Chapter 18

After lunch, Malik stopped at his room to look in at the sleeping Peng. Lee Kwan was asleep on her quilts, off to the side of the room.

Malik became aware of Christina’s scent just before she whispered in his ear, “So, how’s your shadow, Shadow?”

Malik turned to look at Christina and just shook his head. Then he walked off to sit on one of the rockers in the corner of the courtyard closest to the front room. Christina followed him and sat in the rocker next to him. Andy came into the courtyard from the kitchen door, carrying a coffee pot and three empty mugs. The fountain, shut off during the winter months, had just been re-started again on the first of April.

Christina accepted a mug, then allowed Andy to fill it, before leaning back in the rocker and pulling her legs up under her. While holding its handle, she rested the mug on the flat arm of the wooden rocking chair.

“I’m sorry, Emil,” she said. “That wasn’t fair of me, or kind. The fact of the matter is, no one is bothered by this attraction, Emil. I know you feel disloyal, but it is loyalty to a memory, not to a person, because Gabriela is not here and never will be again. At some point, now or later, I’m sure that the acceptance will simply overtake you, unnoticed.”

Christina paused a moment, then said, “One thing you should keep in mind is that this will change how you work together, whether you want it to or not. It may also affect Mister Fu-Chun’s assessment of her ability to continue to act as your bodyguard.”

From near the fountain, Lee Kwan said, “Mister Fu-Chun is aware and does not disapprove.” She splashed some of the water onto her face, then wiped it with a small towel she pulled from her waist sash. As she walked over to the group, she said, “There is some speculation that he intended for a relationship to develop. Mister Fu-Chun is truly inscrutable, even to his fellow Chinese,” she said, with the hint of a smile.

“Please forgive my intrusion on your family discussion,” Lee added. “I could not help but overhear as I was returning from the kitchen. Your concern with these matters was to such a degree that I felt obligated to provide you with my specific knowledge as well as the suspicions I and some others have had. However, I am certain Miss Peng is innocent of any plot Mister Fu-Chun may or may not have hatched. I have known her for some time and I am quite sure she would never have agreed to such contrivances.”

Andy asked, “May I get you some coffee or some tea, Miss Lee?”

“No, thank you, Mister Malik. I just put a pot of water on the stove. I intend to steep some tea for myself and Miss Peng in a moment. Missus Garcia has shown me where things are kept.”

“Will you sit with us, dear?” Christina queried.

“I mustn’t, Missus Malik. Miss Peng asked that I wake her after an hour’s rest.”

“Please feel free to use our given names, Miss Lee,” Christina said. “We’re not that formal.”

“Thank you, Missus Malik. I would have to discuss that with Miss Peng.” Lee looked toward Peng’s bedroom door, then turned back. “I must go. I hope my comments have been helpful.”

Christina looked toward Malik, who had been sitting with his head hanging down ever since Lee had made her presence known. She said, “Of course, Miss Lee. I’ll stop by in a bit. Maybe bring the babies for a visit.”

Lee smiled. “That would be enjoyable. It could help lift Miss Peng’s spirits. Good afternoon,” she said, then she walked back toward the kitchen door, in the opposite corner of the courtyard.

Matilda came in from the kitchen as Lee was going out. She carried a tall glass which she filled at the fountain before joining the others.

Matilda Tsosie started her daily routine at the bakery at four in the morning and came home at two in the afternoon, having finished all the specific baking chores. One of several teenage girls from the village took turns each afternoon assisting her. Those assistants kept the shop open until five thirty, then closed up. Matilda was usually in bed by seven in the evening.

“So, you all look rather serious,” Matilda observed, sitting down and taking a deep draft of the cold water.

“We’ve been discussing Emil and Yan,” Christina said.

“By his red face, I have to conclude you’ve been discussing it with Emil,” Matilda said, smiling

“Yes. I’m afraid the realization has overwhelmed him, like a buffalo stampede.”

“Very apt,” Malik allowed, in a barely discernible voice.

“I see,” Matilda said. Then she leaned forward in her chair, “Emil, we all loved Gabriela, and we all miss her, often painfully. I’m reminded of her every time I pick up Aspen. I think of her as I nurse her daughter. She was a marvelous woman and a better friend. But she is as gone from our lives as she is from yours.” She shook her head. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t hold her in your heart, but you loved the woman she was, not the memory she is. Honor the woman with whom you shared a part of your life, the life she wanted to share. But live your life. She admired that about you. You know, yourself, she’d never have wanted your life diminished in any way because of her. It was a unique mark of respect between you.” Matilda shook her head again. “I don’t know how to express this better. I’m sorry.”

“I understand what you mean, Tilda,” Malik said, in a soft voice. “I think it’s just that...” He paused. “I’m afraid of forgetting her.” Another pause. “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s more like ... she will somehow become unimportant to me, to my life. To Aspen.” He swallowed and became quiet. “Like she wasn’t ever real. Like Aspen Tsosie.” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Or ... Cowboy. Or Fred Urban or Jorje or Olin, even Ma and Pa. They’re all like a trail of breadcrumbs you’ve dropped to find your way, but the birds pluck them up and fly off. People you’ve gathered to yourself to face life with, and they just...” He shook his head and sniffed.

They all sat in silence for several minutes.

Finally, Andy, in a soft voice, said, “Then you gather more, big brother.”

The next morning, the two were riding toward Waypoint. As on their race to reach Ranch Home on Monday, they encountered several Chinese crews working on road improvements, from scraping or filling the roadbed to laying and compacting layers of sand and decreasingly-sized gravel. There were a number of ox-drawn freight wagons bringing materials from the rail yard at Waypoint, depositing them at progressive staging areas.

When, by the midpoint of their journey, Malik had not mentioned anything regarding the previous day’s topic, Andy asked, “Did you get a chance to talk with Yan?”

Malik did not respond immediately, but finally admitted, “No. No, she wouldn’t see me.” He turned to look at his brother. “At least, that’s what Miss Lee informed me. She said Yan wouldn’t be comfortable speaking with me until she could stand on her own feet.”

“Huh,” Andy said. “Well, I suppose that might make sense with her.”

They loped the horses for a while, until they came to the next paving crew, when Andy called for a walking rest for the horses. They stepped from their saddles to lead their mounts.

As they cleared the construction site, Andy observed, “Not to bring up sad memories, but it was you flat on your back in that same bed when you came to realize your love for Gabriela.”

After a moment, Malik said, “You’re right. Maybe that’s why this has a familiar feel for me, and why Gabriela’s memory seems so intertwined.” They walked a few more yards and he said, “Since my first reaction, yesterday, I’ve begun to entertain the perverse notion that Gabriela is somehow complicit in this new feeling.” Continuing to walk with his eyes on the ground in front of him, he shook his head and admitted, “Which makes as little sense as my feelings of guilt for supposedly betraying her. All of you were quite correct, yesterday: Gabriela is gone and no longer has an actual role in my life, only in my memory.”

As they were remounting the horses, Malik said, “When we came through the Leanders earlier, when we passed near the place where Gabriela and I camped, after our wedding, I was thinking that, in my memory, she will never age. She will always be a vibrant, mid-thirties woman. Maybe I’ll end my days weak and bent over, like Pa, but my memory of her won’t. That notion just struck me as a perverse advantage to dying young.”

Andy said, “When Chen Ming-teh and I talked, after Gabriela’s memorial, he spoke of one of the Asian philosophies, Buddhism. He brought it up, he said, because it helped him keep in mind the, uh, oh, what did he say? The philosophy deals with the, uh, the impermanence of everything, including our own lives. Everything, he said, everything wears out, or breaks down, or dies, even though we act and think otherwise. So we are always angry or surprised or resentful when things break or when people die. Oh, he explained it a lot better than I am, but do you see what he was driving at?”

“Yeah. Now that you mention that, I remember reading a pamphlet, when I was away at school, about Buddhism.

“In San Francisco, there is a section of the city referred to as China Town. It held some interest for many students at La Paz University and some of the other colleges and universities around the Bay.” He scoffed, “Much of it was interest in opium, but there were also students who delved into some of those philosophies and religions. One of the women at La Paz, a girl I’d kept company with for a few months, was more than intrigued.” Malik shook his head. “It eventually seemed to take over her life. She left the university. I don’t know what happened to her. But some of the things she spoke of sounds like what Ming told you.”

Malik sat up in the saddle and said, “Speaking of the inscrutable Chinese, isn’t that Fu-Chun up there, on the horse?”

Fu-Chun, wearing ranch-style work garb, was speaking with a Chinese man in workman’s clothing, standing near his horse. Both wore dungarees and flannel shirts, as did some of the Chinese workers, eschewing their traditional apparel. Before they reached Fu-Chun, the other man strode off toward one of the work crews.

In turning his horse, Fu-Chun looked up and called to them, “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Andy said, “Good morning, Mister Fu-Chun.” As they came abreast, the Maliks paused. Andy commented, “The crews seem to be making very good progress.”

“Indeed, Mister Malik. We expect to be finished within two weeks. Then the men will be moved to commence construction on the Kylie Loop.”

Malik said, “I thought the plan was to build the Kylie Loop first and to bring the road materials in from Shepherds Creek.”

“It was, but that was when our plan was to make Kylie Loop narrow gauge. It will take more time for the heavier rail and ties to be manufactured and delivered than when we were simply stripping out the Dos Picos narrow gauge line. As it is, we will be taking most of that narrow gauge materiel to staging areas in the Dry Valleys, in anticipation of running mine spurs up those valleys. Of course, some will be used for a spur up to the top of Penitente Mesa.”

“Ah, yes, that makes sense,” Malik allowed.

Fu-Chun said, “We have also begun hanging the telephone line from Waypoint to Ranch Home Siding. There will be a signal amplifier shed built at Halfway Wash.”

“What is that for?” Andy asked.

The distance requires the signals to receive an electronic boost. The shed will house batteries and the necessary relay equipment. The shed will be made of concrete to discourage vandalism.”

“You expect vandalism?”

“Not malicious, but people’s curiosity can lead to destructive acts. By the way, have you determined where you want your terminals?”

Malik looked at Andy, then back to Fu-Chun. “I reckon at the Old Courthouse Inn. It’s the only place we have that is manned twenty-four hours.”

“That is fine. It is not that difficult to change locations in a small town like Waypoint. But have you considered having your terminal at the train depot, and paying a fee for their service? There it will also be attended twenty-four hours beginning in July, when we expect the Kylie Loop track to reach Ranch Home Siding from the north.”

“So, how would that work? Would they send a written message to the person the call was for? Do you know what the fee is?”

“I should think that a runner might bring the message. I do not know about fees. I expect there would be a small monthly fee and then a per-message charge, but Missus Watts should be able to say.”

Andy asked his brother, “Shall I talk to her?”

Before Malik could answer, Fu-Chun said, “Perhaps I spoke of that too soon. We are too familiar with the ways of the telegraph and the skills required to send and receive messages. The telephone is an altogether different device that anyone can operate.”

He continued, “There is a means to install several receivers on the same line. Any telephone device may then contact any other device on that line. The caller then sends a specific number of signals to the bell in each receiver. One ring might be for the depot, two rings for the Inn, three rings for your ranch office, whatever pattern is agreed upon. That pattern then alerts the people at the other locations whether the call is for them or someone else. However, anyone at any receiver can listen to the conversation, so private communication cannot be assured.”

Andy said, “So that would be like me shouting a message to Emil, who’s down the street at the next corner. I’m shouting to Emil, but anyone can hear it.”

“Anyone with a telephone receiver on that particular line, yes, if they pick up the receiver and listen. For that matter, they can also talk and be heard.”

Malik said, “That bears some consideration. How many receivers are possible on one line?”

“With the equipment Mister Chen has purchased, I believe it is six in total, including each farthest terminal.”

“Does that include the depot receivers?”

“The railroad will be on a separate wire. The line we are discussing is for the exclusive use of the Malik interests. If, in the future, a switchboard were to be installed, then a dedicated operator could cross-connect yours to other lines.”

The brothers looked at one another. Andy said, “My office, your office, the Inn, and the ranch office here in town, and maybe the constables’ office and the hacienda at Ranch Home?”

Malik, slowly nodding his head, said, “Yeah, that seems sensible.” Then he turned to Chen. “When do we have to decide?”

“Whenever you want them installed.”

“Where will you run the wires? In town, I mean?” Malik inquired.

“In alleys and between buildings as much as possible, on electrically-insulated ceramic devices that will be attached to buildings or mounted on poles.” Fu-Chun shook his head, dismissively. “I have seen photographs of all the overhead wires that are beginning to dominate the main thoroughfares in some eastern cities. It is very ugly.”

Andy observed, “I noticed wires going up along the streets in Wichita.”

“Wait a second,” Malik said. “Who decides where the wires go?”

“The railroad,” Fu-Chun replied. “Or its land management company, specifically.”

“The railroad?” Andy said, sounding bewildered.

“Of course. The ‘appurtenances and appendages’ clause,” Malik exclaimed.

Andy looked at his brother and said, “The appurtenda-what clause?”

“When you buy lots in Waypoint, there’s a clause in the sales contract and restrictions on the deed that specify that the seller, that is, K and AS Land Resources, may modify the property with appendages and appurtenances for the public good, with the provision that such modifications will not unreasonably reduce the owner’s access or enjoyment without compensation. They use the example of the below grade installation of a drainage pipe across one’s property.” Malik turned more in his saddle to address Andy. “See, the Kanzona, or its Land Resources company, bought all that land from the Kuiper ranch. It was Land Resources that platted Waypoint. Except for the lots they sell, they still own it: the streets, the alleys, the unsold vacant lots, everything. Well, everything but the Wagon Road, which was a military right-of-way connecting Fort Birney and Fort Mayer, down on the border. The state inherited the Wagon Road when the army vacated the forts.”

“Oh.” Andy said. “So if they want to run the wires down the alleys or between buildings, rather than out in the street, they already have permission. That’s good, because even Wichita is starting to look like one big laundry line.”

“Hold on,” Malik said, turning back to Fu-Chun. “Does this mean that the Land Resources division is going to install a telephone exchange in Waypoint?”

Fu-Chun smiled. “Your phones are meant to prime the pump, as Mister Chen put it,” Fu-Chun said. “He expects them to build sufficient demand to make it worthwhile.”

“Can wires be placed underground?” Malik asked.

“They would have to be buried in pipes and, since the wires cannot be placed too near one another, or the signals cause interference, that is a problem. Water intrusion is also a problem. And buried lines are much more difficult to repair. The original installation is considerably more expensive, also,” Fu-Chun said.

“What’s wrong with stringing them through alleys?” Andy wanted to know.

“I was thinking of the Spa at Dorado Springs and our efforts to keep the plaza area somewhat primitive-looking.”

“So, we don’t have telephones.”