Desert Hearts (23 page)

Serena said matter-of-factly, “Nilchi blows through everyone when they are alive.”

“Well, then, I suppose there are differences.” Elizabeth was disappointed, for she wanted to find something familiar, something the same in what they believed.

“You look troubled, Elizabeth. Isn’t it all right that we believe differently?”

“Yes,” she answered slowly. But the idea was hard for her. Her whole life had been based on the belief that only those who thought as she did were right or good. Yet clearly Serena was a good woman, as was her husband. As was Sergeant Burke. She had never been directly unkind to anyone different from her. For the most part, she had treated people the same, even if she had thought them ignorant. She had never looked down on Indians. She had sympathized with their plight, as she had heard her parents talk about it with friends. But she had not really understood that they had heartfelt beliefs about the divinity. Maybe divinity was not the right word, she thought, but the Divine.

“This is a beautiful story, Serena,” she said finally. “But I still don’t quite understand its connection to the ceremony.”

“It is a
much
longer story,” said the Navajo woman with a grin, “and I don’t have the time to tell it all now. Changing Woman became the mother of Hero Twins, who made the earth safe for the five-fingered people to arrive. And before she left for her hogan in the west, she had a ceremony which she gave us to perform for a maiden when she becomes a woman. A ceremony which brings Changing Woman to us through the
kinaalda
.”

“How do you know exactly when it is time for this ceremony?”

Serena looked at Elizabeth in surprise. “Why, isn’t it the same with all women? With her
kenasha
, her first….” Serena didn’t know the word for it in English. “It happens every month. Her first blood.”

Elizabeth blushed and turned away.

“Isn’t it the same with the
bilagaana
then? That this time is important? That the
kenasha
is a thing to be proud of?”

“No, Serena. I have always thought it something to be ashamed of.”

“Why, what happened when you had your first blood?”

What happened? thought Elizabeth. It was two months after her father and mother had been killed. She had been with Nellie Woolcott for six weeks and when she woke up one morning with her thighs streaked with blood, she was terrified. She had been huddled under the covers and when Nellie came in all she could do was sob and shake. Perhaps her mother had been bleeding like this before the Comancheros had…. If she went on bleeding like this, would men know? Would they then attack her in the same way? Nellie had finally gotten it out of her and had been very kind. She had patted Elizabeth’s shoulder and showed where there were rags she could use. But Elizabeth could tell that she didn’t want to speak of it again. That it was something to be hidden, something not talked about. Certainly not something to be
celebrated
.

What could she tell Serena? She cleared her throat nervously. “When I had my first, um, monthly, it was right after my parents were killed. My mother…she was raped. I saw her private parts…they were all bloody….” Elizabeth was trembling violently. “We
bilagaana
women, we don’t talk about these things,” she was finally able to get out.

Elizabeth was crying and when Serena saw this she put her arm around her. It must have been awful to see a mother like that. And to have no mother on her own
kinaalda
. But even if her mother had lived, it didn’t sound like
bilagaana
women had much pride in their womanhood. No wonder Elizabeth always felt like a young girl to her.

“I am very sorry that was such a bad time for you, my friend. I think it was very good you have come here. It was right that I wanted you to. I think Changing Woman wants you here.”

Elizabeth let herself relax in Serena’s arms. She had no idea what she believed about Changing Woman, but it felt very good to have this woman friend hear her story and hold her close.

* * * *

By the time Serena’s niece and all those running with her returned, it was time for supper. Serena went down to help the other women and Elizabeth sat by the tree, watching with great curiosity all the activity.

Sergeant Burke, who had been over with Antonio, came over to where she was sitting, carrying two bowls full of stew.

“We can eat here, Elizabeth. But Antonio has invited us to eat with them.”

“I feel such an outsider,” Elizabeth confessed. “The more Serena tells me of the ceremony, the more I wonder if I should have come.”

“She invited you, so of course you should have come. But I understand yer feelings completely, since I feel even more of an intruder, being a man. And a few of the people aren’t very happy to have us here. They may as well be wearing signs, ‘No
bilagaana
welcome!’ ” said Michael with a smile. “And I can’t blame ‘em. But Antonio and his wife know that things are changing. The
bilagaana
won’t go away, so surely it is good to have some of them here who want to understand.”

Elizabeth stood up and brushed off her skirt. “Well, Sergeant Burke, give me your arm and we’ll go join Antonio.”

“That’s me girl,” said Michael.

Elizabeth sat next to Serena, and Michael joined Antonio. No eyes were lifted to her face, but she felt as though all attention was on her.

The stew was delicious, as was the tortilla-like bread she dipped into it.

“This is delicious, Serena,” she said, trying to pretend she was at someone’s dinner table.

Her friend said something quickly in Navajo to the other women. One raised her eyes shyly, nodded her head, and then dropped her gaze to her own bowl before Elizabeth could even smile at her.

“Could you tell your sister that I am very grateful to be here.”

Serena spoke again in Navajo, this time to the woman next to her.

Her sister replied, looking first at Serena and then giving an appreciative nod to Elizabeth.

“What did she say?”

“That it was a good sign that a
bilagaana
woman appreciates the importance of this ceremony.”

“Tell her that she has a lovely daughter, who is also very strong if she can run that long.”

Serena’s sister smiled when Elizabeth’s compliments were translated and then said something quickly.

“She wonders if
bilagaana
women are strong enough to run like that?”

Elizabeth grinned. “Some of us, perhaps.”

There was more back-and-forth conversation between the sisters and then Serena turned to Elizabeth. “What about you? Could you run like that?”

“Why, I don’t know. I do a lot of walking, but run for a half hour or more?”

“My sister invites you to join the runners in the morning for the
kinaalda
’s last race.”

“Me?”

Her friend’s sister spoke again and although Elizabeth couldn’t understand the words, she could the tone: kind, but challenging.

“It is a big thing for her to do, to invite you,” said Serena. “Some of the women don’t approve.”

Elizabeth could tell that from the muttering going on around her.

“Tell her I am honored by her invitation. I will run.”

When Serena repeated the words in Navajo, most of the women nodded their heads approvingly.

“I must tell you, Elizabeth,” said Serena with a teasing smile on her face, “that most of us do not think a
bilagaana
woman can do this.”

“They are probably right! Especially in my riding boots,” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a pair of moccasins for you.”

One of the women gathered up all the bowls, and Elizabeth saw that as the men finished they were beginning to build up the fire over the pit.

Serena came over to her and said apologetically, “I will be busy with the women and inside the hogan for the singing. But here is a blanket for you to put under you. Get some rest, my friend. You will need it for tomorrow.”

“What happens now?”

“Now, many of us will go inside. The
hataali
will lead the singing, though some of the songs only he can sing. He begins with the Hogan Songs, which were first sung by Talking God.”

Elizabeth looked over at the hogan and noticed that a blanket had been hung from the door. Serena patted her shoulder and said, “Good luck on your running tomorrow, Elizabeth,” and turned to go.

“Wait, Serena. How will I know what to do?”

“You’ll hear the shout, like this afternoon. Then all you have to do is follow the runners. Unless you are going to try to beat them all,” she added teasingly.

“I will be very happy just to keep up with them!”

“Then I will see you at dawn.”

* * * *

Elizabeth took the blanket and carried it back to the cottonwood. She wasn’t tired yet, and so she sat up, arms wrapped around her knees as she watched the stars come out. She heard a step beside her and looked up. It was Sergeant Burke.

“Sit down, Michael. I am trying to find Orion,” she added with a smile.

“And how is the mighty hunter’s namesake?”

“Behaving quite well, thanks to your advice.”

Michael sat down next to her. Her face was lifted to scan the sky and he was struck by the purity of her profile.

“I hear you’ll be getting a little exercise in the morning, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth looked over at him. “I think I must be crazy to try, but it didn’t seem right to turn down the invitation.”

“Ye were right. ‘Tis a great privilege for both of us to be here and I’m glad to see you becoming part of it.” Michael hesitated. “Ye lost yer mother early, I’ve heard. And in a terrible way.”

Elizabeth nodded, and face set, continued to stargaze.

“I can sympathize with ye. I lost me own ma when I was ten.”

“How did she die, Michael?” Elizabeth asked softly.

Michael hesitated. He had never talked of this to anyone before, not since he had left Ireland. “She died of a fever.” Elizabeth started to murmur a word of sympathy, when he continued. “Brought on by starvation, ye see.”

Elizabeth drew in an audible breath. “Starvation?”

“Aye. Ye were too young to know of it, but there was a great famine in Ireland when I was a boy. Me ma died and me baby sister, and over a million of us.”

“A million!”

“Oh yes. We didn’t all come over here, we dirty Irish,” said Michael bitterly. “Most of us died.”

“It is hard to comprehend so much death, Michael.”

“Well, it is years past now.”

“And the rest of your family? Did they come to America too?”

“No, they just sent me, so that at least one Burke would survive.”

“Did they all die then?” Elizabeth asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

“No,” answered Michael with a heavy sigh. “Me sister Caitlin lived. But she’s never married or had the children she wanted. And me da’s still alive, though getting on in years.” Michael paused. “I keep saying to meself that one day, I’ll go home, at least for a visit, but the army keeps me too busy and too poor,” he added with a bitter laugh.

Elizabeth wanted to say something comforting, anything, but not one word came to mind. It was one thing to watch your family die, but quite another to be surrounded by the death of all your people. She couldn’t imagine it.

“I am sorry, Michael,” she finally said. “It is a poor thing to say, isn’t it?” she added, turning to him with tears in her eyes.

“Now, I didn’t mean to make ye cry, Elizabeth.”

“You didn’t. I have been close to tears all afternoon.”

Michael wanted to put his arm around her and draw her close, but he resisted and pointed up. “There he is, the aould Irishman himself.”

Elizabeth followed his pointing finger and imitated his brogue. “O’Royan?”

“Indeed. See his belt?”

“Yes, yes, I see it. But with all these stars how does anyone find the constellations!”

It was getting cold, and Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering.

Michael took his own blanket and shook it out. “Here, Elizabeth, ye’d better have this around ye.”

“I can’t take your blanket, Michael.”

“Don’t be silly. I have another in me pack. I’ll be fine. ‘Tis you who doesn’t want to be cold and stiff in the morning.” He placed the blanket around her shoulders, and as she pulled it closed he realized that more than anything in the world he wanted to pull her close to his heart. She was a small woman, but there was a hidden strength in her that he admired. And at the same time a young girl that needed comforting.

He stood up and said, “Well, I’d best be getting settled meself. Though when the singing starts, we may not get much sleep anyway.”

Elizabeth watched as he disappeared into the darkness and she shivered again, this time not from cold, but from the feeling that something had happened between them, something she was afraid to name. She spread the blanket underneath her and lay down on her back admiring the starry sky above her and trying not to think of anything else.

Elizabeth had drifted off under her blankets when the singing started and she was jerked awake.

It was unlike anything she had ever heard. She would not, in fact, have called it singing. Perhaps chanting was a better description. It was repetitive and to her ears, she was forced to admit, monotonous. She had expected to hear drums, but there was no accompaniment. It was one voice she heard at first and she assumed it must be the
hataali
. The song, he was singing seemed to go on and on and although there was repetition, it was hard to follow.

She lifted herself up on one elbow to hear better, but finally she just lay backhand giving up her effort to understand the song, she let it wash over her. She finally fell into a fitful sleep. She would wake out of a dream from time to time and listen to the singing, then fall back into nowhere. At one point, close to dawn, she awoke from a dream in which a woman dressed in a soft blanket dress bound with a rainbow-colored sash approached her with a kind look on her face. As the woman got closer, Elizabeth noticed that she was wearing loops of turquoise and in the center of one of the necklaces hung her mother’s cameo. She was filled with the most intense longing, wanting this woman to enfold her in her arms. She reached out as they approached one another and realized that the woman she had thought young and beautiful was gray-haired and feeble. Elizabeth wanted to hold
her
in her own arms and cried out when the woman turned away again, in a circle from east to west. As she approached again, she was once more the beautiful young woman. But she never got close enough to Elizabeth to hold her, and Elizabeth awoke, her chest aching with unshed tears.