Return of the Bones: Inspired by a True Native American Indian Story

by Belinda Vasquez Garcia

  Even in present day rumors circulated Taos Mountain had magical energy and watched over and protected the pueblo. Now, Taos Mountain rose from the back of the pueblo. In this dream world, Taos Mountain had lavender-colored eyes that drooped from the sun’s warmth shining on the face of the mountain.

  Taos Mountain opened its mouth and yawned.

  From the sacred Blue Lake, a stream gurgled and divided the pueblo. Popé stood arrogantly by the stream with his chin thrust out and his fists clenched tight. His face was the color of roughened bronze, his profile strong and proud.

  His black hair bounced on his head as he hurried along the bank of the stream and looked to the left and then to the right.

  Another Indian she recognized from her last dream, climbed down from an apartment building and shook hands with him.

  “Welcome back home, El Popé.”

  “Is there any word, Catiti?”

  “The release of our medicine men from the Inquisition has revealed the Spanish weakness. Our enemy is vulnerable. Neighboring Apaches will join us.”

  “I prayed in the kiva and the god Pohéyemo appeared to me. ‘You are my representative. Kill the Spaniards and destroy their symbols of Christianity,’ Pohéyemo said. ‘Return my people to the old ways.’ No longer do I follow the Middle Path, Catiti. I will wait until the gods tell me the time is right. In the meantime, appoint a war captain from each pueblo and among the Apache tribes. Order all to take a vow of secrecy,” Popé said with glowing eyes.

  “I’ll ask each pueblo to appoint their best war captain. We must hide you, El Popé. Francisco Xavier promises not to rest until you are dead. When you and our other medicine men were arrested, the Spanish attacked Taos. The kivas were raided and all the pueblos stripped of religious possessions. The people cry over the ashes and remains of destroyed Kachina masks.”

  “Ah, our sacred masks were passed down through generations and are irreplaceable.”

  She followed discreetly behind the two men.

  Circles of rocks were piled at the openings where the kivas had existed. Now, burnt logs were stacked in the center of each circle. However, the Spanish failed to destroy one kiva.

  Catiti led him to a hidden kiva where he climbed down a ladder and vanished below the earth.

  Catiti then pulled the ladder from the kiva.

  She left her hiding place behind a tree and peered into the hole. It must have rained earlier. Her feet slipped on the mud, and she tumbled into the kiva, landing in the soft, cool dirt but luck fell with her. Popé neither noticed her nor heard her scream; he appeared in a trance.

  She curled up like a dead cockroach in a dark corner, and hugged her knees. Grandfather wouldn’t even let her enter the dormant kivas at Pecos, much less a working kiva, her being a woman and all. She glared out at the darkness to a flame glowing in the fire pit. The ventilator shaft was only partially open to help conceal the kiva. Consequently, her eyes stung from the smoke.

  Popé stared straight ahead with his eyes unblinking. He rubbed his hands over the small hole in the dirt that represents Shipapu where the gods live.

  Suddenly, water bubbled from the hole and water spread out into the kiva.

  She pushed herself against the dirt wall and breathed a sigh of relief when the water stopped spreading, leaving an eight-foot embankment around the kiva.

  He held his hands above the pool of water and chanted.

  The pool glowed golden in color then flashed to a blinding light.

  The light dimmed and a man rose from the water. The man was made of mud.

  How…? She rubbed her eyes but there he was still, Mudhead. Popé actually summoned the mud god.

  Mudhead is a Katsina or Kachina as Katsinam are called by the modern Indian. Her Kachina collection included a miniature wooden image of Mudhead, but this Mudhead was not made of wood nor was he miniature; this being was made of damp, reddish-brown earth. He stood to his feet, the size of a full grown human man. Mudhead appeared like in her collection, to be constructed from clay by a child and had two mud circles for eyes and another small mud circle for his mouth so he seemed to be saying ooh.

  Mudhead staggered on rubbery legs because the gods walked the earth many centuries ago so his legs were rusty.

  During countless ceremonies costumed men, disguised as Kachinas, climbed the ladders and ran charging from the kivas. On these magical evenings, the people truly believed they witnessed the gods summoned from Shipapu.

  Many times, Mudhead danced among those costumed men, at least a man pretending to be Mudhead climbed from the kiva to dance and mingle with the people during sacred ceremonies. As a child, she believed the masquerader was really Mudhead until Grandfather boarded her up at St. Mary’s, and the older girls told her the Mudhead in the ceremonies was a fake. The masquerader’s skin was plastered with dried mud, and he wore the same wooden mask over his head as the figurine in her living room. She had felt foolish, angry and letdown because the old man told lies.

  The real Mudhead now shook his head and splattered her nightgown with mud. His shaking like a dog cleaned the mud from his purple skirt and matching socks that brushed his knees. In one hand, Mudhead held a feather that dried to fluff.

  He walked with squishy movements on reddish-brown mud boots towards her.

  She flattened against the wall, cringing.

  I mustn’t draw attention to myself. Mudhead is a warrior who speaks for the ancient ones and is extremely dangerous.

  A bump of mud protruded from the top of his head and a decorative ring encircled the bump. The feet of Spanish soldiers were imprinted on his head, along with boots and spurs. Mudhead forged a connection over whoever stomped these footprints in the earth. With the footprints, Popé could track the Spanish so he could keep an eye on his enemy while he hid in the kiva and bided his time, making war plans.

  Mudhead ignored her and sat on the ground, his muddy buttocks squishing and sounding like he shit.

  Popé summoned another Kachina, and water gushed from the center of the pool and cascaded downward.

  A dark head and muscular body glowing like copper formed in the waterfall and with one huge splash, Masawkatsina stood in the pool of water, ankle deep, in all his naked glory.

  Popé probably summoned the Keeper of the Dead to raise a corpse army of invincible warriors.

  Her throat itched from the smoke in the kiva. It took all her self-control not to cough.

  Once more Popé held his hands over Shipapu and the pool of water glowed red.

  A gurgling noise vibrated from beneath. Bubbles of life floated on top. A body swished in the water. An alligator-like head rose to the surface and snapped at the air.

  The alligator-like man rose from the water and walked up the embankment.

  Popé had summoned his third Kachina, the punisher Yowi, an ogre with a man’s arms and legs, combined with the head and sharp teeth of an alligator.

  She drew her knees up further to her chest and shuddered. Grandfather had promised Yowi would punish her.

  Yowi stood to his feet, not wooden like her Kachina doll but flesh and blood. He opened his alligator mouth, exposing sharp teeth like rows of razor blades. He swung Fray Bernal’s head from his hand. A monk’s hood hung from the raggedy neck of the agent of the Inquisition. There were bloody marks on the cheeks, like the man had whipped himself.

  Fray Bernal opened his eyes, and winked at her, and she almost lost it.

  I should have kept my damned mouth shut. Ugh, I’m going to die.

  Yowi cocked his alligator head in her direction.

  She slammed her head against the kiva wall and clawed at the dirt, gasping.

  Something sharp stroked her cheek.

  Yowi’s alligator-like face grinned at her, his teeth white and big.

  Oh, God, I’ve got to get out of here. Where’s the ladder? Dammit!

  Yowi snuck up on her. He scraped her cheek with his knife. Each scrape moved closer to her neck. He growled low in his throat. Yowi planned to
cut off her head.

  Ah. Oh God. I’m not a priest. Please let me live.

  Skeletons from the underworld must have followed Masawkatsina and stood behind him. Their skulls glowed in the dark and their red eye sockets glared at her.

  “Kill the spy,” a voice hissed.

  “She is a woman!”

  Popé moved quicker than lightning. He grabbed the knife from Yowi and sliced her throat.

  Blood gurgled from her neck as her dream catcher hurtled her back to the present and the camper where she clung to the mattress with aching fingers.

  Usually, her dream catcher spun around slower until it either changed directions or stopped spinning. But now…after spinning furiously the dream catcher hung perfectly still above her bed.

  If one dies in a nightmare, then one dies in reality.

  She grabbed at her jugular vein and sat up, staring at her dream catcher and waiting for Yowi to leap through the center.

  Her eyelids slid like raw eggs down her cheekbones. She dropped to the mattress like a corpse and fell into a deep, deep sleep…which seemed to last only minutes because thick smoke awakened her. She grabbed for Grandfather, thinking the camper was on fire.

  Suddenly, another nightmare sucked her in, thrusting her to the convento of the Pecos Mission, right at the front of the burning church. She screamed in an inferno and sweat poured down her face. Would her flesh cook until her meat was so tender, flesh melted from her bones?

  Flames rushed up the adobe walls and shot from the roof. The west corner of the church crumbled from the fire.

  There, at the door. Oh God. Someone burns.

  A man dressed in sandals and the robe of a Franciscan stumbled from the church. His feet were aflame and the rosary around his neck burned. The metal cross melted on his stomach and he screamed as an Indian branded him. A cross made of flesh, outlined with cinders, steamed from his belly. Smoke waved about his fiery hood and flames shot out from his face.

  All around the mission, Puebloans ran around with torches, whooping like wild Indians.

  No. No! She tried to scream at them to stop. Savages! The friars are human beings. Don’t cook them alive. They did horrible things to you to cause such anger but don’t turn into them; be more humane.

  A friar stumbled towards her with burning hands flung out. The smell of roasting flesh made her gag.

  “Stay away. Leave me in peace,” she said.

  Coward, she berated herself. Why don’t you help him? Think you’re too good to get involved with the petty squabbles of the Pecos? Aren’t you one of them?

  Her eyes stung from smoke as the friar’s robe burned to ashes. Flesh melted until a skeleton stood before her, its skeletal hands reaching out, its skeletal fingertips glowing red.

  “Stay away. Leave me alone,” she said.

  Her feet sank into the blackened earth, imprisoning her legs.

  The skeleton walked closer to her, so close, he placed his bony hands around her neck and choked her.

  “Go with God, Child. You have my blessing in death. Your sins are forgiven. I have exorcised you,” he hissed.

  She woke up, gasping for air.

  Her dream catcher no longer spun above the mattress but merely fluttered.

  Within seconds her dream catcher spun clockwise.

  She welcomed a happy dream as the wind whirled around the Pecos Pueblo and she felt herself sinking, until red dust covered her ankles. Tears on her cheeks plastered her face with mud. A biting wind dried the mud on her face to adobe and she stood once more in the ashes of a ghost pueblo.

  She tried to pinch herself to awaken but her fingers were numb. She slept lightly, unaware of her heart pounding against her chest, as her dream catcher reversed directions to spin its darkness.

  Ah, tricked her.

  She opened her mouth to scream but no sound vibrated from her throat. She walked about the ghost pueblo, with her hands guiding her because of the blowing sand so she fell into the kiva hidden beneath the church ruins that Kidder discovered. Above her, priests screamed and heads chopped off, rolling around the floor like bowling balls. From the fiery smell it was apparent the church burned and the Pueblo Revolt still ravaged the earth.

  She landed with a thud, the dirt cool on her butt cheeks.

  She sat up, struggling to breathe in the deep kiva.

  The sun began its ascent and cast the kiva in shadows…of ghosts.

  She mewed.

  Priests shuffled about on musty earth, clanking their rosary beads.

  Friars chanted and prayed and confessed.

  The sun shined on the wall and ten robed, hooded shadows walked with their heads bowed.

  The smell of burning flesh overwhelmed her and she cupped her hand to her mouth to keep from vomiting and fouling the sacred, religious kiva.

  The chanting of the monk ghosts grew louder.

  Something breathed down her nightgown and she flung out her hands and begged them to “please…please leave me alone.”

  Ugh! Cobwebs covered her hands and her fingers became entangled in a web.

  Hot flesh reached out and touched her.

  Fingers walked down her nightgown…up her nightgown.

  Then suddenly it was just her and the bright sun now shining into the hole of the kiva.

  Cowards! You leave at the light of day? Skulk about at night?

  Drip, drip.

  She spun around to a tomb in the corner.

  The dripping sound echoed from blood creeping down the kiva walls.

  The blood is Pecos blood, she realized.

  The sun’s rays shifted and shone brightly on the tomb, illuminating rust and cobwebs.

  A big spider crawled along the lid of the tomb.

  Creak.

  The lid slowly lifted from the tomb.

  She took a step back, another, and another until her fingers clawed at the earthen wall.

  The lid of the tomb fell to the earth with a thud.

  The kiva shook so hard, she landed on her back. A pain like someone took a knife and ripped open her spine caused her body to ripple. She broke her back and could not get up and run.

  The words “Grand Inquisitor” wiggled across the tomb.

  My God, it’s Fray Bernal, the agent who ordered the hanging of the medicine men.

  Fingers reached over the side and clenched the tomb, struggling to sit up.

  The top of a head became visible.

  An eye appeared, dead like an alligator’s eye, his sharp nose and pointed teeth.

  She screamed and woke up but her terror had been silent because Grandfather snored beside her.

  The moon shone through the window, casting shadows in the camper.

  She breathed a sigh of relief until her dream catcher began swinging.

  She hugged the blanket and waited for Fray Bernal to climb from his tomb and leap from her nightmare, through the hole of the dream catcher, and onto the mattress.

  She turned on her side and sobbed quietly, not wanting to wake the old man who at his age, needed his rest. Surely she would have died in her nightmare but her heart stopped and only kicked in again because of her body’s natural instinct to live.

  So Popé was a shapeshifter and transformed into a hawk to protect his wife.

  There was once a witch by the name of Cienega, who possessed the body and soul of a beautiful woman from the Laguna Pueblo. During ninth grade Christmas break, Cienega swayed into their shack, like she didn’t quite fit into her legs, giving the excuse that a peyote vision demanded she make love to Grandfather. Her voice slurred like she had difficulty making her lips work.

  Hollow-Woman was so naïve at the age of fourteen that she believed Cienega about the peyote.

  Grandfather growled and jumped on Cienega, knocking her down. By the time he locked his jaws around her throat, he transformed into a wolf and tore Cienega apart.

  She jumped up and down, screaming, a young girl with spots of blood splattered on her white dress.

  She became eve
n more hysterical when the wolf turned to her, with sharp teeth bared and lips drenched in blood.

  She jumped back, sure he meant to attack her next, but then the wolf transformed back into Grandfather.

  He ordered her not to be afraid because he killed the shapeshifter who meant to harm her.

  “Why would the shapeshifter wish to harm me?”

  “Because she is jealous you may have inherited my gifts, but I never wished to burden you with the abilities of a sorceress and train you in the ways. My magic will be buried with me. Bah. You are nothing but a girl who will grow up to be a worthless woman.”

  She wished now he had trained her and honed her so-called powers. He seemed too old to protect her from Yowi or any other bogeymen her dream catcher conjured up. At his age, the exertion of shape shifting would probably kill him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning she stood over him with her hands clenched into fists. He sent her a dream during the day, never revealing his damned dream catcher might send her daydreams, which made her feel vulnerable in her waking hours. What a catastrophe if her dream catcher threw her back to the Seventeenth Century while she was driving.

  “Don’t you ever send me a daydream again,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  “I did not send you a daydream,” he said.

  “But there was a woman holding a dream catcher and bringing me visions. I thought…”

  “You say your dream catcher materialized when you were not sleeping?”

  “Is that what she is, my dream catcher? I thought she was my…never mind what I thought. I only know what I saw.”

  “Ah, it is my fate for women to rain on my Kachina dance. While I was sleeping, this woman grabbed control of your dreams like the trickster Katsina Coyote. This dream catcher’s magic is so strong, she searches you out. This is a very rare phenomenon for a dream catcher to masquerade as a human being and appear in a dream. If a dream catcher crosses over from the world of dreams to the world of reality, it does so for only one reason. Granddaughter,” he said and took a troubling breath, “your dream catcher is not bringing you good dreams nor nightmares, but the endless dream of death.”