Gray Magic

by Sarah Dreher

  The crumbling wall was warm and hard. From the slight rise where she stood, she could see across miles of valley. Smudges of green marked the spots where precious rain collected, or ground water seeped to the surface. The ruins of smaller pueblos lay scattered about, a day's walk distant, seeming close enough to touch. Several yards behind the ruin, the earth's surface had cracked. Gwen wandered off to inspect it.

  Stoner sat in the dirt and rested against the sandstone wall. She closed her eyes. The sounds of long-past life came to her—the scrape of grinding stones as they crushed the dried corn kernels, low talking voices, water splashing in an earthen jar, brittle rustle of reeds being woven into mats, the clatter of digging sticks against the pebbly ground.

  She felt the summer's driving heat, the bitter wind that blew the snow across unbroken deserts. The icy fall of silver rain. The prickle of rough wool blankets. Felt the wonder of bright parrot feathers, traded up from the south. The hard obsidian arrowheads, black as death. The smell of sagebrush after the rain. The sharp, crusty odor of earth during the years when the rains never fell. Heard the tinkle of pottery shards discarded on the trash pile.

  They buried the dead children under the floors of the houses, so their souls could enter the bodies of babies yet unborn. But the People had to move on, and the homeless souls stayed behind.

  She could sense them now, whispering around the doorways, slipping through shadows. They played on air currents, and made dust devils to ride across the desert. Curious but shy, they came close to her, and touched her hair and arms. She tried to sit very still, barely breathing, not wanting to frighten the little homeless ones. Giggling, they played peek-a-boo among the shrubs and rocks. A few of the braver ones danced up to her as she pretended to sleep. She opened her eyes and sent them laughing and scattering like sparrows. A baby, brown-skinned and black-eyed, crawled between her knees and stared up at her, sucking its thumb. She winked at it, and they laughed together.

  She sensed the Old Ones watching. Waiting.

  Waiting for...what?

  They want something from me, she thought.

  Unconsciously, she reached up, touched Siyamtiwa's necklace.

  The Old Ones drew closer.

  She looked down at the beads. She hadn't noticed the carvings before. Each one different. Bear and badger claws. Clouds that rained. Stalks of corn. Snakes and birds and spirals and dog-like animals. Arrows, rainbows and hump-backed flute players. Tiny, intricate carvings. Too small, it seemed, for human hands to make.

  These are the marks of the People, she felt the Old Ones say. The People need your help.

  Me?

  When the time comes, you will know what has to be done.

  But...

  "Hey." It was Gwen. “Wake up. You'll get sunstroke."

  She opened her eyes and looked up. On a wall above her head sat a small, long-tailed lizard. Its eyes were silver.

  She shivered and felt fear.

  “What's the matter?" Gwen asked.

  "That lizard. Look at its eyes."

  Gwen looked. "Seem like ordinary, garden-variety lizard eyes to me."

  "They're silver."

  Gwen looked again. "I can't see it. Must be the angle you're looking from."

  Or maybe it only shows the silver eyes to me.

  "Gwen," she said, "do you believe in ghosts?"

  "In the theological sense?"

  "In any sense."

  Gwen sat down beside her. "I guess I do. Why?"

  "Do you ever have the feeling there are... human souls around?"

  "My father? My ex-husband?" Gwen shuddered. "I really need that."

  "Not like that..." She groped for words. "Like maybe souls that just hang around being helpful. Watching, sort of."

  "It's a comforting thought."

  “Well," Stoner said, "I think there are a few hanging around here."

  Gwen looked over her shoulder. "This place is weird."

  "You feel it, too?"

  "I feel we're not alone. Should we be frightened?"

  Stoner shook her head. "How come you can accept things like this, and I have such a hard time with it?"

  "I'm Welsh. We practically invented mysticism."

  Stoner pressed her fingertips to her temples. "There's something they want me to do."

  “Well, do it," Gwen said as she got up, "and let's hit the trail."

  Stoner pulled herself to her feet. "Are you afraid?"

  "You bet. Afraid we'll miss dinner."

  When they reached the car, she looked back. Lomaki Ruin seemed to glow and throb in the slanting light.

  * * *

  It was nearly dusk by the time they reached the trading post. A small circle of Indian women in light plaid cotton dresses lounged on the porch drinking sodas from the machine. One of the youngest women, a girl of about fourteen, got up and approached the truck.

  "Are you Stoner?"

  "That's right."

  "Mrs. Perkins asked would you look after the store? She's not feeling so good."

  Apprehension gripped her stomach. “What's wrong?"

  The young woman shrugged. "She didn't say. Just that she was going to lie down for a little."

  "Oh, God. Gwen, take over." She left the motor running and raced into the house.

  Stell was drinking water by the kitchen sink, her feet bare, a light cotton blanket tossed over her shoulders. Her face was gray, her hair stringy and lifeless. There were dark pockets under her eyes.

  "Stell, what's the matter?"

  Stell looked up, her eyes glassy and a little out of focus. "Calm down," she said with a faint smile. "I'm just tired. Too much horsing around last night."

  "You look awful."

  “Where'd you get your manners, girl? You don't go around telling folks they look awful."

  "But you do."

  Stell refilled her water glass. "Thank you very much."

  "You should lie down."

  "I just got up."

  "Come on, Stell.” She shoved her toward the bedroom door. "If you feel as bad as you look..."

  "Now that you mention it," Stell said, "I do feel kinda like something the cat dragged in and wouldn't eat."

  “What is it?"

  Stell drained her water glass. “We can rule out premenstrual tension. Beyond that, it's anybody's guess."

  "I'm going to get you to a doctor."

  "Whoa," Stell said, and put a hand on her sleeve. "This isn't Boston, kid. It's a forty-mile drive to Beale, which has no doctor, and another twelve to Holbrook. I think we should wait and see what develops."

  "At least lie down, okay?"

  "Gladly." She put the glass on the lamp table and stretched out on the bed. "Lordy, it's cold in here. Get a couple of blankets out of the bureau, would you, Stoner?"

  Frantically, she pawed though the drawers, found the blankets, and spread them over Stell. She touched her face. Her skin was dry as paper and hot.

  "You're burning up."

  "Figured."

  Stoner sat beside her. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

  "I'll be all right," Stell said, and patted her hand. "It's probably just a summer cold."

  "Sure." She toyed with Stell's fingers. “Where's Ted?"

  "He rode over to the Lomahongvas' with Tomas. Their grandmother died last night. Had to get the coroner from Holbrook. Dealing with Anglo law, it helps if there's someone around they know." Her voice trailed off. Her eyes drifted shut.

  "He left with you feeling like this?"

  "Didn't feel like this when he left. Not this bad." She opened her eyes. "Heck of a thing to do to you on your vacation."

  "That doesn't matter." She massaged Stell's hand. "Are you sure I can't do anything? Get you some aspirin?"

  "Already did that." Her eyes drifted shut again. "Don't know why I'm so sleepy."

  "Because you're sick, idiot," Stoner said gently. She tucked the blankets around the woman's shoulders, pulled the blinds, and refilled the water glass. By the time she had ret
urned to the bedroom, Stell was asleep.

  She put the glass down and stood for a moment, looking at her. Please, Stell, don't let it be serious. If anything happened to you...

  Don't be ridiculous, she told herself fiercely. It's a summer cold, like she said. It isn't...

  Stell stirred beneath the covers. "Dinner."

  “We'll take care of it. Lucky for you you've got two able-bodied women around. You know how helpless men are in a crisis."

  “Guests."

  "Family, Stell. Remember? If you're going to think of us as guests, I'll tell Gwen to be polite to you. And, lady, you ain't seen polite until you've been on the receiving end of that one's Southern charm."

  Stell's mouth twitched into a smile. "Chili."

  “I take it chili is on the menu. Or is that a comment on our early autumn?" The inside of her head trembled in a high-pitched whine.

  "Talk too much," Stell mumbled.

  "You're absolutely right. If you need anything, throw this glass at the door. I'll check on you later."

  Gwen was in the store, talking with the Indian girl. She looked up as Stoner came in. "How's Stell?"

  "She looks terrible." She punched her hands into her back pockets to keep them from trembling. "She's asleep."

  The Indian girl shot Stoner a knowing, penetrating glance.

  "Fever?"

  Stoner nodded.

  "Skin gray and dry?"

  "Very."

  "Not good," the girl said.

  “What do you mean?"

  "I think you know."

  Stoner shook her head. "No, I don't."

  "Ya Ya sickness."

  "This is Rose Lomahongva," Gwen explained. "She says her grandmother just died of it."

  "Stell told me. I'm sorry to hear it." Stoner held out her hand. "Stoner McTavish."

  The girl gripped her hand without shaking it, exactly the way Siyamtiwa had. "Yes," she said.

  "Yes?"

  “We know about you." Abruptly, she turned back to Gwen. "As soon as the Anglos leave, we will have our celebration."

  "Death is a happy thing for you, then?" Gwen asked.

  “My grandmother was an old woman. Now she's with her friends. Yes, it is a happy thing. Why not? We'll miss her, but to ask her to stay here for us wouldn't be right." She frowned thoughtfully. “We're going to need a lot of food. If you have trouble here, maybe we should hitch into Beale to shop."

  "Tell you what," Gwen said, "when you're ready, give me a list of what you need and I'll take the truck in for it. Something tells me Whites are treated better than Indians in that town."

  A smile lit Rose Lomahongva's broad face. “We have a couple of days. People have to come from a long way off. We'll see how things are, okay?"

  "Okay,"Gwen said. "But don't you hesitate. Stell says they even have different prices for Whites and Indians."

  “Well," Rose said, "that's how it is with them. I'll get these old ladies out of here." She went to the door, said a few words in Hopi. The women got up silently and filed off toward Long Mesa. Rose Lomahongava followed them.

  "You're not going to believe this," Gwen said, "but when they saw how Stell looked, these women came over here to make sure no one broke in before we got back. They've been sitting there all afternoon. She's really bad, huh?"

  Stoner nodded. "I haven't seen anyone look that awful in a long time." She ran her thumb nail along the edge of the counter. "I'm scared, Gwen. It happened so fast."

  "Hey,"Gwen said, "it might not be serious. Maybe she always looks worse than she feels when she's sick. When my grandmother gets a cold, you'd think it was the Black Plague."

  "Not Stell."

  "You don't know that, Stoner."

  "And what about what Rose said?"

  "Frankly, several things Rose said made no sense whatsoever to me. You know what's wrong with Stell? They know about you? Do you have any idea what that's about?"

  Stoner shook her head. She couldn't think about it now. "Gwen, I have a bad feeling about this."

  Gwen squeezed her hand. "Let's not go off half-cocked. Ted can tell us more when he gets home. For all we know, she might be up and dancing the pax de deux from Swan Lake by then."

  * * *

  But she wasn't.

  By the time Ted got home, she was worse, her skin hotter and dryer. When she tried to drink water, her hands were too weak to hold the glass.

  Stoner held it for her, and gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.

  Ted watched for a while, then tightened his jaw and went behind the barn with a Coleman lantern and started re-stacking the wood pile into a perfect rectangle.

  By the time dinner was over, which didn't take long since no one felt like eating, she was drifting in and out of sleep. She refused a bowl of chili, even refused a slice of bread and butter, and muttered something about 'getting up in a while and fixing myself a bite'. Her fever hovered around one hundred and three degrees. She asked for more blankets.

  Gwen brewed her hot lemonade with brandy, an old family remedy, which she hated but it made her sweat so that she was more comfortable and her fever went down a little.

  She agreed to eat canned soup, after Stoner convinced her it was easier to do than try to win a battle of wills with her. It seemed like a major victory, until Stoner remembered that, for Stell, a light breakfast consisted of eggs, bacon, juice, and pancakes, with sour dough biscuits on the side.

  The effort seemed to tire her more.

  Ted washed the dishes, one dish at a time, scraping, soaping, rinsing, drying, putting away before he reached for the next. Gwen said it had crossed her mind to make coffee, but if she had to watch him wash one more cup they'd have to cart her away in a rubber U-Haul.

  Torn Drooley crawled under Stell's bed and refused to come out, even when they tried to bribe him with last night's chicken.

  Stoner mostly sat beside the bed and held Stell's hand and tried to make her body hard and frozen inside so she could do what she had to do. Every now and then, when she couldn't stand it any more, she got up and wandered-through the kitchen to the sitting room, into the store, back to the kitchen. After about ten minutes out of Stell's sight, she'd find herself in a panic and rush back to the bedroom.

  "Darnedest thing," Stell murmured after one of her wanders, "every time you come back in, I feel better."

  She knew it was a lie.

  Ted decided to balance the books. Gwen took one look at what he was doing and allowed as how he was going to make a total mess, and talked him into a game of gin.

  Around midnight, it seemed they might as well go to bed. Stoner thought about moving into the guest room, to be close by. But Gwen pointed out that, if Ted were going to get any sleep at all, it'd have to be in there.

  They all agreed Gwen was the only one capable of rational thought.

  The last thing Stoner did before she left for the bunkhouse was give Stell a back-rub, which Stell declared-weakly-had prolonged her life by a good five years, thank you, and fell asleep. Stoner sat by her for a while, touching her hot, tight, skin, watching for each breath. She couldn't shake the idea that Stell's life was being measured, not in years, but in hours.

  She pulled herself together, kissed Stell's forehead, arranged the blankets, whispered, "I love you, Stell, " and left.

  She walked slowly back to the bunkhouse through the cold night.

  She didn't see the coyote.

  The coyote saw her.

  Around two in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep. There was a light in the kitchen. She could see Ted's silhouette, hunched over the table. Gwen had finally drifted off. Carefully, she slipped out of bed, eased her feet into her boots, and picked her way back between the white-washed rocks.

  Ted was fully dressed and staring into a cup of cold, oily coffee. He glanced up. His eyes were bleary and red-rimmed.

  "How is she?" Stoner asked in a low voice.

  He shook his head.

  She peeked through the bedroom door. In the dim light
, she could barely make out the rise and fall of Stell's chest as she breathed. Her skin was even more ashen than before. Her hands, moving restlessly along the edge of the blanket as she slept, looked like birds' claws, the fingers long and bony, the skin between translucent, and loose as webbing.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. "You should try to sleep, Ted. You look worse than Larch Begay."

  He ran his hand over his cheeks and chin. His beard stubble sounded like corn husks.

  Stoner sipped her coffee and shuddered. "I've had bad coffee in my time," she said, trying to cheer him up, "but this belongs in Ripley's Believe It or Not. "

  He looked at her pleadingly. "What's wrong with her?"

  "I don't know."

  "It's like someone went and sucked all the life out of her."

  She stood up. “I hate to hurt your feelings, but I can't drink this straight."

  As she was returning the milk carton to the refrigerator, she heard a low sound—a hiccuping sound like a gas motor that won't catch. She turned.

  Ted sat with his face in his hands, sobbing.

  It tied her stomach in knots.

  She went to him, touched his shoulder. "Ted."

  "I don't know what to do," he choked.

  She put her arms around him. He cried into her shoulder. "Yeah," she said. "Stell's a pretty neat lady."

  "I gave her a hard time about young Ted," he mumbled. "Jesus, wish I hadn't."

  Stoner stroked his hair. "The way I heard it, she gave you a pretty rough time, too."

  He wasn't listening. "And Smokey Flanagan. The Ranger back home. When he first carne around, I was real jealous. I could see he loved her and she loved him. It made me mean. I didn't care if she slept with him, I just didn't want her to love him." He ground his knuckles into his eyes. "Shit, Stoner, I was a real son-of-a-bitch about that."

  "It's okay, Ted."

  “Wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't listen to him."

  "Stell told me all about that," Stoner said. "It's in the past."

  "All it meant was," he rambled on, ignoring her, "Stell's got room in her heart for a lot of folks." Tears spilled from his eyes and trickled through his beard stubble. “That woman's got room in her heart for the whole human race. I'm so damn grateful she married me."