by Frank Hayes
He could see a light on in Cesar’s apartment in the barn. The tree on the porch was the only light from the house. Instead of going right to the house, he went into the other new barn. Jack greeted him right away from his stall. He walked over to him. The newness of its construction was still there but now it was mixed with the animal smells, leather, and the tons of cut hay stored on the second floor. He was actually pleased to see some hay chaff on the floor, which he kicked up as he made his way to Jack. There was even a little evidence of wear on the top rail of Jack’s stall, where he hung his head in anticipation of a scoopful of grain or a late-night visit from Virgil. Virgil ran his hand along the smoothness of Jack’s neck, pleased with the thickness of winter growth. All of the stock seemed to be in pretty good shape according to Cesar. Virgil was glad they hadn’t had to thin the herd because of losing the last year’s hay when the original barns burned down. Cesar said the hay they had gotten from High Lonesome ranch was good but not as good as what they had lost. Virgil smiled just a tad when he thought of the comment, because he knew in Cesar’s eyes outside hay, wherever it came from, would never quite measure up. Jack’s eyes were closing as Virgil stroked him. The only noise came from a snort or two from some of the other stalls that lined the runway. He looked down the row to where the only two overhead lights lost their way in the dark. He knew that in the last stall on the right his mother’s mare, Star, was dozing, probably standing over the inert form of her six-month-old nameless foal, which had come as a great surprise in her old age. The link with his mother through her mare and Jack, who had been given to him by his father, offered a continuity that Virgil could now pass on to Virginia. He hoped she would like her Christmas present, which was now snoozing peacefully under the watchful eye of his mother, Star.
He stayed in the quiet longer than usual, even resting his chin on the top rail inches from Jack’s head. It became a dreamlike state, listening to Jack’s rhythmic breathing, feeling the warmth of his expelled breath, along with the nighttime noises that are only there in the dark. The barns were too new to groan but he could hear the wind pick up, tugging at any opening it could find. The suspension of time lasted until at last his eyes closed. His foot slipped off the bottom rail where he had anchored it, jarring him back to full consciousness. He wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth as he straightened up.
“Guess I better get down the road or ask you to move over, Jack.” He walked down to the door then turned, looked around once more, inhaled deeply the perfume that he loved and left.
Chapter 12
Morning brought with it the new reality. There was no escaping it. When he got to the office he called Ark.
“You’re sure of your findings?”
“Sure enough to tell you that’s not Everett Jessup on the table in the back room. Not sure exactly at this stage who it is, but my guess, as I said yesterday, would be Native American, late teens, maybe twenty. Looks like the growth plates are done. Height, maybe five-eight, not much more. Sorry, Virgil, if this is going to make life a little more difficult for you, but that’s what I see.”
“Thanks, Ark. You know, yesterday I saw a picture of Everett Jessup hanging on his father’s wall. He looked to be well over six feet so that kind of confirms what you just told me. As far as making my life easier, don’t lose any sleep over that. I took this job of my own free will. I just want to make sure when I start going down the road I pick the right road.”
“So, that is not Mr. Jessup’s son.” Rosie had obviously heard the exchange.
“Look’s like,” Virgil answered.
“Do you have any idea who it is?”
“I might but I’m going to have to speak with Billy Three Hats to see if my hunch is right.”
“Sounds like a trip to see Grand Dad.”
“I could call.”
“Virgil, you haven’t been up on the mesa in a while. Why don’t you do both? Make the call, have Billy meet you there. Remind them both about the party on Thursday.”
“Killing two birds with one stone. Sounds like a plan,” he said.
• • •
If you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t know it was there, Virgil thought as he turned off the hard surface road into the desert west of Hayward, almost to the turnoff for Redbud. There were the slightest traces of wheel ruts in the hardpan, less visible on the frozen ground at this time of the year than when driving in during any other season. In spring and early summer they would be much deeper. In late summer and fall there would be a dust cloud in the wake of any vehicle turning off. But on frozen ground in winter, nothing. Virgil didn’t even slow down when he made the hard right turn or at any other time until he crested the butte to the flat land on which stood his grandfather’s double-wide.
At almost any other time of the year his grandfather would be sitting outside at this time of the day, getting ready to enjoy another jaw-dropping southwestern sunset. But not in the winter, not up on the mesa. The dry northwest wind that hit Virgil in the face when he stepped out of his car made it feel twenty degrees colder than down in Hayward. He glanced around at the terrain as the door to the trailer opened. A couple of small tumbleweeds blew around the cleared spot where any vehicles would park. Blue sage, a bare cottonwood bent in an otherworldly shape by persistent winds over decades and a whistling noise through the rough corral fence that housed the small flock his grandfather still kept greeted him. All of it looked cold.
“Hello, Grandfather.” Virgil pulled his Stetson tight as he jogged toward the open door. Once inside he grabbed his grandfather and gave him a quick hug. The old man pulled back.
“What is this?” he said.
“It has been too long. I am just happy to see you. I’m half-white. White people hug a lot. It is a nice custom.”
“It was not unpleasant but it takes getting used to.”
“I like it.” The words came from Mary Hoya, who had just come into the kitchen. “You can hug me anytime, Virgil.” Virgil walked around the table and hugged Mary, who vigorously hugged him back. Just then the door opened again. Billy Three Hats and one of his sons had come in.
“Hey, Virgil. You better be careful hugging Grandfather’s woman. He might get jealous.” Mary had proceeded to set the table for supper. Without being told, Billy’s son went to help her.
“There’s another white man’s custom that has taken hold. Helping with the housework. Ah, for the days when a warrior sat and was waited on,” Billy said.
“That was not from the white man, that change came from woman’s liberation,” Mary offered.
“Well, Billy, change is inevitable. You have to roll with it. On the other hand, you didn’t have to go out in the cold on a day like this to hunt down the meat for tonight’s supper,” Virgil added.
“Just as well,” Grandfather spoke up. “If that was how we were going to get tonight’s food, I’m afraid our plates and our stomachs would be empty.”
Billy feigned anger.
“I am a great hunter, just ask my son about my triumph today.” He gestured toward the boy.
“Pop caught a mouse in a trap he set last night in the kitchen.”
“Oh, great hunter,” Virgil said. “We will drink a glass of wine in your honor. Your feat will be told around the fire for generations to come. There will be dancing and feasting.”
“Thanks. I’ll skip the wine and have a soda. I’m a friend of Bill W. now.”
“Good for you, Billy. Good for you,” Virgil said.
“I’ll join you in the soda.” Billy Three Hats raised his hand.
“No. You and Grandfather have your glass of wine. This is my problem, not yours. I have to learn to live with that. Besides, as head of tribal law enforcement, I should be able to show the restraint that I’m trying to instill in the other tribal officers.”
“Come on, sit. Dinner is ready,” Mrs. Hoya called, and everyone responded.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Billy,” Virgil said after eating a mouthful
of the steak from his plate, “but that meat tastes better than anything you could have caught out in the desert.” Other heads nodded in agreement.
They finished the rest of the meal flavored with small talk. Most of it about life on the reservation. Virgil had never lived on the Rez but had spent much of his early youth there because of his mother. Now, sitting at his grandfather’s table, after having been removed from daily life there for decades, it became so apparent that in many respects it was a mirror image of Hayward. Not so much a different world but a parallel one. Billy Three Hats, his counterpart in this scenario, was dealing with many of the same societal issues that Virgil faced. Admittedly, there was more or higher rates of some problems, but the fallout was just the same. Broken families, single mothers, addiction, it was all there. The only singularity that Virgil considered a positive was the common tribal culture, which bonded the people in a way he didn’t see as much in evidence in the society in which he lived.
“A Christmas party, I have never been to a Christmas party. I like the decorations, the lights. I think it is a good tradition. I like to see you taking part in a custom like that. It gives meaning to your life, causes you to pause, look inside of yourself.”
The words of his grandfather, Virgil felt, were another example of Virgil’s tentative grip on the spirit world. Here, as he sat musing on the comparisons of the two different cultures, his grandfather was reading his mind. It was not a new phenomenon. It had happened many times before. So often in fact over the years that it was one of the primary reasons Virgil could never fully deny the life of the spirit. One time he had spoken to his mother about this.
“In this way,” she said, “it is a gift, I think. Maybe given to very few people, marking them with a special kind of wisdom to see beyond this world. I have not been given it but I think your grandfather has. In your father’s world I have heard it called second sight. Why certain people have it, I do not know. Maybe it is to keep us who may be a little more cynical less so.”
Virgil had considered her words often, especially when he witnessed the darker side of life and struggled for understanding.
“So, Virgil, why did you come today?”
“Isn’t it enough that I wanted to see you, Grandfather?”
“It is more than enough but the fact that Billy is here also suggests to me that there is another reason.”
“Grandfather, I hope that someday I will be as wise as you.”
“You will be. I will share the secret to being wise with you and Billy.” The dishes had been put in the sink and were being loaded into the dishwasher by Billy’s son and Mrs. Hoya. Billy had just placed three cups of coffee in the center of the table and sat down.
“What are you talking about?” Billy asked.
“I told Virgil that I was going to share the secret of wisdom with him and you.”
Billy took a sip from his cup, sat back in his chair then rolled his eyes.
“This better not involve going and sitting on a rock for three days without food or water waiting for a vision. My lower back would never make it.”
“No. It is much easier. All you have to do is grow old. That is the secret. When you are young you are in a hurry. When you are old you realize that to get to the same place you don’t have to hurry. You will get there. It is the story of the old bull and the young bull standing on the hill looking down at the cows. The young bull says, let’s run down there and have a good time. The old bull says, no. Let’s walk down there and have a great time.” Virgil and Billy looked at each other, then both broke out into laughter.
“Grandfather, that is the first time I ever heard you tell a joke,” Billy said.
“There can be a lot of truth in a joke,” Grandfather said as he stood up from the table. He picked up his coffee. “I am going to watch the news now, to see how all the people in the world are doing without wisdom. You and Billy speak about why you came tonight.” After he stepped into the other room, Billy turned to Virgil.
“What’s the problem?”
“You remember when you came to me a few months back looking for a couple of boys who had gone missing from the Rez? I believe you said they were dealing or using crystal.”
“I remember,” Billy said.
“Did you ever catch up with them?”
“Only one. He’s in treatment now.”
“What about the other one?”
Billy took another drink from his cup.
“No. I never did find him. He was a good kid too. Looked hard but he pretty much dropped off the map. Why do you ask?”
Virgil hesitated.
“If you have an idea of his whereabouts, his folks will be thrilled. He’s Broken Nose’s boy. You remember him. When you were kids, you and he used to hang out together when your mom used to bring you over. Broken Nose will be thrilled if you got a line on him. Where is he?”
Virgil hesitated even longer. Then he picked up his cup, looking into it as if he was going to find another answer to Billy’s question. Billy repeated the question. “Where is he?”
“I think he is laying on a slab in Hayward Hospital.”
Chapter 13
By the time Virgil got back to Hayward, they had already taken in the sidewalks. There were a couple of cars outside of the Lazy Dog but that was pretty much it. Even Margie’s place was almost empty as far as he could see. He had enjoyed the visit with his grandfather but was feeling a little guilty. He knew that first thing tomorrow, Billy Three Hats would be making a call to Broken Nose and his wife. Virgil had made those kinds of calls. They were the kind that stuck with you. A permanent scar on your memory.
His first call was only two weeks into his role as sheriff. He would always remember the haunted look on the faces of the Tylers when he had to tell them their daughter Cassie had been pulled lifeless from her boyfriend’s car. The fallout wasn’t temporary. The boyfriend who survived had become a raging alcoholic. Years later his bloated body was pulled from the same river where he and she had gone over the embankment. Guilt comes at a high cost.
Virgil was surprised when he pulled into the lot in back of the office to see Dif’s car was not there.
“Hey, Jimmy . . . where’s Dif?” He asked the question as he stepped through the door.
“I told him he could take the night, Sheriff. Simon was ready for a night on the town without me.”
“An executive decision, I like that. Since you are in an administrative frame of mind, maybe you would like to share your perspective on Simon. After all, you are my right-hand man.”
“Sheriff, you don’t have to say those things anymore. I’m pretty secure now.” Virgil looked at the boy he knew as Jimmy. For the first time he saw a trace of something that hadn’t been there before.
“Besides, if you keep lifting that shovel, you are likely to get a hernia.”
“Not only do I get a declaration of manhood, but I get a kick in the pants at the same time. Okay, Officer, in your professional opinion what is your assessment of our new hire’s abilities?”
“I think he is going to be a good addition. He’s smart, quick and he’s got a mean hook shot.” Virgil’s eyes widened at the last comment. “It’s kind of an inside joke of Simon’s. We have been playing basketball on Wednesday or Thursday nights. I think he has the skill set to make a good officer. The only thing is, I think he needs to have a little more time to get his feet on the ground.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, he has talked to me a little about some of his past experiences. Pretty bad. Between the loss of his hand and those memories, I think it’s going to be a while before he can put all that in back of him.” Virgil sat back in his chair reflecting on what Jimmy had just told him. “There a problem, Virgil?” It was rare that Jimmy called him by his first name.
“Not a problem as such but I’ve been mulling something over today. How do you think he would like working with Alex down in Redbud, at least temporarily?”
“But what about Dave, Rosie�
�s husband? Why the change?”
“Well, something has come up. I’m thinking about bringing Dave up here, at least for a while.”
“Well, I think Redbud would be a good fit for Simon. Alex is a real nice, easy going guy. It is a little less hectic down there. It would give him that time, like I said, to get his feet on the ground, along with more time to become familiar with the geography. I think he still feels a little like a fish out of water. We’re quite a bit different from New York City.”
“Yes, we are,” Virgil said. “Not a parking meter in sight. Glad we had this talk, Jimmy.” Virgil stood up. “Since everything looks good here, I’m heading home. But do me a favor. Don’t mention anything we talked about to Simon when he stops back. Want to make sure I got it all worked out before I say anything to him or to Dave Brand, and to Rosie, for that matter.”
“Can you tell me why you are thinking of making this change?” Jimmy asked. Virgil had picked up his hat and was standing by the door.