Jornada del Muerto: Prisoner Days (9 page)

The wasp hive was run by a man who had
received the last 146-vaccine. She indicated that he was not the
father of their children. George suggested that they were
inseminated, like cows. She had a strong visceral reaction to the
idea, and to George in general, but didn’t deny it. They had each
given birth to numerous children only to watch them be eaten
alive.

When the wasps got the larger animals, the
cows and horses, they weren’t as anxious to breed the humans. The
larger animals provided larger babies for the wasps to feast upon.
This relieved some of the pressure on the human women. The Talker
was vague about how long they’d been held captive. Certainly, there
is more to their story, but for now, they either won’t tell it or
are in some way unable to.

George is coping fairly well with all of the
chaos. He’s worried that the wasps let us take their animals and
women. He fears that the wasps have now invaded our home. At the
same time, he’s enraptured with the horses, and they are with him.
He’d only ever seen a horse in a movie or a book. The horses love
his quiet presence.

George is terrified of The Talker. He
believes that she is telling lies and will betray us. He’s sure she
is using us to help her friends. The question is which friends --
these human women? Or wasps?

We’ve set up every precaution against the
possibility of betrayal. The women are locked in when we aren’t
with them. They are never alone. They haven’t seen our stores or
supplies or even how to get in or out of the Pen.

George and I haven’t been around women in so
long, or really anyone but ourselves, that these women are like
alien creatures. They blush or laugh. They swing their hair or
breasts in our direction. Their vulnerability is very seductive.
Their charm is infectious. In a way, being around them feels
dangerous, which makes them all the more arousing.

I think George distrusts his own reaction to
them. So counter to the predator he once was, George doesn’t want
anything to do with them. Ten years ago, he would have had them all
and never thought another thing about it. Today, he doesn’t like
the way he feels around them.

We hear the wasps at night. They have tried
multiple times to get to the horses. The fence remains electrified.
We come out every morning to at least one dead wasp clinging to the
fence. (I tell myself that a dead wasp doesn’t count as a
wasp.)

It’s been three days, and they haven’t given
up. We’re moving the horses inside tonight. I needed a night to
consult with the spirits for answers. I cannot worry about the
horses and consult with the spirits.

I don’t know how we will manage it, but I
know in my heart we will have to kill the women. The talking woman
and one of her friends are too ill to travel easily. We still have
a few weeks before we have to go. Maybe they will heal. That’s what
I tell myself -- even though my heart tells me we will cut off
their heads and burn their bodies in the end.

One of the women, a Native American-looking
woman, maybe a Southern Ute, seems to be healing quickly. Her eyes
are dark and intelligent. She doesn’t seem to be close with the
talking woman or the other woman. She has that “native distance”
that most Ind’ns hold around white people. She knows that I’m a
shaman.

I don’t dare separate them, at least until
they are healthier. Any one of them could die tonight. They are not
well, not healthy.

In writing out our fears, I realize I
haven’t looked for the souls of these women. Are their souls
intact? Are they separated from their bodies? Why can’t I tell?
Have I been away from people for so long that my lifelong gift is
gone?

In my connection with the horrendous evil
perpetrated on these women and animals, I have lost connection to
the spirit world. I’m exhausted with worry and grief over what has
happened to these beings.

Tonight, I will visit the spirit world. I
will see if I can find the souls of these women. I will see if I
can determine what is going on and whether we are in danger.

I can only assume that we are in danger. My
brother Earnesto’s soul has been around watching and waiting. He
says nothing. And I have been so busy attending to everything that
must be done, that I haven’t had time to listen. I assume my
brother is here to protect me.

Today, for the first time in decades, I feel
in need of protection. Since the women and animals arrived, I’ve
returned to locking George in at night. He and I stay within each
other’s sight at all times during the day. We work together, eat
together, and tend to our charges together. It limits the amount we
can get done in a day.

We both feel the pulse of some imminent
threat. We are in danger. I don’t know what danger we are
facing.

I think men always see women as dangerous.
Women bring out our desire to protect. We do stupid things for them
and around them. You’d be amazed at how many men get to prison
because of a woman.

This is a different kind of danger, a more
sinister danger.

Our souls are at risk.

11/14/2056

I’ve just returned from trance and had to
write this down. George is awake and sitting by my side. He’s
watched me drum and go into trance a thousand times. But tonight,
he’s stayed rooted to my side, watching to make sure I come
back.

Whenever I go into trance, I follow the same
journey. It’s same journey I’ve been on thousands of times. A
journey that I’m so familiar with, I could travel it without
drums.

I begin at the trailhead of a plush forest.
All manner of animal spirit guides come to greet me like old
friends. They are so delighted to see me that they dance around me
with joy. I laugh at their antics and begin walking down the path.
I always see Grey Squirrel first. Grey Squirrel waits for me at the
trailhead. That’s what has happened every spirit journey since I
was thirteen years old.

Today, Grey Squirrel was nowhere to be
found. No Grey Squirrel, no Playful Chipmunk, no Soaring Red Tailed
Hawk, no Squawking Black Crow. Panicked by my lack of greeting, I
ran down the trail looking for Grey Squirrel, calling for Grey
Squirrel.

“
Where are you, Grey
Squirrel? Where are you, Grey Squirrel?” my spirit called at the
top of my lungs.

As I ran, the forest darkened. Bushes,
trees, and grass grow across the path until I can no longer pass.
The trail and spirit land I have joyously wandered most of my life
is closed to me.

I put my staff in front of me and call my
Great Horned Owl spirit guide to me. I demand his noble
presence.

Nothing. Only silence. Great Horned Owl has
always come to me. Before I was a shaman, when I was a toddler,
Great Horned Owl was always around as my friend, my guide.

Not today.

I am alone, locked out of my spiritual home.
I have to work to quell the panic in my chest.

I hear a rustle in the underbrush. Looking
down, I see Angry Rattlesnake. The serpent rises, lifting its
triangular-shaped grey head in front of me. His elliptical eyes
lock with mine. I stare into his eyes for what feels like a decade.
The serpent cools my fear, calms my terror. His ancient wisdom
enters my soul. I can’t make out what he’s trying to tell me.

Like a frustrated elder, the serpent seems
to sigh at my ignorance. His transparent eyelids close over his
eyes, and he strikes. Out of reflex, I jerk out of his way. He
lurches a foot forward. His fangs land deeply into the neck of a
being behind me.

A spirit had followed me here.

I had no idea that I’d been followed. I’d
never been followed before.

The spirit shrieks, writhes, and then bursts
into flame. I’m knocked off my feet by the explosion of energy and
fire. I must have passed out, because when I wake, I’m lying by a
familiar waterfall with Great Horned Owl by my side. Grey Squirrel
is sorting through a stack of pinon nuts just off to my side.
Squawking Black Crow, Timid Horned Lizard, Chaotic Coyote, and all
of the others are there with me.

As I open my eyes, they begin speaking at
once. I cannot make out what they are saying over the noise of all
of their voices. Grey Squirrel climbs onto my shoulder to push a
handful of pinon nuts into my mouth. Before I can chew the nuts,
Great Horned Owl screeches for order. The spirit-guide animals
quiet down.

“
You were followed.” I
make out the Great Owl’s voice.

The spirit guides began to speak at once
again. Squirrel continues stuffing shelled pinon nuts into my
mouth. I can’t make out what they are saying. My ears are clouded
with the noise of their voices. I’m unable to speak with my mouth
full of pinon nuts.

“
They have learned to
breed,” Great Horned Owl says. Again, I work to make out the
muffled words.

The spirit guides scream
and howl at the unnatural state of things. I feel the earth
vibrate.
Stomp
!
Stomp
!
Stomp
! A
very large being is moving toward us. The spirit guides continue
screaming and howling. I can hear the noise of their voices and
feel the earth vibrate.

An enormous Black Bear breaks into the
clearing. On all fours, she screams at the top of her lungs.
Furious, she stomps toward us. Her enormity and rage remind me of
George. She gets within two feet of me and screams again. Before I
can react, she swipes a sharp black nail at my ear. She pulls what
looks like sheep’s wool from one ear, then the next.

“
You will get him killed
if you don’t listen carefully,” Towering Black Bear
says.

And I knew that this creature, this Towering
Black Bear, belonged to George. Whether George knew it or not, he
had this spirit guide watching over him. No wonder George and I
became friends. No wonder I cared for him. He belongs to the earth
and sky like I do.

“
WAKE UP FROM YOUR
LUST-FILLED DREAM!” the Towering Black Bear screams.
“LISTEN!”

In a flash, I see myself standing with the
women in their cell. I see my lust for them. My human-mind is
delirious with the sight and smell of these women. I want them. I
am drunk on my wanting of them. Desperately, I work to push aside
my lust.

My eyes turn to the Ute woman. I see what I
missed before. She is trying to tell me something with her eyes.
Her eyes flick to the pregnant woman’s belly and then to me. Flick
to belly -- back to me.

I’m back to the stream, surrounded by spirit
guides. Playful River Otter flips from the stream to whisper in my
now-clear ears:

“
They laid their eggs in
her carcass.”

In that moment, I know that Playful River
Otter is telling me what the Ute woman cannot speak. Playful River
Otter is telling me that he is Ute’s spirit guide.

I’m back in the women’s cell watching
myself. Great Horned Owl is there with me.

“
You must kill them all,”
he says.

I’m back at the stream. Playful River Otter
slaps his tail on the water to splash at Great Horned Owl.

“
She deserves to be at
peace,” Playful River Otter says.

“
The wasp can’t take hold
in native peoples,” I argue.

“
That makes her more
dangerous! They’re all incubating eggs,” Towering Black Bear says
in a more moderate voice. “They need your seed to complete the
monster.”

“
She must die with the
others,” Great Horned Owl says. “For their souls, first. To stop
the wasps, second. They will not survive the hatch.”

“
Salt kills the wasp. Salt
kills the wasp,” Squawking Black crow chants. “Salt for horses.
Salt for horses.”

“
Never let him follow you
again!” Black Bear roars with rage.

And I’m back in my cell, drumming, with
George keeping guard next to me. I don’t have any idea who the
“him” is that followed me into the spirit land. I don’t know what
filled my ears with wool. I don’t know why I was followed.

Only know this:

1. George is in danger because Black Bear
   appeared.
   

2. The spirit that followed me must be attached
   to the women and animals.
   

3. We will try to save the horses with salt,
   but we will probably have to kill them as well.
   

4. We are not the first men to “rescue” these
   women.
   

5. There is powerful, unnatural magic involved
   with these women.
   

6. We will have to kill the women before
   dawn.
   

I have a terrible craving for pinon nuts.
George follows me to where our nuts are stored. I grab two handfuls
of roasted pinon nuts and carry them back to our cell.

Sitting down again at this typewriter, I
give George a handful of pinon nuts. He takes one, cracks the black
shell with his teeth, spits out the shell, and eats the seeds. I
listen to him eat the pinon nuts for a while before realizing what
Grey Squirrel was trying to tell me.