It was June 23, 1913, twenty years to the day since my daughter had disappeared while riding for the New Pony Express in New Mexico. I was reading an obscure memoir of an American Indian visionary in the blue room of the San Francisco library when his description of a girl he had seen in a vision leaped out at me. The chief described seeing the marriage ceremony of a spirit girl dressed in white buckskin with a heart with wings tattooed on her left ankle while on his first vision quest in the Chihuahua desert in Mexico. Her partner was a young, handsome Mexican curandero, named Pancho.

I knew that tattoo well. I had etched it on my daughter’s left ankle, so reading this new information gave me hope of finding her. It was the very first clue I had had about her fate and possible whereabouts since she had vanished.

I was excited and I wasted no time in saddling my horse and starting the journey. I headed south through Yuma and El Paso before, many days later, I crossed the Rio Grande.

In the Chihuahua mountains, I was intercepted by a group of bearded hombres with shiny gun belts whom I first took for bandits. Then I wasn’t so sure because they seemed too friendly and soft to be rugged desperados. Actually, they seemed like actors because of their constant primping and posturing.

Be that as it may, I asked them right off if they had ever come across a girl with a heart and wings tattooed on her ankle and if they had ever heard of a curandero named Pancho. They didn’t know of such a girl but they smiled knowingly at the mention of Pancho.

They immediately agreed to take me to Pancho. Saying I would find him in a small village further up in the mountains, but not too far away. Hours later as the sun was setting, we came to the village of mostly stone huts and a few wooden two-story dwellings. The men lead me to the saloon which was, perhaps, the biggest building in the conclave.

“Senor, you are our guest. Have some whiskey,” said the man with the prettiest mustache.

I told him, “No, I have to talk to Pancho, it’s really important,” and that I had no time to lose.

“Senor, the whiskey is Pancho and Pancho is God,” said the leader.

I looked around the table, trying to figure out what was going on. It felt serious, very serious. The faces were suddenly grim and the body language was tight.

“Listen,” I said, “There has been a misunderstanding here, you said you were bringing me here to talk to Pancho, now where is he?”

“Senor,” said the same man, “there has been no mistake. We have brought you here to meet your maker. Like I said, Pancho means God. Let me be clear, Senor, we are going to kill you (the guys around the table drew their guns), take your money and your horse. But to show you that we have heart, we will grant you every man’s last request. Go on up the stairs and fuck some pussy before you die.”

The higher I got up the stairs, the more they seemed a stairway to the gallows. I thought I would puke. A woman’s voice bellowed from within.

“Don’t be shy, stranger. Come on in. They call me Sweet Helen. Hell, ain’t you a beauty. Ah, what’s the matter? Don’t let them get to ya. They’re bullshit. Told ya you were going to die, didn’t they? They are fake. They call themselves the Diablo Players. They try to scare the shit out of people, just for fun. Those fuckers justify it by calling it the Living Theatre. They toy with you, make you sweat. And then they will come in at the last minute and tell you that by the grace of God you have been pardoned and could you make a donation to the hovel down the way that they call a church. Fuck them, come here and get some of this good stuff.”

She patted the place beside her and beckoned to me. Then she raised her dress and showed me her cunt. “You like this meat, baby. You like my dragon. Come baby, let’s make some fire.”

What the hell, she is the one who could be lying, I thought. And don’t think I didn’t make damn sure to check her ankles. When I looked, there were no tattoos, and besides, she didn’t appear anything like my daughter even though they shared the same name.  My daughter had been beautiful. This girl was like a ship that had weathered many a storm and maintained plenty of ballast in its bilge.

She took my hesitation for disinterest and turned her rear towards me and shouted, “Or, maybe, you want some of this.” Her bunghole was well oiled and a bit slack, and it occurred to me that it damn sure wouldn’t be her first time

“Come on, gringo, time to get busy. It still works, doesn’t it.”

I said, “I don’t know, I guess we will find out.”

It did work and it worked well after some French kisses and Italian pinches.

We were kissing, our tongues like lizards, darting in and out. I licked down her neck and I sucked on her nipples like a thirsty drunk. I rolled my tongue around her navel and I kept going until my full attention went down to her fully wet pussy which was surrounded by a bushy forest of pubic hair. It was something like a descent into a maelstrom, except with my tongue going around and around instead of me. Her open pussy was as tasty as the finest San Francisco delicacy. Her cunt’s texture was a gourmet’s delight, the crème de la crème.

She hugged me and loved me until I dozed off, a bit sweaty for the wear.  I opened an eye when I felt her get off the mattress and limp over to her porcelain tub. Her wide hips parted the bubbles just before I closed my eye.

When I again heard the parting of the waters, I opened my other eye to peek at those breasts that hung down almost to her waist. I peered downward towards her ankles and saw that the water had washed off the dirt that had covered a heart with wings that was tattooed on her left ankle.

“Oh my God, what have I done! No, no, no!” I screamed.

“Oh stop it, silly,” said Helen, with her hands on her naked hips

She said, “You poor, sweet man, don’t you see, they were just fooling you again. They sent word ahead and made me submit to the pen. I tried to cover up so you wouldn’t see, but now you did.”

Then things got really crazy.

“Looky here,” she said as she bent down and unscrewed her leg and showed it to me. She explained that it was wood and it proved she damn well sure wasn’t my daughter because her father was Getpeto, the village woodcarver and it was he who had made this wooden leg for her.

“Come on, stranger, let’s celebrate. You ain’t been fucked until you been fucked by an amputee,” she said while leaning on her bathtub.

“Come on, what’s your name?” she asked.

“People call me A.B.,” I said.

“A.B., come on now, I’ll hump your bump! I’ll spin 360 degrees on your dick while I corkscrew your ass with my thumb,” she said.

But before we could get into it, we heard a commotion downstairs and suddenly the door burst open and a mustached hombre wearing a sombrero and a bandolier covered by serape, jumped in with pistols drawn, whirling first to the left, then to the right. After thoroughly examining the room, he returned them to his belt and turned to me.

“Excuse me, Senor, I did not mean to disturb or disrupt, but I have eliminated the problem downstairs. Those men have dishonored you and they have dishonored me. Believe me, they will not bother you again. I have heard of you and I have heard of your problem with your missing daughter. In fact, I have even read, The Devil’s Dictionary, a masterpiece, I must tell you.

But in regards to your daughter, Senor, I have good news about the girl who has the heart with wings tattooed on her left ankle, I have seen her in Mexico City (a place Senor, where I am known by some as El Presidente) selling tacos with a big smile on her face. Indeed, Senor, she has been married to a handsome curandero known by my namesake, Pancho. In fact, Senor, he is my own son.”

“Then you must be Pancho Villa?” I said.

“Yes, Senor, you are right and downstairs you will find some grub for your journey, three horses, your money and your saddle. Go in peace. But remember Senor, as you have seen, Mexico can be a very dangerous place, especially during this time of revolution. Adios.” he said.

So I thanked Pancho Villa and I thanked Helen and went below to find my horses. I saddled up and headed south to find my daughter.