Oh, no! I left my boots. I’ve got their skates! Now they will bust me for stealing. And I do start to snivel like a baby, I can’t help myself.
Sun? Whyn’t you come on? Oh, I just feel so awful and afraid. The dark is the worst thing in the world by yourself. If Sun would just come this one time, I swear to Mom, I’ll never run off like this ever again. You know you don’t mean it. Yes, I do, too. No, you don’t, either.
Wait. Wait forever holding the tree and jumping at every sound. My knees hurt me so bad.
Wait. I know he will come get me. With my shoes? I know he will. Does he think I’m lost? Does he figure I’m gone on home? On roller skates? Maybe he will get even, to leave me here to die. But I remember, it’s a truce.
Wait. Forever. I’m going to be sick for sure. My throat is just closing up on me.
All at once, somebody. Moving through grasses. I hold death-still. Let it come clear by me. It’s going past, my lord, maybe six feet away in the dark. You can always tell in the dark when something’s moving. Sun says you hear a little and you see a little, but mostly you feel it. Rain rustling like leaves.
“Arilla?” Just a whisper.
“Angel!” I leap out and scare her half to death. Didn’t mean to. Her skates and mine sounding like a car wreck in the quiet.
She grabs hold of me and I just lean on her, half-crying and -laughing for happiness.
“You poor kid, are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“My knees, mostly.” My voice is shivering. “I thought you all wouldn’t come find me.”
“Your brother was sure mad.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But they don’t know who you were or who you came with. Man. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
I like Angel better when she is quiet, looking special on Sun’s arm.
And then another sound through the weeds. Coming on fast. We stand still, and soon I can tell it must be Sun. He is there with us.
He says to me, “You really did it this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No time for sorry. Come on, get the skates off.”
“You get my boots?”
“How can I get them without the skates? Take ’em off!” He screams at me.
“But my feet will get all wet!”
“Come on!”
Nothing but to sit down and take the skates off. So I sit and I work, just all wet from the rain, and muddy. I bet he hoped I’d killed myself jumping down.
I don’t bother to peer over for either one of them. I bet he’s holding her and kissing her face. He’s always got her in the dark and kissing her face. I think teenagers in love very much are stupid. I kick the skates off, hard, and get to my feet.
Jack Sun comes to take the skates. “Man, what a mess. I’ll have to try to clean ’em off before I can take them back.” Right away, he rubs them with his shirt and scrapes them along his pants.
“You knew sometime we’d have an emergency,” Angel says.
“But she didn’t have to run out,” Sun saying it to me. “All she had to do is keep dancing, or go off and get a Coke.”
“The cop yelled right at me,” I tell him.
“Yeah, because you went out of the rink like someone had set fire to you. If anybody’d been coming up that ramp, you’d both be in the hospital. The cop was just trying to get you to slow down.”
Sun was moving off toward the rink. A second of silence. Then Sun’s voice coming from the dark:
“Better hope the skates aren’t ripped or anything. If I don’t come right back, Angel, you take her on home.”
Angel makes a mean sound in the dark. Know she must hate me now.
“I’m sorry for everything.”
But she is silent. We wait in the cold and rain, neither of us saying a word. I feel just awful, like I will vomit. My head aches so bad and I’m so cold now.
But I have skated again. And there’s nothing can beat the feel of stroking along so free and easy.
A long kind of time before Sun makes his way back. Yes! He has my boots and I don’t ask him anything. I know he’s so mad at having to get back and forth through the wet. I’m pulling on my boots and it’s a shame to get the fine leather all wet inside. My socks are soaking.
When I’m ready, we head out into the vast dark of the forest park. We get up high on a ridge opposite of the rink. It’s going to be a long way around and a hard way to go. But nobody will chance to see us.
Sun has to find this twisting trail they say was once for sure a Shawnee Indian trail. He finds the path at last, after wandering us through weeds and stumbling us into sticker plants. Good I’ve got boots, too. Nobody bothers to hold my hand or help me. Is it still a truce, with my luck so bad? I could cry, but I don’t. I just follow as close to them as I can by the sound of their moving.
She and Sun holding on to each other and probably smooching. You’d think they’d be serious about having to walk a couple of long miles and even more to get home. Maybe their way is what kids mean by “serious.” Jack Sun Run Adams and Angelica Diavolad are getting serious. That’s most probably what kids will say when they find out. I wonder what Monserrat Diavolad will say.
Thinking like that, and about Mom and Dad, all the way home. How’m I going to get my wet clothes off and into the hamper in the bathroom, and into my bed? Thinking about everything and skating; then, feeling really awful and alone. No one to hold on to. But think about anything except how long it’s taking us. My legs almost refuse to walk. I trip and nearly fall; no one to stop for me. I have to hurry in the dark to catch up, and nobody cares.
It feels like hours and hours until I know I have had it. I’m not going to make it. When, all at once, we are home, coming up on the back of the house. No lights, it is all dark and sleeping. We go quietly around to the front. Sun strips open the door. Whispers, “Hide the wet clothes in the hamper. I’ll take them out when I get back. And tomorrow I’ll take them over to the laundromat so Mom —”
“I know it. You don’t have to tell me!”
Then, inside the house and not even hearing Sun and Angel slipping away. Up the stairs, like walking in the afternoon and no tiptoeing. Into the bathroom. Slip off all my clothes and Angel’s scarf wrapped around the earrings. Clean up myself a little. And hurry out with a towel around me and into my room.
My room. My room. Thank goodness, so warm and safe. Oh, I’m tired!
I hide my boots way back in the closet and hope they will dry before I need them by tomorrow after school. And hope Mom will never have to see them so cruddy wet.
I have to chance the light by my bed. Take the towel and wipe off some wet and stuff. My knees, ooh, they are bruised so. They are going to be so sore in the morning and I can’t tell Mom how they hurt, either.
Quick, into my nightgown and off with the light. Into my bed under the covers. Sheets. Oh, so sweet. I’m warming up, but feeling my cold feet and legs cold as ice. Shaking all over. I’m shivering and hoping to goodness I don’t come down with the flu. Slowly, I breathe easy and get calm. Somewhere, within a shiver, I fall asleep. Dreaming — not on rollers but just the feel of rolling. I am dead to the world.
9
There being this day for all dressing up, they say. Being still cold but snows not so deep. Not so good for sailing sleds. February melting, so they say. I am ready.
Do we go now? Been a long kind of time since I seeing old James-Face.
“I am ready.”
Mama banging around the cooking stove. Closing lids, banking fire.
“Never in my life,” she saying. “Never in my family do we take the child.”
She being so angry at the house, at everything. But she buying for me this Christmas real kind of pretty coat. With blue night fur all over some sleeves and some collar. With some buttons shining fasten good. I’m still wearing the coat to be ready.
“My legs gonna get some cold, too,” I saying, sitting. Looking outside wi
ndows, where Jack Sun horsing around. Wishing to be out there with legs warming.
Sun Run busting open the door and cold air.
“Close that door!” Mama saying. “Find her leggings for me, will you, Jack? Be a good boy, so we can get started.”
“Find her leggings, find her leggings — that’s all I got to do.”
“You, Sun,” I saying. “Wishing you would just stay to home. Old James not be speaking to you.”
“What’s she talking about?” Sun Run says.
“That’s what I mean,” Mama saying. “In my family we never, never take the child.”
“This time we are going to take the child.” My Stone Dad is saying.
He is there, so quiet. My Stone Dad at the kitchen table, even in the dark night when I being tucked into bed. And still table sitting when I am up and dressing.
Rushing him around the neck and sitting next to him. “Being time to go now, I’m ready. Can we go to see James?”
“That’s what I mean,” Mama saying, hearing us. “I’ll stay home with her, please.”
My dad, head shaking. Jack-Run coming up with leggings, acting up games. He pushing my feet in the leggings. I giving him no help because he is silent mouthing like I hate you. I haaate yoooou.
“Hate you back!” I saying. “Hate you. Hate you!”
“Stop it, Arilla,” Mama saying. “Jack, don’t annoy her.”
“Oh, don’t she look pretty in her mis-matched clothes.”
“Jack!” Mama yelling at him.
“They’re just playing,” my dad saying.
“I don’t like these leggings brown,” I say.
“See what you’ve started, Jack?” Mama saying.
“Taking them off, too,” I say.
“Mom, she’s taking them off,” Jack saying. “It ain’t my fault, either.”
“Then you see she keeps them on.”
“Get your hands off!” I saying. Jack squeezing my toes. Squeezing so hard to make me yell loud.
“Jack, why must you annoy her? Stony, can’t I keep them both here with me?”
You can see how Dad going stiff from the neck. So Mama stopping with the talk. Stopping silent, she throwing herself in a rocking chair by the stove. All dressed up, my mama, looking so pretty in all her long pants but for big old boots. Miss-matching my leggings.
“Wish you wearing my leggings,” saying to her. And then: “When will we go, Father?”
“Soon. When first light enters … here.” Raising a hand all around the kitchen.
We all silent sitting. Now Jack sitting at the table, too. Mama off rocking, looking where she sees my dad. They looking back and forth.
Coldness outside still in the house. Glad for my new coat and even some leggings. My dad’s hands being gray like ashes. Being stiff, like out freezing.
Cold hands, Dad, holding this letter. Long yellow sheet from a white envelope. Hands holding them so careful like an egg and baby chicken. Never seeing him with a letter.
“That letter coming from old James?” asking.
“Nothing to do with him, Arilla. Know that James would not be … writing it down.”
“Who, then?” asking. Knowing not to ask so much.
No one saying a thing. I shutting up, too. Dad like he just learning how holding a letter is. Letter and his face so clear. Everything like being in a dark but them. Black, shiny hair of Stone Father falling straight, almost. Almost oil-wet falling to shoulders but caught behind ears.
Dad. Lips moving again. Me sitting below the letter. Watching hands holding and lips to move. Sun being there on the other side higher than hands holding.
“When am I getting to go!” saying to hands. “Dad?” saying to lips moving over and over.
Jack-Run making me so mad, quiet waiting. So still and waiting, I don’t see why. Just any old yellow piece of paper. Not a letter from old James.
Jack-Run saying so much to my dad all a sudden. I not caring to hear so saying and never even listen to him. Just caring when Stone Father done with holding and lips moving so we can go see old James.
Dad saying to Sun Run and I caring to hear.
Sun saying something I don’t care. And my dad saying, “He was inkerea the same as me, my staff sergeant.”
(“ .”) Sun saying, I don’t care to hear.
Watching Stone Father, hair so long and face breaking full of these little skin jumps. And eyes like to shine wet and so sad.
“Now he is a dead man,” Father saying.
(“ ?”) Sun, I don’t care.
“When we were both inkerea, we knew we would die,” Dad saying.
Both you having sores, sickness of inkerea, is that it?
Dad saying, “We were ready for war. We were warriors prepared for death. In Korea or here, so many of us wanted to go to war.”
“Being a place, isn’t that so? In Korea,” saying.
No one saying a thing to me, making me so mad. “Why can’t we begin to go!”
“Arilla, keep still,” Mama saying sharp.
Not caring to hear you, too, Mama.
“Now, so much later, this man, my staff sergeant, he is dead,” Dad saying.
(“ ?”) Brother, I don’t care to hear.
“They sent the letter,” Dad says, “after he passed.” Putting letter flat on a table, pressing hands on it.
“Twenty years ago! I lose track of him while we’re still in Korea. He got wounded bad and so they ship him home. After it’s over, I come home in one piece, not a scratch. Do you know the percentage in that? Most men lost part of their hearing, at least. But not me. I had nothing to show for it. So I … I had to find him. We had been young. He was the fallen warrior, you know?”
(“ ?”)
“In the VA Hospital. Very bad there. So many men in all the annexes and wards. It took me a long time to find him. He knew me, like we had lapsed into silence over the fire and he had just thought to ask me something.”
(“ ?”)
“Yes. Like we had never been apart.”
(“ ?”)
“Well, your mother always knew. It’s easy to forget, not to talk about it, when letters come a year, two years between. This letter comes a week ago.
“They say passing comes in threes. Then, something happening like old James. I wonder who’s next, and I’m reminded of … connections, I guess you’d say.”
You talking about James-Face. Something happening? He going to move again?
“Let’s say goodbye to old James. Dad, see, getting light,” I saying.
“There,” Dad saying. “She understands. She knows.”
(“ .”) Mama saying a thing, I don’t care.
(“ ?”) Sun asking Stone Dad. Still I don’t care.
“Yes. Hurt so bad,” Father saying. “His face was all shiny, one crease. You know, a scar tissue from explosion and fire. And when I find him in the hospital, it was like we had never been apart. He says to me, ‘I got to get going — get me outta here. I got to get purified. You hear — you hear?’ He couldn’t sit up by himself. He couldn’t stand. What could I do for him? Nothing.”
(“ ?”)
“He wanted to get to the reservation just once. I told him, I promised him, I would go there and pray for him to Nimhoyah, The Turner, to turn sickness and death away from him. I promised him I would purify him in symbolic sacrifice for return of the warrior.”
“It is so the truth.” My dad, eyes so round and black shining. Hair so long and black and blue.
“Koreans look like Navahos. When you are over there, you believe you are with your own. You believe things have got confused. You don’t want to leave your own, or fight them. My sergeant was a brave warrior, but he didn’t want to fight those who he had come to believe were his own kind.
“Got it in his head, and I nearly got it into mine, that the whole place over there was one great stockade. That we were only warring against ourselves. We had been tricked again. So my friend would crawl away from a fierce battle. He would
crawl off and paint the death and dying he saw.”
(“ !”)
“Paint it, that’s what I’m telling you. He could paint beauty from ores and dyes he found in a hillside. With these, he painted on dead trees. On bits and pieces of clothing found in the field. On the side of a howitzer and on empty cannon shells. Miniature, tiny paintings on flat pieces of shrapnel.”
Dad. Why being your face so creased up and wet?
“Somewhere in Korea,” he saying it slow and softly, “there are buried treasures of his pain of painting. I like to think they are safe there, on the buried shrapnel and the dead trees — think of it! If I hadn’t been assigned to his platoon, the blood never would have gathered behind my eyes. That part of me would have remained sightless. He was such a remarkable man, Sergeant was, not unlike old James. But I worry that it comes in threes.”
I loving old James a remarking man. What are threes?
(“ ?”) Sun saying, I don’t care.
“No, he never could write to me. But I’d get a letter from someone there, telling me he wanted to see me and could I come there. But I never did go back after that first time. I think I must have made up my mind even then I should have remained sightless. And no use in any of it.”
Dad. Head down, holding ears, and hair so black and blue.
“I never prayed to Nimhoyah. I lost the belief between there and back here. And yet I know my old warrior friend has walked the Hanging Road.”
(“ ?”)
“That the Hanging Road is the path between earth and heaven? My friend taught me so much about it! But do I believe you cannot go home again from war until you are cleansed? I believe home is in your head only. Oh, there are times when the young warrior in my head holds open the flap of his teepee. I cannot help but walk within.
“The time is now to pay respect.” So saying, Stone Father. Rises, leaving letter. Leaving table. We all rising. Jack Sun Run and me, Arilla. Mama rises, leaving chair rocking. Light of morning holds the room.
Arilla Sun Down Page 14