Captive Spirit (16 page)

I looked for the crowd of women and children behind Manaba who followed me but everyone had disappeared. Unable to move, I stood in the doorway of the house where Honovi lay, too frightened to leave, too frightened to stay. When I didn’t move, Manaba’s jaw hardened under his widened eyes.

I pleaded with him. “I just want to see Honovi, talk to him,” I nodded toward Honovi’s body. It frightened me that his chest wasn’t moving. “Please,” I begged.

Manaba yelled again and then grabbed my elbow. He pulled but I tugged back. My eyes widened. Then a flash of a smile passed over his lips before his brow twisted in anger again. The healer tending to Honovi rose to his feet and leapt at me again before I could blink. His weathered skin hung on his skinny arms and chest. He shook his stick underneath my nose and I backed away with Manaba, reluctantly.

I swallowed then turned. My tears spilled onto my cheeks. With Manaba’s hand still wrapped tightly around my arm, he led me to two women who stood nearby. He said something to them and they nodded. Then he grunted, released my arm and walked away.

Tired, frustrated, and confused, I turned to the two women, my eyes clouded with tears.

“Can you help me?” I asked them. My lower lip trembled. “Will you help me?”

They didn’t answer. Their faces, one older and one younger than mine, were expressionless.

My knees began to wobble.

The three of us stood staring at each other. Finally, the younger girl nodded at me. Once. Through my cloudy eyes, it almost looked like she smiled apologetically till the older women said something that made her flinch. With the back of my hand, I wiped away my tears.

It was like a bad dream, another nightmare. A never-ending nightmare.

I was trapped, more than I’d ever been before. No one could understand me. No one would listen. And no one cared.

Somewhere, Lobo barked, a painful reminder that I wouldn’t wake up. I wanted desperately to run back across the clearing, through the blinding forests, across the clear creeks and rivers and then all the way down to the bottom of the mountain, never stopping till I reached my village. I wanted to get as far away from this place and these people with their strange language and windowless houses as I could.

I wanted to run but my legs felt heavy and tired. My head told me that running would be a waste of time.

The two women led me to another windowless house in the center of the Apache village. It was the biggest one, taller than the others and rounder at the bottom. The outside was covered in brown, black, and tan furs that stretched across its frame. Smoke billowed like clouds from the top.

The older woman opened the flap, sighed loudly, and walked inside. I knew before I walked inside that I wasn’t welcome. My presence was an annoyance to the older woman. The younger girl walked beside me. She was different than the older one, more curious about me than angry. We walked inside together.

Like the house where Honovi was kept, the inside was dark and warm but not as stifling. The fire flames in the middle did not burn as bright but the air was still heavy. It was like trying to breathe through cotton. I squinted, scanning the edges, till my eyes adjusted from the darkness.

Around the fire, the floor was covered with a patchwork of animal skins. Clay jars and baskets lined the fire. Dried meat, herbs and thickets with berries hung over the baskets. The dark berries looked like the ones that Honovi and I had eaten at the river. My stomach growled at the mixture of sweet and sharp smells from the fur and the food even though I hardly felt like eating.

From one of the corners, two children emerged from the shadows. They ran to the older woman in short quick steps. Although they walked, their faces still had the pudgy roundness of babies. They wore tiny deerskin dresses like the women and their hair was pulled back in braids, one on either side of their faces. When they saw me, their dark eyes widened with surprise and then curiosity before they hid behind the older woman’s legs. I assumed she was their mother. She shooed them back into the corner where they resumed playing with half-made baskets and thick braided grasses shaped like dolls. They talked softly to each other, stopping every so often to glance at me.

The women knelt by the fire while I stood behind them. Finally, the older woman motioned impatiently for me to kneel like I was one of the children. She began grinding seeds with the end of a round rock on a wide stone while the younger woman stoked the fire. Then the older woman thrust a shallow jar into my lap and nodded at it.

I lifted the rock and began grinding the seeds in the jar until they were as fine as sand. They weren’t mesquite seeds nor were they corn; the seeds were black and smaller than corn. When I was done, I sat back on my knees, waiting.

Then the younger woman spoke. “Doli,” she said. Her voice sounded like a song and I quickly studied her face. Her eyes were a deep brown, not black, and her skin was smooth with high cheekbones. She couldn’t have seen more than fourteen harvests. She patted her chest with one small hand and said, “Doli.”

The older woman sighed heavily and for an instant reminded me of Gaho when I didn’t do something fast enough. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. Her eyes continued to avoid mine whenever I looked at her as if she preferred that I’d disappear.

If only I could.

Abruptly, she rose from the fire and walked to her children.

Doli’s head tilted slightly in her direction. She didn’t smile but it was the closest thing, I expected, that she ever got to disrespecting her own mother. Then she pointed her finger at my chest, just once, and nodded her forehead.

I took a deep breath and swallowed. Then I said, “Aiyana. My name is Aiyana.”

The girl smiled. “Aiyana.” She nodded at the older woman behind us and said, “Olathe.”

“Olathe,” I repeated. I didn’t say it too loudly for fear of angering her mother with my familiarity, especially when Olathe could barely stand to look at me.

The girl nodded. Unlike Olathe, Doli seemed pleased that I could pronounce it.

I nodded back, a quick show of gratitude, but I still ached inside.

After I learned their names, I wondered what they intended to do with me. Perhaps it would have been better not knowing.

***

Olathe and Doli quickly learned what I already knew: My household skills were abysmal.

After over-grinding a coarse black grain, I prepared a stew with some dried vegetables and heavy scraps of deer meat. Olathe wrinkled her nose after she dipped her pinky into the mixture and tasted it.

Then I moved to basket weaving, my least favorite household chore. I’d only woven three rows when Olathe ripped the wooden strips from my hands and tossed it in the fire. Finally, she gladly handed me an empty water jar and motioned me out the door with the back of her hands like she was ushering out a swarm of flies.

I was only too eager to leave her disapproving gaze. The air inside the house strangled me.

As soon as I turned up the flap, my eyes squinted into the dimming sunlight. Around me, mothers and children bustled. I recognized a few of Manaba’s men from the forest. Their voices lowered when they saw me. They stared at me like before, although this time they kept a safe distance.

Doli had loaned me an extra deerskin and I pulled it closer around my neck. The air was colder than before but I didn’t care. I’d just as soon freeze than turn around and spend another moment inside Olathe’s house. I lifted my nose and took greedy gulps of the cold thin air, grateful when it loosened some of the tightness in my chest.

Energized, I pulled back my shoulders and started for the creek. The water jug rested in the curve of one elbow while my other hand held the deerskin closed at the nape of my neck.

My eyes scanned the other houses as I walked. I recognized the one where Honovi lay. The smoke still billowed furiously from the top, more than any of the others. An expressionless man stood outside, leaning forward on his bow, guarding it.

I continued the short walk from the first row of houses that dotted the base of the cliff. Two Apache still stood on either side at the top, their faces trained on the forest beyond us.

Jagged rocks and boulders outlined the creek at the base of the cliff. Grass as high as my knees grew near the edges. On the opposite side, trees with bright green leaves, wispy branches and skinny white trunks stretched halfway up the cliff. When I reached the water’s edge, I dropped the water jug into the grass and fell to my knees. With both hands, I cupped as much water as my hands could hold. I drank greedily. I shuddered from the shock of the water but sloshed more across my face and neck anyway.

When I bent over the creek a third time, I saw his reflection. It wobbled in the wave of the water like a ghost.

Diego
.

“Aiyana,” he said. It was as if he expected to find me. “Enjoying your new friends?” His tone was predictably doubtful.

I stood abruptly, water droplets dripping down my face. I stumbled backwards and knocked the water jug with my heel.

How I despised this man. I despised everything about him—his smug face, the sneer in his silky voice, his mocking eyes. He’d stolen everything from me, even Honovi.

And yet I still needed him more than he needed me. “It is what it is,” I said flatly. I paused and then added as calmly as I could, “And Honovi? Is he better?”

Diego’s smile broadened. He expected me to ask about Honovi. And he wasn’t going to make it easy. His thumb and forefinger fiddled with the long hairs above his lips, studying me. His answer surprised me. “You should really be more concerned about yourself.”

My nostrils flared. “I’ll be fine. It’s Honovi that I’m worried about.”

He chuckled darkly. “Honovi should be fine. If he survives the night.” He paused then said, “It’s you I’m worried about.” His expression hardly held worry.

My voice got louder. “Speak plainly, Diego. What are you talking about?”

But Diego’s vagueness continued. He preferred to turn it into a game. “I see you met Olathe and Doli.”

My answer was nonplussed. “Yes?” Olathe was certainly unbearable but it was better than freezing to death. And as soon as Honovi healed, we’d leave. The Apache wouldn’t keep us against our will. Would they?

“Olathe is Manaba’s first wife.”

I nodded. I figured as much. They lived in the center of the village, inside the biggest windowless house, the most likely place for a tribal leader. In a way, I should have felt privileged, even proud, to be a guest in their house.

“And you’ve met her children?”

My chin lifted. “Of course I’ve met her children,” I snapped. Did Diego think I was blind as well as stupid?

“Good, good.” He chuckled. His tone turned strangely innocent. “And Doli?”

My eyes narrowed as his widened. “Yes.”

Diego lowered his head closer to mine. His eyes swept over my face. His breath was stale.

My chin pulled back.

But Diego moved closer still. He whispered, “Doli isn’t one of the children, Aiyana.”

Was Diego mad?

“Who is she then?” I said it like a challenge. Doli was certainly younger than me.

His smile broadened. “Doli is Manaba’s
second
wife. She and Olathe are sisters.”

I blinked, confused. They looked more like mother and daughter—they
acted
more like mother and daughter, not like sisters.

He chuckled again, darker than before. Then he said, “And Manaba intends to make you his third.”

I coughed then stumbled backwards, kicking the water jug again. “What?”

“That’s right,” Diego said, reaching for my elbow, as if he suddenly wished to be helpful. I tried to shake off his hand but his fingers only wrapped tighter around my arm. He whispered so close to my ear that his lips touched my skin. “You should have been nicer to me when I gave you the chance.”

“But…” The sky started to spin and I stammered my words. “But you would have given me to the Apache anyway.” The thought of Diego touching me, lying beside me, only made my insides wretch.

He sighed. “Perhaps.” He shook his head, admonishing me. “But for such a pretty thing like you I might have been persuaded.”

I swallowed. Then my hands clenched into tight balls while my nostrils flared. I was filled with the desire to punch him, hard.

Diego finally pulled back, studying my face, as if seeing me for the first time, oblivious to my anger and hatred for him.

“Manaba believes that your green eyes will bring the Apache luck. Manaba needs sons, Aiyana, and he believes that you’re the one who can do it.”

Sons?

Me?

Impossible. I couldn’t picture it. I could barely allow myself to think it.

Bile rose to the top of my throat and my hands pressed against my stomach. Diego released my arm and I dropped to the ground, vomiting in the grass what little was left in my stomach.

When I finished, Diego was gone. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and grabbed the water jug. The clay cracked where I kicked it. I ran numbly back to Olathe and Doli, forgetting all about the water.

***

That night there was a celebration in the Apache village.

When I returned to Manaba’s house with the empty water jug, Doli and Olathe were busy transferring food into baskets and changing into different clothes while the children danced in circles around us. Every other word out of their mouths was
“Gan.”
I didn’t know what that meant but at least Olathe didn’t notice the empty broken water jug that I sheepishly placed inside the shadow of the door.

The women had changed into more colorful deerskins. Tiny red, gold, and green stones were beaded intricately along the necks and sleeves in lines and circles; bigger stones were threaded through the tassels that hung at the ends of the dresses. Colorful yellow stones hung from threads in their earlobes. Their hair was brushed smooth and long down their backs and shimmered against the firelight. They positively glowed with excitement.

Finally, I spoke to Doli. “
Gan?”
I said. “What is
Gan?”

She giggled, covered her mouth, and then proceeded to give a long explanation in a sing-song voice that I didn’t understand.

I shook my head, confused. Frustrated.

Finally, she pointed one finger to the sky and said it again. Solemnly.
“Gan.”
This time her eyes widened when she said it as if it was important that I understood.

But I didn’t.

I’d need to ask Diego for a translation and my stomach knotted with that reality.

Then Olathe walked between Doli and me and thrust a dress against my chest. The skin was heavy though soft like water; it was as pale yellow as sweet corn. I’d never seen one so fine. It was simple, unbeaded, and hung just past my knees.

“Mine?” I said. “For me? Why?”

Olathe didn’t pretend to understand me but she could see my confusion. She didn’t seem to care. She pressed the dress against my chest again and I took it. She meant for me to put it on. Quickly.

I found a quiet corner and changed out of Gaho’s torn dress. If Olathe would let me borrow it till tomorrow, I’d try to wash mine in the creek. Just as I had slipped out of my deerskin, the flap to the door opened to a burst of icy air. It filled the house while simultaneously draining it of all conversation. We all stood frozen, barely breathing, even the children.

I looked over my bare shoulder toward the door, only to catch a glimpse of the fire outside and Manaba’s face in the doorway. He looked at me with piercing eyes that locked onto mine like a bobcat’s jaw. His unblinking eyes traveled all the way down to my bare back and legs, slowly. I blushed, turned, and quickly slipped the dress over my shoulders as he grunted something to Olathe.

When I turned back to the door, the flap had closed, the icy draft disappeared, and Manaba was gone. The children returned to shouting
“Gan, Gan!”
as they danced around the house.

After everybody had dressed, Olathe grabbed Doli and me by the arm. Her fingers pinched my skin. She led us through the flap in the door like we were all a pack of misbehaving children.

Outside, a fire blazed in the middle of a dirt pit stacked with thick tree branches. They crossed in a square at the bottom. A skinned deer hung upside down over the fire. From the thickness of the branches, the celebration could last till sunrise.

Along the edges, women ladled steaming stews and passed plates heaped with chunks of red meat. My stomach growled and I licked my lips as the cooking smells swept about my face. Even if I didn’t want to, I knew that I needed to eat.