A big, long car deserves a big, long story. This one will take a week to tell, a new installment, a new car (or motorcycle)  every day this week, with the finale on Sunday.

Breakfast at The Pantry, located next door to the El Rey, was interesting. Perry and Mr. Holden had never actually sat across from each other for a prolonged period of time. In fact, Perry had never sat across the table from a black man before in his entire life. He tried to study Holden’s features without making it obvious. He was surprised at Holden’s impeccable manners, without knowing why for sure. Just inexperience, he supposed, but it wasn’t what he expected when the two sat down together.

Holden watched Perry while Perry watched the waitress, an attractive young woman of Indian descent whose beauty had not yet been affected by a difficult life in the high desert.  “Where are you going to want to go once the business at the bank is handled?” Holden inquired.

“We’ll have to see if there are any instructions with the cash.  Don’t know if any arrangements have already been made,” Perry answered.  “If not, maybe stay here in Santa Fe for a few days.  Look around.  Then head to Albuquerque.  Hit Arizona next, get it out of the way.  Head up to Nevada after that.  Get to LA in three weeks.”

Holden jotted down some notes in a memo pad he kept in his pocket.  Perry wolfed down the eggs, smothered in green chilies, and then regretted not pacing himself as the spicy mass made its way to his stomach.  Holden took his time, savored his waffles and sausage links and enjoyed every sip of the hot black coffee that kept getting refilled.  Standing and holding his stomach, Perry announced he was returning to his room.  “I’ll pay the ticket on my way out and see you in the car.”  He dropped a dollar on the table for the waitress and noted his wallet was near empty.

Holden grabbed the paper that had been left on the table next to theirs and skimmed the stories, looking for anything of interest.  There was little to choose from.  Figuring he’d given his young charge plenty of time to deal with the issues involving new cuisine, he rose from the table, put another dollar and a half on the table and made his way to the Packard and waited for Perry to exit his room. Nearly a half hour later, Perry presented himself, a little paler than he had been earlier in the morning, and Holden opened the rear door of the Packard for him to get in.  Ten minutes later they were in the office of the President of the First National Bank of Santa Fe on the historic Plaza downtown.

Once seated, Perry was given an envelope containing the $1,000 cash, as had been promised, and a typed letter from his mother:

Dearest Perry,

I trust you and Mr. Holden are getting to know each other as you begin your journey.  No doubt you tried to exchange your present for one more suited to your taste in Amarillo and found that to be pointless.  Learn to enjoy that which you are given over that which you desire and your life will be easier in the long run.

Welcome to New Mexico, it is a beautiful state.  I’ve made arrangements for you and Mr. Holden to visit a friend and stay with her at her ranch.  She’s agreed to have you for a couple days and is expecting you later this afternoon.  Ghost ranch is about an hour away.  I suspect you’ll be enchanted by the views and captivated by your host.

In the meantime, Mr. Holden has a wealth of experience.  It would be a shame if you didn’t tap into that resource and use it to your benefit.

Much love and safe travels,

Mother

The drive out to the ranch was scenic, with views of vistas like nothing Perry had ever seen in Texas.  The morning air from the high desert was cool and it blew through the large lowered windows of the Packard.  The last thing Perry wanted to do was spend two days with some old friend of his mother’s and looked forward to being able to strike out on his own as soon as the commitment was over.  Till then, he’d suffer through what he was sure would be old stories, stale perfume, and remembrances of a woman probably living in the past.

Within minutes of their arrival, Perry found himself on an Indian motorcycle, heading down gravel paths towards tan colored bluffs with his mother’s friend behind him telling him which way to turn for the very best views.  They would stop at her urging to collect bones of dead animals, bleached white in the sun, that she said would make a great painting.  At one point she told him to stop so they could cool off in the shade with a cold drink from the canteen she’d brought.  She offered Perry a cigarette, something an adult had never done before, and spoke freely of lovers she’d had at the ranch over the long years she’d owned it.

She spoke of Perry’s mother in fond terms and in ways he’d never considered before.  “She brought your father to the ranch one time, before they were married.  He was a handsome man.  You have his rugged good looks.”  Perry was surprised to hear anything about his father, it so rarely happened.  “Your mother was devastated when she lost him.  I don’t think she ever really got over it, but made the best she could.  That’s all any of us can do.  Continue living, one foot in front of the other, finding joy where we can.”

“Where do you find your joy?” Perry asked her.

“Look around.  As far as you can see,” she replied as she gazed off towards the horizon.  “There is more joy to behold in these hills and deserts than can ever be appreciated in only one lifetime.”  They soon got back on the motorcycle and headed back to the ranch house where her cook had been preparing a lunch of vegetables grown there and wild game captured on the ranch.

Mr. Holden had been looking at the paintings and sculptures scattered around the casa indiscriminately, and the natural objects that had inspired them.  Despite language barriers, he’d had conversations with some of the workers who lived on the ranch with the artist, getting to know them, their backgrounds, and how long they’d lived with her at the ranch.

The two days that passed stretched into three, then four.  Everyday Perry and the painter would get on the motorcycle and head a different direction and see totally different views.  She’d stop and sketch some of them occasionally, or make a note to come back at a certain time when the sunlight would be just right, to capture a particular scene.  They would talk about his mother and father  and it was like he was learning about characters from a novel.  He learned more about his father than he’d ever known before.  His mother, as a young woman, was someone whom he didn’t recognize.

While they were gone, Holden would roll up his sleeves and work in the garden with members of the staff, trying the ripe peppers and vegetables and asking about recipes they’d go in.  The afternoon of the third day, he disappeared in the Packard for a few hours, driving around the surrounding areas, stopping to talk to local folks and learn about their customs, their art, their culture.

When it was time to go, the woman sensed Perry wanted to stay longer.  “It’s good to go when you’re enjoying yourself,” she told him, giving him a hug.  “If you stay longer you might learn more than you need to.  There’s something to be said for maintaining enough mystery to keep it interesting.”  She let both Perry and Mr. Holden pick out a favorite painting from the dozens sitting around the ranch house to take with them as a souvenir of their time at the ranch.

“Tell your mother she’s done well,” the artist said.  “You’re a fine young man.  Enjoy the journey ahead.  It goes by so quickly, I’m afraid.”

That night, back in Santa Fe, Perry and Holden ate at The Pink Adobe, just off the square downtown.  Holden peppered him with questions about what he’d learned in the days out at the ranch.  He was surprised the boy seemed to know so little about his father, but that also put the trip into better perspective.

“”Did you tell her we stopped in Amarillo and I tried to trade the Packard in on a Caribbean?” Perry asked over dessert and coffee.

“How could I have done that and her have gotten the letter to the bank overnight?  Would have been impossible,” Holden told him.  “Sounds to me like a mother who just knows her son very well.  Maybe a little too well.” Holden snickered.  “It might be that you are just beginning to get a real glimpse at just who your mother is.  Your father, as well.”

The two of them spent the following day seeing the historic building, cathedrals, and  shops of old Santa Fe.  Perry, who had always been better at history and English than math and science, developed an appreciation for traditions and cultures that had been blended together to form the area.  Perry stopped at markets around the square and bought sterling and turquoise jewelry displayed on blankets from Indian craftsmen who’d made it.  A necklace for his mother, a bracelet and earrings for his girlfriend were slid into his pocket to be mailed back home when they got to a post office.

They stopped into a few art galleries before heading back to the El Rey to admire artwork from local artists and were surprised to see works by his mother’s friend whose ranch they’d just returned from.  More surprising were the prices listed on each one.  Perry quickly calculated that the value of the Packard Executive Sedan had doubled the minute the two paintings they’d been given were placed in the trunk.