Moonlight Water (33 page)

He stopped drying. “Again. Zahnie, what's going on?”

She looked into his face. “We're where we need to be, you and me. Let's keep it there.”
You have to leave, you're going to leave, but not yet, please.

He waited for about three beats. “You think I'm going to split, don't you? Run off, as you put it.”

“I know you are.”

“My choice or yours?”

“Ours.”

“This is so frustrating.”

“Red, it's good, what we have for this short time. Don't mess it up.”

She kissed him, made it warm, felt it get too warm. She turned her back, crossed her hands on her chest, and let her head fall forward. After a moment she made up her mind.

When they finished cleaning the kitchen, she led Red to the Granary, took him to bed, and made love with him lingeringly. For her, every gesture was an emotional good-bye.

“Let's doze a little,” she said.

They spooned together, her in front, his arm across her.

“Do you understand?” she said.

“No,” he said. Long pause. “I don't believe it's what you want.”

Now, silently, came the tears. She wiped them away with one hand so he wouldn't know.

 

40

IT'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU

Don't talk while the medicine man is singing. It will spoil the ceremony.

—Navajo saying

 

As Red walked back toward the main house the next day, Winsonfred popped out the back door. “Red,” he called, “let's go down to the water!”

The river spot turned out to be a big eddy accessed by a two-track. Red shed his clothes zippety-quick, stood on the edge, and plopped in backward. Winsonfred sat under a big cottonwood well back from the water. Red thought Zahnie had said something about traditional Navajos staying away from Water Boy, and he wondered about that.

Ten minutes later Red was stretched out in his boxers next to Winsonfred. They didn't speak, and that felt good to Red. He closed his eyes and paid attention to the breeze cooling his body.

After a while Winsonfred said, “There's something for you to see over there. I picked it out special.”

Red stirred and put his clothes on. They walked through tammies to the cliff that lined the river, and Winsonfred led the way up a short slope to a huge rock slab that leaned against the wall and created a shadowed alcove. As they slipped into it, Red felt like he was being led into a secret hiding place.

Winsonfred flung an arm out. “Behold!”

Red was surprised Winsonfred knew that word.

What Red beheld was … nothing. Or rather a big, blank rock wall.

He looked at Winsonfred with question marks in his eyes.

“A long time ago there was a breakout, right here where we're standing. A big hunk of stone came off. You can see the pieces laying down there, broken.” Winsonfred gestured to the slope.

“Before this space of rock—I call it The Canvas—before it could get weathered, this big slab fell down from above and took the leaning position you see, which protected The Canvas from rain, wind, and sun. So it doesn't have the signs of time that most rock around here does, the ones that grow on an old human face, for instance, like mine. It looks youthful. Open. Ready.

“I told you to pay attention to the stories the rocks tell. How about the ones they may yet tell?”

Winsonfred took a long moment to run his eyes over the pristine stone. “You see, it's virgin. To me, it cries out for a petroglyph. It's waiting to be carved or painted, waiting for someone to make something on it that speaks to all of us.”

He stopped and looked for a while.

“I always thought I might do a carving here. No reason we modern people shouldn't do what the ancients did, as long as we do it in a good spirit. But I'm not the one it's been waiting for—you are.”

He turned and looked into Red's eyes full on. “It's what you came here to Moonlight Water to do.”

Red was overwhelmed, still. Finally he said, “What would I say?”

Winsonfred said, “First think of how to come at it. The ancients, pecking a figure in rock, it took them a long time. You see a big carving, maybe fifteen-twenty figures, that took a big bunch of time. What that tells me is, the carver had something important inside needing to come out. Something sacred, I think. It took a big effort to birth it.

“So you have to look inside you and see what wants out. Then you'll know what to do.”

Winsonfred waited.

“But what would I carve? Or paint?”

“You already know,” said Winsonfred.

Red's heart swelled up. “Kokopelli.”

“What else? You came to this country from other villages. You're a musician. You're also a trader. You have some things to give us. Your goodwill. Your friendship. Help with fighting some enemies. And seeds in the sack on your back, the seed gives women babies.”

Red felt a cold splash in the face.

“That's what Kokopellis do, plant seeds in women.” Winsonfred gave Red the sweetest of smiles. “Now, you are getting what you came here for, renewal, wholeness, a path of beauty and harmony. Here's your chance to pay a tribute to that.”

Winsonfred paused.

“Seeds. Are you telling me…?” said Red.

“Yes. And you already knew.

“Now let me suggest some things to you. Take your time. It might take you a week, a month, a year, I have no idea, and you mustn't give that a thought. Also, don't worry about whether it's beautiful. If you bring a good spirit to it, a kind of sacred attitude, that will make it beautiful.”

“Zahnie's pregnant?”

“I know.”

“I ask her to marry me. She says no.”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“Have you forgotten? Little Turtle Without a Shell. She's too vulnerable. She's scared.”

“I want her like I've never wanted anything. And I don't know what she'll decide.”

“Let that be part of the song you sing on the rock.”

Red looked for a while at the rock, without seeing it. He said, “Okay. I will.” He let the surface of the stone soak into his mind. He said, “I want to paint.”

Winsonfred lit up. “Grand. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Water-soluble paint. Better on this rock, a more matte look.” He paused. “It won't last forever.”

“Here it will last and last, my friend. No sun, no water, no wind.”

“Don't care. Let it go, let it stay. Either way. Me doing it, that's what counts.”

“You got it.”

Painting it and … He couldn't think about her.

“The basement at Harmony House has gallons and gallons of that kind of paint, and brushes,” said Winsonfred. “Go as the spirit moves you.”

The old man took Red's arm gingerly. He stopped. He looked back at The Canvas. Then he looked into Red's eyes.

“I have one saying that's even better. You remember I told you about my Lakota brother-in-law? This comes from him. ‘When you paint, do not look with the two eyes of your head, but the single eye of your heart.'”

 

41

GIANNI PRODUCTIONS, UNLIMITED

Don't point your fingers at a rainbow. It will break them.

—Navajo saying

 

The next morning Red, Gianni, and Georgia sat over coffee at the dining table.

“Me first,” said Georgia. She got up and walked to a clump of shapes stacked beneath a window. She threw the blanket off like a bullfighter's cape. All three saw a display of cases and trunks with musical instruments.

Red jumped up, ran to them, and touched.

“Your whole collection,” said Georgia.

“Which I abandoned … Hey, even my steel drums.” He grinned. He was thinking of a particular use for those. He gave Georgia a hug and sat down next to her.

Gianni jumped in. “Now to business. This plan is mine. The idea is to get good things for Red, good things for Georgia, and good things for Harmony House. I promise you.

“The legal situation, California being a community property state, is that both of you still own everything but the house. That's Rob Macgregor's.”

“Who's dead,” said Red.

“The right thing, emotionally,” said Georgia. “But—”

“Okay, I know, you need a divorce.”

“Otherwise I can't touch a thing for seven years.”

Georgia smiled at Red.

Now Gianni pushed on in his chairman-of-the-board manner, manifestly pleased with himself. “I am acting not as a lawyer representing either of you, but as a mediator helping you reach an agreement. Believing I have a good idea what each of you wants, I have some suggestions to offer.”

He handed out several sheets of paper, a copy to each. “I had to do
something
in jail.”

Red was to give Georgia half of his liquid assets, entirely stocks and bonds, which were estimated at a value of a little over $6 million.

Red nodded.
I have three million dollars and a house worth more
—it was a discombobulating thought.

“Basically, okay?” asked Georgia.

“I don't want the house,” said Red. “Done with that life.”

“We'll work that out,” said Gianni. “Now we need the rest of the gang.” He called, “Come on in.”

Tony, Clarita, Winsonfred, and Damon filed in and pulled chairs up. Jolo and Eric sat on the sofa playing with the baby and listening in. Zahnie was at work.

“Now everyone be quiet,” said Georgia, “and listen to the plan of a legal genius.”

Gianni grinned and said, “This is going to sound strange, but it will work. I did something like it years ago.

“Right now your problem is that Harmony House is licensed by the state of Utah as an assisted living facility. Tony is right. When he enters his plea bargain, the state will revoke the license.

“As an aside, Rose Sanchez and I already negotiated a plea bargain for Tony. One to fifteen years, with the judge's recommendation of leniency from the parole board.” Gianni smiled at Tony. “That should keep it to one.”

“I'm really grateful,” said Tony. He rolled his eyes. “I guess.”

“From here the question is a practical one: How do you continue to take care of elderly people without a license?

“It's not such a trick. It involves a concept that sounds weird. Get past that and a lot of good things happen. Here it is: You make Harmony House a commune.”

“Commune?” All of them said the word at the same time, in tones ranging from disbelief to dismay.

“All right, I'm having a little fun with you. Call it an intentional living community. Either way, what you do is let Harmony House go out of business. Re-incorporate with a new name, as a non-profit, with a new 501(c)(3). And call yourselves, maybe, Nizhoni Living Center.”

Grumbling was still audible. “Commune.”

“Legally, this is how it works. Intentional communities are not subject to state control. There is no body of regulations stipulating how you must operate. So you get the bureaucrats out of your hair. Your legal position is that you're a group of people who live together voluntarily. If some of you take care of the others, that's your business. The same way that if the commune hires a director and employees, that's its business. In fact, it's the same way a family operates.

“Extra-legally, this also works. The press usually defends people who follow alternate lifestyles, intentional living centers and communes included. Even use of marijuana has been winked at most of the time.” He spread his arms broadly. “That's it. Believe me, this will cut the mustard.”

They all looked at one another.

Tony broke the silence. “I'm waiting for the other shoe.”

“Is the shoe called money? Okay, here's a biggie. If they take my suggestion, Red and Georgia will provide the money now. Red, you have over a million bucks in equity in a house you don't want. You'll give Georgia the house, and with the equity she'll create an endowment of one million dollars for Nizhoni Living Center.”

Georgia squeezed Red's hand. He thought,
This is good.

”A million is not a fortune, but managed conservatively, it should provide about fifty thousand dollars a year for expenses and repairs. Okay, Georgia? Red, you in?”

“Sure.”
Hell of a deal.

“To expand, and there are always more old folks, you'll have to raise money somehow.”

“I'll donate another half million to be used for expansion, at the discretion of the board of directors,” said Red. He hadn't known he could sound so legal.

“Bravo!” said Tony.

“My friend,” said Gianni, “you are in the spirit.”

“Next consideration—the board of directors. If we add in Zahnie, seems to me the people in this room are the keys. Get together and decide who will be on the board. I've suggested Tony, Clarita, and Zahnie. If you want to add Red or Georgia, and they're willing, that's up to you. Later you could add a tribal politician for influence. Or someone with big bucks.”

Everyone nodded.

“Well, that's it. Sounds like we're basically agreed.”

He stood up, stopped himself, and tapped another stack of papers. Gianni said, “I've prepared copies of the legal work for you to study at your leisure. Tony, Clarita, and Zahnie will need to sign statements of acceptance of board positions. Get them back to me. By the way, my firm is doing all legal work for you
pro bono
.”

“Hooray!” said Tony. He beat a
rat-a-tat-tat
on his thighs with his hands.

“Georgia,” said Clarita, “you're a good woman.”

“Thank you,” said Georgia.

“And, Red, we love you.”

 

42

WHEN THE SPIRIT DANCES

Don't try to count the stars. You'll have too many children.