Free The Klaatu Terminus by Pete Hautman Page B

understood was
bruja
.

T UCKER ALMOST MADE A BREAK FOR IT, BUT THE MEN
weren’t attacking him — not yet. Yaca was speaking rapidly, repeating the words
bruja
and
boggsey
several times. One of the others, a man carrying a pitchfork, joined in. Tucker could tell from their tone that they were arguing.
    “I’m looking for the girl,” Tucker said. “I’m not really a
bruja
.”
    They fell silent and stared at him. The man with the pitchfork stepped closer, peered into his eyes, then quickly backed away. He gestured with his pitchfork and started up the path. Tucker followed. The others, including Yaca, came close behind.
    Shortly, they came to a small clearing. Several crude huts with roofs made of leaves and branches were arranged around the perimeter. A low fire burned in a pit in front of the largest hut. An older woman sat on a log arranged before the fire, talking to a younger woman sitting beside her. The two of them looked over as Tucker and his captors emerged from the forest. The older woman said something. The young woman ran to one of the huts and disappeared inside. Yaca ran to the older woman and started talking. The woman looked from Yaca to Tucker, then back again. Finally she made a chopping gesture, and Yaca fell silent. The woman stood up. She was wearing a patterned green and gold sarong wrapped around her hips, and a loosely woven clay-colored shawl over her shoulders. She approached Tucker, her movements fluid and graceful. As she drew close, Tucker saw that the lines on her face were those that came with weather and hardship more than years. She may have been only thirty or forty years old, with intelligent black eyes, a strong jaw, and firm, narrow lips. Her dark, straight hair, spilling over her shawl, showed only a few strands of gray.
    “Marta,” she said, pointing at herself.
    “My name is Tucker. I’m here to find my friend.”
    The woman drew back, frowning. “You are no boggsey.”
    “No, I’m just looking for my friend. The girl these guys grabbed.” He pointed at Yaca and the others, who were standing a few yards away listening. “Is she here?”
    Marta frowned, then spoke sharply to Yaca, who replied defensively and pointed at the man with the pitchfork.
    “Malo!” the woman said sharply.
    The man with the pitchfork came forward and launched into a long story. Again, Tucker heard the words
bruja
and
boggsey
. The woman listened. When he had finished speaking, she snatched the pitchfork from him and flung it into the fire. The man cried out and moved to retrieve it; Marta dealt him an openhanded blow to the face. The man jerked back, putting a hand to his cheek.
    The woman returned her attention to Tucker.
    “Your friend is not here.”
    “Do you know where she is? Have you seen her?”
    “I will tell you a story. This I had from my son Malo.” Marta gestured at the man she had struck. “Malo came upon a yellow-haired girl in the forest. He took her, though she fought back with the speed and strength of a
jabalina
. Malo is fast and strong and brave. He defeated her and carried her far through the forest to the place where the boggseys tear the earth with their plows. There, after much clever bargaining, he traded her to them for a pitchfork.” She gave Malo a disgusted look. “This is the story my son tells me.”
    All Tucker could think to say was, “A pitchfork?”
    “Yes. He is
idiota
.” She regarded Tucker with narrowed eyes. “Yaca tells me a story as well. He says you were caught in his trap, and that the wooden tooth entered your back and burst out through your belly. He says he waited for you to die, but you refused. He says that you used magic to remove the tooth. He says you are a
bruja
. A witch. I do not believe in
brujas
, but I see blood on your garment. Show me your belly.”
    Tucker hesitated. The men with their machetes were still standing nearby. He feared that if the old woman thought he was a witch he would be killed.
    “It was nothing,” he