Peyote Brujo: Part 2

https://makersplace.com/skiphunt/peyote-brujo-1-of-20-4718/

Continued from: Peyote Brujo Part 1: https://steemit.com/story/@skiphunt/peyote-brujo-part-1

Having your brain hemispheres open up like a fleshy lotus and expose it’s pink insides to a shower of electrified comet sparkles is fine and good, but if you also feel like you’re trying to pass the cutting shards of a giant mason jar though your small intestine... no amount of comet sparkle can make that tolerable.

Desperately wanted to be back in my room and closer to someone who might be able to help, like perhaps a doctor for example. Though, I don’t believe there are any doctors in Wadley or nurses for that matter. The closest medical attention would be a couple hour bus ride to Matehuala, and that’s after the hour-long hike back to Wadley. Provided, I could get back before the only afternoon bus left at 3pm.

So, I gritted my teeth, clutched my stomach, drank as much water as I could tolerate without throwing up, and tried to enjoy the psychedelic realms in my hammock... between the shooting pains.

Didn’t keep track of how long the pain lasted, but I’m guessing it was the better part of 4 hours since the psychotropic effects of the peyote were starting to subside a bit. It usually last for anywhere from 6-10hrs depending on various factors. I felt like I could finally start hiking back to Wadley at least.

In flat, desert areas like this on, it’s always difficult to judge distance. I hadn’t paid attention to exactly how long Philipe and I had hiked to the oasis, and although Wadley looked to be only a half-hour or so away… it took me well over an hour and a half to get back. That could’ve been because I changed the route a little to give more time for the peyote to wear off so that it wouldn’t feel as awkward interacting with anyone I might run into in the town.

When I got to the 2-lane road that runs all the way through this desert and along the railroad tracks, I was almost at the outer edge of Wadley.

I could smell the scent of marijuana burning somewhere. That’s not entirely unusual in this area, but it smelled very strong… as if someone had just walked ahead of me smoking a joint and the smoke was still hanging.

My intense stomach cramps had calmed down almost completely, but the effects of the peyote still very much had my brain in an ecstatic state. Thought about stopping at a tienda shop to get something cold to drink and maybe some snacks before walking back to my room, but decided to go lay the bed for a little while until the peyote had worn off a little more.

I was almost to the compound and noticed a white truck parked at the compound gate. Looks like Don Tomas has more guests. They must be waiting for someone to open the gate so they can pull their truck into the courtyard.

Got a little closer and noticed it wasn’t just a white truck. It had “POLICIA” painted on it. One of the local boys was talking to the cop who looked like he was in charge. He had a stark look, with a bushy mustache and he looked like he was looking for someone to extort money from. I took a hard right toward another tienda to disappear into, but I was too late. The boy had already pointed toward the gringo walking into the nearby tienda.

I could see the cop starting to walk toward the tienda and my heart started to race. Think fast! Oh, no… I left that bag of dried peyote brujo in a clear bag on the bed and there was still that white fiber stuff all over the floor. And, 2/3rds of that giant peyote plant was still at the bottom of the orange bag in my daypack. This isn’t going to go well for me. Think, don’t panic. Don’t look nervous.

Walked out of the tienda and rounded behind it toward my room. I could tell the cop was picking up his pace and trying to catch up to me. There were two other cops at the truck with the 3 young Mexican guys from Mexico city handcuffed in the back.

Evidently, the guys from Mexico City been walking just ahead of me on the road smoking a joint. The cops smelled it and searched their backpacks which were all 3 full of cut peyote plants. That explains why they went out into the desert with almost nothing in their packs other than something to sleep with. Unfortunately, they hadn’t got the memo on not smoking weed in town while the cops are snooping about.

I could hear the larger cop who was following me calling out for me to stop, but I pretended not to hear. Nodded to the guys in the back of the truck and opened the padlock on my room door, grabbed the plastic bag of peyote brujo pieces and jammed it between a folded mattress in the corner. The cop had made it to my room and started banging on the door. He called out that he needed to see my passport. (in Spanish)

“Señor, I must see your passport. Why didn’t you stop?”

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were talking to me. Just a minute, I’ll get my passport.”

I grabbed my passport and stuffed my wallet between the mattresses too before stepping out of the room.

“United States?”

“Si.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting”

The head cop flipped through my passport and then started checking my visa to see if it was expired and had then proper stamps and signatures. One of the other two cops motioned toward my daypack I’d set down.

“Hand your bag to him please, we need to search it.”

I remembered the rest of that giant peyote plant in the bottom of the plastic bag of oranges, I tried not to look nervous as I handed my daypack to the other cop. He started taking items out slowly, then glancing up at me to see if I was starting to break a sweat as the cop with the mustache went over my papers.

When he pulled out my knife that still had some dirt on it, his eyebrows went up. He opened the knife as he stared at me as if he’d found something incriminating. I shrugged. The cop then opened the knife and compared the length of the blade to the width of his hand. Evidently that’s a measure of how long a knife blade can be on your person. It was slightly over the allowed length. I silently relaxed because I thought the dirt on the knife was giving me away.

Then, he lifts the the plastic bag of oranges out of the daypack and my heart sank. Still, I kept calm on the outside. The plastic bag was opaque so you couldn’t see through it. He simply patted on the plastic bag with the knife and said, “Naranjas” (oranges). He then puts the bag back into the daypack without looking into it, and folds the knife. Everything went back into the bag and he hands it back to me. Whew!

The mustache cop handed my passport back. I tried to make conversation and asked why the third cop was. They said he was getting the keys to the boy’s red Ford Fiesta car because they were being arrested and driven up to the jail in Real de Catorce.

Felt bad for the boys, but they were mostly smiling. They also looked very stoned, so maybe the gravity of the situation hadn’t quite hit them yet. Still, I was rejoicing silently inside that I was about to avert this trip going very badly for me.

Until, the mustache cop said he wanted to search my room. All that inner joy came to a complete stop. I was also feeling the tail-end of the peyote effects and my head was racing. I said:

“No problemo”

He followed me into the room. I tossed my daypack to the middle of a long table in the room so it didn’t look like I was trying to hide anything in the bag they’d just searched, and then calmly sat on the edge of the bed while started looking around.

“What are you really doing here amigo? You’re here to eat the peyote aren’t you?”

“No. I told you I only came here to write. See my laptop on the table?”

He looked toward the laptop and looked moved some loose items around looking underneath as he moved through the room.

“Yes, I see the computer… but many of the foreigners carry them. Tell me why you’re here.”

“Only writing. I like to come here to the desert for inspiration and the quiet.”

He started kicking his police boot around the floor and moving the white fibers from the peyote brujo that were still there. My pulse went up a few notches.

“If you are not here for the peyote, why is all of this peyote fiber on the floor? You cleaned a plant in here didn’t you?”

“No, I told you before why I’m here. I don’t know what that fiber is. It was here when I got here. I need to sweep. It’s a dirty room and I need to sweep.”

He then walked around the room another time, looking into dusty storage boxes and over to the folded mattress on a rollaway bed where I’d stashed the bag of dried peyote brujo pieces. He rolled it around once. The mattress was filthy so he didn’t stick his hand into the fold to check.

Determined to find something to bust me for, he sauntered over toward a video camera I had on a tripod in the room. I’d carried it along with me to get interesting travel shots along the way. He asked:

“You are here only to write?”

“Yes”

“Then why do you have this professional movie camera?”

“Because I’m working on a story for a movie I’d like to make and I’m using the video camera to record some of the possible locations.”

I’d heard that another movie had filmed up in Real de Catorce a couple years prior and it had infused a lot of money into the town. Brad Pitt and Julia Davis are in it. I think it’s called “The Mexican” or something like that.

Anyway, I knew that the primary motivation for the cops in the area, and most of Mexico for that matter, seemed to be making a little cash on the side. And, I needed to think of a way to distract this guy quick as he headed back over toward the folded mattress after running his hand underneath the mattress on my bed.

“You know... I was just thinking... if everything works out this this movie script I’m working on and I find people with money to finance making it, I’ll be back here with a crew.”

I remembered that I’d recently had new business cards made and I’d put an icon of a movie reel on them, along with a camera, and a couple others. The reel would make it look like I was really a filmmaker. Walked over to the table to get a card our of my wallet and motioned for him to accept it in order to divert him from proceeding toward the folded mattress.

“If, I find the money and can make this film happen, I’m going to need to hire someone for security during the shoot. Would you be available for something like that?”

He studied the business card I’d handed him.

“It’d be paid of course.”

His eyes lit up as he looked up from the business card.

“You would hire me for the security on a pelicula? (film)

“I don’t see why not. I’ll need someone with and you’re the only one with that kind of experience that I’ve met here.”

I started walking toward the door where the other 2 cops were waiting with the 3 Mexican guys in the back of the truck. The guys weren’t smiling anymore as I think the high was starting to wear off and they realized what was happening. The third cop had loaded their belongings into their Ford Fiesta and had just pulled it out of the courtyard.

As I stepped outside the room the mustached cop luckily followed behind.

“What’s going to happen to those guys?”

“They are all under arrest for cutting peyote in the desert. All their backpacks were full of it to take back to Mexico City to sell. They were also smoking mota (marijuana) along the road. Muy estupido (very stupid)”

The other cops asked the mustached one if I was clean. He told them I was only working on a movie and wanted to hire him for security.

“We are taking these compadres up to Real de Catorce for processing. The only jail we are using now is the one up there.”

I waved sympathetically toward the guys in the back of the truck. They half-heartily waved back and cracked nervous smiles. They’d probably be fine. The cops would likely keep their car and whatever mordida (bribes) the cops could get their parents to send, and they’d be on their way in a few days.

The cop with the mustache got into the passenger side of the police truck. After he slammed the door shut he leaned out smiling and waved my business card toward me. He yelled “Don’t forget me for security when you come back to make your movie!”

I smiled and answered, “Por supuesto! (of course)”

As the police truck pulled out leaving a cloud fine desert dust hanging int the air, it was followed by the 3rd cop in the boy’s Ford Fiesta. He rolled down the window and cranked up the stereo and started banging his head along to whatever heavy metal music the boys had last been listening to while pretending to sing along. I could still make out the expressions of the boy’s faces. Their high had definitely worn off and they did not look amused.

Went back into my room after first giving the stink eye to the little boy who’d first spotted me and pointed my way as I walked in from the desert. He laughed at me and ran off.

I stood in my room shaking for a few moments realizing how close I got to ending up in the back of that police truck too. I didn’t have anyone to call who’d bail me out and it definitely would not have gone well.

Opened the other door of my room that went out into the courtyard. I could see Philipe’s door was open. Walked over and peeked in. Philipe was as white as a ghost and shaking a little. I asked:

“Hey amigo! Did you see what just happened?”

“Yeah, one of those cops came banging on my door and wanted to search my room.”

“Oh no! They didn’t find your bag of kef?!”

“No, luckily I heard them march the Mexican guy’s in here to get the keys to their car. There’s no where to hide anything in these rooms so I jammed my bag of kef and pipe up above the roof beam and tin roof. Luckily my main stash is still in a pack I have a Don Tomas’ casa.

“The Mexican guys were walking along the road smoking weed right as they walked into the town. That’s how they got caught.”

“Idiots! Look at my hands, I can’t stop shaking. That could’ve gone very badly for me!”

“I know! One of the town boys pointed at the gringo walking into the tienda nearby. I have no idea why the boy would do that.”

“I’m sure he was just answering to the cops and didn’t mean harm. Did you end up eating that giant peyote cactus?”

Told Philipe everything that had just happened. About the peyote brujo bag on my bed, getting searched, and about promising to hire the head policia as security on a movie set. Philipe couldn’t believe it.

“How did you think of that?”

“I was in a panic and making it up as I went… trying not to look nervous.”

“Man, you are very lucky! They would’ve loved to catch themselves a gringo for sure!”

Philipe asked if the police were still in the town. I told him they’d left and were on their way up to the police station in Real de Catorce with the boy’s and their car.

He pulled the bag of kef down from the roof beam, along with his special kef pipe.

“You want to have a smoke? I need a quick one to calm down.”

“Yeah, that sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

We moved into the cocina (kitchen) to pass Philipe’s pipe for a few minutes and shared his Yerba Mate tea gourd. Philipe asked:

“What are you going to do now? I need to catch the afternoon bus to Matehuala to buy a bike. I’m going to be here for 3 months so I want to get a bicycle to get around while I’m here.”

“I think I’m going back out into the desert to cut more peyote.”

“What?! Are you crazy?! We almost got busted!”

“Well, I was thinking of moving on in a couple days and I have a friend in Puerto Vallarta who wanted to try peyote. He’s older and won’t likely make it out to the desert, so I agreed to bring him some. I’ll be back in a few weeks though, when I’m on my way back up to the border”

“Again, are you loco amigo? The policia just left here!”

“The way I figure, those are the only 3 policia in the entire Wiricuta desert. They’re all on their way to Real de Catorce for the weekend, and are getting ready to have plenty of mordida (bribe) drinking money very soon. If I’m going out to cut peyote to travel with, right now is probably the safest time to do it.”

Philipe shook his head in disbelief and headed out to catch the bus into the larger town of Matehuala a couple hours away. He’d be back in the morning.

Pulled the bag of peyote brujo from the folded mattress and spread the pieces out on my rooftop again to dry out a little more and just in case anyone else wanted to snoop around my room again. My head was in a pleasant haze from the kef we’d smoked, and I was getting a second wind from the Yerba Mate tea. I refilled my water, cleaned my knife, put on my headphones and headed back out into the desert to harvest. I still had at least 3 hours of daylight left. It was a beautiful day with some nice clouds streaking near the horizon. If I timed it right, and was lucky again in my search, I’d be able to take in yet another incredible technicolor desert sunset on the hike back.

© 2019 Skip Hunt

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