weather was temperate, and the people were friendly.

“I think I’ll hit a matinee and chill.” Adam muttered as he walked in no particular hurry.

The marquee of the Rio Grande theatre was showing some oldies, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and the Clockwork Orange. He decided it would be a nice distraction and purchased his ticket at the front service booth, something that was disappearing from the cinema scene.  A giant popcorn and soda was a must and he settle for a seat in the exact center of the sparsely attended theatre.

The entertainment ended, and the bottoms of the popcorn and soda containers were empty. Adam got up to leave. He turned to the aisle and stopped. Four seats away was his ex-wife and some cowboy so engaged in romance they weren’t aware the films had ended. He was shocked, then angry, then dismayed, then amused. He turned and walked in the other direction. That cowboy, Laurie’s date of the day was, at one time, his supervisor at Dollar General, Marshall Wilkins. The man was old enough to he her father, but Adam guessed that wasn’t part of the old boy’s thinking right at the moment.

He laughed quietly as he exited the building. She certainly got around.

“Maybe she’ll rope old Marshall like she did me.” He said to himself.

“And..maybe there’s a story there.” He said while he worked his brain for an idea.

Adam was amazed, after reading author’s bios, of how many had horrendous childhoods, or wartime experiences that had marred their life, or love lives gone bad, or sexual orientation confusion. He thought maybe his marriage, the absence of love, the subsequent divorce, and the aftermath might make fodder for a good story. He decided to think on it.

Adam stopped at Image Ideas, a locally owned stationary and office supply business. He liked trading with the little guy rather than a big box corporation. The money stayed in the community that way. He grabbed a ream of paper and walked to the front.

“I’ll be right with you.” A voice called from somewhere.

“No problem, I’m in no hurry.” Adam answered to the voice.

A young lady with a beautiful smile moved toward him from behind a pile of boxes.

“We just got a huge shipment in and I’m trying to get it all put away before the end of the day.” The woman explained.

“I’ll be quick with this single purchase and let you get back to it.” Adam said.

He was taken by her dark hair, large brown eyes, beautiful smile, and dusky skin. He thought she must have been of Mexican or Indian heritage.

“My name’s Adam, I’m a writer, that’s why I need the paper.” He said then immediately wondered why he had to add all that idiotic information.

“I’m glad to meet you, Adam, I’m Lucy.” She replied.

“Have you worked here long, Adam asked, I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

“I moved down from Silver City last month. There are more job opportunities for me here. This one opened up immediately so here I am.” She explained as held her arms open in front of her.

“What do you write?” she asked.

“Oh, a little of this and that. Mostly just a little. I’m working on a story now but it’s going slow. A lot of this ream of paper will end up in the recycle container, I’m sure.” Adam said with a smile.

Lucy laughed politely then began to walked back to her work.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Adam said over the noise of the entrance bell ringing above his head.

She absentmindedly gave a small wave and had already picked up some paperwork on the top box of the shipment.

Nice girl, Adam thought.

He turned his attention to the misery concept of writing and how he could make that work for him.

“Maybe I can get some thoughts from an insane asylum, or Nurse Ratched. Louise Fletcher was such a formidable opponent for McMurphy in that flick.” Adam said to himself as he walked along.

An older couple walking hand in hand gave him an odd look as they passed. He could understand that reaction. Crazy schizoid ranting as he walks the community streets! A headline.

Adam decided to pass on an evening meal as a bushel of popcorn still possessed a large portion of his stomach. He had the money for food, but his paltry savings, soon to disappear, introduced him to a life of cheap, not cheap, frugal living. He headed up the street to his apartment.

The sun was beginning to drop down over the peaks of the Anacacho mountain range, and the temperature was starting to dip quickly. The bright red beret that he had stashed in his coat pocket came out and covered his head. His mother had given him the cap as a present when he announced he was going to try writing. She said he must “look the part.” It didn’t keep much heat on the old noggin.

Adam walked into his apartment, looked around at the mess of dirty dishes, magazines and newspaper strewn about, an unmade bed and an overflowing garbage can.

“Ah, home sweet home.” He said loudly to himself.

He made a cup of instant coffee, took off his shoes, tucked his newly purchased ream of paper on a book case shelf, and sat down at the typewriter. He put his fingers on the keys and…waited. He decided he was wasting his time right at that moment.

The writer got back up, dumped the cooling coffee down the sink drain, flopped back on his worn out couch, grabbed a book he had started reading, a biography of William Randolph Hearst, and was soon asleep. The last thoughts for the day was of the eccentricities of the rich.

The noise of an obnoxious group of crows in the trees outside his window woke him from a deep sleep. He slowly moved off the couch, grimacing the entire time. That piece of furniture was never meant to sleep on he had decided long ago. He stretched his legs and back, and worked his neck back and forth. He grabbed an apple and headed back to his desk.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” He ordered to himself.

Levi Little Pony watched the fancy horse and buggy bounce and sway across the open land. A trail of dust kicked up behind the rig. A rich man named Hearst, George Hearst, had just made a deal to buy the land that Little Pony had owned for just a short time. It didn’t seem real.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Little Pony, the well-dressed gentleman said, I’ll give you any amount you say this land is worth and then give you more!”

Levi wasn’t really interested in selling the land he had pitched his teepee on. The view, overlooking the new town of Pleasanton, was spectacular, and he was happy here. He would not forget the memory of how he got the money to buy the land, nor forget the anger and vengeance he once felt toward the world. He had settled down, given money to poor tribes, orphanages, schools and churches. He basically was living off the land, growing crops and hunting meat. He now had a young wife, a member of the small Tolowa tribe, and a young son he names Louis. His life had become simple and meaningful. He was hesitant.

“Mr. Hearst, I appreciate the offer but I don’t really need much money as we are a simple people and live a simple life.” Levi explained.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I own and operate several gold mining operations from here to San Francisco. What if I give you a share of ownership and build you a house anywhere you tell me you want to live.” The man offered.

Levi Little Pony liked the idea of a warm safe house for his family, and had often looked at land closer to the mountains.

“Okay, Mr. Hearst, we have a deal.” The short Indian replied.

“Fine, wonderful!” the man said with glee.

He grabbed his pocket watch and glanced at it.

“Got to get going, but I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you. Lots more things happening before 1880 ends, and I’m doing them all. Have a fine day, sir!” he said as he headed for his buggy.

“Now where did that come from?” Adam said incredulously.

He stared at what he had written and shook his head as if the brain needed realigning. He had had no intention of continuing with some outlaw Native American. He pulled the paper out quickly making a zipping sound, stared again at the words, and laid his work face down on the edge of the desk.

“George Hearst, for Pete’s sake!” he exclaimed.

The name that came out of the air was the father of William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper magnate and multi-millionaire. The father had been a mining engineer and very rich. Adam decided it must have been a residual memory he had gleaned from the biography he had read the night before. Makes sense, he thought to himself.

Adam looked again at the page he had just finished typing. The ribbon was on its last legs. He searched for a spare to no avail and decided to buy another and possibly get a chance to talk to the young woman he had met the day before. He was quickly out the door.

He was without a vehicle as he had sold the old beater a few months before. The city bus stopped near his apartment building, and the fare was inconsequential. He did, however, have a bicycle that he liked to ride when the weather was nice. Today was such a day. He unlocked the old ten speed Raleigh, tested the tires, donned a helmet and headed on down the street. The warm breeze was a pleasant sensation on his face, and a nice feeling of freedom came about. He dodged a few potholes, gave his best effort to obey the traffic rules, and was in front of the stationary shop in less than ten minutes.

“Hi, again!” Adam said brightly as he came through the storefront door.

The young lady looked up and smiled then said, “two days in a row, wow.”

“I see you got all the boxes put away, looks very nice.” Adam said as he looked around the shop.

Actually he had no idea what it had looked like before, or even if things were straightened out and merchandised or not. But he felt he needed to say something positive.

“I’m here to pick up a typewriter ribbon for my old Smith-Corona.” Adam said.

The young lady stared at him.

“You use a typewriter?” she asked.

“Don’t you have a computer and a printer?” she added.

“I’ve always used a manual typewriter. I feel that the words I type are more real. I can see and hear each and every word show up on a sheet of paper. It gives me a great feeling of accomplishment.” Adam explained.

The truth was that Adam had tried to use a computer. He was the recipient of an old Mac the company was tossing as they had completely upgraded their technical division. He found a used printer that cost almost nothing and set about to improve his connection with real world of computers. In two weeks, both items were sitting in a dumpster awaiting final disposition. He had constantly encountered one problem or the other. It just wasn’t going to work and he chose to return to the basics.

He didn’t expect the lady, Lucy, he thought was her name, to understand. In fact many of his friends question that very same thing. Computers and printers were too much money and, to Adam, gave no feeling of personal experiences.

“I don’t even know if we have ribbons.” She said.

“They are behind the counter in the drawer just to the left of the cash register.” Adam said, having bought a few from the owner.

“You’re right.” The young lady said as she discovered the storage place.

Adam paid for the ribbon, and wandered around the store for a few more minutes. He knew it was just so he could glance up at the new employee a few more times.

He took a chance.

“Do you get a coffee break by any chance? I’d like to treat you to a coffee and pastry at the Royal Bean across the street as kind of a welcome to Las Cruces thing.” Adam asked with uncertainty.

“I break at ten this morning, I’ll meet you there, okay?” she said.

“Perfect, I’ve got some other errands to run so I’ll see you there.” He said.

Adam had absolutely nothing to do, but it sounded better than saying he would hang outside the building until it was time for coffee.

The coffee shop was busy with downtown business people taking a mid-morning get away from their jobs, also. Adam and Lucy found a small table in the back that allowed for a little more quiet. Adam ordered a coffee, black, and Lucy decided on an expresso drink called a Macchiato.  They shared a large almond croissant. They talked about the weather, her work, downtown businesses, and got around to his writing.

“What are you working on now, Adam?” Lucy asked with a genuine look.

“I am having a devil of a time coming up with a story line. My mind blanks out and nothing seems to come around. For some reason though, a little tale of cowboys and Indians, and rich white people has popped up in my brain and seems to write itself. It makes no sense and I can’t figure out where the story is headed. I’ve decided my brain synapses are misfiring and that is what is coming out of it.” Adam explained then laughed.

He coffee partner laughed with him.

“There must be a reason for it. She said. Just let it flow and see what happens.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Adam replied.

Lucy glanced at the big clock behind the counter.

“Got to go, thanks for your invite.” Lucy said, got up quickly and left the coffee shop.

Adam enjoyed his time with her and decided he needed to repeat the invite again. Soon.

“I haven’t seen Mom in a while, I think I’ll pedal over and see what she’s up to.” Adam said to nobody as he jumped on his bicycle.

His mother lived in a large studio apartment that was basically an artist co-op. There was lots of window which was conducive to bringing adequate light to the artist’s work areas. The place was noisy, open, and most of the occupants, he believed came from another planet. His Mom included.

“Mom! “Adam yelled as he reached the third floor walkup.

“Coming, coming.” The voice called from the other side of the multicolored door.

His mother opened the door , smiled then quickly walked away. She was wearing a light blue painter smock, neon green knee high socks, the obligatory Birkenstock sandals, and was balancing a large glass of wine and a paint brush in one hand. She headed around the corner to her inner sanctum painting studio.

“Hi Mom, I thought I’d come by and see what was going on with y…” he stopped speaking.

Today, apparently was the day that his mother was painting a nude. The model, a very large woman, easily in her sixties, laid out on a sofa chair, a floral crown drooping over one eye, and an almost empty wine glass tucked between her legs, presented herself.

“Adam, this is Hazel. Hazel with is my son the writer.” His mother said by way of introduction.

“Glad to meet you, son. While you’re standing there could you grab that Pinot and fill my glass please.”  Hazel said without concern.

Adam tried to focus on the task at hand while he poured the wine into the stemmed container almost hidden by the old lady’s crotch.

“Thank you, your Mother is a fine painter, just look at her work.” Hazel said with just a bit of a word slur.

Adam glanced at the smear of paint on the canvas. It didn’t look like anything, but that was how his Mother painted. And she sold them, a lot of them.

“Just came by to say hi, give you my love, and take off.” Adam said backing away from the scene.

“Honey, let’s do supper soon, okay.” His mother said all the time looking at her masterpiece.

“Sure Mom, later.” Adam said and slipped out the door.

He smiled at the situation he had just left, shuddered, and jumped back on the bike. Time to head home.

Adam wondered what was going on at the Dead End, and leaned his bike up against the front, covered with brick painted black. This place was never decorated except for the string of Christmas lights that adorned the front façade year round. The entire look was never meant to entice somebody driving by to try out the ambience and refreshments. It was for the locals and the regulars. And nobody else.

Adam walked in to the usual smell, and the usual crowd. Don’t these people have homes he wondered?

“How about a double Jack with a beer back.” Adam said.

Three or four heads turned and looked at the most recent customer.

“Tough day, Abe?” one of them asked,

“No, I just thought I’d have a little something to wipe out a vision I had just a short time ago.” He answered.

Then he shuddered.

One thing about the bar being so close to his apartment, he could walk his bicycle home, and that is exactly what he had to do. He had overdone things, which happened occasionally and he knew he would pay for it the next morning. It didn’t help that everyone that came in bought the poor brooding writer a drink, either.

Morning came quickly, too quickly. He needed something on his stomach. He fixed some eggs and toast, but first scraping off the beginnings of mold on the crust. The toaster heat would kill anything growing he decided.

His head full of ideas for writing, he sat at the desk. Adventures with a crazy artist painter? Nudes and other ugly things? That had a nice ring. Tavern regulars? Idiots who don’t know when to quit drinking? Yes he had a lot of ideas.

Adam found the new ribbon in his discarded coat pocket and loaded it on the typewriter. Now again, here we go.

“Let’s see if you have the real stuff.” He said as he laid his hands on the starting position keys.

Charlie White Cloud stood on a street corner, a sturdy hickory cane helping him keep his balance. He was old, he didn’t have an exact number but was born before the Civil War began. The year was 1927, so he figured he must be at least seventy years. His vision was cloudy, and he had not been able to teach tracking or hunting to the many white folks who had settled in the area and wanted those skills.

Silver City was the same only bigger. The main street was paved with packed gravel, but the board walks still fronted all the towns businesses. Everyone was in a big hurry to go somewhere. He was headed back to his lean-to shack behind the now quiet blacksmith shop. With the advent of those automobiles, a smithy’s work load was small and scarce.

Adam stopped typing. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t thinking these thoughts that were appearing on the paper. Maybe he was losing his mind. Something not real was happening and he was beginning to feel those little knots of fear closing around him. 1927? Unreal. He thought he might as well tell the typewriter to do its own thing and he would come back after it was done. A magic spell? Had he been secretly hypnotized?  What was going on?

He got up and looked around his apartment, then outside, then opened the door and peered into the hallway. Everything was normal except for what he was typing. His mind was spinning.

“Okay, he thought, if that’s the way it’s going to be then so be it!” he said to himself.

Adam slowly moved to his desk, rolled a clean sheet of paper into the little Smith-Corona and began to type one more time.

My mother, the artist, can sometimes appear to be a little crazy. She loves life and has fun living it.

“Now that’s more like it!” Adam said and slammed his hand down on the desk.

He pulled the sheet out and inserted another. He sat still for a moment then began again to type. He saw what was appearing across the page and groaned.

Suddenly a bright red car slowly drove past. It was the fanciest auto that Charlie had ever seen. It had rubber tires with wagon wheel type spokes, large front headlamps, and another tire strapped on the back. The car looked like no other. It stopped just ahead of Charlie, and a young man, jauntily stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was wearing a fancy tweed suit, a leather helmet and goggles. He looked ridiculous, Charlie thought.

He approached and spoke softly.

Charlie could see he had some Indian blood in him.

“I wonder, sir, if you could tell me where I might find the city offices.” He said with a clear voice.

“What kind of car are you operating?” Charlie asked ignoring the question.

“That, the young man pointed to the machine, is a 1926 Packard Twin 6 Roadster. A very fine automobile indeed.”

Charlie, stepped off the board walk, and wandered around the thing. He wasn’t impressed.

“That thing is fine, the old Indian muttered, as long as you have a road to drive it on. Get it off the trail and it is worthless.” 

The young owner laughed, “True enough, it does have limitation. Give me a paint or a pinto anytime.”

“Now, how about directing me to the city offices, uh, I didn’t catch your name.” the young man said.

“Names Charlie, Charlie White Cloud.” The old man said under his breath.

The young man’s demeanor changed immediately. He quickly stepped forward and spoke.

“I wish to shake your hand if I may.” He said.

Charlie extending his hand and the man gripped it very lightly, shook it up and down once, and stood back.

“I am honored to meet the respected Charlie White Cloud, my name is Louis Little Pony.” He said quietly.

“I think you knew my father Levi Little Pony.” He continued.

Charlie White Cloud stared silently at the young man, the son of a good friend from long ago.

“Yes, we were scouts back in the sixties for the Army.” Charlie said.

“My father died two years ago, but told the story many times of how you tracked him for days only to let him escape. He admitted his wrongdoing, and the reasoning he used to be that way. My father, for many years continued to make things right by sharing what he had stolen with those in need. I feel no shame for calling him my father.” Louis Little Pony said.

“Yes, he was a good man, and a good friend.” Charlie said as he nodded his head.

It had been many years since he had thought of the two wild young Indians racing across hills and plains on their horses, competing in gun and arrow shooting, and trying to best each other with tracking skills. Yes a long time ago.

“I have business that I must carry out now, then find a hotel room. I plan and being here for a while. I would like to buy you a meal if you allow me to.” Louis said.

“I’ll be right over on that chair, he said as he pointed to his usual resting spot in front of the Silver City Saloon, which was the same old ragged place they called the Cowboy Bar for years. You can find me there when you are done with your affairs. In the meantime I will work up an appetite. We will eat at the Alamo Café. They have good food.”

Charlie watch the son of the notorious Levi Little Pony, start up his machine and drive down the street.

“What will they think of next, movie pictures in your own home?” he exclaimed.

“Too damned many new things.” Charlie said then said back in his chair.

Close to an hour later, Louis Little Pony walked toward Charlie. He had changed his clothes and now looked like a real person, not some dandy, Charlie thought. He had tied a band around his head and had the true Indian look. A large turquoise stone on a necklace and moccasins completed the dress.

“I’m all checked in for a month. I figure it will take that long to get things settled. Let’s go eat.” Louis said.

Charlie White Cloud did not ask questions as was his nature and culture.

The two walked into the restaurant and sat at one of the tables. A middle aged man with slicked down hair and a pencil thin mustache approached them. He eyed the two of them, giving Charlie a slight nod.

Louis Little Pony spoke quietly but clearly.

“We would like two of your biggest steaks, and all the trimmings. I want my friend to get his fill, as he has told me he has a great appetite.” The young man said with a slight smile.

The proprietor took a step back and looked at the two for a minute.

“Do you have the money for this, I’m not in the business of charity. This food costs money.” He spouted with a slight sneer on his face.

Louis Little Pony reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a coin. He quietly set it in front of the man. The man’s eyes got big and his demeanor changed immediately. The coin was a twenty dollar gold piece.

“I have plenty of money, Louis Little Pony said to his guest, but the Indian shouldn’t have to buy respect. Anyway I would like to share with you some things about my family and my father.”

The young son of Levi Little Pony told of his father’s need to give all his ill-gotten gains away. He moved to a teepee on land he owned, living a quiet and peaceful life. He told of a rich man from the East offering him large sums of money to purchase the land. He told of his father’s decision to accept ownership in a business of gold mining, not thinking anything would come of it.

“My father refused to take money from that business as he had no need for what he knew of finances was minimal. He raised me, with love, and continued the simple life until the day he died.” Louis said.

Louis told of attending schools and studying business. He agreed to follow what his father had wished for any monies that came from the mines. That was to give back in whatever was deemed fit as reparation for the damage he inflicted in the Silver City area.

“I was astounded by the sheer size of the estate when my father passed.” Louis Little Pony said.

“It was thousands and thousands of dollars, just impossible to imagine.” He continued.

“I admit I have spent some of the money on frivolous things, like my car for example, but I do not act like I am a rich person. That would go against what I have learned.” Louis said.

Charlie sat quietly and listened to the story, taking a bite of the juicy steak that had been set in front of him. He said nothing.

“I have a plan I need to offer the city, and I hope they agree to my father’s gift. I am going to suggest that a new school be built. I am also willing to pay for housing for as many teachers as it takes for the children of the community to be education. I am going to suggest that I will also pay for a new jail and sheriff’s office to be constructed.” It seems like a tall order, but I have more than enough money for it all.” Louis said quietly.

“What do you think?” the young man asked.

Charlie White Cloud looked off into a distance for a moment then spoke.

“Your father would approve. He was a very proud man, a good man, and, although he rode down the wrong road for a period of time, a just man. I believe he would be proud of what you are trying to achieve.” He said.

The young man briefly teared up but smiled.

“Thank you, Charlie White Cloud. May father was not wrong about you.” Louis said then moved his chair away from the table and stood up.

“I hope to spend many days seeking your wisdom.” Louis said and left the place.

Charlie, his belly full, and his mind happy, slowly walked back to his place.

Adam quit worrying about how and why he was telling a story that was appearing out of thin air. He was now starting to wonder if there might be an ending.

The writer, with his best effort, was completely lost. He didn’t know any other in his profession that he could talk with about this phenomenon. He certainly wouldn’t ask his mother about it. She would bring out the tarot cards, or crystals, or call her spiritual advisor. Not going there!  He, once again, got outside to breathe some fresh air and clear his head.

He was startled as he walked down the steps, by the sight of four people dressed in Native American indian garb, the kind of clothing that Hollywood would have dressed them in. One was wearing a full war bonnet, and others had single or double feathers tucked in their headband. Moccasins completed the ensemble. They looked at Adam, and must have noticed his look of confusion.

“We’re headed down to the Act Theatre. We all have bit parts in the theatre production. Don’t worry we won’t try to take your scalp.” One said and they all laughed in unison.

“What’s the name of the play?” Adam asked.

“The Renegade Indian.  Story about a rouge Indian, his friends, and enemies. Pretty good. You ought to come and see it.” He answered.

Adam stood there with his mouth open for the longest time, turned to the right, and put some distance between himself and the actors.

“That can’t be a coincidence can it?” he said out loud.

Adam Bennett decided he was going crazy. He kept walking. It was dark and the moon overhead shone his way back to the apartment. The racing mind had quieted and he was tired. A good night sleep was what he needed, he thought. Yes, a good night sleep without dream of cowboys, Indians, or anything else for that matter. It didn’t take long for his tired mind to give up and he fell asleep.

Adam Bennett stayed away from his typewriter for a week. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had no control over what was happening when he sat as his desk when he started to compose.

During this time he kept busy. He had coffee with Lucy, he went to a movie with Lucy, introduced her to his mother, and invited his new found friend to dinner the following weekend. She was fun, happy, and a sincere person. There was no hidden agenda that he could determine, and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.

Finally, Adam felt that the break from writing had been long enough. He was determined to finish whatever had started. On an early morning as the birds began their chirping, he was at his desk.

Louis Little Pony was well received by the citizenry over the next several month. They all told him they would be foolish to ignore his gifts. The city began multiple construction plans, with the school being the priority.

“The old one room school days are over, we will build a facility that will be the envy of the entire county!” gushed the mayor.

“This new jail will be efficient, well-constructed, and solid. Nobody will escape this place.” A sheriff’s deputy surmised.

The people of the town all recognized the young benefactor and greeted him warmly as he walked down the streets of Silver City. One day Louis came to Charlie White Cloud and asked him if he would like to take a walk. Charlie grabbed his cane and moved slowly with Louis. Two blocks behind the saloon, they stopped in front of a small newly constructed house. Louis motioned Charlie to enter the home. Inside was a small kitchen stove, dining table and chairs, and a fine made up bed. The floor was solid planking, the windows thick and solid, and a small fire was burning in the fireplace at one end of the room.

A nice place, Charlie thought.

“I hope you will accept this gift from my father. He directed me to help you, his old friend, if you were still among the living.” Louis explained.

“That man saved my life and I owe everything to him, make sure he lives a comfortable life. Those were his exact words.” The son of Levi Little Pony offered.

The larder was full of canned goods, various foods, salt, flour, and sugar. There was even flowers in a fancy vase on the table.

“I will accept Levi Little Pony’s gift. I do not deserve such a fine home but will stay here the rest of my days. You have proved yourself to be a good son. Thank you.” Charlie said with eyes slightly watering.

“Have you run out of money yet?” Charlie asked.

“Well, I just sold my interest in the mines. The people in San Francisco who manage most of the finances suggested I buy something called stocks. Apparently there is a market for them. I am told a person can buy parts of many, many, companies that exist. The word is diversification. It is all new to me, but I trust those people.” Louis answered.

Charlie White Cloud listened. It made no sense to him. He just expected the young man to say yes or no. More information than he needed to hear.

“The other news is that a young lady, a school teacher from back home, has agreed to come to Silver City and accept a job in the new school. This woman I expect to marry. She is the daughter of a white father and Kiowa mother. She is a beautiful woman. She will be arriving soon and I will introduced her to you Charlie White Cloud. She will bring much happiness to my home.” Louis went on, quite exciting about the upcoming events.

The next couple of years were not kind to either friend. Charlie White Cloud developed consumption, lived his last days in his own home, and died at about the age of eighty. He was buried in the community cemetery. He was given a full military funeral as he spent years working with the U.S. Calvary. The entire town turned out for the event.

Louis Little Pony married his sweetheart and lived well. Their first child, Lawrence, graced their home soon after, but they lost two more babies at birth.

In 1929, the Great Stock Market crash changed the life and livelihood or the Little Pony family. They lost everything. He sold his fancy car and bought a used Model A, the fancy house he had built for his family was now owned by a local politician, and he also found he was not the most popular person in the town as he was basically broke. Louis built an addition onto Charlie White Clouds house, and his family lived there. His wife continued to teach and Louis found odd jobs to keep food on the table. A reverse of fortune, but Louis did not complain. He had seen how his father dealt with poverty and with financial wellness over the years. He was happy he could do for this town what was done.

“It was my father’s money, not mine.” He would tell his wife.

“We will always be happy if we chose so.” He added.

“I’ll get to watering the vegetables in the back and have supper on the table when you and Lawrence get home from school.” He said with a smile and walked out the back door of the little home.

Adam stared at the words he had typed. He could feel, now, that the story was going in an understandable direction. Maybe an ending, he thought. Please come to an end so I can start on something of my own.

“Maybe I’m a little more accepting about what is going on, but I don’t think I’m very far from crazy.” He said to himself.

He looked at his watch. He had been writing for over six hours. His stomach told him that he had missed a breakfast and a lunch. A quick trip to the burger joint down the street is in order. He got up, looked once more at the three quarters filled page of typed words, and left.

Shortly thereafter Adam walked back to his apartment, a giant soda container in his hand.

“I’ll have enough caffeine in my system to see this thing through, by God.” He told himself.

“Let’s see what’s going to happen.” He exclaimed.

Lawrence Little Pony grew up tough and wild. He got tired on the half-breed taunts, and the name calling he received from the local boys. He was smart enough to know they would only change their ways if he made them do so. He fought them, and usually ended up being chastised by the school, the community, and most certainly his mother.

“Mom, do you know what they call me, and call you?” he would ask.

“I know you can’t fix the ignorant, and you can’t fight ignorance, either.” She would say.

The age of seventeen, Lawrence Little Pony, was rangy and sinewy. He was strong and muscular, and, since his mother was still a school teacher, quite educated. But he wanted out, he wanted adventure, and wanted to help his country in the ongoing war. His father, now completely crippled after a fall from some scaffolding at the top of the church tower, was bedridden and sick. Lawrence told his parents of his plan.

“You must follow your heart, son. Do what you think is right or spend of the rest of your life unhappy with ignoring your choices.” Louis Little Pony said in a quiet voice.

Louis’s wife, however, was fearful for her son, and disapproving. Ultimately they bid goodbye to Lawrence as he boarded a bus headed for an intake center.

The lines of nervous, boisterous, and scared young men stood in lines as they prepared for induction into the United States Army. Lawrence Little Pony was excited. This is what he wanted to do.

“Hey, Indian, don’t think they’ll let you in. You got to be able to speak English and nobody understands smoke signals anymore.” A voice from the crowd yelled.

Several others laughed at the slight. Lawrence ignored the jab. He was next in line.

“Name and birthdate.” Came a quick question.

“Lawrence Little Pony” he said.

“Lawrence what?” the big man with short crewcut loudly barked at him.

The young man from Silver City hesitated just for a moment.

“Lawrence Little, sir.” He said.

He gave the man his birthdate and was directed to another line for vaccinations, health exams, eye tests, and other various procedures that had never happened to him before.

“Little, get your ass in line to get your gear.” Another gruff voice bellowed.

Lawrence Little, yes, that would work for him. And it would save a whole lot of abuse, he was sure.

The war dragged on for what seemed to be forever. Lawrence Little showed valor in the field, was decorated many times, wounded twice, and was honorable discharged. He was a proud soldier.

He also had been corresponding with a girl back home all those months. She had been a classmate of his, a good friend, and a God fearing woman. She had gotten a teaching degree and was now the principal at the Silver City High School.

Louis Little Pony died shortly before Lawrence could ship home. Pneumonia and complications ended his life. His mother was retired and keeping busy with activities in the town. It was difficult to write his parents to explain his name change, but he felt they understood. He planned on making it legal when he got back.

Within months, Lawrence Little was married and he and his wife began a family. Three sons and a daughter blessed the home. The family legacy was never forgotten however and each member of the next generation since the beginning, knew of how money was obtained, spent, and lost. The story passed down was always factual and truthful. It was important for them all.

Adam sat back in his chair, okay a nice little story, he guessed. He got up, stretched, twisted his sore neck muscle back and forth, and cracked his finger knuckles. All done he figured.

It was three in the morning and deathly still outside. He slurped the last bit of soda, laid back on his bed and thought about what he had written. Yes, a nice story of generations of people. He turned the table lamp off and slept.

Adam began writing a short story about movie stars and their troubles in the world. An idea came to him after the misery of the young man in “The Clockwork Orange.” It was a fun little piece and he felt a great freedom of being able to type what his mind directed him to do. That other nonsense was finally over.

Adam met Lucy at the La Nueva Casita Restaurant in downtown Los Cruces. It had a tex-mex vibe and wonderful food. They were seated a booth near the middle of the place, and took in the décor.

“This place is very nice. Lucy said as she looked at the large murals on the walls, and it smells delicious.”

“I’ve been here once before and we won’t be disappointed.” Adam said.

The two ordered their entrees, drank lemonade, and talked.

“You know, Lucy, I really don’t know much about you. You met my mother and she filled you in on every family secret we ever had. I know you came from Silver City, but that’s about it.” Adam stated.

Lucy smiled, wiped her mouth with a napkin and set it on the table.

“You know, you’re right, I guess I haven’t share a lot about my past. Nothing exciting though. I have older brothers, and they all have jobs in Silver City, working for the family construction business. They build houses, barns, garages, almost anything.” She started.

“As you might have guessed by the color of my skin, I am of Indian decent. My family is a mix of several tribal affiliations over the years. I am proud, however of my heritage.” She continued.

“I haven’t even told you my last name, it is Little. My father changed his name from Little Pony to Little when he joined the service in World War…

Adam Bennett, sat there staring at the young lady across the table. His mind tuned out all sound. He could not move.

Sometimes the work of a writer can take on its own reality.

******

James Enright awoke from a seemingly endless dream. He laid in bed momentarily and watched the ceiling fan as it pushed the warm Albuquerque night air around. He quietly moved out of bed where his wife was still asleep. The bed stand clock read four o’clock. He never got going this early but he was now on a mission. The man wrapped himself in the old house coat, slipped on some comfortable house shoes and padded down the stairs.

James entered his office and situated himself in front of his computer. He waited while the screen lit up.

He had experienced no success in the last three years and his people were on his case to fulfill the contract he had signed with them. He had been in such a downward spiral in his life and nothing was working for him…until now.

He knew he was on to something. The dream was so real and vivid that he had to put it down in words before any of it was lost. The famous writer and playwright started typing on his keyboard.

Charlie White Cloud glimpsed the quick glint of reflected sunlight as he kneeled down………