St. Clair (Gives Light Series) (24 page)

Dr. Demain, wave hello to Dr. Demain, lie down

with an old Therac 20-Saturne hovering above my

face for half an hour straight. The whole

procedure was like something out of a sci-fi

movie, only boring. At least Rafael was waiting

outside for me. No, wait. Now I felt guilty. It

was Christmas Eve. Rafael ought to be at home

with his family, not sitting in a dingy hospital and

talking to a guy who couldn't talk back.

I left the X-ray room and rubbed my sore face.

"Merry Christmas, Cubby," Dad said, and pulled

me into a hug.

He had brought Granny, Racine, and the kids with

him. Oh, jeez, I thought. Warmed, but

embarrassed, I leaned against him. Jessica put her

arms up and hopped on her heels and I hugged her.

Those poor kids. Why were they hanging out in a

hospital instead of watching Christmas movies at

home?

"Look!" DeShawn said. He brandished a small, tin

foil Christmas tree at me. "We got it for your

room. You can get rid of the ballerina ornament if

you want, that was Jessica's dumb idea."

Rafael had said something to me last spring,

something that stuck with me for a long while.

He'd said, "They actually love me. Can you

believe that? I'm so lucky." He was talking about

his family. At the time I'd thought: Of course they

love you. You're family. Now I thought: I know

what he means. And I really do know what he

means. I wish everyone had a family like mine.

When you do, it's unparalleled. It's the most

profound, most undeserved, most wonderful gift

you'll ever receive. And nothing you give back

will ever match it in value.

And I am the luckiest guy on the planet.

So I didn't really miss Christmas after all. And

then Christmas turned into New Year's, and New

Year's turned into Wednesday, and Dad came into

my room and told me I was going home.

"You're cancer free," Dad reported. I thought his

eyes looked a little lighter than usual.

Rafael's head shot up. "Seriously?" he asked.

Dad looked at the both of us sitting on the bed,

schoolbooks scattered across our knees. School

doesn't stop for anything, not even cancer.

"Seriously," he said. "So let's you and I go

outside, and Cubby can put some real clothes on."

Rafael let out this big breath that sounded like

relief and incredulity, all at once. I realized

something. Rafael's the kind of guy who goes stir

crazy if you keep him indoors for too long. He's

about as connected to the land as a sapling is to its

roots. I can't count the number of times we were

sitting in school, or in his house, or in his uncle's

car, and he'd suddenly start fidgeting, agitated,

because he wanted to get out and stretch his legs

and breathe in the crisp, open air.

He hated being indoors, but he had spent a month

in the hospital with me, and he had never once

complained.

"M'gonna be right outside," Rafael said to me. He

pushed up his glasses, took his sketchbook and his

pendleton blanket under his arm, and headed out of

the room.

"I love you, Cubby," Dad said. "I hope you know

that."

I smiled at him. I knew that.

Dad left after Rafael and closed my door. I rooted

around in the little locker next to the bed and took

out a button-down and a pair of rumpled jeans. I

dressed quickly, but left the bottom few buttons

open. It would've been pretty bad if the stomach

pump got caught and tore my gut open.

I opened the door when I had finished. Rafael

came back inside to help me collect the

decorations my friends had left in my room.

"Annie lent me her bag," Rafael said, and stuffed

the drawings and the beadwork eagle into the

burlap sack. The tin Christmas tree wouldn't fit; I

decided I'd just carry it in my arms. I carried my

plains flute around my neck.

"You ready?"

Not quite. I smiled and pointed at Aubrey's

mistletoe, still pinned to the ceiling.

"Oh. Yeah," Rafael said. He stretched his body

up toward the ceiling, grabbed the bottom of the

holly, and ripped it from the tile in one quick tug.

That should give you an idea of how tall he really

was.

Rafael turned the holly sprig over in his hands. "I

wonder if this is edible," he said.

I looked at him blandly. No, it was not edible. It

was toxic. I took the holly hurriedly from his

hands.

"Just let me taste it," he said irritably.

I held the holly over his head. Or tried to. He was

a good five inches taller than me. He raised his

arm to bat mine away. I was too quick for him. I

snaked my arms around his neck and pulled him

down for a kiss.

His hands on my arms were so gentle, it amazed

me that they belonged to a boy his size. Kissing

him was like clinging to a lifeboat in the middle of

the sea, knowing that it was only a matter of time

before the shore loomed in view. I really mean

that. I might have lost my mind this past month if

not for him.

His lips moved against mine in a familiar

embrace. His forehead rested against mine. His

eyes, so close, reached into mine--into me--and it

was intimidating. It was invigorating. I cupped

his face in my hands, the holly knotted between my

fingers. I saw nothing but blue.

His lips quirked into an indescribably beautiful

smile.

"I must really love you," Rafael said. "Your

breath tastes like a dead cat's."

I punched his shoulder.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: coming to the rez

hey sweetie,

i'll be in nettlebush in a few days. if

you could give me your address that

would be great.

i'll bring some ach'ii. i know you luv

it.

xoxo

I grimaced as I stared at the computer screen. I

liked Kaya. I was happy she'd be visiting the

reservation. I just didn't like ach'ii--a bizarre

Navajo delicacy woven from grilled sheep

intestines. Even if I ate meat, I probably wouldn't

go that far.

"Skylar," Granny said severely. She sat behind her

loom, fast at work on a new tapestry. "Go eat your

lunch, for heavens' sakes."

I turned off the computer monitor, sluggish, and

trudged into the kitchen. I stopped to look out the

window at the bare oak trees, the full pines. This

winter was a long one.

I sat at the table and spooned blue corn mush into

my stomach pump. I swear, whoever first invented

the PEG must have had all the tenderness of a

Lovecraftian novel. Already I missed the taste of

blue corn mush, ashy and sweet. When I had

finished pumping food into my gut I pulled my

jacket on and went out the back door to the water

pump. PEGs are awful; you've got to flush them

out after every feeding, otherwise you'll get an

infection.

The ice water trickled into my belly. I recoiled. I

capped the feeding tube, stood from the ground,

and pulled my jacket closed around my body.

I heard yipping through the trees.

I smiled, subdued. I stood and listened to the calls

of the coywolves as they staked out their territory

for the afternoon. I tilted my head back to peer at

the wintry white sky, birds in formation flying

against the feeble sun. The clouds were heavy and

thick; they wanted desperately to snow, but

couldn't. You're never going to see snow in a

place as xeric as Nettlebush.

I felt a cold nose prodding my knee through the

fabric of my jeans. And somehow I knew, before I

looked, that it was Balto.

I knelt on the ground and wrapped my arms around

his neck. Never mind that he was a wild animal

now, and nearly the size of a wolf. Never mind

that he could have killed me with a snap of his

jaws. I missed him. He had come home. Maybe

he missed us, too.

Balto batted his nose against mine. I ran my

fingers along the bottom of his muzzle. I wanted so

badly to bring him inside, but it was too risky.

You never know what instincts might come out in a

wild animal, even one you reared from infancy. If

Balto wound up hurting Dad, or Granny... I

couldn't take that chance.

I unwound my arms from his neck and sat back on

my haunches. He got the message. He yipped at

me, tossing his head, and darted for cover through

the trees.

I felt like a total jerk.

Kaya came to the reservation two days later, when

the community had gathered on the countryside to

harvest the winter grain.

She waved at me while I was packing baskets with

wheat and sugarcane. She drew me to the side, to

sit with her beneath an apple tree; I was feeling

kind of woozy, so I happily went along.

I'd only ever hung out with Kaya during pauwaus,

so it was more than a little disorienting to see her

wearing a turtleneck and a leather jacket as

opposed to her scarlet silk regalia.

"That's a lot of grain," Kaya remarked, nodding at

my baskets.

The extra grain was for the Paiute tribe. The

Pleasance Reserve was built on top of some really

crappy soil, so when we visited them in January,

we always brought plenty of food.

"Your tribe made good use of the Dawes Act,"

Kaya said.

I don't know whether you've heard of the Dawes

Act. If you haven't, that's okay; most history

classes don't bother teaching it. This is what

happened. In 1887, the government attempted a

really sneaky way of breaking up the Native

Americans' strong sense of community. Basically,

they tried to tempt individual Native Americans

into buying the land they already lived on. I'm sure

that sounds nonsensical, so let me explain. Picture

the enormous Pine Ridge Reservation, home to

28,000 Lakota Indians. Now picture what it would

be like if only one of those 28,000 Lakota owned

the entire reservation, and everyone else was at his

mercy. The tribe would collapse from the inside

out. That's what the white men were hoping would

happen.

It didn't happen. Tribes like the Pequot, the

Shakopee, and the Shoshone proved capable of

being just as sneaky--the Shoshone in particular.

When Congress passed the Dawes Act, the

Southern Plains Shoshone said, "Alright," and

signed on board. Each Shoshone purchased a

parcel of land in Nettlebush. The government was

ecstatic; they took it as proof of the dissolution of

the tribe. Because, of course, if you don't belong

to a tribe, how can you call yourself Native

American?

So, sure, Charles White Feather bought the

badlands, and Marianna Little Tree bought the

forest, and Lucy Smoke Seer bought the lake. In

name only. In reality, the Shoshone went on

communally sharing their resources as they had

always done. The only difference now was that

the tribe finally owned the property rights to their

land. They could do whatever they wanted with

it. They could hunt on it, build on it, cultivate it,

and they didn't have to ask the white men's

permission. Nettlebush has been thriving ever

since.

"Of course," Kaya mused, "what you have

inherited, they would take away."

I frowned. Mary must have told her about our

forays with the Bureau of Land Management.

"Just keep fighting," Kaya advised. "You Plains

People have never been much for fighting in the

past. But you're fighting now. You'll learn a thing

or two yet."

I pulled a blade of grass from the ground and

dropped it on her head.

The morning of the winter pauwau came before I

was ready. Granny and I went into the kitchen and

packed baskets with cut sugarcane and barley and

blankets for the road. I was exhausted. I had to sit

down twice.

Granny closed the cellar door and eyed me.

"Well," she said, as though we were in the middle