Listening Woman jlajc-3

by Tony Hillerman

  But he hadn’t seen it hit the bottom. It was alive, crippled, dragging itself inexorably after Leaphorns scent. For a second, reason reasserted itself in Leaphorns logical mind. The dog couldn’t have fallen three hundred feet down the face of that cliff and survived. But then the sound came again, closer now, only a few yards away from his feet, and Leaphorn was again in a nightmare world in which men became witches, and turned themselves into wolves; in which wolves didn’t fall, but flew. He pointed the flashlight at the sound, like a gun, and pushed the button.

  There was, for a moment, nothing but a blaze of blinding light. Then Leaphorns dilated pupils adjusted and the shape illuminated in the flashlight beam became Father Benjamin Tso. The priests eyes were squeezed shut against the light, his face jerked away from the beam. He was sitting on the calcite floor, his feet stretched in front of him, his arms behind him. His ankles were fastened with what appeared to be a strip of nylon.

  Now Tso squinted up into the flashlight beam.

  All right, he said. If you’ll untie my ankles, Ill walk back.

  Leaphorn said nothing.

  No harm trying, the priest said. He laughed. Maybe I could have got away.

  Who in the hell are you? Leaphorn asked. He could hardly get the words out.

  The priest frowned into the light, his face puzzled. What do you mean? he asked. Then he frowned again, trying to see Leaphorns face through the flashlight beam. I’m Benjamin Tso, he said. Father Benjamin Tso. He paused. But aren’t you . . . ?

  I’m Leaphorn. The Navajo cop.

  Thank God, Father Tso said. Thank God for that. He swung his head to the side. The others are back there. Theyre all right. How did you . . . ?

  Keep your voice down, Leaphorn said. He snapped off the light and listened. In the cave now there was only a heavy, ear-ringing total silence.

  Can you untie my hands? Father Tso whispered. They’ve been numb for a long time.

  Leaphorn switched on the flash again, holding his hand over the lens to release only the dimmest illumination. He studied the priests face. It was a lot like the face of the man he had seen with Tull and the dog, the face of the man who had tried to burn him to death in the canyon.

  Father Benjamin Tso glanced up at Leaphorn, and then away. Even in the dim light Leaphorn could see the face change. It became tired and older.

  I guess you’ve met my brother, he said.

  Is that it? Leaphorn asked. Yes, it must be. He looks something like you.

  A year older, Father Tso said. We weren’t raised together. He glanced up at Leaphorn.

  He’s in the Buffalo Society. My returning didn’t help his plans.

  But what made you . . . how did you get here? Leaphorn asked. I mean, to your grandfathers hogan?

  It was a long trip. I flew back from Rome, and then to Phoenix. And then I took a bus to Flagstaff and then to Kayenta, and then I caught a ride.

  And where’s the Adams girl?

  He came to the hogan and got us, Tso said. My brother and that dog he has. Father Tso stopped. That dog. He’s around here and hell find us. Are there other police with you?

  Have you arrested them?

  The dogs dead. Just tell me what happened, Leaphorn said.

  My brother came to the hogan and brought us to this cave, Father Tso said. He said wed have to stay until some sort of operation was over. Then later . . . He shrugged and looked apologetic. I don’t know how much later. Its hard to keep track of time in here and I cant see my wrist watch. Anyway, later, my brother and a man called Tull and three other men brought a bunch of Boy Scouts and put them in with us. I don’t understand it. What do you know about it?

  Just what I heard on the radio, Leaphorn said. He knelt behind Tso and examined the bindings on his wrists. Keep talking, Leaphorn said. And keep it at a whisper. He fished out his pocket knife and sawed through the strips, a type of disposable handcuff developed for use by police in making mass arrests. The BIA police had bought some during the early stages of the American Indian Movement troubles, but they’d been junked because if the subject struggled, they tightened and cut off circulation. Tsos hands were ice cold and bloodless. It would be a while before he could use them.

  I just know what I heard, too, Father Tso was saying. And what the Scout leader told us. I guess were involved in some sort of symbolic kidnapping.

  Leaphorn had the strips cut from Tsos ankles now. Tso tried to massage them, but his numb hands dangled almost uselessly from his wrists.

  It takes a while for the circulation to come back, Leaphorn said. When it does, it hurts.

  Can you tell me more?

  Tso began rubbing his hands briskly against his chest. Every couple of hours or so Tull or my brother comes back and they have two questions they ask the Scout leader or one of the boys. Its to prove everyone is still alive or something. It seems they told the police they have to stay completely out of this part of the reservation. I think the deal is if they see any police they say they’ll kill the hostages. Otherwise the police get to broadcast questions every couple of hours, and he

  Questions? What sort of questions?

  Oh, one was where did the Scout leader meet his wife. And one was why he was late for a trip, and where was the telephone in his home. Trivial stuff that no one else could know.

  Father Tso grimaced suddenly and inspected his hands. I see what you mean about hurting.

  Keep rubbing them. And keep talking. Do you know the timetable? Leaphorn asked. Did you hear anything about that?

  They told the Scouts they’d probably be here about two or three days. Maybe less. Until they get the ransom.

  Do you know how many are involved? I’ve seen three in the cave. Are there more than that?

  I’ve seen at least five, Father Tso said. When my brother brought us back, first there was just a young man here they call Jackie. Just my brother and Jackie. Then when they brought the Boy Scouts there were three more of them. One with an awfully disfigured face, called Tull. He’s still here, I think. But I haven’t seen the other two again.

  This Jackie. How was he dressed? Leaphorn asked.

  Jeans, Father Tso said. Denim shirt. Red sweatband around his forehead.

  Yes, I’ve seen him, Leaphorn said. Where are the other hostages? And how’d you get away?

  They’ve got a sort of cage welded together out of reinforcing rods or something, Tso said.

  Set back in a part of the cave way back there. That’s where they put Theodora and me at first, and then they brought the Boy Scouts in. Then a couple of hours ago they took me out and moved me into another part of the cave. Tso pointed behind him. A sort of big room back in that direction, and they put these things on my wrists and ankles and they sort of anchored me to a stalagmite. Tso laughed. Tied a rope around How’d you get loose?

  Well, they warned me that if I moved around too much with these nylon things on they’d tighten up and cut off my circulation, but I found that if you didn’t mind a little of that, you could work the strip around so that the knot was where you could get at it.

  Leaphorn remembered trying on the nylon cuffs when the department was considering them, and how quickly pulling against them caused them to cut into your wrists. He glanced at Tso, re-measuring him.

  The people who invented those things counted on people not wanting to hurt themselves, Leaphorn said.

  I guess so, Father Tso said. He was massaging his ankles now. Anyway, these calcite deposits are too soft to cut anything. I thought maybe I could find some sort of outcropping granite or something where I could cut the nylon off.

  Is the feeling coming back? Leaphorn asked. Good. I don’t think we want to waste any time if we can help it. I don’t have a gun. He helped Tso to his feet and supported him.

  When they come to the cage to get the questions answered, who comes? Just one of them?

  The last time it was just the one with the red headband. The one they called Jackie.

  You okay now? Ready to move?

&nbs
p; Father Tso took a step, and then a smaller one, and sucked in his breath sharply. Just give me a second to get used to it. The breath hissed through gritted teeth. What are we going to do? he whispered.

  Were going to be there when they come back to the cage. If you can find a place for me to hide. If two come, we wont try anything right now. But if just one of them comes, then you step out and confront him. Make as much noise as you can to cover me coming, and Ill jump him.

  As I remember it, there’s not much to hide behind, Tso said doubtfully. Not close anyway.

  They moved slowly through the dark, the priest limping gingerly, Leaphorn supporting part of his weight.

  There’s one other thing, Tso said. I don’t think this Tull is sane. He thinks he dies and comes back alive again.

  I’ve heard about Tull, Leaphorn said.

  And my brother, Tso said. I guess you’d have to say he’s sort of crazy, too.

  Leaphorn said nothing. They moved silently toward the light, feeling their way. From ahead, suddenly, there came the sound of a woman’s voice distant, and as yet undecipherable.

  This is terrible for Theodora, Father Tso said. Terrible.

  Yes, Leaphorn said. He was remembering Captain Largos instructions. He flicked the flash on getting direction and quickly off.

  My brother, Tso said. He stayed with my father, and my father was a drunk. Tsos whisper was barely audible. I didn’t ever live with them. All I know is what I’ve heard, but I heard it was bad. My father died of a beating in Gallup. The whisper stopped and Leaphorn began thinking of other things, of what his tactics would have to be.

  My brother was about fourteen when it happened, Father Tso said. I heard my brother was there when they beat him, and that it was the police that did it.

  Maybe, Leaphorn said. There’re some bad cops. He flicked the light on again, and off.

  That’s not what I’m talking about, Father Tso said. I’m telling you because I don’t think there’ll be any hostages released. He paused. They’ve gone too far for that, the voice whispered. Theyre not sane. None of them. Poor Theodora.

  They could hear the voice of Theodora Adams again, a matter more of tones echoing than of words. Leaphorn was suddenly aware that he was exhausted. His hip throbbed steadily now, his burn stung, his cut hand hurt. He felt sick and frightened and humiliated.

  And all this merged into anger.

  God damn it, he said. You say you’re a priest? What were you doing with a woman anyway?

  Tso limped along silently. Leaphorn instantly regretted the question.

  There are good priests and bad ones, Tso said. You get into it because you tell yourself somebody needs help . . .

  Look, Leaphorn said. Its none of my business. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have No, Father Tso said. That’s fair enough. First you kid yourself somebody needs you which is easy to kid yourself about, because that’s why you thought you had the vocation to start with. That’s what the fathers tell you at St. Anthony’s Mission, you know: Somebody needs you. And then its all reversed: a woman comes along who needs help. And then she’s an antidote for loneliness. And then she’s most of everything you’re giving up. And what if you’re wrong? What if there’s no God? If there’s not, you’re letting your life tick away for nothing. It gets complicated. So you get your faith back. . . . He stopped, glanced at Leaphorn in the brief glow of the flash. You do get it if you want it, you know. And so you try to get out of it. You run away. Father Tso stopped. Then he began again. But by then, she really does need you. So what are you running away from? Even whispered, the question was angry.

  So that’s why you came trying to get away from her? Leaphorn asked.

  I don’t know, Father Tso said. The old man asked me to come. But mostly I was running, I guess.

  And you got tangled with your brother?

  Were the Hero Twins. Father Tso made a sound a little like laughing. Maybe were both saving the People from the Monsters. Different approaches, but about equal success.

  Now the voice of Theodora Adams was close enough so that they could understand an occasional word. The cavern narrowed again, and Leaphorn stood against the wall, one hand holding the priests elbow, and stared toward reflected light. The light was harsh and its source was low probably a lantern of some sort placed on the calcite floor. Here a hodgepodge of stalagmites rose in crooked lines from the level floor and curtains of stalactites hung down toward them. The light cast them in relief black against the dim yellow.

  The cage is just back around that corner, Tso whispered. That lights from a butane lamp sitting outside.

  Does the guard have to come past this way?

  I don’t know, Tso said. Its confusing in here.

  Lets get closer, then, Leaphorn said softly. But keep it absolutely quiet. He might be there already.

  They edged through the darkness, keeping in the cover of a wall of stalagmites. Leaphorn could see part of the cage now, and the butane lantern, and the head and shoulders of Theodora Adams sitting in its corner. Close enough, he thought. Somewhere near here he would stage his ambush.

  I wonder why they took me out of there, Father Tso whispered.

  Leaphorn didn’t answer. He was thinking that maybe with Father Tso subtracted, the cage held the symbolic number eleven children and three adults. Father Tso would have spoiled the symmetry of revenge. But there must be more reason than that.

  In the darkness, time seemed to take on another dimension. After three exhausting days and nights virtually without sleep, Leaphorn was finding it took much of his concentration simply to stay awake. He shifted, moving his weight from his left side to his right. In this new position, he could see most of Theodora Adams. The lantern light gave her face a sculptured effect and left her eye sockets dark. He could see two other hostages of the Buffalo Society. A man who must be one of the Scout leaders lay on his side, his head cushioned on his folded coat, apparently asleep. He was a small man, perhaps forty-five years old, with dark hair and a delicate doll-like face. There was a dark smudge on his forehead, rubbed into a brown streak across his cheek. Dried blood from a head cut, Leaphorn guessed. The mans hands lay relaxed and limp against the floor. The other person was a boy, perhaps thirteen, who slept fitfully. Theodora Adams spoke to someone out of Leaphorns vision.

  Is he feeling any better?

  And a precise, boyish voice said, I think he’s almost asleep.

  After that, no one said anything. Leaphorn longed for a conversation to overhear. For anything to help him fight off the dizzying assault of sleep. He forced his mind to consider the furious activity this kidnapping must be creating. The rescue of this many children would have total, absolute priority. Every man, every resource, would be made available for finding them. The reservation would be a swarm with FBI agents, and every variety of state, federal, military and Indian cop. Leaphorn caught himself slipping into a dream of the bedlam that must be going on now at Window Rock, and shook his head furiously. He couldn’t allow himself to sleep. He forced his mind to retrace what must have been the sequence of this affair. Why this cave was so important was clear to him now. On the surface of the earth, there was no way an operation like this could remain undetected. But this cave was not only a hiding hole under the earth; it was one whose existence was hidden behind a century of time and the promises made to a holy mans ghost. Old Man Tso must have learned that the sacred cave was being used and desecrated when he came to take care of the medicine bundles left by Standing Medicine. That seemed now to be what was implied in the story Tso had told Listening Woman. And the Buffalo Society either knew he had found them, or had learned he used the cave. And that meant he could not be left alive. A dream of the murder of Hosteen Tso began merging with reality in Leaphorns mind. He ground his chin deliberately against the stone, driving away sleep with pain.

  And the police would never find this cave. They would ask the People. The People would know nothing. The cave would have been entered only by water on which no tracks can be followed
. From outside, the cave mouth would seem only one of a hundred thousand dark cliff overhangs into which the water lapped. They would ask Old Man McGinnis, who usually knew everything, and McGinnis would know nothing. Leaphorn fought back sleep by diverting his thoughts into another channel. The same fade-away tactics employed in the Santa Fe robbery were probably being used here. Those who seized and delivered the hostages would have run for cover. They would have gone safely away long before the crime was discovered. Only enough men would have been left here to handle the hostages and collect the ransom. Probably only three men. But how would they get away?

  Everyone had escaped, except three. Tull and Jackie and Goldrims. They would have set up a way to relay and rebroadcast the radio message that kept the police away. Easy enough to rig, Leaphorn guessed. It wouldn’t take much if the transmissions were kept brief to confuse radio directional finders. But how did the Society plan to extricate the final three when the ransom arrived? How could they be given time to escape? No one except the hostages would have seen them. If the hostages were killed, there would be no witnesses. Still, Goldrims would need running time an hour or two to get far enough away from here to become just another Navajo. How could he provide himself with that time?

  Leaphorn thought of the dynamite, and the timing device, and of John Tull, who believed himself to be immortal.

  Leaphorn caught himself dozing again and shook his head angrily. If he hoped to leave this cave alive, he must stay awake until Goldrims, or Tull, or Jackie came alone to check on the hostages, or ask the ritual questions of one of the Scouts. He must be awake and alert for an opportunity at ambush, at overpowering the guard, at getting a gun and changing the odds. To accomplish this he had to stay awake. To go to sleep would be to wake up dead. Thinking that, Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn fell asleep.