The Way We Bared Our Souls

by Willa Strayhorn

  “Jesus, Thomas,” she said. “Chill out.” She offered Kaya her hand.

  “It’s all right,” I said. Thomas’s reaction was unexpected, but I knew it was instinctive. And protective of me.

  “He’ll be fine,” Jay said authoritatively from up ahead. “It’s just phantoms.” For some reason, this explanation sounded like the most rational thing in the world.

  Thomas slowly released me from his arms, but as we proceeded, he kept reaching around to brush my hand, as if he needed to reassure himself that I was still behind him.

  We walked until we came to a thick stone disk on the ground. Jay led us to the middle of the circular slab and removed a smaller metal disk, about the size of a manhole cover, which looked as if it had been smelted by hand. A blast of cold, dank air emanated from the depths of the crypt.

  Jay deftly lowered his body into the hole, and then dropped out of sight completely. We heard the echo when his feet hit the bottom of the chamber.

  A wooden ladder appeared through the hole its top two rungs visible above ground. This was it. Time to decide. To ritual, or not to ritual. Jay was either luring us into a torture chamber, or we were on the verge of a momentous spiritual experience. I looked around for Dakota, but she had apparently wandered off.

  “Hell no. I’m not going down there,” Ellen said, as contrary and defiant as ever.

  Ignoring her, I pulled away from Thomas’s hand and then situated myself above the ladder.

  “No,” Thomas said. “Let me go first. I’m not afraid.”

  I’d wanted to set a good example for the others, but I was still nervous, and I let him lead the way. Kit reached down for Thomas’s shoulder, but Thomas shook him off.

  “It’s cool, man,” he said.

  I was next. Down the rabbit hole I went.

  As my eyes adjusted to the torch-lit darkness, I realized that we were in a Pueblo kiva. We hadn’t been allowed to descend into these chambers on school trips because they were sacred, but I’d seen drawings of them. I hadn’t noticed ruins of apartments above, and kivas were usually sunken hollows beneath housing. This kiva must be the only remaining structure of a razed, ancient village, perhaps overlooked for decades.

  Okay, maybe not entirely overlooked. The Pueblo Indian artifacts that belonged here had clearly been picked clean from the floor long ago. Arrowheads and shards of ceramics had likely disappeared inside greedy coat pockets. Now the sacred space was littered only with cigarette butts and empty beer bottles that kids—most likely from Santa Fe High—had probably discarded over the years. Someone had sprayed DO THE COSMOS on the adobe wall in green paint, obscuring the petroglyphs engraved by native worshippers. Perhaps we were on consecrated ground, but it sort of felt as if we were squatting in some high schooler’s basement drug den.

  “Guys?” Ellen called from above. “Are you okay?”

  “Everything cool down there?” Kit hollered after her through the hole.

  “Very cool,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Come on down.”

  As Kit and Ellen reluctantly descended, Jay busied himself preparing the central fire. He spread five colorful wool blankets at exact intervals around a ring of rocks, which was located directly under the entrance that doubled as a smoke hole. We stood around and watched as he chanted in low tones to himself. His voice, though soft, filled the chamber with a bewitching echo.

  Kaya still had not come down, so I called to her. No response.

  “I’ll be right back,” I announced and then climbed back up the ladder.

  There, sitting on the stone disk with her arms wrapped tightly around her trembling knees, was my old friend. I had never seen her scared before, not even when we’d convinced ourselves that we were having Ouija board communications with dead serial killers. Kaya was always the tough, unflappable one when it came to otherworldly matters.

  “I don’t feel right about going down there,” Kaya said. “In fact, I feel really weird all of a sudden. Like I shouldn’t be here. I don’t think Jay was lying about the phantoms.”

  “There’s no such thing,” I said. I felt more spooked now but was still determined to put on a brave face. “You’ve met with enough bad psychics to know that.”

  She smiled. “I guess so.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, as she allowed me to hoist her up by the hand. “Nothing will happen to you while you’re with me. I promise.”

  Then down we went.

  Finally together in the kiva, the five of us milled about awkwardly for a few moments, unsure of the proper etiquette for sacred rituals. Only Thomas seemed somewhat secure in his surroundings.

  “You act like you’ve done this before,” said Kit.

  “My grandmother in Liberia was a shaman,” said Thomas. “She taught me not to fear enchantment. You just have to respect it.”

  We all went quiet again.

  “Well, I think this is fucking weird,” Ellen said, and I almost laughed. I could always rely on Ellen to say the most obvious thing that no one else dared say, and in the most profane way possible.

  Jay smiled and gestured toward the fire. We took our seats on the five blankets and awaited further instruction.

  “You know me as Jay,” he said, “but here my sacred name is Walks with Coyotes. I will be your guide tonight. First I must purify the circle.” He began gathering objects from his backpack.

  Okay, that sounded reasonable. Like something a real shaman would say and do.

  “Someone got an A in Shamanism 101,” muttered Kit in a shaky voice. Thomas elbowed him lightly in the rib cage.

  Jay/Walks with Coyotes took a leather pouch from his backpack, untied it, and placed it on a small blanket in front of him. With deliberate, dancelike movements, he picked up a ceramic vase and sipped from it. Then he spit the contents on Ellen’s back.

  “What the hell?” she shouted, jumping up almost to her feet. Again, I had to stifle my laughter.

  “Sacred oil,” Jay said. “Sit.” Ellen sat, but her look of disgust remained. He took another deep swig from his bottle and lightly sprayed Kaya’s back. She didn’t flinch. When Jay was through spitting on us, he lit a smudge stick on fire and waved it over each of our heads.

  “What are you doing, exactly?” Kit asked, trembling slightly as he pulled his damp shirt away from his spine.

  “I’m expunging the phantoms and settling the spirits,” Jay said. Just then, Ellen’s cell phone went off, playing—inexplicably—the Scooby Doo theme song.

  “I’ll wait,” Jay said patiently, mid-smudge.

  “Whoops,” Ellen said. “My bad.”

  “Cell phones off, people,” I said. “Try to be respectful.” Then, of course, my phone lit up with a text from Alex. Ellen snickered, and I hastily shut down the device.

  Jay, satisfied that we’d extinguished all electronics, continued his fragrant circuit.

  “I have created a safe environment,” he said. “A place where you can unburden your hearts and freely draw out your souls. Tell me your names. And what you suffer.” He turned to me first.

  “I’m Consuelo,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray my anxiety. I crossed, then uncrossed, and then recrossed my legs. They were tingling, maybe falling asleep, but I couldn’t tell if I was sitting wrong or if my symptoms were kicking in. Focus, Lo. “Hi, Jay. Um, I mean, hi, Walks with Coyotes. We’ve . . . um. . . met already.”

  “Welcome, Consuelo,” Jay said. “Thank you for being here. It took great fortitude to take such a risk and to expose your friends to the same unknown elements.”

  I wouldn’t have called it “fortitude.” I would’ve called it “audacity,” as I’m sure the others would as well. Audacity, or pure desperation.

  “Now, please tell us all why you’re here,” Jay said.

  “I’m sick,” I said. “I have . . . I think I might have . . . an incurable disea
se that could debilitate me or . . . kill me, even, I guess. Maybe sooner rather than later.” My tongue grew heavy, and I began to stammer. “I mean, I feel it in my bones. I know I have it . . . it’s what killed my aunt Karine . . . it’s in my brain . . . it’s growing . . . I can feel it . . . I know it. . . .” My eyes were burning from the smoke.

  “Hey,” Ellen said with concern. “Catch your breath, girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing my knees to my chest.

  “It’s quite all right,” Jay said. “You’ve been holding a lot in. Let your words carry away your pain. And what do you want to ask for from the spirit world?”

  “To be healed,” I said. I breathed into my stomach and tried to feel the oxygen coursing through my body. TranquiLo.

  Jay nodded deeply. “Did you bring your fetish?” he asked.

  “My what? Oh, right. The horse.” I pulled the turquoise figurine from my pocket. I hadn’t brought it to the ceremony on purpose, but like I said, I’d been carrying it around nonstop since Thursday night. The horse just seemed to belong with me.

  “The horse is wild and powerful,” Jay said, “but she is also a force of unity. When the Spanish introduced the horse to the native people of this land, the new mode of transport strengthened bonds between tribes and even forged new ones. The horse is potent medicine for creating—and keeping—meaningful relationships.”

  Jay walked clockwise around the circle. I was relieved that my turn was over.

  Jay stood before Ellen now. “What’s your name?” he asked. “How are you suffering?”

  “I’m Ellen Davis, and I’ll cut to the chase. I like drugs. A lot. Probably too much, if we’re being totally honest here. A long list of them. Does this work like Narcotics Anonymous or something? Do you want me to, like, acknowledge a higher power and do a twelve-step program?”

  “Higher powers don’t need your acknowledgment to exercise their order in the world, Ellen. They only need receptive vessels. Why are you here?”

  “Because I can’t sto—Because I can’t escape. I don’t know—because pills are too damn expensive. Because life is too long. Because everyone seems to be coping with who they are better than I am. I’d rather have what someone else is having, you know? Anybody else. These feelings are just too . . . hard. I want out of my brain.” Ellen looked down, perhaps surprised that she’d admitted so much, and wiped a tear from her eye. I could barely believe it.

  Jay handed her an object from his pouch. “The raccoon is strong, but she is deceptive. She wears many masks.” Ellen took the small raccoon totem and jammed it into her jeans pocket without another word.

  Jay then moved to Ellen’s left. Kit.

  “What is your—?” Jay started.

  “I got this, dude. I’m Kit Calhoun. What I’m dealing with is grief. Maybe it’s fear. I don’t know.” He pulled a hand through his short brown Mohawk. “I’m depressed and scared all the time. Because everyone I care about is going to die. I can’t even talk to my mom anymore because . . . because she reminds me too much of what I’ve lost. What I’m still losing. I want that feeling to go away. Next?”

  Jay nodded. “Death comes to us all,” he said. “It does not need to be your enemy. The omnipresence of death can teach you how to live fully, gratefully.” He reached into his pouch and withdrew another small animal. “The rabbit is constantly fearful. He doesn’t understand that he invites predators with his apprehension. They sense his deep negative energy and come knocking.” He placed the rabbit totem in Kit’s hand.

  Jay moved on.

  “And what is your name?” Thomas was hunched over his own lap, his face hidden by his hoodie, his eyes lost in the fire.

  “Thomas Kamara,” he said quietly, without lifting his head. “At first I thought I came here so I could help someone. But what I . . . most want in the world . . . is to be relieved of the memories of the things that I’ve done. To erase the past.”

  Jay whispered something that sounded like a blessing into his hand, then handed Thomas a small object carved out of black stone. “The bear,” he said. “He spends much of his life in hibernation because he has a great wealth of wisdom and experience to digest. But every bear knows when winter is over. You, too, must know when to come out of hiding.”

  Thomas squeezed the bear so hard that white showed on his knuckles. What was he seeing that made him fight himself so hard?

  Kaya was last. The color in her face had deepened in the firelight, illuminating the facial scars that had never detracted from her beauty.

  “I’m Kaya Johnson,” she said. “I’m constitutionally incapable of feeling pain. I feel like I’m only living half a life. I want to feel pain.”

  “Of course,” Jay said, handing her a totem. “Pain can be a wise teacher.” Or it could destroy you, I thought, considering my disease. “I’m giving you the deer. She is a peaceful creature, a perceptive creature. An animal that senses everything, good and bad, and is gentler for it.”

  Kaya seemed mesmerized by the deer in her palm, looking upon it as if it were a rare jewel.

  “Welcome to you all,” Jay said.

  Ellen toyed with her raccoon of polished granite. She’d sternly wiped the tears from her face, and her body was all tense again. “I feel like we’re trick-or-treating in . . . purgatory or somewhere,” she said.

  Jay smiled. “No tricks, Ellen,” he said, “though your totem is known to be nocturnal and a bit of a bandit.”

  “Great,” Ellen said. “I’m miserable, and my spirit animal is demonic.”

  “Just because raccoons can be ferocious when scared or antagonized doesn’t mean they’re demonic.”

  “Oh, come on, Ellen,” Kit said. “You’re lucky. It’s not like you’re dealing with life or death. You can master your disease any time. Just stop. Doing. Drugs. Meanwhile, the rest of us are kind of screwed. Thomas can’t go back in time and unfight his battles. I can’t bring back Lucita. That’s forever.”

  I leapt to Ellen’s defense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kit. Addiction goes really deep. It’s not that easy to master.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellen said, brushing off Kit’s words and mine. “I think I’d prefer to have a problem like Kaya’s. Or Thomas’s. I think part of the reason I maybe overdo it with all this stuff is because I don’t want to feel anything. Not feeling anything seems like bliss.”

  “It doesn’t exactly work like that,” Kaya said. “I feel lots of things, just not in the way everyone else does. It doesn’t mean I don’t hurt. But, like, when Lo told me that she’s been getting terrible headaches, I don’t even know how to conceptualize that. I just feel stunted, you know. Stuck in this childish place.”

  “But, Kaya,” I said. “Think of what you’re asking for. For instance, you don’t want what I have. This morning I collapsed in the shower because of the pain . . . I promise you don’t want this.”

  “Even that sounds better than what I’m dealing with,” Ellen said. “Sometimes I just want to bash my head against the wall to stop my thoughts.”

  “At least you guys have feelings,” Thomas said. “Half the time I wonder if I still qualify as human. It’s like all my emotions were burned out of me back in Liberia. Now I’m just a shell. A shell with nightmares. Feeling something—anything—sounds like a miracle.”

  “I want to go to a Weekends on Wednesday party for once,” Kaya said. “I want to ride a bike. I want to cry when I skin my knee. I want a normal life.”

  “Normal life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Kit said. “Not when it can end at any moment.”

  Jay raised his arms above his head, and we went quiet.

  “I hear your needs and your pain,” he said. “And nothing is insurmountable as long as you keep toxins from creeping into your souls. Even when you feel weak or without agency, you’ll discover that your internal fires are always burning. N
ow, keep in mind that this isn’t some abracadabra, magician-sending-his-white-rabbits-forth-in-the-world kind of exercise. This is a sacred ceremony, the efficacy of which has been honed throughout many generations. We are dealing with human suffering, and it’s not to be taken lightly. Tonight the magic begins. One week from this moment, you’ll return to reverse the ritual.”

  Reverse the ritual? If the effects were going to be as salutary as Jay said, why would we reverse it?

  “Burdens only have as much power as you grant them,” Jay said. “They represent a disease, a disconnection. A lack of soulfulness. You can’t allow them to separate you from the earth, or from each other. You will see that. You will start to understand.”

  I looked at my friends. In place of the four troubled faces I’d seen a few minutes ago were varying expressions of hope and reflection. Jay had inspired us all to tap into something we’d lost. Was it just a more positive attitude? Or something more concrete than that? I locked eyes with Kaya and smiled. Then, as if to taunt my hopefulness, a sharp pain shot down my arm.

  Jay looked at me with compassion, even though I didn’t think my face had given anything away. “It’s impossible to take away human pain completely,” he said. “But I can give you the tools you need to live in harmony with your suffering and with yourselves. When the ritual is complete, each of you will have a new perspective. Your jealousy will take a backseat to your gratitude. The things you previously thought defined you will no longer define you. You will remember who you really are. When you wake up in the morning you will truly know what it’s like to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, and those shoes will bring you home.”

  This was all a bit too abstract for me. When was he going to get to the part about healing my disease?

  The shaman pulled another leather pouch from his satchel and reached his hand in, withdrawing an ash-like powder. He held it over the fire and began chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. Just then, I heard a scuttling behind me. A dark figure dashed through our circle, barely evading the central flames. A coyote. Dakota must have found a hidden entrance. Or was it possible that she’d been there the whole time? And in her mouth, I saw a skull. A small human skull. Jay threw his powder into the fire. I screamed.