Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [162]
An idea, in spite of a lifetime of hope otherwise, can unravel and come to nothing. So simple, yet so unbelievable.
Ariel, Marcos, Jim, and his adjuncts camping nearby—none of them was responsible for Delfino’s original disappointment, his aspiration stretching over decades, his present contingency, or his newfound despair. He’d outlived most of his enemies. The officers and staff who’d originally come to Dripping Spring during the war to evict him and Agnes were to a man buried in plots hither and yon, in Missouri and California and Utah, not one left walking. Most of the ranchers were gone and all their treasured livestock. Agnes and her brother, gone. No one left but Delfino Montoya and these few busted buildings, some of whose planks and beams he would burn later that very evening to warm up canned peaches after they finished their meal of dehydrated mixed vegetables and jerky. The moon would shine through these widening chinks and gaps tomorrow night and in the next century, whether or not his hopes were dashed, until this habitat was beaten back down to dust, as it was so destined.
The three retired, Delfino having insisted on taking first watch. Nothing would calm his troubled mind, and he sat by the door listening to Ariel and Marcos breathe as they slept. A wave of shame passed through him for having brought them here.
He quietly climbed to his feet, lifting the shotgun from where he had set it. The air seemed deficient and his own breath came to him uneasily. Outside, the feathery edges of everything were emblazoned by starlight and the moon. As he wandered toward the rampart, stones crunched underfoot, soft round noises, though he strode as lightly as he could.
The world never favors plans, preferring instead moment by moment to unwind itself of its own volition. Destiny is the sum of choices you make in this flashpoint existence. But just because you’re the merest, tiniest fleck in the tempest that is this world doesn’t mean you haven’t the capacity to resist. It’s your earth to walk through. Get up and walk. You’ll be done soon enough.
Something Agnes might have said. Or read somewhere. But no. It was Delfino’s spontaneous philosophy just now, and Agnes was behind the thought because Agnes lived on inside him. If only he could share a few words with her, get her take on what to do. One thing was certain. She would want him to look out for his brother’s son and his friend’s daughter.
“They’re nearby. I can feel them,” Ariel whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Jesus. Don’t scare an old man like that.”
She hooked her arm through his free one.
“Thought you were asleep,” he said.
“I heard you go out.”
“Sorry. Tried to be quiet.”
Standing side by side with him, Ariel could feel how gaunt he was, how tenuous, really.
“You’re gonna have to leave here and meet with Kip in the morning,” he told her.
“That’s not what either of us wants. I’m standing for him now.”
“Well, it’s what I want.”
“Can I ask you a forward question?”
“Nothing to hide on a night like this.”
How dare she ask him such a thing? she thought, even as she said, “Why is it you don’t have any children?”
“What?”
Too late to stop now. Besides, hadn’t she come all this distance to put such questions squarely before herself?
“I mean, I’m assuming you don’t have children or else they’d be here with you. Or maybe they don’t agree with you about this—”
Delfino said, “We tried to have kids, my wife and me. We couldn’t.”
“But you wanted to?”
“We’d have had a dozen if it’d been in the cards for us. But it wasn’t. End of story.”
Ariel waited before pressing further. A meteorite stole across the sky, faintly perceptible in the deep blue.
“Did you ever think this ranch might be like a child, one that was kind of kidnapped from you and your wife?”
“No, can’t say I