Gray Magic

by Sarah Dreher

  Siyamtiwa glared at her. "You think I never set foot off the mesa? You think I'm some ignorant savage like you have in your movies? I know things you'll never know, Green-eyes. And I have done things you would blush to speak of.”

  "I'm sure you have," Stoner said awkwardly.

  "I am an old woman," Siyamtiwa said. "I am trying to keep something terrible from happening. Do you think I have time to worry about what goes on in your bedroll?"

  "Too bad that attitude isn't more widespread," Gwen said.

  ''What something terrible?"

  ''When I know how big this thing is, I will tell you." Siyamtiwa turned to go. "You be careful, Granddaughter. Someone is watching you."

  * * *

  "KWAHU!"

  The call reached her where she rested on the air.

  Now what?

  "KWAAA... HUUU!"

  The urgency of the summons stopped her in mid-grumble. She quickly scanned the ground, spotted the figure of Old Woman Two-legs standing, arms outstretched.

  She folded her wings and let herself drop.

  Siyamtiwa grunted as the claws closed gently around her wrist.

  Eagle swiveled her head around and preened modestly.

  "Pretty good," Two-legs said. "For an ancient relic."

  Eagle fixed her with a golden, one-eyed stare. "If you have business with me, say what it is. I have things to do."

  Siyamtiwa laughed, then took on an air of great solemnity. "Thank you, Grandmother, for visiting this poor, wretched old Indian."

  Kwahu pretended not to notice she was being mocked. ''Well, well, what is it?"

  "About the pahana. The sickness." Siyamtiwa lowered herself to the ground. ''We have to talk about this. I think maybe it is the Ya Ya business."

  Eagle paced in an irritated circle. "I told you before, the Skin-walkers are gone. Sorcery is forbidden among the People. You know that."

  The old woman snorted. "If we could get rid of evil by passing a law, we would have one fine world, eh?"

  Caught in a foolishness, Eagle spread her feathers. ''What have you seen that makes you think this? Or do you feed on rumor in your old age?"

  "This sickness has taken many this summer, and not all old like the Lomahongva woman. The two white women left the reservation and got well. This is a funny business."

  "The Whites have medicine."

  Siyamtiwa shook her head. "I think not. The first white trader suffered for many weeks, in spite of their medicine. Until the Green-eyes came. Now the second white trader recovers." She contemplated the ground. "And think of this, Grandmother Kwahu: all who have had the sickness have been women."

  Eagle thought that over very carefully.

  "All summer I have felt something in the air. Now the waters clear and I can almost make out the shape of it." She gave Eagle a moment to digest this. "Now here is what I know. The Dream People have spoken to me of Green-eyes, and told me to make the doll."

  Eagle strutted back and forth angrily. "You and your Dream People. If your Dream People are so fond of giving orders, why do they never speak to me?"

  "Because," Siyamtiwa said, "your kopavi is closed."

  "So you say."

  "So I know. You are an arrogant, ill-tempered old bird. Why would the Dream People want anything to do with you?"

  ''Well,'' Eagle snorted, "I'm sure they come to you only as a last resort."

  "You know what I am, Grandmother," Siyamtiwa said softly. ”Let us not argue. I need your help. Somewhere out there..." Her gesture took in the land from horizon to horizon. "...is a powaqa, a Skin-walker, a Two-Heart. With your strong wings and eyes..."

  "So," said Eagle, with just a hint of smugness, "now you need me, you decide to try flattery."

  "There is no flattery in truth," Siyamtiwa said. "I must know more about this powaqa. Who is he? How great is his power? What does he want? What does he know of Green-eyes?"

  Grandmother Kwahu stood still and stared out from under her fierce eyebrows. "I'll see what can be done," she said at last. "But you don't give me much to go on."

  "Only this: He is a Coyote Man. And he knows Green-eyes is his enemy. This is why he has made the trader sick. It is how he shows his power." She hesitated for a heartbeat. "Next, I think, he will take the friend."

  Eagle shuddered as if a shadow had passed over her. She tasted iron on her tongue. "If Green-eyes is smart, she will take her friend and leave this place."

  "I think not," Siyamtiwa said. "My heart tells me, when she understands the danger, she will not turn her back."

  "Then why not tell her all of it now?"

  "Her thinking is White. Her mind would reject it."

  Kwahu rocked from foot to foot. "I don't have a hopeful feeling about this, Grandmother."

  "You know how it is with us," Siyamtiwa said. ''We can only play our part. Only the Spirits know how it will come out."

  A sharp breeze came up, good flying weather. ''We'll meet here at twilight," Eagle said. "And tell each other what we know."

  "Good."

  Grandmother Eagle flung herself into the morning air.

  * * *

  Stoner sat in the hospital waiting room, surrounded by salmon walls and green vinyl furniture. Sunlight poured white through dusty windows. She crossed her legs, recrossed them, got up and went to stare down into the black-topped parking lot, returned to her seat, and picked at a loose thread on her jeans.

  "She's not having a heart transplant," Gwen said.''We're only waiting for visiting hours, which we wouldn't even have to do if you weren't so rigid about the rules."

  "I can't help it," Stoner said. "I know we'd get caught sneaking in, and they'd throw us out, and I'd never get to see her."

  "Well, relax, for Heaven's sake. You're making me nervous, and there's nothing to be nervous about."

  She paced to the door and looked down the hall. The clock above the fire stairs read two-fifty-five digital. Five minutes.

  "I hate hospitals,"she said, striding back to the couch and flinging herself down. "They're so sterile."

  Gwen patted her arm reassuringly. "They're supposed to be sterile."

  "People die in hospitals."

  "People also die on the highways, in the ocean, jumping out of airplanes, and in the privacy of their own bathrooms. The worst is over, remember? She's getting better."

  "Right." She went back to the window and toyed with the Venetian blind cord. "How am I going to convince her to stay here if she wants to come home?"

  "Tell her she'll die if she doesn't."

  "It's crazy. None of it makes sense. Do you know how this is going to look to someone as down-to-earth as Stell?"

  "Crazy," Gwen admitted.

  "How can I explain it to her?"

  "Don't explain. Ask her to trust you."

  ''Why would she do that?"

  "Because," Gwen said, "she loves you. And when people love each other, they quite often trust each other."

  Stoner glanced over at her. "You think I'm silly, don't you?"

  "No, dearest, but if you don't stop blinking out an S.O.S. with those blinds, we're going to have the local SWAT team on the scene any minute."

  A soft chime sounded in the hall.

  Stoner jumped down from the window sill. "Visiting time. Ready?"

  "You go along. I'll finish this excellent institutional coffee and join you in a few minutes. I imagine you and Stell have some private things to say."

  She hesitated. ''What if she looks really awful or something? What do I do?"

  Gwen took her hand. "You say, calmly and in a cheerful manner, 'Jesus, Stell, you look like shit. Are you sure these assholes know what they're doing?'"

  Stoner laughed. "Thanks a lot."

  "Just get in there, will you?"

  Stell was sitting up in bed reading the February Family Circle. There were still dark smudges under her eyes, but her eyes were blue again. Her face was pale, but there was life in her hair. She wore a white chenille robe over a powder blue nightgown that com
plemented her eyes and revealed a fair amount of cleavage. She started to turn a page, sensed someone in the room, and glanced up.

  "Stoner." She held out her arms, nearly detaching the IV that ran into the back of her hand. "Lord, Lord, the sight of you's more fun than amphetamines."

  Stoner grinned. "Is that what you're mainlining?"

  Stell scowled at the IV. "I don't think it's anything. Just one of their little tricks to let you know who's boss."

  Stoner embraced her carefully, unable to forget the feel of her hot, dry skin, the brittle-feeling bones, the muscles too weak to return her slightest pressure.

  "Hey," Stell said, and tightened her grip, "I'm not going to break."

  "You scared me, Stell." She held on hard. "I thought we'd lost you."

  "Scared myself, and that's a fact."

  Stoner stood back and looked at her. "That's a swell outfit you have on."

  "Isn't it?" Stell said. She plucked at the sleeve. "Ted went out and got this as soon as the dry goods store opened. Said that hospital nightie looked like a shroud." She laughed. "This little number ought to cause talk, if nothing else."

  "A lot of people have been asking about you," Stoner said as she sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "Larch Begay, among them."

  Stell grimaced. "You certainly know how to lift a gal's morale."

  "Stell," Stoner said quietly, picking up Stell's glasses and fooling with them, "do you know how sick you were?"

  "I know how sick I felt."

  "Has anyone told you what was wrong?"

  Stell shook her head. "They claim they don't know. Find out if that's the truth, will you? Or if I have something terminal and incurable and they're just trying to soften the blow?"

  Stoner felt a tight band of fear around her chest. “Do you mean that?"

  "Heck, no. I have whatever Claudine had, and from what I hear she's raising three kinds of Hell in Taos at this very minute. It might have something to do with something around the trading post. You watch yourself out there, hear?"

  "Stell, about the trading post..."

  Stell covered Stoner's hand with her own. "I know, this is supposed to be your vacation. Ted can handle things for now, and I'll get back as soon as..."

  "That's not what I mean, for God's sake." Stoner said indignantly. "Don't you know me better than that?"

  ''Well, then, what's the problem? Didn't burn it down, did you?"

  "No, it's just... well... this is kind of crazy."

  "I expect crazy from you," Stell said, retrieving her glasses from Stoner's hands. ''What's up?"

  Stoner looked up at the corner where the walls and ceiling met. "Siyamtiwa said to tell you not to come back. She said, if you did, you'd die." She glanced at Stell. "She was very firm about it."

  "I'll be damned," Stell said, "they've finally started to fight back. Haven't taken Tom Drooley hostage, have they?"

  "Stell, darn it, listen to me. There's something funny going on, and you getting sick is part of it, and if you come back now it's going to start all over again only this time we won't be able to save you."

  Stell laughed. ''Want to run that by me again?"

  "Something's going on. Something dangerous."

  "What's going on?"

  Stoner raked her hand through her hair. "I don't know. Nobody tells me anything. I was ordered to order you to stay away or you'd die, and I'm doing it."

  "I can't run out on the trading post. It's my responsibility."

  “And you're my responsibility.”

  "Since when?" Stell huffed.

  "I love you. That makes you my responsibility."

  Stell shook her head in bewilderment. ''Why would anyone want to kill me? I'm from Wyoming."

  "I don't know!” Her voice rose. "I don't understand any of it. But I don't want anything to happen to you. Is that clear, Stell? I don't want anything to happen to you!"

  The door flew open. "Ladies," a woman's voice boomed, "this is a hospital, not a Sheepherder Saloon."

  She turned around. In the doorway stood a nurse. About twenty-six. Average height, slim, black eyes and hair, skin the color of a polished pecan. And clearly someone who intended to be in control of the situation.

  "I'm sorry," Stoner said.

  "Mrs. Perkins, I have strict orders that you are to rest. Rest, Mrs. Perkins, is not defined as participating in a verbal melee, no matter how vital the issue or provocative your guests. Your recovery is in your hands, Mrs. Perkins. Are we communicating?"

  Stell grinned. "Stoner, this is Laura Yazzie. Laura, Stoner McTavish, my friend from Boston."

  "Hi," Stoner said.

  Laura Yazzie looked her up and down. "Is this the way one behaves in hospitals in Boston?"

  Stoner looked at the floor.

  "There are sick people in this hospital, Ms. McTavish. There are sick people in this very room. Mrs. Perkins may or may not be delirious, and therefore not entirely responsible for her behavior. That remains to be seen. You, however, seem relatively healthy."

  "I said I was sorry," Stoner said, slipping her hands into her back pockets. "I was trying to tell her..."

  "I don't care what you were trying to tell her," Laura Yazzie said. She turned away and stuck a thermometer in Stell's mouth. “If you can behave yourself, you may stay. If not, you'd better leave before I lose my temper."

  "Before?" Stell mumbled around her thermometer.

  "Don't give me a hard time, Mrs. Perkins," Laura Yazzie said, taking her wrist and looking at her watch. "Just because you're back from the brink doesn't mean you're out of the woods."

  “Laura Yazzie," Stell said when she was allowed to speak, "is a Navajo. A marauding, thieving, warlike race, feared and hated throughout Navajo County Hospital."

  "If you're this difficult when you're sick," Laura said as she made a note on Stell's chart, "I'd hate to see you when you're healthy." She arranged Stell's pillows and bedclothes, checked her IV, and somehow managed to ease her back onto the pillows without letting on she was doing it. "Temp's one hundred, pulse up a bit. I assume we can blame your company for that."

  ''Will she be released soon?" Stoner asked.

  "Not if you keep upsetting her."

  "I'm not upset," Stell said.

  "If I had my way..." Laura made an adjustment in the IV. "I'd keep her around to brighten up the place. Unfortunately, I don't have my way."

  "I don't know why not," Stell grumbled. "Half the doctors in the place are afraid of you."

  Laura Yazzie laughed. She had a very nice laugh, rich and full and genuine.

  "Look," Stoner said, "this is really serious about Stell coming home."

  ''Well, they sure won't keep her here any longer than necessary. The way she's coming along, you should have her back in a couple of days."

  "But I don't want her back," Stoner said.

  Laura Yazzie raised an eyebrow.

  "Kids," Stell muttered. "You try to raise them right, sacrifice for them, what happens? First chance they get, they ship you off to be looked after by strangers."

  Stoner looked at her. "You don't have to stay here," she said. "You can go to a motel, or take a trip. You just can't come back to the trading post."

  Laura Yazzie shook her head vehemently. "She can stay here or go home. No motels, and no trips. Her system's had a nasty shock. She ought to take it easy for a couple of weeks, at least."

  "In that case," Stell said, "I'm coming home. I'm sorry, Stoner, but that's how it is."

  She had an idea. "I wonder if I could talk to you privately," she said to Laura Yazzie.

  "Stoner..." Stell warned.

  "I'm sorry, Stell. I have to do this."

  "You're putting a strain on our friendship."

  "If the situation were reversed," Stoner said, "you'd do exactly what I'm doing."

  "Okay," Laura put in. "You've got me curious and I'm due for a break." She tossed the chart on the bed and headed for the door. "Happy reading, Mrs. Perkins."

  Gwen was working the crossw
ord puzzle in the morning paper. Stoner introduced them, and figured it took Laura Yazzie about fifteen seconds to size up their relationship.

  "It's about Stell," Stoner began.

  Laura poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn in the corner.

  "I didn't think you wanted to discuss the Texas Rangers' chances of winning the American League pennant." She added a packet of Sweet'n Low and stirred. "They're lousy, by the way. What can I tell you?"

  She decided to ease up to it. "Do they know what's wrong with her?"

  "Nope." Laura perched on the edge of the window sill.

  "Don't you think that's odd?"

  "Yep."

  Stoner cleared her throat. "There's been some talk, out on the reservation..."

  "Rez gossip is as common as sand."

  ''Well,'' Stoner said. "there might be something to it. It's the best explanation I've been able to get."

  "For what?"

  ''What happened to Stell."

  Laura turned her head away quickly and unknotted the Venetian blind cord. "Kids," she muttered, "always monkeying with these things."

  Stoner knew avoidance when she saw it. She decided to plunge in. "Do you know anything about Ya Ya sickness?"

  Laura glanced at her, and back to the window. "Maybe I heard of it. A long time ago."

  "There's talk of it on the reservation."

  The woman looked down into her coffee cup. "There's always talk of something."

  "Do you think that could be what's wrong with Stell?" Stoner persisted.

  Laura's eyes flicked toward the hall, in the general direction of Stell's room. "I'm a professional. I don't deal in mysticism."

  "But if you did, is it possible?"

  ''What are you?" Laura asked with a laugh-a forced laugh. ''Wannabee?''

  "I beg your pardon?"

  ''Wannabee. White person that wants to be Indian."

  "No," Stoner said patiently, "I just want to understand what's happening."

  "So you figure, because I have brown skin, I must know all about this mysterious sickness." The woman's face was closed, her voice hostile.

  "Look, this whole thing has me scared. If you'd seen Stell when Ted brought her in here..."

  "I did," Laura Yazzie said softly.

  "Then you must know how I feel."