Deconstructing Luka
Part One
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

SPOILERS: After "May Day"

RATING: PG

SYNOPSIS: A doctor takes a trip to Mexico with a flashy blonde, deals with a case of mysterious allergies, shellacked frogs, giant sombreros; beats the stuffing out of a would-be-rapist, and is treated to a West Texas lightning storm. Film at 11.

DISCLAIMER A: This series was inspired by P.J. O’Rourke’s "Drives to Nowhere" and by a need to get Luka out of County General. I cribbed P.J.’s description of Oaxacan Indian sculptures. Please, P.J., don’t sue me!

DISCLAIMER B: The character of Luka Kovac is the sole property of NBC, Warner Bros., Amblin Entertainment and Constant C.

SONGS: Long White Cadillac, by Dwight Yoakam; El Paso, by Marty Robbins; Crazy, by Willie Nelson, sung by Patsy Cline; Runnin' Down a Dream, by Tom Petty; True Colors, by Cyndi Lauper 

Night wolves moan
Winter hills are black
I'm all alone
Sitting in the back
Of a long white Cadillac 

Train whistle cries
Lost on its own track
I close my eyes
Sitting in the back
Of a long white Cadillac 

Sometimes I blame it on a woman
The one that made my poor heart bleed
Sometimes I blame it on the money
Sometimes I blame it all on me 

Headlights shine
Highway fades to black
It's my last ride
Sitting in the back
of a long white Cadillac 

Train whistle cries
Lost on its own track
I close my eyes
I ain't never coming back
In a long white Cadillac

In a long white Cadillac
In a long white Cadillac
In a long white Cadillac
In a long white Cadillac 

Bye, bye, baby
I'm gonna take this white trash on down the road 

Luka had no idea what could have compelled him to drive a white Cadillac into Mexico. He feared that the comunes ciudadanos would hold such a big, elegant thing against him-a kind of proletariat attack on the bourgeois upper class, blah blah blah povertycakes. But no bottles were ever thrown at the car. Instead, the Caddy's very presence in every village-even the poorest villages-was greeted with great enthusiasm. People would ask him, in pidgin English, about the Caddy's mileage, gas consumption, and speed. Apparently, these people were very much into cars or they were so bored they would talk about damned near anything, including Cadillacs. Luka wasn't sure which one was the case, but he found most of them, even pesky kids, to be polite and good-humored. And the food was excellent. He found himself on an eating jag from the moment he arrived in Mexico, and he never got sick at all. Montezuma's revenge apparently was a bust, even with his tricky stomach. 

Beyond that, he was glad to get into Mexico. All the mini-mall clutter disappeared in Piedras Niegras, the first town out of Texas from Eagle Pass. The market was downtown in an ancient adobe building. Music blared from loudspeakers. Mufflers dragged from cars, and people were all over the place, laughing and yelling. Mexico was a mess, but it was a lively mess. They were dirt poor, but they seemed to be either oblivious to it or so scorched by the sun that they didn’t care any more.  

It was also very good to get out into the bright sunshine for once. He could forget his troubles, cut loose, do something slightly impulsive. It was a vacation, almost a sabbatical, and since the end of May, he certainly needed that.. He had three months-almost all summer-to do nothing at all, so a trip to Mexico seemed perfectly rational in all it's lunacy. He only spoke bar-room floor Spanish, but he could get by-he could order his dinner, tell someone his leg was broken ("Mi pierna esta quebrada") and that baseball was also played in Mexico ("Biesbol is un heugo de Mexico tambien."), but so far neither subject had come up. The Spanish he had learned in school revolved mainly around furniture and buying clothes. His French was much better, but his favorite phrase, "What the hell, it's only Canada" (Quel l'enfer. C'est suelement le Canada"), never went over well in Quebec. 

However, the food was good, not like the Taco Bell crap sold north of the border except in parts of Texas and New Mexico (where it was all too hot for Luka anyway). These people could cook. Hamburguesa, with queso, salmueras, cebollas y tomates were grilled to utter perfection and served on lightly toasted bollos. Grilled cheese sandwiches (quesadillas). Beef steak with a huge baked potato (Filete de la carne de vaca y cocida al horno patata). Topped off with una cerveza, un cigarrillo y sopaepillas, he could get a great meal anywhere for about four bucks. Considering that the peso was about 780 to the dollar, it was a good deal. 

Things did, however, get more interesting once he was out on the long stretch of highways near the border of Mexico and Texas. He could let the car go through it's paces-provided the Federales didn't pull him over, and in most cases a ten dollar bill solved that problem. Usually, however, they scarcely seemed to care. A good straight highway, stretching far into the horizon...it was perfect. Even better was when he could do a little off-road testing, running the car through mesquite bushes and chaparral, gunning the motor, watching little cottontails run for their lives. It never even whined about it. "Ah, American automaking at it's best!"  

He played the radio loud, camped out under the stars at night, and would often sleep until noon. He'd wake up, stretch, watch dust devils lurch across the sand, smoke a cigarette and admire the bleak scenery of the Serranias del Burro, the Donkey Highlands. To continue west, he had to go back to the United States-and in a couple of days he would have to go back anyway. East several hundred miles and he'd be in Texas again. Further South was Mexico City and other cities he couldn't pronounce, with lots of 'x's in them. Even further south was Guatemala. The idea of the getting smashed and passing out on the streets of Acapulco didn't appeal to him very much, so he made up his mind to stay in the northern part of the country. Sonora and Durango states were desolate but good for driving at top speed. Nothing but open roads and mesquite as far as the eye could see. 

He had seen country like this in "Lonesome Dove", but he had no idea it could be so...well, hot. At noon, he could fry an egg on the car hood. It would only get cold at night, but that was no problem. After spending the night by a campfire, smoking, drinking, and listening to the coyotes (after a few beers, he was howling back), he'd climb back in to the Caddy, turn the motor over and zoom away toward nowhere in particular. He hadn't been able to do that much Croatia, that was for sure. In America, especially the West, he could put a concrete block on the gas pedal and just go. 

Though the speedometer only registered up to 120, Luka knew it could easily go up to 150 or more. He put his foot down, pointed her West, and let 'er rip. It only started to shimmy a bit at 130 (according to Luka's ability to clock) but never lost manageability. Even horrible Mexican gas, which had about as much octane as a fruit cocktail, didn't cause a problem. Not a knock, a gurgle or a ding. The Caddy's alignment was good, too, even after bumping over some bad Mexican roads. Luka found he liked Texas highways-they were in excellent condition even in the most isolated stretches of desert. Road manners being so good, and the pavement so smooth, he really had a hard time figuring out actual speed beyond 120. It involved mathematics, after all (counting how many seconds it’d take for him to get from one cactus plant to a telephone pole), and he was on vacation, where mathematics had no place. So he dropped the matter of speed ratios and just drove. Mexico was more interesting to drive through than Texas; the roads were awful, the scenery even more desolate, and crazed truck drivers bearing down on him at about ninety miles an hour all made for intense traffic conditions. But even after four solid days in Mexico, the car never showed a sign of breaking down.  

He put the moonroof up, and was pleased to note that the air conditioning kept him almost freezing cold despite the heat blowing in from above. An interesting sensation. The radio picked up El Paso stations-country, oldies, and Southern Baptist-along with Mexican music that initially annoyed him. By the second day of his journey to nowhere, he was enjoying the music, whistling along with it and even recognizing tunes.  

On his fifth day in Mexico, he had to turn back to Texas from the Highlands to pick up his 'traveling companion'. Crossing back was relatively easy. He noted, again, that Mexico's border region isn't one of the earth's garden spots. But the truly devoted tourist likes to avoid the crowds, and the only crowds on the Mexican border were swimming across it. The border guards were a grouchy, harassed lot. They wondered briefly about Luka's accent, gave his back seat a perfunctory glance, and waved him on after just an hour of him sitting around smoking and trying to read an article about Paraguay, 'the Land that Time Forgot (also "Life" and "Newsweek")'. 

Luka had decided to drive to Mexico after he was given a chance to go for free (provided he actually stayed at a hotel) if he would take along a photographer, one Marguerite Childers, who was going to take a few pictures of 'Mexican Culture' for the newspaper she worked for. The paper would pay their expenses (meals, gasoline, hotels, and so forth). He had to pick her up in El Paso. Whistling the song of the same name ("Out in the west Texas town of El Paso..."), he pulled into the parking lot of the news office building and waited. The sun was up, shining hazily down on the Cadillac, baking it and Luka like pottery in a kiln. After a few moments, a tall, slender blonde emerged from the building, bearing a large backpack. She approached the car warily, and looked in at Luka, who leaned out a little to get a better look at her. He was wearing his sunglasses, so he lowered hem slightly. She was too good looking to be legal-an emphatic figure, a lovely face, bright blue eyes...he was sure that, in his Cadillac, with her at his side, he'd attract less attention in Mexico if he brought the Pope. 

"Hello." 

"Hi...I'm Marguerite Childers. Are you Luka Kovac?" 

"I hope so, or else I'm wearing the wrong underwear. Are you ready to go?" 

She gave him a wide grin. "Yeah." 

She went around and got in the car. She threw the backpack into the back seat, along with Luka's stuff.  

"Is that all you're bringing?" He peered into the back seat at her backpack.  

Marguerite smiled. "Yes. Just light clothes, a warm coat in case the nights are cold and plenty of water." 

Luka glanced in the back seat again. He had brought water, clean jeans and T-shirts, several six packs of beer, a bottle of whiskey, extra cigarettes, and a buck knife if case he was bitten by a snake and had to amputate his own leg...and a bullet to bite on if necessary. There was also camping paraphernalia, his shaving kit (though he had actually forgotten to use it this morning and looked like an ad for testosterone pills), a Dutch oven, a bottle of Maalox, and his medical kit. He had every intention of forgetting he was a doctor on this trip, but he had also heard plenty about Montezuma's revenge, but Montezuma was apparently in Texas, serving five-alarm chili to unwitting tourists from upstate New York. Thus the stack of water bottles, just to be safe. Everything was piled in almost to the roof. 

"Good...sounds like you're ready, Marg...uh...Marguerite." It was kind of hard for him to say her name. He wasn't sure if it was because of his grasp of English, because his brain was being toasted a little in the West Texas sun, or because of the tight jeans she was wearing. 

"Uh...you can call me Daisy. Everyone does. It's pointless trying to get people to pull 'Marguerite' out all the time. Just Daisy." 

"Good. That's fine." A relief, actually. But Daisy hardly seemed very dignified for such an elegant beauty. 

He started the car and backed out. The drove southwest, toward the Mexican border. Luka glanced sideways at her before lighting a cigarette. She watched disapprovingly for a moment. 

"You know, you really shouldn't smoke those things." 

"What...do you want me to smoke crack instead?" 

"No...I mean...it's bad for you. Nicotine is bad for you." 

He took a drag on the cigarette, and she watched him. Daisy was having difficulty taking her eyes off him anyway. Her boss, Alicia, had told her that Luka Kovac was probably the best-looking man she'd ever see, but she was simply not prepared for anything like this. He was unbelievably gorgeous-a beautifully drawn face, high Slavic cheekbones, with a touch of the Mediterranean, smoky, grey-green eyes, nearly black hair that was greying a bit around the temples but getting darker due to the bright sunshine...he was Adonis in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Michaelangelo had been forced to settle for second best, that was for sure, when he did his statue of David.  

He had a European way of smoking a cigarette, holding it between his thumb and forefinger instead of between the middle and index finger. It was incredibly sexy, even if the habit was distasteful. Everything about him was too sexy, but strangely, he seemed unaware of his own appeal. Plus, as they talked, she came to realize he was a pretty nice guy-friendly, polite, even gentle, with a good sense of humor. But she also saw a sadness about him, and wondered about it. It was pretty well hidden behind that 1000-watt smile and good humor, but she could see it even now, as he joked with her a little. 

"Yeah, I know I'm gonna need to quit because the next person who makes that face when I light up...well, I just know I'm gonna hurt somebody one day."  

She asked him to demonstrate 'that face'. He wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face, making a 'pssss.... shewww' sound. Daisy laughed out loud.  

"One of these days..." He shook his head and made a striking motion with his fist. "Pow!" 

Daisy laughed even harder. They both relaxed and began talking-just light conversation. He asked her about her life in El Paso. She was Texas born and bred, daughter of a rancher, of English, French, German and Swedish stock. Her family had been in Texas since the 1810's, but were of a wandering bent. "One day my great-great-grandpa just said 'I hate livin' in these damned woods...we're movin' west!'...and they did. Packed up everything on a wagon and off they went to El Paso. They lost their shirts in a drought, but had enough money saved to last another year and ended up staying anyway. My dad raises Brangus cattle. I grew up in the saddle, herding the nasty creatures. I only ever wanted to be a photographer, but I never wanted to leave El Paso. I like it here. But I could probably take life anywhere else, so long as I can take pictures." 

She chattered on about her life, prompted by Luka's questions-the first: "What's a Brangus?". They pulled over at a rest stop, sat on the table and ate a light lunch of sandwiches and sodas. She watched him, fascinated. He drank down an entire can of Dr. Pepper in practically one gulp and popped open another. He was simply beautiful, and now that the sun was beating down on him, he was sweating a little, and that only enhanced that raw, masculine splendor.  

"So...you're a doctor, right?" 

"Yeah. I work in Chicago." 

"And where are you from?" Daisy wanted to ask him if he'd just recite the alphabet to her, using that incredible accent. It was a melt-your-clothes off accent, that was for sure. And those eyes...she had to look away, knowing she would melt. They were the most mysterious green she had ever seen: kind of the color of old glass Coca-Cola bottles, but always changing. One minute they seemed brown, the next a light gold-hazel, the next the color of old, dark jade, then back to that frosty green. He was as intoxicating, to look at, as strong whiskey. But she had a feeling he tasted a hell of a lot better. He would be like an oasis in the desert. And of course, they were driving across a desert. How fitting... 

"Croatia." He looked away a moment, but she saw a wary expression on his face and knew that was a subject he did not want to talk about. She shrugged. It was his vacation, after all. Vacations are times for being unserious, not worrying about the past. But she also knew that one couldn't get down and get loose without getting dirt in their eyes, even on vacation. She figured she'd find out more in the next few days. They had three months to drive around together. That was plenty of time. 

She smiled. "This must be quite a shock! They don't have any deserts in Croatia, do they?" 

"No. But this is...interesting. Empty, though, isn't it?" 

Heading up Texas 170 into the Rio Grande canyons, they hit park ranger speed traps. Luka thought they were going too slow to appreciate the scenery, which amazed her. "Spectacular scenery should be glimpsed at a hundred miles an hour. That way, it has sentimentality...a fleeting glimpse of paradise. But, if you dawdle or stop to gaze, you'll realize scenery is pretty static stuff. . You'll get restless and bored." He said this with some conviction. 

She was sure he'd lost his mind, but as they zoomed past sheer drop-offs and glimpses of the green river below, she started to think maybe he was right. At first, she kept her hands over her eyes as he took dangerous curves like an Indy driver, but she began to relax a little. Besides, she was getting a very good glimpse of masculine beauty sitting right beside her. A brief flash of paradise, then a blur...it was an odd sensation and one that was growing on her. Or maybe it was the strong cerveza Luka had brought along from Eagle Pass. She doubted she'd get restless and bored looking at and talking to him.  

"This is a great car," he told her. "It handles these roads really well." He said this as they took a hairpin turn, fishtailed slightly, then lurched into the straighaway, back wheels spinning in thin air for just a second. He forced the Caddy into overdrive and sped on down the road. She was going through DT's, though, and wondered where he'd learned to drive. 

To take her mind off the possibility of plummeting off a cliff, Daisy took a crack at figuring out the radio system. Luka wasn't really interested in fooling with it any more. Now, all he could hope was that she didn't listen to rap or hip-hop, or that horrible Ricky Martin, or Princess Stephanie of Monaco. Fortunately, she found an oldies station and tuned in to Patsy Cline:  

Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue 

I knew
You'd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
You'd leave me for somebody new 

Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wond'rin'
What in the world did I do 

Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin'
Crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy
For lovin' you  

She sang along, enjoying herself as she tried to hit Patsy's operatic soprano-doing quite well, actually, then laughed as she saw Luka's raised eyebrow.  

"Surely you've tried to match Roy Orbison...maybe 'Crying'?" she said, giggling.

"Only when I'm drunk." 

"I mean the song...haven't you ever tried to sing the song?" 

"People tend to cry when I try to sing. I can't carry a tune on a shovel." 

She laughed even harder. They pulled up to the U.S./Mexico border again, and waited in line for a few minutes before pulling up to the crossing. 

The patrolman glanced in at them. "Whattaya takin' in?" he asked. 

"A flashy blonde," Luka answered, blowing out cigarette smoke.  

"Plannin' on bringin' back anything illegal?" 

"Oh, just a few pounds of hashish, maybe some cocaine, or some rare tropical birds and monkeys...and the same flashy blonde. She'll be hiding the marijuana in her bra."

The patrolman laughed. "Well, at least you're honest! Don't let me catch ya, though!"

Luka grinned and pulled through. Daisy just stared at him. "You're a lot braver than me!" 

"No...just crazy." He started whistling the tune, and once they were out of sight of the border patrol, he hit the gas, went up to eighty miles an hour, lit another cigarette, and turned the radio on again, cranking it up loud to Tom Petty: 

It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees flew by, me and Del were singin' little Runaway
I was flyin'

Yeah runnin down a dream
That never would come to me
Workin' on a mystery, goin' wherever it leads
runnin' down a dream  

I felt so good like anything was possible
I hit cruise control and rubbed my eyes
The last three days the rain was un-stoppable
it was always cold, no sunshine  

"What rain?" Luka shouted over the sound of the wind as he hit one hundred miles an hour, the windows down and moon roof up. "I haven't seen rain since I got out of Oklahoma!" Daisy had her eyes closed, hands over her face, initially terrified of the speed. She would be surprised, in a few days, to feel completely safe with him at the wheel. He was a fast, but careful, driver. He actually didn't take foolish risks, but he had a heavy, lazy foot that just wouldn't get off the gas pedal. She didn't dare ask if she could drive. Luka obviously enjoyed the freedom of gunning that motor and burning rubber. 

I rolled on as the sky grew dark
I put the pedal down to make some time
There's something good waitin' down this road
I'm pickin' up whatever's mine...  

The following morning, they pulled into Villa Frontora and ate breakfast in the shady little market. Luka finished his meal of huevos revueltos (scrambled eggs) before her and turned around to watch the activity of the little town. Daisy watched his profile, admiring the perfect straightness of the nose, the firm chin...wasn't there anything imperfect about this man? He smoked...that was definitely an imperfection, but what about personality traits?  

She had found him to be amiable, intelligent, always polite, even-tempered and affable. He opened doors for her, spoke with deference and respect to her, and seemed genuine about it. She was glad she had never latched on to the feminism of some of her friends. That would only make her suspicious of his altruism. He lacked the egotism of most good-looking men. In fact, he seemed a rather lonely figure. Some terrible things had obviously happened to him-especially considering his country of origin-but all in all he seemed okay-a very nice person, in fact. The sadness, which occasionally shadowed those beautiful eyes, gave him an air of mystery. He was like something out of a black and white movie...so darkly elegant, so smoky and restrained. His voice-not just the accent-was slightly raspy, but soft and controlled. He was a cross between Cary Grant and Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff (without the cruelty). Everything about him was intriguing. She finally had to look away, to find something else to study before she started asking unwelcome questions. 

A newspaper had been left on the table, and she opened it, trying to decipher Spanish. "I only speak a little German," she admitted. Luka glanced at it and took it from her. He scanned it a moment, picking out a few words. "Ah...I see what this one's about," he said, pointing at an article. "I think a bank near here was robbed by guys wearing ski masks." 

They looked at each other for a moment, brows wrinkled, and both started laughing at the same time. "Good God, where did they get ski masks?" Luka asked. "The nearest bunny slope is two thousand miles away. And aren't those things itchy? It's ninety degrees out here." 

But she noticed a shadow pass over his face for a moment. The story seemed to unsettle Luka a little. But he grinned at her again and threw the newspaper in the trash. 

Daisy found herself laughing a lot with Luka. They drove far and wide across Mexico, and she got used to his love of speed on the open roads. He would pass 120, turn on the radio to loud Mexican music, and they would attempt to sing along, failing miserably and finally just making up words as they went along. He taught her some Croatian profanity, she taught him the words to "El Paso City" and they got drunk one night under the stars, staring at the campfire, arguing about whether Ginger Rogers was a better dancer than Fred Astaire, because she had to do everything backwards. But he fell asleep before she could do anything about his lowered inhibitions.  

They stopped to view spectacular scenery, at her insistence, on the Sonora plains, and she snapped pictures the whole time. Luka seemed impressed with it all. "America...North America...is so big. Everything is almost too big for my mind," he confessed to her as they stared out over a canyon on one hot morning. "When I first got here, from Croatia, I was just amazed. I had a map of the whole country, and I knew it was big, but I had greatly underestimated the actual size."  

Daisy couldn't help wondering if she was underestimating his size, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. It was hot. They were both sweaty and a little edgy and jumpy from sitting in an air-conditioned car all morning. She glanced out across the desert stretching back behind them, away from the canyon, and her overheated mind made her think again about what it take to seduce him. Maybe some tequila? He usually slept by the campfire, apparently quite comfortable on a sleeping bag. She would sleep in the front seat, which was more comfortable. She objected to this arrangement a little, feeling they could switch every other night, but he had been insistent. Every morning she would sit up and look at him while he slept...so beautiful, with an almost childlike purity. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, soothe away the nightmares he had sometimes. But whenever she moved too close to him, he would tense up and back away. Even though he was friendly and funny, he was still very wary of her.

He didn't seem interested in her sexually. Daisy had to accept that. Maybe, all in all, it was for the best. At least she could form a friendship with him, and maybe...who knows? They kept driving, speeding along bumpy, pot-holed highways. She took pictures of everything from cacti to crumbling little shacks to children playing in mudholes. Much of the scenery in Mexico was not as pleasant as the ride or the company. Scattered along the highway were little rancheros made from cement blocks, old boards, tin, and whatnot. Chickens and children all over the place, and yards festooned with old car bodies, oil drums and bald tires. Luka pointed this out to Daisy, who could only feel appalled, staring at it. "The North is to Mexico what the West is in the United States: the place people pick up and go to to make a new start," she said gloomily.

"Except, in Mexico, they're not looking for a bit part on "Beverly Hills 90210"," Luka muttered. He was watching two women using a small creek as their Maytag. "They're hoping for two acres of scrubland, a cow and a truck that won’t break down every ten minutes." Much like in Croatia. But at least some of the land was good. And there were actual washing machines.

Luka would stand by, idly watching and kicking rocks as she took photographs of this pathetic landscape, and she taught him the importance of light, color and focus, until he was able to take pretty good shots himself-more evidence, to Daisy, of his quick intelligence. He insisted on taking a picture of her, claiming it was "for posterity." The photo was really nice-her leaning against the Caddy, smiling, clad in jeans and a white cotton shirt, and rattlesnakeskin boots. When they had the photos developed in a little place near Ciudad Obregon, she noticed that he ordered two prints of the shot. That told her that he was at least attracted to her-he put the picture in the glove compartment.  

With each passing day, they grew more comfortable together. He told her a little of his life in Croatia, his education, his medical training, funny stories. Watching him as he talked, becoming more animated, she again had strong notion that he had suffered great tragedy in his homeland, and was keeping that subject off limits. It was obviously *verbotten*. Of course, the idea of 'forbidden' made her a little depressed when she looked at him. Was he forbidden, too? That, of course, only made him more tempting, more delectable. He was an erotic dream to her, and every night while she tried to sleep, he haunted her more and more.  

She told him about her own education back East, funny stories about her family, her experiences in Europe as a college student. Daisy attempted several times to draw him out, and though she had plenty of success, there was still a part of himself that he kept hidden away from her. It was a little distressing, at first, but she finally accepted it and decided to just have fun with him. This was his vacation, after all. She knew would be wrong for her to ruin it by making him speak of painful memories.

Every time she got out her camera, to take a few pictures of the scenery and some of the people, he got out of the way, refusing to let her take his photograph at all. 

She had noted that shyness and modesty in him, and found it charming. But she was also determined to get a few good shots of him. Those looks just couldn't go to waste. She could hear Alicia now. "Put that face on the front page of our paper and we'll outsell the *London Times*." Plus, she wanted one picture, for "posterity". 

"In every picture I look like I'm being booked for soliciting sheep," he explained, trying to be light-hearted about it. But she couldn't resist. When he wasn't looking, she got a good shot of him in profile, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands resting casually on his hips, a bit of five o'clock shadow on his jaw. He was staring across a small town's square, watching in increasing horror as a gigantic, recently slaughtered pig was carried into a large mercado. Even with that slightly appalled expression on his face, the photograph was priceless to her. She made a note to herself to submit this one for the article. A picture like that could win her a Pulitzer Prize. He was simply gorgeous. That was the best superlative she could come up with. 

"This is not a place to bring k.d. lang on a date," Luka commented as they climbed back into the car.

They drove at a sedate pace for a while, until the sun began setting. After a while, she climbed up through the moonroof, which gave Luka all too good a view up her blouse-she was far too good looking for his health-and started snapping away with her camera. 

"You're only going to get blurry pictures!" he shouted. But it was no use. He had learned already that she had a mind of her own. He made a point of not looking in the rearview mirror, afraid to contemplate the effect she was having on the Mexican truck drivers behind them.

"It's beautiful out here!" she yelled back. "I wish you could see it this way."

"I'm more in favor of the traditional way of driving," Luka grouched. "And the idea of inhaling a bee doesn't appeal to me at all."

She became very quiet all of a sudden, and came down quickly, plopping heavily on the seat. He glanced at her, then did a horrified double take. Her face was swollen to twice it's size, her eyes reduced to dots in her head.  

"Good God!" he said, and skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the road. "What's wrong?! Was it a bee? Did something bite you?" The idea that whatever had bitten her was in the car with them now made him want to jump out and run screaming across the desert, but that only lasted a brief moment. He remembered the bottle of whiskey and the buck knife in the back seat, and wondered if that would help. He could use the whiskey now, that was for sure. 

"Nwo! Iwm awergic to Mwegsigo!" she shrieked. "Mwegsigo!" 

"What?" Indeed. She seemed to be having difficulty speaking. Of course. Her lips were getting bigger and bigger.

"Gwet mwee outta heow!" Daisy yelled. "Nwow! I cwant bwief!" She was getting hysterical now. So was Luka.

Luka felt like he was in "Bullitt" as he gunned the Caddy back towards Sinaloa, pushing 150 in his panic. The thought of having to explain a flashy but dead blonde when he returned to America did not sound like a winning proposition. Plus, he knew he had nothing in his medicine bag to deal with this. That whiskey, however, was sounding better ever second. Along the way, he filed this allergy under 'the unexplained'. In fact, there never would be an explanation for the sudden attack. 

He remembered having driven past a small house with a shingle hanging outside saying Medico. In a matter of moments, he had her out of the car and inside the ramshackle little house. It didn't look like a doctor's office to him. A guy who looked like he should be attending a Smashing Pumpkins concert came up and said something in rapid Spanish. "Puedo ayudarle?"

"Mi amiga es muy...uh...sick." 

The doctor advanced on Luka, asking, "Cómo largo haber usted estado enfermo?" 

"No, no! Not me, you fool!" Luka snapped. "Mi AMIGA!"

The doctor proceeded to dig in a drawer and pulled out a large hypodermic needle. He got a little bottle and withdrew the contents into the needle. Daisy's eyes-or what little Luka could see of them any more-widened with horror. 

"Nwo! Nwo nweedles!" she yelled, getting even more hysterical as Doogie Howser advanced on her. She dug out a small Spanish/English dictionary and yelled "Ningwunas agwujas!" Flipping through the dictionary, she apparently found the word for 'no' in Spanish. "Nwo!" 

Luka paced back and forth in the room, wondering why the hell he was so unsure of himself. He glared at Doogie Howser for a moment and finally shouted at him. "Que es...in that?" 

"Antihistiminicos y vitamines y cortisones y anfetiminas y ortras vitaminas y etcetera..."

"Jwust swome cwapswulas!" she shouted, getting really hysterical now. It was amazing how scared people were of a needle. But it was a big needle. It made Luka a little nervous, seeing how the kid was swinging the damned thing around like it was a fencing sword. Yet, somehow, the situation was becoming more and more hilarious and he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Still, immediate action seemed necessary and Luka took charge. 

Luka grabbed the hypodermic from Doogie, pulled Daisy's pants down, exposing a nicely rounded cheek, and gave her the shot. She screeched loudly, then turned around and gave him a hard right hook to the left cheek. Luka crashed into the medicine cabinet, heard glass breaking, the doctor shouting in horror, and everything went black.

He woke up lying on a couch, his head killing him. Daisy was sitting there, watching him, a look of indescribable guilt on her face. "I am so sorry I hit you." 

"Next time I'll have to remember to duck," he said, groaning. "Where am I?" 

"We're still in the hospital. Dr...whatisname...won't let us leave until he's sure we're both okay. You got a nasty bump when you hit your head on that cabinet." 

"Are you still 'awergic to Mwegsigo'?"

She burst into laughter, covering her face. "No. The shot actually worked. The swelling came down pretty fast. Thank you." 

"I knew I didn't have anything like that in my medicine bag. And Dr. Whosit didn't seem to know what to do." 

Daisy laughed, leaned forward, and kissed Luka on the cheek. He found himself blushing, which only made the bruise on his cheek hurt more. They had been in Mexico, together, for nine days. They had a long way to go before she would go back to El Paso and he would drive back to Chicago. Suddenly, the idea of going back to Chicago had little appeal. So he pushed that reality out of his mind. He was enjoying her company. She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions, seemed to accept him as he was, and appeared to be enjoying his company as well. Still, for the next few days, her face remained a little basketballish.

With the help of the Berlitz Passport to Spanish, the doctor made out a list of things Daisy shouldn't eat: eggs, fruit, vegetables, dairy products, meat, fish, poultry, alcoholic beverages, soft drinks, water, bread, salt and candy. "Apparently, you are only allowed to eat bark," Luka muttered as they left the hospital. All told, the doctor charged them $3.50. 

Once Luka was cleared by Doogie, they took a walk around the town. In the market square, they walked around looking at the wares for sale. A donkey, carved out of white marble, for $500. A Blessed Virgin Mary, made from welded coat hangers, was marked down to $250. But most intriguing were stuffed, mounted frogs playing musical instruments-an amphibian mariachi band, or frogs working out on Nautilus machines, doing Tai-Bo exercises, cooking, and etc. Luka finally just couldn't resist. He bought Skiing Frogs for $5. He still wondered why tourists would buy something like that as a momento. Daisy, however, found something even more bizarre: Oaxacan Indian ceramic sculptures of demons and dead people, but they weren't just hanging around being demonic and dead. The pottery demons were driving pottery buses or riding pottery motorcycles. Skeletons were having jam sessions, feasts, and fiestas. These sculptures were anything from a foot to three feet across, painted in amazing colors and fired to a brilliant glaze. Daisy bought herself a huge demon mermaid playing a piano made of human skulls. Luka grimaced when she brought it to the car-he was taking a much needed cigarette break, sitting on the hood. "Good God," he growled at her. "What next, marble bunnies?" 

Daisy loved anything that reeked of natural materials and bought lots of native pottery. "Native tradition is so much better than anything plastic, as far as I'm concerned," she said. Luka just rolled his eyes.  

"You might think differently if you had to choose between an artificial heart valve made of polystyrene and one made out of adobe," Luka pointed out. His clinical-and medical-mindset still hadn't left him. She made a face at him. He just grinned back. 

They drove several hundred miles in the next few days, wandering like the lost children of Israel, and stopped near Chihuahua. They ended up in another village market, finding nothing better to do besides attending a local bullfight. Luka was able to stand that for about three seconds. "I can't look at this any more," he said, watching the poor, stupid animal being teased and stabbed. He didn't believe in animal rights, but he did believe in treating animals with some degree of kindness, though he did hate cats. But not enough to actually stab one to death...well, maybe. But he certainly wouldn't make a public sport of it. 

They putzed around the market for a while, observing the junk and the priceless being offered for low prices, every day. They couldn't figure out who would want a sombrero the size of a hot tub. Maybe nobody, they decided. The vendors were throwing themselves at them, grinning, shoving various objects in their direction. 

"Senor, a painting of Madonna on velvet?" 

"Senorita, Aztec pottery...almost genuine!" 

"The largest selection of cement burros for your yard!"  

There was even a selection of what Luka called 'mud gods'-little clay creatures that were often too horrifying to describe. One, a smug little man with his penis wrapped around his body, greatly appealed to Daisy and she bought him for five dollars.  

"You know, those Spanish missionaries may have been gettin' their legs pulled." He said this as he looked at a giant cathedral across the square. Flipping through Fodor's Guide to Mexico, he read that the missionaries encouraged the locals to build giant churches in order to receive various blessings (freedom from slavery, smallpox, heavy taxation, and etc.). The more churches they built, the more blessings they got. So...the moment one church was finished, somebody would see the Virgin Mary in a tortilla and another church would spring up.  

He and Daisy agreed that in Mexico they couldn't swing a dead cat over their heads without hitting a cathedral. Luka, being Catholic but somewhat conservative about ecclesiastical grandeur, found them gaudy and slightly unsettling. She, however, was amazed by them. She asked a priest permission to take pictures inside one and watched as Luka lit three candles, made the sign of the cross and said a prayer in Croatian. It only added to the mystery, but she kept herself from asking about it. 

Back outside, they were given more spiel by the market sellers. Luka finally bought a normal-sized straw sombrero, just to get a guy off his back.  

Daisy told Luka this flea market barking was a sign of economic desperation in Mexico.  

Luka wasn't so sure. "The national sport in Mexico is getting a large farm animal into a sports arena and teasing it. I think these guys just know how to get the most fun out of their tourists..." he glanced at her disgusting little idol. "And the missionaries." 

Luka tested a machete on a watermelon, which he called a *lubenica*, carving it expertly, greatly impressing a group of chattering children and getting Daisy some wonderfully candid shots. She noted how easy he was with children, how he seemed to light up around them. Did he have kids back in Chicago? And if he had kids, that meant he had a wife....she pushed that idea out of her head. If the subject came up, and anything seemed to be happening, she would make sure to ask first.  

Daisy bought a large, handwoven blanket for $25. "You can't get one of these for less than a hundred bucks in Texas." 

They wandered through the market, admiring beautiful handiwork. Luka felt no inclination to buy one, however. It wasn't really his taste. He did buy a large shark tooth, though, and a Patsy Cline tape. "There...now maybe you can practice singing 'Crazy' 'til you get it right." That only got him a punch in the arm. They ate *perros calientes* (hot dogs) and bought lots of sopaepillas. "These things should be illegal," he said, noting how addictive they were. 

They ate dinner at a small restaurant that night. A giant beef steak, grilled to absolute perfection, frothing glasses of ice cold beer, a salad from an entire head of lettuce for each, and for Luka, a very good cigar. They feasted on more of those highly addictive *sopaepillas* (smothered in butter and honey) and spent only eight dollars each for the meal. They sat at the table for a long time, tacky Christmas lights blinking around them. After a while, the band began playing slow, romantic songs-in English, no less-and Daisy asked him to dance. Somewhat reluctantly, he moved out onto the dance floor with her. Several other restaurant patrons were dancing as well. The music, the smoke, the whole atmosphere...it was almost too romantic. 

You with the sad heart
Don't be discouraged, don't worry a lot it's
Hard to take courage
In a world full of people you can loose sight of it all
In the darkness ooh inside you make you feel so small

But I see your true colours shining through
I see your true colours and that's why I love you

So don't be afraid
To let them show your true colors
True colors
Are beautiful like a rainbow  

Show me a smile then
Don't be unhappy can't remember when
I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy and you taken all you can then
You call me up because you know I'll be there

And I see your true colors shining through
I see your true colors and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let it show
Your true colors
Your true colors
Are beautiful like a rainbow  

Ooooh, Ahhhh
Can't remember when I last saw you laugh
If this world makes you crazy and you taken all you can then
You call me up because you know I'll be there
And I see your true colors shining through  

I see your true colors and thats why I love you
So don't be afraid to let it show
Your true colors
True colors
True colors are shining through

I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
Your true colors
Are beautiful like a rainbow  

It was pure impulse on her part. She couldn't help it. During the song, as they moved slowly to the music, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. For a moment, he resisted a little but finally succumbed. A little pressure was applied, and he allowed her to explore his mouth for a moment before abruptly pulling away. She smelled so good...she felt so good, so right in his arms. Everything about her was...right. Hell, she even tasted good. He didn't resist when she kissed him again, and this time he hungrily tasted her, slightly tentative at first but quickly becoming bold.  

"We can get a room here for the night," she whispered.

It was the most tempting offer he'd received in a long time, but he knew he couldn't do it. Not now. He gently pulled away, making sure she understood that it was him with the problem-that it wasn't her. "No. It's not a good idea."

She looked disappointed, but to his surprise, she smiled. "Oh well...a girl can dream." But her smile was shaky. They went back to the table and sat down. He watched her nervously, wondering what she was thinking. There was little more to say, actually. They ended up getting separate rooms for the night, though, but he couldn't sleep. This place was having an effect on him...or, actually, she was having an effect on him. 

The next day, he commented to her that the hotel-the El Presidente-was very nice. "It's luxurious if you don't mind some of the luxury coming off in your hand when you try to turn on the shower." She hadn't slept well either, and he was surprised at how grouchy she was all day. He knew it was because he'd turned her down last night, and in many ways, he regretted not giving in. She had invaded his dreams, worrying and upsetting him a little, making him just as edgy and uneasy. But it all soon wore off and they were comfortable around each other again.

Chihuahua surprised both of them. Luka had imagined it would be a sleepy ranch town. Instead, it was a busy city of 300,000 people and two working streetlights. Asking directions was hard since Luka had a headache and couldn't seem to recall even his worst bar-room floor Spanish and because he had no idea where they were going. Daisy called it the Gary, Indiana of Mexico, but he didn't know what she meant.

He asked various passersby, "Donde es el hotel grande?" He wanted to ask where the nearest bar was. He needed a drink. But el bar didn't work.

This was met with the inevitable Mexican answer to any question about which way to go: "Si, si, bueno."

"Es el hotel aqui?" he'd ask, pointing up the street.

"Si."

"Es no hotel aqui?" he'd ask, and point in the same direction.

"Si."

Daisy, being from West Texas, pointed out that a Mexican will never admit he can't understand any more than an American will admit that he can't be understood. But at least Mexicans are very agreeable about this. Luka, however, was getting less and less agreeable about much of anything.

"Yeah, I hear it's the same between Croats and Serbs," Luka snapped. His head was pounding after all this trouble, and he was getting grouchy. She clammed up and tried to read the map from Fodor's Guide to Mexico. It didn't help, though, and when she tried to give him directions, he grabbed the book from her and threw it out the window. She became very tight-lipped after that.

They did find a hotel, because eventually (Luka discovered) everything happens in Mexico. "The trick," he told her, as they lugged their own luggage upstairs because the hotel staff was on siesta, "Is to drink enough so you don't mind if it doesn't." By the time they found the very pleasant and affordable Sicomoro on Boulevard Ortiz Mena, he'd been doing enough of that for hours.

They were both so exhausted from being lost in Chihuahua that they didn't see each other until the next day. Over lunch, he told her that he had gone to sleep at four that afternoon, woke up at eight o'clock in the morning, got up and took a nap. She laughed and confessed she'd done much the same. "Maybe Chihuahua is a sleepy town after all."

Something did happen that influenced Daisy's view of Luka a great deal, and further added to the mystery. The following afternoon, sitting by the pool (Luka refused to swim in it, feeling somewhat uneasy about the water) Daisy found herself the object of the attention of several young men. She got up to go back inside, clad in a two-piece bathing suit that would quite literally stop traffic, to get some suntan lotion. When she returned, they sat around talking about her, making lewd gestures and kissing sounds.

Luka watched all this with a cold eye, finding their behavior disgusting. But he said nothing. He figured Daisy had endured plenty of that in her life. He had even experienced some of it from women, and though he didn't appreciate it, he knew the best thing was to ignore them. But...he liked Daisy. He didn't like seeing her embarrassed and mistreated this way.

Fortunately, the young men left the pool and disappeared. Luka took a deep breath, took a swig of his Corona beer and lit a cigarette. Daisy went for a swim-apparently unconcerned about the water-and he could only watch her. Every time she turned around she'd notice that he was looking away. But she could feel his eyes on her, and that made her heart pound a little. There had been some tension between them ever since she kissed him, and though he never said anything about it, she could tell he was having some difficulty with his feelings for her. There was just the feeling he was watching her, feeling troubled and off-balance by it all.

Later, he insisted on walking her back to her room, feeling nervous about those young men. She wanted to invite him in, but he backed away, nodded slightly, and said good night. She sighed and went inside. Luka went for a walk around the hotel complex, smoking and taking in the views. The hotel had somewhat gaudy Go-For-Baroque statuary and fountains, but the courtyards were cool and relaxing despite the distressing sight of a fountain mermaid surrounded by pissing sea creatures. Luka sat down on a bench and looked around, finally relaxing.

Meanwhile, Daisy had exited her room, having put on jeans and a denim shirt, and was walking around too. She really had no fear of those stupid drunks. Or...maybe she should have. When she went back out to the pool to sit down and relax for a while, there was one of them, sitting there. She tried to ignore him, took a seat on a cabana chair and took a few deep breaths. She wondered where Luka was.

The guy got up and moved toward her. "Hey, babe." He was an American. Great. So much for idiotic stereotypes about Latin lover scumbags.

"Excuse me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Where's your boyfriend?"

"My friend," she said. "Is nearby and he's very mean when people bother me, so if I were you I would leave the premises immediately."

The man glared down at her. "Some boyfriend, then. He ain't even here to protect ya?" 

"From what?"

Dumb question. He moved quickly toward her, grabbing her arm and pulling her up off the chair. It was amazing, what was going through her mind as she struggled with him. "I'm gonna be raped in Mexico by an American sleazoid..."

She screamed, though (pure instinct, a gift from God) and fought him, kicking and biting but to no avail. The man threw her back on the chair, then practically fell on top of her. She tried kneeing him in the groin, but he was apparently an experienced rapist because he deftly avoided the kick.

Just as suddenly, her assailant was being pulled-or, more accurately, lifted-off her. She had her eyes closed, but when she opened them, she saw Luka punching the scumbag-hard-in the face. Her would-be-rapist fell to the ground, but Luka wasn't finished with him. He kept hitting him, again and again. Daisy was sure she heard bones crunching. When the rapist tried to get up, he was kicked in the ribs. He fell, gasping, onto his side but Luka still showed no mercy. He grabbed the guy's head and Daisy heard a loud ‘thunk’ as Luka banged it onto the cement. Another thunk, then Luka dragged the now unconscious rapist over to the poolside and pushed his head under the water.

"Luka! No!" She got up, not knowing what to do. Just then, several hotel employees came rushing out. For a moment, they stood around, looking confused and utterly terrified. 

"Stop him...he's killing him!" Daisy gasped.

The manager grabbed Luka, pulling him away from the rapist. She saw Luka's eyes-black with rage-and was really, truly afraid for the first time in her life. There was a cold, black fury in that man and for a moment he was hardly recognizable.

"Calm down...calm down," the manager was saying. Luka was hardly even out of breath. He looked at them for a moment, then at Daisy.  

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine...he didn't...manage to do anything..."

"Good." But strangely, he didn't reach out, didn't take her in his arms and try to calm her down, as she would have appreciated. He stood apart from her, barely moving. It was strange, and she couldn't figure it out at all. She would spend the next several days trying to figure out what that all meant.

There was a long silence as everyone stared at Luka. Finally, he nodded. "I hate rude behavior in a man. And I especially hate rapists." He turned to look back at Daisy's would-be assailant, who was being carried away by several hotel employees. The police were never even called. The manager glanced at Daisy and muttered, "Why get the police involved? You friend handled the situation pretty well himself...the little bastard got what he deserved."

Leaving Chihuahua was an interesting experience They got blindly, hopelessly lost in some rough part of town and yet were treated with almost worshipful respect-or, at least the Caddy was. Several young teenagers helped them get out of the area (apparently, they had never been to East L.A.) and soon they were driving North again, in the general direction of the border but taking their time all the same.

They drove all day the next day, stopping only to eat lunch along the road. On the vast Sonora plain, they got out of the Caddy and walked around in the desert for a while. She watched him as he looked for rattlesnakes, having never seen one up close and in person (she sat on the car hood as he did this). All he found was a sleepy Gila monster. "Don't touch it!' she yelled. Luka believed her, and when it moved toward him, he moved pretty quickly to get back to the car.

"They don't eat people, do they?"

"I don't know. But my dad always told me to stay away from them, and Daddy never lied to me about things that could kill me."

He nodded and they sat there a long time, watching the sun set and listening to the desert sounds-red tailed hawks screaming overhead, the buzz of a rattlesnake, the wind blowing fitfully across the sand and scrub.

"It's not much to look at," Luka said. "It's the Tropic of Dirt."

She smiled. "But it does have a kind of slapdash beauty to it, doesn't it?"

He shrugged. He had never seen a desert before, so he had no point of comparison. And if it was beauty he was looking for...well, there was Daisy sitting there, looking quite fetching.

It was almost dark before they got back into the car and headed back toward the US/Mexican border. Crossing over again, the border guards insisted on looking at everything in and on and under the car. Luka figured that was a normal reaction-he was a dark guy with a flashy girl in a car that looked like it was once owned by Liberace. It was to be expected. He wanted to ask them about how people smuggled drugs into the US, but the guards were grumpy already from trying to decide if shellacked frogs were on the endangered species, cannot be imported list (they weren't). He left the subject to itself.

Out in the middle of the West Texas desert, they found a fabulous hotel/restaurant and sat down to a great dinner of chicken fried steak and black eyed peas (another thing Luka had never experienced before) with fruit jars brimming with iced tea. She settled for a club sandwich, worried that she was gaining weight. Glancing at his lean, rangy form, she added that to her growing list of 'Luka Facts'. He had high metabolism, which must mean he was of a nervous nature. But where was any sign of nerves? The smoking, perhaps? He didn't sit around drumming his fingers or tapping his feet. He didn't fidget or hum or blink rapidly. He was, in fact, a very calm-looking and acting person..even serene. But she had seen that explosion of rage, and it had scared and fascinated her. He evidently could not tolerate seeing someone being hurt or mistreated in any way. Did he feel he needed to protect people? Was that his mission in life, somehow?

He was fascinated with Pace's picante sauce, pouring a little of it on the black-eyed peas. His eyes widened at the taste and he insisted she try it. She indulged him, having eaten peas like that all her life. They were great peas, though, obviously home grown, not poured out of a can. "Pace's is the only kind of picante sauce that is considered legal in Texas. It's made in San Antonio."

"Can it be bought any place else?" he asked. "Like, in Chicago?" 

"Sure." 

Luka liked his meal so much he bought the cook a drink. 

He was like a little kid, in some ways. Everything was brand new to him. Trying to see the world through his eyes was interesting. There was an innocence and a sophistication about him at the same time. He was articulate and very intelligent, but she noticed a kind of shyness and reserve about him. He was a little withdrawn, stand-offish at times, but never rude or ill-tempered. He was an enigma, that was sure. She wondered if she'd figure him out before it was time for them to part. 

It was getting dark, and very soon they were treated to a spectacular West Texas lightning storm, rated R for violence. Luka doubted people would come out to the middle of God's sandbox to watch a lightning storm. He asked her why a fine hotel would be out in the middle of nowhere. She had no real answer for that, and in fact, had no real way of answering any questions any more.

They sat on the porch for a long time, watching the lightning and listening to the wind roar across the desert like a fleet of Army helicopters. She stirred her tea with her finger, remembering their impulsive kiss back in Mexico. It hadn't been enough for her. She wanted more...a lot more.

To be continued...