Looks Over(Gives Light Series) (35 page)

I checked my wristwatch and clapped my hands.  Balto dashed after me and we made a race out of running back to the grotto.  Balto won by a wide margin.  Annie was already by the creek, lighting kindling fires over piles of sand and plant ash.  It wasn't long before Lila and Joseph joined us, their hands joined, their baskets swinging.

Found a lot of rocks
, Joseph signed.

I tousled his long hair and he hid behind it, like a curtain.

Balto trotted into the cave, no doubt looking for a snack.  Lila, Joseph, and I sat with Annie and got to work.  I crushed the plants to make the dyes, and as Annie's glassware cooled and hardened, she took whichever colors she wanted from me and discarded the rest.  She made windchimes, glass horses and glass butterflies and the most amazing stars you've ever seen, such that the real ones had reason for envy.  I took the dyes she didn't need and left them to dry under a patch of sun; when they hardened into ink sticks, we could sell them along with the rest of the crafts.  Annie made necklaces out of painted stones and clay beads from the badlands.  Lila broke the brittle skink skulls in her fingers and let Annie shape them into rings and bracelets and earrings; Annie let Lila crush the pinecones for their resin and coat the bones to restore their hardiness.  We spent so long out by the grotto that Joseph fell asleep, his head on my knee.  I stroked the crown of his head and the nape of his neck while Balto helped himself to a dinner of quail.

Rafael and Aubrey joined us at the grotto the next day, long strips of wood and tangled piles of milkweed gathered in their arms.

"We're making bows and arrows!" Aubrey said excitedly.

"Hope somebody shoots himself in the foot," Rafael said sourly.

I noticed Zeke had followed them.  I wasn't entirely sure where he stood with us; but he smiled at me, nervously, and twitched his hand in a wave, and there was no way I could let that pass without smiling broadly back.

Now that my hand was healed, I realized, I could go back to playing the plains flute.  Aubrey told me that Plains music was always a big seller during crafts month, so I made a quick trip home to borrow Granny's tape recorder; then I went back to the grotto and recorded songs in the cave.  I think everybody likes music, although I'm sure we all have our own preferences.  But for me, music wasn't just something to listen to.  It was the only sound I could make.  It was vitally important to me, in the same way that a thirsty man can't help but snatch up the nearest drink of water.  When you're standing on the edge of a canyon, and all you want in that moment is to be heard by the person who's standing on the other side, of course you're going to scream.

I emerged from the cave, my flute hanging around my neck, and Lila grabbed my hand like she owned it.

"Hey, daddio," she said.  "Break time.  You've got to see something cool."

Cooler than you?
I signed.

"Let's not get carried away."

She led me away from the grotto and into a part of the woods I'd never visited in the past.

I hope you're not trying to feed me to the bears
, I joked.

Lila rolled her eyes.  "Your sense of direction sucks."

We crept around the beech trees, Lila tiptoeing across the forest detritus.  I couldn't understand why she wanted us to be quiet.

Lila signed: 
Look.

I held my breath.  I couldn't help it.  The little grove was cluttered with woodsorrels--veined white flowers, delicate and paper-thin.  By itself, it was impressive.  What rendered it awe-inspiring was the hundreds of butterflies nesting on the tips of the flower petals, their wispy wings aloft and fluttering.

I counted them until my eyes ached; and when I blinked, I lost count.  Dusky Emperors with tawny brown wings, spotted Aphrodites in shades of belated autumn gold, Painted Ladies and American Ladies and sleek black Elves, Pale Crescents and Pearl Crescents and the elusive Cattleheart, her wings decorated in shimmering red and pale green.  All as different from one another as could be.  All eating from the same manna.

Lila sighed. 
Isn't it perfect?
she signed. 
We could learn a lot from them.

Crafts month was in full swing by the next day.  The tables all over the reservation were stacked with clay jewelry and bone jewelry, timeless ceramics, cornhusk dolls, quilts and pillows in all sizes, wood bowls and wood figurines and glass figurines, bird bone flutes and goatskin hand drums, elkskin tapestries and willow baskets and willow dreamcatchers in every color known to the human eye.  And just in time, too--because that was when all the white folks came stampeding in.

I had never seen the reservation this crowded, not even during the summer pauwau.  Whole families traipsed through Nettlebush like they were on vacation, sunglasses on their eyes and fanny packs at their waists, their children running amok.  Granny guarded her table full of quilts and eyed everyone reproachfully.  The weirdest part was that the visitors wanted to take pictures of absolutely everything:  The firepit, the log cabins, even the clotheslines and the butter churns.  It sort of made me uncomfortable.  Not Lila, though.  She posed and blew kisses at the cameras.

"Skylar!"

I was helping Granny fold her pendleton blankets--one of the customers had knocked them out of their pile--when I heard my name.  I looked up.

The Hargroves were coming up the lane toward our house.  Jessica ran ahead of her family, her braids swinging around her head.

I smiled until my face hurt.  I stepped out from behind the sales table.  Jessica skipped over and wrapped her arms around me in a quick, tight hug.  I was all too happy to return it.

"This is for you," Jessica said, and handed me a plastic doll in a pleated pink skirt.

I struggled to keep a straight face.  I took the doll graciously and pat Jessica on the head.

Dad came out of the house and put his arm around Officer Hargrove's shoulders.  I guessed he wasn't trying to hide it anymore.  "Would you kids like a snack?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"Yaaay!"

DeShawn and Jessica ran at him like they were starving.  I suppose when you're a kid, you're always starving.

Dad took the kids inside to find them something to eat.  Officer Hargrove put her hands on my shoulders, matter-of-factly, and pretended she wasn't looking at me like I was six years old.

"So," she said brusquely.  "How ya doing?"

I swallowed a laugh.  I gave her a thumbs up.

"Racine," Granny sang.  "I set something aside for you, dear--"

Dear?  I reached across the table to feel Granny's forehead.  Was she sure she didn't have a fever?  Granny waved my hand away, annoyed with me.

Granny and Officer Hargrove stood by the table and chatted.  I went into the house to find a safe place for Jessica's doll.  I could hear spoons clinking in glass bowls from the kitchen; probably Dad had given the kids wojapi.  I went back outside to see if Granny needed any more help with her wares.

The shaman was standing on the front porch, a bota bag on his hip, gazing at me through narrow eyes.

Is there something I can do for you?
I signed.  I tried to ignore the snapping of camera shutters on the lane outside our lawn.  I thought it was really rude.

You are ready for the vision quest
, Shaman Quick signed. 
We will go now.

Shaman Quick descended the porch steps without waiting for me.  I hurried to catch up with him.

I looked over at the table.  Granny and Officer Hargrove were exchanging money with a customer; by the looks of it, neither had noticed us.  I signed to the shaman,
My grandmother--

What the spirits posit must not be ignored.

I felt a little foolish as I walked at the shaman's side.  A woman in a baseball cap pointed at us and turned to whisper to her husband.

We walked past the firepit and the northern half of the neighborhood.  Gabriel's southern oak drew closer in view, and I realized:  The shaman was taking me to the badlands.  Maybe we were headed back to his place?  The shaman lived in a canyon out there, in a house not unlike a wickiup.

He walked across the crumbling clay like it was nothing.  I followed him less certainly, apprehension gnawing at the pit of my stomach.

Apparently his house wasn't our destination.  We walked past the canyon and the coal seams; the shaman didn't look back.  Usually the badlands were cooler than the rest of the reserve, but not today; the sun beating on the crown of my head was so bright, my skull started to ache.

Past the promontory and a grove of southern oaks.  Through the green-gray grass and the tent rocks climbing toward the sky like ladders to Heaven.  Now I really felt nauseous.  I had never been this far out in the badlands before.  I was pretty sure that this was coyote territory.

A red-tailed hawk screeched high overhead.  A rattlesnake slithered through the cracks in the ground.  My shirt was starting to stick to my back with perspiration.  I looked over my shoulder.  I couldn't see Rafael's promontory anymore.  Somehow, that bothered me the most.

"Summi."

The shaman came to a stop; and so did I.  I felt clay and sand sliding under my feet.  In the far, blurry distance were foreboding trees with woody, leafless limbs.  I wondered if the forest looped around to the badlands.  I never got to ask.  The shaman sat on the flat, slippery ground, facing west, and I sat with him.  The air was breathy and warm; and out west were rolling plains of clay flanked by gorges.

The reservation wasn't even visible from here.  I wondered how long we had been walking.

You will stay out here for three days
, the shaman signed to me.

I nearly jumped.  Three days?  With the coyotes and the pronghorns?  And there wasn't anything to eat out here.  There wasn't even grass.

The shaman unfastened the bota bag from his hip.  He handed it to me.  I heard the water sloshing around inside. 

I surveyed him inquisitively, skittish.

Our Father will protect you from the wild
, he said. 
You must pray.  Pray that the Great Mystery fills you with purpose.  Empty your mind of everything except for the search for purpose.  You will have nothing to eat except for this drink.  When it is time for you to come home, I will come back for you.

I tried to crack a smile; I don't think I succeeded. 
Are you sure you won't find my remains?

The shaman gave me a sharp look, as though to suggest he didn't find me very funny.

One more thing
, he signed. 
If your spirit guide wishes to make itself known, it will approach you in the form of an animal, which you will not fear.
  "Puha," he spoke out loud.  But of course I didn't know what "puha" meant.

The shaman rose, as though to leave me.  My heart was pounding a mile a minute.  I didn't want to be left alone.

I reached for his wrist.  To my surprise, he let me take it.

Can you give me my voice back?
I said wildly.  I was thinking of the prairie chicken dance, of Aubrey's father.

The shaman looked at me with pity.  I didn't like that look.

With a heavy sigh, as heavy as a raincloud, Shaman Quick pulled free from my grasp.  He started the walk back to the reserve.

Okay, I thought, my heart torching the inside of my chest.  I could just follow the shaman home.  I mean, what would he do if I tried--knock me out?  There was no real reason I had to stay out here.

I stood up; but my legs were heavy, my skin slicked with sweat, and just as quickly, I sat back down.  I untied the bota bag and lifted it to my lips.  I felt as though I were dying of thirst.  I took a drink of water; it tasted surprisingly sweet.

I wondered whether Dad had performed the vision quest at my age.  I felt certain that Granny must have.  I knew Rafael had.  What had Rafael seen out here?  Had the shaman even taken him out here?  Maybe the spot the shaman chose depended on the person.  I thought the badlands suited Rafael.  I felt sure he must have had his vision quest in the badlands.  Maybe atop one of those tent rocks, fearlessly daring it to spill over.

I glanced south, the shaman's receding form a smudge on the horizon.  In defeat, I thought:  People have been going on vision quests since the dawn of time.  If it were really so dangerous, no one would do it.  I told myself I needed to stop being such a scaredy cat.  I took another drink.  Man, did it taste good.

An eagle let out a shrill, majestic cry.  I tilted my head back to find him, but I only saw the sun, high and full in a sky of endless blue.  My eyes watered.  I checked the watch on my wrist.  My vision was blurry; I couldn't make out the time.  I guessed by my shadow that it was a few hours before sunset.

Boredom sank in, and fast.  I'm not the kind of guy who can deal with solitude very well.  I picked up the plains flute hanging from my neck and thought of Rafael.  Rafael had hewn this flute for me almost a year ago.  I imagined that I could still feel his hands, rough and brown, whittling the smooth falcon bones.  I thought to myself:  I'll just play songs until the shaman comes back for me.  Then I thought:  That's cheating.  He told me to pray.