But a lot can happen even in between the middle of things, not the least trying the patience of a good ear, and since “brevity is the noble soul of wit,” like ese Hamlet said, I will do my best from here on to keep this story to the telling of the events of that day.)

Just as Helena and Maria got off the main highway, Helena caught sight of a pickup tailing her close enough so that, thinking that what he wanted was to pass up her well-worn VW Bug, she moved aside to let him do just that. At first, she didn’t say nothing out loud when he insisted on staying behind since she was unfamiliar with the road and wasn’t sure if they were even going the right way.

In the meantime, Maria, snacking on the novelty blue corn chips, made California-consciousness talk about the wide-open spaces and snow-peaked black mountains that penetrated the white-clouded and azure sky, and pondered over the significance of the occasional wooden cross dug along the road or atop a hill, or the hand-painted little sign that read “Pig for Rent,” or the big official billboard that read: “Future Site of the Monument of Governor Juan de Oñate, Conquistador and Colonizer of New Mexico” (which really set her off). She was meanwhile completely oblivious to the fact that there were only two vehicles on that sandy road and that while there was no explanation for it, the larger one had become the predator of the small one.

Then Helena, not only because of her tough survival skills from growing up in a mega-metropolis but just because it wasn’t in her to cower under bullying circumstances, stepped on the gas and began doing her darndest to leave that pickup in the dust. But let’s face it, a VW Bug, even Maria’s restored and freshly painted one with the brand-new engine, was no Fiat and the guy with the sports cap driving the pickup (which was no Fiat neither but had the distinct advantage in horsepower) caught up to kiss her bumper no matter how fast she accelerated.

Finally turning around when they were purposely bumped by the tailing pickup, Maria put down the bag of blue corn chips and map, pulled off her shades, and asked, “What’s going on?” Surely there was enough room on the road for him to pass them up since it was obvious that Helena kept yielding the road to him. But each time she pulled over, he slowed and stayed right behind her.

Then they felt a jolt when the pickup bumped their car with a meanness that meant to knock them off the road. “Agh!” Maria gasped, but Helena, lockjawed, with a tense fixed look in her eyes, only shifted to high gear and giving it all she had, pushed the gas pedal to the floor.