Sonny nodded and guided his chair into the room.
“She’s resting,” the nurse said to Sonny. “Bed number two.” She pointed at the bed by the window.
The pregnant woman in bed number one, swollen stomach covered by a white sheet, lay staring at the television. She glanced at Sonny, then turned her gaze back to the set. The TV’s light flickered in the room as a soap opera played itself out on the small screen.
“You got company, honey,” she said to Rita. Sonny pushed around the curtain to Rita’s bedside.
“Sonny,” she greeted him, her voice weak, her face pale and drawn. Sonny drew close and took her hands.
“Oh, Sonny,” she cried.
He kissed her. “Rita …”
“I’ll pull the curtain so you can have some privacy,” the nurse said. “Now don’t go tiring yourself out. And you call me if you need anything,” she whispered to Sonny, patting his shoulder as she walked out.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rita cried. “It came so suddenly. There was nothing I could do.”
“Shuu,” Sonny whispered, his voice choking. “You’re all right. That’s what matters.”
“I tried to stop it, but suddenly it started letting loose. There was nothing I could do.”
Her words came in soft sobs, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Sonny tried to comfort her, holding her hands, reaching up to touch her face, handing her a tissue from the box on the bed stand.
“I don’t know why,” she sniffed, trying to control her sobs. “Our baby—”
“Don’t think about it,” Sonny said, searching for comforting words. “Whatever happened, you’re safe. That’s what matters, amor. You’re all right.”
“After you and Lorenza left, I went to take a nap. I felt tired. I must have fallen asleep, because I remember the dream. It wasn’t a dream; it was a horrible nightmare. Where is Lorenza?”
“She went to the house to pick up some things for you.”
“God bless her. She thinks of everything. I have to tell you my dream—”
“The nurse said you have to rest—not to worry yourself.”
“No, I have to. It was so vivid, I actually felt I was living it. I finally understand what you’ve been trying to tell us about your dreams. You said you were actually in the dream. That’s how I felt.”
Sonny felt a shiver. “Yes, tell me your dream.”
“I could see everything so clear; I was a Navajo woman, and the red cliffs around me were home, I was in a hogan, about to give birth. Yes, women were there, taking care of me. Then there was shooting and fires, and the army was killing the men and burning the hogans and the peach orchards. You know what it was? It was the time Kit Carson drove the Navajos out of Canyon de Chelly. The men cried his name, like a curse. They shouted for us to run into the hills and hide, but it was too late. It was an army of wolves. We were rounded up like sheep and made to march many miles.”
She stopped to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.
“Don’t tire yourself,” Sonny pleaded, knowing what was coming.
“No, I want to,” Rita whispered. “I want to tell you. Something about the terrible nightmare was so real. I was there, pregnant, and there was no rest. No food. No protection from the cold wind. I began to bleed. I looked around me, and all the women were bleeding. All the strong Navajo women were bleeding to death as they walked, and the blood was staining the earth. No children could be born. We were all strong women, but we were slaves, leaving our land. The babies in our wombs drained out and became the blood marking that trail of tears.”
She clutched Sonny’s hand. “What does it mean?”
Bile seeped through Sonny’s veins. He knew what it meant. He had lost his child, perhaps a son who would carry his name, perhaps a daughter whose beauty would fill their home—Rita had lost her child. That loss was cause enough for the anger he felt, but a new emotion swept over him that was far stronger. Something boiling in his blood, something he tried to control as he held Rita’s hand. Vengeance.
“The Long Walk,” he whispered. “The Navajos were taken to Bosque Redondo, where the land was so poor it couldn’t be farmed. There was no rain. The smallpox nearly finished them. They learned to drink whiskey. The U.S. Army wanted to bring them to their knees.”
“Why so much suffering?” Rita questioned.
Because Raven, in many guises, came to bring death and destruction, Sonny thought, but said nothing.
“It’s just like you said. We planted corn,” Rita continued. “The women were skeletons of death, planting corn, and the plants sprouted, but there was no rain. We prayed, but it wouldn’t rain. There wasn’t enough food for the people. There was hunger. It was a nightmare. It was so real I must have Navajo blood in me.”
“That’s what makes you so beautiful, morenita.” Sonny kissed her hands.
“My father used to tell stories about the Nuevo Mexicanos who went west, past Jemez Pueblo over to Cebolleta to trade with the Navajos. When they weren’t trading, they were fighting each other and taking slaves. Navajo women brought here as slaves. Not one or two, but hundreds. Maybe my ancestors were some of those who went to bring Navajo women to the Río Grande.”
“Yes,” he whispered. It was so.
“I let you down—”
“Don’t say that!” he said. “You didn’t let me down. We’ll get over this.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, we can. I love you.”
“But everything seems so bleak.” She looked out the window. The afternoon had darkened; a cold wind scratched at the window. “The girls? Is there any word of the girls?”
He shook his head.
“Feels like the world is coming to an end,” she said sadly. “I don’t think we can ever have a child again.”
“Shh. Don’t think that way.”
“You’re right. We can get over this. I’ll be all right. A little weak, but you’re right. I can’t let it get me down.”
Her eyes filled with tears again.
“You’ve never seen me cry.”
“No.”
“God, it’s left me empty. Inside.”
“You’ll be home in no time. Then it’s my turn to take care of you.”
She smiled. “Oh, sí, you in your chair.”
“I feel strong. Really I do. Mira.”
He lifted himself forward and stood up, holding the bed.
“See. I’ll be walking in no time.”
He stood straight, then leaned over and kissed her.
“I’ll be able to take care of you.”
“Gracias a Dios,” she whispered, holding his hands tight for a moment, then letting go as he sat back down.
“I’ve got new energy. De veras, we’ll be okay.”
“Yes.” She tightened her hold on his hand again.
He leaned his head on the bed.
“Yes, we’ll be okay,” Rita said, running her fingers through his hair. “I feel a lot better now that you’re here.”
“Rest,” he said, and wiped her tears. He knew he couldn’t really feel what she was going through, her loss, but she was safe and that’s what mattered to him. They had lost the child, but she was well.
Sonny thought of her nightmare, the torturous journey of the Navajo women. The history of the Navajos, like that of the other New Mexican tribes, was written in blood. Was it only a coincidence that that morning on their way to Mona Vandergriff’s, he had been reading about the Diné, the Navajo nation of the Four Corners area?
In the summer of 1863 Kit Carson from Taos had been hired by Brig. Gen. James H. Carleton of the Department of New Mexico to round up the Navajos. The U.S. Army vowed to put an end to their raids once and for all.
Kit Carson, a man who couldn’t even write his name, gathered together a New Mexico regiment of volunteers, men who would fight the Indians for any excuse and a few dollars a day. All summer Carson waged war against
the Navajos, killing hundreds, burning fields of corn, scattering sheep, burning hogans, requiring unconditional surrender of those who survived.
By early 1864 he had trapped what was left of the resisters in Canyon de Chelly, the ancient home of the Diné. He stripped them of everything they owned, then marched them across the state to a place near Fort Sumner, a reservation called Bosque Redondo. The Navajos remembered the forced march as the Long Walk. They still told stories of their exile. Hundreds died on the march. Men killed themselves rather than leave their homeland behind. Women and children froze to death in the February cold.
Bosque Redondo became the place of death.
“Qué piensas?” Rita asked.
“Nada,” he replied.
“You’re probably as tired as me,” she said. “Rest.”
Yes, rest. He had been with Billy the Kid in Fort Sumner in the previous dream. Did Rita’s nightmare have anything to do with his? Did he have to go back into the dreamworld to find Billy, or Coyote, or someone who would help him understand the tragedy?
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Rita’s body by him, secure in her aroma, a scent he knew so well. He was surprised to see the luminous door in front of him, and just before he passed through it, he thought he must be entering the world of Rita’s dream. He had never entered someone else’s dream. Why now? To return to the Fort Sumner of 1864, find Rita among the Navajo women? Maybe with Billy’s and Coyote’s help he could rescue her! Maybe he could still reverse what had happened to her in her dream!
You construct the dream, set the stage, he heard don Eliseo’s instructions.
He tried to direct the dream toward the bleak and desolate Bosque Redondo where hundreds of Navajos lay dying from hunger, disease—and the worst sickness, the separation they felt from their homeland. To be out of the circle of their homeland was to be separated from their guardian spirits.
Billy? Sonny called in the web of dream.
A shadow came toward him, a stout man holding a carbine in one hand. Behind him his sorrel stallion pawed the ground.
Billy? Is that you?
No, hijo, soy tu bisabuelo.
Sonny twitched, startled. His bisabuelo? Elfego Baca? Yes, it was him, his great-grandfather, the famed lawman of Socorro County.
Bisabuelo? Is it you?
In flesh and blood, Elfego Baca replied, wiping his thick mustache with his hand.
I can’t believe I’m really talking to you.
Pues, here I am. Carne y hueso y un nervio en el pescuezo. Time to ride.
To Fort Sumner?
No, south.
But Rita’s dream. The Navajos are in Fort Sumner, and Raven is there! The Bringer of Curses is killing the babies. I gotta go see if I can help Rita.
Hijo, Elfego said, don’t you know that sonomabiche Raven doesn’t stay in one dream for long. He’s gone down to Columbus, New Mexico. Pancho Villa is threatening to cross the border and attack a town on this side. If I know Raven, he’s going to try something. We have to warn Pancho!
Why attack Columbus?
They goaded him into doing something by putting Soledad, his querida, in jail. She was coming over the frontera to work for the gringos, and the army figured if they arrested her and put her in jail, Pancho will come for her. Don’t you see, they want him to cross the border! The U.S. will use it as an excuse to take more of México’s territory. They’ll send Black Jack Pershing after him, and the general will take over México’s northern mines.
But I thought Pancho Villa was your enemy? Sonny said.
Pancho my enemy? That’s just a story the newspapers made up. Look, in the New Mexico territory a man has to learn to play both sides. In the spring of 1911 Madero’s army, with Villa’s help, defeated the Díaz forces at Ciudad Juárez. That toppled the Díaz regime, and Díaz fled to France. Madero became president of México. Anyway, I was in El Paso, and right after the battle Pancho asked me to deliver some rifles to him. The border was blocked, I couldn’t get across, so Pancho thought I let him down. After that he claimed I stole one of his prized Mauser rifles.
Elfego laughed and held up the rifle. Well, I did keep one of the Mauser’s—as pay. But Pancho got so mad that he offered a reward for me. But that’s in the past. We’ve been good friends ever since. Now he’s as mad as a castrated bull, and he wants to do this pendejada. He’s only going to get himself killed. Vamos! Let’s ride!
The stocky Elfego Baca was surprisingly swift on his feet. In one leap he mounted the sorrel stallion, calling for Sonny to mount the red mare.
Viva Villa! he cried, and they slapped leather and rode south, along the Río Grande, past Belén, Socorro, where they stopped to eat and rest, and then on to Hot Springs and south.
On March 9, 1916, a very weary and hungry Elfego Baca and his great-grandson Sonny Baca rode into the small desert town of Columbus, New Mexico, a stone’s throw from the Mexican border. From the distance they had seen the smoke rising into the clear blue sky. Gunshots echoed as Villa’s ragged army rode up and down the main street, firing on anything that moved. Eight citizens of the United States lay dead or dying in the streets.
We’re too late, Elfego Baca cried. Pancho’s here! I’ll check the cantina, you look around!
The tattered remnants of Villa’s Mexican troops rode up and down the main street, firing into the air, laying torches to buildings, venting their anger on the quiet border town. The U.S. had aided Carranza’s army and defeated Villa in the battle of Agua Prieta at Hermoso, and a defeated and brooding Villa had retreated to the Sierra Madre to lick his wounds. Hunger stalked the camp, and so the women snuck across the border, seeking work to feed their families.
Sonny spurred his horse down the street and reared to a halt in front of the jail. The man entering the jailhouse was none other than Francisco “Pancho” Villa, the great general of the Mexican Revolution; Sonny jumped off his horse and followed him in.
The deputy in charge fired at Villa, missed, and Villa fired back, hitting him in the arm. He grabbed the deputy’s pistol and the jail keys and rushed to open the cell door.
The woman who rushed into Pancho’s arms was Soledad.
Amor, she hugged and kissed him. Gracias a Dios! Por qué me tratan como crimen los Americanos?
Los pinche bolillos no quieren al Mexicano, Pancho replied. Then, sensing Sonny behind him, he turned and aimed his rifle.
Sonny held up his hands. No despare! Soy amigo!
Quién eres?
Francisco Elfego Baca, bisnieto de Elfego Baca.
Bisnieto de Elfego Baca, my old compañero. Villa smiled. Well I’ll be a sonomagón. How is old Elfego?
He’s fine. Right now he’s looking for you, trying to stop you from this pendejada—I mean, from this raid.
Ah, this is nothing, Villa motioned with his rifle, his other hand still around Soledad’s waist. To get my woman back, I would take on the entire United States Army! Maybe I will anyway, and get our land back from the gringos!
He looked out the jailhouse window at the burning town. Maybe it’s no longer up to us to take it back. Maybe you Chicanos will have to do the thing. He was contemplative only for a second, then looked at Soledad. Forgive my manners. This is my beloved, Soledad. I came for her.
Soledad smiled. Con mucho gusto.
El gusto es mío, Sonny replied.
We can no longer support our women in las montañas, Villa explained. There is nothing to eat. The traitors who sold México banished us to the mountains. Soledad and other women come here to work, and the law—if that’s what we can call it—threw her in jail for being illegal. Can you imagine that? They say she crossed the border illegally. What is illegal? That border is illegal, because it was bought and sold by thieves! Politicians made that border, not la gente! He spit. I do not respect the border of scoundrels! And if they threaten my woman, then I will make a revolution!
Sonny agreed. To protect one’s woman and familia was to be macho, and Pancho Villa had just earned his respect. He
was about to speak when he felt someone enter. He felt the hair along the back of his neck rise. He turned and faced Raven.
Raven!
Raven’s evil smile spread across his thin lips. Vengo por Soledad, he said.
Pájaro desgraciado! Villa cursed and stepped in front of Soledad. Before he could reach his pistol, Raven fired.
The bullet hit Pancho’s shoulder and spun him around. He fell to the floor, a curse of “hijo de la chingada” on his lips, blood streaming from the wound. Soledad screamed and knelt at his side.
Sonny jumped to face Raven.
Do you think you can stop me? Raven said. You can’t even order your dreams. I create them! And I have brought you here to see me take your Mexican grandmother. Now I have the four: Indian, Spanish, Mexican, and—
No! Sonny shouted, struggling forward to stop Raven. I stopped you in Fort Sumner, I can stop you here!
Raven laughed. Do you really think you’ve learned to play a role in your dreams? You have no guide to help you. He struck and Sonny fell to the edge of his dream, a world half-light, half-shade.
“Bisabuelo,” Sonny whispered, clinging to the dream he felt slipping away, knowing if he didn’t face Raven now, he would take Soledad.
Outside, a roaring wind whipped dust and smoke into the brazen sky, and Sonny couldn’t tell if the storm blew in the dream or outside the hospital wall.
He’s dead! All your ancestors are dead!
No, Sonny sobbed.
And your child is dead!
My child!
Yes! Where was your don Eliseo when you needed him? He grasped Soledad’s arm and pulled her away, she resisting and screaming but no match for Raven. On the floor a bleeding Pancho Villa struggled to rise to his feet, but he, too, was no match for Raven’s power.
In the wind Sonny heard Raven’s final words. Don Eliseo’s the only one who could help you. Now you will die, Sonny Baca!
“No!” Sonny shouted with a start.
“Amor, amor,” Rita said, reaching for him. “You fell asleep.”
He blinked and looked around to remind himself he was in the hospital room with Rita.
“Raven?” Rita asked.
Sonny nodded. The images of the dream were still clear. Raven had stolen the fourth grandmother, and as Raven taunted in the dream, it meant Sonny’s death.
Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring Page 109