Sage laughed and hugged her. "Hi. How was the drive?"
"Nice. Mellow."
"You cut your hair," I said, running my hand over her head. "Damn. Shorter than mine." Kara had generally worn her hair past her shoulders. Like me, she'd gotten our father's thick, dark brown wavy hair.
"It looks cute," Sage interrupted, saving me from further older sibling inanities.
"It does. You look great, Kare." I gave her another hug. "It's good to see you." I meant it. "Okay, time for the grand tour, since you haven't been here."
"Cool. Lead on."
After Sage and I showed Kara around, she and I went to her car--a newer model Mazda sport sedan--and retrieved her luggage. I hefted her duffle bag to my shoulder and took her laptop case in my other hand.
"You're so butch," she teased as she closed the trunk of her car.
"Like you'd know what that is," I snapped back good-naturedly.
She didn't respond right away and instead gathered a few more things from the back seat. "I might," she said, flashing me an odd little smile.
I stared at her, wondering if my jaw fell off my face. "Shut up," I finally managed. "You're--"
"Geez, Kase. You look like a guppy." Kara reached over and pinched me on the cheek. "Yes, I've been with women. Why are you so surprised?"
"I--shit, I don't know. I guess I never even thought about it. I don't even ask Joely about her preferences."
Kara snorted. "Joely is so straight that if a woman asked her out, she'd think it was for a doubles match at a tennis tournament."
I stared at her again and then started laughing.
"She's like Mom. Completely het. Zero on the Kinsey Scale. Whereas you are a six. And I'm about a two or three." She locked the car and started toward the steps.
"You think I'm a six?" I followed her.
"Duh. You're so gay you make Melissa Etheridge look bi. You've been that gay since you came into the world. Oh, I mean, came out into the world." She flashed me a smile and opened the security door for me.
I preceded her into the house, rattled. My sister is bi. And I had no clue. I took her stuff into the office and set the duffle on the floor and the laptop on the bed. "Okay," I said, for lack of anything else to say in the wake of her revelation.
"Do you mind if I put some of my stuff on your desk?" she asked.
"No, go ahead. And use the closet, too. There's some extra shelving in there."
"Right on." She started doing just that, methodically emptying her duffle bag. I realized I didn't know how long she was planning on staying. She'd said "a few days" but with Kara, that could mean anything. On the other hand, she had arrived here around five-thirty and not ten. What's up with her?
"There's room in the bathroom for your shampoo and whatever else," I offered. "We've got shelf and shower space."
"Thanks." She continued unpacking. I watched her and it dawned on me that of my sisters, she looked most like me in facial features, though she'd gotten the dark Italian eyes while I'd gotten the hazel blend. I'd gotten the height, though five-six wasn't all that. Kara stood about three inches shorter and where I was more angular and boyish she had softer edges and curves.
She stopped what she was doing and looked at me quizzically. "Are you still freaked?"
"Um..."
She started laughing. "You are so easy to read."
I opened my mouth to retort but stopped myself, deciding that I wanted to work on not repeating old patterns with her. "Okay, yeah. I am a little freaked. I had no idea. And I guess I feel kind of badly about it because I never asked. I just assumed you were exclusively interested in guys."
"I've never been. And don't feel bad. It's not like I ever volunteered much information about my personal life."
I stared at her, knowing I probably looked like a guppy again. Who the hell is this? Where's Kara?
She grinned. "Get Sage. Let's go eat." She hustled me into the front room. "And I'm buying."
"YOU KNOW WHY you have issues with her," Sage said after we'd gotten back from dinner.
I looked over at her, knowing she'd tell me whether I wanted to hear it or not.
"You two are a lot alike." Sage took a sip of her coffee and continued gazing into the fire that burned in the chiminea out on our back patio. She sat in a plastic lawn chair to my left, elbows braced on the armrests. Kara was inside checking her e-mail and getting ready for bed.
I took a sip of wine and stared into the flames. My mom had said the same thing. "Maybe you're right," I admitted.
Sage didn't respond right away. After a long moment, she said, "Interesting that she told you she's bi."
"Interesting?" I glanced over at her. "Downright nutso. I never saw that coming."
Sage quirked an eyebrow at me and her expression said "how could you not have known?"
"Oh, c'mon," I muttered. "She always had boyfriends when we were growing up."
"Clearly, not all of them were boys," Sage said. "I wondered about her when I first met her."
"Well, why didn't you clue me in?" I asked with a touch of irritation.
Sage giggled. "You're so cute when you're frustrated."
I clenched my jaw muscles.
"Honey, would you listen to yourself? Kara's personal life is her business. If you want to know about it, you need to ask her."
"I know." I lapsed into silence, trying to figure out who my younger sibling really was.
"You're feeling guilty because you didn't know that about her and you feel that maybe you screwed up as a sister." Sage took another sip from her cup.
"I don't even know why we have these conversations," I groused. "Do you know how it can suck sometimes to be in love with a psychic?"
She sighed with long-suffering patience. "There's no mystery to paying attention."
I took her right hand in my left. "I'm sorry. It's just--shit. I don't know who Kara really is. And I guess it's bothering me."
"Well, here's your chance," she said, pulling my hand to her lips and kissing the back of it.
We sat like that in comfortable silence for a while, until the fire collapsed into coals and the coals began to disintegrate into ash. At that point, we stirred and I set my wine glass on the flagstone and poured water over the remnants of the coals from the bucket I kept handy. Sage waited for me and when I was sure the fire was out, I picked up my glass and followed her into the house. Once inside, I locked the back doors and turned the outside light on. We set our cup and glass down next to the sink and then we both went into the front room where Sage checked the locks on the security door and the inner door. She drew the curtains over the windows and checked the front porch light then turned and slid her arms around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder. I held her close, sinking into the warmth emanating from her body and the comfort I found within her arms.
"Bedtime," she said.
I released her and followed her toward our bedroom, checking on Kara's door. It stood partially open and her room was dark. I smiled. She'd always left her bedroom door open when she slept, ever since we were kids. She told me once when she was in high school that it helped energy flow. I figured it was because in the Flagstaff winters, it helped with heating. Energy. Heat. Same thing, in some ways. I did my pre-bed ministrations and waited under the covers for Sage. She turned out the light on her bedside table and slid in next to me. I snuggled against her.
"I love you," she said before she kissed me and wrapped herself around me.
"I love you, too. Good night." I stroked her hair, thinking about the day. Sage relaxed and her breathing deepened. I listened to her for a few minutes, hoping this whole weird situation with her dad would blow over like Chris said, and that whatever unfolded did so without any wrinkles. I pulled Sage a little closer and allowed myself to sink into sleep as well.
Chapter Six
I SPENT THURSDAY morning finishing up my syllabi and answering e-mails. The editor at the University of California Press told me to start rounding up contributors for t
he volume they wanted me to edit on extremists. Good news there. I finished up and stretched. The clock on my computer read 12:34. Time for lunch. I went into the kitchen and made myself a chicken sandwich.
Kara had been up already and she'd made coffee and breakfast for us. She was freaking me out. I chewed and swallowed. Maybe I'll just sit down with her and talk. There's a new one. Me talking to Kara. Really talking. I retrieved a half-full bottle of Tazo iced tea from the fridge and shook it up before opening it for a drink. Then, as if cooking for us wasn't messed up enough, she cleaned up. After she showered, she said she was going exploring and she'd be back in time for dinner with Chris and Dayna. She left before Sage did, before I remembered to give her the spare key to the house, which I set on the table in the front room so I wouldn't forget again.
My cell phone rang from the office. I swallowed the bite I had taken and jogged into the other room. I didn't recognize the number, though it was preceded by the New Mexico area code.
"Hi, this is K.C.," I answered.
"Hello," said a warm female voice. "This is Ellen Tsosie."
"Oh, wow. Hi. Thanks for calling back." I sat down in my desk chair and reached for my notepad and a pen. "Do you have some time to talk for a bit?" She hadn't introduced herself with her clan name. I wondered if that was because she was talking to me, a white person.
"I do."
"Um--is this your home phone number? I can call you right back to save you the cost."
"Oh, no. This is my cell. I have a great plan," she said, with a little giggle. "I'll do my best to answer your questions, but some things I cannot talk about."
"I understand. And I really appreciate that you're taking this time with me."
"It's a good thing, to share some of our beliefs. It helps heal."
I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but for whatever reasons, I wrote it down. "Okay. Are you ready?" I offered a smile through the phone.
"Shoot," she said.
"Can you talk a bit about how traditional Diné beliefs about death might have changed in the last fifty years?"
She laughed, a sound sort of like windchimes. I tried to visualize her, sitting in her house in Farmington. I couldn't tell how old she was, but from her voice I imagined she might be in her mid-fifties, maybe plump and stocky, with a wide, pleasant face like the other Navajos I knew. I hadn't found any photos of her online. Maybe Sage had one. On cue, Ellen said, "Sage told me what you do. And she said you had a way of getting right to it, so I had to be prepared for that."
Shit. "I'm sorry," I said, a little flustered. "I do tend to be pretty gringa when I'm researching things. My apologies. How about this? You just talk. Tell me what you think I should know."
"'Gringa'," she repeated. "I think I like you." She chuckled. "I'll start with your question and we'll see where it goes."
I murmured assent and waited, pen hovering over the paper, and she went back over traditional Navajo death rituals, providing more elaborate details that weren't in her e-mail about the precautions that had to be taken to trick the spirit. She spoke with the rhythmic, almost musical cadence that so many Navajos employed, an accent that was stronger in English if they also spoke their native language. "You must never, ever speak the name of someone who has gone to the spirit world," she said in a tone that carried a warning. "Because that could call a bad spirit back to the world of the living, where it might cause sickness and pain. The parts of a person that were good--those parts go back to the place from where the Diné entered this world. Those parts are not the ones that cause problems."
"So," I said as I wrote, "there are good and bad parts to all of us. The good parts go to dwell in--can I say 'underworld'? Is that right?"
"Close enough."
"And the bad parts might not do that. Those bad parts might decide to hang around. Am I understanding this correctly?"
"Not bad for a gringa." She giggled, pleased. "What many bilagaana do not seem to grasp is our idea of 'balance.' Everything is a balance between good and bad aspects."
Yin and yang? I wrote that down.
"The world around us requires vigilance to ensure harmony, and as Diné, it is important that we perform rituals properly and that we offer our gratitude to the natural order of things and that we not upset that order." She paused, allowing me a chance to write her points down. "And it's a struggle, keeping balance, because there are forces that try to upset it. Some of those forces might be Diné themselves."
"Why do the spirits of the dead want to hurt the living?"
She paused a moment before continuing. "Let me tell you a bit about the beginning of life in Diné tradition. When a person is born, the Holy People--you might think of them as 'gods'--breathe the spirit of life into the body, and this is a good thing. But when a person dies, a bad spirit is released with the last breath. I will not say this word, but I will spell it in English for you. C-h-i-n-d-i. This is a very bad spirit that wishes to avenge something it feels was done wrong to it in life."
"Does everyone have--" I stopped, trying to figure out how to talk about a chindi without saying the name. "A bad spirit like that?" I decided that was the best way to do it.
"No, not everyone," she responded and I thought I detected relief in her voice. "Babies and the very old do not."
"What happens to you if you come into contact with one of these spirits?"
"Sickness, maybe. Bad luck. Maybe death. If you think you have been in contact with one, it is important that you have a healing ceremony conducted within four days."
A chill crawled up my spine. I thought about what had happened two nights ago. "What if you're not sure whether you'd been in contact with one?" Where am I going with this?
"You will know if it is something that isn't right," she said, matter-of-fact. "You'll feel it, though many bilagaana try to talk themselves out of believing in forces beyond their comprehension."
"What ceremonies should someone employ if they believe they have come into contact with a bad spirit like that?" I turned the page of my notebook.
Ellen was quiet for a long moment before speaking. When she did answer my question, I thought I heard a gentleness in her tone. "A Diné who believes she has been in contact with a bad spirit will return to the place she thought it happened. Spirits like that can take many forms, most often animals like coyotes. If she finds a coyote track in the place where she thought the spirit appeared, for example, she will place a piece of turquoise in the track and request a Talking God Blessingway. Within four days, she must have a Blessingway."
"But these are Diné ceremonies," I pressed. "Can they apply to others?" And a Blessingway, from my limited knowledge of them, required a lot of preparation and time. Not to mention a qualified Navajo practitioner.
"I know some bilagaana who have had Blessingways performed," she said thoughtfully. "Only a very few of those, however, understood in their hearts the significance."
"Do you think--" I started.
She laughed. "The next time I have need of a Blessingway, I will call you so that you might observe. And Sage, as well, though she has seen a few of them already."
"She has?" My girlfriend has been hanging with the Navajo and I didn't know?
"We have known each other for a few years now," Ellen said in a tone that dismissed the topic.
I changed the subject, though I was surprised that Sage hadn't mentioned that to me. "What happens if a bilagaana dies on Navajo land?"
"We find another bilagaana to take care of the body. Nowadays, that's usually the closest police force off tribal lands."
I wrote that down. Cultural belief systems dictating jurisdiction. "Do Diné ever allow an autopsy?"
"Ah, this is a very difficult question. Some do, but it depends on the circumstances of the person's death. Remember, it is tradition to bury a body as quickly as possible, to prevent the bad spirit from remaining. There are many things that go into this decision. It is not one any Diné takes lightly, no matter how modernized they may think themselve
s."
I started to ask another question about autopsies when she interrupted me.
"I understand how an autopsy can help in a criminal investigation. But we Diné do not have this tradition and for any of us to imagine what happens to a body in such a situation and how that might affect the balance I have told you about is traumatic. Do you understand why this is such a sensitive issue?"
"I do." And I did. "What might a compromise be? Or is there one?"
"Now that depends on the way a Diné perceives the actions of the investigators." She took a humorous tone then. "Attitude is everything," she said, using a voice like a commercial announcer's. She giggled again. "If investigators don't behave respectfully, we might not want to compromise."
I smiled. "I don't want to keep you talking. But I really appreciate the information you've shared."
"If you wish to talk more, just call."
"I will. I don't want to misrepresent anything you've said."
"And I'll let you know when there's a Blessingway I think you can attend."
"I'd be honored." I closed my notebook.
"Sage was right," Ellen said in a teasing tone. "She said I would like you." And then she laughed again. "Very well. We'll talk later."
And she hung up. I set my phone on my desk next to the stack of books Kara had put there and jiggled my mouse to bring up my monitor. I Googled "chindi" and as I suspected, it could be applied as a generic term to other malevolent forces like witches. And skinwalkers. I rubbed my temples. What is wrong with me? This line of thought was messed up. I decided I needed to clear my head so I shut my computer down and got my workout gear together then left the house around two and headed for the UNM gym.
KARA PULLED UP in front of the house at four. I closed the copy of Outside magazine I'd been reading and watched as she locked up and approached.
"Hey." She took her shades off when she joined me on the porch.
"Pull up a chair." I gestured at one of the plastic lawn chairs.
"Don't mind if I do," she said, grinning as she pulled one closer and sat down. "So I had a very interesting experience today."
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