The ruins lay in an alcove under a sandstone overhang and was considered very well preserved, at least for that part of the country, where most had already been ransacked by the late eighteen hundreds.
Aida warned the children to keep close as they wandered through the small, connected rooms. She explained to them how, as the building grew, the dark and airless interior rooms were often filled with trash and the offal of daily living. Some even contained burials she said, causing the children to look askance at the walled up doors to the anti-chambers. The Anasazi did not fear their dead and preferred to keep them close. It was not uncommon for family members to be buried under the dirt floors of the very rooms in which the family lived. Often it would be an infant or young child they couldn’t bear to be apart from, even in death.
Aida told the children, “There were young people here just like you. They played on these very terraces, and the girls learned the work of their mothers—how to make pottery and grind corn. The boys learned to craft small bows and arrows and boasted to one another how they would ‘make meat.” Here Aida looked at Caleb, who had grown round-eyed at the thought of bows and arrows and boys who hunted like men. “Boys just like you, Caleb, who brought in small game and were important to the survival of their people.
Caleb puffed up and declared, “Once, I brought in a rabbit and we had it for breakfast.”
Ida Marie sniffed and said, “Everyone knows the dog caught that rabbit.”
“Yes,” Caleb retorted, “but that dog would have ate it, too, if I hadn’t taken it away from him.” He smiled at the thought. Paul T’Sosi promised me a single shot .22 rifle next year. Then I will show her who can ‘make meat’ for the family. In the meantime, maybe I will ask Paul how to make one of these bow and arrows. Paul is very old, and he probably made one himself when he was a boy.
As they came out on a little side terrace, Aida pointed to the manos and metates—the trough-like milling stones used to grind corn and other seeds into meal. Some of them still lay on their eroded adobe bases, angled slightly against the stone walls. Many metates weighed upwards of fifty pounds. No wonder they were still there after nearly a thousand years.
Aida told them, “It probably took several years to shape a suitable metate stone into the smooth, hard trough necessary to grind and retain meal.”
While stone grinding allowed more nutrients to be extracted from the flinty Anasazi corn, a certain amount of grit was unavoidable in the process. George Custer had said the gritty meal quickly wore down teeth. Bad teeth were often the cause of malnutrition and eventual death in those times. The average lifespan was only in the mid-to-late thirties. A person in his fifties would have been considered quite old, and it was the rare individual that went much past that. Of course, the same could be said of most primitive societies—the heavy infant death toll always figured heavily into the average.
Aida paused in front of a particularly fine example of a metate and said to Ida Marie, “It was the lucky girl that inherited a metate like this one. Good ones were passed down from generation to generation until they were worn completely through. It must have been a sad day when the family metate finally had to be discarded.”
Later in the central plaza, sitting on the low rock rim of the main kiva, Aida opened the food basket they had brought, and the children ate the food and drank from their water bottles and wondered at how easy their life was compared to the ancient children who had lived here long ago.
Dr. George Custer, in his survey, had noted this kiva was one of the best-preserved examples in the entire Four Corners as far as he knew, and he had taken great pains to reseal the entry hole in the clay-covered roof. Aida’s grandfather had originally just laid large flat slabs of rock over the entrance and told family members there were things inside that were best left alone.
George Custer, following his survey of the ruin, cautioned Aida to let no one disturb the structure until it could be professionally evaluated and certain tests and lab work done on the contents. When Aida pressed the professor as to what he had found he said, “I am working on a paper that will cover this in minute detail, and I will send you a copy before its publication.”
At the time, Aida hung on the professor’s every word and was inclined to follow his instructions to the letter. Through the intervening years, however, she often thought of having a look inside the kiva for herself, but each time thought better of the inclination fearing she might disturb something important. George Custer seemed to regard the contents of this kiva as significantly pertinent to his research.
Little did she know, that spring day, that she and the children were having their lunch atop one of the most horrific scenes in Anasazi history.
7
The Clan
Lucy Tallwoman called Sue Yazzie from Shiprock to say Thomas’s Uncle John Nez, the newly elected tribal councilman from Navajo Mountain, had come for a visit. He had brought his white friend, Marrisa, with him, and the two were excited to see the new baby. Lucy’s father, Paul T’Sosi, was with them, as well, and wanted Sue to know he had a gift for the infant. Being early in the day, they thought they might just drop by, if it was all right with her. Navajo who are family or even just friends seldom bother to notify beforehand when coming for a visit; it would often not be possible, in any case. Since they were already in town, Lucy Tallwoman, knowing Sue better than most, felt it might be appreciated if she called ahead.
When the visitors arrived, Aunt Annie Eagletree was in the front yard hanging some wash on Sue’s lilac bushes. She told Sue it would make the laundry smell good. Sue was not sure how much Charlie would like to smell like lilacs, but it might be good for the baby’s diapers. Like many in that country, Sue had a washer but no dryer.
“It is silly to pay good money for something the wind will do for free,” Aunt Annie said, and Lucy Tallwoman agreed, as she, too, thought a dryer an unnecessary expense, even though she herself had neither.
Annie’s husband, Clyde, was hoeing the garden. Annie told him she thought he might be hoeing up some of the seedlings along with the weeds and that maybe he should let her do it. Clyde’s eyes were getting bad, yet he refused to wear his glasses, saying he saw fine without them. Everyone knew this was a lie but did not want to hurt the old man’s feelings by telling him so. Fortunately, Clyde had not worked his way to the far end of the garden, where Sue had laid out a small section in the old “Three Sisters” way of planting. The individual mounds contained multiple grains of hard blue corn, surrounded by beans and squash seeds. The corn stalks grew the quickest and provided a stout support for the beans. The squash covered the ground around the corn stalks to help retain moisture. But the major advantage was each plant provided essential nutrients needed by the other. In this way the same plot could sometimes be used for a number of seasons without depleting the soil. It was a very old way of farming along the washes and seeps in that country.
The county extension agent thought the method old fashioned and touted the newer fertilizers and insecticides. Still, many people found these old ways worked just fine, just as it had for a thousand years.
Everyone shook hands all around. Older Navajo consider handshaking an indispensable social grace and engage in it at every opportunity. It is thought the habit was picked up during the old “treaty councils” with the whites. Later it became a universal gesture of goodwill among the people. The Dinè have always been receptive to the customs of others, should those customs seem sensible to them.
Everyone gathered under the new brush arbor Clyde was working on. Clyde was nothing, if not industrious, and kept constantly busy about the little place. The brush arbor was one of his better efforts, and he was quite proud of it, though the roof tended to sag toward the back. Uncle Johnny nudged Marissa and pointed with his lips for her to move her chair from beneath the suspect section.
Sue told them the baby would be awake soon “That baby is trying to catch up on his sleep now that Charlie’s not checking his diaper every five minutes.�
�� In the meantime, she served them all soft drinks from her new refrigerator.
Lucy Tallwoman had brought along several cans of Spam and two loaves of white bread from town, and a favorite Navajo lunch was prepared on the spot. Like many another poor people, the Navajo got used to eating Spam during the Second World War when it became common in government commodity packages. It was now actually preferred—fried or right out of the can—over many other meat products, and might show up at breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
After the meal, Clyde insisted Paul see how the garden was coming along. Paul was delighted to hear that Sue had planted blue Indian corn in her “Three Sisters” patch and made a mental note to ask her to save some of the pollen for him. The old, original, heritage lines of Indian blue corn, were getting harder and harder to come by.
As they walked up the rows, Paul said, “I can tell you have put a lot of work into this garden. I’m sure Charlie will be glad to see it.” He didn’t bother to mention the little chopped-up corn stalks and pepper plants he saw lying among the hoed-up weeds.
Sue went to the house for more drinks but instead came back with the baby, who, still half asleep, looked blearily around the gathering. Marissa and Lucy immediately came forward to hold the child.
“What is this baby’s name?” Marrisa asked the baby in a playful voice, taking him from his mother’s arms.
Sue could not keep the pride from her voice as she replied for everyone to hear, “His Navajo name is Ashkii Ana’dlohi.”
“Wait,” Marissa cried, “don’t tell me. Let me guess what it could mean in English!” Marissa was an anthropologist who came to Navajo Mountain to work on her thesis concerning the juxtaposition between the Navajo language and that of their Athabaskan cousins in the far Northwest. Her studies focused mainly on the words Navajo women might use, which are sometimes different from what men would say in a similar situation.
In the course of her work, Marissa and Thomas Begay’s uncle, John Nez, had met at a chapter house meeting and over time became a couple and, in fact now lived together—causing a certain amount of speculation on that part of the reservation.
“I’ve got it,” Marissa grinned finally. “His name is Laughing Boy!”
Lucy Tallwoman looked at Sue and clapped her hands. “I have not heard that name in a long time Chih keh. Where did you come up with that?”
“It was Charlie’s idea. He said, in school, Professor Custer suggested he read Laughing Boy by Oliver LaFarge. It is still his favorite Navajo book. He made me read it too, and I liked that name as much as him”
“I always loved that book.” Marrisa smiled. “It will be a lucky name for this little baby.”
The baby, with his shoe button-eyes and unruly shock of black hair, only grimaced, the only one not to laugh.
When old Paul T’Sosi followed Clyde back from the garden and was informed of the baby’s name, he beamed, “That was my Grandfather’s name when he was little.” His gaze lingered on his daughter Lucy, who was now holding the baby, “He was a good man. It was said everyone liked him. That was back in the time when men were still weavers, too. He taught my grandmother how to make blankets, and she taught Lucy’s mother.” Paul had to look away for a moment, “It is a fine name. He will someday make everyone proud.” Paul was careful not to actually say the name of his grandfather, as it was not thought right to refer to the dead, even by their boyhood name. But when he came up and shook the baby’s fat little hand, he said, “Ah-hah-lah‘nih Ashkii Ana’dlohi,” using the affectionate greeting of the Dinè, and once again knowing the taste of his grandfather’s name on his tongue.
Lucy passed the baby back to Sue, while Paul dug in his Levi’s pocket for a small goatskin bag on a leather thong. “Hang this above his crib. It will be his medicine bag for now and will help protect him from things he cannot yet know.” Paul waved the bag over the infant’s head. “Later he can add his own sacred things, and its power will grow.” Here he paused and with a stern eye, warned, “He must never show the contents of this bag to any other person.”
Sue took the bag and in a whisper thanked Paul T’Sosi for the gift and for his prayers at the hospital. She somehow felt certain this old man had helped her son through a very dangerous time.
8
The Fight
George Custer’s camp fell into quite a tizzy when they arrived for their morning’s work and discovered someone had once again violated the dig. Harley Ponyboy reached the site first, hoping to get his choice of the shovels, few of which suited his short arms. He reported the news at the top of his lungs but forgot to speak English and was not understood—except by Charlie Yazzie and Thomas Begay, who ran the rest of the way up the hill.
“That’s it,” Thomas declared surveying the damage. “I’ve had it with these people coming in here in the night and tearing stuff up.” And things were torn up: grid stakes again pulled out, carefully arranged potsherds waiting to be catalogued, now strewn about the ground; and a section of wall was pushed over into an adjoining trench, damaging a delicate collage of woven material.
Professor Custer arrived last and was outraged, his usual calm demeanor disappearing as he addressed the group. “Rather than just acts of random vandalism, what we have here is a malicious and deliberate attempt to thwart our work; one we can no longer ignore.” He shaded his brow with a trembling hand and glared off into the canyons to the east. He then turned and addressed the three Dinè, “Charlie, I think you men should get started now instead of tomorrow as we had planned.”
Charlie nodded. “The sign can’t be over a few hours old and it appears there was only one person involved this time. He shouldn’t be too hard to follow.” He looked at his two companions and waved a hand toward his vehicle. “We had better swing by the truck and pick up a few things, we may not make it back tonight.” Thomas, smiling, instantly took this to mean they would retrieve Charlie’s .38 from the glove box of the locked truck.
The woman in charge of the mess crew called to Harley that he should stop by the cook tent for sandwiches, and George Custer moved closer to Charlie and said quietly, “Don’t take any unnecessary risks out there. Should you find a camp, just report back, and we’ll send for the tribal police.”
Charlie nodded but reminded the professor it might require a long drive out of the canyon just to make radio contact with the authorities. “George, there is a chance we may have to deal with this ourselves. We’ll just have to see how it plays out.”
The professor reluctantly agreed but cautioned, “At least send for help if you think it’s something bigger than you three can handle”
Tanya Griggs, from her assigned work space at the side of an upper wall, watched through lidded eyes as the three Navajo left camp, each with a small rucksack, apparently determined to stay out until they found some answers. She hoped they didn’t find more than they bargained for.
~~~~~~
Circling the far perimeter of the camp, it didn’t take Harley Ponyboy long to pick up a single set of tracks with a Caterpillar imprint. “Looks like he’s headed off towards the big canyon.” He canted his head in thought. “An he don’t seem ta care who knows it, neither.”
Charlie studied the tracks for a moment, and then indicated with his chin for Thomas Begay to have a look. “It’s the big guy again.”
After examining the tracks, Thomas said, “It’s hard to believe one person could do all that damage, but these tracks were the only odd ones we could identify at the dig.” He rubbed his chin. “I think this big boy is the only one of the outlaws still in the area—same tracks Harley found near the trucks, too.”
Charlie nodded. “Yes, and I think he might have been the one skulking around behind the professor’s tent the night I got here, too. Those two people that were involved the first time haven’t been back, from what I’ve seen, but this big one has stuck around.” His face turned grim as he swung his head in the direction of the canyon. “If there is a camp, it belongs to this big man.”
On the trail, Harley Ponyboy set a pace somewhere between a running walk and a jog trot and, after an hour, it had taken its toll. Thomas leaned up against a tree to catch his breath. Charlie, too, was clearly winded but had refused to slack off the pace. He leaned over, hands on knees, and drew in huge gulps of air.
Thomas wheezed as he waved a dismissive arm at Charlie. “I think you better take a break,” he choked. “You’re out of shape, college boy.” He then went down on one knee, coughed up phlegm and spat it on the ground. When finally he had regained the power of speech, he shook his head at Charlie and said in a hoarse whisper, “It’s embarrassing to see you like this.”
Only short, round, little Harley Ponyboy seemed unfazed by the morning’s punishing pace. “Didn’ you two never run ta meet the dawn when you were lit’le boys?” Harley grinned at them. “My uncle used ta come before daylight and throw cold water on my brother and me and say, ‘If you boys don’t run to meet the sun, he will not smile on you today.’”
In earlier times Indian boys were generally taught by uncles, their fathers being considered too easy on them, causing boys to grow soft and weak. An uncle was generally not so emotionally invested and would provide the tough love the boys needed to grow, physically and mentally; many Indian tribes held this same belief.
The tracks were fresh but kept to hard and rocky ground. A lesser tracker than Harley might have lost them completely. It was several more miles to the east before the dwindling sign turned and headed for the canyon rim then disappeared completely as they hit slick rock.
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