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Two women meet in the desert of New Mexico in 1970 and their lives change forever.
Content Warnings: Violence, Fire, Mild Sexual Content, Loud Noises, Gun Violence
Written and Edited by George Hogg. Narrated by Lara Connolly.
Produced by Woroni Radio on Ngunnawal and Ngambri land, fully funded by SSAF.
PART IV: THE BEAST
NARRATOR: PART FOUR: THE BEAST
[sfx: wind]
NARRATOR: The next time you see the Rider, she is smoking outside of a diner, hat low over her head. The ashes of her cigarette float to the ground with a gentleness that she rarely had. When you approach her she looks up.
Her face still has faint lines from the fight. Her eyes still hold that sinister, wolf-like shine. She looks like she could kill you where you stand. But you aren’t afraid of the Wolf.
She tells you to get lost. You spit at her feet and tell her no. She nods and gets on her horse.
[sfx: horse riding]
NARRATOR: You get on with her. She rides you back to the ranch.
You’ve been gone a couple of months now, but it still feels the same. And yet things have changed. The fence no longer can be jumped over, even with a horse. The door now has a chain, preventing it from being opened more than a couple of centimetres. A shotgun rests by the boots. The stables lock from the inside.
[sfx: house creaks]
NARRATOR: The Rider looks at the floor when you enter the bedroom. She tells you she didn’t think you’d come back so she didn’t get a second bed.
You find that you don’t mind.
—/—
[sfx: silence]
NARRATOR: Once again, you have made your home in the Wolf’s den, Lamb.
Are you truly fearless, little one?
I don’t think so.
I know you have your doubts.
—/—
[sfx: thunder storm]
NARRATOR: You jump when the silence breaks with an almighty crack, a storm rolling in.
You cower when the door is knocked on, crouching behind a chair.
You wake in the middle of the night, heart racing.
The Rider notices, but never says anything. You two move around each other like the stars in the North; distant, cold, never touching.
—/—
[sfx: house creaking]
NARRATOR: You trace the outline of the bullet wound gently, fingers barely brushing it. It’s still red in some areas, the rest pale against the Rider’s tanned skin. She leans into your touch. Your hand slides down her arm to her hand, catching on the ring.
She looks at you over her shoulder with those sinister eyes.
Tell me about the ring, you whisper. Tell me about him.
She stares at the ring for a long time, mouth closed, brown furrowed.
She doesn’t tell you his name, just that he was an American man who owned this ranch. That they got married young, at 18. That he was killed by some cowboys who he had a disagreement with. That they’d only been married a year.
She’s been alone ever since. She’d pretend to be him to trade and ride alone.
Your mother had once called her mai-coh, and you’ve begun to understand why.
She is not a wolf nor a woman nor man.
She is all, able to change from form to form.
You should be afraid, little one. On the coast they said to be cautious of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Your mother always said beware the human in a wolf’s clothing.
—/—
[sfx: very distant thunderstorm, wind]
NARRATOR: The Rider leaves again at the end of Spring, taking the cattle with her. You watch as she slowly disappears over the horizon, the Shepherd trailing behind her.
They are some of the last of their kind.
You go to the back of the house, basket in hand.
[sfx: rustling of corn, humming]
NARRATOR: Here, ears of corn tower above you, colourful in the light. The Rider planted them in your absence and they’ve grown tall in the warmth. You twist and pull the ears, dropping them into your basket. You quietly hum a childhood tune, then a song you heard many moons ago in the city.
[sfx: rustle of an animal]
NARRATOR: A rustle comes from behind you. You turn and call out. There is no one. Just the wind, you tell yourself. A twist settles in your stomach. You can taste metal in the air.
Dark clouds linger at the edge of the sky.
You move to the beans, rising high on the lattice that supports them. Gently you pull the pods from the vines. One by one.
[sfx: rustle of an animal]
NARRATOR: Another rustle.
A glint in the sun.
[sfx: basket hits ground, things spill out]
NARRATOR: You drop the basket. It tips, corn spilling out.
[sfx: coyote growling]
NARRATOR: The coyote stares at you, teeth bared in a cruel grin.
You back away, heart in your throat.
[sfx: coyote sniffing, moving]
NARRATOR: It begins to prowl around the garden, sniffing. Fresh blood stains its mouth.
The hair on your arms rises.
A storm is brewing.
It gets closer. You have nowhere left to go. Your back is against the lattice.
[sfx: thunder clap, followed by rain]
NARRATOR: A thunder clap.
[sfx: animal running]
NARRATOR: The coyote runs, disappearing into the plains.
You collapse to your knees and breathe heavily. Your mouth is dry.
The rain is cold, turning dust to mud. You collect up the fallen corn and stumble back inside.
—/—
[sfx: horse]
NARRATOR: The Rider comes back in a foul mood and with far less cattle then she left with. Her blouse and boots are stained a deep red. The horse she rides is not the one she began her journey on.
Her bandana is tied around her ankle, tattered and ruined. It is limp, dead.
The midsummer sun beats down on her, hiding her eyes beneath her hat. A fierce scowl rests on her lips.
She slides off the saddle, lighting a cigarette as she walks the mystery horse to the stable.
You stay standing on the porch, watching her carefully.
—/—
[sfx: scrubbing]
NARRATOR: She goes straight to bed after bathing. You watch as she almost collapses into bed, boneless and sore.
You return to the kitchen and begin trying to scrub the blood stains out of the Rider’s shirt.
You scrub until your hands are raw and red.
You taste metal in the air again.
You look up and, for a moment, you swear you see the eyes of a beast looking back at you. You stumble back, heart racing.
Once the fear subsides, you kneel down on the floor and grip your skirt tightly. Sobs escape your mouth, tears rolling freely down your cheeks.
A strong hand pulls you up from the floor and holds you steady as you walk to the bedroom. She helps you sit, takes off your boots and jacket, undoes your hair. She lays your body down next to her body and holds your raw hands in her rough hands and it hurts just enough to keep you here, with Adelita.
You fall asleep in her arms.
—/—
[sfx: fire]
NARRATOR: The Slaughter comes in many forms, Watcher.
If not the Wolf, then the Name.
I wonder which way it will come for you.