Knocking on Heaven's Door

by Sharman Apt Russell

  Lucia had not, but when she looked, she agreed. There seemed to be a straggler in the herd. Brad could almost taste the sizzling fat.

  Which was their undoing, the sizzling fat in the campfire and thin wisps of smoke from cooking that night and the next night, curing jerky. Afterward, Lucia berated herself, but really what could they have done—lived like animals without cooked meat?

  Brad found the round circle of grass to the west, not far from the campsite. He was hunting alone this time and hoping for something small like a javelina when he saw the wreath hanging from the branch of an old oak, a solitary giant on the yellow plain. Three bundles of long-stemmed grama had been braided and tied together, an easy enough message: the Round River people had stopped here.

  Looking for footprints, Brad found those, too, four adults. They seemed fresh, although he was not an expert in tracking, not able like some to guess the weight of a person from the indentation of the heel. He could, of course, follow the tracks through the grass and along the game trail. When the prints turned and headed toward the canyon where Clare, Lucia, Dog, and Elise waited for him, he began to run, bursting through the screen of cottonwoods to their cleared site with its ramada and campfire, rack of jerky, and scatter of debris.

  Clare had been sewing, and her bone awl and pieces of leather lay dropped on the ground beside Brad’s solarcomp and a willow basket half-done. Clare was standing, a hand on her stomach. She looked miserable. Lucia sat beside a pile of greens, picking the leaves from the tougher stems, trying not to seem worried. Elise and Dog were nowhere in sight.

  Four hunters from the Round River people were also standing, forming a half circle facing Clare. They still had on their packs as if they had just arrived. Or as if no one had yet asked them to sit. They seemed to be talking all at once but stopped when Brad rushed into the clearing.

  “Brad!” Clare said. “We have visitors.”

  The two women and two men gave friendly smiles, nodding heads and keeping their spear hands lowered. They were tall, sturdy, and brown-haired. Brad also lowered his hands, his spear pointed down as he went over to stand by Clare.

  “We saw your smoke last night,” one of the men said. “We’ve just come to say hello.”

  “They know my cousins.” Clare also tried to smile. The effect was awful.

  “Is the birth near?” one of the women asked. “We can help.”

  Still no one asked the hunters to sit.

  Where was Elise? Brad looked around, trying to be discreet. Where was Dog?

  Clare shook her head slightly. What did that mean?

  “We have all the help we need,” Lucia spoke up. Her voice sounded musical, quite like an elder. “We’re grateful for the offer, but the truth is, we’d prefer to be alone now. We’re sorry to be inhospitable. We can’t even offer you food.”

  “What?” one of the men said, confused.

  “This is just the way it is,” Lucia replied reassuringly. “This is a personal matter. You need to leave. We need to be alone.”

  “Your cousins …” the woman began.

  “Tell them hello for me,” Clare interrupted. “I’ll email them soon.”

  “Mommy, can I come out now?” Elise’s voice sounded from near the drying rack, and Brad understood. She was there in plain sight. The frame of saplings with its string of horse meat would not normally hide a child, only someone like Elise who could turn invisible behind a column of molecules. Elise was listening eagerly to the conversation. Elise could barely keep still, no matter what her mother had told her.

  “No,” Clare said sharply.

  The Round River people glanced at each other.

  “No, Elise!” Brad heard himself say.

  “Mommy!” Elise whined and materialized.

  Now there were gasps, high pitched from one woman, lower from the men. The second woman was silent but actually raised her spear. As Elise floated forward, the four hunters jostled back. The little girl glowed slightly. Her feet didn’t touch the ground. Her dark curly hair twisted and twined in the air like snakes. Brad moved closer to Clare, who had turned visibly pale and who might even fall. He dropped his spear and prepared to catch her.

  “I want to meet them,” Elise said plaintively.

  Lucia was standing, picking up Brad’s spear, and speaking to the hunters, “You have to go now.”

  The hunters were talking all together, a swell of chatter like frightened birds.

  “What should I do?” Dog spoke to Brad.

  “We have to drive them away,” Brad said. “Lucia and I will help. Get the animals.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CLARE

  Before the visitors came, Clare had been making a sling for the baby, using some leather from a deer’s hide for the back and front and rabbit fur for the inside, where the baby would sleep against her breasts. She was making the kind of sling in which the child could face in, legs tucked against the mother’s ribs, or face out, legs kicking in the air as passing adults smiled and cooed, and the baby smiled and cooed, interacting with the world.

  For the front panel on the sling, Clare wanted the design of a swallow. Swallows were friendly birds not afraid of humans but swooping close as if to see—what are these humans doing? Sometimes swallows built their nests in human structures like ramadas or the adobe corridors of the lab. Moreover, swallows were easy to draw and recognize with their long forked tails. Clare had been using the bone awl to prick dots forming a line, the pattern of this bird in leather. Later she would fill in these holes with the black dye of devil’s claw. She would use another dye, yellow from rabbitbrush, for the rump. She didn’t have purple for the head and wings. Maybe she would use brown from walnut or a bit of cochineal if she wanted an accent of red.

  It was important to keep doing her usual activities, to make art and decorate clothes and sing at night. Almost every day, Brad combed her hair so it was smooth and untangled, and she saw that Lucia did the same for herself, keeping neat and clean, brushing her teeth, plaiting her braid with flowers. In some ways, they were all simply part of a smaller tribe now, counting Elise and Dog—five fingers like the strength of a hand. Should she count Dog? Yes, yes, of course, if she wanted to count Elise.

  Nearby, close enough to reach out and touch—if Clare could reach out and touch anything over her stomach!—Lucia sat on the ground, picking through mustard and beebalm, discarding the tougher portions and putting aside the rest for dinner. Clare felt grateful again that Lucia had some experience with birthing. The old woman had even helped at Brad’s birth. That was a nice coincidence and perhaps meaningful. A good sign. Clare let herself think so. (Jon would see it as a sign, but she didn’t want to think about Jon.)

  “Lucia?” she asked, just to talk. “Can you see Elise?”

  The woman shifted, leaned forward, and settled back, nodding. “She’s outside the cave, with Dog.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “I wish I knew,” Lucia spoke darkly but then smiled. “Nothing, I’m sure. Playing one of their games.”

  “Do you think Elise …” Clare didn’t know how to say this. Would Elise ever stop playing games? She couldn’t grow physically. Clare understood that now. She understood what she had agreed to—what she had gotten back. Her daughter alive. But not quite the same daughter. Not quite human. Not a child who would ever physically grow into a teenager or a young woman. But mentally? Could Elise mature in some way as she acquired new experiences?

  Clare let herself hope. Elise was smart. Dog was smart. Dog would teach her to be more like Dog, to keep her shape and feel solid under human touch, warm and breathing like any little girl. Maybe they could join with a northern tribe, people who didn’t know them, who thought they were bushkies living alone. Maybe that was unrealistic. Maybe one day they could go back to the Council and explain. Brad was persuasive. He could be so charming. The Council would see that nothing really bad had happened. Yes, Brad had brought back the unique consciousness of Dog and Elise. That was wrong
. But that was the end of it. He would promise never to do anything like that again. They would both promise. They would live at the lab. Maybe that was unrealistic. But they couldn’t live with her tribe. Clare knew that. Not with Elise. Not with Jon. Maybe they would be allowed to live at peace on their own. That would be their punishment, to be their own small tribe, not harming anyone and not being harmed. She would be allowed to visit her family and friends. To see her mother and father and grandmother. As time passed, as this new child grew up to be a man, he would be allowed to return to her people. After all, none of this was his fault. He was innocent.

  Clare could see Lucia watching her. Clare had never finished her question about Elise, but Lucia didn’t seem to expect that. Lucia seemed to know how Clare’s thoughts got sidetracked now (how she thought more than usual in parentheses, like some of her students, María, Alice, Dimitri … what were they doing now, what were they thinking?), how she couldn’t finish one idea before starting another, how she lived round and round between worry and hope.

  Annoyed, Clare struggled out of that circle. She was a writing teacher, after all. She could reason and analyze. Putting down the sling, she asked, “Where do you think Elise was before Brad brought her back?”

  “Ah,” Lucia was interested. “I’ve wondered about that. What happens to our unique consciousness when we die? We have always thought that it dissolves naturally, consciousness into consciousness, part of everything. Apparently it also exists in some dormant state as long as there is DNA.” Lucia paused. “Maybe exist is too strong a word. It remains as potential.”

  “The elders say humans are the consciousness of the universe reflecting on itself.”

  Lucia pointed over to Dog. “Now we’re not the only ones,” she said dryly. The midwife was in one of her moods.

  Soon after, they heard voices. It happened so fast, men and women calling out the traditional loud greetings before entering a strange camp. Clare recognized the dialect almost immediately. The Round River people. Elise floated down from the cave, and Clare told her to hide behind the drying rack. “Don’t move or speak until I say you can!” Dog had already disappeared. The Round River voices came closer. Clare answered back, tremulously, standing up, holding her stomach. It’s okay, she told the new baby. It’s okay.

  Suddenly Brad was there. Lucia took charge. Clare remembered one of the women. (They had met long ago, that summer with her cousins and uncle, the wildflowers so spectacular—she had wanted to weep with joy—and now apparently she, Clare, was no longer someone the other woman recognized.) Clare was about to speak. Remember when? Then Brad said, “No, Elise!” And Clare despaired. Couldn’t Elise behave this one time? Clare felt a stab in her side, a painful ripple. Brad was right there. He wouldn’t let her fall. Not now, she told the new baby.

  The Round River people were shouting. But perhaps the woman would understand. They had traveled together. They had been friends. Clare decided to speak to her directly. She knew what to say: There is no reason to be afraid. Remember the summer we walked the game trails together? Remember how we laughed and made fun of my tall camel-cousin? You liked him then. Remember the camel’s dance? This is my child Elise. My little girl. Let us offer you food. Let us sit down together. There is no reason to be afraid.

  But before she could open her mouth, a direwolf rushed into the scene. That had happened once before, Clare thought irrelevantly. But this time Dog could do nothing since he wasn’t physically here. This time Lucia suddenly held a spear. This time Brad was shouting at her, “Sit down. Get down!” He practically pushed Clare into the dirt and then he was waving his arms as a herd of golden animals streamed through the campsite.

  Elise shrieked with excitement. Clare saw a deer and a bear and a camel. She saw a small cat. She saw a saber-toothed cat huge and menacing and golden! She understood they were all like Elise. They were the animals Brad had brought back earlier, what he had described when he first told his story. She had thought them long gone, scattered across the plain. She had decided to forget about them. She had decided her world was too small for them (her world not much bigger than her belly).

  Where had they been hiding? What were they doing?

  The Round River people screamed and fled, their packs bouncing. We can’t stay here, Clare thought from the ground like some helpless beetle set on its back. As soon as they could, the Round River people would email the rest of the tribes, let everyone know what they had seen, what had chased them away, and where they were. Not everyone would believe the entire story. But they would believe the part about Clare and Brad. Her mother would believe, and her grandmother would believe. Her tribe would send someone after her. Jon would volunteer. Jon was coming.

  She had to leave the birthing cave. All that nice moss and bed of leaves.

  Clare trudged under the hot sun. Thunderstorms built in the western sky, dark clouds billowing into white pillars. Perhaps later there would be rain. One step, two step. Lucia and Brad had all their supplies. She didn’t even carry her own water. All she had to do was walk, trudge, move forward. That wasn’t so hard even though it felt like she were moving through air as heavy as regret, knee-deep in a river, her feet being pulled from behind. One, two. One, two. The feet in her womb kicked. Brad whispered, “You should rest, you should drink.” Nag, nag, nag.

  Clare wasn’t interested in arguing. Her stomach had not yet settled, rippling still, a small knife poking her from inside. But she was fine. She was fine, still two weeks away from giving birth. Water was easier to find in the rainy season. There was always some hole, some spring. Better to travel now, while she could. Better to get away as far as they could. Lucia was in charge of erasing their tracks, and perhaps that wasn’t truly possible. Perhaps any good tracker could find them if he wanted. Or maybe a good summer rain would help them out. Maybe no one would come for days or weeks. Maybe Jon didn’t care anymore. Maybe that was unrealistic. Still, there were so many possibilities.

  Clare wasn’t going to stay and wait. If she had to, she would have the baby on the plain of yellow grass. Lucia could build a shelter. Clare would have the baby and rest and then they would keep moving, Elise by her side, the new baby in the sling across her chest. The sling with the swallow, the pattern unfinished.

  And it would be over. That would be done. Clare couldn’t think past that moment. Lucia thought they should head south. That was fine. Clare didn’t care where they went. She couldn’t think of everything or make all the decisions. Not now—she felt a jab, the knife. Not now, she told the new baby.

  Where Are You? submitted by María Escobar

  Dear teacher, I am just wondering where you are? You will be glad to know that the elders in my tribe have decided I can take my long quest even though we have not heard from you in a very long time. The elders themselves looked at my work and said it was okay. I think they talked to the elders in your tribe. Everyone is concerned about you. I go next week and I will be gone almost two months! That is a long time for a first long quest. I think it shows a lot of confidence in me. My best friend Carlos is coming too and I couldn’t be happier. I hope you are also happy and well.

  One Last Question, submitted by Dimitri Wu

  I understand that you are not my teacher anymore and that our class has been disbanded, at least for a while. I am saddened by this because I think I was learning a lot. My writing skills were improving and I felt that some of your assignments had really made me think about things I hadn’t thought about before. Not all the assignments, of course, but some of them.

  My last question to you concerns something very upsetting that is happening in my tribe. Someone (who I will not name here) wants us to start using guns to protect ourselves from the tigers in this area which have grown more numerous. This person’s son died from the attack of a tiger and was eaten and so this person has very strong feelings. The rest of us have strong feelings, too. This is against The Return, against our pact with the earth! This person says we should use guns in self-defense to ki
ll the tigers who have grown to depend on and demand human flesh. He says we should not use the viral-powered or even the nanoguns but only the old ones, from the twenty-first century, with their bullets and simple mechanical parts. We don’t have any of these guns now, of course, but he says he can scavenge them. He knows where they are and he could learn to repair them easily. He says we would only need a few, for protection, to save our children.

  But I say no to him and his allies. Because where will that end? This is a matter being discussed among the elders, and I know about this because my grandfather is an elder. He does not think we will ever take this to the Council because it is so clearly a bad idea. He says that people have had these ideas before and they are always dismissed because they are bad ideas. Still I worry. I worry in my soul. What do you think? I feel sure you will agree with me.

  Some Strange News and a Confession, submitted by Carlos Salas

  I heard about something very strange recently and immediately wanted to write you a paper on this topic. Apparently you have left your tribe, and no one knows why or when you will return. In the meantime you are not accepting any more papers from us. I will tell you the truth: At first, this made me angry. It seemed that you should say good-bye to your students and not leave us so concerned about your well-being. Then I realized that maybe you had no choice or that even if you did have a choice—and you chose not to contact us—there was nothing I could do about it either way. I could only choose to be angry or not. I decided as a Quaker not to be upset and simply to do what I really wanted to do—which is to keep writing to you whenever I feel like it even if you can’t or don’t or won’t answer back.