by Sarah Dreher
"I'm glad Ted decided to stay in town," she said. "Do you mind us taking over for the next few days?"
"Of course I don't mind," Gwen said between chattering teeth. "I should have asked you first."
"I don't mind."
"But we'll have plenty of time to travel around later, and Ted said it was okay to close up in the middle of the afternoon because nobody in their right mind goes out then, anyway."
"We will," Gwen grumbled. "Count on it." She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over into the back. "There must be something warm back here. An old horse blanket'd do."
"Next time we leave during the day and plan to stay away for a while, we've got to remember how cold it gets at night."
"I'll remember,"Gwen said.
Stoner peered at the cluster of lights ahead. "Larch Begay's hovel coming up."
Gwen shuddered.
"He's lived out here all his life," Stoner said. "I wonder what he knows about Ya Ya sickness."
"As I recall, his opinion was that it's superstition."
"That's his opinion. I'd like to know what he knows."
“With people like that," Gwen said, "their opinion is all they know."
The lights fell behind them. Darkness settled in again. The moon began its rise behind Tewa Mountain. A night bird dipped low over the jeep and kept pace with them for a while, then veered upward and out of sight. At the edge of the head lamps' pillar of light, a scrawny gray animal perched beside the road.
"Slow down," Gwen said. "I want to see if that's what I think it is."
The rabbit was knobby, bony, and pitiful. Two large translucent ears protruded from its head like miniature dunce caps. It froze for a second, then leapt straight up, made a quarter-turn in mid-air, and darted off into the night.
"Jack rabbit," Gwen said. "Isn't that about the most miserable looking creature you ever saw?"
"Nope," Stoner said. "The most miserable looking creature I ever saw was you, when you came back from McDonald's with that burger and fries for Stell. You'd been crying, hadn't you?"
Gwen shrugged. "A little."
“Was it your grandmother? Or has McDonald's reached new heights of horrible?"
"I wish I'd hear something. It's as if she disappeared off the face of the earth—or I did. I don't know if she misses me, or doesn't give me a thought from one day to the next."
“Why don't you call her?"
"I told her to call me, remember?"
“Well," Stoner said, "that was then. If you're only going to worry yourself crazy, call her."
"I said that to her to make a point."
"This is life, Gwen, not a classroom. Do what'll make you feel better."
"Maybe." She was silent for a moment. "It's hard to believe this is happening," she said quietly. "All my life, she was the one I could, count on. Before my parents died, when she'd come to visit us, I'd feel as if I had someone on my side. She didn't care what I did, as long as I was happy. If I was late to supper or got dirty playing, my mother'd have a hissie. But Grandmother always stood up for me."
"I know, Gwen. It's hard."
"I guess being' a lesbian's different from being late to supper."
"I guess."
"If we're such low-life, it's a wonder dogs don't attack us on the street."
"Dogs are more highly evolved." Stoner said. She smiled. "Actually, I heard the Righteous Right was training Dobermans to sniff out queers in airline luggage."
"At last," Gwen said, "an issue every good American can rally behind."
Stoner felt a brief, sharp pang of guilt. "Sometimes I think it would have been better if I hadn't gotten you into this."
Gwen looked over at her. "Stoner, that's ridiculous. This is who I am."
"I know, but..."
"My dear friend, a lot of things go on in this world that are not of your doing. I hope that doesn't destroy your delusions of grandeur."
"All I know is," Stoner said. "1 must have done something terrific in a past life, because I sure don't remember doing anything in this one terrific enough to get you as a reward."
Moonlight illuminated the weathered boards of the trading post. It glowed gray against the desert. She pulled into the driveway.
"This truly is a beautiful place," Gwen said. “Weird, but beautiful.”
"Yes, it is." She could feel invisible things moving around her in the night. Whispers. Emotions. Centuries past, drifting away on Time's river. The future almost coming into view around the bend. If she sat very still...
"Are you all right?" Gwen asked.
Stoner nodded. "Everything's just so strange. Do you feel it?"
"I think so."
"The land is alive."
Gwen pushed open her door. “Well, my love, alive is what we're not going to be if we don't get dinner. Who's on KP tonight?"
"Me."
"Perfect. I can finally have a long, leisurely bath without wondering who else is waiting to use the bathroom. Is Ted coming for dinner?"
"He'll drop in to pick up some things, but I don't think he plans on staying."
Gwen touched her hand. "Stell will be fine. Don't worry."
"Sure." Stoner slid from behind the wheel to the ground. "This whole thing will be cleared up in a few days." She looked up into the dark sky and wondered what was out there, and why, and what part in it had been chosen for her.
* * *
As she tossed the potatoes into the stewpot, she had the feeling she was being watched. It was impossible to see beyond the window, of course, but if there was someone out there... they could see her as clearly as day.
Play dumb and casual, she told herself, though it went against her instinct—which was to shout, "I know you're out there. Who do you think you are, you lousy coward?"
She peeled two carrots with excruciating slowness, chopped them, and added them to the sliced scallions and spinach leaves in the salad bowl. She set the table—better make it for three so whoever was watching would think they weren't alone in the house, or at least would think they were expecting someone any minute.
She washed a small stack of dirty dishes, the leavings of the day, mostly coffee mugs and spoons.
She rinsed out the dishtowels and hung them to dry by the fireplace.
She scrubbed the sink with Bon Ami.
She got a pan of water and a sponge and washed down the chairs and benches.
She still had the feeling there was someone out there.
She went into the store and looked around, but it was secured for the night, the cash register locked, the shutters closed, the latch firmly on the door.
Through the sound of Gwen's running bathwater, she thought she heard a footstep, but couldn't be sure.
Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any longer. Taking a flashlight from the shelf over the sink, and pulling on one of Stell's sweaters, she wandered out onto the back porch.
As she played the light slowly over the bare yard, it occurred to her it would have been safer to wait for Gwen to finish her bath, and search together.
Well, too late now.
There didn't seem to be anything around the barn. It was shut tight. Bill and Maude made little thumping and munching sounds from the paddock.
The whitewashed stones leading to the bunkhouse glowed like fluorescent mushrooms in the moonlight. The path was deserted. Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
It felt as if something was missing.
Something was missing.
Tom Drooley was missing.
She remembered seeing him when they came home. He had crawled out from under the barn and sat and made fans in the dust with his tail until they fussed over him, then dug his way back under the barn.
If Tom Drooley were a normal dog, he'd make fierce, threatening sounds if a stranger were wandering around.
No one had ever pretended Tom Drooley was a normal dog.
Tom Drooley was, in fact a sitting duck for anyone with evil intentions.
She swung
her light back toward the barn, half expecting to find the big brindle dog's mangled, blood-spattered corpse.
Nothing.
"Tom Drooley,"she called softly. "Come on, boy."
No answering bark or sound of flopping feet.
She decided to try the one thing no dog could ever resist, the one thing that would bring him running if he were within twenty miles and had a single breath of life left in him."Tom Drooley," she shouted. "Dinner!"
She thought she heard a whine nearby, and swiveled her light around. The darkness ate the flashlight beam. If there was anything or anyone out there...
"Hey, there, little lady."
She jumped and nearly dropped the flashlight.
Larch Begay stood at her elbow, close enough to touch. Tom Drooley panted happily at his side. "Hope I didn't scare you," he said with a grin that told her that scaring her was exactly what he had hoped to do.
"Startled," she said, feeling the adrenalin course through her body and puddle up in her throat. "How long have you been out here?"
"Long enough to know what you're havin' for supper."
That made her angry. “Well, that was rude," she snapped. "You could have knocked. Or was the point to spy..."
“Whoa." He laughed, holding his hands in front of his face as if to defend himself. "Guess you don't know how we do things out here."
"I guess I don't," Stoner said, still annoyed. "And if creeping around in the dark and peering in windows is part of it, I don't think much of your local customs."
"The 'Skins, you see, don't go barging up to a body's house banging on the door and making a ruckus. They sit real quiet in the front yard until you decide if you're set for company."
“Well..." Stoner said, at a loss.
"So, I figured that'd please you, seein' as how you're so cozy with our red brothers... or should I say sisters?"
The hair on the back of her neck crawled. “What do you mean?"
“Way you're hangin' around that old Hopi woman."
“Careful”, something told her, “don't give anything away.” She smiled. "This reservation is like a small town, isn't it? Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Begay?"
"Hey," he said, and pointed skyward. "Look there!"
She looked up. A large bird circled overhead. Light from the crescent moon painted its wingtips with silver.
"Son-of-a-bitch," Begay said. "Don't think I've ever seen, an eagle at night, and sure not this close to the ground." He stared. "Jee-sus! Look't that fucker move. Must be a hundred years old."
Stoner watched the bird. It seemed to hang in the air directly over their heads.
Begay whistled softly. "That's some bird."
"Yes," Stoner said in a business-like way. She had better things to do tonight than bird-watch with Mr. Larch Begay. She couldn't actually think of anything, but it had to be better. "You were going to tell me what I could do for you," she reminded him.
He grinned at her. "Nothing. But I could do some thin' for you."
She didn't like the grade-B horror movie sound of that.
He crossed his arms, leaned lazily against the side of the building, and let his gaze sweep slowly over the surrounding darkness. "Ted Perkins gone in town?"
There wasn't any point in lying. "For a while."
"See you got yourself a jeep."
"That's right."
"Rent'er in Holbrook?"
"Yes, we did. "
"You got took."
"It seems. to run all right," Stoner said.
"For now, maybe."
"Mr. Begay..."
"Call me Larch, Sweetheart. Everybody does. Stands for Lars. Swedish or somethin'."
"That's nice." She wished Gwen would finish in the bathtub.
The corners of Larch Begay's eyes—red rimmed and rheumy even in the moonlight—crinkled. "Kinda tough for you gals, Stell takin' sick like that."
“We're doing all right." She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet in what she hoped was a casual, self-assured manner.
"Betcha get kinda nervous out here all alone."
She made herself laugh. "Not at all. Gwen has a black belt in karate." Which wasn't exactly the truth. Gwen had taken a self-defense course that involved some karate, but she sure wasn't the Karate Kid.
The man drew a crumpled pack of unfiltered Camels from his pocket, stuck one in the corner of his mouth, and sucked on it. "That a fact? Little bit of a thing like her? Ain't that a wonder?"
"Oh, I've gotten used to it," Stoner said. "You just learn not to make her angry. Still, life is full of surprises,"
Begay considered that for a moment, and nodded. "Truly is."
"Mr. Begay—Larch—Ted's going to be here any minute, and I have to get dinner..."
The man roused himself with a little shake. "Damn Sam," he said. "It's so pleasant passin' the time with you, I clean forgot why I came." He went to his truck, reached in through the window, and pulled out a brown paper bag. "Got your mail here."
"Thank you,"Stoner said as she took it. "It was considerate of you..."
"Ordinarily, Ben Tsosie hauls it over," he cut her off. "But he's doing a Big Star Chant up by Tuba City. You ever been to a Big Star Chant?"
"I'm afraid not," Stoner said. She hadn't the vaguest idea what a Big Star Chant was.
"Oughta do that while you're out here. It's a lot of damn voodoo, but kinda colorful.” He lit his cigarette from a turquoise-encrusted Zippo. "I'll track one down for you if you want."
"Thank you," Stoner said, "but I imagine something like that wouldn't be open to Whites, would it?"
He shrugged carelessly. "That doesn't matter. I can get you in. Half the local Dineh owe me up to their loincloths." He glanced up as a shadow fell across the steps. "Good evening, Sweetheart."
Gwen pulled her bathrobe tighter with one hand while she rubbed at her wet hair with a towel. "Good evening, Mr. Begay." She turned to Stoner. "What's in the sack? Rattlesnakes?"
"Mail." She didn't like the way the man was leering at Gwen. Didn't like it at all.
Begay dug at his eyes with a grease-stained finger. “When's Mrs. Perkins comin' home?"
"Pretty soon." Stoner said.
"They ever figure out what ails her?"
"Gall bladder," Stoner said quickly. "It turns out she has a history of it."
"That's rough." Begay scratched at his head. "I knew a fella had that once. Said it was like pissin' fire." He dropped his cigarette to the ground and mashed it under his heel. “Well, you gals need anything, you give me a call. I can be here in two shakes."
"Thank you for bringing the mail," Stoner said.
He gave Tom Drooley a quick pat and hauled himself up into the truck cab. "No problem. Let me know if you wanna see a Big Star Chant."
She watched him drive off in a cloud of dust, exhaust, and darkness.
“What's a Big Star Chant?" Gwen asked as she took the bag and rummaged through the mail.
"Some kind of ceremony. Navajo." She peered at the letters in Gwen's hand. "Anything?"
"Not for me." She handed Stoner an envelope. "Marylou." She turned and walked quickly into the house.
"Gwen,"Stoner said as she followed her, "I'm sorry you didn't hear from..."
Gwen cut her off. "Read your mail. I'll get dinner on."
Dear Stoner,
How’s the food out there? Is Tex-Mex really as vile as I suspect? Have you eaten toad yet? Rattlesnake? Bacon and beans? How do you bear it?
Not much to report from here. I told Mrs. B. about Gwen's defection from Boston per our plan. She appeared unmoved. Quite un-moved, and un-moveable. I won't distress you with direct quotes, but the gist of her message was: I could care less. I swear the woman makes me ashamed to be straight. Do you think it's too late to change? Or does heterosexuality become a permanent condition if not treated promptly? Can I qualify for a handicapped parking sticker?
Seriously, Pet, the woman is bonkers on the subject. I'm not getting to first base. My friendship wit
h you effectively invalidates anything I might have to say to her. Have called in the heavy artillery. Even as we speak, the eminent Dr. Edith Kesselbaum is racing through the night in her white Chrysler Convertible to take up our cause with all her credentialed might. I have promised to spring for dinner at Pizza Hut, an act of conciliation which may put the mother-daughter relationship on an entirely new level. Who but your oldest and dearest friend and colleague would make such a sacrifice?
I assume you'll share all this with Gwen. Tell her I'll write again, or call, as soon as I have news. Hope you're having a fabulous time and staying out of trouble.
DON'T DRINK THE WATER!!!
Love and kisses (Preferably Godiva),
Marylou
She handed the letter to Gwen. "Nothing new, I'm afraid."
Gwen glanced through it. Read it. Re-read it. Folded the letter and placed it carefully back in its envelope. Placed the enveloped carefully on the table. "Is dinner ready?" she asked in a soft voice. "Or do I have time to dress?"
“Whatever you like. Gwen, I wish..."
Gwen held up her hand. "Don't."
She got two bowls, served up the stew, poured water. “Would you like anything else?"
"No, thanks." Gwen toyed with her dinner, impaled a potato. “When I was a kid," she said, treating her salad rudely, "my mother and I were downtown one Saturday morning, shopping. That's what you did in Jefferson on Saturdays. You got all gussied up—hat and white gloves and white shoes if it was between Memorial Day and Labor Day—and you went downtown and shopped. Sometimes you stopped in at the lunch room at Bailey's Department Store for tea."
She punctured a chunk of beef. "Anyway, this particular Saturday we left the car windows open—you could do that back then, especially in a little one-horse tank town like Jefferson. When we got back to the car, a mongrel dog had jumped through the open window and taken possession of the driver's seat. My mother shrieked and waved her arms around and made a fool of herself, and a couple of the local boys tried to coax or threaten him out of the car, but he wouldn't move until I asked him very nicely to please get in the back with me, and he did."