Music In the Desert

1

He rode down the two lane road, wind blowing in his face, listening to things only he could hear. There should be a town up ahead. He would stop there to get something to eat, and gas for his bike.

Maybe the song in his head would have meaning there.

He had been on the road for as long as he could remember. He had learned to play the guitar from his father, who had learned from his father. Often his travels gave him new songs to add to his repertoire.

He smiled when he saw the town ahead. Then he frowned. Shouldn't it be bigger?

He passed a man walking on the side of the road. A scarf and hat obscured his features in shadow. The walker held up one gloved hand as the motorcycle rolled by.

The rider looked back. There was nothing there but sand and scrub. Where had the man gone to vanish in such flat country? He frowned, but kept rolling. Sitting down to a meal meant more than investigating a phantom.

He had a feeling he would be seeing that ghost again. The wave suggested that. The man had acted as if he knew the musician.

He pulled his bike into a lot of a small diner, parking next to the door. He placed his helmet on the handlebars and headed into the restaurant. His guitar case hung over his shoulder as it always did unless he was playing it.

The sign next to the door said 'seat yourself' so he picked a table near a window so he could keep an eye on his bike and watch the desert.

There was something out there. He could hear the song in his mind telling him that much. What could it be?

The waitress walked up to the table. Her smile seemed a little tired. He was the only customer. Maybe she was having problems outside of work.

"What can I do for you?" She held her pad and pen in front of her as she waited for him to order.

"A cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake." He didn't bother looking at the menu. Most places like this had some combination just like what he ordered.

"It'll be up in a minute." The waitress pulled the order off the pad. "I'll get your shake right now."

"Thank you." The rider smiled through the road dust on his bronze skin. He pulled his gloves off and placed them on the table. He had set his case in the other seat opposite of him to keep an eye on it.

The waitress returned in a few minutes with the shake. She put it on the table in front of him and placed a straw beside it. She raised an eyebrow at the case sitting up like a person in the other seat.

"It's a guitar." He smiled. He pulled the paper off the straw and stuck the tube in the milkshake. He smiled at the chill after all the hours in the sun on the bike. "I play a little."

"Are you any good?" She smiled. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"It's not a problem." The rider got out of his seat. He placed the case on the table and opened it. He pulled out a black guitar with gold leaves around the edges. He pulled the strap over his head so it could hang down in front of him.

He strummed the gleaming strings and crystal clear notes rolled out.

"Give me a second." The rider played some random notes to tune the guitar. He adjusted the knobs on the neck until the sound was exactly right.

Then he played a song taught him by his father. The music washed over the dining room in liquid movements as his fingers danced on the strings. The waitress smiled at the sound washed over her, relieving her cares for a moment.

"That was great." The waitress stood on tiptoe. "Thank you for that."

"It's no problem." The guitarist placed the guitar back in its case. "I like playing whenever I can."

"Order up." The cook rang the little bell even though there was no one else in the diner.

"I'll be right back." She hurried to the dividing counter. She placed the food on a tray and brought it back. She placed the food on the table in front of her customer. "Here you go."

"Thank you." He started digging in. It had been a while since he had eaten other people's cooking.

"Would you like anything else?" The waitress stood at his table.

"I seem to remember the town was bigger the last time I came through." He paused his eating to switch seats. He gestured for her to sit down in his vacant spot. He didn't trust anyone to sit next to his guitar.

"We lost some of the local businesses." The waitress sat down. "The town has been drying up ever since."

"Wasn't there a music museum around here?" The guitarist frowned as he started eating again.

"It closed a couple of years ago." The waitress shrugged as she put her forearms on the table. "It was the first to go."

"I hate to hear that." The musician looked out the window.

"The building is still there if you want to visit it before you leave town." The waitress pointed out the window on the other side of the dining room. "It's the next left at the crossroads."

"Thank you." He smiled. "Is Stumpy's still open?"

"Yep." The waitress smiled. "It's the only place to get gas for miles. The town will blow away before he does."

"I hope your fortunes turn." He finished eating, sipping on the shake.

"I hope so too." The waitress stood. "The diner will go out of business if we don't get more customers."

"The food should be packing them in." The guitarist handed her a twenty, and held up his hand to keep her from handing back change. "I wish you a good life."

"Thank you." The waitress put the twenty away. "I appreciate that."

"Vaya con Dios." He pulled his case on his back as he walked back out in the heat of the desert sun. He pulled on his helmet after getting on the bike.

He started the engine and pulled out of the lot. He decided to talk to Stumpy. Maybe there was something he could do to help the people.

The song in his head said something wrong was in the air. If he fixed that, maybe the town would prosper again. Music was known to fix things where other things failed.

Maybe Stumpy had an idea of where the curse had started.

And he had learned a thing about ending them from his father.

He turned to cruise past the music museum. Plywood and boards covered the windows and doors. The property had a for sale sign out front. A giant guitar made of bronze stood out in front of the place on a pedestal.

He turned in the middle of the road and rode back to the main drag. He turned left and headed to Stumpy's.

He rolled up to an old fashioned pump. Signs covered the windows for everything imaginable for sale. A junkyard sat behind the gas station.

It looked the same as it had the last time he had come through. The only way this place was going to change was if someone killed Stumpy and made the changes themselves.

He got off his bike, taking off his helmet. He put it on the bike as he walked inside the gas station. The old man had added an air-conditioner so the ceiling fans could circulate cool air around the shelves.

"El Mariachi!" Stumpy limped, half hopped down an aisle to see who made the bell on the door ring. "How's things down in Mexico?"

"Fair." The guitarist smiled. "How's things for you here, Stumpy?"

"Sucking." The old man lost his smile. "It's like a curse has been put on the town."

"I noticed the museum had closed." The musician indicated the direction with a thumb. "Who owns it now?"

"I don't know." Stumpy rubbed his chin. "Grass died a couple of years ago. He didn't have any kin as far as I know."

"Could you call the real estate company and ask for me?" El Mariachi smiled. "I might want to reopen it."

"Sure." Stumpy reached for the phone book. "It's Eli Cortez's company. He's the only one making money now."

"I have to go up to a music festival in Oklahoma." The musician pulled out a twenty and handed it over. "I should be back through in a couple of days. Tell him I'd like to talk to him in person on Friday about the museum."

"I can do that." The old man hopped to the phone. "Are you really going to buy the place?"

"I don't see why not." He smiled. "Bluegrass Hanes was a friend of the family. I don't see why his place should die just because he did."

"A noble sentiment." The voice drifted from the back of the general store. It made Stumpy reach for the pistol he kept under his register. "I doubt it will be as easy as you think."

The man in the scarf stepped out from behind the end of the shelf. He nodded at the both of them.

"Who are you?" Stumpy took his hand from the gun. He had a feeling he was dealing with someone that didn't care about bullets.

"I'm just a wayfarer walking my own path." The man in the scarf smiled. Shadow from his hat hid his face. "The museum won't stay open no matter what you do. That's where your curse is."

"Then I will open the place back up and see if I can break the curse."

Music in the Desert 2

El Mariachi strummed his guitar on the stage. He smiled at the golden notes drifting from the strings. He was ready to play.

He glanced around. Other musicians were testing their equipment. He smiled. Everyone looked ready to go.

It had taken a couple of weeks to get things together. He had invited everyone from the festival, and other musicians from around the world. Bluegrass Hanes had a good reputation among the musical world, and some people arrived that the guitarist would not have expected.

The show was only scheduled for a couple of hours, but he could see that it might go on all night.

The wayfarer said there was a curse. He knew a thing about those. And he found the best way to get rid of them was to kill them with sound. And he had the biggest back up band in the world getting ready on stage.

The crowd flocked in the street around the stage. Deputies from the county were there to make sure people could get in, or out. A wind had started to pick up. Clouds were forming to throw rain.

He nodded to himself as he played a couple of notes.

Now the real battle could start.

"Everyone ready?" The guitarist looked around. The other musicians nodded, some adjusting their instruments one more time. "Let's get started before the rain comes down."

He stepped up to the mike, smiling at the crowd. Somewhere out there was the real enemy. He needed to find that nameless evil and have a talk with him.

First he had to put on a show.

"Thank you for coming out." El Mariachi waved, then adjusted the mike to his guitar. "I'm going to spare you the traditional introductions to start this thing off. I hope you enjoy the show."

He looked to the right, then the left. The others nodded that they were ready. He strummed one note to warm up, and the world froze.

Then his hand moved on its own. Strands of notes roared forward. He played fast through the first bar, letting the music roll out.

The band kicked in. They were all professionals and used to playing without sheet music and by ear. One by one, guitars and basses joined the fast moving strand, adding their own sound to it. Then the drums started with the booming and rattling started as the sticks chopped away.

Violins and cellos added their mournful call as the second bar rolled like a train.

The crowd froze in silence. They had expected something good, but not something like this. The clouds broke apart under the pressure wave. Sun lit up the desert floor as the notes blended into something that carried away despair and misery.

The band hit a bridge. They began playing the notes in order, one musician at a time. The song stretched out forever.

Ghostly dogs appeared and ran from the crowd. They vanished in the daylight as El Mariachi watched. He smiled. That was exactly what he wanted.

He waited until the last cellist played the last note of the bridge. Then he picked up the third bar and ran with it. Thunder rolled as the assorted band members joined in.

He thought he heard the snap of a thread somewhere. He smiled because he saw a circle of letters burn up as he applied his song to kick down the menace.

The musicians fell off one by one, stopping their added power as the song drifted to an end. In the end, one drummer rattled his timpani, as El Mariachi played the last three notes over and over. Then the drummer stopped. The guitarist let the song fade away.

"That was a show stopper in the first minutes." Marc Knob leaned over so he wouldn't be heard on the microphone. "What do you plan for your next song?"

"Something slow, and easy." El Mariachi flexed his fingers. "Something really slow, and easy."

Knob laughed as he stepped back.

"This is a love song from Sonora." He stepped up to the microphone. "Evadora."

He strummed the strings with casual ease to settle the notes.

He hung the notes gently and slow as he sang about Evadora's dream of life and love, her children, the loss of her family one by one, then the return of someone she thought lost at the very end of her life. Her final moments of happiness as she passed away. He ended with a simple strum as he stepped back from the microphone.

Applause roared from the assembled crowd in front of the stage after a moment of stunned silence. He waved as he smiled.

"All right." Marc Knob smiled as he adjusted his guitar. "Let's see what the rest of us can do."

The musicians each sang their favorite songs, joined in where needed, and had a good time. The sun went down as the crowd gathered together in front of the stage.

El Mariachi stepped up to his mike. He looked around at the stage. The other musicians looked tired, but happy from the long afternoon in the desert. They had actually played longer than they had thought they would.

"This is the last song of the day." He looked out at the crowd. "I want to thank all of you for coming out today. I want to thank my fellow musicians for coming up and giving something of themselves today for a good cause. Good night, folks."

He strummed his guitar and broke into a Spanish version of 'Good Night, Sweetheart." The crowd began to pack up and head for their vehicles slower and more tired than when they had shown up at the start of the concert.

The band began to store their instruments. A temporary crew began to pack what they could in cases. The stage would be taken down and stored. It had cost extra, but El Mariachi had thought it was worth it just to have the hands to take care of things.

He let the last notes of his song fade away as the last of the crowd made their way from the lot.

He smiled. He wondered what things tomorrow would bring. He hoped he had made a difference to the town.

He put his guitar in its case and slung it across his back. He still had some minor things to do. He would have to get the museum running in the care of a curator. He was too busy to run it himself.

He needed to look around and find someone that would love the work and take care of the place as if it was family.

He needed to find Cortez and sign the papers for the property. Then the museum would be his with no strings attached.

Where had the real estate agent gone? He had expected to see the man before the concert. The realtor had assured the musician that all the paperwork would be in line.

El Mariachi jumped down from the edge of the stage. He needed to find Cortez and get things ironed out.

He had things to do in other places that needed a musician to play songs to move the heart.

He laughed at himself for that thought.

Music in the Desert 3

Eli Cortez had to stop the concert. He had been slowly wrecking the town to gather up the land through dummy corporations. If the museum reopened, it would wreck all of his plans.

He needed to ruin it so he put that stupid mariachi back on the road. What kind of musician called himself the musician?

Cortez looked out the window of his office at the crowd. Where had they all come from? He shook his head. They would be gone soon enough.

He reached into space and drew back a stick of chalk. He cleared off his desk carefully. He began writing inscriptions on the wooden top. A heavy storm should take care of them.

He placed his hand inside the drawing. He concentrated. Words rolled out to curse the proceedings.

"I think you should stop." The voice drifted from nowhere.

Cortez looked around. His office should be inviolate. He spotted a man standing by a file cabinet. A beige suit, hat, and a yellow scarf over a short beige cape was his first impression. His visitor seemed to almost blend with the white of the wall behind him.

"Who are you?" Cortez spotted clouds gathering outside. He didn't think this meddler could stop his rain spell now that it was pulling in the overcast.

"I am a wayfarer walking this world." The man in the hat nodded. "It's not too late to change your path."

"I think the only thing I need to change is the locks on the door." Cortez pointed to his office door. "Get out."

"Your plans are ruined." Wayfarer stared at the realtor unblinkingly. "No one else has to be hurt for your greed."

A beige gloved hand held up a ream of papers. Cortez recognized the logo on the top sheet even from a distance.

"How did you get those?" He clenched the hand with the chalk in it into a fist. The chalk snapped in half.

"I know many secrets hidden in darkness." Wayfarer tucked the papers in his coat. "They'll be safe with me."

"I can't allow that." Cortez raised his chalk and used the tip to draw a sign on the air. "It's time for you to have a heart attack."

A dog of fire roared from the symbol. It leaped at the beige man, intent on ripping him apart from the inside.

Wayfarer kept it at bay with a forearm to the throat, taking its weight with a staggering step back. His face disappeared in the shadow from his hat and scarf.

"I'm afraid the manipulation of probabilities will fail you in the face of certainty." He flung the dog away in an explosion of fiery streaks.

Cortez wrote another sign on the air. His enemy couldn't be allowed to expose his dealings. It would ruin him.

Chains of stygian hue reached from the symbol. The ends wrapped around the beige man. They began to retract back to their anchor in whatever universe was their source.

Wayfarer raised a hand. The window shattered behind Cortez. He ducked but realized that the glass had fallen straight down and not in a circular explosion. He smiled.

"Was that your best trick?" The real estate agent laughed. "What was it supposed to do?"

"Nothing." The bound wanderer resisted the pull from the chains. He almost seemed to smile. It was hard to tell with the shadows shifting across his slender features. "I just wanted you to listen."

A guitar spoke alone. The notes silenced the worried crowd. The clouds drifted apart to let the sun shine down on the haunted town. The audience burst out in cheers.

More and more instruments joined that one lone guitar. Everything was so bright to Cortez. He felt his magic splinter under that onslaught. His chains melted away as he watched.

Probability bent around the wizard, grabbing him in its grip. Wayfarer stepped back out of the spinning storm. He held his hat down in the wind as he watched the backlash run its course.

The storm calmed as the music played on. The office changed around the wanderer as he watched. Different agents took up residence. The town grew with new businesses and people appearing outside. Grass grew in the desert as the change worked its course.

A secretary frowned at the stranger as he suddenly appeared in front of her. He smiled quietly as he turned to leave.

"Can I help you?" She called with puzzlement.

"I'm afraid not." Wayfarer opened the door. "I arrived by accident, and now must depart to other places that I am required."

"Have a good day." The secretary waved and smiled as he left.

Wayfarer walked the street around the edge of the crowd. He looked at the humanity and knew that most had been set on better paths by what they had heard.

He wondered how much of the world had been improved by the absence of Eli Cortez. He looked around. He saw thousands. The number could only climb higher.

He turned to face the setting sun. He had other places that needed him. He started walking.

The music drifted after him as he headed into the desert. He smiled as the rocks and plants joined in for one brief moment. The wind washed where he had been and was no longer.

The crowd dispersed as the music slowly faded away to let the desert sing its own music in the night.

A coyote led that song.

Epilogue

Bluegrass Hanes shined the windows on his museum. He had collected music memorabilia from all over the world. It rested in cases for everyone to look at when they visited.

He whistled an old tune he had wrote and forgotten. He had named it Evadora for some reason. He wondered how he could forget such a light melody.

Hearing it at the concert to save his place months ago had brought it back to mind.

He couldn't get it out of his mind for some reason.

He paused his wiping when he heard a motorcycle slowly cruising down the street. He looked for it. His great godson smiled at him as the bike came down the block.

"How's it going, Grass?" El Mariachi pushed up his goggles. Road dust covered his black jacket and pants with beige streaks. Gray ran across his white shirt.

"Everything's been fine, boy." Hanes put his rag and window cleaner aside. Dentures showed as he smiled. "Thanks for your help. I feel like I have new lease on life."

"I didn't do it alone." The musician shut off his bike and dismounted. "We were glad to give you some of our time. Everything looks better around here."

"I know." The older man looked around, hands on his hip. "I can't explain it. It's like you and your friends lifted a gray blanket off of everything."

"Like I said, it was our pleasure." El Mariachi set his guitar case down beside him. "I'm headed north for a show. I just wanted to check on you since I was going that way."

"I'm still good." Hanes crooked an arm to show off the remains of a bicep. "You'll never play as smooth as I can, boy."

"You want to put your money where your mouth is, Grandpa?" The musician smiled.

"When?" He looked at his building for inspiration.

Maybe it was a source of strength after three failed marriages and years wandering the road making his home in the hotels on his circuit.

"Right now." El Mariachi opened his case and took out his guitar. "Unless you're El Pollo."

"I can't believe you just said I was a chicken." Hanes shook his head. "Are you calling me out?"

"Cluck, cluck, cluck." He pulled the sling for the guitar over his jacketed shoulder. "Unless you just forgot every song you ever knew because of old age."

"I ain't forgot nothing, boy." The old man laughed. "I'll be right back with Sadie."

"Take your time." El Mariachi waved his hand. "It might take you a year to find her. I'll practice while I wait for you to stagger back under her weight."

"I'm gonna give you a clout." Hanes walked into the museum. He made his way through the encased memories as he headed for the back of the place. His prized guitar hung on a pair of hooks on the wall. He took her down and threw the strap over his neck.

His thin fingers strummed the strings as he walked toward the door. He stepped outside in the sun and felt much younger. He adjusted the tension on the strings as he joined his great godson by his case.

"Go ahead and pick a song, boy." Bluegrass strummed the strings and smiled at the perfection he heard.

"I'll start with Evadora." El Mariachi smiled when the other man laughed. "Let's see if you can keep up."

"Let's see if you can play it at all." Hanes tapped his foot to keep time as they started their duel.

The two musicians played fast and loose with songs that ranged from 'Headstrong' to 'Slewfoot' with a thousand songs between them. People passed and dropped money in the case as they went about their business. The two ignored them to keep up the battle.

Finally, Hanes silenced his guitar with a wave of his hand. He laughed.

"You got me." He shook his head. "Let me put Sadie up."

El Mariachi dug the money out of the case. He folded the bills for his pants and put the change in a sack he put in his jacket pocket. He stored his guitar and picked the case up and hung it on his back.

"You want to go up to the show with me?" The guitarist gave half the money to Hanes when he returned. "Everyone would love to see you back in action."

"I don't think so." Bluegrass gestured both hands at the building. "This place takes up most of my time."

"That's too bad since I already said you'd be there." El Mariachi put his half of the money back in his pants. "Matter of fact, they should be sending a car pretty soon to pick you up."

"You shouldn't have done that." Hanes glared at his godson. "I won't go."

"You lost the bet." The guitarist smiled. "You have to go. Never welch is what you always said."

"I can make exceptions to the rules." Bluegrass glared even harder.

"Don't be a sore loser." El Mariachi rubbed his face to conceal his smile. "Think of all the young ladies who will want to talk to a legend like yourself."

"Three divorces will cure that quick." Hanes counted the money and nodded at the amount. "Luckily, I outlived all three of the witches."

"Dinner is on me." The guitarist waved down the street at the diner he had stopped in before the concert. "I'll call to check on your car after we eat. I'll follow you up and make sure you get a good motel room."

"I'm not an invalid." The old musician looked at the town. He had an idea that it had been empty and barren before. He didn't know where that had come from, but he couldn't get rid of the thought that his godson had changed the world somehow.

He had been brought back to life somehow.

"Let me lock up." Hanes pulled out a key ring. "It's about closing time. I doubt anyone will raise a stink if I close a little early."

"Leave a note." El Mariachi pulled down his goggles. "I'll give you a ride over to the diner."

"I'll walk." He put the glass cleaner and rag on a display case. He checked the back door before setting the alarm. Then he closed the front door and locked it with a key on the ring.

"I'll wait for you at the diner." The guitarist kickstarted his bike. He turned it around and rolled off on the asphalt.

Hanes walked after him, whistling as he went. Evadora's notes drifted after him.

He wondered why that song was in his head as he walked along. He felt it had something to do with the way the world looked so bright now. It felt like a sea of possibilities that could carry him to whatever shore he wanted to reach.

He paused at the corner. He felt alive and ready to live another hundred years. He might as well spread the joy as much as he could.

Hanes nodded at the people he recognized as he headed for the diner. Everyone waved at him as he smiled.

He crossed the street and paused at the door. He spotted El Mariachi talking to the waitress in a booth in the corner.

He headed inside. He might as well enjoy this new lease on life.