Living the Dream (10 page)

We drove on the dusty back roads for hours. I was just starting to think we’d never get there when the aunts raised a loud cheer as a sign loomed up at the side of the road.

YOU ARE ENTERING NAVAJOLAND - KEEP OUT!

The aunts started chatting and laughing, pointing out landmarks to Cody. They hung out of the windows, sniffing the dry, pine-scented air like wild ponies. Relief shone from their faces. I realised some of their sniping had been pure tension. Away from the reservation, they’d been fishes out of water. Now they were home.

The sun was almost setting as Aunt Jeannie turned off the main road and we went bumping and bouncing down a rutted dirt track. On one side was a shallow creek reflecting the fading pinks and golds; on the other a canyon wall rose up like a fortress. Unfamiliar birds called from perches too high to see. An owl, silent as a cloud, swooped across the truck, making Cody jump. We passed another sign: GHOST CANYON.

Ghost Canyon was basically a stretched-out string of scattered dwellings. Some were just ramshackle trailers apparently parked at random. Some were those wooden houses that arrive all in one piece on the back of a truck. Almost all these homes had additional roundish, earth-coloured dwellings built close by. Aunt Jeannie said they were
hogans
, traditional Navajo houses. “Nowadays Navajo people tend not to live in them; we use them more for celebrations or ceremonies.”

“Butterfly Woman lives in a
hogan
,” Aunt Evalina contradicted.

“Butterfly Woman is a dying breed,” Aunt Jeannie said, then looked like she could have bitten off her tongue.

There was a v. sticky silence, then Aunt Evalina started chatting about the sheep we could see grazing outside the houses. “They’re blue
churros
, originally brought here by the Spanish. We use their wool to weave rugs and blankets.”

Cody was suddenly craning forward, looking confused. “Didn’t there used to be ponies over there?” The aunts exchanged pleased glances that Cody had finally remembered something about her father’s home.

“Do you know how to ride?” asked Aunt Evalina.

Cody nodded eagerly. “Mom worked as a housekeeper for a while. I helped out in the stables, and they let me ride the ponies.”

“She’s part Navajo, of course she can ride,” Aunt Bonita said gruffly. “We’ll get Earl Brokeshoulder on to it. He’ll find you a pony.”

I’d assumed Cody was a townie like me. I’d never pictured her on horseback. I realised I was seeing a new side of Cody, one I never would have seen if we’d followed my original plan. For the first time it occurred to me that Ambriel might actually have known what he was doing. Unfortunately he wasn’t here to ask.

The truck abruptly swerved down another narrower track, almost immediately stopping in a spurt of dust and gravel. For once I was actually glad to be invisible so no one could see my expression. We’d pulled up outside a shabby old trailer that seemed to have been dumped down in the middle of a junkyard: old tyres, ancient electrical appliances, broken sofas with the metal springs exploding from their seats, a rusting ride-on mower, a truck minus its wheels, used to store hay.

Picking their way through the junk were goats, hens and a few of the famous blue
churro
sheep. Several dogs ran up to greet us, tongues lolling. Off in the trees I saw three or four smaller trailers, each one in its own spreading circle of chaos.

“You’re staying here with Bonita,” Aunt Evalina explained. “Jeannie and me live in those trailers over there. We’re constantly in and out of each other’s homes so you’ll still see us plenty.”

Cody’s horror was written all over her face.
Nowhere to run.

Chapter Thirteen

G
etting out of the truck, Cody stumbled, falling on to gravel and bruising her knees. She was totally exhausted from her epic journey. Even worse, she was in shock. She’d remembered cute Navajo ponies. She hadn’t remembered that her relatives lived in a total tip.

I was surprised to hear a hum of voices coming from Aunt Bonita’s trailer. A woman said in Navajo, “It’s them! I heard the truck!”

“You could hear that truck coming in Ship Rock!” someone joked.

“Sounds like your welcome party got here early!” Aunt Evalina gave her niece a resigned grin.

Cody had been rubbing her hurt knee through her jeans. She looked up in panic. “You didn’t say I’d have to meet people!”

“We know you’re tired, Cody,” Aunt Bonita said briskly, “but your dad was well respected around here. It means a lot to folks in Ghost Canyon to know Martin’s daughter has finally come back.”

“I’m not back though!” Cody’s voice sounded shrill.

“Everybody understands you’re just visiting, honey,” Aunt Jeannie said quickly. “Just smile and say hi. You don’t need to make a speech!”

Cody followed her aunts inside, looking ready to pass out with nerves. Inside the trailer Navajo people of all ages stood, leaned or perched anywhere they could find space. The men wore jeans and T-shirts. I was tickled to see some of the older men had on big black cowboy hats. They all wore Navajo jewellery - rings, heavy silver bangles, or some kind of Navajo talisman round their necks. The women wore traditional bunchy skirts and blouses with velvet ribbons stitched to the seams. Over the blouses they wore elaborate necklaces of silver and turquoise. (Later I saw the same women in the local supermarket wearing trackie bottoms and realised they’d put on their traditional finery in Cody’s honour.)

When the assembled guests saw Cody, I heard soft exclamations. Some of the women’s eyes went shiny with tears.

“OK, you’ve seen her, now let’s eat,” joked an old man whose faded T-shirt advertised an old rodeo in Santa Fe. “You all brought enough food to feed a starving nation!”

Women quickly stripped clingfilm from pies, puddings, breads and whatever else people had brought to celebrate Cody’s arrival. The aunts wove in and out of the guests, introducing their niece to people with average American-type surnames like Johnson and others with obviously Indian names like Manybeads and Bitterwater.

The sweet old man who had taken the heat off Cody turned out to be Jim Yellowbird, who ran Ghost Canyon’s only garage. Like the other older men he wore his long grey hair in a ponytail under his broad-brimmed hat. He listened patiently as Cody’s aunt listed her recent problems with the truck. “I’ll get her up on the ramp as soon as I can,” he promised.

He turned to Cody who was still looking like she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Ghost Canyon is kinda quiet,” he explained, smiling. “You’re the closest thing we got to a celebrity. In a week or two everything will just simmer down and folks will simply accept you.”

He was just trying to put Cody at ease, but I wasn’t sure what he said was true. I’d heard some guests making malicious comments.

“What happened to her
hair
? Is that some white fashion?”

“Did you see how she looked Jim Yellowbird right in the face? No Navajo child would be that rude!”

“She can’t even speak our language!”

“I wouldn’t allow those boots in my house!”

“You know her mother’s sick in the head?”

“Why are they so sure it’s
this
child?”

The aunts gave no sign of hearing these spiteful muttering at first. They probably didn’t want to spoil Cody’s welcome by causing a scene. Then suddenly Aunt Bonita had had enough. Marching over to the rumour-mongers she let loose a ferocious stream of Navajo. The only sentence I understood was, “Dolores Bitterwater-you should be ashamed!” The rest of her speech was too fast and furious to follow.

Four people, including Dolores Bitterwater, left immediately, shooting dark looks at Cody. Cody couldn’t understand what they said, but she caught the vibe and flushed up to her ears.

Once Cody’s ill-wishers had gone, the party settled down into a normal Navajo gathering: plates of food being passed around, little kids dashing round sneaking cakes when no one was looking, women chatting about WeightWatchers, men discussing the prospects of the Arizona Cardinals, the local football team.

One obviously pregnant teenage girl was bottle-feeding a toddler as she discussed names with her friend. “I want to call her Tara. It goes really well with Tazbah.” She patted her daughter’s chubby knee. “I found it on a website. It means ‘star’.”

I heard Aunt Evalina give a weary sigh. “If Roxie put as much effort into choosing her babies’ fathers as she does picking out their names,” she muttered to Aunt Jeannie.

Roxie and the other girls slid narrow-eyed looks at Cody. The boys looked at her too, but in a different way.

To Cody’s obvious relief Aunt Bonita called her over. “Come and meet Earl. He says he knows where he can find you a pony.” I was startled to see that Earl wore a gun holster strapped to his waist, then realised his brown short-sleeved shirt was part of his uniform. Earl was a cop with the Navajo tribal police.

“Hi, you must be the famous Cody Fortuna,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Earl Brokeshoulder and this is—”

“I’m Lily Topaha!” A sharp-faced young woman had followed Earl in. She was dressed American-style in shirt and jeans, apart from her Navajo jewellery. She had on so much ethnic silver and turquoise she literally jingled every time she inhaled.

“I’m late for a meeting,” she gushed, “but I had to come and meet you on your first day. Welcome home, Cody. I’m just SO happy you found your way back to us!”

Cody looked appalled. “Oh! No, I’m not really—”

“We have a lot in common.” Lily sounded breathless and fierce all at once. “We were both stolen from our people at exactly the same age.”

“I wasn’t stolen from any people! My mum and dad separated, OK?” It was the closest I’d seen Cody get to being angry.

Lily just steamed on regardless. “You know what they call us in the tribe? Lost birds. But we’re coming back, Cody. The lost birds are returning one by one.”

“Lily!” Earl’s voice was polite but firm. “Cody’s tired. The lost bird talk can keep.” He gave Cody an apologetic smile. “Nice to meet you, kiddo. I’ll be in touch about the pony.”

“See you very soon, Cody,” Lily promised. I could hear her jewellery jingling like sleigh bells all the way to the car. Cody waited until the car drove off then fled outside. Aunt Evalina and I both went after her.

“You have to try to forgive Lily,” her aunt said. “She’s so busy making up for all that lost time, she can be insensitive. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just here till my mom is out of the hospital,” Cody said in a tight voice. “I’m not anyone’s lost bird. I’m not a Navajo. Even my dad was only part Navajo.”

Aunt Evalina sighed. “No offence, Cody, but that’s how white people think. ‘Half this. Quarter that.’ Time was, you just needed one Indian somewhere in your family tree to count as Indian, not even that if you’d been brought up inside the tribe. Unfortunately, these days, even Navajo people get on their high horses and need you to prove your tribal credentials.”

“I don’t have to prove my credentials.” Cody was trembling now. “I don’t belong here. I never belonged here.”

“Where do you belong then, honey?” Evalina asked quietly.

Cody stared around her in obvious dismay before she said despairingly, “Nowhere, I guess.”

Later Aunt Evalina came into the curtained cubicle where Cody was pretending to sleep. “You
belong
, do you hear me?” she said fiercely. “You belong to the Navajo people.” Cody didn’t move.

“You belong to us,” Aunt Evalina repeated, “and you belong to this land, Cody, to these canyons and mountains. In Navajo we say, ‘The wind knows your name.’”

I remembered how the windblown plants had seemed joyful as we passed. Did the wind in Navajoland truly recognise this lost girl? If so, the Earth was more magical than I’d ever dreamed.

“Your great-great-grandmothers and their great-great-grandmothers walked this country before you.” Aunt Evalina was still talking in the same low fierce voice. “They knew the plants and the seasons. They knew how to walk in harmony with the Earth. We call this way of living
Hozho
, the Blessing Way. Everything in harmony, Cody, all living things balanced in perfect harmony.”

Cody pulled her pillow over her head. Either she couldn’t stand to hear any more Navajo talk or she was crying. Aunt Evalina hovered for a while then went back to her sisters.

I heard Aunt Bonita give a snort of laughter. “That poor girl’s racking her brains trying to figure out what the Blessing Way has to do with that mountain of junk she saw when she pulled up here, after driving across America with the three old bats from hell.”

“Who are you calling an old bat?” demanded Evalina. There was a soft flump as if someone had thrown a cushion.

“Did you see how uncomfortable Cody was with everyone?” Aunt Jeannie sounded distressed.

“Her retarded relatives.” Aunt Bonita’s voice was gritty with pain. “That’s what her mama said.”

“Don’t blame Julia for that,” begged Aunt Jeannie. “We could all see she was sick even then.”

“Sick but not stupid,” said Aunt Bonita. “Seeing her husband’s people living through one catastrophe after another. Why would she want her child mixed up in that, if she had a choice?”