Thunder In Her Body

by C. B. Stanton

  In three days, they talked about two lifetimes.

  With Blaze sitting right beside her on the living room couch, Aaron asked, “Lynette, does he know that you’re black?”

  It was an odd thing to just blurt out. She knew Aaron not to be a racist, as much as anyone reared in American society is not, but he saw the ugliness of racism in the world, and would do anything to keep his brother from being hurt. Besides, there wasn’t much about her, except occasional frizzy hair, when it got wet, that would let the untrained eye even guess she was black. She knew that. His question meant “Do you all have an inkling of the things that might be ahead of you? Do you know that other people will judge you because of your color, or your declaration of ethnicity? Are you all ready for all that, plus the racism that Blaze faces, that Indians face, wherever they go?” That was the purpose of his question. Not to confront Blaze, or to insult her, but to protect a man he loved as his brother, and to offer his help to this wonderfully intelligent, loving woman who had come into their lives. Aaron was just blunt – lawyer, white-rich-man blunt. That was his way. Before she could reply, Blaze glowered at Aaron with a nettled expression on his face. He started to say something, but she prevented him forming the words. The immediate tension had to be diffused. She didn’t want any cross feelings between these two, especially over her.

  “Yes, he does,” she said in an instructive tone. “We have no secrets, no misconceptions.” There was a pause as a sideways smirk formed on her face. “And besides, once you’ve had black, you can’t go back!!” she said in a libidinous manner. It was street talk. She was a saucy lady and Blaze loved it, but this kind of humor often caught him way off guard. Beer shot out of Blaze’s nose and he seriously choked, coughing and spewing beer all down his clean shirt. For a time, he couldn’t get his breath. Aaron jumped to his feet and lifted Blaze up by his underarms which allowed Blaze’s rib cage to expand, thereby giving his lungs more room to breathe. Blaze gasped again, then took in a really deep breath. He breathed heavily for a couple of minutes, before he was all right.

  “Lynn, you’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he said, now trying to laugh.

  “If so, sweetie, you’ll die happy,” she replied playfully, with a suggestive wink.

  Aaron tried to apologize for the question. Lynette assured him she understood what he meant. Besides being well-educated, she was wise in the way people could be curious about people who didn’t fit the stereotypical model of looking black or Hispanic or Indian. In America, looks – color - often determined how a person is treated. She’d been told more times than she could count that she didn’t look black or sound black either. One of her former supervisors, for whom she worked for over nine months, never knew the ethnicity she claimed. Since she checked the other box on her agency transfer form, she surmised that he never cared what she was as long as she displayed excellence in her work. It was fine with her. Whenever possible, if she felt like investing the time in the questioner, she’d engage that person in conversation and discuss regionality, diversity, ethnicity – and stereotypes. She related a story about an African-American diversity trainer over on the east coast. No one knew that he was black. Consequently, many racist words floated around freely during breaks. There was often heated discussion in the class about ethnic minorities and their shortcomings in the workforce. In the very last hour of the last day of the training session, the trainer told the group that he was black. They’d spent 4-5 days with him and no one knew. He had to tell them – because he didn’t look black. A major part of the lesson for that class was how differently people can be treated when they are identifiable as something!

  Though she’d spelled out her biological pedigree to Blaze, she tried to explain it to Aaron. Her mother, a beautiful porcelain-skinned, green-eyed, auburn haired woman was an Octoroon, meaning that she was only about 1/8 black. Her grandfather was a German Jew who emigrated to the U.S. before World War I. He had a liaison with her grandmother who was the granddaughter of a slave and was part Irish, French, Scot, English and African-American.

  “My father,” she said, “is quite a question mark in that he is of mixed race and there is a good possibility that he may be as much as one quarter Native-American.” And so she related the story about his people possibly being from Athabasca, Canada.

  “As you know, in the U.S., if you have so much as one drop of African or any kind of “black” ancestry, you are considered “tainted” – its been labeled the human stain, which is so ignorant,” she added, “and ‘colored’ for all intents and purposes. It’s really peculiar. My birth certificate lists my mother as white, but someone drew a line through that and wrote in “colored’. My father was listed as ’colored’ and consequently, so was I. You know back then, the hospitals wrote what they thought, unless someone told them different. In many instances it was easy to evade the truth if the parent, or family, didn’t display any of the usual characteristics associated with being a Negro. I was reared colored, became a Negro by social designation, chose to be black, and now my politically correct, hyphenated designation is African-American. Just like Blaze, a hyphenated Native-American. That’s what this culture does when it decides it can’t keep you out, so to keep you distinct from the others, it hyphenates you, doesn’t it?” she asked Aaron pointedly. “You’re not hyphenated Aaron, are you,” she queried. “Blaze’s ancestors were here 10,000 or more years before yours. Why aren’t you hyphenated to maybe a Newcomer-American or white-American?” she asked, without requiring an answer.

  Aaron was a bit uneasy at her words. There was a sting to them.

  “I understand what you’re saying. I didn’t mean to insult you, Lynette. You must believe that. Forgive me if it came out that way,” he pleaded.

  “You know, I’m just so used to these conversations, that it no longer angers me. When I can, I try to see it as an opportunity. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t take on a bigot, and I don’t distinguish a bigot by color, because they come in all shades from black as the ace of spades to white as the driven snow. I want you to always feel free to talk to me about anything, because I perceive that you know what our world is really like. I don’t have to walk in Blaze’s shoes to know the barbs and insults that are thrown at him. But, you understand them. I suspect you’d take on anyone in ear-shot who’d insult him. Don’t worry about me, or offending me. If you ever do, trust me, I’ll let you know when you’ve crossed the line,” she said lowering her head so her eyes came up and caught his. “I know you love Blaze. I hope you can come to love me, also,” she said sweetly, patting his arm.

  “Marry her, man,” Aaron spoke loudly. “You’ll never get another chance like this. Not that you need it but you have my blessing, little brother,” he said, more lovingly than she had ever heard him speak. He squeezed Lynette’s hand.

  “I did,” Blaze said with a peaceful smile on his lips.

  SITTING IN HIS OWN BEDROOM Thursday night, with a fire burning in his Kiva fireplace, Blaze poured out the miserable story about his marriage.

  “I met her when I was stationed in San Diego, he said. I’d been in the service about six years and was about to re-enlist. I was lonely, away from home, from the reservation for the first time, and I wanted somebody for myself. Met her in a bar one night. She was by herself. That should have been my first clue. She was kind of a trashy looking white girl, but pretty in a hard sort of way. Kinda flashy, you know what I mean? Well anyway, first one thing led to another and we started fooling around together. Had dinners together; she cooked for me a couple of times – that should have been my other clue. She couldn’t cook worth a damn. Well, anyway, it wasn’t her cookin’ that kept me comin’ back, so before I shipped out for the next tour, we got married. I thought it’d be nice to have someone to come home to. When I came back the next time, about 2 months later, she was pregnant. We had a baby girl. Hell, I was delighted. We rocked along for a couple of years – marriage wasn’t so bad. Then I got sent out on a special assignment and when I got
back, she was pregnant again. But the worst part was that when I went back to the ship, I had a raging case of the clap. That bitch had given me the clap,” he said angrily.

  “I don’t have to know this,” Lynette spoke.

  “Yes you do. You need to know everything there is about me, and it ain’t all beautiful,” he replied.

  “I tried to work it out with her. I wanted to go for counseling but she said she didn’t have a problem. Oh, and by the way, it wasn’t good enough that she had given me the clap, one of the other times I came home on leave, I left with some sort of rash. Took penicillin for a week and had to rub some sort of antibiotic ointment on my dick twice a day. Goddamned bitch! Found out she’d been fuckin’ around all the time. I had three kids with her, or at least while we were married, and I’m not sure if any of them are mine. Wasn’t any DNA test back then. So anyway, I raised them as mine, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d come home from an assignment and there’d be evidence that some man had been in the house with my children, or some guy on the base would make a crack about her. The wives even told me what was going on behind my back. She got pregnant a fourth time, and I told her to get rid of the kid, ‘cuz I was outta there. She said she had a miscarriage. I don’t believe it. But that doesn’t matter. The straw that broke the camel’s proverbial back was when my CO called me in and discussed my ‘family matters’.” She was fuckin’ anything that wore a uniform, and it was about to affect my security clearance. You know all about that, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I do,” she replied.

  “Well the Navy meant a lot to me. They had invested a lot of time and money in me, and damn it, I was good at what I had been trained for. I went through the toughest training the military can put on you, and I was goddamned good. I was selected to go places and do things that nobody would ever believe, and I came back in one piece, most of the time. So, out of anger and just plain meanness, I brought an ol’ whore home one night when my wife was out, and the kids were somewhere else, and I was going at her pretty good, when Beverly came home early from some club or wherever the hell she’d been. She caught me, how do they say, inflagrante delicto, and you know what, while she was standing at the foot of the bed cursing me, I climbed right back up on that whore and continued to work my stuff, right in front of her. That’s how much I hated her by then and that’s how low I was feeling about myself. She stormed out, and shit, I finished up on the ol’ girl. I’d paid for it, I wanted my money’s worth! I went to the JAG office the next day and got advice on how to file for divorce. With my work, I couldn’t keep the kids, so she got them. And God forgive me, even if they weren’t my blood children, I wish I had fought for them, ‘cuz she fucked at least two of them up, for awhile anyway. She’s a crack whore now and my youngest son is too,” he said despondently. He paused, thoughtful before continuing. “You’ll like my daughter, I’m helping her get through med school. She says once she graduates and does her internship, she’s gonna come back here and do at least two years for the Indian Clinic. I’m so proud of her. My middle boy went to college for awhile, but dropped out. He works for a large construction outfit up in New York State. He’s doing pretty well now that he’s gotten straight and away from his mother. But that youngest one – shit. He’s so fucked up and she did that to him,” Blaze lamented, leaning forward in the chair with his head held down.

  “I started drinking after that. Oh, I wasn’t falling down drunk, and I never drank on the job – hell, that could have killed me in my line of work. I drank a lot on the weekends, drank alone a lot. I was busy fuckin’ up my life over that dumb bitch and the kids that might not even be mine. It galled me to my soul to have that child support check taken out of my pay each month, but I swallowed the constant reminder and hoped that the kids reaped the benefit of that money. God how I have hated that woman”. Blaze covered his face with both hands, but he did not cry. It was as though the fire of anger had dried any tears a long time ago. His face showed rage, pain and disgust. Finally, he rested his head on the back of the upholstered chair and stared away into nothingness.

  The foul language was so uncharacteristic; the rage coursing through Blaze’s body was palpable. He carried so much hurt with him. Lynette was hurt for him. She went over to him and put her arms around him. She climbed up onto the chair with her knees astride his hips and let him bury his face in her breasts. She gave him the only gift she had – the warmth of her body, the nurturing softness of her breasts, quiet understanding of his pain, and loving arms willing to hold him until this all passed. They did not make love that night, for the first time, but they held each other through the darkened hours. It is not clear if either of them slept.

  CHAPTER 12

  ¤

  Back to Austin

  It was their usual morning wake up time. Either Lynette would roll over and touch Blaze in that familiar way, or he would stroke her body, letting her know what he wanted. She could not imagine a time when she would ever say no to him. He was too good to her, in every possible way. Sometime their lovemaking was vigorous; at other times it was incredibly gentle. But at all times, it was decidedly passionate. So, on this morning when she had to return to Austin, he caressed her and plied her, and she submitted to his urgent need. His every move begged her not to leave him. It was as though he was storing up for a long separation. Putting his life into her and draining hers onto him. Everything was more sensitive that morning. The sheets felt smoother, the pillows fatter, the blankets felt weightless, the air smelled fresher, the sounds or lack thereof made the morning perfect. All of their sensations were at their heights. And neither of them wanted to leave the other.

  Lynette took her leave and assured Aaron that she’d be back in a few days. He sat out on the back deck with a cup of coffee, turning the cup idly in his hands. Just as she was about to exit the front door of the home, Aaron came rushing back into the house.

  “What time is your plane?” he asked.

  “It leaves at 3:50 this afternoon,” she replied.

  “Stay right there. Don’t move,” he insisted.

  Lynette and Blaze looked at each other in confusion. They petted Rusty and Suzie Q as always and used these minutes to kiss each other, tenderly, lovingly. Every second together was precious. About five minutes later, Aaron came dashing back into the living room, slightly out of breath, with a small valise in one hand, his brief case in the other, and a tweed jacket thrown over his shoulder.

  “I’m going to Austin with you,” he blurted out. “I need to see Clare,” he said emphasizing her name.

  “Well…well…I hope you can get a seat,” she replied.

  “If your flight is full, something else is flying that way. Hell it’s the capital of Texas,” he half shouted, “they’ve got something with wings and a jet engine that can get me there.”

  Blaze looked mildly amused.

  “Got it, have you?” he laughed, “the bug I mean.”

  “Don’t be the pot calling the kettle,” he blasted back at Blaze. “You’d ride bareback on a mule to get to this girl here, if you had to,” he said, pointing to Lynette.

  “Damn sure would,” Blaze replied, kissing her on her forehead.

  In the truck on the way to Albuquerque, Aaron used his cell phone and managed to secure a seat on the same Southwest flight as Lynette. Clare was picking her up at the airport in Austin anyway. Won’t she be surprised, Lynette chuckled to herself.

  Blaze stood at the bottom of the elevator and watched helplessly as Lynette and Aaron ascended up to the security gate area. He watched until they were completely out of sight, then he turned and walked back out to the parking lot, head down, and heart heavy. He didn’t like to feel this way. It was the same feeling he had when a relative died, or he lost a good friend in the navy. He didn’t like this emptiness in the pit of his stomach. She’ll be back here in less than 48 hours he told himself, but that was 47 hours too long. He loved this woman. So many people had left him, one way or another. He’d found
someone whom he believed would never leave him, at least permanently. Even a temporary separation was painful. This just didn’t feel good.

  On the long, lonely drive back to the ranch he listened to whatever station he could keep on his radio. He heard Kenny Rodgers sing, Yo-o-u-u decorated my life, by painting your love all over my heart…and tears welled up in his eyes. The droplets got so big that they blurred his vision and he had to pull over to the side of the road. “You’ve passed every tribal test to manhood, been wounded in battle, shot at, stabbed, lost at sea and you survived it all. You can survive 48 hours without this woman’,” he said out loud.

  “Then goddammit, why am I sitting here on the side of a damned dusty desert road about to cry?” he asked himself. “cuz I love her,” he said out loud again, “and I want her…I need her.”

  The phone at the ranch rang about 7:30 New Mexico time. Blaze snatched the handle up abruptly.

  “Hey Sweetie. I made it home safely. Aaron is at Clare’s house. Man did she just about pass out when he stepped up behind me at the baggage carousel. I thought she was going to faint. They’re a good pair,” Lynette chirped. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked cheerfully.

  “I’m sitting here in this damned big house with my dogs, counting the hours till you come back, Lynn. You’ve put me through the entire range of emotions in one short week, lady. Do you realize that it was just one week ago about this time that I met you? Do you know how much we’ve lived in this one short week?” he asked rhetorically. “Hurry back, he said with sadness in his voice, “just hurry back.”

  “Oh Blaze…I’m so sorry. I have these seminars. I have to work. It’ll be only two days honey, and I’ll be back with you,” she said, trying to console him.