Dark Eyes

She was the woman in Dylan’s I’ll be Your Baby Tonight. Real slender, Indian dark, fragile and disturbed, pretty eyes and long, long black hair.

He had been sipping a glass of wine in the well appointed library of this New Mexican style hotel in Taos and was about to leave when she walked in from the lobby.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

Her face was slightly blemished, but her eyes were nearly perfect, shiny black obsidian things.

“No.”

They sat opposite each other on leather couches, an ornate coffee table keeping them apart.

“I was at the bar and watched you come in. You sort of reminded me of Kris Kristofferson. You didn’t see me?’

“No, I was looking up at that magnificent ceiling. Those vigas are huge.”

“Look at this.” She pulled up her dress to expose her thigh. Three long scratches ran down the side of her right leg.

She caressed the red marks as if they were a trophy.

“A bobcat did that a few weeks ago. My dog is half wolf and went after him. I was right in his path of escape.”

“Did he get away?”

“Sure. I was stupid to be in his way.”

“How could know what was coming?”

“I should have known.”

“Do you want some wine?”

“OK.”

He caught the attention of the waitress and ordered two glasses of cabernet.

“Here’s to clairvoyance,“ he said.

She said nothing as she took a swallow.

“What is your name?”

“Ramona.”

“Look Ramona, I’m Adam, from Boston, and I came out here to do some hiking, and photography. I’m staying at a campsite near town and-”

“Tomorrow you can come to my place.”

He leaned across the table. “What’s your story?”

“There’s no story. Look at you, how you lean. There’s an attraction. That’s all.”

“Maybe it’s just curiosity.”

“Call it what you want.”

He leaned back into the couch. “Well, you’re right.”

She scribbled something on a napkin. “These are directions to my place. This dirt road dead ends at my adobe.”



The sun was sliding down into the mesa when he turned off the highway in Arroyo Hondo and rumbled down the dusty dirt road. He stopped in front of a small adobe, high canyon walls rising on both sides. No sounds from the highway reached this place. Dead silence.

As he walked toward the house he froze -a black wolf-like dog, large and fierce looking, lay in the path in front of the door. A barely discernible growl rose from his throat. It was those yellow eyes that unnerved Adam-luminous and intense-like being locked in a predatory radar.

Ramona appeared. She came up and gave him a hug, which immediately relaxed the dog.

“My dog is called Santana. Maybe you’ve heard the name. He was a famous Kiowa chief.”

At the mention of his name Santana trotted up to them and began sniffing Adam, then suddenly jumped up and placed his huge paws on his shoulders, nearly knocking him down.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Ramona squealed.

“What a guy. What a big guy.’ Adam gently maneuvered back down.

“C’mon.”

She took his hand and led him around to the back of the house where there was a deeply sunken, circular type courtyard, surrounded by sagebrush, apricot trees and some cottonwoods.

“ There’s a pitcher of iced sangria on the table.”

Ramona looked striking in a pure white sun dress with thin straps over her dark shoulders. Her hair was adorned with wild roses and she wore a thin blue choker, a thin turquoise bracelet around her wrist.

They sat and Adam looked around. There were little niches in the surrounding walls, filled with pots of geraniums. “This is a…kiva.”

“More or less.”

A few hummingbirds darted by them and a cool breeze from up the canyon animated the landscape.

“Well, it’s a beautiful setting. Here’s to you and your little paradise. Cheers.”

They clinked glasses.

“I named my dog Santana because I’m part Kiowa. My family came from Texas, in the Llano Estacado. My grandfather used to tell us about the Indian Wars. The Kiowa depended on buffalo-tatonka-for everything. Sheridan was commander at that time- Sherman and Custer were under him. Wasichu-the whites. They were all bastards-they hated Indians.”

She took a sip of sangria and looked at Adam.

“So you better watch yourself, gringo” she said, with the slightest of grins.

He grinned back.

With the wine in his blood, the sweet evening air and this half wild woman with the dark eyes in front of him Adam could barely keep his hands off her. It was a visceral attraction he hadn’t felt in a long time.

But she now seemed somewhat reserved. As if waiting for something.

“I’ve read some books on the subject. It was brutal, I know. The local hero here, Kit Carson, had a hand in some of it. The Navahos I think it was.”

She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and blew smoke into the pure night air.

“There’s a lot of blood on this land,” she said. The Pueblos, Spanish and Anglos. Not really a good mix.”

“So why live here?”

“Maybe I like places with an edge, a little lawless. I had a Spanish boyfriend, but his mother hated me. She knew I was Indian. And that was that.”

“ But the Spanish are-”

“Racist assholes, most of them anyway.” She raised her arms, exposing her smooth armpits and running her fingers through her hair, the way women do in front of a man. “But the green chile and margaritas are to die for.” Now she was smiling.

Her legs were crossed and he looked at the bobcat scratches-they looked like some kind of war paint. He leaned over and lightly ran his hand over them, all the while looking into her eyes.

She stood up quickly and he almost fell out of his chair.

“You know everything changes around here at night. The spirits come out and we have great old time.”

“Is that so?” Adam tipped the sangria pitcher into his glass, but only a few drops came out.

“You’ve had enough. I don’t want you too drunk.”

He stood up and put his arms around her slender waist. He was nearly a foot taller.

“What’s your story?” he asked, slightly wavering from the wine.

She felt his week old beard and they kissed, hesitatingly.

“How can I tell you that? We’re both in the story-it’s unfolding right here, tonight.”

She began to walk, away from the house, into the trees. Santana was suddenly there.

“Guess we better follow her, huh?” The dog let out a little anxious cry and off they went.

The moon appeared just over the canyon rim and made the walking easy. I bet she planned this, he thought.

The path was really the sandy bottom of an arroyo, which stayed bone dry most of the year. He rounded a corner and there she was, just ahead, fairly floating through the night in her ghostly billowing dress.

“Where does this lead?, he asked as he came alongside of her.

“Different places.”

She stopped and put a leash on the dog.

A small landside came tumbling down in front of them and a small group of deer bolted across the slope and over the top far above them.

“Good timing Ramona.”

“He probably wouldn’t have gone after them, but with wolf blood you never know.”

He followed her out of the arroyo, up a slope, through pinyon trees. All at once a blast of wind pummeled them as they broke out on to a vast grassy plain that ran all the way to the mountains, some ten miles distant.

The high desert sky reeled above in an unreal glitter of stars, galaxies and nebula. Adam staggered, as if he had been ejected out of a capsule into deep space.

Ramona turned around and grabbed him.

“Hold on babe, the elements are restless.”

She pressed her head against his chest, smiling like a kid in a snowstorm.

“Let’s sit here.”

She led him to a flat rock. The wind was mild and soothing. Santana lay beside them. She wrapped his leash more tightly around her arm.

Adam thought he heard thunder. But it got louder. He looked around. Ramona squeezed his hand.

He felt the ground vibrate. Something was coming and coming fast.

Before he could even react a horse galloped past them out of the darkness at terrific speed and dissolved in a cloud of moonlit dust.

“Indian pony,” murmured Ramona. “We’re on their land now.”

He could smell the horse and taste the dust.

She leaned and seemed to be watching something in the distance. Adam saw nothing.

She slowly rose and put her finger to her lips. They crept out into the open landscape and then stopped and plopped down in the grass.

Adam was about to whisper something but she squeezed his hand hard.

He followed her eyes and then he saw them-a small group of pronghorn, placidly feeding, not 50 yards away. They occasionally looked up and stared at the strange creatures crouched in the grass, especially the black one.

They moved off and vanished into the night.

Ramona lay back in the grass. She let go of the leash.

Adam lay down upon her.

“What about the dog?”

“He’ll be all right,” she whispered, barely audible. She seemed to be half asleep.

She let him have his way with her and he went a little crazy with desire, trying to feel every inch of her body. She let out soft moans and half screams. They lay there, sweating and dusty, windblown and a little drunk on passion and wine.

Then he heard something again. But this time it wasn’t really galloping-it stopped and started, lighter, but hooves, or paws of some kind hitting the ground.

Santana let out a growl from a short distance, and then an animal, something, leapt right over them.

“Shit!” Adam rolled away and jumped up, half naked, trembling.

Ramona pulled him back down.

“Stay close,” she said sternly.

“What?”

And suddenly there existed some kind of separation between the two lovers, who moments before had been so intimate.

“I don’t think it’s dangerous, else I’d be dead by now.”

Adam looked around quickly. “Isn’t just a deer or something?”

“I don’t think so. Neither does Santana.”

They the dog growl again.

Adam pulled Ramona to him.

“I don’t think he’ll come again.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not having sex anymore.”

She said it so nonchalantly that it took him a moment to understand.

He pulled on his jeans, then walked in little nervous circles, watching for whatever was out there, but they seemed to be alone again.

He was having difficulty in finding the words he needed to confront her.

“Wait a minute…wait. This was some kind of… experiment?”

She remained sitting.

“Calm down.”

“You’ve done this before?”

Silence.

“Right?”

“I had to be sure.”

“So, how many guys have you brought out here?”

“Adam calm down. You’re the second, ok? And the first was my boyfriend, who I broke up with about a month ago.”

She stood up and put her arms around him.

“This is a powerful place. I have a calling, and I’m bound to explore these forces. It gives me a purpose. It’s in my blood. Do you understand?”

“You’re a…what… shaman?”

“ If you want put a word to it, yeah.”

Adam slowly embraced her and let out a long sigh.

“I wouldn’t bring just anyone out here. But you’ve seen something few other people have. Sex is just a force that can attract other forces.”

“Right.” He gently caressed her face. “Could we go back to your place now? I need to process this. I could really use a drink. And I’m starving.”

“Sure baby. How about a margarita and some green chile tacos?”

“That would be fine.”

They started walking back toward the canyon. Santana followed close behind, leash dragging through the grass.

As they walked she squeezed his hand. “So what do you think?” she asked.

“Hell of a first date.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “I guess.”

A multitude of eyes followed their movements toward the trees.



review| EditEdit



She was the woman in Dylan’s I’ll be Your Baby Tonight. Real slender, Indian dark, fragile and disturbed, pretty eyes and long, long black hair.



He had been sipping a glass of wine in the well appointed library of this stylish New Mexican hotel and was about to leave, when she walked in from the lobby.



“Are you leaving?” she asked.



Her face was slightly blemished, but her eyes were nearly perfect, shiny black obsidian things.



“No.”



They sat opposite each other on leather couches, an ornate coffee table keeping them apart.



“I was at the bar and watched you come in. You sort of reminded me of Kris Kristofferson. You didn’t see me?’



“No, I was looking up at that magnificent ceiling. Those vigas are huge.”



“Look at this.” She pulled up her dress to expose her thigh. Three long scratches ran down the side of her right leg.



She caressed the red marks as if they were a trophy.



“A bobcat did that a few weeks ago. My dog is half wolf and went after him. I was right in his path of escape.”



“Did he get away?”



“Sure. I was stupid to be in his way.”



“How could know what was coming?”



“I should have known.”



“Do you want some wine?”



“OK.”



He caught the attention of the waitress and ordered two glasses of cabernet.



“Here’s to clairvoyance,“ he said.



She said nothing as she took a swallow.



“What is your name?”



“Ramona.”



“Look Ramona, I’m Adam, from Boston, and I came out here to do some hiking and photography. I’m staying at a campsite near town and-”



“Tomorrow you can come to my place.”



He leaned across the table. “What’s your story?”



“There’s no story. Look at you, how you lean. There’s an attraction. That’s all.”



“Maybe it’s just curiosity.”



“Call it what you want.”



He leaned back into the couch. “Well, you’re right.”



She scribbled something on a napkin. “These are directions to my place. This dirt road dead ends at my adobe.”





The sun was sliding down into the mesa when he turned off the highway in Arroyo Hondo and rumbled down the dusty dirt road. He stopped in front of a small adobe, high canyon walls rising on both sides. No sounds from the highway reached this place. Dead silence.



As he walked toward the house he froze -a black wolf-like dog, large and fierce looking, lay in the path in front of the door. A barely discernible growl rose from his throat. It was those yellow eyes that unnerved Adam-luminous and intense-like being locked in a predatory radar.



Ramona appeared. She came up and gave him a hug, which immediately relaxed the dog.



“My dog is called Santana. Maybe you’ve heard the name. He was a famous Kiowa chief.”



At the mention of his name Santana trotted up to them and began sniffing Adam, then suddenly jumped up and placed his huge paws on his shoulders, nearly knocking him down.



“Oh, he really likes you!” Ramona squealed.



“What a guy. What a big guy.’ Adam gently maneuvered him back down.



“C’mon.”



She took his hand and led him around to the back of the house where there was a deeply sunken, circular type courtyard, surrounded by sagebrush, apricot trees and some cottonwoods. The blue Sangre de Cristo mountains loomed in the distance.



“There’s a pitcher of iced sangria on the table.”



Ramona looked striking in a pure white sun dress with thin straps over her dark shoulders. Her hair was adorned with wild roses and she wore a thin blue choker, a thin turquoise bracelet around her wrist.



They sat and Adam looked around. There were little niches in the surrounding walls, filled with pots of geraniums. “This is a…kiva.”



“More or less.”



A few hummingbirds darted by them and a cool breeze from up the canyon animated the landscape.



“Well, it’s a beautiful setting. Here’s to you and your little paradise. Cheers.”



They clinked glasses.



“I named my dog Santana because I’m part Kiowa. My family came from Texas, in the Llano Estacado. My grandfather used to tell us about the Indian Wars. The Kiowa depended on buffalo-tatonka-for everything. Sheridan was commander at that time- Sherman and Custer were under him. Wasichu-the whites. They were all bastards-they hated Indians.”



She took a sip of sangria and looked at Adam.



“So you better watch yourself, gringo” she said, with the slightest of grins.



He grinned back.



With the wine in his blood, the sweet evening air and this half wild woman with the dark eyes in front of him Adam could barely keep his hands off her. It was a visceral attraction he hadn’t felt in a long time.



But she now seemed somewhat reserved. As if waiting for something.



“I’ve read some books on the subject," he said. "It was brutal, I know. The local hero here, Kit Carson, had a hand in some of it. But it was the Navahos I think i.”



She lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and blew smoke into the pure night air.



“There’s a lot of blood on this land,” she said. The Pueblos, Spanish and Anglos. Not really a good mix.”



“So why live here?”



“Maybe I like places with an edge, a little lawless. I had a Spanish boyfriend, but his mother hated me. She knew I was Indian. And that was that.”



“ But the Spanish are-”



“Racist assholes, most of them anyway.” She raised her arms, exposing her smooth armpits and running her fingers through her hair, the way women do in front of a man. “But the green chile and margaritas are to die for.” Now she was smiling.



Her legs were crossed and he looked at the bobcat scratches-they looked like some kind of war paint. He leaned over and lightly ran his hand over them, all the while looking into her eyes.



She stood up quickly and he almost fell out of his chair.



“You know everything changes around here at night. The spirits come out and we have great old time.”



“Is that so?” Adam tipped the sangria pitcher into his glass, but only a few drops came out.



“You’ve had enough. I don’t want you too drunk.”



He stood up and put his arms around her slender waist. He was nearly a foot taller.



“What’s your story?” he asked, slightly wavering from the wine.



She felt his week old beard and they kissed, hesitatingly.



“How can I tell you that? We’re both in the story-it’s unfolding right here, tonight.”



She began to walk, away from the house, into the trees. Santana was suddenly there.



“Guess we better follow her, huh?” The dog let out a little anxious cry and off they went.



The moon appeared just over the canyon rim and made the walking easy. I bet she planned this, he thought.



The path was really the sandy bottom of an arroyo, which stayed bone dry most of the year. He rounded a corner and there she was, just ahead, fairly floating through the night in her ghostly billowing dress.



“Where does this lead?, he asked as he came alongside of her.



“Different places.”



She stopped and put a leash on the dog.



A small landside came tumbling down in front of them and a small group of deer bolted across the slope and over the top far above them.



“Good timing Ramona.”



“He probably wouldn’t have gone after them, but with wolf blood you never know.”



He followed her out of the arroyo, up a slope, through pinyon trees. All at once a blast of wind pummeled them as they broke out on to a vast grassy plain that ran all the way to the mountains, some ten miles distant.



The high desert sky reeled above in an unreal glitter of stars, galaxies and nebula. Adam staggered, as if he had been ejected out of a capsule into deep space.



Ramona turned around and grabbed him.



“Hold on babe, the elements are restless.”



She pressed her head against his chest, smiling like a kid in a snowstorm.



“Let’s sit here.”



She led him to a flat rock. The wind was mild and soothing. Santana lay beside them. She wrapped his leash more tightly around her arm.



Adam thought he heard thunder. But it got louder. He looked around. Ramona squeezed his hand.



He felt the ground vibrate. Something was coming and coming fast.



Before he could even react a horse galloped past them out of the darkness at terrific speed and dissolved in a cloud of moonlit dust.



“Indian pony,” murmured Ramona. “We’re on their land now.”



He could smell the horse and taste the dust.



She leaned and seemed to be watching something in the distance. Adam saw nothing.



She slowly rose and put her finger to her lips. They crept out into the open landscape and then stopped and plopped down in the grass.



Adam was about to whisper something but she squeezed his hand hard.



He followed her eyes and then he saw them-a small group of pronghorn, placidly feeding, not 50 yards away. The antelope occasionally looked up and stared at the three strange creatures crouched in the grass, especially the black one.



They moved off and vanished into the night.



Ramona lay back in the grass. She let go of the leash.



Adam lay down upon her.



“What about the dog?”



“He’ll be all right,” she whispered, barely audible. She seemed to be half asleep.



She let him have his way with her and he went a little crazy with desire, trying to feel every inch of her body. She let out soft moans and half screams. They lay there, sweating and dusty, windblown and a little drunk on passion and wine.



Then he heard something again. But this time it wasn’t really galloping-it stopped and started, lighter, but hooves, or paws of some kind hitting the ground.



Santana let out a growl from a short distance, and then an animal, something, lept right over them.



“Shit!” Adam rolled away and jumped up, half naked, trembling.



Ramona pulled him back down.



“Stay close,” she said sternly.



“What are you saying? I don’t understand what you’re saying?”



And suddenly there existed some kind of separation between the two lovers, who moments before had been so intimate.



Ramona picked up a rose that had fallen out of her hair.“I don’t think it’s dangerous, else I’d be dead by now,”



Adam looked around quickly. “Isn’t just a deer or something?”



“I don’t think so. Neither does Santana.”



Then the dog growled again.



Adam pulled Ramona to him.



“I don’t think he’ll come again.”



“Why not?”



“Because we’re not having sex anymore.”



She said it so nonchalantly that it took him a moment to understand.



He pulled on his jeans, then walked in little nervous circles, watching for whatever was out there, but they seemed to be alone again.



He was having difficulty in finding the words he needed to confront her.



“Wait a minute…wait. This was some kind of… experiment?”



She remained sitting.



“Calm down.”



“You’ve done this before?”



Silence.



“Right?”



“I had to be sure.”



“So is this where you bring guys you pick up at hotels?”



“Adam calm down. Other than my old boyfriend you're the only one.”



She stood up and put her arms around him.



“This is a powerful place. I have a calling, and I’m bound to explore these forces. It gives me a purpose. It’s in my blood. Do you understand?”



“You’re a…what… shaman?”



“ If you want put a word to it, yeah.”



Adam slowly embraced her and let out a long sigh.



“I wouldn’t bring just anyone out here. But you’ve seen something few other people have. Sex is just a force that can attract other forces.” She ran her hands along his torso. "But I really wanted you tonight. Whatever else happened..." Her voiced trailed off.



“Right.” He gently caressed her face. “Could we go back to your place now? I need to process this. I could really use a drink. And I’m starving.”



“Sure baby. How about a margarita and some green chile tacos?”



“That would be fine.”



They started walking back toward the canyon. Santana followed close behind, leash dragging through the grass.



As they walked she squeezed his hand. “So what do you think?” she asked.



“Hell of a first date.”



“Yeah,” she chuckled. “I guess.”



A multitude of eyes followed their movements toward the trees.