“I am ready to sit and rest,” said her friend with a tired smile and she sat down, gesturing to Elizabeth to sit beside her. “I have to tell you that while I am happy you are here and so are my family, some Diné are not so pleased. They don’t like the idea of a bilagaana at a Diné ceremony.”
“I can understand that. Are you sure it is all right with your family?”
“Of course. We all think it is important to have friends close by at such a time.”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth softly. She reached over and pulled her saddlebags in front of her. “I need to change my blouse at some point, Serena,” she said, “but first, I brought a few gifts. Something for you and something for your niece.”
Serena sat quietly while Elizabeth pulled out the paisley shawl. “This is for the kinaalda.” Serena smiled at the accented Navajo. She fingered the shawl and admired the fineness of the wool and the jewel-like colors. Elizabeth pulled out her buckskin bag and, opening it, shook the tissue-wrapped cameo into her lap. She unwrapped it carefully, and laying it in her open hand, held it out to her friend. “This was my mother’s brooch. I would like you to have it, Serena. It seemed like the right thing to bring to this ceremony.”
Serena had never seen such a piece of jewelry. Instead of the suggestion of something, there was a head of a woman carved very realistically.
“It is a cameo. They are very popular among bilagaana women,” said Elizabeth shyly. “It is carved out of shell.”
The Navajo woman’s eyes lit up. “You could not have brought anything better, my friend. White and coral: good colors for a kinaalda. And it is doubly special because it was your mother’s. Would you like it to be part of the ceremony?”
Suddenly Elizabeth knew that this was absolutely the right place for her to be, the right time, and the right gift. For her mother’s brooch to be a part of this meant something, although she could not explain her feeling.
“Yes, I would.”
“I will put it with the other jewelry and my niece will wear it tomorrow when she races.”
“But I meant for you to have it.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get it back. The women only loan their jewelry to the kinaalda. Things that are rich and special. I have already put a turquoise necklace my husband gave me in the basket. But this is also special to me.”
“Biji?”
Serena laughed. “Yes, the Special Day. Antonio must have told you.”
“Yes, but not nearly enough.”
Serena scooted her bottom back against the tree. “Come, I will tell you the story.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“A long, long time ago, Altse hastin…you would call him First Man, saw a dark cloud covering Ch’ool’i’i, the Giant Spruce Mountain. That cloud covered it to the very bottom and he decided he’d better go and find out what was happening. He set out singing, he surrounded himself with song, and when he got to Ch’ool’i’i, he still sang. And as he climbed, he sang.”
Elizabeth rested against the tree. Serena’s voice was beginning to “sing,” she thought as she fell into the story’s rhythm.
“When he reached the place where the peak of the mountain met the sky, lightning was flashing everywhere and he heard a baby crying. He could not see because of the dark cloud and the lightning and the bright colors of a huge rainbow which showered the peak, but he kept walking toward the baby’s cry. When he got to where it seemed to be coming from, the rain stopped, the clouds blew away, and the rainbow became softer. And at his feet was a small turquoise figure, no bigger than a baby, but carved like a woman. He carried it back to his wife, Altse asdzaa, First Woman, and asked her to take care of it.”
Elizabeth wanted to know how a turquoise figure could cry, and if it could, why did it sound like a baby, but look like a woman? But she did not want to interrupt the flow of her friend’s story.
“A few days later, First Man and First Woman heard the “wu’hu’huhu” of Haashch ‘eeltii—Talking God, the bilagaana would call him. He told them to come to Chool’i’i twelve nights from then. And so twelve nights later they went and climbed by way of a holy trail until they almost reached the top. There they found Growling God and….” Serena hesitated. One should tell the story true, she thought, but how could she explain all the others to her friend. For this time, she would try to make it easier for her friend. “Nilchi, the wind. And the Daylight People, who also had a figure of white shell. Talking God laid a buckskin down with the head facing west and on it they laid those two figures with their heads facing west and then he placed a buckskin over them with its head facing east and all the Holy People formed a circle and began to sing.” Serena turned to Elizabeth. “The song they sang is the same song the hataali, the singer, will sing tonight. They are very holy songs. You are lucky to have a chance to hear them.”
Elizabeth nodded. If she thought at all about what Serena was saying, the story was too different from anything she knew. Anything familiar. It sounded like the Holy People were gods, but maybe not. After all, there was someone called Talking God. It was better not to think, but just to listen.
“The Talking God and the Growling God lifted the buckskin so Nilchi could blow through it three times. And when they lifted the buckskins, the figure of turquoise was Asdzaa nadleehe and the figure in white shell was Yool gai asdzaa. Changing Woman and White Shell Woman.”
“So the wind brought them to life,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, the same wind that comes out of us when we breathe and speak. When it stops blowing through us, we die.”
Elizabeth’s face lit up. “Serena, we have this wind too. We call it the Holy Spirit. Although,” she continued thoughtfully, “someone could be alive in his body and not have the spirit moving through him.”
Serena said matter-of-factly, “Nilchi blows through everyone when they are alive.”
“Well, then, I suppose there are differences.” Elizabeth was disappointed, for she wanted to find something familiar, something the same in what they believed.
“You look troubled, Elizabeth. Isn’t it all right that we believe differently?”
“Yes,” she answered slowly. But the idea was hard for her. Her whole life had been based on the belief that only those who thought as she did were right or good. Yet clearly Serena was a good woman, as was her husband. As was Sergeant Burke. She had never been directly unkind to anyone different from her. For the most part, she had treated people the same, even if she had thought them ignorant. She had never looked down on Indians. She had sympathized with their plight, as she had heard her parents talk about it with friends. But she had not really understood that they had heartfelt beliefs about the divinity. Maybe divinity was not the right word, she thought, but the Divine.
“This is a beautiful story, Serena,” she said finally. “But I still don’t quite understand its connection to the ceremony.”
“It is a much longer story,” said the Navajo woman with a grin, “and I don’t have the time to tell it all now. Changing Woman became the mother of Hero Twins, who made the earth safe for the five-fingered people to arrive. And before she left for her hogan in the west, she had a ceremony which she gave us to perform for a maiden when she becomes a woman. A ceremony which brings Changing Woman to us through the kinaalda.”
“How do you know exactly when it is time for this ceremony?”
Serena looked at Elizabeth in surprise. “Why, isn’t it the same with all women? With her kenasha, her first….” Serena didn’t know the word for it in English. “It happens every month. Her first blood.”
Elizabeth blushed and turned away.
“Isn’t it the same with the bilagaana then? That this time is important? That the kenasha is a thing to be proud of?”
“No, Serena. I have always thought it something to be ashamed of.”
“Why, what happened when you had your first blood?”
What happened? thought Elizabeth. It was two months after her father and mother had been killed. She ha
d been with Nellie Woolcott for six weeks and when she woke up one morning with her thighs streaked with blood, she was terrified. She had been huddled under the covers and when Nellie came in all she could do was sob and shake. Perhaps her mother had been bleeding like this before the Comancheros had…. If she went on bleeding like this, would men know? Would they then attack her in the same way? Nellie had finally gotten it out of her and had been very kind. She had patted Elizabeth’s shoulder and showed where there were rags she could use. But Elizabeth could tell that she didn’t want to speak of it again. That it was something to be hidden, something not talked about. Certainly not something to be celebrated.
What could she tell Serena? She cleared her throat nervously. “When I had my first, um, monthly, it was right after my parents were killed. My mother…she was raped. I saw her private parts…they were all bloody….” Elizabeth was trembling violently. “We bilagaana women, we don’t talk about these things,” she was finally able to get out.
Elizabeth was crying and when Serena saw this she put her arm around her. It must have been awful to see a mother like that. And to have no mother on her own kinaalda. But even if her mother had lived, it didn’t sound like bilagaana women had much pride in their womanhood. No wonder Elizabeth always felt like a young girl to her.
“I am very sorry that was such a bad time for you, my friend. I think it was very good you have come here. It was right that I wanted you to. I think Changing Woman wants you here.”
Elizabeth let herself relax in Serena’s arms. She had no idea what she believed about Changing Woman, but it felt very good to have this woman friend hear her story and hold her close.
* * * *
By the time Serena’s niece and all those running with her returned, it was time for supper. Serena went down to help the other women and Elizabeth sat by the tree, watching with great curiosity all the activity.
Sergeant Burke, who had been over with Antonio, came over to where she was sitting, carrying two bowls full of stew.
“We can eat here, Elizabeth. But Antonio has invited us to eat with them.”
“I feel such an outsider,” Elizabeth confessed. “The more Serena tells me of the ceremony, the more I wonder if I should have come.”
“She invited you, so of course you should have come. But I understand yer feelings completely, since I feel even more of an intruder, being a man. And a few of the people aren’t very happy to have us here. They may as well be wearing signs, ‘No bilagaana welcome!’ ” said Michael with a smile. “And I can’t blame ‘em. But Antonio and his wife know that things are changing. The bilagaana won’t go away, so surely it is good to have some of them here who want to understand.”
Elizabeth stood up and brushed off her skirt. “Well, Sergeant Burke, give me your arm and we’ll go join Antonio.”
“That’s me girl,” said Michael.
Elizabeth sat next to Serena, and Michael joined Antonio. No eyes were lifted to her face, but she felt as though all attention was on her.
The stew was delicious, as was the tortilla-like bread she dipped into it.
“This is delicious, Serena,” she said, trying to pretend she was at someone’s dinner table.
Her friend said something quickly in Navajo to the other women. One raised her eyes shyly, nodded her head, and then dropped her gaze to her own bowl before Elizabeth could even smile at her.
“Could you tell your sister that I am very grateful to be here.”
Serena spoke again in Navajo, this time to the woman next to her.
Her sister replied, looking first at Serena and then giving an appreciative nod to Elizabeth.
“What did she say?”
“That it was a good sign that a bilagaana woman appreciates the importance of this ceremony.”
“Tell her that she has a lovely daughter, who is also very strong if she can run that long.”
Serena’s sister smiled when Elizabeth’s compliments were translated and then said something quickly.
“She wonders if bilagaana women are strong enough to run like that?”
Elizabeth grinned. “Some of us, perhaps.”
There was more back-and-forth conversation between the sisters and then Serena turned to Elizabeth. “What about you? Could you run like that?”
“Why, I don’t know. I do a lot of walking, but run for a half hour or more?”
“My sister invites you to join the runners in the morning for the kinaalda’s last race.”
“Me?”
Her friend’s sister spoke again and although Elizabeth couldn’t understand the words, she could the tone: kind, but challenging.
“It is a big thing for her to do, to invite you,” said Serena. “Some of the women don’t approve.”
Elizabeth could tell that from the muttering going on around her.
“Tell her I am honored by her invitation. I will run.”
When Serena repeated the words in Navajo, most of the women nodded their heads approvingly.
“I must tell you, Elizabeth,” said Serena with a teasing smile on her face, “that most of us do not think a bilagaana woman can do this.”
“They are probably right! Especially in my riding boots,” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a pair of moccasins for you.”
One of the women gathered up all the bowls, and Elizabeth saw that as the men finished they were beginning to build up the fire over the pit.
Serena came over to her and said apologetically, “I will be busy with the women and inside the hogan for the singing. But here is a blanket for you to put under you. Get some rest, my friend. You will need it for tomorrow.”
“What happens now?”
“Now, many of us will go inside. The hataali will lead the singing, though some of the songs only he can sing. He begins with the Hogan Songs, which were first sung by Talking God.”
Elizabeth looked over at the hogan and noticed that a blanket had been hung from the door. Serena patted her shoulder and said, “Good luck on your running tomorrow, Elizabeth,” and turned to go.
“Wait, Serena. How will I know what to do?”
“You’ll hear the shout, like this afternoon. Then all you have to do is follow the runners. Unless you are going to try to beat them all,” she added teasingly.
“I will be very happy just to keep up with them!”
“Then I will see you at dawn.”
* * * *
Elizabeth took the blanket and carried it back to the cottonwood. She wasn’t tired yet, and so she sat up, arms wrapped around her knees as she watched the stars come out. She heard a step beside her and looked up. It was Sergeant Burke.
“Sit down, Michael. I am trying to find Orion,” she added with a smile.
“And how is the mighty hunter’s namesake?”
“Behaving quite well, thanks to your advice.”
Michael sat down next to her. Her face was lifted to scan the sky and he was struck by the purity of her profile.
“I hear you’ll be getting a little exercise in the morning, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth looked over at him. “I think I must be crazy to try, but it didn’t seem right to turn down the invitation.”
“Ye were right. ‘Tis a great privilege for both of us to be here and I’m glad to see you becoming part of it.” Michael hesitated. “Ye lost yer mother early, I’ve heard. And in a terrible way.”
Elizabeth nodded, and face set, continued to stargaze.
“I can sympathize with ye. I lost me own ma when I was ten.”
“How did she die, Michael?” Elizabeth asked softly.
Michael hesitated. He had never talked of this to anyone before, not since he had left Ireland. “She died of a fever.” Elizabeth started to murmur a word of sympathy, when he continued. “Brought on by starvation, ye see.”
Elizabeth drew in an audible breath. “Starvation?”
“Aye. Ye were too young to know of it, but there was a great famine in Ireland when I wa
s a boy. Me ma died and me baby sister, and over a million of us.”
“A million!”
“Oh yes. We didn’t all come over here, we dirty Irish,” said Michael bitterly. “Most of us died.”
“It is hard to comprehend so much death, Michael.”
“Well, it is years past now.”
“And the rest of your family? Did they come to America too?”
“No, they just sent me, so that at least one Burke would survive.”
“Did they all die then?” Elizabeth asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.
“No,” answered Michael with a heavy sigh. “Me sister Caitlin lived. But she’s never married or had the children she wanted. And me da’s still alive, though getting on in years.” Michael paused. “I keep saying to meself that one day, I’ll go home, at least for a visit, but the army keeps me too busy and too poor,” he added with a bitter laugh.
Elizabeth wanted to say something comforting, anything, but not one word came to mind. It was one thing to watch your family die, but quite another to be surrounded by the death of all your people. She couldn’t imagine it.
“I am sorry, Michael,” she finally said. “It is a poor thing to say, isn’t it?” she added, turning to him with tears in her eyes.
“Now, I didn’t mean to make ye cry, Elizabeth.”
“You didn’t. I have been close to tears all afternoon.”
Michael wanted to put his arm around her and draw her close, but he resisted and pointed up. “There he is, the aould Irishman himself.”
Elizabeth followed his pointing finger and imitated his brogue. “O’Royan?”
“Indeed. See his belt?”
“Yes, yes, I see it. But with all these stars how does anyone find the constellations!”
It was getting cold, and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering.
Michael took his own blanket and shook it out. “Here, Elizabeth, ye’d better have this around ye.”
“I can’t take your blanket, Michael.”
“Don’t be silly. I have another in me pack. I’ll be fine. ‘Tis you who doesn’t want to be cold and stiff in the morning.” He placed the blanket around her shoulders, and as she pulled it closed he realized that more than anything in the world he wanted to pull her close to his heart. She was a small woman, but there was a hidden strength in her that he admired. And at the same time a young girl that needed comforting.
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