by Sarah Dreher
Had she?
And was it only a coyote? Or a Skin-walker? Powaqa. Werewolf. Stephen King Time.
One thing was certain, she wouldn't do Gwen any good if she got lost on the desert herself.
* * *
"Grandmother," Eagle said, "I've done a terrible thing."
Siyamtiwa held out her wrist. Eagle landed on it and turned her head away in shame.
“Well?"
"I fell asleep this afternoon. When I woke, it was night and something had happened to the White woman."
The old woman frowned. "Green-eyes?"
"The companion of Green-eyes. I am a useless old bird, Grandmother. I deserve your anger."
"Silence," Siyamtiwa said. 'We have to think about this." Still holding Kwahu on her arm, she sank cross-legged to the ground and sucked at a tooth. "Tell me about this falling asleep," she said after a while.
"I tried to stay awake, as I had promised. But the sun was so warm, and the shadows on Tewa Peak so cool. And when I found the blue water, and the small dark cave..."
Siyamtiwa cut her off with a gesture. "Blue water?"
"A lovely pond, the water clear and clean, with fishes..."
"There is no little pond on Tewa Mountain," Siyamtiwa said. "You nave lived your whole life there. Have you ever seen a little pond?"
"I saw it. I drank from it. I ate the fishes..."
"Think hard," Siyamtiwa said. "Is your belly full?"
Eagle thought. "No."
"Is your tongue damp?"
It was dry as the desert. "No, Grandmother."
Siyamtiwa nodded knowingly" "You did not eat, you did not drink. There is no water on Tewa Mountain. Someone has gotten inside your head, my friend. Someone wants you to stop watching, so they can bring trouble."
Eagle shook her feathers. "How can this be?"
"This is the Ya Ya. Two-Heart knows you are my eyes and ears. He fools you into sleep, and while no one is watching..."
She stood up suddenly. “We must go to Green-eyes."
* * *
She called the Navajo Tribal Police.
Sergeant Dave Shirley told her to stay at home, they would look for her at first light. Meanwhile, it wouldn't do anyone any good to have two missing persons.
"But something might have happened to her," Stoner insisted.
"She probably found someplace to sleep. Don't worry, Ma'am, she's safer on the desert than she would be in her own bed at home."
"I certainly hope so. We're from the city. Nobody's safe in their beds in the city."
“Well," Shirley said laconically, "we haven't lost anyone out there in four-five years."
"How do you know? Maybe they're so lost you didn't even know they were lost. Maybe the whole area out there's littered with the bones of people you didn't even know were lost."
The man chuckled. "That's good, Ma'am. Keep up your sense of humor."
"I'm serious!"
“We'll have the patrols keep their eyes open," Shirley said. "But I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts you'll be calling here within the hour, feeling foolish because she just stopped off somewhere for a while."
"Stopped off?" Stoner shouted."Stopped off where? We don't know anyone out here. There aren't any movie theaters, or ice cream stands, for crying out loud!"
“Well, we got the Hopi Cultural Center."
“What time does it close?"
"This time of year, around nine, more or less."
She looked at her watch. "It's nine-thirty now."
"Look, Ma'am..."
"It's twenty miles from Spirit Wells to the Cultural Center. She didn't have a car and there were coyote tracks..."
"Spirit Wells?"
"Yes, I'm calling from the trading post."
There was a long silence. "Well," the Sergeant said at last, "they say there's been a bug around there. Maybe your friend felt a little unwell and sat down for a rest."
"The kind of sickness we've had out here," Stoner said, "is not the kind you 'sit down and rest' with. It's the kind you never get up again with."
"Look, you don't want to get yourself all worked up over..."
"There were coyote tracks. What do you make of that?"
"I would say," the man replied patiently, "if there were coyote tracks, there's probably a coyote around somewhere. But I wouldn't worry, coyotes don't attack people."
"And if this coyote happens to be a Skin-walker?”
Another silence. “Skin-walker?" he said, at last his voice hard. "Ma' am, has someone been telling you stories?"
"Did you know Ben Tsosie has gone to Tuba City to perform a Big Star Chant?"
His laugh lacked sincerity. "Excuse my bluntness, Miss, but we have our ways out here. You have to be born here to understand. But there are still pockets of superstition..."
"Really?" Stoner asked dryly.
"I'm sure your friend will be back soon," he said quickly, cutting off further discussion. "I'll call around and let you know if we hear anything. Meanwhile, you give me a call if she comes in." He hung up without waiting for an answer.
Stoner stared at the receiver. Superstition? Sergeant Dave Shirley may claim not to believe in Skin-walkers, but I sure rattled his cage when I brought it up.
But he's right about one thing. There's not much anyone can do until morning. And it's possible—barely possible—that Gwen really did stop off somewhere and lost track of the time.
No, Gwen wouldn't do that. Gwen wouldn't leave her worrying. Not if she had a choice.
She went out and stood on the porch until the silence began to break into sounds that teased and frightened her. She thought about taking the jeep out and driving up and down the road, looking, keeping busy. But Gwen might call, and there would be no one here to answer. She was trapped.
She found herself reaching for the phone, realized there was no one she could call. She didn't know where Ted was staying, and there was no point in upsetting Stell, who would only feel helpless or maybe get up and come out here against both the doctors' and Siyamtiwa's orders. She didn't care to tell her problems to Larch Begay. Aunt Hermione and Marylou were probably asleep, or out, and there was nothing they could do, anyway.
She could call Eleanor Burton and tell her what had happened, then hang up and let her chew on it. But that wouldn't solve anything.
She felt herself wanting to cry, and rapped her knuckles rhythmically against the tabletop.
The desert was so big.
The house felt so empty and lonely.
She glared at Torn Drooley. If you were a real dog, you'd be out there picking up her scent, tracking her down, rescuing her. But, no, you have to be a totally useless, afraid-of-the dark mutt.
He tucked his tail and slunk into Stell's room, sighing heavily. Stoner called him back "I'm sorry, old fellow." She knelt to look into his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm just so scared."
Torn Drooley put his paws on her shoulders and licked her face.
"How can you stand to do that?" she asked, wiping the dog-lick off on her sleeve. "You don't know where my face has as been.”
She sat on the floor, one arm around the dog, and wondered how to pass the time.
Read? Aunt Hermione would read at a time like this. Read the Tarot. Maybe she should call and ask her to do a reading.
Not yet. If she doesn't come back in the next half hour, I'll call Aunt Hermione.
The house ticked as it cooled.
The silence was beginning to get on her nerves.
Laura Yazzie! She knows the reservation. Maybe she'd have an idea.
I don't even know where she lives. And she won't be in the phone book because she's only here for the summer, but the hospital should have her home number.
She used up twenty minutes looking for the phone book, and found it didn't cover the Holbrook area. She called Directory Assistance, which was taking a coffee break She let it ring.
Directory Assistance returned from the Ladies' room on the twenty-seventh ring.
The switchboard operator gave her Laura Yazzie's home number.
Laura Yazzie's roommate said she was working three to eleven at the hospital and wouldn't be back until near midnight.
She called the hospital again and spent another ten minutes trying to talk the operator into having Laura paged.
When she threatened to call every fifteen seconds throughout the night, thereby tying up the switchboard so no calls could come through, so that at least three people would bleed to death because they couldn't reach the ambulance and she, Stoner, would personally go to the media—and the insurance companies—and explain how that happened simply because the operator was too lazy to page Laura Yazzie...
The operator agreed to connect her with the third floor nurses' station, and was heard to remark "some crazy woman wants to talk to Yazzie," before she turned over control of the phone to Stoner.
"Third floor nurses' station, Ms. Yazzie."
She was so glad to hear a familiar voice, she nearly broke down. "Laura? This is Stoner McTavish. You probably don't remember me, but..."
"Remember you? How could I forget the greatest con artist between here and Montreal?"
"Laura, I need help."
Laura Yazzie sighed. “When I was eight years old, I accidentally disturbed a Blessing Way. I must be paying for it now."
"I'm serious, Laura. I need... Gwen's gone."
"Gone?"
"Disappeared. She went for a walk at least two hours ago. She said she wouldn't be long, and I haven't seen her since. I know she didn't stop off and visit someone because we don't know anyone and besides, there were coyote tracks..."
"Hold on," Laura Yazzie said, her voice deadly serious. "Did you call the Tribal Police?"
"Yes, but they can't do anything until morning." Her voice began to shake. "Laura, I don't know what to do."
“Well, look, I don't get off here for another hour, but I'll come out there right after that, okay?"
"You don't have to..."
"It'll take about an hour to get there, so expect me around midnight. If you hear anything before eleven, call me here."
"Laura..."
“We'll figure something out. Don't worry, Stoner, she's probably lost her way. I know that rez like the palm of my hand and I used to be a pretty good tracker."
"If I'd known you were going to rearrange your life for this, I wouldn't have called. I just needed someone to talk to." But her relief was tremendous.
"Don't be silly."
"I'd rather Stell didn't know about this, okay?"
Laura Yazzie laughed. "Don't worry. She'd get up and walk out of here, and that'd be heap big trouble for this Injun, you betchum." She hung up before Stoner could respond.
Ten-fifteen. Where is she? Oh God, where is she?
She paced the length of the building from the kitchen through the sitting room to the store and back again to the kitchen. She froze and listened, then paced again. Fear was a solid thing that filled her and wouldn't let go. She tried to relax, told herself everything was being done that could possibly be done, that she didn't really know anything yet, only that Gwen was missing—no, not missing, overdue— not officially missing—right now, at this moment, there was only uncertainty...
She tried holding her breath and letting it go all at once.
She tried making coffee.
She tried thinking of something else.
She decided to work a crossword puzzle in the newspaper, to pass the time. But the only paper she could find was written in Navaho, which might as well be Hebrew.
She tried to think positive thoughts, to send positive energy out into the night as a beacon to guide Gwen home.
None of it worked. She was afraid, and she'd stay afraid until Gwen was back with her.
She started to go out to the porch again ...
When Torn Drooley, for perhaps the first time in his life, bared his teeth and growled.
Half frozen with anxiety and hope, she waited for a sound.
A soft footstep, a soft tap at the door.
She opened the door.
Larch Begay stood on the step.
"Mr. Begay, I'm sorry, but you've come at a bad..."
"I think you'd better let me come in," he said gently.
She hesitated, but there was nothing threatening about him now. He seemed worried, embarrassed.
She stood back to let him pass.
He looked around. "Ted Perkins here?"
She shook her head.
"Maybe we oughta sit down," he said.
Whatever he has to say, she thought as she sat across the table from him, I don't want to hear it.
"Couple of Navajo boys from over at Sand Springs come by. They'd been out on the desert, they said, practicin' tracking at night. I don't give that much credence, but it ain't important. They found something, see, and..."
Someone inside her head started screaming.
Begay rammed his hand into his pocket and brought it out, his ham-like fist wrapped around an object. "I gotta ask you... do you recognize this?"
He held up a thin silver chain, a necklace. In the center of it dangled a rough stone. She had given it to Gwen last year, before they were lovers, before they were even close friends.
Stoner nodded. "It belongs to Gwen," she said. "I appreciate you bringing it back It was kind of you. She'll be so relieved..." She knew she was talking fast and loud, trying to build a different reality between herself and what she knew was coming next.
"I'm sorry," Begay said. "She was wearing this when they found her. I figured you could identify it."
A high buzzing began in her ears. She held out her hand. He dropped the necklace into it. She stared at it, then looked up at him. "Is she all right?" she asked in a thin voice.
Begay shook his head. "I'm sorry,"he repeated. "There's been a rock fall. I'm afraid your friend's dead."
NINE
She stared at him, her mind turning to cement.
"The way it looks," Begay went on, "she wandered out on the edge of a mesa and the rim gave way under her. They can be tricky that way. Sandstone caps look solid enough, but there's not much holding them up."
"She's dead?" Stoner asked in a whisper.
He nodded. "Could've happened to anyone. Dark as a witch's cunt out there."
"Are you sure it's her?"
He rubbed a hand over his chin. "I didn't want to think so, seein' how I know you gals and all. But there weren't no mistakin' it looked like her, and you say that's her jewelry..."
She grasped at straws. "There wasn't any other identification?"
"You mean a wallet or driver's license or something? Not a thing."
Of course not. Gwen had run off in a surge of emotion. She hadn't taken...
She knew she was in shock, her feelings shut down. She knew pain would come later, and it would be unbearable. “Where is she?"
"The Navajo boys that found her took her in to Holbrook. I certainly am sorry about this." He peered at her. "You gonna be all right?"
Dead. Gwen dead.
"Anybody I can call for you?"
She was here two hours ago. She was alive two hours ago.
"Miss."
She forced herself to concentrate. "Thank you for telling me," she heard herself say. "I'm sure you have other things to..."
Begay rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands. "I ain't leavin' 'til I'm sure you're looked after."
She had to get him out of here! "I'll be all right, really. I have a friend coming out tonight."
"I'm mighty glad to hear that. Thought maybe you was all alone out here, not knowin' anyone and all."
"I'll be all right," she repeated. It was all she could think to say.
"They gonna be here soon?"
"Any minute."
"Feel like I oughta stay 'til then."
Please, please, go away! "Everything's under control, Mr. Begay. You can go..."
“Well." He looke
d at her hard, assessing her emotional state, then pushed away from the table. "You need anything, I'm right down the road." He went to the door, patting her shoulder awkwardly as he passed. "I surely am sorry about this. Wish I knew how to make it not so."
"Thank you."
Then she was alone.
Gwen's dead. What does that mean, Gwen's dead?
First she was married, and then we were friends, and then we were lovers, and now she's dead.
How do I think about that? I've never known anyone who was dead before.
Well, there was my dog Scruffy. After he was dead, I couldn't touch him or talk to him any more. Is that what it means? I won't be able to touch or talk to Gwen any more?
Not talk to Gwen? Not touch her? Before we were lovers, I couldn't always talk to her or touch her, but she wasn't dead. I could always maybe talk to her tomorrow.
Now I can't talk to her tomorrow.
But she's my lover. You can always talk to your lover, can't you? Even if it's hard? Even if you're having problems? Because it hurts both of you to be having problems, so you both want to be able to talk.
But if you're dead you don't want to talk. So it's like you're having problems, only one of you doesn't care.
Is that what it's like when your lover's dead? Like one of you doesn't care?
Maybe I did something wrong, and that's why she's dead. Maybe I did something so awful she never wants to talk to me again. Maybe that's why she went out and died.
Stoner looked down at the necklace in her hands.
She sent it back. I found that stone on a perfect day, and I gave it to her because I love her, and she took it because she loved me. She cried that day, because she loved me. And now she sent it back.
I wish she'd told me what I did wrong, not just gone out and died. If she'd told me, I'd have changed it, whatever it was. I didn't want her to go and do this.
The keys to the jeep lay on the table.
I'll go to Holbrook and find her. We can talk about what I did wrong, and maybe I can convince her not to be dead any more.
Dead any more.
She grabbed the keys and got to her feet. Her knees buckled beneath her. She was shaking. A drop of wetness splattered on the table top. She touched her face, and realized she was crying.