Shadow of Time

by Jen Minkman

  “Oh?” I say, puzzled, but then I suddenly get what she means. “Oh!” I repeat, my eyes growing wide and eager.

  “I am not sure yet, so do not get too excited.” She is trying to slow down my enthusiasm, but her smile is so infectious that I cannot help smiling broadly too. The possibility that we might be expecting another child pushes all the other things that trouble me into the background. I hold her close and kiss her everywhere, again and again, until the fire in front of us seems to spread to my blood, runs through my veins, and urges her to pull me away from my meditation spot to take me to bed.

  The next morning, I get up early. I push the blanket in front of the doorway aside and stare at the light of the rising sun. Music gently fills my head. That beauty I once walked in still has not disappeared.

  Behind me, I can hear Ho’oneno climb out of bed. She walks toward me, enveloping my naked body with the blanket we have slept under. I turn around, smiling at her and wishing her a good morning.

  “Shall we go to the rock plateau?” she suggests, when the sun has risen and we have had our breakfast. “I want to thank Changing Woman.”

  I put a hand on her underbelly and nod. We do not want to be premature in our happiness, but neither do we want to deny the goddess our thanks for the wonder that happens in every woman’s womb, a wonder that may be happening again for us as well.

  A warm wind is blowing from the west when we leave our house. Ho’oneno lets go of my hand when she walks up the path leading to the viewpoint, and she starts to run. She loves feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest and exhausting herself by climbing the steep path like this. She always presses her body against my chest in order to let me feel her heartbeat once we are both on the plateau.

  “Only you and this hill can make my heart beat like this,” she usually tells me with a playful grin.

  I leisurely follow her and watch her while she runs up the hill, her hair dancing in the breeze. I look down at my own feet, when a dried juniper berry on the path catches my eye. What is it doing here?

  I squint my eyes and suddenly I can make out a trail of white ash on the dry soil of the path. My stomach turns to stone. I break into a run myself, my eyes volleying between Ho’oneno in front of me and the path beneath my feet, where I now also spot corn pollen. I want to call out to Ho’oneno, want her to stop running, but my throat is locked.

  The medicine pouch has torn. All its precious content has leaked out. My wife is entering a rock plateau near a high and dangerous drop to the valley below, and she has no protection whatsoever against the curse targeting her.

  ”She’esdzáán!” I scream, finding my voice again. “Stay there, shan díín!”

  I stumble onto the plateau, and search Ho’oneno’s eyes. Her back is to the precipice, and she is staring straight ahead, but she does not seem to be aware of my presence. Her eyes are trained on something invisible, open wide in horrible fear. I do not know what she will do if I touch her, so I approach her slowly and carefully.

  Oh God, no. Not now. Not this.

  In horror, I watch her shuffle backwards, step by step, edging closer to the abyss. Tears are running down her cheeks, and she extends her hands as if she wants to keep away something in front of her. And then, she shrieks, rubbing her arms, collapsing to her knees while hiding her face in her hands.

  My heart falters when she crouches down on her haunches and ends up so close to the precipice it will only take one wrong move for her to plummet to her death.

  “Ho’oneno.” I take one step closer to her. “It is me. Do not be afraid.”

  When I clasp my hand around her upper arm, she starts to scream again, one foot slipping off the edge in her total panic. She loses her balance, but I do not lose the grip on her arm. With sweat gushing down my face, I pull her forcibly toward me and against me. I freeze when her hands slide up and slip around her own throat in a strangling movement. She stops breathing and turns purple.

  “Please don’t!” I scream, cry, beg. “Wake up!” I grab her wrists and shake her fragile frame. “Leave her alone!” I howl at the silent sky above me. “Leave her be, you evil witches! You wretched bastards! Don’t you dare touch my wife!”

  I feel a shiver going through Ho’oneno’s body. And then, she finally comes to her senses. She looks up at me and melts into my arms. Her lips are moving, but I cannot hear her words.

  “Come with me.” I lift her up in my arms, softly whisper in her ear and take her back to the village as fast as my legs can carry me. Unannounced, I storm into Aditsan’s hoghan. My old friend looks at me in shock when he sees Ho’oneno’s limp body and pale face.

  “We need a new medicine bundle,” I pant. “I’ll tell you the rest later.”

  A few days go by in which Ho’oneno stays with Aditsan to gather strength. I come by every day, but she does not want to discuss what she has seen on the rock plateau. The look in her eyes frightens me. She does see me, but her mind is elsewhere. I have meetings with Yas and Tsosi during which we discuss starting up friendly relations with the newcomers from the north, but my mind is elsewhere, too.

  When I enter Aditsan’s hoghan on the fourth day after the incident, Ho’oneno is not there.

  “She wants to talk to you alone,” the hataalii says. “She got up in the early hours, and she told me what I am telling you now. She said you would know where to find her.”

  With my heart beating restlessly in my throat, I make my way to our usual meeting point. The path uphill suddenly seems too steep for me, and the clouds gathering on the horizon darken my heart. I am so nervous that my mouth is completely dry when I get to the top of the hill. Sweat is pooling in the palms of my hands, but I bravely straighten my back when I walk to Ho’oneno. She is standing at the tree near the precipice, looking at me with sad and loving eyes.

  When I come closer, I see tears in her eyes. I silently come to a stop next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Shan díín,” I quietly acknowledge her.

  She looks up at me, her lower lip trembling. “How long will this go on?” she asks me in a muffled voice.

  “I do not know,” I honestly admit.

  After that, Ho’oneno is quiet for a long time. I stare at the hand I put on her shoulder, trying to imprint that image into my memory, combined with the feeling I always get when I touch her.

  I cannot fool myself any longer. In the past four days, I have tried to convince myself that all would be well, but I knew better.

  I know what she is going to tell me.

  “I cannot stand this,” she finally whispers in a broken voice. “I love you, but I cannot live with the shadow from your past anymore.” She is afraid to look at me.

  Everything around me stops. The sun darkens. The wind dies down.

  “I understand,” I mumble from my dark place.

  She turns to me. “I am sorry.” She almost stumbles when she walks away, looking over her shoulder one last time and seeing my tears running freely. And then, I see nothing, and she swims out of view. I am alone.

  I do not know how long I sit there after she has left. Time moves slowly, slips away from me. Birds circle above my head. Their calls sound like they are mocking me, making fun of the silly idea I had – that I could live a happy, undisturbed life with Ho’oneno.

  I scramble to my feet when the sun dips below the horizon. Her eyes haunt my thoughts, look at me from every direction and allow me no peace of mind.

  “Do you love me?” I whisper against the wind blowing in my face. I stand on the flat rocks, listening to the echo of my own voice in my head. I see an echo of her face in my mind, too, but she no longer has a voice and gives me no answer. I can feel the years stretching out ahead of me, all those years in which I will have to force myself to forget the way she looked at me, the way her hands caressed me, the way her eyes shone when I told her I loved her.

  I will only remember I have lost my heart.

  That evening, I meet Tsosi in his hoghan. “I am leaving,” I just say. My broth
er has heard the news about me and Ho’oneno splitting up. I cannot stand staying here and seeing her every day. My hasty departure will at least serve one goal – I promised Yas I will make contact with the new white men.

  “I am coming with you,” Tsosi replies, to my utter amazement.

  “What about your family?”

  “My family needs protection. I can take the easy way out and stay put, but sooner or later, it will catch up with me.” He inches closer and continues in a whisper, “This very afternoon, some people from a nearby village came to talk to Yas, telling him the white people from the north keep encroaching on our territory. We have no idea what they will do when they discover us, so maybe it is best if we beat them to it.”

  I happen to have discussed the very same thing with Yas a few weeks ago. I pat Tsosi on the shoulder with a hint of a smile on my face, grateful he is joining me in this quest. At least I will not have to deal with my sorrow all by myself.

  During the following day, we prepare for the journey ahead. By the end of the morning, we have saddled two horses and gathered enough provisions in our saddlebags to last for a while. Our family has come to wave goodbye.

  My heart speeds up to a dangerously fast pace when Naalnish and Ho’oneno make their appearance on the village square too, just as we are about to depart. I turn around in the saddle and cannot help staring at her with pain in my heart. My sunbeam. She is so incredibly precious to me. I am still wearing her pendant underneath my shirt, and I am almost afraid she will want to claim it back now.

  She approaches my horse, coming to a hesitant stop right next to me. Her hand comes to rest on the neck of my horse, inches away from my hand holding the reins.

  “Ya’at’eeh, Shash,” she speaks softly, her voice cracking. “I have come to wish you good luck.”

  I can feel my veneer of determination beginning to peel. How can I possibly do this? Leave her?

  “Thank... thank you,” I falter.

  Her eyes search mine.

  “Come back safely,” she mumbles.

  “I promise,” I whisper.

  And then we are on our way, Tsosi and I. For the rest of that day, I can still feel Ho’oneno’s hand almost touching mine.

  1846

  During the years together with my brother, we have strayed far away from Tseyi. In our travels, we have encountered the Americans – the new white men – and I have initially made contact with them by speaking Spanish. By now, I speak a fair amount of English too.

  They know me as Barboncito, and my brother as Delgado. I translated our Diné nicknames into Spanish when we first introduced ourselves to the American authorities, and those names stayed with us. They are also mentioned on the treaty that we ended up signing in black ink, writing our names with a white feather as a symbol of peace between Diné and Americans.

  I know this is only the first step toward lasting peace, but it has been a satisfactory move. Tsosi and I have set an example, and now it will not be long before other Diné headmen will follow suit and sign their own treaties.

  “Will you continue north?” Tsosi wants to know, when we are roasting some wild roots above a campfire next to our tents that night.

  “What you actually want to know is whether I will come home with you at last.”

  Tsosi sighs, and nods after a moment. “You cannot postpone it forever.”

  In the three years of our absence, Tsosi has returned to the village a number of times to visit his family. I have never accompanied him on those trips home, because I still did not feel strong enough to meet Ho’oneno again. I know that she married someone else in the meantime, and I know she has two children. I never dared dwell on the question whether her oldest boy is my son. But finally, the time has come to see my home again. I can feel it.

  The next day, we leave for Tseyi. The path leading down to our village has not changed much, and my heart speeds up when the canyon comes into view. Everything is just as beautiful as I remembered, although the atmosphere has changed in this region since we left. Fear is in the air – fear of Mexicans, fear of the surrounding tribes, who are desperately trying to enslave members of our tribe so as to build a stronger defense line. We do the same thing to them, sometimes. There has been too much war, and with all my heart I hope that the peace treaties with the Americans have contributed to more peaceful years ahead.

  The reunion with my parents is emotional. They have missed me terribly. Aditsan and Yas cannot contain their emotions either when they see me again, but above all, they cannot contain their happiness when I tell them our peace mission has been a success.

  “You have not wasted your years away from the clans,” Yas nods, looking satisfied, when he hauls me and Tsosi over to his hoghan for a celebratory dinner his wife and daughters are preparing in honor of our homecoming.

  And then, I see her standing there, next to Aditsan’s hoghan. She looks at me uncertainly, biting her lower lip forlornly. A boy of about two years old is holding her hand, and she has her baby daughter of a few months old on her other arm.

  She is so beautiful. She still has the same radiant eyes, even if they express a certain tiredness I have seen with so many people in the village.

  I take a step toward her when I suddenly notice a young man next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. I gulp down the lump in my throat, and then take the final few steps separating me from her.

  “Ya’at’eeh, shilah,” I greet her as a normal friend, when I stand in front of her.

  “Ya’at’eeh, bislahalani,” she replies, using the new name the people have given me in my absence – the speaker or orator. “Congratulations with all you have achieved in the years past.”

  I nod, sighing almost inaudibly. Would I have achieved as much if I had stayed with Ho’oneno, building a family? I am almost certain I would not have, but it still stings me to realize at which cost I have established peace. I could have been standing next to Ho’oneno now without the curse that haunts me. I could have been that young man, taking the baby from her arm now and greeting me with a friendly smile.

  “I will talk to you later,” I say, when I see Yas is beckoning me. Hastily, I turn around and blink away the tears welling up in my eyes. I have no right to be sad. Ho’oneno is happy. She has a wonderful family, a normal husband and a normal life, and my people have signed a peace treaty with the white people, thanks to me.

  Weeks turn into months. In these months, I venture out with Tsosi sometimes to sign more treaties with more parties present in this area. My safe haven is the village in Tesyi, though. This is where I belong.

  I had thought the pain of losing Ho’oneno would wear off, but it does not. I see how her new lover supports her and loves her as a good husband.

  My heart will never feel the same, even though I do not blame her for anything. Every now and then she visits me, and then we talk like we used to, before our ways separated. Occasionally, she puts her head on my shoulder for a few seconds when she is tired and stares into the fire. I do not risk putting an arm around her shoulders in those moments. I cannot let her come too close. The yenaldlooshi never fail to instill fear in me when I think of my final few married days with her.

  I sit alone on the rock plateau. I do not know if Ho’oneno still goes there too, but I suspect the place holds too many painful memories for her. All the happiness we have shared there passes before my mind’s eye when I spend my free hours there. The peace I always felt throughout my body whenever I was there with her, never returns.

  When spring comes, I take off one last time to talk about peace with the Americans. They promise they will build forts on our lands in order to contain the threat of enemy tribes and Mexicans, and we promise to stop plundering their villages, but somehow I am not convinced this is playing out the way we want it to.

  Hard times lie ahead.

  1850

  And then, disaster strikes. After months of insurgent unrest, the Mexicans attack in great numbers.

  “Run for your life!” My
mother screams, pulling my father along to the escape route leading out of the village toward the caves hidden high up in the rock-face. He has a bad leg, but clenches his teeth and tries to run with us as fast as he can. Behind us a fire erupts when Mexicans throw their torches on Yas’s hoghan.

  My hands whip out an arrow and take the bow hanging from my back, but I am too late to shoot the passing Mexican from his horse. My heart beating frantically, I see how my parents manage to get away unnoticed. Then I run back to the central square of the village, checking up on Tsosi and his family. Deep down, I know I also want to make sure Ho’oneno is safe, but I doggedly push the thought away.

  When I get to the square, I panic when I see she is hiding under the bushes next to her hoghan, looking up at me with mortal fear in her eyes. Behind Ho’oneno, a handful of soldiers are making their way to her hiding place, and I purposefully look away from her so as not to alert them to the woman hiding right in front of them.

  Instead, I take my bow and draw the string to release a deadly arrow. One of the soldiers tumbles down in agony when my arrow pierces his chest. The other two charge into me with a roar, loading the guns they are carrying. I zigzag away from them, disappearing into a hoghan, my hand finding a spear next to the entrance. I grip the weapon, ready to defend myself if need be.

  And then, I hear a sound that makes my heart stop.

  It is Ho’oneno, screaming and begging for mercy.

  When I step out of the hoghan, I see her lying on the ground amid a red puddle growing alarmingly in size every second. Strangely enough, I have not even registered the shot one of the Mexicans has apparently fired at her. I hear nothing. I see black.

  I am not aware of my actions in the next few moments, but when I come to my senses again, I am standing next to the Mexican’s dead body, a bloody spear in my trembling hand.

  My breath is ragged as I kneel down next to her and take her hand.