“The Alchemist” by Loren D. Estleman

 

The long man smelled like a French king.

The scent, heavy with crushed violets and lime water and oil of oleander, was his principal distinguishing feature after his great height, which compelled him to bow his head to clear the lintel and afterwards stand with shoulders rounded and his hat off to avoid colliding with the objects that hung from the beams. The hat was a new Stetson, blocked into the Texas pinch, with a brown leather sweatband to which clung a number of cut hairs. He had been to see Juan Morales then, and after his haircut and shave had visited the Aztec Baths and had his brown wool suit brushed and his white shirt boiled in corn water and pressed with a flatiron while he soaked away the hard crust of sweat and sand that had formed like a salt rind during the long ride from the border. His plastered hair was black and glossy, he wore a gringo mustache with ends that trailed, and his thinker’s face was long with sorrow. To his vest was pinned a five-pointed star and a shield, nickel plated, without engraving.

A winner of the Spur Award for Short Fiction in 1996 and expanded into the novel Journey of the Dead in 1998, this is undoubtedly written like a dream.

Adding to the dreaminess is the somewhat metaphysical nature of the theme.

Both versions of the tale are, undoubtedly, one of the most original takes on the Pat Garrett/Billy the Kid mythos.

Estleman is a fine writer, the craft is art here. I was at a little remove due to the oddness of the approach but that does not diminish what the author presents.

No matter the take away, what is rendered is art.