The Temptation of Demetrio Vigil Read Free Page A

me. “Your turn, mamita.”
    “No, no, I’m okay.” I recoiled from him. “I’m, I’m,
I’m going to walk to Golden for help.”
    “You can barely walk. And Golden is pretty far.”
    My legs buckled. My head spun. I began to cry, a
pathetic moaning weep. He backed up an inch or two, as if to
reassure me, and dug in his jeans pocket. This is it, I thought.
He’s got a gun. But all he had was a cell phone; he held it toward
me.
    “Listen. I called 911. They said they’re on their
way, but it might be a while. You’re kind of out in the middle of
nowhere. Let me make your pain a little better.”
    He came to my side faster than I could get away from
him, and touched my shoulder. I winced and whimpered.
    “Shh.” His eyes were so bright, so soothing. He
smelled dry and warm, like sunshine.
    He closed his eyes again with that intense look on
his face, and I felt a soft heat radiating from them to my injured
shoulder. Thirty seconds or so later, the pain was less than it had
been.
    “What, how, but -”
    His eyes narrowed into a self-assured smile. “Feel
better, mamita?”
    “How did you do that?” I whispered.
    “Do what, girl?” He looked deeply into my eyes, and
smiled with a playful intelligence, evasive. “I didn’t do nothing.
Just helped you relax is all. It’s like with a cow that’s calving.
You just have to calm them down a little, and the pain goes
away.”

♦
     
    The vato’s hands continued to move
across my body, patching me up and stopping wherever there was
pain. The warmth came, and then a bit of relief. He took off my
glasses with incredible gentleness, and wiped the blood from my
face. When he slid them on me again, he said I was
pretty.
    “This is impossible,” I said,
ignoring the compliment. “What - what are you, some kind of, what do you
call them? Those preachers…”
    He laughed at me. “Nah. You crazy? You watch too
much TV, girl. All you needed was a little TLC and human contact.”
He stood up and dusted his hands together. “You was panicked is
all. That makes it all seem worse than it is.”
    “No, there’s more to it than that,” I insisted.
“You’re lying.”
    He shrugged at me like I had offended him, but
exhibited powerful self-control. “I don’t lie, but I’ma let that
slide. Think whatever you want. It don’t bother me. People get
crazy thoughts in accidents, I guess. Stress.”
    He returned to check on Buddy, who seemed to be
almost completely recovered, happy, as Chihuahuas often are, to be
nestled within the protection of a warm coat. The dog was busy
licking darkened blood off his front paws, seemingly unaware that
this tasty treat had come from his own body. Chihuahuas are cute,
but no one ever accused them of being smart.
    The hail and snow began to taper off. The guy turned
away from me, moving with purpose, digging through the snow for
sticks and twigs. He dried these on the legs of his jeans, and set
them in a pile near Buddy. He dug for rocks next, and made a ring
around the sticks. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, and tried
to start a small fire. It wouldn’t catch.
    “Too wet,” he said. He started looking around in
frustration. “We need something paper, something dry.”
    He spotted a couple of old black paper coffee cups
from Einstein’s Bagels that had spilled out of my BMW during the
crash. I was a bit of a caffeine addict, and wasn’t always so good
at keeping my car any cleaner than my room. I was a bit of a slob,
actually. I was embarrassed, but he seemed to think they were just
perfect. He went and scooped them up, tearing the paper with his
hands, and lining the little pit with the scraps.
    “I have a study group,” I babbled, trying to cover
for my mess. “Some friends, physics and math mostly, the left-brain
stuff I need extra help with, we meet in the mornings at the bagel
place by my school. I kind of forget to throw the cups out
sometimes.”
    “No worries, mami,” he said, without looking up. “No
judgment.