Return of the Bones: Inspired by a True Native American Indian Story
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He ground his rig to a halt, the brakes squeaking and red dust blowing around the tires.
The day of the dead arrived and life rebounded full circle.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Steve was a Jemez man and dressed in a red, colorful Southwestern shirt, cowboy hat and boots. Splashes of turquoise decorated his belt buckle. A watch, attached to a silver band dotted with turquoise, hugged his wrist. A magnificent turquoise and silver squash necklace hung around his neck.
She planned to bury the bones together in one large grave. Steve and his friends had dug the grave, not disturbing any tree roots or other Pecos remains, by using information NASA transmitted from radar that penetrated the ground
One by one, Steve’s friends gently lifted the bones from their boxes and placed them within the grave.
It was a dry spring, the ground so hard it seemed the ruins conspired with the elements to freeze the earth so that the bones would never be disturbed again.
She dressed like the ancients with a colorful, striped, wool blanket tied at her shoulder and a red and black palm-width sash tied at her waist. Over her shoulders was draped a cape made from white turkey feathers.
A rumbling in the earth came from the west. Wave after wave of Native Americans, dressed in their colorful finest, dotted the Pecos hills, making the pueblo appear to come to life.
“Two hundred walked from Jemez to Pecos to commemorate the journey made by the thirteen survivors. They have walked the same trail of tears and cried along the way,” Steve said.
“They remembered; the Pecos people have not been forgotten.”
“Because of you, Sweetheart, all due to you,” he said, taking her in his arms and holding her quivering body.
“No, because of Grandfather,” she said, wiping her damp cheeks.
She walked alone in front of the mourners who sprinkled cornmeal along the burial walk to the single massive grave.
Steve, Jerry Norberto’s nephew, and four other nephews of Grandfather’s friends carried a wooden pueblo ladder upon which his corpse lay.
She walked beside them and with each step, sprinkled corn meal on his body.
She pounded the ceremonial staff against the ground. I am of the snake clan of Pecos. With each pounding of the staff, her heart beat with the pride of a ghost nation.
The mourners traversed the grave, counterclockwise, until they walked full circle.
The men placed him in the center of the grave, squatting on his blanket, facing east like a rising sun.
She would remember him in death this way: top-half of his face painted sun-yellow above a bottom-half blue sky; feather rays of sunlight encircling his head to light the darkness in the grave; him holding court at the center of 2,067 skeletons fanning out around him; his precious bones to keep him company through all eternity. His arms were decorated with feather rays, spread like the wings of an eagle to cast the sun’s warmth upon the bones.
Wind blew her cape around her shoulders and she opened her own wings to the heavens and sang out her thanks in Towa. She sang the story of the golden age of Pecos, how a once proud people founded a pueblo in 1300 and eventually grew to be two thousand. The men were such strong warriors and the pueblo so formidable.
She thanked the sun, the clouds, the rain, all the animals and the Kachinas for bringing home the missing. She dropped to her knees and held her hands over the bones, like she was blessing them. She told them what happened to cause their displacement and confusion. She explained to the bones the reason they were gone from home for so long and where they went.
“Please forgive the archaeologist because he did not understand his sacrilege of disturbing your rest and taking you so far from your homeland. It took an act of Congress to allow you to come home, and your country did not let the people down this time. You will never be disturbed again. The sustenance of this earth will strengthen you and the rays of Grandfather, Sun Kachina, will light your way. I wish you all joy on your crossing. I pray you have a gentle ride to the other side. I look forward to one day joining my ancestors.”
The hollow sockets of the skulls stared up at her, and the ground shook beneath the kivas.
Steve stepped forward and spoke to the mourners. “On November 13, 1901 in the hour before dusk folds to night, a mist swirled the summit of Chicoma Mountain, creating a cloud shaped like an Indian tipi. A moon bloated with light tap-danced across the sky and slid into the tipi cloud the exact moment Great-Grandmother cruised into labor. For a few hours, the moon peeked through the flap of the tipi cloud, as if awaiting a stupendous birth. As soon as Grandfather was born, the cloud slowly evaporated, appearing as if smoke blew from the tipi on the mountain top. With each smoke exhalation by the moon, a scent of herbs and tobacco engulfed Jemez Pueblo. The elders predicted that this child, born under a never-before-seen tipi moon, was a channel to the spirit world. The elders’ prophecy came true; Grandfather became a master of magic.”
“He was leader of the snake clan so he shed his skin and adapted in an ever-changing world. He faced life with the daring of a hawk and the humor of a raccoon. As Clown Society member, he drained laughter from gloomy depths of souls. The power of a mountain lion pulsed through his veins. As medicine chief, he rescued spellbound hearts from witches. He mastered the abracadabra of sorcery with the slyness of a fox. As Kachina priest, he ruled the supernatural world. When decked out for ceremony with feather rays, he embodied the spirit of Sun Kachina. As Kachina priest with gift of thunderstorms, he seduced crops with liquid sunshine. He was special friend to Coyote Kachina, who taught him the secret of shape shifting.”
“Grandfather blessed this earth with his presence for ninety-eight years. He had the courage to survive and left this world a better place than he found it. We shall all miss him.”
She blew a kiss at Grandfather. “Goodbye, Governor. You are my sun beneath the earth, my heart above the clouds, and my prayer for a better life. I will see you every morning when the sun rises. I shall miss you when the sun sets. I will yearn for you on a cloudy day. Do not forget me.” She threw a silver locket with her picture into the grave.
The men shoveled dirt on the burial site.
In the center on top were Grandfather’s favorite dish of beans and chile, and a bottle of water, waiting for him so he would not hunger or thirst on his journey. His spirit would haunt the Pecos ruins four days before transforming into a Kachina. He would then travel to Kachina Village. He had his Kachina mask with him and he would wear it at the banquet set for him. His spiritual protector, Sun Kachina would welcome him.
There. It was done. The men set down their shovels.
Mists of clouds began to gather.
She cocked her ear to the wind.
“Listen to my ancestors continuing their journey, interrupted when their bones were exhumed. I have been cursed, but now the curse is lifted. I returned my family to their land so they can rest peacefully. Now, the Pecos will flourish once more. We will have children and multiply,” she said.
“I’m sure we will, Holly,” Steve said.
He stood behind her and placed his hands on her waist.
She lifted her head to the sky.
“Do you see them?” she said.
“All I see is a sky filled with billowy white clouds.”
“The spirits of my ancestors are now at rest and have become Cloud People. They crossed the bridge and Pautiwa, Chief of Kachina Village, welcomes them.”
“The sky looked clear before we buried the bones, and now I’ve never seen so many clouds before, must be thousands. You remind me of Grandfather,” he said, hugging her in his arms like he might never let her go.
“Do you mind if I stay a little while by myself?” she said.
He left her sitting by the burial ground still staring up at the sky.
The bones weren’t the only ones who had come home. She smiled up at a cloud that bore Grandfather’s features.
The cloud dissipated, and at last, he traveled on his way.
As they passed, she saw her own features in the clouds, generations of grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Grandfather once told her: when you learn to love unselfishly, when you learn to not want so much, then you will no longer be Hollow-Woman.
Through shimmering tears, she blinked at the fluffy clouds (video link) and felt fullness within and knew she would never be hollow again.
She walked over to her mother’s grave and imagined below this earth, sitting alone in a corner, a skeleton wore a necklace. Her chin bone touched the tip of her chest bone. Her hip bones were spread, as if she had just given birth.
“Mama,” she cried, falling to her knees.
The heart-shaped necklace lit up and a heartbeat fluttered in her mother’s ribcage.
She swore she felt her mother’s hand bones squeeze her hands.
Her mother’s eye sockets stared at her in a droopy-dog way.
Her big teeth grinned at her.
She heard her mother’s voice: My spirit calls to you in never-ending song like two birds seeking each other in darkness. Forever, I am drawn to my baby. You are my light. I am so very proud of you.
She stroked her mother’s grave and sang back to her.
“From your lips sings the music of angels. I feel you in my heart and in the depths of my very soul. I have been so lost without you,” she said, touching her forehead to the sacred dirt.
For one moment in time, one precious moment, the gate to the other world crept open and a beautiful young Indian maiden with black shimmering hair brushing her shoulders, stood before her with her hands reaching out to her.
Before she could touch her, the woman was lifted up to the sky and her mother’s face formed in a cloud, hovered above her a minute, then floated across the sky to join the others.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Her dream catcher swirled clockwise around her head, and she waited at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
Ah. Here they come.
Some thirty weary souls walked towards Pecos.
She wished she had brought some food and water with her.
The closer they got, the stronger they seemed to grow until all thirty stood tall. Their flesh glowed with life. The eldest wore a silver crown with turquoise beads. She should know this man, yet his name escaped her.
“You have always known me for I have never left you,” he said, smiling gently at her. “We’ve come to give you this.”
He handed her a slab of wood newly cut from a tree of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. A polished image of the lady was carved in the center of the slab.
“Thank you. I’ll always cherish this gift,” she said.
“Have faith,” he said, bowing his head to her.
He turned, and walked towards the Pecos ruins. He pounded against the earth the royal staff given to the people by King Phillip III of Spain. The man walked like he was somebody.
The others followed.
She tried to yell at them not to leave her, but couldn’t squeeze the words from her dry throat.
She wanted to run after them but her feet would not move.
A finger tapped her shoulder.
She held her breath and turned slowly.
It was him.
“You have done well, Child,” he said, stroking her cheek with a gnarled hand.
“You act surprised that I succeeded in the task you gave me.”
“Granddaughter, you have always misunderstood. You are my joy and my shining pride. I believe in your strength, for the Pecos River runs through your blood. Your heart beats within this earth. At last, you have become the woman I always knew you could be.”
She clung to his sleeve but he spun on his white moccasins and ran as fast as a deer to catch the other Pecos spirits.
“Don’t cry,” a soft voice said.
Through her tears she saw her mother pull the sleeve of a man who seemed hesitant to approach her. He grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled her to join the others who waited for them. Warriors, women and children, vanished from the horizon.
The sun seemed to melt the thirty-three souls back into the earth and the dirt shimmered like yellow glass.
Behind her echoed the laughter of ghost children.
Above the black and white stripes of her bed, her dream catcher spun clockwise in the direction of good dreams, slowing, until it stopped.
She hugged the wooden slab of the Lady that once hung from the church walls. She held up the slab in wonder. The wood appeared newly cut from a pine tree of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. The lady sparkled as if varnished.
This was his gift to her, not just a dream catcher to decorate her ceiling, but faith and belief in family.
Epilogue
With a heavy heart, she drove to Pecos.
She sat in her SUV for ten minutes, clenching the wheel with white knuckles.
She squinted to see the ghost buildings of five-story apartments. All she saw was the ruins.
She cocked her ear for the laughter of children, the gossip of women and the labor of men. All she heard was the flutter of a breeze.
She rolled down the windows and sniffed for baking bread but all she smelled was dirt.
She peered at the church ruins for Franciscans clothed in monks’ robes, rosary beads clanking against their knees, hoods bowed and chanting novenas. All she saw were graves of the friars she brought back from Boston, buried where she estimated their beds had been. The convento at Pecos had been their home and they, too, deserved the peace of reburial.
She let out a deep sigh, unbuckled her seat belt and got down.
David, her nine-year-old, pounded the ceremonial staff against the ground as he walked beside her. He was governor of the Pecos ruins, an honor he did not take lightly. He was so like Grandfather and Steve already indoctrinated him into Kachina society.
“What’s wrong, Mama? You seem so sad,” David said.
“Yeah, every time you bring us to Pecos, you cry,” said Maria, who was eight. She was wise like Grandfather and a straight-A student.
Maria held the hand of Sammy, her youngest and six years-old. Sammy was a good candidate for Clown Society.
“I’m just crying from happiness because I have you kids. Our family ruins are a magical place,” she said.
“Because of Great-Grandfather,” Sammy said.
She led her children to the mass grave.
“Great-Grandfather is buried here and brings the sun to us,” David said.
“He visits us in his sweat lodge,” Maria said.
“What?!” Holly said. “Oh, but he comes as a cloud.”
“No, he doesn’t,” David said.
“Great-Grandfather says love never dies,” Sammy said.
“That’s right, children, love never dies,” she said through her tears, “nor does faith, nor hope, nor magic.”
For the umpteenth time she sang to her children in Towa, the story of Pecos, their once mighty pueblo that ruled this land.
When she finished the tale of their ancestors, David, Maria, and Sammy recited: “And when Montezuma returns, Pecos will ascend from the earth like a Phoenix rising from the ashes.”
She pulled from her purse the cinder from the sacred fire of Montezuma and with a match, lit a flame with the ember.
As governor of Pecos Pueblo, David took the burning ember.
All four faced east, like their ancestors had for centuries, their eyes scanning the morning star, waiting for Montezuma to return to his Altar of the Sun.
The wind picked up and the ember glowed red.
Holly laughed at dust swirling like brown ghosts around her ankles.
And she heard the wind whisper in Towa: you have done well, child.
Grandfather’s face smiled down at them from a cloud.
And at the ruins, the pueblo came to life and the Pecos ghosts danced (video link).
Belinda’s Memoirs
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If you are curious about Belinda, she has written some memoirs. (Click here to find out more)
Belinda, also, writes Psychological thrillers under the pen name Belinda Austin (click here). She writes YA Dystopian and Science Fiction under the pen name B. Austin (click here).
A Thank You from the Author
“Thank you so much for purchasing Return of the Bones. Readers like you are awesome and motivate me to write the most riveting stories my imagination can conjure.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at Return of the Bones on Amazon and/or Return of the Bones on Goodreads to help others discover it.”
Best wishes,
Belinda
Afterword by the Author
For my New Mexico Witches Series, I was researching the Native American legend about Montezuma once ruling Pecos Pueblo, when I came across an article in the Harvard Gazette about the repatriation of the Pecos Bones. These skeletons became very real for me, and I felt heartbroken by the fact that they had been taken from their resting place and “put to work” at Harvard, i.e. enslaved, for 85 years.
Their reburial back at the ghost pueblo of Pecos really moved me, and I felt as if these bones were reaching out to me, asking me to tell their story. The more I researched, the more passionate I became about the Pecos skeletons.
I visited the ruins of the Pecos Pueblo but could not visit the secret burial site. Nevertheless, I promised the bones that though the Pecos people are extinct, the world should not forget the skeletons that contributed so much to mankind.
I came up with the title Return of the Bones and created the fictional last of the Pecos people, Hollow-Woman and Grandfather, who venture to claim their family and bring the bones home for reburial.