The Collected Works of Billy the Kid Page 6

  A PRETTY GOOD DANCER

  I: What about pastimes? Did you have many when you were free? Did you like books, music, dancing?

  B : Dancing I like, I’m a pretty good dancer. Fond of music too. There’s a Canadian group, a sort of orchestra, that is the best. Great. Heard them often when I was up there trying to get hold of a man who went by the name of Captain P___.* Never found him. But that group will be remembered a long time.

  I: How about you, do you think you will last in people’s memories?

  B : I’ll be with the world till she dies.

  I: But what do you think you’ll be remembered as? I mean don’t you think that already several feel you are morally vulgar? I mean all these editorials about you….

  B : Well…editorials. A friend of Garrett’s, Mr. Cassavates or something, said something bout editorials. He said editorials don’t do anything they just make people feel guilty.

  I: That’s rather good.

  B: Yes. It is.

  *

  Am the dartboard

  for your midnight blood

  the bones’ moment

  of perfect movement

  that waits to be thrown

  magnetic into combat

  a pencil

  harnessing my face

  goes stumbling into dots

  *

  No the escape was no surprise to me. I expected it. I really did, we all did I suppose. And it is now in retrospect difficult to describe. You’ve probably read the picture books anyway, of how he did it. What he did was to seduce young Bell into a cardgame, shot him, then shot Ollinger returning from lunch. Nobody cared about Ollinger, but Bell was liked. You know how Ollinger used to kill people? He’d go up to them about to shake hands, then grab their right hand with his left, lift out his pistol and fire into the chest. He had hated Billy ever since the Lincoln County War. So Bell and Ollinger died and Billy escaped. Also on the way out of town he hit a man named Ellery Fleck in the face, with his rifle, for no reason at all. He was probably elated.

  One funny thing happened apparently (I was out of town). Billy’s hands were still chained, and jumping onto a horse to escape he lost his balance and fell off—right in front of the crowd who refused to do anything but watch. In that crowd nobody cracked a smile. Three or four kids helped him catch the horse and held it while he got on carefully. Then with the rifle cradled in his arms he made the horse walk slowly over Ollinger’s body and went.

  *

  MISS SALLIE CHISUM:

  As far as dress was concerned

  he always looked as if

  he had just stepped out of a bandbox.

  In broadbrimmed white hat

  dark coat and vest

  grey trousers worn over his boots

  a grey flannel shirt

  and black four-in-hand tie

  and sometimes—would you believe it?—a flower in

  his lapel.

  I suppose it sounds absurd to speak

  of such a character as a gentleman,

  but from beginning to end

  of our long relationship,

  in all his personal relations with me,

  he was the pink of politeness

  and as courteous a little gentleman

  as I ever met.

  *

  (Garrett had stuffed birds. Not just the stringy Mexican vultures but huge exotic things. We would sometimes be with him when they arrived. He would have them sent to him frozen in boxes. The box was wooden, a crate really, and with great care after bringing it back from the station, he would remove the nails. He first took out the 8" of small crushed ice and said look. And it would be a white seagull. It was beautifully spread in the ice, not a feather out of place, its claws extended and brittle from the freezing. Garrett melted it and split it with a narrow knife, parting the feathers first, and with a rubber glove in his right hand removed the body. He then washed the rotted blood from the wings, the outside, and then took it out onto the verandah to dry.)

  *

  MISS SALLIE CHISUM: PAT GARRETT

  A tremendously tall man.

  Despite his crooked mouth

  and crooked smile which

  made his whole face seem crooked

  he was a remarkably handsome man.

  BILLY THE KID & PAT GARRETT — SOME FINAL THOUGHTS

  I knew both these men intimately.

  There was good mixed

  in with the bad in Billy the Kid

  and bad mixed in with the good

  in Pat Garrett.

  No matter what they did in the world

  or what the world thought of them

  they were my friends

  Both were worth knowing.

  *

  Sound up. Loud and vibrating in the room. My ears picking up the hum of flies across the room. The mattress under Pete Maxwell shifting its straw, each blade loud in its clear flick against another. Even the now and then crack at the glass as the day’s heat evaporates from the window against the dark of the desert.

  And then that breathing, not Maxwell’s but the other’s. The breathing precise but forced into quiet but regular streams. Think of the dark air going up through the nose, down to the stomach rolling around on itself, and then up and out like a fountain spilling through his teeth hissssssssssssssssssssssssss

  *

  In the final minutes. It is Texas midnight. A large large square, well and buckets centre. The houses and sheds in rows making up the square. The long narrow porch running all around. Up to the well rides Pat Garrett and deputies Poe and Mackinnon. Scuffling slow, smoking as they dismount gentle and leave the horses and walk to the large hut which is Maxwell’s room. They pass the dog.

  This is a diagram then of Maxwell’s, Pete Maxwell’s, room. Bed here against the wall, here’s the window where he put his hand through. And here, along here, is the porch. While this, about 20 yards away, is the Gutierrez home. Garrett, Poe, and Mackinnon stop near Maxwell’s door. On some vague tip Garrett has come to ask Maxwell where he thinks Billy is hiding out—where in the territory is he—he’s been escaped 3 months and nobody’s seen him. Garrett leaves the deputies sitting smoking on the porch, flicks away his own cigar and goes into the dark room where Maxwell is asleep

  Meanwhile Billy is just yards away drinking with Celsa Gutierrez. He came in about an hour ago, he wears only his trousers and guns, hot night. They decide she will cook him something and he offers to go cut some meat. Carrying a knife in his left hand, and barefoot, he is up and begins walking towards the ice house. Passing the Maxwell room he sees the two men outside. Quien es? They do not answer. Again the question. No answer. Billy backs off the porch into Maxwell’s room and heads towards his friend sleeping. In the dark room Garrett has wakened and is questioning the dazed Maxwell. In fact as Billy enters he is crouching by Maxwell’s bed. Quienes son esos hombres afuera, Pete?

  Garrett recognises the voice. He does the one thing that will save him. Quietly, with his long legs, he climbs over Maxwell’s body and gets into bed between Maxwell and the wall. With his rifle in his hands he watches the darkness, trying to make out the shape that is moving towards him. Billy moves over barefoot and asks Pete again. Quienes son esos hombres afuera?

  Maxwell doesn’t say a word. He can feel Garrett’s oiled rifle barrel leaning against his cheek. Billy shakes Maxwell’s shoulder and then he hears the other person’s breathing. As the only other woman on the ranch, apart from Celsa Gutierrez is Paulita Maxwell—Pete’s sister—he doesn’t know what to think. Paulita? Pete Maxwell gives a nervous giggle full of fear which Billy mistakes for embarrassment. Paulita! Jesus Christ. He leans forward again and moves his hands down the bed and then feels a man’s boots. O my god Pete quien es?

  He is beginning to move back a couple of yards in amazement. Garrett is about to burst out laughing so he fires, leaving a powder scar on Maxwell’s face that stayed with him all his life.

  *

  outside

  the outline
of houses

  Garrett running from a door

  —all seen sliding round

  the screen of a horse’s eye

  NOW dead centre in the square is Garrett with Poe—hands in back pockets—argues, nodding his head and then ALL TURNING as the naked arm, the arm from the body, breaks through the window. The window—what remains between the splits—reflecting all the moving too.

  Gutierrez goes to hold the arm but it is manic, breaks her second finger. His veins that controlled triggers—now tearing all they touch.

  *

  The end of it, lying at the wall

  the bullet itch frozen in my head

  my right arm is through the glass pane

  and the cut veins awake me

  so I can watch inside and through the window

  Garrett’s voice going Billy Billy

  and the other two dancing circles

  saying we got him we got him the little shrunk bugger

  the pain at my armpit I’m glad for

  keeping me alive at the bone

  and suns coming up everywhere out of the walls and floors

  Garrett’s jaw and stomach thousands

  of lovely perfect sun balls

  breaking at each other click

  click click click like Saturday morning pistol cleaning

  when the bullets hop across the bed sheet and bounce and click

  click and you toss them across the floor like…up in the air

  and see how many you can catch in one hand the left

  oranges reeling across the room and I KNOW I KNOW

  it is my brain coming out like red grass

  this breaking where red things wade

  *

  PAULITA MAXWELL.

  An old story that identifies me as Billy the Kid’s sweetheart has been going the rounds for many years. Perhaps it honours me; perhaps not; it depends on how you feel about it. But I was not Billy the Kid’s sweetheart I liked him very much—oh, yes—but I did not love him. He was a nice boy, at least to me, courteous, gallant, always respectful. I used to meet him at dances; he was of course often at our home. But he and I had not thought of marriage.

  There was a story that Billy and I had laid our plans to elope to old Mexico and had fixed the date for the night just after that on which he was killed. There was another tale that we proposed to elope riding double on one horse. Neither story was true and the one about eloping on one horse was a joke. Pete Maxwell, my brother, had more horses than he knew what to do with, and if Billy and I had wanted to set off for the Rio Grande by the light of the moon, you may depend upon it we would at least have had separate mounts. I did not need to put my arms around any man’s waist to keep from falling off a horse. Not I. I was, if you please, brought up in the saddle, and plumed myself on my horsemanship.

  *

  Imagine if you dug him up and brought him out. You’d see very little. There’d be the buck teeth. Perhaps Garrett’s bullet no longer in thick wet flesh would roll in the skull like a marble. From the head there’d be a trail of vertebrae like a row of pearl buttons off a rich coat down to the pelvis. The arms would be cramped on the edge of what was the box. And a pair of handcuffs holding ridiculously the fine ankle bones. (Even though dead they buried him in leg irons). There would be the silver from the toe of each boot.

  His legend a jungle sleep

  Billy the Kid and the Princess

  The Castel of the Spanish girl called ‘La Princesa’ towered above the broad fertile valley…in the looming hills there were gold and silver mines…Truly, the man chosen to rule beside the loveliest woman in Mexico would be a king. The girl had chosen William H. Bonney to reign with her…but a massive brute named Toro Cuneo craved that honor …

  There’d been a cattle war in Jackson County…. He’d settled a beef with three gunquick brothers near Tucson…and he was weary of gunthunder and sudden death! Billy the Kid turned his cayuse south…splashed across the drought dried Rio Grande…and let the sun bake the tension out of his mind and body.

  “See them sawtooth peaks, Caballo? There’s a little town yonder with a real cold cerveza and a fat lady who can cook Mexican food better’n anybody in the world! This lady also got a daughter…una muchacho…who’s got shinin’ black hair and a gleam in her brown eyes I want to see again.”

  And on a distant hill …

  “He comes, be ready Soto.”

  “Gunshots…a 45 pistol! Runaway! It’s a girl! She’s

  goin’ to take a spill! Faster Chico!”

  “AAAAAHH!”

  “Hang on…I got yuh!…You’re okay now Señorita.”

  “Gracias, Señor. You are so strong and brave…and very gallant!”

  “Thanks, I heard shots…Did they scare your cayuse into runnin’ away?

  “I think I can stand now, Señor…if you will put me down.”

  “Huh? Oh sorry, Señorita. I’m Billy Bonney, Señorita.

  I’m from up arund Tucson.”

  “I am Marguerita Juliana de Guelva y Solanza, la

  Princesa de Guelva.”

  “La Princesa? A real princess?”

  “I am direct descendent of King Phillip of Spain. By virtue of Royal land grants, I own this land west for 200 leagues, south for 180 leagues. It is as large as some European kingdoms…larger than two of your American states…I am still a little weak. Ride with me to the castle, Señor Bonney.”

  “There Señor Bonney…my ancestral home. The castle and the valley farther than you can see…I have 20,000 cattle, almost as many horses and herds of goats, pigs, chickens. Everything my people need to live.”

  “WHOOOEEE! The Governor’s mansion up at Phoenix would fit in one end o’ that wickiup.”

  “Come on, Yanqui! It is late…you must have dinner with me.”

  “ATTENTION! HER EXCELLENCY RETURNS!” Thinks: “She’s got a regular army!”

  The man called Billy the Kid is not impressed by the magnificent richness of his surroundings. The golden cutlery means nothing…The priceless china and crystal matter not, and the food cooked by a French chef?—PFAAGGH!

  Thinks: “I’d sooner be in Mama Rosa’s kitchen eatin’ tortillas an’ chile with Rosita battin’ them dark eyes at me!”

  “This table needs a man like you, Senor Bonney. Others have occupied that chair but none so well as you.”

  “Gracias, Princesa…but I’d never feel right in it…if you know what I mean.”

  “I propose a toast, my gringo friend…to our meeting…to your gallant rescue of me!”

  “I reckon I can’t let a lady drink alone, Princesa.”

  CRASH!!!

  “He could have sunk it in my neck just as easy…Start talkin’ hombre ’fore I say my piece about that knife throwing act!”

  “I am a man of action, not words, gringo! I weel crack your ribs…break your wrists…then send you back where you belong!”

  “Come on, animal, I want to finish dinner!” SOCK!!

  Thinks: “If I can nail him quick I’ll take the fight out of him…PERFECT!”

  That was his Sunday punch…and Toro laughed at it!

  Now, Billy the Kid knows he’s in for a struggle!

  “He’s got a granite jaw which means…I’ll have to weaken him with powerful hooks to the stomach!

  OOOOWWW!” THUD!

  “Now it’s my turn!”

  “If he lays a hand on me …”

  SWISSS!

  SOCK!

  “I keel you gringo!”

  Thinks: “My head…he busted my jaw!”

  TOCK!

  Thinks: “He’s a stomper …”

  “I keel your pet gringo Excellencia!”

  “Yuh’ll take me tuh death maybe, hombre!”

  “You no escape Toro now!”

  “I didn’t figure on escapin’ Toro!”

  CRACK!

  “Over you go, Toro!” “Olé! Olé!”

  CRASH!

  “Sorry I busted the place up some, Princesa.”
>
  “You are mucho hombre, Yanqui, very much man! A man like you could help rule this wild kingdom! Will you remain as my guest for a time?”

  “I come down here to rest up some. I reckon I can do that here as well as in Mama Rosa’s cantina.” (Kiss)

  “That was to thank you for protecting me from Toro Cueno. I must not go on being formal with you …”

  In the next few days, Billy the Kid was with La Princesa often.

  Long rides through wild country…“Wait princess…don’t get ahead of me!”

  “EEEEEeeii!!”

  “Duck, princess!”

  BANG! BANG!

  “Once more Chivoto, you have saved my life, this time from that cougar. You have won my love!”

  “Hold on, ma’am …”

  Before Billy the Kid can defend himself, La Princesa Marguerita has taken him in her arms and….

  “It was the Kid who came in there on to me,” Garrett told Poe, “and I think I got him.”

  “Pat,” replied Poe, “I believe you have killed the wrong man.”

  “I’m sure it was the Kid,” responded Garrett, “for I knew his voice and could not have been mistaken.”

  *

  Poor young William’s dead

  with a fish stare, with a giggle

  with blood planets in his head.

  The blood came down like river ride

  long as Texas down his side.

  We cleaned him up when blood was drier

  his eyes looked up like turf on fire.

  We got the eight foot garden hose

  turned it on, leaned him down flat.