Free Nightfire! (The Corvette Nightfire Prequel) by Daniel Wetta Page B

Tarahumara, as the chibochi called Día's
people. It was finally completed in 1962. It made stops in
Divisadero, where the passengers disembarked to gawk at the canyon,
and in Creel, which in Día's youth was a lumber village. The day
that Día first saw Creel was as important a day as when he first
had set eyes on Luna. The wide dirt boulevard in the middle of the
town allowed the cars and trucks to pass to and from a world that
the young man could not even imagine. Día stared with wonder at the
broad flat road. He saw a running path well defined.
    Surely only goodness can be at the
opposite ends of a road such as this , he thought. He conveyed
his opinion to Luna, who believed him.
    Then, when he was sixteen, in Creel, he met
the two older Mexican youths who affirmed what he had suspected:
that the chibochi paths led to unimaginable wonders. The young men
had arrived in a powerful black truck and were dressed in clean
cowboy clothes and boots. Día made a quick assessment:
    Maybe the chobochi don't believe in the
sharing and are selfish people, as my parents say. But maybe Luna
and I can get good things for our people in the outside world and
teach them how to deal with chobochi. If the outsiders see us
strong, maybe they will respect our ways. We should instruct the
chobochi.
    The youths were from Sinaloa. Día saw that
their eyes had been assessing his body. Through short sentences and
gestures they communicated a teasing challenge: They wanted to
race, and they pointed to a sign that could be seen about two
kilometers from them on the road. Only one ran. The other leaned
against the truck. It was hardly a contest. Día stopped half-way
and waited for the older boy to reach him, and then he shot off
ahead to the sign and remained until the youth arrived. The other
boy drove the truck to them and indicated that he would race Día
back to the town. But when Día started to run, the two jumped in
the truck and gunned it past, bathing him in a swirl of dry road
dust. Día got the message: the Indians might run for days, but the
roads and vehicles of the chobochi sliced time and distance into
moments of flying scenery.
    While his father traded articles in the town
and drank with friends, the boys put Día behind the wheel of the
truck and instructed him in its operation along the wide road to
the end of the town. At first the truck jerked and shook and cut
off as Día missed gear shifts, but quickly he got the hang of it.
The windows were down, and the rush of wind against his face as
they sped forward was far stronger than any breeze that he had
experienced in the running. He felt the hardness between his legs
that only Luna had given him before.
    Before they left him that day, the youths
strapped a pack on Día's back.
    "This for you," one attempted in his
language. "To help you carry things. Keep this, but meet us here
again. One day you run for us with this on your back. Then you have
truck."
    When he showed his father the backpack later,
the man shook his head. "The boys gave you this because you won the
race?" he asked. Día knew that his father did not believe his lie,
but he felt a strange shame and did not want to tell the whole
story. He had an intuition that the thrill of what he had felt in
the truck should be private. He thought that he would only tell
Luna. His father stared at him, shrugged, and handed him a
beer.
    It was months before he saw the young men
again, and Día had turned seventeen. He had left his family to go
on a run, he had told them, and to visit cousins. He wore the pack
he had been given. But instead of going to see cousins, he went to
Creel. He did not even confide this to Luna until after he returned
days later. He saw the chobochi faces staring at him as he walked
through Creel, and in just a couple hours a black truck pulled to
the shoulder of the road where Día sat cross-legged. The two young
men jumped out of the truck to greet him, as did a third, an older
Mexican man whom Día judged