Stealing Fire (3 page)

“The way these guys work, they threaten you by dangling something you love in front of you. Or someone you love.”

“The implication of that is unthinkable.”

“It's lousy, but it's true,” I said. “If you're in danger, so is your wife, and so is anyone else, or anything else, that you love.”

I didn't say anything else, just let him sit with that information. He looked out the window, vague trees between towns, laundry on lines, a slight wind waving dim shapes and grasses.

“Mr. Goldman. I need help. I couldn't bear it if something happened to my wife.”

“What you need is protection, Mr. Wright.”

“Yes.”

“I'll talk to my boss. I can take care of your safety on the train.”

“Without telling him the embarrassing details?”

“He only needs to know you've been threatened. That's enough.”

“What happens after I get off the train?”

“The train's responsibility ends when you get off.”

“After that, may I hire you personally?”

This was not my line of work. Protection on the train, yes. Getting involved with gangsters in the big world? I'd probably be in over my head. On the other hand, living it up in Chicago had been completely new territory, and I'd managed the city just fine.

“I have ten days off before my next stint for the Super Chief.”

“So you'll do it?”

“I'm not crazy about the idea. I'll talk to my wife about it, mull it over.”

Mr. Wright looked agitated.

“Mr. Wright,” I said, “there are other people who can take care of you. We can have that arranged before you get off at…?”

“At Flagstaff. It's closest to Taliesin West. But, Mr. Goldman, the railroad only hires the best. I'd really like you on this.”

“I'll communicate with the office about protecting you on the Super Chief. For now let's say I'm on their clock. I'll decide about taking care of you after you get off the train, but, one way or the other, I'll make sure you're okay.”

I looked over his shoulder. His wife was deep into conversation with Pretty Man. “Seems like your wife has been huddled up with that guy for a long time.”

“Payton, yes. He's been a Fellow with us for two years now. He's very talented, but I am about at the end of my rope with his shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?”

“Women.”

“They're talking about his love life?”

“Olgivanna is like a mother to every one of my apprentices. When they have a personal problem, they go to her about it.”

Hard for me to imagine talking with an older woman about the details of my personal life. “Okay” was the best I could come up with as a response.

“The last thing I want to do,” said Mr. Wright, “is hear about girlfriends, money problems, family troubles. All that nonsense. She spares me, but if you ever need a shoulder…”

“I have a mother. Sometimes she knows more about my life than I do.”

He laughed. “I had the mother to end all. I am a self-proclaimed mama's boy.”

“An only child?”

“No, but her favorite child. Not my father's.”

“I didn't have a father.”

“That can be a very fortunate situation.”

“In my case,” I said, “definitely. But I had my grandfather, and he raised me.”

“You're close to your family?”

“Too close, sometimes.”

“I have children, many of them, but my real children are my projects.”

“Regret that?”

“Only when I stop and think about it, which,” he said, “is happening more often as the years go by.”

When a man can give his all to dreams, blueprints, strangers, the public, rack up debts, and put his kids second to all this? What does that say about him as a human being walking the earth? Thinking too much about yourself is a good way to collect enemies. You never hear the footsteps sneaking up behind you, because you're too busy hearing your own steps walking large.

Iris returned with fresh lipstick, trailing a sheet of toilet paper stuck to the heel of her shoe.

Mrs. Wright had disappeared. No sign of Payton, either.

“Your husband is worried,” Mr. Wright said to Iris, “about the man who tried to strong-arm me at the railroad station. He is going to keep an eye on my wife and me for the duration of the trip.”

Iris was thrilled.

“And, if I can convince him, I'd like him to take care of us until we reach Taliesin West.”

Iris sparkled. “What an honor!”

“You would be welcome at Taliesin West, too, of course. We approve of families.”

She almost said yes for both of us. I could feel it hanging in the air. I squeezed her thigh under the table.

“What?” she said to me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Good, then it's settled,” said Mr. Wright.

“Your safety,” I said, “on the train is assured. Beyond that? Someone will have you covered.”

“The someone, I hope, being you.”

Mr. Wright signaled the waiter over and ordered two bottles of French champagne. Dom Perignon. He ordered appetizers for us. We chatted, Iris told him about her artwork, and he tried to look interested. She told him about the Indian art in our trading post and in our Santa Fe home. The trading post itself sparked his interest—how it was built, the materials, how old it was. Riding his enthusiasm was like being on a roller coaster.

Mr. Wright and Iris polished off the champagne, and he invited a few of his students to pull their table next to ours. They ordered more champagne. Everyone was laughing and having a great old time. I watched the interactions and didn't say much. There were stories about commissions and positions and work in progress. Iris was enraptured. Still no sign of Mrs. Wright and Pretty Payton.

Suddenly Mr. Wright stood. He picked up his tube of drawings. No one tried to relieve him of them, but they all stood, wobbly, and in good cheer.

With a flourish, he asked the waiter for the bill. With another flourish, he placed the bill in front of me. “Have a marvelous evening. I'm sure the train won't mind picking up the tab since you're in their employ and now on duty.”

Iris stopped glowing. She knew as well as I did that I got regular meals free, but bottles of champagne and fancy appetizers? No.

I stood. “Mr. Wright, meet me back here in two hours.”

He searched my eyes. “I'll be here.” We shook hands, and he placed the key to his cabin in my palm. He was discreet.

“Just in case,” he said, voice low and near my ear, “you need to find me.” He ambled down the aisle toward the next car.

I leaned down and kissed Iris. “I've got to wire the Super Chief boss and tell him this is not a vacation,” I said, “that I'm on duty with Mr. Wright. I'll meet you later in our compartment.”

“Does he really need protection?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn't seem very concerned.”

“And that concerns me.”

“What about the bill?”

“I'll see what I can work out with headquarters.”

“He loves publicity. Maybe tell your boss they can take photos of him at every stop. You know, waving, smiling, all of that?”

“I'll give it a try.”

“He is a national treasure, after all.”

I stood up. “For what he's going to cost the train in bar tabs and food, he'd better be two national treasures.”

 

Four

Iris was asleep. Actually, she had kind of passed out. Her head was where her feet should have been. I washed up and wondered what I had gotten myself into. Wondered what I would be willing to get myself into. I was homesick and wanted nothing more than to get into my own bed, and then hit the road with Grandfather to Oljato. On the other hand, Wright was a man, a talented man, who needed help. Some part of him knew it. No part of him knew how much help he might need with someone like Jake Fine on his back. Nothing blinds a man like being self-centered.

Mr. Wright was waiting for me in the dining car when I got there. I understood. He was a person who likes to manipulate others with time. If you're early, you have to wait for them. If you're late, they make you feel like they've put one over on you. If you're right on time? You're still late.

“Mr. Wright.”

“Wait,” he said to me, “I should apologize.”

I thought he'd say he was sorry that he'd dumped the bill for the pricey champagne and food on me. That wasn't it.

“I heard what that man who works for Fine called you.”

I waited.

“A ‘red nigger.' That's inexcusable.”

“Why are you apologizing for him?”

“I feel responsible. You were there because I needed help. You rescued me, and then you were ridiculed.”

“Don't,” I said. “Don't feel responsible.”

“No hard feelings?”

“I don't want to spend any part of my life on resentment. Not worth it.”

“Still…”

“Mr. Wright, my wife tells me you're a national treasure. My boss says I'm supposed to do everything I can to protect you.”

“Thank you.”

“He's covering tonight's tab, but don't pull a stunt like that again or it'll come out of my own pocket.”

“Agreed.”

“They're asking one thing of you in return.”

“Yes?”

“When the train stops, get out and wave.”

He looked dumbfounded. “That's it?”

“Say nice things about the train. It's not architecture, it's a train, but it is beautiful.”

“It absolutely is,” Wright said. “I do hate having my picture taken these days, though. I look like an old hag.”

I breathed. “You're not supposed to be a pin-up boy. Now let's talk.”

“Where do we begin?”

“For starters, I'd like to know where your wife is.”

“I hadn't really … I haven't seen her since dinner, Mr. Goldman.”

Every alarm in my body went off. “The young man she was with. Have you seen him?”

“Payton? No.”

I gave him a studied eye. A train is not a ballpark. It's small. Why didn't he know where Mrs. Wright was or seem to care? My wife was three sheets to the wind, but I knew her whereabouts—under the sheets.

Mr. Wright sat back in his booth. “Heavens, you're not insinuating…?”

“I want to know that your wife is all right.”

“I do, too, of course.”

As if on cue, Mrs. Wright walked down the aisle to the leather booth, looking like a queen. One wearing a different dress than I'd seen her in earlier.

“Mother!” Wright said. “I've been worried sick about you. You disappeared with Payton, that was a while back, and you haven't been to our cabin, I—”

“Of course I went to the cabin.”

“Mother, you couldn't have. I slipped Mr. Goldman our other key.”

She pulled one out of her purse. “You don't think I'd trust you with my key, do you? I got an extra from the porter when we boarded.”

Wright's face collapsed in relief. I didn't know why. There he was, probably old enough to be her father, and she had disappeared. Now she looked brand-new. Iris had filled me in on the details of his youthful experiments with free love. I had no idea if all that foolishness was over, but nothing much surprises me.

Mr. Wright told his wife that the train had hired me to protect him, and from there I would follow them to Taliesin West. Just above Phoenix. She didn't even ask why they needed protecting.

“Darling,” she said, “will you excuse me for a moment? I have a few more things to attend to.” My guess was she had to run their whole show, which would be chaos without her.

“Hurry back, my love, I'll miss you.”

Off she paraded.

“Mr. Wright,” I said, “let me tell you something about myself. Navajo people introduce themselves by telling each other their mother's clan and their father's clan. This lets us know if we are related and gives us an idea of the values and past of the other person.”

“I like that. You go first.”

“I am Yazzie Goldman, born to Bitter Water clan and born for Jew.”

“And I am Frank Lloyd Wright, born to Wales and born for Wisconsin.”

“Wales-Wisconsin?”

“My parents were Welsh and immigrated to Wisconsin. I am part of both countries. I feel Welsh, deeply, in my blood.”

Except when he'd asked me not to let his wife know about his financial pickle, it was the first time I'd heard him be truly sincere. He wasn't dancing around his heritage—he knew it. He cared about it. Other than that, with his drama, and purple cape, and his lavish spending, troubles, and fibs, he was every bit the Trickster. The Coyote. I needed to remember that Coyote could be good to human beings, but was also a nuisance.

“Do you want,” I said, “to hear a Navajo story about yourself?”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

“Storytelling and music,” he said. “Celts, we love them both. Go on!”

I was going to tread soft here. I didn't want the edge of his temper flaying me. I also wanted him to know I had a pretty good idea about who he was before I decided to take him on after we got off the train.

“When the First People came to this world,” I said, “the weather was the same all year around. Pleasant. Then Sun started wearing a headdress, a gift from Eagle, with the feathers pointing out. It got cold, too cold sometimes, especially for Coyote. Other animals had figured out how to make their homes warm when it got cold, but not Coyote. He was too busy hatching a plan.

“Coyote talked to First Woman about this. She thought heat would be a good thing for everyone. She gave him a torch, sent him to Fire Mountain, and told him to sneak up on Fire Man. If Coyote got caught trying to steal his fire, Fire Man would shoot flaming arrows at him. He had to be careful, but that was not in his nature.