The Purple House©

It had been a long drive from Humboldt County of northern California. But it was the sound of the turkey gobbling that startled Harris out of his reverie as he arrived in Tucson, from the 1500 mile road trip. He had been paid well in under-the-table, Humboldt peso’s, that is 100 dollar bills, during the season that he worked among the redwood trees and the marijuana farms.  He had bought ten turkeys,  and 10 chickens but had eaten them all except this last turkey while he lived in the redwoods for the last six months. He had just spent 2 full days on the road with the turkey gobbling in the back of his Toyota pick-up. The turkey was a gift for his family for Thanksgiving dinner.
But he wasn’t returning to Tucson only to present the turkey as a gift for the dinner table. Right before he left Tucson he had been delivering large appliances all over rural southern Arizona. The memory that brought him back to Tucson was located in the Yaqui village. It was of a house with a dark purple exterior on a street called don Matus. He knew it wasn’t really the house or maybe it was.

He had felt surprised when he saw the house on the southwestern side of the outskirts of Tucson. Harris remembered his delivery buddy, Joel had told Harris he had delivered another appliance at this house years before. Joel had said the house made him feel strange. He hadn’t been certain if the baby grand piano in the living room, or  representation of seemingly the United Nations of nationalities of people who appeared from inside the house were what made his past experience seem odd.

Joel had said the old part of the house was strange. The bathroom and the kitchen, were built by a sorcerer, don Matus who trained someone who had written a bunch of books, but he hadn’t been able to remember the author’s name. He said there were a lot of weird stories about the owner now, who was the tribal leader. The leader seemed to be revered, but the strange stories about him turning into a coyote, the grave yards, the bathroom vortex, women who studied dreams, deer dances, and stealing the energy of people, caused people to fear him.

Harris wasn’t sure if these weren’t like children’s ghost stories, but he also didn’t know what was or wasn’t true, since the hair had stood up on the back of his neck when he entered the house. For Harris, it wasn’t any of these things that brought him back, though. It was a young woman named Cooper who he had seen inside the purple house.  Just after Harris and Joel had dropped off the washing machine and were about to leave, Cooper came over and introduced herself. She handed Harris her name, Cooper Castenada, and cell number on a piece of paper. She said she was leaving town, to study in Mexico, and would be back in 6 months, and to call her. Harris remembered thinking he wasn’t sure, but she almost looked like a hawk while she talked. Her hair streamed back flickering in the light, looking brown and black. Or maybe there was a shadow of a hawk on the ground behind her that made him think she looked like a hawk. And then again maybe it was her eyes that appeared to be brown and gold.

He couldn’t decide what was weird about the memory; the house behind Cooper, or Cooper. But he came back to find out because he couldn’t stop thinking about Cooper Casteneda.
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