Watching Eagles Soar

by Margaret Coel

  Finally, the woman shrugged. “Room three twenty-two. I must ask you not to stay too long. She has to save her strength.”

  Save her strength? Vicky was thinking, but she didn’t say it. For dying? She turned toward the corridor.

  “Her other granddaughter’s with her now.”

  Vicky looked back.

  “You know, Tammy,” the woman said, as if to reassure herself that she hadn’t allowed two non-family members into Anna Running Fast’s room.

  Vicky gave a little nod and started down the corridor, past the closed doors on either side that muffled the whispered voices and the labored breathing of the dying. She tried to place Tammy. Anna’s only child, Justice, had been killed in an accident out in the oil fields twenty years ago, two months after the heart attack that had killed his father. She’d been left with only her grandson, Jackie, who, as far as Vicky knew, hadn’t come around the reservation in years. Tammy could be another family friend close enough to call Anna Grandmother. Or maybe Jackie had gotten married. Odd, Anna hadn’t said anything about Jackie getting married, even though she talked about him nonstop, hardly catching a breath, every time Vicky had visited her: Jackie was in Nashville trying to get into the music business; Jackie had gone to Arizona, a real good job on a ranch; Jackie had moved to Las Vegas to deal blackjack. Jackie was smart. He could do anything he set his mind to.

  Vicky was about to knock on the door with the bronze numerals 322 canted slightly to one side. She stopped; her hand hung motionless in the air. The smell of disinfectant was pure and undiluted, emanating up from the floor and out from the walls. From the other side of the door came the sound of a woman’s voice, high-pitched and quick, followed by notes of laughter that rang up the scale and dissolved into a sharp squealing noise.

  Vicky rapped once, then opened the door and stepped into a room that would have been bare without the small chest under the window and the metal-rimmed hospital bed that jutted into the center. Leaning over the bed, smoothing the white blanket that covered the sticklike contours of Anna’s body, was a woman who might have been in her thirties or forties; it was hard to tell. She was as slim as a boy, with narrow hips and stovepipe legs wrapped in tight blue jeans and the outline of breast buds beneath the front of a red tee shirt. She swiveled toward Vicky, her lips a red O of surprise in her powdery white face. She had dark eyes outlined in black, thin black eyebrows, and coal-black hair cut short with little black spikes that crawled down her forehead.

  “You’re Tammy?” Vicky said.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” She went back to smoothing the blanket. “Been lookin’ after my grandma today.”

  Vicky went to the other side of the bed. Anna appeared to be asleep, her face as quiet and peaceful as a mask of brown pottery. Yet there was the faintest twitch in her eyelids, as if she were making an effort to keep them closed. Her hair looked like thin strands of gray silk spread over the white pillow. “How is she today?”

  “Oh, she’s doin’ great. I mean, as great as you can expect in the circumstances. Been sort of unconscious most the time, but I been talkin’ to her, telling her jokes and stories about me and Jackie traveling around, all the places we seen and the things we done, you know, just in case she can hear. ’Cause you know what they say.”

  “What do they say?”

  “How people in comas, they can still hear you. They know everything that’s goin’ on. It’s just they can’t talk. So how’re you related?”

  Vicky looked at the woman on the other side of the bed. “She’s my grandmother.”

  The red lips formed another O; her forehead creased into a frown, the black eyebrows darting toward each other. “Jackie never said nothing about a sister or a cousin or whatever. He’s alone, he told me, except for me and him. Only relation on the rez is Grandma Anna.”

  “Grandmother,” Vicky said.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Tammy shrugged.

  “You must be Jackie’s wife.”

  “One and only. Tammy Running Fast.” She flung her hand across the bed and flexed her fingers. They looked bony and raw, the nails bitten down over reddened knobs.

  “Vicky Holden.” She took hold of the outstretched hand for a moment; she could feel the quivering energy beneath the roughened palm. “Is Jackie here?”

  “I been tellin’ Grandma he’s on the way. I think it makes her happy, Jackie being her only grandson and all. Stopped off in Rawlins to see a guy about some money he owes him. Frigging Internet, can’t trust nobody. Jackie sold the guy a real nice harness and never got a check. He was gonna pay the creep a surprise visit, you know, collect what he’s got coming. Told me to take the U-Haul—it’s got all our stuff—and go on to Grandma’s house, ’cause we’re gonna be living here now. So I drove to the rez this morning, unloaded a couple boxes, then come to town to see how Grandma’s doin’. Jackie’ll be here any minute now.”

  She drew in her lips and took a breath as if she were sucking air through a straw. “How’d you say you and Jackie was related?”

  Vicky laid her hand over Anna’s. She had the sense that, somewhere deep inside, Anna was taking in everything. The old woman’s fingers fluttered beneath her own. “I told you,” Vicky said.

  The door swung open and Alice Berkel stepped into the room. She held on to the edge of the door and closed it behind her, keeping her gaze on Tammy. “Mrs. Running Fast?” she said, her voice leaking sympathy. “Would you step outside a moment?”

  Tammy crossed her arms and tilted her head back, as if she were weighing her options. “What’s it about?”

  “Father John O’Malley, the priest from St. Francis Mission, would like to speak with you. I’ve told him you’re here.”

  “What’s he want me for?”

  “Please . . .” Alice Berkel nodded toward the bed. Keeping her voice low, she said, “He’s waiting in my office.” Then she opened the door. The silence of the corridor floated into the room.

  Tammy let her arms fall to her sides. She moved slowly along the bed and walked past the woman, who stepped behind her and pulled the door shut.

  A soft, raspy sound came from the bed.

  “What is it, Grandmother?” Vicky leaned closer.

  The old woman was struggling to lift her head; her eyes were wide-open, staring across the room. For a moment, her thin lips worked around soundless words, as if she were savoring the taste of them. “Jackie,” she said. “Jackie. Jackie.”

  “His wife says he’ll be here soon,” Vicky said. She eased Grandmother Anna’s head back into the pillow.

  “Neyo:xe’t!” What sounded like a guffaw bubbled up from the old woman’s chest.

  “Shhh,” Vicky said, trying to pull the meaning of the word from her memory. Something to do with the wind, but it made no sense. There were so many stories that her own grandmother and Grandmother Anna and Grandmother Mamie used to tell in Arapaho when Vicky was a child. The ancient language had washed over her, caressing her, and somehow she’d understood the stories. They had always made sense.

  She clasped Anna’s hand and held it lightly in her own, half afraid that the birdlike bones might snap. “Don’t upset yourself,” she whispered.

  A scream, like the high, shrill sound of an animal caught in the steel jaws of a trap, came from the direction of the lobby. Vicky felt Anna’s hand stiffen inside her own. “I’ll go see what’s happened,” she said, trying for a neutral tone that concealed her own misgivings. She let herself into the corridor, closed the door, and hurried toward the lobby.

  The chair behind the counter was vacant, swung sideways as if Alice Berkel had gotten up in a hurry. The phone started to ring. Vicky half expected the woman to burst past the door behind the counter, but the door remained closed. The noise of the phone mingled with the muffled sound of sobbing.

  Vicky stepped around the counter and rapped on the door. The sobbing stopped, and in its place came
the measured rhythm of footsteps. Then the door opened, and standing in front of her was Father John, more than six feet tall with reddish hair and blue eyes and the look about him of sadness and compassion that she had often seen him wear.

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news,” he said, nodding her into the office. Tammy was hunched forward in one of the side chairs in front of the desk, her dark head cradled in her hands. The white woman stood behind her, patting and caressing her shoulder with the confidence of someone accustomed to consoling the grieving.

  “Jackie?” Vicky said.

  “He was found dead this morning on the highway about twenty miles south of town,” Father John said. “His truck ran off the road.”

  “I never should’ve let Jackie go see that guy alone.” Tammy lifted her head and twisted around in the chair, looking from Father John to Vicky. Black mascara tears ran down her cheeks. “I should’ve gone with him. I wanted to go, but he was real worried about Grandma. Told me to go on and tell her how we was gonna be living here now and how we was gonna take real good care of her house. But I should’ve . . .”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself,” Alice Berkel said, smoothing the red tee shirt over Tammy’s shoulder.

  “You don’t understand.” Tammy shrugged away from the woman’s hand and locked eyes with Vicky. “That guy must’ve followed him,” she said, a pleading tone now. “He run him off the road and killed him. I bet he made sure he got his money out of the truck before he took off.”

  “Jackie’s truck was forced off the road?” Vicky dropped onto the chair next to Tammy.

  It was Father John’s voice behind her: “He was shot in the head.”

  “My God!” Vicky said. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “I told you. That guy in Rawlins tried to rip us off.” Tammy curled back over herself and dropped her face into her hands.

  The room was quiet a moment. Then Father John said, “The sheriff will want to talk to you.” He kept his voice low and steady.

  “Me?” Tammy’s head snapped back. She squared her shoulders. “What do I know? I told you, I should’ve been there, but I wasn’t.”

  “He’ll want to know about the man in Rawlins. Name. Address. Any other information you can give him.”

  Tammy squeezed her eyes shut and started sobbing again. Her thin chest rose and fell in spasms beneath the red tee shirt. It was a moment before she took the tissue that Alice Berkel held out to her and began swabbing at her cheeks. “It was Jackie’s deal.” She was staring straight ahead across the desk. “He was the one sold the harness. I didn’t have no part of it.”

  “The sheriff will still need your statement,” Vicky said. “It could help him find the man.”

  Tammy took a moment before she started nodding, the way she might have nodded at the inevitability of a thunderstorm moving in. “It’s gonna kill Grandma,” she said.

  “We think it’s best not to tell her.” Alice Berkel glanced over Tammy’s head at Vicky. “I’ve explained to Father John that Mrs. Running Fast is in and out of consciousness, and she’s very weak. She’s hoping to see her grandson again before she dies. I’m sure the family would agree that there isn’t any reason to rob her of hope in the little time she has left.”

  Vicky nodded. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, Grandmother Anna already knew.

  * * *

  The call came about eight o’clock that evening. Vicky had just finished some Chinese takeout at the kitchen counter in her apartment in Lander when the phone started ringing over the music of Clint Black on the CD player. She turned down the volume and lifted the receiver, some part of her knowing what she was about to hear. She could feel her stomach muscles clench, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick.

  “Ms. Holden?” It was Alice Berkel’s voice, as steady as a recording. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you that your grandmother passed away a few minutes ago.” She paused. “Ms. Holden?” she said again when Vicky didn’t say anything.

  “Was anyone with her?” Vicky walked around the counter and sat down at the dining table. It was so sad to die alone. She should have stayed longer with Grandmother Anna, but she and Father John had been concerned about Tammy. They had walked her outside and offered to drive her to Grandmother’s house. She’d insisted that she was fine. Down the elevator, through the lobby, and across the parking lot to the U-Haul truck, wiping at her tears the whole time. She needed some time; that was all. She wanted to be alone.

  Vicky had gone back to Grandmother Anna’s room, and Father John had come with her. But Grandmother Anna had seemed to be asleep. She’d looked peaceful, and they hadn’t wanted to disturb her. They’d shut the door quietly and left her alone.

  “Mrs. Running Fast didn’t die alone.” The voice at the other end of the line cut into Vicky’s thoughts. She felt the wave of relief rush over her like a warm gust of wind.

  “Fortunately, her other granddaughter was with her.”

  “Tammy?”

  “She returned shortly after you left. Said she wanted to stay with her grandmother. But when Mrs. Running Fast’s heart gave out, well . . . it was more than the poor girl could take. She came running into the office crying. Collapsed in the chair. Naturally the nurses went immediately into Mrs. Running Fast’s room. They confirmed that she was gone. Tammy was inconsolable. Such a shock, losing her husband and her grandmother in the same day!”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She ran out of here a little while ago. She really shouldn’t be alone in the state she’s in.” A long sigh came down the line. “I can’t imagine where she might have gone to.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find her,” Vicky said. Then, before she hung up, she asked the woman to call the elder Will Standing Bear and Father John and ask them to bless Grandmother Anna’s body. Five minutes later she was in her Jeep driving north to the reservation.

  * * *

  Plunkett Road ran straight ahead, disappearing into the darkness beyond the yellow sweep of headlights. The lights in Grandmother Anna’s house glowed in the distance, like the beacon of a lighthouse rising over the dark sea of the plains. Vicky slowed as she neared the turnoff. Parked in the bare dirt yard was the U-Haul truck. Then she saw the faint light winking in the windows of the house across the road. She drove ahead a few yards, turned right, and bounced across the dirt to the little rectangular house with white siding and a wooden stoop with sloping steps at the front door.

  It was several seconds before Grandmother Mamie cracked the door about an inch and peered out. “Vicky!” she said, hauling the door back into the shadows of the living room. Light flickered from a mute TV somewhere. “I was hoping you’d come.”

  Vicky stepped inside. She was surprised at the strength and determination in Grandmother Mamie’s thin arms as they wrapped around her and drew her close, the way they had drawn her close when she was a child. She held on for a long time before she let her go. “Phone’s been ringing for an hour,” she said. Her voice was raspy, as if she’d been crying. “Everybody’s talking about how Jackie got killed and how Anna’s gone now.”

  “I’ll miss her,” Vicky said. The truth of it struck her like an unexpected blow. She would miss the past filled with people like her own grandparents and Grandmother Anna and Grandmother Mamie. It was as if part of her own life were slipping away. She blinked back the moisture thickening in her eyes.

  “I saw her just yesterday,” Grandmother Mamie said. She was as small and slight as ever, with the same silvery hair framing her narrow face, the same pinpricks of light in her brown eyes. “That white woman at the counter wanted to know if I was family,” she went on. “Yeah, Anna and me are sisters, I told her. Only she was never gonna understand the Arapaho Way, so I didn’t say anything else. She let me see her. It was the last time.”

  Mamie started to cry then, long, choking sobs that shook her narrow shoulders. Vicky put her a
rm around the old woman and led her past the TV to the sofa. She waited while Mamie pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her blouse and dabbed at her eyes. When she leaned back against the cushion, Vicky asked whether Anna had ever mentioned Jackie’s wife.

  For a long moment, Mamie stared at the two vacant chairs across the room. Finally she said, “We had a real good visit before she had to go into the hospital. Spent all afternoon sitting here talking. She told me Jackie got mixed up with some white woman named Tammy. Kept following her around the country. They were always on the move, that woman and Jackie after her. Gonna hit it big here, there, and everywhere. Never lightin’ anywhere, just running, running to the next big deal. Suited Jackie just fine, ’cause he never liked staying in one place anyway. But Tammy was worse than him. He couldn’t keep up with her, Anna said. Like trying to keep up with a whirlwind.”

  “Neyo:xe’t,” Vicky said, remembering now. “It means whirlwind.”

  “You remember the story?” Grandmother Mamie turned toward Vicky. Her dark eyes danced with surprise and even a hint of joy. “Whirlwind was always running, running, and the man that loved her went running after her. Until . . .” Her features became rigid. She raised her hand and covered her mouth, as if she wanted to stop the rest of it.

  “She killed him,” Vicky said. And Grandmother Anna had sensed the truth of it, she was thinking.

  “It’s only a story,” Mamie said. She was waving her hand, pushing the story away. “One of the old stories.”

  Vicky took a moment before she said, “Did Anna mention why Jackie and Tammy decided to come back to the rez to live?”

  “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “Tammy told me they planned to live in Anna’s house. She’s there now. The U-Haul is parked in the yard.”

  The old woman looked back at the chairs across the room. “Anna told me she wrote Jackie a long letter.” She was speaking slowly, as if she were listening in on the conversation from an afternoon two weeks ago and repeating it word for word. “Told him that after she was gone, the house was gonna be his. She was hoping he might be ready to come home and settle down, give up all that runnin’ around. She told him her time was getting close. Three days later, they put her in the hospital. Next thing I heard, they moved her to the hospice floor so she could die.”