Disposition of Remains (25 page)

We hardly spoke a word until Barstow; even after we passed through, the conversation was sparse. I suppose it was mostly my fault, as I’d become consumed by the desolate highway. It was the same dusty, desert road I had taken when I first received
the news.
Every Joshua tree and sagebrush we passed reminded me of Jerry’s words of doom. The first time I had traveled that path, I had been running away from my life, but this time I was inching toward it—the promise of a life that could be built, a good life that would end as soon as it was established.

I kept my eyes out for the coyote, waiting for him to jump out from behind a rock or bush at any moment with that sadistic smirk. I refused to let him catch me off guard again, which is precisely why he never materialized.

As we approached Misty’s place, it felt as though it had been years since Wilbur and I had first been there. In reality, it had been only slightly more than a few monumental weeks.

Misty jumped up and down
, before sprinting the stretch of walkway in response to our car pulling in, her breasts bouncing every which way.

“Hi, Roomie!” she gushed.

“Hi!” I squealed as I embraced her in a bear hug.

I had really missed her contagious enthusiasm.

“Where’s your stuff? And more importantly, what in the hell happened to your face?”

“Evan happened…to my stuff and my face.”

“Don’t worry; he won’t be a problem again,” Wilbur said as he put his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.

“Oh,” she whispered with unusual concern.

I knew Misty was thinking the same thing I had thought: that Wilbur and I shouldn’t be together. That it wasn’t fair. It was one thing for me to think it, but her judgment made me feel incredibly selfish.

I shook off the feeling as Misty made us dinner. We had veggie sandwiches on grilled
Portobello mushrooms with quinoa salad on the side, all organic, of course. We chatted as though we had known each other for years. I cleared the dishes when we were through. It already felt like home.

“I have to get ready for work,” Misty announced, disappointed.

“How about we go play some slot machines at the Imperial Palace?” I asked Wilbur.

“Really?” Wilbur replied. “You like them, huh?”

“I’m somewhat of an expert gambler,” I quipped. “Might even consider making a career out of it if this whole nursing thing doesn’t work out. Besides, I hear there’s a cocktail waitress that serves up some killer Long Island Ice Teas.”

“What about your face?” Wilbur laughed. “I don’t want anyone thinking I did that to you.”

“That’s what makeup is for! Come ’ere, darlin’,” Misty cooed as she signaled me to follow her into the bathroom. On the counter lay a vast array of glorified war paint. With an expert hand, she packed it onto my face as though we were both going to serve cocktails—or pick up tricks.

Misty handed me a distractingly low-cut, skin-tight dress, which I promptly slipped
into. Without hesitation, she reached into the dress and scooped up my breasts, forming them into what appeared to be ample cleavage.

“There ya go. Now no one’ll be looking at your face,” Misty said with a twinkle in her eye. “Is it my imagination, or are those things bigger than the last time I saw you?”

I looked down at my cleavage in the mirror.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve put on a few pounds.”

“Eating beetles, earwigs, and whatnot in Africa? Who woulda thunk it?” Misty marveled. “You look good. When I first met you, I thought a strong wind might blow you over.”

I felt like we were teenagers getting ready for the prom—only my incredibly handsome
date was minus a corsage and I was sporting a camouflaged shiner.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, you and Wilbur?”

“I know; it’s probably not. I just couldn’t help it. He’s so amazing.”

“I know he is, but what about…when you’re gone?”

I found it interesting that she was more concerned for him, than for me. Even though she’d known him better and longer, I was the one who was dying!

“We’ve talked about it. I’ve been taking really good care of myself. Eating right, exercising, I’ve been
trying
to do right by other people. I think it’s helping. I feel like I’m getting better.”

I could tell by the look on Misty’s face that she wasn’t convinced, which caused me to ramble on even more.

“Things are looking up for me. My life has taken an amazing turn for the incredible. My number can’t be up just yet!”

I tried to smile as I said this, but as the words tumbled from my lips, I realized just how ridiculous they sounded. I decided to abruptly change the subject.

“I’m not sure if I ever told you that the Imperial Palace was my mother’s favorite place on Earth. She used to go there all the time. She was friends with quite a few of the cocktail waitresses, although it was way before your time.”

“Hmm, I wonder if Hilma knew her. Hilma’s worked there since Bugsy Siegel was burying bodies in the desert.”

“Wow, that is a long time.”

When we emerged from the other room, Wilbur’s eyes
popped open, as did his mouth.
“What do you think? Black eye less obvious?” I inquired with a modest grin.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, ogling my cleavage. “You’re all good.”

No one had ever really paid attention to my breasts before. Along with a number of other aspects of my life, they had been next to nonexistent. It was refreshing.

When we arrived at the casino, I had to have Misty point out my winning machine. I had been too intoxicated to remember which one had delivered the goods. I planted myself down with Wilbur beside me, hoping to score a repeat win while stone-cold sober.

Wilbur and I gambled and laughed and had an amazing time. I wanted to draw the same joy from gambling as my mother once had. The truth was, it was more the company than the activity that I found gratifying.

Misty repeatedly stopped by our machine to offer us cocktails.

“On the house, one night only,” she would say each time, even though when you gamble in Vegas, the drinks are always on the house.

Much to Misty’s disappointment, I stuck to water and Wilbur had only one beer. After a few hours we decided we’d had enough and no significant win was going to occur. We were content just to break even.

“I guess I’ll stick to nursing,” I joked, as we went to say our goodbyes to Misty.

“Oh, wait. Come over here. I want you to meet Hilma,” Misty urged, grabbing my hand. “Just a warning, though, she’s a little rough around the edges.”

Misty wasn’t kidding about Hilma. She was reminiscent of something I had seen in the Cradle of Humankind in South Africa, a living relic of the past doused in makeup—enough that it would likely require a chisel and hammer to remove.

“Hilma, these are my friends, Stacia and Wilbur.”

“Hello,” Hilma replied in a deep, raspy, three-pack-a-day voice.

“Misty thought you might have known my mother. She used to come in here all the time. Her name was Nova Uqualla.”

“Come in
here?
Ya mean as a patron a’ this fine establishment?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hilma let loose a creepy, demented laugh.

“I knew her. But she wasn’t any customer; she worked here.”

“No, you’re mistaken. I know it’s been a long time, but my mother worked at Las Vegas Memorial.”

“As what?” Hilma cackled.

“She was a nurse.”

“I don’t think so,
hun. The Nova I knew spent five nights a week cocktailin’ here. Wouldn’ta had time to be any nurse.”

She
cackled again.

“I don’t recall her mentioning any
daughter, neither. But you do look a awful lot like her.”

Her cackle morphed into a horrible smoker’s cough.

“Maybe you’re thinking of someone else,” I suggested, gingerly.

“How many people could have that name? I knew her. Indian woman, always cryin’ over that husband a’ hers. Was sorry to hear it when she died, though.”

“Wait,…husband?”

“God, what was his name—he was Romanian or Russian, er somethin’, right? It’s been so long, memory’s failin’ me.”

“How long did she work here?”

“My guess would be about eighteen or twenty years.”

“Her…husband,…did you ever see him?”

“Yeah, he would meet her here all the time, go check into a room for a while. We could never figure out why they didn’t jus’ take it home. She was a mystery, that one.”

“Is there anyone here that might remember the man’s name?

“Naw, I’m the only dinosaur left,
darlin’.”

“If you happen to remember it, would you call me? I’m staying at Misty’s.”

“Will do, but I wouldn’t hold yer breath,” Hilma snorted. “Sorry. Dementia’s a bitch.”

Then she just walked off. She’d transformed my mother into a lying whore and thought nothing of it. I turned to Wilbur who had heard the whole thing.

“I want to go to Las Vegas Memorial.”

“Now? It’s almost
eleven o’clock.”

“Hospitals are twenty-four-seven. She worked there. She worked there for as long as I can remember. It’s why I became a nurse, to follow in her footsteps.”

“Did you ever see her there?”

“Yes…well,…only when she was dying…as a patient. She would tell the nurses she worked there. But no one actually knew her, I guess. She said she worked in a different department. She never told me which one though. I was so young I never thought to ask until she was gone. Please take me there,” I insisted, becoming progressively more distressed.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

I hadn’t been to
Las Vegas Memorial since she died, as I had moved away from Vegas shortly afterward. I got a chill as I walked through the doors. A rotund, red-faced security guard approached us, bearing a nametag that read “Buck.”

“Emergency room is that way,” Buck instructed us flatly. “Sign in here.”

“No, I’m all right. I just have a question. Is there anyone around who’s been here for a while, say twenty years or so? My mother used to work here, and I’d like to see if anyone remembers her.”

Buck examined me begrudgingly, clearly unenthused with his job and definitely unwilling to go the extra mile.

“It’s important,” I insisted, opening my sweater slightly to expose my newfound cleavage.

“Mark’s been around for a long time and he knows everyone. Let me give him a call,” Buck replied with slightly more enthusiasm. “Mark, what’s your location?” he spoke into his walkie-talkie.

“Coming your way,” Mark replied in a jolly voice.

“Someone here’s got a question for you.”

“Okie dokie, be right up.”

A gray-haired security guard with a thin frame and a potbelly approached with an outstretched hand.

“Hi! Can I help you?”

“I hope you can,” I said, shaking his hand. “My name is Stacia Uqualla. My mother, Nova Uqualla, used to work here about twenty years ago. I was wondering if you knew her.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Mark said, shaking his head.

“She was a nurse. Here, wait…I have a picture of her,” I said, digging through my purse to find my wallet. I handed the picture to Mark.

“No, sorry. She must’ve worked the day shift.”

“Actually, no
. She always worked nights.”

“Not on my watch!” he chuckled, sticking out his chest out and planting his p
alms on his hips.

“Is there someone else who’s been here for as long as you have? Or longer?” Wilbur suggested.

“It’s all right, Wilbur,” I said dejectedly, realizing the truth. “She didn’t work here.”

We drove back to Misty’s in total silence. Wilbur was going home to Arizona in the morning. It was our last night together for the foreseeable future, but I was totally distracted by my mother’s deception. Not only had she lied about where she worked and how she was spending
countless hours away from me, but she’d also had some mystery man, some replacement Russian whom she’d paraded around as her husband—someone to whom she’d never even bothered to introduce me.

As soon as we arrived at Misty’s, we climbed into bed. We lay face to face, but Wilbur didn’t utter a single word. He just stroked my hair and cheek gently and looked into my eyes. He always knew exactly what to do. I fought the tears as long as I could, but lost the battle and allowed them to stream silently down my face.

Just hours before, I’d known exactly how to proceed with the rest of my short life. But then, once again, I felt lost. I knew Wilbur couldn’t just hang around forever on my crazy adventure, but I didn’t know what I would do without him.

I forced a smile as Wilbur said goodbye to me. I had mixed feelings about his leaving. Part of me wanted to take a firm hold of my newly acquired independence and the other part wanted to cling onto his legs like a toddler.

“You apply for that nursing job you wanted, and I’ll go catch up with the folks. I’ll see you in a couple weeks, all right?”

“Sounds good,” I agreed with false enthusiasm.

No rules. No dictatorship. I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle that much freedom, but I refused to be needy. Even still, I hugged him long and tight, molding myself into his curves as though he were going off to war.

When I finally unclamped myself, he waved, “see you soon,
” and then disappeared into the dawn.

I immediately forced myself into establish-my-life mode. I didn’t want to think about the events of the prior evening, so I called Las Vegas Memorial to find out where to apply. I was told that I had to submit an online application. I needed to get a job, if for no other reason than to acquire medical insurance. The chances of my going from a fully functional member of society to one
day dropping dead cost-free were unlikely. Even if I didn’t want treatment, I would still need insurance to pay for hospice care. The last thing I wanted to do was drag Misty or Wilbur down with me, financially or otherwise.

I hadn’t even attempted to seek employment in over fifteen years. I had no clue how to submit an application online. I located the website on Misty’s computer and followed the instructions, which were fairly self-explanatory until it asked me to upload a resumé
. I didn’t have a resumé, nor was I in the mood to create one. I was too distracted. Why would my mother have lied to me?

I had been so looking forward to establishing myself somewhere, returning to the home of my childhood. But I had this gnawing feeling of unrest, an uneasiness that wouldn’t lift until I had received some answers. The answers, I had a feeling, were to be found back in Havasupai, the one place my mother had never wanted me to go.

I explained to Misty that I would be back; I just needed to go seek out the truth.
The truth
. It sounded so simple, like finding a lost set of keys or a cell phone. But truth was never simple. There was never any black and white. I would be lucky to return from Havasupai without possessing an even more muddled distortion of the truth than when I arrived there.

Misty gladly loaned her car to me, and before I knew it, I was on my way to Havasupai. Before I left, I tried my best to explain myself to Wilbur over the phone.

“Let me go with you,” he insisted.

“You just got back. I’ll be all right, Wilbur. I think I need to do this on my own.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted an audience for what I might find there, although I kept hoping there would be some reasonable explanation.

“Even though you’re a Native, Stacia, it may take a while for them to warm up to you. It’s taken me years. If you go in and blast them with questions, they may not give you any answers. But if you must, I would start with Irma. She seemed to take a liking to you.”

I loved that Wilbur didn’t argue with me. Let’s face it, I loved Wilbur and I didn’t want him to see me fall apart if I were to receive any more disturbing news about my heritage. I had based my whole life on my mother’s wishes. I had respected and emulated her and she had deceived me for what seemed like no good reason. If my life was about to end, I wanted to know what I had lived it for. Part of me also wanted to protect my mother’s name. I wished that Wilbur had not been there to witness all he already had.

It was
dark when I arrived at Tusayan, located just before the entrance to the Grand Canyon, and it was still another three hours to the helipad to Havasupai. Wilbur had convinced the front desk staff at the hotel that we had stayed in several weeks prior to allow me to pay with cash. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing with unpleasant thoughts: my mother skirting around with some man who she claimed was her husband and her pushing me to become a nurse because she had supposedly been one.

Then I saw the image of Evan hitting me, and the vengeful look in his eyes. That cold-hearted bastard was the man my mother had wanted for me.

I tried to think of Wilbur, how happy we’d been. How he’d simply looked into my eyes and stroked my face to assure me that everything was going to be all right, because the actual statement would have been anything but the truth. No matter what I had convinced myself of in Africa, no matter what I did, the tumor would still live. No level of bargaining would destroy the malignant cells eating away at my insides. The cancer would still continue to consume my body until it finally raped me of my last breath.

The next morning, I patted some makeup over my bruised eye, grabbed a quick breakfast, and headed straight for the winding path to Havasupai. All of the helicopter transports were booked solid, so I started out for Havasupai on horseback instead. It was another accomplishment for me. I’d already been in a helicopter, but it was my first time on a horse—one more thing I could scratch off my disturbingly extensive list of firsts.

My Louis Vuitton backpack was a little worse for wear, but it still got a ride on a separate packhorse down the switchback path.

Four hours later I arrived, dusty and tired, in Supai Village. I was taking a walk to reacquaint myself with the place when I spotted Jimmy, the young Native man I had met when I first arrived in Havasupai with Wilbur.

“Jimmy!” I yelled as I jogged toward him, happy to see a familiar face. He had no reaction other than to look at me sideways.

“I’m Staci
a. Wilbur’s friend, remember?”
“Oh, of course, welcome back,” he responded with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

“Do you have a room at the inn by any chance?”

“No, not this time of year. We’re booked for months ahead.”

“Jimmy, I’m not sure if I told you this the last time I was here: My mother was Havasupai. Her name was Nova Uqualla.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m just really anxious to get to know my heritage.”

In return for that comment, I received nothing but a blank stare.

“You were probably too young to know my mother, but do you know if she still has any family around?”

“Uqualla is a common name down here. It’s like Smith or Jones,” Jimmy muttered flatly. “I still can’t give you a room at the inn.”

At that point I guess he decided that he was done with me, seeing as he simply turned and walked away.

Okay, strike one
. I decided to remain at bat and play the desperation card. Even if I wasn’t going to get any answers, I still needed a place to sleep. I knocked on Irma’s door, which she opened while bearing an inquisitive smile.

“Hello, Irma.”

“Are you back to play Indian with us again?” she mused with a wryer smile.

“Yes, actually, I am. I’m dying, Irma. I’m dying of ovarian cancer, just like my mother,” I blurted for dramatic effect. “Modern medicine isn’t for me. I believe that being here…with my people…is the only thing that can save me. I want to see a Native medicine man. Can you help me?”

I conjured a few alligator tears.

Acting helpless and needy wasn’t difficult; I’d had a lifetime of practice. But dramatic manipulation was an entirely new trade for me.

Irma wasn’t exactly throwing her arms around me to rescue me from my desperation, but she did invite me inside. We sat together on her couch and she offered me a tissue.

“I will take you to the medicine man, but I must rest first. I often sing with him over the sick. I will sing over you tonight and we will see the medicine man in th
e morning. I must sing for you before a diagnosis can be made. You must rest as well. Lay here on the couch; I will get you when I’m ready.”

She shut the door to her bedroom, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I wasn’t
ready for bed since it was the middle of the day, but the last thing I wanted to do was irritate Irma. She was my only hope for getting some answers.

As I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes, that eerie feeling crept over me again—the feeling that I was not alone. I tried to focus on positive things. I thought fondly of Havasu Falls, where Wilbur and I shared our first kiss. I thought about what he might be doing right then. Was h
e visiting his parents? Was he thinking of me?

I imagined the feel of the water, the beautiful blue-green water. I was anxious to see it again. I felt my hands run up and down over the smooth rocks. Then I was walking. I imagined myself walking along, farther, down the path to a cave. I hadn’t been to a cave in Havasupai, but I could see it clearly in my mind. There were Native drawings in front of it and I discovered more of them as I entered the cave. Inside, a man was sitting cross-legged on the ground. It was the same old phantom man who had spoken to me at the powwow, then again at the Devil’s Pool in Africa—my
scary imaginary friend with the black eyes.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

This time I knew the answer.

“I want to know about my mother.”

“You will find what you seek about your mother, but why else are you here?”

“I want to be healed.”

“For what you have, there is no cure.”

Then he stood up and reached for me
with both arms. His face was menacing. He looked as though he might hug me—or strangle me. I tried to get away but my feet were planted, unmovable. When he finally came close enough, he touched me, and I jumped. I looked up and saw Irma’s face hovering over mine. The narcolepsy had taken over and I’d fallen asleep after all.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I am ready.”

She placed a mat on the floor and instructed me to lie on it. Then she began to sing in a language that was incomprehensible to me. She sang the same song over and over again. I nodded off repeatedly, but each time I would wake, she was still singing. She sang to me all night. At sunrise, she abruptly stopped.

“Where is your affliction?” Irma asked
, apparently unaware of where ovaries reside.

I lifted my shirt to show her my tumor. As I did, I realized that the medicine man was standing behind her. I hadn’t even noticed him come in. He said nothing to me. He just waved his hands over me several times, while muttering some incantation. He then rubbed them roughly across my lower abdomen, starting with his hands in the middle then spreading them outward. He continued this gesture for what must have been at least an hour. Then he put his face down to me and began to suck on my abdomen and blow away from me. He did this over and over. I couldn’t help but laugh, despite Irma’s insistence that I refrain from doing so. The ticklish sensation was even greater than my need to urinate after having lain on the floor all night. He glared down at me as I laughed; humor was apparently against the rules.

I crossed my legs and let him continue. Then he abruptly stopped, just as Irma had done.

“This is not what you think,” the medicine man said as he motioned toward my tumor. “You have…gas.”

Then he stood up and walked out. I wanted to protest.
Gas?
What the hell? And why does everyone just walk away like that? I wanted some answers, dammit!

I took that moment to relieve myself before I peed my pants, at which point my stomach began to rumble. Even though my stomach was bloated, I believed the rumbling was more from hunger than gas.

When I returned to Irma’s living room, I discovered that she had left as well. I looked all over the small house for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I left to go in search of her, and wound up in front of the inn. It seemed like a good time to get something to eat, so I went inside.

It was Bill
y who waited on me once again.

“I’m a friend of Irma’s. Have you seen her?” I asked Billy. “I was with her, then she just took off. Do you know where she might have gone?”

“If she’s not at her house, she’s probably at the cave,” he said with about as much facial expression as a rock.

“Cave? What cave? By Havasu Falls?”

“Yup.”

There really was a cave. I ate my breakfast in a hurry, then embarked upon the two-mile hike to the Falls. From there, I followed the path from my dream. It was like a weird déjà vu. Wilbur must have taken me there, but if he had, why couldn’t I remember it?

I wound down the path, pushing away tree branches to prevent them from smacking my black eye. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the coyote standing in the middle of the path. He looked right into my eyes, and then glibly trotted off. As I watched him amble through the trees, I could just make it out. Hidden in the distance, was the cave from my dream. I walked closer and, holding my breath, I entered the cave. I found Irma sitting inside, cross-legged, just like the man in my dream.

“Irma?” I whispered.

“Yes, Stacia.”

“I dream
ed of this place. When you woke me yesterday. I was here.”

“You had a vision.”

“I guess I did.”

“This is a sacred place, but many of our people fear it. They will not come near.”