Rock with Wings

by Anne Hillerman

  He hesitated. “We don’t know what happened, except that your mother is home by herself, and that’s not a safe situation. You’re right to make Mama your top priority.”

  “Sister should have called me, not just left Mama alone.”

  “I agree. I could check on her, see what I can find out.” After his years in law enforcement, Chee knew most of the major players in the Four Corners.

  “When we get to Mama’s.”

  Finally Chee turned the truck onto Bernie’s mother’s road and stopped in front of her little house. Mama usually went to bed early, but tonight the living room lights shone into the evening.

  Bernie opened the passenger door. “Are you coming in with me?”

  Chee shook his head. “I’ll hide out here until you see how things are. If she asks, tell her I had to make those phone calls about Darleen.”

  Bernie nodded. “I can’t blame you.”

  Chee watched her walk to the porch, open the front door, and disappear inside.

  Mama must be unhappy with her baby daughter. When she saw Bernie, that would make two people on her bad side. And when she found out he was there too? He knew from long experience some situations were best left to the women.

  Chee felt comfortable in the truck, away from the emotion-packed world of mothers, daughters, sisters, and family drama. He was happy to help; happier to stay out of the way. He liked Bernie’s idea of focusing on more help for Mama. If it worked, maybe they could plan another vacation—or even continue this one.

  After a while he climbed out onto the road to stretch his legs and his back, feeling the residual warmth radiating from the tan earth. Another day with no rain, and no rain expected anywhere on the Navajo Nation or in the Four Corners for another week. Some years the summer rains had started by now, but this late June only brought baking heat.

  Chee heard his phone ring back in the truck and trotted to catch the call. Cell service was spotty on the reservation, but, amazingly, their phones worked near Bernie’s mother’s house.

  It was Paul. “So how’s Bernie’s mother?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Bernie’s in there talking to her. I’m waiting, looking at the stars. How are you doing as a mechanic?”

  “Not good. I searched for the battery. It looks like a box, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I guess this thing doesn’t have one. If Bernie’s mom is OK, could you come back tonight? Help me fix the People Mover? I hate to lose that job.”

  “Let me see what’s up in the house of women. I’ll call you.”

  Chee climbed back out of the truck again and looked at the sparkling sky. The stars always made him feel small, a little speck of life in the giant scheme of things—many of them unknown and complicated.

  He walked toward Mama’s house. He could see Bernie sitting on the couch, Mama next to her. His mother-in-law looked like she’d lost weight, precious pounds she couldn’t afford to lose.

  He knocked, and Mama and Bernie turned. Mama put her hand on Bernie’s leg and said something he couldn’t catch, and he realized he was in trouble. Bernie rose and opened the door.

  In the years he had known her, Mama had been unfailingly polite, but tonight she dispensed with the pleasantries. “You came, too?” She didn’t wait for Chee to respond, or invite him to sit down. “You talk to this one. Talk some sense into her.”

  Chee stepped inside. He had seen Bernie handle difficult situations and wondered what she had said so far. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked.

  Mama spoke to him again. “You two should not have come. I don’t know why she makes such a fuss about me.”

  Bernie said, “I could use some coffee. I’m going to make some for all of us.” When she walked past him to the kitchen, Chee could tell she had been crying.

  Chee turned to Mama. “The night sky is beautiful. Would you like to go out to the porch with me and see the moon?”

  Mama considered the offer, then nodded. She struggled to rise from the couch, and he moved toward her, offering his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong, but she was trembling. He gently leveraged her to standing. She felt as light as bones baked in the sun. She pointed to the corner with her lips, the same way Chee’s aunt had always done. “Get that walking machine.”

  Chee knew she meant the walker. He waited for her to stand more steadily and then helped her take a few steps. When she reached the back of the couch, he pushed the walker where she could grab for it.

  Moving slowly, she headed to the front door. Chee opened it, and they made their way outside. They stood for a while, and then Bernie’s mother sat in the wooden chair, and Chee lowered himself onto the cement at her side.

  Mama had grown up in a society where sons-in-law kept their distance, but the traditional Navajo world was changing. Chee thought some of the changes, like the end of the taboo against a woman’s mother and her husband ever catching sight of each other, were for the best. Death had taken Chee’s mother years ago. He considered Mama’s presence in his life a blessing.

  “Did my daughter see Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii?” Mama used the Navajo name for Monument Valley.

  “Yes. She smiled and smiled. My wife will tell you how beautiful it was. She took some pictures.”

  Mama nodded. “I remember my uncle’s stories about how the Holy People left us those big rocks out there so the Diné could find our way through that place.”

  Somewhere a coyote yipped, and another answered.

  Mama spoke again. “Your wife thinks I am too weak to be alone.”

  Chee watched a cloud flirt with the moon, and waited.

  “She is stubborn, that one. She doesn’t listen to me so well anymore. You tell her to save her energy to take care of her sister.”

  Chee said, “My wife looks like she’s been crying.”

  Mama stared ahead, and the silence sat so long that he wondered if she had fallen asleep.

  “She is angry with her sister, and she worries too much. And I think she is still sad about the old one who got hurt.”

  Chee realized she was referring to the attack on Lieutenant Leaphorn that Bernie had witnessed.

  “I told her not to come here,” Mama said. “When I look at her, I know her heart is still heavy, uneasy, restless, ever since that bad thing happened.”

  They watched the cloud float in front of the moon, covering it like frost on a cold morning. Chee said, “May I share an idea with you?”

  Mama nodded once.

  “My wife would like to figure out how to best help her sister. She would enjoy your company. Seeing how strong you are would lighten her heart, help her return to hozho.” Hozho, harmony, contentment with the inevitable—a central tenet of the Navajo way. “I believe if you asked her to spend some time here at your house, she would say yes.”

  He studied Mama’s face for a reaction. Discerned none. Continued.

  “Some people say that it is a good thing for daughters to be with their mothers so they can learn from them. They say it doesn’t matter if the daughter thinks she is already a grown woman, she can still benefit from her mother’s wisdom.”

  The wisp of a cloud drifted away, and the moonlight brightened. The fragrance of coffee wafted out onto the porch.

  Chee stood. “May I bring you some coffee?”

  Mama reached to the walker for support and rose gingerly from the chair. “My daughter knows how to make good coffee. I want to go in to sit with her. And you come in, too.”

  Chee held the door as Mama moved inside and pushed into the kitchen with measured steps. She eased herself into her regular chair. Bernie poured coffee for her and brought it to the table, along with the sugar bowl and a spoon. She poured a second cup and handed it to Chee.

  He took the mug by the handle. “I’m going back out to the porch to make some calls about my sister-in-law. I’ll tell you what I find out.”

  After he left, Bernie took her regular seat and waited. Mama looked at the coffee in her cup, tried a sip, and added more sugar
. She put the cup down and pulled herself a little taller in the chair. “Elder daughter, I have been thinking things over. I would like you to stay so we can decide how to help your sister. It would make my heart happy to be with you.”

  Bernie was glad that her mother considered it rude to look someone in the eye. She quickly brushed away her tears. “I will be happy to do that, Mama. We will figure things out together.”

  Suddenly, the night seemed sweeter.

  4

  Chee had good connections and a bit of luck. After a few calls he discovered that Darleen was in the San Juan County Detention Center, arrested for disorderly conduct and placed under protective custody because she was drunk. He was glad he’d found her, glad that she wasn’t in the hospital or dead, glad that she hadn’t been arrested for DWI. After decades of highway tragedies, New Mexico’s legislature had made the state one of the nation’s toughest places for drunken driving. He told Bernie privately, stressing the good news—Darleen was safe. His wife would decide when and what to tell Mama.

  After that, he called Paul and told him Bernie had to help Mama, but he would be back tonight to do whatever needed doing. Chee appreciated the fact that his clan brother didn’t ask why Chee hadn’t been invited to stay, or when Bernie would return.

  “If we can’t make the People Mover start,” Paul said, “we could use your truck and my truck. You could follow me. Maybe a couple of them won’t mind sitting in the back, you know? You and I used to do it when you came to visit.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get your baby going.” Chee figured that even if they didn’t know it was illegal, tourist passengers would balk at riding in an open truck bed.

  “I’ve been nervous about this, brother. It means a lot to me.” Chee heard the relief in his cousin’s voice. “I’ve been making some notes for tomorrow for the bilagaanas. I can brew a thermos of coffee, and I’ve got a can of milk, some sugar cubes. Would you stop and get some of those little doughnuts? I’ll pay you for them. You know, the white ones with the powdered sugar outside?” Paul made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I wish we had some of those breakfast burritos like the ones you used to make. That would be perfect.”

  Chee stopped at the grocery in Shiprock, amazed to find it still open. The mini doughnuts looked shopworn, so he bought what he needed for burritos along with a case of bottled water. The customers would probably want it. It would be warm, but it was the best he could do. Then he went by the trailer along the San Juan that he and Bernie called home and picked up his police uniform and weapon. He’d need them for his vacation-interrupting assignment.

  Chee’s drive back to Monument Valley was long and solitary. He told himself to stop feeling grumpy, to remember how lucky he was to have a wife who cared for her relatives and who expanded the circle to include his relatives, like Paul. He already missed Bernie.

  When he got there, he fixed the People Mover by flashlight. The repair didn’t take long—it was just a matter of reconnecting loose battery cables. He was thankful that old engines didn’t require computer analysis.

  Chee wasn’t usually an early riser, but before sunrise he and Paul went to work making burritos. Chee cooked the filling, and Paul wrapped the tortillas, sealed the burritos in foil, rolled them in towels, and put them in an insulated bag. Chee set up the coffeepot and placed it over the fire in the fire pit. Paul had found six cups, the old-fashioned kind their grandmother had used. Because this was Paul’s first time guiding a tour, Chee agreed to come along as an observer. He could suggest improvements for the next time.

  The guests—two couples from Norway—were ready at the visitor center at 6:00 a.m., bright-eyed and excited. They seemed amazed and a bit intimidated to find themselves in the big, open, nearly waterless landscape with a real Indian as a guide. Paul further wowed them when he told them that Chee, his assistant for the day, was a genuine Navajo Nation policeman.

  The visitors nodded and introduced themselves: Filip, Emma, Emil, and Nora. They spoke rusty high school English.

  “You came here on holiday like us?” Emma, a woman in a long-sleeved hiking shirt, asked.

  “Yes, but I’m going to be working here, too, helping with a movie.”

  The woman looked at him with more interest. “You are in this movie?”

  “No, ma’am.” He tried to explained the situation, which led to more questions about the Navajo Nation police and how they operated. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut; he knew from experience that talking more than necessary only led to trouble.

  He helped the visitors into the People Mover and they bounced along to Paul’s place, where they toured the hogan, admired the ramada, and praised the coffee. They gobbled up the burritos once Paul showed them how to scrape off most of the green chile and explained that they could do so without hurting his feelings.

  After breakfast, Paul pulled the People Mover keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Chee. “You drive so I can concentrate on giving out the information. I’ll tell you where to turn for the photo vistas.”

  The tour went remarkably well. To Chee’s amazement, Paul knew quite a bit about photography and had a jovial way of sharing advice without being pushy. He told Chee to stop at all the right places for pictures. Paul also explained the geology of the park and talked about its plants and animals without going overboard. The customers knew enough English to understand the essence of the narration and ask questions. They took dozens of photos of horses on the sand dunes.

  Chee enjoyed driving the big vehicle and revisiting places he’d loved years before. When Paul discussed the area’s human history—ancient Pueblo people, Spanish and Anglo miners, and the Navajo families who lived in the park today—he thought about Bernie’s theory, that the dirt from her traffic stop might be tied to archaeology. He reached no conclusion.

  Chee steered them out of Mystery Valley and onto the main Monument Valley road, a rough dirt track that looped back to the Visitor Center. The sun warmed the midmorning air, which blew in through his open window and buffeted the guests on the People Mover’s bench seats. Ahead a sightseeing van, fully packed with customers, churned up a red cloud of dirt. The suffocating dust left him two alternatives. The first was to slow down to a crawl for the long miles back to the visitor center to stay well behind the van, while the passengers in the back baked, got sunburned, and grew bored.

  The second, more manly option? Ignore the painful speed limit, pass the van, and let them decelerate or eat his dust.

  He sailed by the vehicle smoothly, but a giant pothole lay just beyond it. He avoided the crater only to encounter a barricade the road crew had created to keep the trail from flooding. The People Mover plowed directly onto a hill of rocks and sand that took up half the roadway. Chee winced at the scraping noise and then felt a thunk as something big and hard made contact with the underside of the vehicle. The People Mover continued forward just fine, but the realist in Chee didn’t trust it. He had no choice, of course, but to drive on.

  As Paul helped the guests unload at the hotel, Chee noticed oil dripping onto the asphalt of the parking lot. After the customers left, he showed his cousin the dark puddle. “I think that’s from whatever I clobbered back there.”

  Paul shrugged. “It had a leak already. They have oil at the store behind Goulding’s. We’ll add some when we need it, take some with us. No problem.”

  Chee’s phone rang. “Just a second.” He hoped it was Bernie.

  Instead, he heard a different woman’s voice. “Sergeant Chee? It’s Monica, the administrative assistant at the Monument Valley substation. The captain asked me to call you. He’s hoping you can start work early. Something’s come up.”

  “What do you mean by early?”

  She hesitated. “The captain can give you the details, but we’re really short around here. He asked me to see if you could meet with him this afternoon, so he can brief you on your assignment.”

  “Let me make a couple calls, and I’ll get back to you, Monica.” If the si
tuation with Bernie’s mother was going to take time to resolve, he might as well make himself useful. And whatever trouble he’d created for the People Mover would have a price tag. Why not meet with the captain and get the lay of the land?

  “Where’s the office?” he asked, and she gave him directions.

  There was no answer on Bernie’s cell number. He didn’t leave a message, instead calling her mother’s house and their home number in Shiprock. No Bernie anywhere. He called Monica back, and told her he’d be there.

  Paul gave him a questioning look, and Chee explained.

  “I thought you were on vacation for a few more days.”

  “If Bernie can’t get back, I might as well go in early.”

  “Stay with me as long as you want, bro. I was thinking we could fix up that old corral while you’re here. I might start some horseback tours.”

  Chee had noticed the corral. Fixing it was not an option; Paul needed to rebuild the whole thing, to make it safe for tourists who’d probably never been within smelling distance of a horse.

  Paul kept talking. “We can work on that when you’re done with the police stuff. We could do it the old way with junipers. Remember how Uncle would bring in a bunch of trees, and we would trim off the branches to make the posts?”

  Chee nodded. The work had been hot and dirty, but they enjoyed it because Uncle told them stories of his army days in Vietnam.

  They added oil to replace what had leaked out and bought more to take with them in case of an emergency. Back at Paul’s house, Chee scooted under the vehicle. He spotted the problem easily: a steady drip that led his eye to a hole in the oil pan. Fixing it would require draining the oil—or letting it simply drip out—welding the hole closed, adding more oil, and making sure the weld held.

  Chee maneuvered himself back out, dusted off his clothes, and explained the situation. “Since I did the damage, I’ll take care of it for you.”

  Paul said, “I told you, it had a leak before. I’ll pay for half with some of that money I get from the tourists. I’m glad you can fix it.”