Gray Mare (eBook)

A New Mexico Novel

David Kyea (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
220 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-0638-5 (ISBN)

Infos

In his ninety-something years Casimiro has been a sheriff, rancher and horseman; and he is coming to visit Ricardo and his grandmother. Ricardo is excited because Casimiro tells the best stories about the 'old days.' When Casimiro decides it is time to tell how; when he was a boy, he acquired his first horse, a gray mare - Ricardo goes so far as to stand up a date. Ricardo's dreams soon become unsettling and something is happening that he doesn't understand. Whether it's illness, a curse, or something that has lain dormant within him, the tale of Casimiro's gray mare takes Ricardo from the late 1800s to the mid 1970s - and beyond.

DAVID KYEA has lived in Northern New Mexico for more than fifty years. He has worked as a ranch cook, woodcutter, ski lift operator, silversmith, and adobe brick layer; cleared trails in the Pecos Wilderness and planted trees at altitudes of ten thousand feet. He and his wife, Lani, have raised sheep and cattle. They currently live on their ranch in Union County. His law enforcement career began in 1977 and spanned twenty-six years as a Taos County Deputy Sheriff, District Attorney Investigator, Deputy Medical Investigator and Union County Magistrate Judge. He graduated from the New Mexico Law Enforcement Academy and the FBI National Academy. He enjoys traditional New Mexico Spanish music and plays a bit of guitar, mandolin and violin. His writings have been published in the online e zine Lunarosity and by the New Mexico Book Coop in Voices of New Mexico and More Voices of New Mexico. His self-published works include: KITE and other short stories of New Mexico (2020), Finalist: New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards 2021 MARGARITO AND ME (2021), Finalist: New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards 2021 MORE MARGARITO AND ME (2023), Winner: Best New Mexico Historical Fiction and Winner: Best New Mexico Book. New Mexico/Arizona Book Awards 2024. They are available in print or e-book online and through most book retailers.

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It's the mid-1970s in Northeastern New Mexico and ninety-something year old Casimiro is coming to stay with Ricardo and his grandmother. When Casimiro says it is time for him to tell the tale of how he, as a boy, acquired a gray mare - Ricardo stands up a date. Casimiro's tale begins in the late 1800s when he was twelve years old. His eighty-year-old grandfather, Abelino, a former Comanchero, adventurer and rancher, decides it is time for Casimiro to choose his own horse. But not just any horse will do. Abelino insists that it must be a gray from the ancient bloodlines of the Indians Abel calls the Gray Horse People - a horse that Casimiro has secretly desired for most of his young life. The next morning, over objections from Casimiro's father and uncles, the two of them set out, riding two old geldings, on a journey to the Pueblo of the Gray Horse People. What could lie in store for a viejito and nino as they travel through the valleys and mountains of New Mexico? Who will they meet along the way? And, most importantly to the impatient, young Casimiro things don't go exactly as he hoped at the village of The Gray Horse People. But he had seen in a dream what he would find, even though he does not know how it will happen. When Ricardo becomes ill - or is he the victim of a witch's curse? - his dreams take an unusual course. Whatever it is, Ricardo enters a realm beyond his understanding. Is he losing his mind? Or is it something that has lain dormant within him and found life through Casimiro's tale? How can he experience people and places he has no knowledge of? Fortunately, Casimiro is there to help guide him through the unbidden and unexplainable - even if there are some things that cannot, or may not need to, be explained. When Ricardo shares his most recent dream, Casimiro shows unusual interest but offers no explanation for his queries. No importa. Ricardo will soon discover the reason for Casimiro's interest - and the legacy of the gray mare. Can someone be a friend of La Muerte? What really happened when three outlaws got something more than they expected? Can a person see the past or future in a dream? And are there such things as past life experiences? Is it true that some stories may never end? THE GRAY MARE is a tale of youth, old age, love, loss, unrealized hopes and the cycle of life - woven on the loom of an old man's tale, bound by the love and dedication of a family to each other, and the offspring of Casimiro's gray mare.

Textauszug

MIRANDA

“That day we made it as far as Dos Cabezas. Just as my abuelo had said. We rode in that long valley until we crossed a río and the valley opened up. I could see tall mountains to the west. Their sides were streaked with the remains of winter’s snow and the sun, from behind them, flung its last pink and gold rays of light into the sky. We had ridden from the shadows made by sunrise until now we rode into the long shadows made by mountains and the setting sun. We passed farmhouses and people who waved as we passed. The town was just before us when we turned and rode up to a house. There we stopped for the night.

“That is where I met Miranda, José Benito’s daughter. She was standing in the doorway of the house as we rode up. It was as if she had been expecting us, but I don’t, even now, understand how that could be. I just know that such things happen.”

I nodded and took a sip of my tea.

“Her black hair hung to her waist and her dark eyes were innocent and wide with wonder. Even though I was tired, I sat up a little straighter in the saddle, trying to make myself appear taller.” Casimiro laughed softly.

“She came toward me then and took the reins from my hand while I dismounted. My abuelo smiled and let me make a show of helping him down from his horse. A man . . . her father, José Benito, stepped from the house and told her and me to take the horses to the corral. ‘Miranda will show you where to put them,’ he said. That was how I learned her name. I followed her as she led my abuelo’s horse to the corral. It was nearly dark. We unsaddled the horses and hung the bridles on pegs near the corral gate. She brought corn and hay while I rubbed the horses down with a piece of sack and checked their feet for stones. By then, it was dark.”

Casimiro hesitated and looked at the clock. “What time do you have to be to the dance?”

I looked at the clock. Eight fifty. “I guess, maybe, I’m not going.”

“Are you certain? That girl sure had eyes for you.”

I thought about that for a minute. “And all the guys had eyes for her. She’ll do alright.”

He lifted his tea and took a long drink, looking at me over the edge of the glass. I lifted the pitcher as he set the glass on the table. He waved me off and I put the pitcher down.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked.

I nodded. He smiled and picked up right where he had left off.

“Miranda walked beside me as we made our way to the house. I kept looking sideways at her, thinking it was safe in the dark. But she caught me at it and smiled. I have never forgotten how her hair and dress flowed around her in the night as we walked together. And how her eyes reflected the starlight.

“José Benito and his family fed us and made beds for us on the floor near the fireplace. It seemed as if my abuelo had a family he barely spoke about.

“After we had eaten, Miranda and I sat beside each other on sheepskins spread on the floor and listened while my abuelo and José Benito talked of Atilano and the old days. Miranda and I fell asleep to stories told in hushed men’s voices, an occasional laugh, and a murmuring fire.

“I guess I must have been pretty tired because I woke up the next morning to the smells of coffee, bacon, atole, and fresh tortillas. Miranda and her mother were at the stove. My abuelo and José Benito were sitting at the table. It seemed like they must have stayed there all night. Miranda’s younger brother and sisters stood at my feet, watching me. I growled like a bear and jumped at them. They ran away screaming. Miranda turned and smiled. Her father and mother laughed.

“By the time the little ones came back, I had my boots on and was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in my hands. They peeked at me all wide-eyed from behind their father. Their eyes reminded me of how their sister looked when my abuelo and I had ridden up to the house. A man would be proud to be the father of such children, and I knew then, that one day, I would return to this place and ask José Benito’s permission for Miranda to be my wife.

“José Benito turned to me. ‘This is a good thing you and your abuelo are doing. I know these horses that those Pueblos breed. My father would have no other. You are right Abelino.’ He looked to my abuelo. ‘It will not be many years before the old blood lines are no longer to be found. Even now, people prefer to travel by coach or on the train that has pushed its way across the Llano. Who can foresee what will come next? But still, for a while longer, there will be a need for such horses. And the men . . .’ he glanced to Miranda. ‘And the women, who ride them.’ He took a long drink of coffee, and I remember how his eyes looked on me over the edge of the cup. ‘After we have eaten, I will show you something.’

“I looked at my abuelo. José Benito must have seen the look and said, ‘It won’t take long.’

“Miranda and her mother set big plates of food on the table, and we ate in silence. Even my abuelo, who seemed to eat little at home, took a second plateful. And he ate it all.”

I glanced at the clock. Nine twenty-five.

“We saddled our horses after breakfast and rode toward the mountains,” Casimiro said suddenly.

“Wait,” I interrupted. “What did José Benito want to show you?”

Casimiro laughed. “So. You were listening.”

My grandmother got into it then. She had been quietly sitting at the table as Casimiro spun his tale. “You two can stay up all night if you want. But I must go to bed.” She stood beside her chair. “Casimiro, is there anything you need?”

“No, Lupe. Nada. Thank you for your kindness to an old fool.”

My grandmother laughed. “Old? Maybe. A fool? Never.” She turned and strode stiffly to her room, closing the door softly behind her. I watched her back as she went. A sadness swept over me with the sudden realization that my grandmother was getting old. It had happened somehow when I wasn’t looking. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to see it. She had taken me in and put up with my ignorance; quietly tutored me in the ways of the farm, the mountains, our people. . . and cared for me when I was injured. It suddenly seemed to me that I had given her little in return.

Something must have passed across my face. Casimiro laid his hand lightly on mine. He spoke softly. “Everything she has done for you . . . it has been born of love. You have brought to her, memories of your mother. You have given her a reason to stay in her home of many years, where she raised her children. Where she knows the sound of rain on the roof at night, the wind in the trees and the voice of the río in every season. You have given her a purpose and peace in her last years. And you remind her of your abuelo, the days when she was young and her eyes looked to the future with hope that one day she would have a grandson. We should all be so fortunate to experience such things in our last years.”

We sat like that for a minute. Him? Probably thinking of a barefoot dark-eyed young girl with black hair that hung to her waist. And a gray mare. Me, eyes on the floor, thinking of my grandmother and that I would miss this old man when he left. Wishing that tonight could be every night. But then, the specialness of it would be lost.

“You better show me to the excusado,” Casimiro said suddenly. I looked up from the floor. He was grinning. “Really. I think I drank too much tea. And I might become confused in the dark.”

I pulled a flashlight from a drawer in the trastero and led him out the door and down the steps of the porch. He stopped suddenly in the middle of the yard. I turned toward him, keeping the light low so that I could see without blinding him. He was just standing there, both hands on his cane, head thrown back, looking into the night sky. “You know? It was one of the best, and one of the worst, things my son could do for me when he put a bathroom in my house. I no longer have an excuse to step out at night and see the stars. I miss them. My old friends.”

He looked at me. Maybe it was a trick of reflected light from the flashlight, but he seemed to be standing straighter. “You should always take time to see the stars . . . even if some day, you have an indoor bathroom. Before you go to bed at night, take a minute to step outside.” He took hold of my arm. He might have had ninety-plus years, but his grip was firm. “Tell the stars you see them. Ask them to remember you.” He paused for a moment. “And remind them of the time when a young boy named Casimiro and his abuelo rode beneath them, over the mountains to the pueblo of the Gray Horse People. Don’t let them forget my abuelo and me.” His voice choked in his throat.

I looked up just as a shooting star flashed overhead, burning itself out for what seemed most of a minute in streaks of blue-silver-green and gold. It was all I could do to get it out. “I promise,” I told him softly.

We made our way beneath the stars to the outhouse. I let him take the flashlight in with him and turned my attention to the night. A pickup rattled by on the road above us. The leaves on the apricot tree rustled lightly in a soft breeze and the río spoke of news from the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 31.8.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-0638-5 / 9798317806385