Phases of Gravity (36 page)

Hollister laughed. "I remember watching that Frisbee thing you two did up there. Jesus, that must have been a fun time to be flying."

The copilot returned with Styrofoam cups of coffee for each of them. Baedecker returned the controls to Hollister, gave up his seat to Knutsen, and stood a minute, leaning on the back of the copilot's seat and looking out at the vast expanse of cloud and sky. "Yes," he said and raised his cup in a silent toast and drank some of the rich, black coffee. "It was fun."

The Rapid City Airport appeared to be a landing strip in search of a town. The approach took them over weathered pastureland, dry streambeds, and ranches. The single runway sat atop a grassy mesa, which held only a tiny terminal, low tower, and an almost-empty parking lot.

As Baedecker settled into his rented Honda Civic, he decided that he had had enough of scheduled flights and rental cars. He would use the bulk of his savings to buy a 1960 Corvette and have done with it. Better yet, when the money came in, a nice little Cessna 180 . . .

It was a forty-minute drive from Rapid City along Interstate 90 to the Sturgis exit. The highway ran along the foothills separating the dark mass of the Black Hills in the south from the prairie and pastureland stretching north to the horizon. The housing developments and mobile home parks perched on hillsides along the way looked as raw as open wounds on the landscape.

It was twelve-thirty when Baedecker asked directions at a Conoco station near the I-90 exit and almost one P.M. by the time he drove under a wooden arch and down a long lane to the Wheeler Ranch.

The woman who approached him as he got out of the car and stretched reminded him somewhat of Miz Elizabeth Sterling Callahan of Lonerock, Oregon. In her seventies, at least, but still fluid in her movements, this woman had her long, gray hair tied back in a scarf and wore a red mackinaw jacket over dark blue pants. Her face was lined but placid. A collie trotted at her heels. "Hello there," she called. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, ma'am. Are you Mrs. Wheeler?"

"Ruth Wheeler," said the woman as she came close. There were deep laugh lines around eyes as startlingly green as Maggie's.

"My name's Richard Baedecker," he said and offered his hand for the collie to smell. "I'm hunting for Maggie."

"Richard . . . oh, Richard!" said the woman. "Oh, my, yes. Margaret has mentioned your name. Well, welcome, Richard."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler."

"Ruth, please," she said. "Oh, my, Margaret will be surprised. She's gone right now, Richard. She went into town to run some errands. Won't you come in the house for some coffee while we wait for her. She should be back soon."

On the verge of accepting, Baedecker felt a tremendous impatience seize him, as if he could not rest, could not stop until a long voyage was finished. "Thank you, Ruth," he said. "If you have an idea where she might be, I think I'll run into town and try to find her."

"Try the Safeway in the shopping center or the hardware store on Main," she said. "Margaret's driving our old blue Ford pickup with a big, red generator in the bed. It has my Dukakis sticker on the rear bumper."

Baedecker grinned. "Thank you, ma'am. If I don't find her and she gets back first, tell her I'll be back soon."

Mrs. Wheeler walked up and put her hand on the open window after he turned the Civic around. "One other place she might be," she said. "Margaret likes to stop by Bear Butte. It's a big old hill just outside of town. Just go to the north end and follow the signs."

The blue pickup was not in the Safeway lot or parked along Main Street. Baedecker drove slowly back and forth through the small town, half expecting to see Maggie step out of a doorway at any moment. The one-thirty news on the radio talked about the secret launch of the space shuttle that should be lifting off sometime in the next two hours. The reporter incorrectly referred to the KSC as "Cape Kennedy" and reported that the area had high clouds but that the weather should hold for the launch.

Baedecker turned around in the parking lot of a beef jerky plant and drove back through Sturgis, following the green signs to Bear Butte State Park.

The small lot was empty of cars. Baedecker parked the Civic near a closed-up information building and looked up at Bear Butte. It was an impressive hill. If his geology training still served, Baedecker estimated that the mountain was a well-weathered volcanic cone rising in a long ridge to a summit he guessed to be at least eight hundred feet above the surrounding prairie, perhaps more. The mountain was separated from the foothills to the south and it leaped out of the grasslands quite dramatically. Baedecker had to use his imagination to see a bear in the long hill, and when he did it was a bear hunkered forward with its haunches in the air.

On a whim, Baedecker grabbed his old flight jacket out of the back seat and began walking up the trail from the visitors' center.

Although patches of snow lay here and there in shaded areas, the day was warm and Baedecker could smell the thawing earth. He felt somewhat light-headed as he switchbacked up the first, steep segment of trail, but he had no trouble breathing. He wondered idly why he had felt no appetite the past three days and why, despite no sleep for two days and an empty stomach, he felt strong and fit, almost buoyant.

The trail evened out to run along the rising ridgeline and Baedecker paused to look out over low piñon and ponderosa pines to admire the view to the north and east. About a third of the way up he began noticing bits of cloth, tiny colored rags, tied to low bushes along the trail. He stopped and touched one of them as it fluttered in the warm breeze.

"Hello."

Baedecker spun around. The man was sitting in a low area near the cliff edge about fifteen feet from the trail. It was a natural campsite, sheltered from the north and west winds by rocks and trees but open to the view on three sides.

"Hello," said Baedecker and walked closer. "I didn't see you over here."

Baedecker had no doubt that the old man was an Indian. His skin was a burnt copper, his eyes were so dark as to appear black, the wrinkles on his brow radiated from a broad blade of a nose, and he was wearing a loose, blue-print shirt, had a red headband pulled tight, and had tied his long, graying hair into pigtails. He wore a single ring of some deep blue stone. Only his tattered, green-canvas sneakers were out of character. "I didn't mean to intrude here," said Baedecker. He looked beyond the old man to where a tan canvas tent had been erected near a lower structure built of boughs and rocks and branches. Baedecker instantly knew that the thing was a sweat lodge without knowing how he knew.

"Sit down," said the Indian. The old man himself was seated on a rock, not cross-legged but with one leg over the other in a comfortable, almost feminine pose. "I am Robert Sweet Medicine," he said. His voice was husky, amused, as if he were on the verge of chuckling at some unstated joke.

"Richard Baedecker."

The old man nodded as if this was redundant information. "Nice day to climb the mountain, Baedecker."

"Very nice day," said Baedecker. "Although I'm not sure I'm going all the way to the top."

The Indian shrugged. "I have been coming here a very long time and have never been to the top. It is not always necessary." He was using a pocketknife to whittle at a short stick. There were various twigs, roots, and stones on the ground in front of him. Baedecker noticed the bones of some small animal in the heap. Some of the stones had been painted bright colors.

Baedecker looked out at the miles of prairie to the north. From this vantage point he could see no highways and only small pockets of trees showed where ranches huddled. He had a sudden, visceral sense of the physical freedom the Plains Indians must have felt a century and a half

earlier when they had roamed without restriction across that seemingly boundless land. "Are you a Sioux?" he asked, not knowing whether the question was polite but wanting to know the answer.

Robert Sweet Medicine shook his head. "Cheyenne."

"Oh, for some reason I thought the Sioux lived in this part of South Dakota."

"They do," said the old man. "They ran us out of this region long ago. They think this mountain is sacred. So do we. We just have to commute farther."

"Do you live near here?" asked Baedecker.

The Indian took his knife and cut off a small section of new cactus growing between the rocks, peeled it, and set the leaf on his tongue like a woodwind player readying his reed. "No. I travel a long way to come here. It is my job to teach things to young men who will someday teach them to other young men. But my young man is a little late."

"Oh?" Baedecker looked down at the distant parking lot. His Civic was still the only vehicle there. "When were you expecting him?"

"Five weeks ago," said Robert Sweet Medicine. "The Tsistsistas have no sense of time."

"The who?" said Baedecker.

"The People," said the old man in his amused, husky voice.

"Oh."

"You also have traveled a long way," said the other.

Baedecker thought about that and nodded.

"My ancestors such as Mutsoyef traveled a long way," said Robert Sweet Medicine. "Then they fasted, purified themselves, and climbed the Sacred Mountain to see if a vision would present itself. Sometimes Maiyun would speak to them. More often he would not."

"What kind of visions?" asked Baedecker.

"Do you know of Mutsoyef and the cave and the Gift of the Four Arrows?"

"No."

"No matter," said Robert Sweet Medicine. "That does not concern you, Baedecker."

"You say the mountain is also sacred to the Sioux?"

The old man shrugged. "The Arapahoes received a medicine here they could burn to make sweet smoke for their rituals. The Apaches received the gift of a magic horse medicine; the Kiowas the sacred kidney of a bear. The Sioux say they received a pipe from the mountain, but I do not believe them. They made that up because they were jealous. The Sioux lie frequently."

Baedecker shifted his weight and smiled.

Robert Sweet Medicine ceased his whittling and looked at Baedecker. "The Sioux did claim to have seen a great bird on the mountain, a true Thunderbird, with wings a mile across and with a voice like the end of the world. But this is no great medicine. This is Wihio trickery. Any man with even a little bit of medicine can call up the Thunderbird."

"Can you?" asked Baedecker.

The old man snapped his fingers.

Two seconds later the earth shook with a roar that seemed to come from the sky and ground at the same time. Baedecker caught a glimpse of something huge and gleaming behind him, its shadow hurtling toward them and covering entire hillsides, and then he was up on one knee and watching as the B-52H finished its bank and roared off to the north at less than five hundred feet altitude, lower than the Butte, its eight jet engines leaving a black wake of smoke in the afternoon air. Baedecker sat back down, still feeling the vibrations of the aircraft's passing in the rocks under his thighs.

"Sorry, Baedecker," said the old man. His teeth were yellow and strong looking, with only one of the lower ones missing. "That was a cheap Wihio trick. They come by here from Ellsworth Base every day at this time. I am told they use this mountain to make sure their radar device tells them the truth as they travel."

"What's a Wihio?" asked Baedecker.

"It is our word for the Trickster," said the Cheyenne, cutting and chewing a new cactus leaf. "Wihio is Indian when he wants to be, animal when he wants to be, and always is up to no good. He can show a very cruel sense of humor. It is the same word we use for spider and for White Man."

"Oh," said Baedecker.

"Many of us also suspect that he is the Creator."

Baedecker thought about this.

"When Mutsoyef came down off this mountain," said the old man and paused a second to remove a bit of plant from his tongue. "When he came down, he brought with him the Gift of the Sacred Arrows, he taught us the Four Songs, he told us our future—even of the passing of the buffalo and the coming of the White Men to take our place—and then he gave his friends the Arrows and said, 'This is my body I'm giving you. Always remember me.' What do you think of this, Baedecker?"

"It sounds familiar," he said.

"Yes," said the old man. He had been cutting a root into small pieces, and now he frowned at it. "Sometimes I worry that my grandfather and great-grandfather borrowed a good story when they heard it. It does not matter. Here, put this in your mouth." He handed Baedecker a small piece of root with the outer layer removed.

Baedecker held it in his hand. "What is it?"

"A piece of root." The old man's voice was patient.

Baedecker put the small chunk in his mouth. There was a faint bitterness.

"Do not chew it or suck on it," said Robert Sweet Medicine and put a slightly larger piece of root in his own mouth. He worked it around until it bulged like a small wad of tobacco in his cheek. "Do not swallow it," added the old man.

Baedecker sat a minute in silence, feeling the sun on his face and hands. "What is this supposed to do?" he said eventually.

The old man shrugged. "It keeps me from getting too thirsty," he said. "My water bottle is empty and it is a long walk down to the pump by the visitors' center."

"Could I ask you something?"

The old man paused in his cutting of more root and nodded.

"I have a friend," said Baedecker, "someone I love and suspect is very wise, who believes in the richness and mystery of the universe and does not believe in the supernatural."

Robert Sweet Medicine waited. After a minute he said, "What is the question?"

Baedecker touched his forehead, feeling the sunburn there. He shrugged slightly, thinking of Scott as he did so. "I just wondered what you thought of that," he said.

The old man cut two more pieces of root and popped them in his mouth, moving them to the other cheek and speaking slowly and clearly. "I think your friend is wise."

Baedecker squinted. It might have been the result of several days without food or the time he had spent in the sun, or both, but the air between him and the elderly Cheyenne seemed to be shimmering, rippling like heat waves above a highway on a summer day. "You don't believe in the supernatural?" asked Baedecker.