Zia Summer by Rudolfo Anaya

Author:Rudolfo Anaya
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504011815
Publisher: Open Road Media

19

As Sonny drove south on Río Grande, he thought of Morino. I gotta get to Morino. He knows something; that’s why he went to see Dominic. Gotta get to him.… And Raven. Though he’s not going anywhere now that Naranjo’s got him in jail in Estancia.

On impulse, he picked up his cellular and dialed Tamara. “You’re in the neighborhood, darling,” she answered. “What a wonderful coincidence. I was just thinking of you. Of course you can come. I am alone; I will expect you.”

Okay, he would go see the mysterious lady. If anyone could help him get to Morino, it was Tamara.

The clear, dry heat of the day rose from the earth like the heat waves from volcanic magma. Humidity, 7 percent. The earth was seething with heat. He looked east toward the wrinkled face of Sandia Crest. The mountain was a dull, blue outline. He couldn’t see the contours of the foothills or the canyons. Above him the blue bowl of the sky was dull, empty of clouds. Days like this, the paisanos dreamed of the Taos mountains, cool streams, green pine trees swaying in the breeze, cold beer.

Weatherman Morgan had forecast a few thundershowers over the northern Sangre de Cristo Mountains, but nothing for Alburquerque. A few clouds were gathering over Rio Arriba, but nothing so far for Rio Abajo.

Akira Morino had shown up in the city a year ago. He fell in love with the place and began to make plans to bring a big microprocessing plant into the state. The latest in liquid-crystal display panels, he told the Chamber of Commerce. Panels so lightweight they could be carried around the house and hung on refrigerators or vanity mirrors. A plant on the cutting edge of the industry, so advanced it would put Alburquerque on the map.

But Intel beat him to the punch, pouring billions into a gigantic expansion in Rio Rancho. The Intel Pentium chip was destined to run every computer in the world, and Morino’s plans were sidetracked. Still, he stayed on, courting the business community, persuading, full of confidence and bravado, and promising to deliver the plant. He would, he insisted, move the computer age into the home in ways previously unimagined.

The Japanese build small computers, Sonny thought, because the islands of Japan are small. Landscape dictates character. But here we have lots of space. We don’t need to walk around with a computer in our hip pocket. Forget that small is good. Give me big! Big trucks, big women, big horses, big mountains to climb!

Ah, dreams.

The old Southwest was dead, or dying, taken over by Californicators living the Santa Fe style and staying in touch through fax machines. The once reclusive Villa de la Santa Fe had been “discovered” in the eighties. For those with money it became a place to escape to, a place for a second home for the LA crowd, a place to build new fantasies.

The new Southwest was dancing to the high-tech tune. Morino swore he could put together

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