“No, sorry. She must’ve worked the day shift.”
“Actually, no. She always worked nights.”
“Not on my watch!” he chuckled, sticking out his chest out and planting his palms on his hips.
“Is there someone else who’s been here for as long as you have? Or longer?” Wilbur suggested.
“It’s all right, Wilbur,” I said dejectedly, realizing the truth. “She didn’t work here.”
We drove back to Misty’s in total silence. Wilbur was going home to Arizona in the morning. It was our last night together for the foreseeable future, but I was totally distracted by my mother’s deception. Not only had she lied about where she worked and how she was spending countless hours away from me, but she’d also had some mystery man, some replacement Russian whom she’d paraded around as her husband—someone to whom she’d never even bothered to introduce me.
As soon as we arrived at Misty’s, we climbed into bed. We lay face to face, but Wilbur didn’t utter a single word. He just stroked my hair and cheek gently and looked into my eyes. He always knew exactly what to do. I fought the tears as long as I could, but lost the battle and allowed them to stream silently down my face.
Just hours before, I’d known exactly how to proceed with the rest of my short life. But then, once again, I felt lost. I knew Wilbur couldn’t just hang around forever on my crazy adventure, but I didn’t know what I would do without him.
CHAPTER 36
I forced a smile as Wilbur said goodbye to me. I had mixed feelings about his leaving. Part of me wanted to take a firm hold of my newly acquired independence and the other part wanted to cling onto his legs like a toddler.
“You apply for that nursing job you wanted, and I’ll go catch up with the folks. I’ll see you in a couple weeks, all right?”
“Sounds good,” I agreed with false enthusiasm.
No rules. No dictatorship. I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle that much freedom, but I refused to be needy. Even still, I hugged him long and tight, molding myself into his curves as though he were going off to war.
When I finally unclamped myself, he waved, “see you soon,” and then disappeared into the dawn.
I immediately forced myself into establish-my-life mode. I didn’t want to think about the events of the prior evening, so I called Las Vegas Memorial to find out where to apply. I was told that I had to submit an online application. I needed to get a job, if for no other reason than to acquire medical insurance. The chances of my going from a fully functional member of society to one day dropping dead cost-free were unlikely. Even if I didn’t want treatment, I would still need insurance to pay for hospice care. The last thing I wanted to do was drag Misty or Wilbur down with me, financially or otherwise.
I hadn’t even attempted to seek employment in over fifteen years. I had no clue how to submit an application online. I located the website on Misty’s computer and followed the instructions, which were fairly self-explanatory until it asked me to upload a resumé. I didn’t have a resumé, nor was I in the mood to create one. I was too distracted. Why would my mother have lied to me?
I had been so looking forward to establishing myself somewhere, returning to the home of my childhood. But I had this gnawing feeling of unrest, an uneasiness that wouldn’t lift until I had received some answers. The answers, I had a feeling, were to be found back in Havasupai, the one place my mother had never wanted me to go.
I explained to Misty that I would be back; I just needed to go seek out the truth. The truth. It sounded so simple, like finding a lost set of keys or a cell phone. But truth was never simple. There was never any black and white. I would be lucky to return from Havasupai without possessing an even more muddled distortion of the truth than when I arrived there.
Misty gladly loaned her car to me, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Havasupai. Before I left, I tried my best to explain myself to Wilbur over the phone.
“Let me go with you,” he insisted.
“You just got back. I’ll be all right, Wilbur. I think I need to do this on my own.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted an audience for what I might find there, although I kept hoping there would be some reasonable explanation.
“Even though you’re a Native, Stacia, it may take a while for them to warm up to you. It’s taken me years. If you go in and blast them with questions, they may not give you any answers. But if you must, I would start with Irma. She seemed to take a liking to you.”
I loved that Wilbur didn’t argue with me. Let’s face it, I loved Wilbur and I didn’t want him to see me fall apart if I were to receive any more disturbing news about my heritage. I had based my whole life on my mother’s wishes. I had respected and emulated her and she had deceived me for what seemed like no good reason. If my life was about to end, I wanted to know what I had lived it for. Part of me also wanted to protect my mother’s name. I wished that Wilbur had not been there to witness all he already had.
It was dark when I arrived at Tusayan, located just before the entrance to the Grand Canyon, and it was still another three hours to the helipad to Havasupai. Wilbur had convinced the front desk staff at the hotel that we had stayed in several weeks prior to allow me to pay with cash. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing with unpleasant thoughts: my mother skirting around with some man who she claimed was her husband and her pushing me to become a nurse because she had supposedly been one.
Then I saw the image of Evan hitting me, and the vengeful look in his eyes. That cold-hearted bastard was the man my mother had wanted for me.
I tried to think of Wilbur, how happy we’d been. How he’d simply looked into my eyes and stroked my face to assure me that everything was going to be all right, because the actual statement would have been anything but the truth. No matter what I had convinced myself of in Africa, no matter what I did, the tumor would still live. No level of bargaining would destroy the malignant cells eating away at my insides. The cancer would still continue to consume my body until it finally raped me of my last breath.
The next morning, I patted some makeup over my bruised eye, grabbed a quick breakfast, and headed straight for the winding path to Havasupai. All of the helicopter transports were booked solid, so I started out for Havasupai on horseback instead. It was another accomplishment for me. I’d already been in a helicopter, but it was my first time on a horse—one more thing I could scratch off my disturbingly extensive list of firsts.
My Louis Vuitton backpack was a little worse for wear, but it still got a ride on a separate packhorse down the switchback path.
Four hours later I arrived, dusty and tired, in Supai Village. I was taking a walk to reacquaint myself with the place when I spotted Jimmy, the young Native man I had met when I first arrived in Havasupai with Wilbur.
“Jimmy!” I yelled as I jogged toward him, happy to see a familiar face. He had no reaction other than to look at me sideways.
“I’m Stacia. Wilbur’s friend, remember?”
“Oh, of course, welcome back,” he responded with no enthusiasm whatsoever.
“Do you have a room at the inn by any chance?”
“No, not this time of year. We’re booked for months ahead.”
“Jimmy, I’m not sure if I told you this the last time I was here: My mother was Havasupai. Her name was Nova Uqualla.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m just really anxious to get to know my heritage.”
In return for that comment, I received nothing but a blank stare.
“You were probably too young to know my mother, but do you know if she still has any family around?”
“Uqualla is a common name down here. It’s like Smith or Jones,” Jimmy muttered flatly. “I still can’t give you a room at the inn.”
At that point I guess he decided that he was done with me, seeing as he simply turned and walked away.
Okay, strike one. I decided to remain at bat and play the desperation card. Even if I wasn’t going to get any answers, I still needed a
place to sleep. I knocked on Irma’s door, which she opened while bearing an inquisitive smile.
“Hello, Irma.”
“Are you back to play Indian with us again?” she mused with a wryer smile.
“Yes, actually, I am. I’m dying, Irma. I’m dying of ovarian cancer, just like my mother,” I blurted for dramatic effect. “Modern medicine isn’t for me. I believe that being here…with my people…is the only thing that can save me. I want to see a Native medicine man. Can you help me?”
I conjured a few alligator tears.
Acting helpless and needy wasn’t difficult; I’d had a lifetime of practice. But dramatic manipulation was an entirely new trade for me.
Irma wasn’t exactly throwing her arms around me to rescue me from my desperation, but she did invite me inside. We sat together on her couch and she offered me a tissue.
“I will take you to the medicine man, but I must rest first. I often sing with him over the sick. I will sing over you tonight and we will see the medicine man in the morning. I must sing for you before a diagnosis can be made. You must rest as well. Lay here on the couch; I will get you when I’m ready.”
She shut the door to her bedroom, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I wasn’t ready for bed since it was the middle of the day, but the last thing I wanted to do was irritate Irma. She was my only hope for getting some answers.
As I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes, that eerie feeling crept over me again—the feeling that I was not alone. I tried to focus on positive things. I thought fondly of Havasu Falls, where Wilbur and I shared our first kiss. I thought about what he might be doing right then. Was he visiting his parents? Was he thinking of me?
I imagined the feel of the water, the beautiful blue-green water. I was anxious to see it again. I felt my hands run up and down over the smooth rocks. Then I was walking. I imagined myself walking along, farther, down the path to a cave. I hadn’t been to a cave in Havasupai, but I could see it clearly in my mind. There were Native drawings in front of it and I discovered more of them as I entered the cave. Inside, a man was sitting cross-legged on the ground. It was the same old phantom man who had spoken to me at the powwow, then again at the Devil’s Pool in Africa—my scary imaginary friend with the black eyes.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
This time I knew the answer.
“I want to know about my mother.”
“You will find what you seek about your mother, but why else are you here?”
“I want to be healed.”
“For what you have, there is no cure.”
Then he stood up and reached for me with both arms. His face was menacing. He looked as though he might hug me—or strangle me. I tried to get away but my feet were planted, unmovable. When he finally came close enough, he touched me, and I jumped. I looked up and saw Irma’s face hovering over mine. The narcolepsy had taken over and I’d fallen asleep after all.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I am ready.”
She placed a mat on the floor and instructed me to lie on it. Then she began to sing in a language that was incomprehensible to me. She sang the same song over and over again. I nodded off repeatedly, but each time I would wake, she was still singing. She sang to me all night. At sunrise, she abruptly stopped.
“Where is your affliction?” Irma asked, apparently unaware of where ovaries reside.
I lifted my shirt to show her my tumor. As I did, I realized that the medicine man was standing behind her. I hadn’t even noticed him come in. He said nothing to me. He just waved his hands over me several times, while muttering some incantation. He then rubbed them roughly across my lower abdomen, starting with his hands in the middle then spreading them outward. He continued this gesture for what must have been at least an hour. Then he put his face down to me and began to suck on my abdomen and blow away from me. He did this over and over. I couldn’t help but laugh, despite Irma’s insistence that I refrain from doing so. The ticklish sensation was even greater than my need to urinate after having lain on the floor all night. He glared down at me as I laughed; humor was apparently against the rules.
I crossed my legs and let him continue. Then he abruptly stopped, just as Irma had done.
“This is not what you think,” the medicine man said as he motioned toward my tumor. “You have…gas.”
Then he stood up and walked out. I wanted to protest. Gas? What the hell? And why does everyone just walk away like that? I wanted some answers, dammit!
I took that moment to relieve myself before I peed my pants, at which point my stomach began to rumble. Even though my stomach was bloated, I believed the rumbling was more from hunger than gas.
When I returned to Irma’s living room, I discovered that she had left as well. I looked all over the small house for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I left to go in search of her, and wound up in front of the inn. It seemed like a good time to get something to eat, so I went inside.
It was Billy who waited on me once again.
“I’m a friend of Irma’s. Have you seen her?” I asked Billy. “I was with her, then she just took off. Do you know where she might have gone?”
“If she’s not at her house, she’s probably at the cave,” he said with about as much facial expression as a rock.
“Cave? What cave? By Havasu Falls?”
“Yup.”
There really was a cave. I ate my breakfast in a hurry, then embarked upon the two-mile hike to the Falls. From there, I followed the path from my dream. It was like a weird déjà vu. Wilbur must have taken me there, but if he had, why couldn’t I remember it?
I wound down the path, pushing away tree branches to prevent them from smacking my black eye. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the coyote standing in the middle of the path. He looked right into my eyes, and then glibly trotted off. As I watched him amble through the trees, I could just make it out. Hidden in the distance, was the cave from my dream. I walked closer and, holding my breath, I entered the cave. I found Irma sitting inside, cross-legged, just like the man in my dream.
“Irma?” I whispered.
“Yes, Stacia.”
“I dreamed of this place. When you woke me yesterday. I was here.”
“You had a vision.”
“I guess I did.”
“This is a sacred place, but many of our people fear it. They will not come near.”
“But you’re not afraid?”
“No. The spirits talk to me here. They tell me what I need to do. They told me you were coming to Havasupai.”
I wanted to believe her, but it all seemed so far-fetched.
“I saw a man here, and he spoke to me,” I confessed.
She laughed.
“The old devil talked to you, did he? What did he have to say?”
“He said that I would find out what I need to know about my mother here.”
She turned and looked squarely at me.
“And so you will. What do you want to know?”
I repeated everything my mother had told me: that my father had died when I was a baby and how she ordered me to stay away from Havasupai. I explained that my mother led me to believe that she’d been spending her nights at the hospital as a nurse, when in fact, she had been working at the Imperial Palace as a cocktail waitress and shacking up with a man who she’d never mentioned to me.
“When Nova was a young girl, much younger than you, she met a man. He was an Anglo man…a physician. He came to Havasupai to do research. We all gave him samples of our blood because he said he was researching why so many of the Havasupai have diabetes. What he was actually doing was using our blood samples to prove that the stories of our origin are false. He was trying to prove that we are descendants of a people who crossed over from Asia, that our people are relatively new to the area. This contradicts what our ancestors have told us: that we have always been here, guardians of the Canyon. Believing that our legends must be madness, he tested our blood to see if we suffered from
a genetic mental illness. He ran tests to see if we were inbred. The elders were very angry, and they banned him from Havasupai. But, Nova, she didn’t care about any of that. She didn’t care about the legends or our ancestors.”
“What happened then?”
“Nova told me that she was in love with the Anglo demon, and that she wanted to leave with him. She knew her father would never allow it. She made me swear never to tell him or anyone else where she had gone. She was ashamed of betraying her people, and yet her love for the man was stronger.”
“Any chance he was a Russian?”
“He spoke strangely. He could have been. It was so long ago.”
“Irma, my mother told me that my father was Russian. He gave me the name Anastasia, and he died when I was a baby. Do you think that he could be the same man?”
Irma’s eyes widened.
“I suppose it’s possible. Nova had never left the reservation before; she had no knowledge of the world. When the others asked about the man, she denied him. She left in the middle of the night and I never saw her again. I didn’t know for sure that she had died until you told me.”
“No one went to look for her? What about her mother?”
“Her mother had died when she was very young, of a tumor, it was thought. But her father tried to find her. He sent out a party to scour the Canyon, but I was not surprised when no one could locate her. Things were different then; she could have gone anywhere. Her father had no way of knowing where. It saddened him greatly. He asked that no one mention her name until she was found. He died without ever hearing her name again.
“I can’t believe she would do that. No one knew anything about the man? Not even his name?”
“He simply said his name was Alex. Nova alone knew his full name, and she only shared it with one person.”
“Who was that?”
“She told her sister.”
“She had a sister? Great! The only one who knows my father’s name is another dead relative!” I barked in my exasperation.
“No, actually, I feel fine,” Irma replied. “I am your aunt, Anastasia.”
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