The Drifter Ch. 06

"But this isn't real. She's living in her own made up world."

"Maybe we all live in our own made up world." I glanced at her, then looked back at the theater and the sign advertising Swan Lake.

"My world isn't made up. I'm running away and now the police are after you...that's real."

"I didn't say anything, but nodded, then turned on the ignition and drove around the theater to the back. About fifty feet from the rear of theater was a long pink trailer with flower boxes lining the windows. They were filled with red, blue and yellow plastic flowers. I noticed a television aerial on the roof and a thick electric wire coming from the theater. In front of the trailer was a small gravel path leading to the front door. On both sides of the path were several large plastic pink flamingos. The sight of them made me chuckle and mutter, What are pink flamingos doing in the desert?

I drove another thirty or so feet and parked in front of a small,shabby white and brown trailer. It was rounded at the back and the hitch at the front was propped up on a big rock. A long yellow heavy duty extension cord ran between the two trailers.

When we walked to the rear of my truck to get our backpacks, I glanced at Carla in disbelief that I was here with her in the middle of nowhere taking one day at a time. I liked how her dusty blonde ponytail hung just below her shoulders. While she looked around I thought she looked both innocent and sexy at the same. The urge to embrace her came over me. I took her hand and turned her to face me and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around me and returned my kiss, then smiled and gazed into my eyes.

"That was nice," she said.

"We'll make it." I squeezed her hand, then opened the back of the truck. We got our backpacks and walked up to the trailer. As soon as I opened the door we were hit with a blast of heat that made us stop. I kept the door open and then walked in, looked around and saw a small refrigerator, a dirty sink, a gray Formica table with a bench on one side and a folded brown canvas chair facing it. I chuckled at the crooked "Home Sweet Home" sign on the wall.

"So this must be where the carpenters stayed."

Carla rubbed her finger on the dusty counter next to the sink then walked to the small bedroom at the rear of the trailer.

"I wonder what they thought about this job and working for Anna," I said.

"Probably the same as we're thinking, but money is money."

I turned on the air conditioner and knew it would take awhile to cool the trailer down.

"Sure is hot in here," Carla said from the bedroom.

"It won't be hot for too long. It will cool down soon."

"I think I would like to make it hotter," she said.

I looked up from fiddling with the dial and saw Carla lift her T-shirt over her head.I was stunned by what she was doing, especially in the heat of the trailer.

She stood in front of the bed, gazing at me while she unbuttoned her jeans, and slowly unzipped them. She had a seductive smile on her lips as she shook her hips and started to lower her jeans. "I like it hot."

Though I was sweating from the heat of the trailer, I watched her as she started to squirm out of her jeans. I took off my t-shirt as I walked to her. Damn she's sexy. I was getting hard.

I looked around the trailer and noticed the green curtains on the back window, the beige, soiled carpet and felt the stifling heat.

When she put her arms around me, I kissed the top of her head, then embraced her and felt her soft breasts against my chest. Though I was turned on, I couldn't shake the danger we were in from my mind and suddenly, my lust dissipated.

"I hope we're safe here," I said, rubbing the soft skin on her back.

"I do too. I don't want you to get caught for being a kidnapper and I don't want to go home."

"I know, but we can't stay here forever." I held her close, but I know she felt I was distracted.

We were holding each other when I suddenly got the idea of continuing our trip in the trailer. I didn't say anything at first as the thought about the trailer swelled in me. I released Carla and took her hand.

"I just had an idea. I wonder if we can buy this trailer off of Anna. We could hide in here no matter where we are."

"Wow, that's a great idea, but we don't have any money."

"I know, but maybe we can do some work for her in exchange."

"The police would never find us if we had this trailer. Do you think she'll go for it?"

"We'll see." I was inspired by the idea.

Carla put her arms around me again and kissed me, then started to stroke my cock, arousing me. Now, I wanted her. I kissed her and moved my hands to her ass and pulled her against me. We kissed harder and started grinding against each other. The steam was rising, when someone knocked at the door. I was startled.

"Looks like we have company," I said.

I slipped on my t-shirt and Carla zipped and buttoned her jeans. I went to the door. When I opened it, I saw a small woman with long black hair that fell halfway down her back, smooth light brown skin with high cheekbones and dark eyes. She was wearing jeans and a colorful flowery blouse.

"Can I come in," she asked."I must talk to you."

When I held the door open for her, Carla came to us and stood in back of me.

"I am Mosa. I am Anna's friend."

She spoke in a low voice and I could see concern in her eyes.

"You're the artist who painted the balcony with all of the people." Carla said.

"Yes and I paint the sets for her performances."

"Why are you here? What can we do for you?"

"You are not safe here," she said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"How do you know who we are?" Carla asked.

"I saw you on the television. I live with Anna next door and I saw you when you parked."

"But no one else knows we are here. Who would find us? This a ghost town."

"The sheriff knows you are here. He said you told him you were coming here. He called me on my cellphone. I know him because he has been here many times before when we made all of the Avalon signs. He thinks we are crazy and dislikes Anna. He is not a nice man. Believe me I know."

"Oh, no." Carla placed her hands over her eyes and shook her head.

"He must have realized it was us when he went back to his office," I said.

"Why are you helping us if you saw the story on the news? They think I am a kidnapper."

"I saw you hug when you got out of the truck. I saw how you held her hand. You're not a kidnapper. You're helping her. I can tell."

"Good. Thank you, but what should we do?" Carla asked. "I thought we would be safe here."

"You can hide your truck and I will say you are not here," Mosa said. "Then you will be safe when he leaves. He will be here soon. We must hurry."

"He probably won't come alone, if he thinks we're here," I said.

"Where can we hide?" Carla asked.

"We can't stay here...they will search every building. They probably have dogs with them."

"My father lives in a trailer on the reservation. It's not far. He will hide you. I will call and tell him you are coming."

She took out her cell phone and pressed his number. I was surprised she had a cell phone and could get a signal here and hoped our phones worked. I was baffled how they had electricity and phone service but didn't have time to ask her. I also wondered why the sheriff called her.

She closed her phone."My father will hide you...but you must hurry!"

"Thank you," Carla said, then hugged her.

****

When we entered the Mojave Reservation, we drove passed several shabby, isolated mobile homes and a few shacks that sat on dry barren land with a few old pickup trucks and dusty cars parked along side of them. We were looking for a gray trailer with a blue awning. Scattered shrubs and cactus grew between the trailers and old houses. Bronze, jagged mountains were in the distance. The sun was getting lower in the western sky and would soon set behind the hills. I knew the temperature dropped when the sun went down.

Mosa said she would call us when the sheriff left and we could return to the trailer.

"I'm surprised the sheriff called her," I said.

"Why would he have her cell phone number?" Carla leaned forward looking for the gray trailer.

"Who knows? Maybe he's got the hots for her. He called her a cutie."

"I know he's been there before to tell Anna she had no right to change the name of the town or something. Maybe he called to make sure we were there and told her not to say anything. Anyway, it's strange that he called Mosa, but lucky for us. We would have been caught." She closed her eyes at the thought.

When we saw the trailer with a faded blue awning and pulled up in front, a small, thin man with long white hair and wrinkled, leathery skin opened the screen door. He was smoking a corn cob pipe. When I got closer I noticed his narrow, almond shaped brown eyes and high cheekbones.

"Come in out of the heat," he said, waving at us to hurry.

When we entered, I was surprised to see how orderly his trailer was. It was warm. A circular fan in the ceiling was moving slowly and a small fan on the table next to a recliner was swiveling from side to side. The small kitchen had dishes stacked in the drain. I could smell something cooking and saw a big black pot on the stove and a wooden spoon on the counter. One whole wall was lined with books from floor to ceiling and on the chair next to a small pot bellied stove was a stack of books and magazines. On another wall were at least a dozen unframed paintings of animals, birds, the mountains, and the barren landscape. Two of the paintings were large. I was stunned by their colors and vividness and wondered who painted them. What amazing paintings, I thought.

On a long shelf were at least a dozen carved animals and birds lined next to each other. I could see how detailed they were. In the corner was a small desk with an old typewriter and a large pile of papers, obviously a manuscript. A sheet of paper was in the typewriter and I wondered if he was writing a book. Next to the manuscript was an open spiral notebook with a pen laying on it. Above the desk was a photograph of a young man wearing a marine uniform. That must be his son, I thought before turning back to the old man.

He cleared some magazines from a wooden kitchen chair with red leather on the seat and pulled another similar chair away from the kitchen table.

"Here take a seat. Make yourself at home. Mosa said the sheriff is after you...what's that about? You're safe here."

He spoke without pausing and we both sat down. He seemed glad that we were there and I assumed he spent a lot of time alone.

I was fascinated by the welcoming look in his dark eyes and knew I was in the presence of an unusual man. He was not what I expected and remembered my philosophy about expectations.

Before speaking I gazed again around the room at all of the books and art work. I glanced at Carla who was also looking around the trailer, obviously as fascinated as I was.

When we sat down, I told him our story. He listened and nodded, narrowing his eyes.

"So they think you're a kidnapper," he said and lit his corncob pipe.

We still hadn't introduced ourselves but just talked about our situation. Sometimes names are not important when you are together for an emergency. Still, I was curious about him.

"Are you a writer," I asked, glancing over at his desk.

"I guess I am since I write every day. Always have."

"Have you published anything?"

"A few poems in a Native American magazine. But I just write. One day I will publish more."

"That looks like a big book on your desk," I said, turning to glance at it.

"It's a history of our people. How we came to live here over a thousand years ago and what our lives have become since others moved on this land. I have gathered many of our stories."

"Wow," Carla said. "That's great. I'm impressed."

"It's important that I tell our story. I don't have any grandchildren. Mosa will probably never marry and my son was killed in Vietnam."

"Is that him over your desk?" I asked.

"Yes, he was drafted like a lot of Indians. He was smart and wanted to be a doctor, but the country had other plans and he went to fight and show he was a good American." He shook his head and sighed, "It is hard to be an Indian in this country. We are the forgotten people."

He stood up and took a puff from his pipe, then went to the stove to stir what he was cooking.

"Smells good, what are you making?" Carla asked.

"Black bean soup."

He leaned over to smell the aroma. He closed his eyes then nodded as if he knew the taste he wanted, and then came back to his seat across from us.

"Your daughter is an amazing artist," Carla said. "We saw what she did at Anna Polovna's theater."

He looked at the paintings on the wall. "Yes, she is talented and special. She has been an artist since she was four or five. You will learn how special she is."

"Do you know Anna Polovana?"

"Yes. She is also special." He narrowed his eyes and nodded as if he was thinking about her. "She has a vision for that ghost town."

"Do you think she's crazy...a world famous ballerina making a theater in the desert and changing the name of the town to Avalon."

"Who am I to say who's crazy or not? I have written books and poetry and doubt anyone will ever read them. Maybe we are all crazy." He took a puff of his pipe. "If we are all crazy then no one is crazy. I no longer know what being crazy is."

"Interesting," I chuckled.

Just then the phone rang. "That must be Mosa. She's the only one who calls me."

When he stood up to answer it, I remembered telling Carla, "We're all drifters." Maybe we're all crazy drifters.

I looked at him holding the black receiver of the wall phone on the wall by his desk. It looked like something from another time. I remembered our family had a phone like that when I was growing up.

"I will tell them," he said, then hung up and turned to us."He's gone. It is safe to go back. You should hurry because it will be dark and cold soon."

When I stood up I realized we had never shared names.

"By the way, I'm Josh and this is Carla. What's your name?"

"Oh, yes, our names," he chuckled."My American name is Charles, but my ancient name is Yuma. I am named for the river now called the Colorado River."

When we shook hands, he gazed into my eyes as if seeing something. I wondered what he was thinking.

"You are a good man. You will find your way."

"Thank you, I need to hear that."

He looked at Carla. "I see wisdom in you. You, too will find your way."

Carla smiled and didn't say anything at first, but then took a deep breath."I hope so. I'm working on it."

I was surprised to hear him mention her wisdom but sensed he was right and that I was in the process of discovering the real Carla.

When we stood outside by my truck, I looked at his old trailer and the blue awning. I looked out at the desert noticed the setting sun just above the hills. I looked at Charles standing by his front door. I thought about my drifting from town to town, meeting Carla by accident,sensing her hidden self and hearing how Charles thought she was a wise woman and here we were. His words to both of us, you will find your way resonated in me with a warm glow. When we climbed back into the truck I took Carla's hand, happy she was with me. We both waved to Charles.

While I drove away, I glanced back at him in the rear view mirror and thought about him living so isolated in the desert, writing books and poetry, carving animals that no one might ever see. We drove past the old and faded reservation sign and through the darkening desert back to Avalon.

*****

When we parked in front of our trailer, Mosa ran out of Anna's trailer and greeted us. I could see how much she looked like her father, especially around her narrow, almond shaped brown eyes and high cheekbones. She was small and I could feel the same intensity and power I felt in his presence. Her bronze colored skin was smooth with no signs of wrinkles and her long black hair, now braided, came halfway down her back. She was beautiful in a mysterious way and radiated an energy that came through her eyes. The same energy I saw earlier in the vibrant paintings. Though she still wore the same flowery blouse she had on earlier, she had a half buttoned checkered flannel shirt now that it was getting dark and cooler.

"I think you are safe now," she said.

"Good, did the sheriff come alone?" Carla asked.

"No, he had his deputy, Oscar and the State Police were with him. They looked all over the town for you. I told him you were here earlier but left and that I didn't speak to you. I had to lie. He talked to Anna and to Miguel and they also lied."

We grabbed our gear from the back of my truck and returned all of our supplies to the trailer. Mosa helped. The desert temperature had dropped dramatically so we didn't need the air conditioner. We turned on the dim overhead light which gave the trailer a warm glow. Carla found a small lamp and put it on the kitchen table while I opened a can of chicken noodle soup and heated it on the two burner stove.

"I was impressed with your father," I said as I stirred.

"Thank you. He has had a hard life. My mother died when I was five and he raised my brother and me in that trailer."

"We saw your paintings...they're amazing." Carla found three bowls in one of the cabinets. "Do you want to have dinner with us?"

"No, I must go and help Anna with her hair and make up. Also, the box office opens soon and I must change my clothes to sell the tickets."

"Do you actually sell tickets. I mean, do people come to her performances."

"Yes, last week ten people came," Mosa said.

"Really. I'm surprised."

"I know it must be strange for you to see her theater here, but she is dedicated. She said the day her car broke down five years ago and she saw this old decaying theater she had a vision. She said it was a dream come true to have her own theater. It came to her like a bolt of lightning from heaven. She believes her dancing will bring Avalon back to life and that the restaurant will reopen and the hotel will have guests and the shops will have customers. That is why she has brought the theater back to life."

"Build it and they will come," I said. "Is that what she believes?"

"Yes, she has a dream and she believes it will become a reality."

I didn't know what to think. Carla and I glanced at each other.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I love Anna. I love the Avalon Theater. I love her dream. She gave work to several carpenters, plumbers, electricians and painters to bring the theater back to life. She has spent all of her money and has worked very hard. I spent a year painting the balcony with all the people. To me it was like the Sistine Chapel. Anna inspired me. I think it is a beautiful dream and she is a magical dancer. You will see."

I was baffled by Mosa's story and uncertain of her sanity as well as Anna's, but I felt her conviction. It seemed crazy that a ghost town in Death Valley could come back to life because Anna decided to build a theater there. Still, Mosa didn't seem crazy and neither did Miquel. I even began to doubt my own sanity helping Carla and finding myself being hunted by the police for being a kidnapper. I was lost in my own thoughts as I stirred the soup, but could not deny the fact that the theater was here and Mosa was going to sell tickets and the ballet, Swan Lake would be performed in a little over an hour. Am I in the twilight zone? I thought, remembering re-runs of an old TV show I watched when I was a kid.

When Mosa left, we sat at the table eating our soup. I looked around the small, cozy trailer and thought how cool it would be to have the trailer as a way of hiding from the police.