The Last Shepherd

22. HOGEITA BI

| 131 »« In the Arizona desert, heat blurred the landscape, turning everything brown. Here, in the Pyrenees, water blurred the landscape, turning everything green. Green trees, green grass, and green shrubs dissolved into each other. And I got the sensation that where I was, where I had been, and where I was going were all the same place. “I own Gorrienea?” “Oui, your aitatxi, he no want Marcelino to get so he leave to your aita,” Jacques said. “Now yours.” We had just reached the crest of a steep hill. “But what if I don’t want it?” “Want or no want, Gorrienea belong to you,” Jacques said. “Here where I go to home.” “Good-bye,” I said, and made a quick turn to start back the way we’d come in an effort to avoid the whole kissing thing again. “Gelditu,” Jacques said. Wait. “I better get back—” “You have come this far, Mathieu, you should see the pew.” “You mean view?” “Oui, I tell you, it take breath far away.” Jacques pointed up the mountain . “Top mountain—you see whole world there.” “I’m not sure I want to see the whole world just now.” “Maybe see Mamu,” Jacques said, and was off down the hill before I could point out that that wasn’t funny. I watched as he cut across a meadow covered with yellow flowers and disappeared into the trees. 22 h o g e i ta b i | 132« » Stupid Mamu. When he was gone, I gazed up at the mountain. The thighs of my legs were still tight from my pilota match, and I was having trouble getting a good breath in the thin air. I told myself, I should just go back to Gorrienea. I could rest there. Sit by the fire. Watch Edita dance. But what if Marcelino still sat in the armchair? And what about Isabelle? What if she wanted to talk about the house? How much truth did I owe her? What kind of lie would I tell? So much for no more secrets. Since I had no answers to my questions, I started to climb. As I hiked up the mountain, thoughts swirled in my head. If I owned Gorrienea, then I could use it to get Isabelle to sign the quit deed for the ranch. A simple trade. And then I could go home and start my new life. But what if Marcelino wouldn’t allow it? Jacques had said he was a wolf. But then Jacques’s use of English was confusing at best. He had described Jean’s pilota play as “ruthless.” And it was. But then he had used “pew” for “view.” Which made no sense. I wondered what my father would do in my place. Of course, he was the cause of me being in this place, but blaming him wasn’t going to get me the answers I needed. I waited for Dad’s voice to provide me some guidance, but instead heard Aitatxi saying, “Mendia heltzen da urrats bat aldian— Take the mountain one step at a time.” “What other way can you take a stupid mountain?” I said aloud and kicked a rock that was in my path. It sent a sting up my leg that caused me to limp for several yards. I shook my head to get Aitatxi out and again waited for my father. Only he never showed up. My chin jutted forward. Dad’s voice had gone silent ever since I arrived in Urepel. And I knew why. He wanted me to figure it out for myself. Which only made me madder. Clouds covered the top of the mountain I was climbing. When I moved into them, the world became unclear. Shapes came and went in the mist—a pointing finger curled in, a horse arched its neck in an unfinished gallop; the profile of my mother’s face flickered by, her eyes looking off to the side, not seeing me. In Oxea’s stories of the Mamu, this was where he lived— hiding and lurking and waiting. | 133« » I was about to give up and head down, figuring that with all these clouds there would be no view. What could I possibly see? And besides, instead of the climb helping me sort things out, it had jumbled them up even more. I had no idea what to do or how to use my owning...