Morago turns to look at me. Those blue-green eyes of his seem to swallow my gaze. It’s like they’re looking right inside me, all the way to my secret core. I don’t know how long he studies me, and I don’t know what he sees, but he finally nods as though he’s come to some decision.
“Let’s go sculpt a body for a raven spirit,” he says.
67
Leah
Come morning, Leah was still intent on staying. She woke up more certain than the night before. Her dreams had been full of women with the heads of dogs, and great clouds of crows that spelled out incomprehensible words in the sky, mimicking old-fashioned skywriting. The images were disquieting and she was unsure what they meant, but they didn’t alter her decision.
She sat up in her bed to see that Marisa was already up, bent over the little desk under the window of their motel room working on her laptop. She glanced Leah’s way and said, “Good morning,” before returning her attention to her screen.
When Leah came back from her shower, drying her hair with a towel, Marisa asked, “So what did you decide?”
“I’m staying.”
Marisa didn’t ask if she was sure. Instead, she just studied Leah for a moment. Whatever she saw in Leah’s face seemed to satisfy her more than Leah’s affirmative response.
“Okay, then,” she said. “I’m going to have some breakfast, stop by the hospital, and then hit the road.”
“Do you want company for the first two?”
“I want company for all three, but I’ll settle for whatever I can get.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a booth at Jerry’s Roadhouse, nursing coffees while they waited for Janis to bring them their breakfast. Living at the motel, this would be her new kitchen, Leah thought, with the benefit of not having to cook or clean up after herself.
“How are you going to get around?” Marisa asked.
Leah shrugged. Something else to consider. Perhaps it was finally time for her to learn how to drive.
“They must have public transportation,” she said, then grinned. “Maybe I’ll see about renting a mule.”
Marisa laughed. “I’d pay to see a picture of that.”
“If my bank account gets low enough, I might hold you to that.”
“Seriously, if you need any help…”
“Don’t worry,” Leah told her. “I’ve got enough in my savings to see me through a couple of months, and that includes keeping up my apartment in Newford. After that, I’ll just have to see where things stand.”
“I think you’re brave,” Marisa told her, “leaving everything behind and just starting all over again. Crazy, but brave.”
“It doesn’t feel particularly brave,” Leah told her.
She might have said more, but right then Janis returned with their breakfast.
“Did you hear about that kid who stabbed Aggie White Horse?” Janis said as she laid their plates on the table. “You were going out to see Aggie yesterday, weren’t you?”
They nodded.
“What about the girl?” Marisa asked.
“I heard on the news that she turned herself in.” Janis shook her head. “What could make anyone go after a sweet old lady like Aggie?”
“It isn’t always so cut and dried,” Marisa told her. “That girl had a terrible home life.”
The waitress shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Seems to me, people just don’t take responsibility for what they do. Instead, they hide behind their liberal excuses.”
Leah noted how Marisa’s face went stiff.
“So you’re a Republican?” she asked.
“I’m not anything. The closest I can get to a political party is the Libertarians. Everybody else just lies and cheats. And doesn’t take responsibility for their crap.”
“Sadie did,” Marisa said. “The girl who turned herself in.”
Janis gave a slow nod. “You know what? You’re right.”
Somebody from another booth called her for a refill, and she went back behind the counter to get the coffee pot.
“I hate that,” Marisa said when the waitress left. “Troubled kids have enough problems without people saying that a horrible upbringing is no excuse—that what’s done is done, so they should just suck it up and get on with their lives.”
“I don’t think she really meant it like that,” Leah told her. “Most people speak in generalities, but at the end of the day, they come through for the individual.”
“I suppose. But why do they have to immediately assume the worst?”
“Because the first thing they see is something awful—in this case, a kid knifing an old lady—and they haven’t had time to process anything else. And some of the time, they never do.”
“Huh,” Marisa said, winking at Leah. “You should write a blog about that.”
Leah smiled and turned the conversation to other topics. Soon they were gossiping about the people they knew in common back home. Their conversation gave Leah a twinge about missing her friends in Newford, but didn’t change her resolve to stay.
After breakfast they walked back to the motel and loaded Marisa’s luggage into the rental. “Are you going to see about keeping the room?” Marisa asked.
Leah shook her head. “It’s not like this place is packed. I can wait till after we’ve been to the hospital and you drop me back off.”
She stood for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned in a slow circle, looking at their surroundings. It was still early, but the air was already warm, the wind bringing in a wealth of unfamiliar scents from the desert behind the motel. She smiled at the big saguaro across the parking lot and got in the car.
This was so the right decision.
* * *
When they got to the hospital they had no trouble getting in to see Aggie. The black-haired men from last night with their striking features and muscular frames were still on guard outside the hospital entrance, in the lobby, and in the hall outside Aggie’s room. Each group seemed so grim as the two women approached that Leah was nervous that she and Marisa would never get past them. But the men simply nodded when they drew near, and smiled as they went past. Any hospital staff studiously looked away from them as they went by, which felt a little odd, but it was better than having to lie again about being Aggie’s granddaughters.
They found Manny dozing by Aggie’s bed, slouched in a chair. He sat up at their entrance and lifted a hand in greeting. Leah’s gaze went to Aggie. Her colour was a little better, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly.
“I’m just on my way back to Vegas,” Marisa whispered to Manny, “but I wanted to see how she’s doing before I left.”
“I’m doing just fine,” Aggie said from the bed without opening her eyes. “And I’d be doing even better if people didn’t treat me like an invalid.”
“Can’t be helped,” Manny said with a smile. “You are an invalid.”
Aggie opened her eyes and frowned at Manny before smiling at the women. “Ohla, Marisa, Leah. So you’re going home?”
“I am,” Marisa said. “Leah’s staying on for a while.”
“Still searching for the ghost of Jackson Cole?”
Leah shook her head. “I have a book to write, so I thought I might as well do it here, where I can get the chance to do some exploring when I’m not at my computer. I also want to write about the people coming across the desert from the border.”
“You live so far away from our problems,” Aggie said. “How did you get interested in the fate of the migrants?”
“I met this man named Ernie, who lives at the motel where we’re staying. We got to talking and he started me thinking about it.”
“Oh, Ernie. He’s a character.”
“And a good man,” Manny added. “Well respected among the ma’inawo, though he probably doesn’t realize it.”
Leah took a step forward, fascinated by the turn the conversation had taken. “I’d love to learn more about them, as well,” she said. “The
ma’in— What did you call them?”
“Ma’inawo,” Aggie said. “It just means cousins.”
“I like that,” Marisa said. “It makes us all feel like family.”
Leah nodded in agreement and Manny smiled.
It was funny. Last night, while he and his companions were looking out for Aggie, she’d thought of him as part of this grim thuggish gang. Dangerous and unbending. Now he felt like somebody’s friendly uncle.
“Where will you be staying while you’re in town?” Aggie asked Leah.
“At the motel.”
Manny and Aggie exchanged a glance. Leah could almost see thoughts pass between them, but the reason caught her completely by surprise.
“I have room at my house,” Aggie said.
“And I’d rest easier if I knew somebody was staying there with her,” Manny added.
That earned him another frown from Aggie. “I’m not some helpless old lady,” she said.
“Keep talking like that,” Manny told her, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get out of this hospital for a month.”
Aggie turned to Leah. “You see what I have to put up with?”
“Are you serious?” Leah asked. “About my staying with you? I have to warn you that I can’t drive.”
“I can’t either,” Aggie told her. “But that’s what the young men and women of the tribe are for—to make sure an old woman like me gets around.”
Manny laughed, then nodded. “I can have one of Reuben’s dog boys give you a ride out.”
Now it was Leah and Marisa’s turn to share a moment of silent communication. Leah could see an echo of her own excitement in her friend’s eyes. She couldn’t believe her luck. Having the chance to live right out in the desert, getting to know Aggie, being able to look at all those paintings at her leisure.
“That would be fantastic,” Leah said.
“They’re probably going to release Aggie this afternoon,” Manny said. “Could you head over this morning to check out the house, maybe put together a grocery list?”
“Sure,” Leah started to say until she remembered that she had an appointment. “Except I was supposed to see Ernie this afternoon. He’s going to help me get a start on some of the research I want to do.”
“I can get word to him,” Manny said. “He’ll probably be happy to come out.”
“Tell him he’s invited for dinner,” Aggie told Manny. “I’ve never known him to turn down a free meal.”
So that was how, an hour later, Leah found herself saying goodbye to Marisa and being taken to Aggie’s house by a young man named Jack Young Tree, a nephew of Reuben Little Tree. And also one of his dog boys. After everything Leah had already experienced, she could only assume that Jack could literally turn into a dog.
She wanted to ask him about it. She had a hundred questions for anybody who’d talk to her. But after they turned off the highway onto the dirt road, Jack’s old pickup seemed to hit every bump, and she thought it would be more prudent to brace herself against the dash and let him concentrate on his driving.
Showdown at the White Horse Medicine Wheel
68
Steve
Morago sends me over to Aggie’s place to draw some water from her well. When I get back to the fire circle with a couple of pails—one full, one empty, like he asked—he’s digging under one of the big red rocks on the ridge overlooking the desert and the city beyond. Beside the pile of red dirt he’s made are a bunch of sticks. No, I realize, as I get closer—they’re dried saguaro ribs, broken into shorter pieces. I set the pails down nearby.
“Go cut some sweetgrass,” he says without turning around. “As long as you can find.”
“What’s that for?”
“To hold the bones together.”
I look at him, waiting for further explanation, but he ignores me. Sometimes I really miss the days when I was his boss and he wasn’t a shaman.
I pull out my jackknife, snap the blade out and head off to harvest some of the sweetgrass that Aggie has growing not far from the well. It’s a large healthy patch—I’ve watered it for her from time to time. I harvest a few small bunches, remembering to send some gratitude to both the plant and Aggie.
By the time I get back, we’ve been joined by an audience of a half-dozen of Aggie’s dogs and twice as many crows, perched in the trees or strutting around nearby. There’s also a hawk making lazy circles high above us. Regular crows would be up there harassing the shit out of it, but most Yellowrock Canyon crows are ma’inawo, or so Morago says, and I’m not going to argue that point. Stories told around the campfires say that the ma’inawo call hawks tío, meaning ‘uncle,’ using the term as an honourific. Apparently the uncles have some big power, so the ma’inawo try to stay on their good side—which explains why these crows are hanging around down here rather than making a ruckus up there.
Under Morago’s direction, I braid the grasses into thin ropes, tying off the ends to keep them from coming apart. Then I use the grass ropes to bind the saguaro ribs into a rough stick figure only fifteen inches or so in length, total.
Now I know what he meant by ‘bones.’
Morago looks over at a bunch of the crows. “Any of you have some raven feathers stashed away somewhere?”
One lifts from its perch on a saguaro arm and flies north.
“I need four of them!” Morago calls after the bird.
“Four?” I ask.
He nods. “Sure. Sacred number.”
While we wait for the crow to return, Morago has me put most of the dirt he dug out into the empty pail, then mix in some of the water. Turns out it’s actually clay, powder dry when I start, turning to mud as it mixes with the liquid.
“That’s too much water,” he says.
I add more of the clay dust, kneading the mess with my fingers as I try to get the consistency he’s looking for. While I work out in the sun, he rests in the shade of the rock, hands behind his head, watching me through half-closed eyes. The dogs have found shade too; they all seem to be asleep. The crows don’t appear to mind the sun’s heat, which has my shirt sticking to my back.
“We need to put something of you into the mix,” Morago says as the clay begins to get stiffer. “Saliva will work, but blood’s better.”
“The hell?”
“It’s to make the connection between you, and the raven sister, and this little clay dolly you’re making.”
His gaze holds mine until I spit into the clay. I’m not going to cut myself if I don’t need to.
“A little more,” he says.
I spit again.
“That should do.”
I go back to working the clay. The crow that flew off earlier returns with four long black feathers at about the same time that Morago’s satisfied with the consistency of the clay. He thanks the crow. “Okay,” he says to me. “We’re fast approaching the point of no return. You still sure you want to go through with this?”
“I said I’d do it.”
“Yeah, you did.”
I begin to press clay onto the stick-figure bones. I don’t even try for realism. Morago coaches me as I work, reminding me to think of Si’tala, to imagine that each glop of clay I’m putting on the figure is a call for her.
“Looking good,” Morago says.
Maybe so, but this thing is not pretty—that’s for sure.
He sticks the raven feathers into the top of the head so that they stick up like a headdress. I study what I’ve done so far, then add a bit of clay for a nose, poke two holes for eyes and drag my thumbnail under the nose to make a smiling mouth. While I’m doing that Morago rolls a cigarette and lights it up. He offers the smoke rising from the tip to the four directions.
I sit back on my heels and look at my handiwork. The facial features have only made it weirder, so I just have to hope Si’tala was right about how the look of it doesn’t really matter. This was the best I could do, so it’ll have to suffice.
I look around, wondering what’s next. Shade would
be good; so would sleep.
“How long do we have to wait to see if it works?” I ask.
Morago shrugs. “Ma’inawo move to their own time. But if she still wants a body, it shouldn’t be too long.”
He starts to adjust one of the feathers but stops, lifting his head. A moment later, I hear it too. The sound of a truck engine. The dogs scramble up as one and lope toward the house where a pickup pulls into Aggie’s yard. I recognize the truck as one of Reuben’s old junkers that he lets his dog boys work on. The driver’s door opens and Jack Young Tree steps out and walks around to the back of the truck, where he pulls a suitcase out of the bed. The dogs are all around him, sniffing his legs, bumping him with their shoulders.
“Looks like Aggie’s home,” I say.
“I don’t think so. Too rough a ride. Reuben would never put her in that heap.
Morago’s right. When the passenger door opens its not Aggie who gets out, but the journalist who was trapped in my head back in the otherworld. Leah Hardin. I’m happy for a moment, knowing she survived the leap off the cliff, then I wonder what she’s doing here.
“That’s interesting,” Morago says.
I nod. “But what’s she doing here?”
A couple of the crows rise into the air and fly over to the house as though they plan to get the answer for us.
69
Leah
Judging by the worried look on her brow, Leah couldn’t quite emulate Jack’s casual indifference to the dogs’ eager greetings.
Jack smiled as he reached into the bed of the truck. “They’re cool,” he said. “They won’t hurt you.”
Her face relaxed as she smiled back at him. “I know,” she said. “I found that out the last time I was here.” But as she continued to look around, the puzzled look returned. “I even kind of bonded with Ruby,” she said, “but I don’t see her.”
The Wind in His Heart Page 41