Disposition of Remains

by Laura T. Emery

  “This is incredible!” I gushed.

  “Just wait; it gets better.”

  Wilbur then began to fly down into the canyon. It was unnerving at first, but then I saw it. It looked like some sort of island paradise at the base of the Canyon—a misplaced movie set. There were beautiful waterfalls that were an unnaturally gorgeous blue.

  “What is this place? The land that time forgot?”

  “Do you really not know?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s Havasupai,” Wilbur explained with a stupefied expression.

  I was suddenly overwhelmed with alarm and dread.

  “No, stop! We—we can’t go there,” I stammered as I shook my head. My mother had never wanted me to visit her home. She’d warned me over and over again throughout my childhood. The only thing I really knew about being Native American was that one respects his elders. I desperately wanted to respect my mother’s wishes, but then as I saw how breathtaking Havasupai was, curiosity got the better of me. Wilbur could read the change in my facial expression.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered about your roots?” Wilbur asked cautiously.

  “Yes…and no. My mother painted a dismal picture of reservation life. She wanted us to live the American Dream. She warned me to never look back—bad things would happen,” I yelled over the roar of the helicopter’s engine.

  “What sort of bad things?”

  “I never knew, but she raised me to believe there was some kind of evil to our past. My mother was all I had, so I didn’t want to push too hard. Besides, she made it clear I was never going to get any more out of her. She was emphatic that the past be kept in the past. I didn’t even know what tribe she was from until I found her birth certificate after she died. I’m not sure I feel right about being here.”

  “No disrespect to your mom, but there’s nothing evil here. This is an incredible place with decent people. I think you owe it to yourself to form your own impression. I’m sure your mother would understand,” Wilbur said just as we were touching down.

  There was no more waffling to do. I would either have to get out and face my heritage, or stay put and remain in denial about everything: my past and my future.

  As we climbed out of the helicopter, a young Native man approached us, eyeing me curiously. I felt delusions of persecution as he looked me up and down in a you don’t belong here sort of way. But he was personable enough—at least toward Wilbur.

  “Wilbur, my man, greetings!” he enthused as he bumped knuckles with Wilbur.

  “Stacia, this is Jimmy. He works in the Supai Lodge.”

  “Welcome to Havasupai, and the people of the blue-green waters,” Jimmy said with a forced half smile.

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful here.” I gushed.

  Jimmy stared at me blankly.

  “Jimmy, I don’t suppose you have any room at the lodge?” Wilbur asked.

  “Come on, Wilbur—you know this is our busiest time of year…”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Thought I’d ask just in case.”

  “Well, come to think of it, I did have a couple cancel this morning. Do you want their room?”

  “Just one?” I queried, wondering to myself whether I was worried about Wilbur taking advantage of me, or vice-versa.

  “Yes, only one. Very busy this time of year,” Jimmy repeated.

  As Wilbur turned in my direction, I tried to wipe the look of concern from my face, but he picked up on it anyway.

  “I have a better idea,” Wilbur offered. “Are you up for a hike?”

  “Uh…Okay. Sure,” I managed, dreading what might be waiting for me at the end of the hike.

  “Wait here, Stacia; I’ll be right back,” Wilbur said as he motioned Jimmy to follow him toward the lodge.

  As the boys headed off to conspire over whatever plan Wilbur was hatching, I took in my surroundings. “My tribe” was completely isolated in Cataract Canyon, a branch of the Grand Canyon itself. Sheer red sandstone walls shot up from the ground four hundred feet into the majestic sky. There were no paved roads, cars, or reservation casinos. They were totally cut off from the outside world.

  I would have expected a tribe located in such an isolated place to be somewhat primitive: sleeping in tepees, rain dancing in traditional Native garb, and grinding maize with a mortar and pestle. I thought everyone would be named Dances with Wolves and the like, rather than just plain old Jimmy. That didn’t appear to be the case at all.

  The lodge didn’t look like The Ritz, but it was a modern structure. Jimmy was a Native with long hair, but was dressed in simple jeans and a T-shirt. I suddenly felt ashamed for making such ignorant and cliché assumptions about my own people.

  Wilbur returned a few minutes later with a couple of backpacks he borrowed from the lodge. Reminding myself to go with the flow, we said our goodbyes to Jimmy, and I followed Wilbur without question.

  As we began our hike I thought about how every moment of my life before that last week had been planned out, first by my mother, then by Evan. And even though Wilbur was calling the shots, it was different; he was inviting me to journey with him, to become more enlightened alongside him. He wasn’t ordering or demanding, manipulating or forcing. He actually saw me and wanted to spend time with me. Still, my cynical nature kept gnawing at me. I couldn’t help but wonder what motivation would this attractive and apparently successful man have for spending his time with someone like me. I cringed at the thought of appearing like some poor lost puppy that needed guidance from a do-gooder who wanted to make himself feel better. That inner voice that told me I was good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it people like me! had long since been buried under a bedrock of capitulation, pandering, and an overwhelming need for peace at all costs. I decided that I was only going along because I thought it was worth the investment of my increasingly precious time.

  “The Havasupai still have their mail delivered by mule,” Wilbur explained as we continued through the reservation. “They make most of their income from tourism, but the area isn’t overwhelmed with tourists because it’s so difficult to get here. It’s a ten-mile hike from where we started, and whoever dares to make the trek down does so with full knowledge that he’ll have to climb back up eventually. And uphill here is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Well, thanks to you and your helicopter, we got here in ten minutes.”

  “Yeah, I figured a ten-mile hike might take some fun out of the surprise. Although it is still a two-mile hike to the campground.”

  “It’s all right; I’m learning to enjoy the outside world,” I said as I gazed off into the distance.

  We were surrounded by intricate rock formations and the smell of purity and green. Two miles was just fine.

  “The Havasupai maintain a lot of traditional beliefs. They believe that if a man or a woman sees a person of the opposite sex urinate, one of them will die unless they say, ‘It’s going to witch us, and we don’t want that.’”

  I was quick to contribute “It’s going to witch us, and we really don’t want that—whatever that means.”

  “It means that we should probably pee alone, so as not to piss off the spirits…pun intended.”

  After the two-mile hike, we found ourselves up close and personal with the incredible blue-green waters of Havasu Falls. It was like a fairytale land, with the waterfall careening down over the lacey, dusty-red rock formations.

  “Are we allowed to go in the water? Or is that bad juju?” I wondered aloud.

  “Yes, but unfortunately, it’s not as much of a clothing-optional place as Sedona.”

  “I just happen to have a bathing suit,” I offered cheerfully as I spun on my heel.

  I darted behind a tree and rummaged around in my backpack until I’d located my recent casino gift shop purchase. I realized how silly it was to be concerned that all I had was a tiny bikini after Wilbur had already seen the full monty. But still, I felt self-conscious. After I finished changing, I attempted to suck in my stomac
h, but the mass in my lower abdomen appeared to have taken on a life of its own. I felt like it was actually becoming noticeable.

  As I timidly emerged from behind the tree, I found Wilbur waiting for me, clad in only swim trunks. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was checking me out.

  I tried to take an especially long time gauging the temperature of the water with my fingertips, so as to allow Wilbur an extended view of my backside bending over. After about thirty seconds, I couldn’t resist jumping into the heavenly aquamarine pool before me. It was surprisingly warm.

  We frolicked like children for a little while, laughing as we splashed each other. Suddenly, Wilbur’s smiling face grew serious.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Okay…” I replied, a little afraid of what the question might be.

  “You seem to be doing everything you can to get away from your husband, but you have been with him for what—seventeen years? Why did it take you so long?”

  “I guess I’m…a really slow learner,” I somehow managed.

  The last thing I wanted to talk about was Evan. It was about as fun as pondering death. Evan managed to ruin everything without even being present. But then I realized that after all I had put him through in the past few days, Wilbur deserved a more comprehensive answer.

  “Evan had a way of keeping me in a box. I hated being tethered to him, but he made me afraid to be without him too. I guess it was a form of Stockholm syndrome: I was dependent on my captor. I suppose I allowed myself to be put in that position. I have no extended family, no one to turn to. When I lost my mother, Evan was all I had left.”

  “You must have some family here. The Havasupai are a pretty tight-knit community and they take care of their own. I can’t imagine that you don’t have a single relative.”

  I shook my head, saddened by the thought.

  “My mother told me that she was the last of her clan, or rather that I am. She said the others are all dead. But regardless, I know now that I don’t want to go back to Evan, even if I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  I realized I was speaking as much to myself as I was to Wilbur. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t even want to imagine what horrifying things were in store for me if I tried to face Evan again. But for brief moments, when I would forget about Evan and my impending demise, I felt free—unfettered from the constraints that Evan had placed on me, and from the ones I had accepted for myself.

  “If you’re willing to hang around for a bit, Jimmy told me that they’re having a powwow the day after tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I’ve got nothing but time,” I lied. “What exactly is a powwow?”

  I noticed the corners of Wilbur’s mouth drop a little.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ve heard the term, but what exactly does it entail?”

  “I feel really weird explaining a powwow to a Native American. Should I be waiting for the cameraman to jump out and tell me I’m on some reality show?” Wilbur said as he glanced dramatically over each of his shoulders.

  “Yes, so don’t make a fool out of yourself!” I laughed.

  He grabbed my face between his hands and turned it in both directions.

  “I’m trying to see which is your best side…y’know, for the camera.”

  I couldn’t believe how tender his hands felt against my skin. For the first time in forever I felt reassured, protected. I wanted him to pull me into those big, strong arms and hold me tight, to tell me everything was going to be okay—that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me—not Evan, not cancer, not the end of the Mayan calendar.

  The look on my face must have betrayed my thoughts as Wilbur pulled away quickly and diverted his eyes, assuming an air of nonchalance, as if we hadn’t just shared a tender moment.

  “A powwow, Stacia, is a gathering of Native people from North America. It comes from the Narragansett word powwaw, meaning ‘spiritual leader.’ It’s like church for them. They sing and dance as others might pray and worship. Modern powwows are also meant to educate non-Natives, like me, about Native culture.”

  “I don’t really sing or dance…but I don’t usually swim naked with strange men either, so what the heck.”

  “But you’re not naked this time.”

  “Wrong,” I grinned.

  As he looked back at me, I stood mostly under water holding my wadded bathing suit in one hand. The look of shock on Wilbur’s face was priceless. I had never been a flirt, but somehow it came naturally to me in his presence. Something about him just made me want to take my clothes off.

  Wilbur glanced in both directions again to reassure himself that we were alone. As he did so, I jumped out, threw a towel about my body, and giggled. He burrowed his face in his hands and shook his head. It was fun to flirt with him because it was harmless; there was no way he and I could ever be romantically involved.

  “You’re killing me,” he groaned.

  I wasn’t killing him; I was empowering myself. This picturesque hunk of a man was actually suffering somewhat at my behest. For a moment, he was my marionette, and for once, I was the puppeteer. I was toying with masculinity for sport.

  “Maybe, we should get something to eat,” he sighed.

  I looked around, suddenly aware that we hadn’t packed any real provisions.

  “What’s on the menu, Nature Boy—sticks and rocks?”

  “I’m sure I could rustle up some of those,” Wilbur replied. “Or we could just go back and eat at the lodge.”

  “I think I’d prefer the latter.”

  We ducked behind our respective trees to change. Afterward, we took a few minutes to set up a campsite near the falls, and then began our two-mile trek back to the lodge.

  “The café, which is the one and only place to eat here, isn’t known for its speedy service—just to warn you.”

  “Got somewhere you need to be?” I replied, fully aware than an extended dinner could quickly devolve into awkward city.

  “Um…”

  He seemed slightly baffled by what I’d intended to be a rhetorical question.

  “I’m sure I’ll survive the wait,” I quipped without revealing that for me, food was nothing more than a necessary fuel, not an actual experience I looked forward to. My appetite had waned significantly since the onset of my tumor.

  After the less-than-chipper Native hostess seated us in a window booth, Wilbur introduced me to our waiter, Billy, who, like Jimmy, gave me a curious look. I began to notice that none of the Havasupai really communicated any more than absolutely necessary. They were a people of few words—such a contrast from the typical American who will blather on about nothing just to hear his own voice.

  We placed our orders, both opting for the relative safety of hamburgers and fries.

  “How many times have you been to Havasupai?” I asked Wilbur as we waited patiently for our dinner.

  “I’m not sure. Countless times. This is one of the travel destinations my company offers. We only provide transportation though. The Havasupai own everything down here.”

  “Where else do you go?”

  “The closest is a place called Vermilion Cliffs on the Arizona–Nevada border. We guide people on the two-and-a-half-mile hike—the only way in. Can’t even bring the helicopter there. Only twenty people are allowed in per day to maintain the integrity of the sandstone. It’s called The Wave, and it’s incredibly beautiful. There are ribbons of different-colored rock that flow together in waves like the ocean. It’s said to have formed in the Jurassic period.”

  “Wow, sounds pretty cool!” I enthused, thinking that might be a good addition to my bucket list. “So your business is all in Arizona, then?”

  “Actually, I mostly go abroad, but I started in Arizona, so I keep a few places here. My house is in Arizona…I guess so is my heart.”

  “How involved are you in the day-to-day business?” I asked neutrally.

  “Not as much anymore, although I do enjoy dropping in and surprising my em
ployees once in a while. I find I’d rather spend my time with the people I’ve met along the way, or discovering new places.”

  “Sounds tough,” I noted sarcastically as Billy dropped off a pair of leathery burgers and limp fries.

  “I can’t complain. Life’s been pretty good to me.”

  We ate in silence. I’d been having a great time with Wilbur but I realized that we shared almost nothing in common. He was this accomplished, well-traveled, worldly man, and most of what I knew about the world was what I’d gleaned from books or the Internet. I yearned to be more like Wilbur. I hadn’t traveled at all. Evan frequently took business trips that he would never really describe, and about which I had stopped asking years before. All I knew was that I was never invited, and after a while, I ceased to care. I became thankful for the alone time.

  After dinner, we hiked back to the camp—slowly, this time. It was dusk, and an incredible hour to behold Havasu Falls. We strolled in silence, admiring the reflection of the dim moonlight on the crystal waters. Wilbur pulled our sleeping bags out from our tents so we could sleep under the star-spangled sky. I had to admit that being away from the smog of Los Angeles and being able to actually see stars in the heavens was something I’d desperately wanted to experience. I wished upon a shooting star that turned out to be merely a satellite as Wilbur pointed out the various constellations. Then we quietly soaked in the sky until we drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 9