Spider Woman's Daughter (22 page)

18

C
hee had just pulled into the Shiprock substation parking lot when his cell phone vibrated. He looked at the number. Mrs. Benally. As usual, she got right to the point.

“I can’t come to Shiprock today because my sister is sick,” she said. “Remember I told you I’d bring in Lizard?”

“I remember. Captain Largo told me you wanted to talk to me about that.”

“I know where he is,” she said.

“Where?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “First I get my car back, and Jackson comes home.”

Jackson was still in jail as a “person of interest.” Unless they came up with charges against him, which seemed unlikely, he would be freed in the morning.

“You know, sometimes people get arrested for withholding information the police need,” Chee said.

“You got no reason to put an old lady in jail. If you do, who will take you to Lizard?”

Chee told her he would check on the car, do what he could for Jackson, and call her back.

Luck was on his side. The crime lab had finished. Mrs. Benally’s sedan could be released at 8:00 a.m. the next day. He called her back.

She said, “You give me a ride over there. We get the car. We get Jackson. Then we talk to Lizard.” Before he could say anything, she hung up.

Inside the substation, he had a premonition of bad news. He felt sadness in the air.

The receptionist didn’t wait for him to ask. “The hospital chaplain, a Reverend Rodriguez, called for you.” She handed Chee a slip of paper. “He asked me to have you get in touch as soon as you could. He thinks you’re Lieutenant Leaphorn’s nephew or something.”

She looked up, and he saw her tears. “I asked how he was coming along. At first he didn’t say anything. Then he said now would be good to remember him in our prayers.”

Chee went into his cubicle of an office, closed the door, and dialed.

Rodriguez got right to the point. “You mentioned your friend wanting a healing ceremony?”

“He does.”

“I saw your note, and I was checking into my connections with the native community here in Santa Fe to see if someone could help you. Then I ran into Dr. Moxsley. He said he thinks it might be good to do it soon. He asked me to tell you and your wife that Mr. Leaphorn has developed pneumonia.”

Chee realized he’d been holding his breath. Exhaled. Waited for Rodriguez to say something more. He knew about pneumonia in hospitals. That was what had killed his uncle. He remembered Bernie telling him that the lieutenant wanted him, Jim Chee himself, to do the praying.

The chaplain kept talking. “Because Mr. Leaphorn is in our critical care unit, there are more rules to follow than if he were on a regular floor, but I’ll help you as much as I can.” Rodriguez recited the litany: No smoke, fire, or smudge sticks, because most of the CCU patients were on oxygen. No drums. All chanting had to be quiet. The list went on.

“Fine,” Chee said. “I can’t get a singer on such short notice, but I’ve had some training, enough so I can improvise. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“I know you have a long drive,” Rodriguez said. “Let me know when you get to Santa Fe, and I’ll meet you at the hospital. I want to make sure you don’t run into trouble with anybody in CCU. Call me. Don’t worry about how late it is.”

Chee contacted Largo, asked for the rest of the day off. Got it when he mentioned pneumonia. Then he called Bernie and told her what Rodriguez had said.

“I’m going home to do a sweat, get my thoughts together. And then we can head out.” He paused. “That is, I’m hoping you’ll go with me. It would mean a lot to have you there.”

“I want to go. I have to take care of a few things here. I’ll call you when I leave Mama.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”

B
ecause of his long apprenticeship with his uncle, Chee knew better than most the danger that could result from performing sacred rituals in a manner that was less than perfect. It was impossible and dangerous to do a traditional healing ceremony outside the embrace of Dinetah, trapped in a city hospital. Impossible to do the ceremony indoors, without contact with the earth and sky, without the person to be healed seated on the ground so the sacred sand painting would encircle him. Some hospitals on the reservation had hogans for the singers and their ceremonies. Santa Fe was far away from Dinetah, and the one who got shot depended on machines to keep him alive.

Chee made a call to the daughter of a singer who lived near Tsalie. The woman, a clan sister, had heard about Leaphorn’s shooting. “He would like some prayers and he has asked me to help with this. I need to speak to your mother’s brother to ask his advice,” Chee said. “They say that the one in the hospital may die soon.”

“I think the one who got shot is a good man,” the woman said. “And I remember when my Angela got in trouble with that boy from Chinle. You gave her a talking-to. It helped.” The singer lived without a telephone, so she would drive to the old man’s home and then call him back.

He waited half an hour for her call.

“I found him tinkering with the tractor. I told him what you wanted. The
hataalii
is with me now. I’m handing him the phone.”

Chee listened to the gravelly old voice speaking Navajo. The instructions ran long.

Then, with a sense of somber purpose, Chee prepared a sweat bath in his special spot along the river. He thought of Hosteen Nakai, much-missed uncle and teacher, as he sang the songs of purification he had learned. Healing concerned more than the body. Death had its place. That’s why the Hero Twins had saved Sa, the monster who brought death to the world. Without Sa, the old ones who were tired of life would get no relief. He’d learned about death, not only from his wise uncle, who welcomed it with a peaceful heart, but from his experience as a policeman. Death deserved respect, but Chee had seen many things more frightening.

M
ama glanced up from the book with the photographs of Hosteen Klah’s weavings.

“Was that the Cheeseburger?”

“Yes. He’s going to say some prayers in the hospital for the one who got shot. He wants to do it tonight, and he asked me to go with him.”

“That is good,” Mama said. “He is a good man.”

“I think so, too,” Bernie said. “A very good man.”

“You leave now. When Sister comes home, I will let her sleep here.”

Mrs. Darkwater had gone to her daughter’s house and wouldn’t be home for another hour. Mr. Darkwater said he was sure his wife would be happy to stay with Mama. In the meantime, he would come over, but could he watch ESPN? The Darkwaters didn’t have satellite TV like the setup Bernie and Chee had installed for Mama.

Mama didn’t like sharing her house with someone else’s husband, especially when the package included turning the TV to sports talk. “I’ll do it so you won’t be so concerned about me. But I’m not fixing dinner for that man.”

“No. Of course not. I’ll make something for both of you right now.”

Bernie warmed up canned soup and found the makings for peanut butter sandwiches and an apple to slice on the side. Then she sat at the kitchen table and wrote a note to Darleen:

Sister,

I had to go to Santa Fe unexpectedly with my husband to visit our friend there. I’m sorry we can’t talk tonight.

Your drinking is interfering with your agreement to help with Mama. I’ve watched too many lives ruined by alcohol, including our father’s. I see pain in you. I don’t want to argue anymore. Please think about how we can make this better. I love you very much.

She folded the note and put it on Darleen’s pillow.

Bernie drove Chee’s truck to Santa Fe, and the trip took forever. Chee, wearing a new white shirt with pearl buttons, his best jeans, and freshly polished boots, seemed relaxed and energized at the same time. Focused. Strong.

Once she’d passed Farmington and Bloomfield, the dark road grew quiet except for the whine of the boxlike semis. She drove through the evening at a steady nine miles over the speed limit without conversation or the chatter of the radio.

She thought about the lieutenant, placing him inside a circle of love and healing, remembering all the people she knew who knew and respected him and adding them to the circle. Largo, Bigman, Wheeler, her friends and colleagues on the Navajo force, the Border Patrol, where she’d worked briefly, other law enforcement officers. She widened it in her mind to include their families and those who cared about them. The exercise always helped her set aside negative feelings, restore her thoughts to peace.

She remembered her promise to the lieutenant and silently renewed it. Ellie looked like a viable suspect, if they could find her.

By the time she reached Cuba, the last of the long June sunset had faded. She noticed the cars and trucks under the lights in the parking lot at El Bruno’s, and it reminded her that she should have fixed a sandwich for herself along with the ones she made for Mama and Mr. Darkwater. Chee, she knew, wouldn’t eat until the ceremony was done. She stopped for gas, a Coke, and a bag of peanuts, noticing that the arrival of evening brought the expected cooler temperatures, one benefit of living at high elevation. Then Bernie continued through town, past a block of timeworn storage lockers behind a chain link fence. She noticed a scattering of boats and RVs parked there, too. She imagined Slim Jacobs and Ellie Friedman nestled together in one of the little rooms on a mattress, candles and a joint or two adding to the experience. The image made her chuckle.

“What are you so tickled about?” Chee asked.

“I just pictured our mysterious appraiser and that old cowboy together in their little storage-locker love nest. A redneck version of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Incense swirling around, Slim naked except for his boots and that battered old hat. The garage door stands open, and they’re enjoying the view of rusting camping trailers instead of New York City.”

Chee laughed. “Cowboy hippie lovebirds.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you came with me.”

Bernie squeezed back. “You’ll do fine. Your heart and mind are on the right path. You are helping someone who has asked for prayers for all the right reasons.”

She glanced at the darkness outside the windows for a few moments, then told him about showing her mother the photos of the Hosteen Klah weavings.

“They mesmerized her,” Bernie said. “I would love to show her the rug at the AIRC, but I’m not sure she can sit in the car long enough to get to Santa Fe anymore. I wonder if they’d let me take a photo of it—then I could make a big print and give it to Mama. She’d like that.”

They stayed on NM 550, driving through land belonging to the Jicarilla Apache, Jemez Pueblo, and Zia Pueblo. They entered the edge of suburban sprawl outside Rio Rancho. They sped past the junction for the Santa Ana Casino and Tamaya Resort, headed through the outskirts of Bernalillo, over the Rio Grande, and onto I-25 north for another forty minutes. When they saw the glitter of Santa Fe from La Bajada, Chee called Rev. Rodriguez. He met them outside the CCU.

“You made good time,” Rodriguez said. He had talked about the ceremony with the staff. There should be no problem. They would have as much privacy as possible with a minimum of interference, as long as Leaphorn remained stable.

“You’re welcome to stay, to add your prayers,” Chee said.

Rodriguez said, “I will. Let me know what I should do, or not do. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Chee nodded. Bernie said, “Stand quietly. Send up your healing thoughts.”

Rodriguez said, “I have been praying for your friend there. I pray for everyone here and their families.”

“That’s good,” Chee said. “Every prayer is a blessing.”

Their favorite nurse was on duty in the ward. “He’s been restless all day,” she said. “I’ll check on him now, before you get started. Are you ready to walk down to his room?”

The lieutenant’s skin had a gray pallor. His eyes were closed, with dark circles beneath them, his breathing shallow. His body looked even smaller, shrunken in the bed as though the life force that plumped him up had leaked away. The displays on the machines in the little room moved to a steady, mechanical beat.

“Mr. Leaphorn, your relatives are here,” the nurse said. Bernie noticed that the lieutenant didn’t seem to hear her. The nurse checked the monitors and showed Bernie the call button. “Use this if you need me. I’ll be right outside at the desk. I’ve asked the aides to stay away until you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Chee said. “You’re welcome to be here with us.”

“I’d like to, but we’re shorthanded tonight.” Her eyes scanned the room with its expensive technology. “I’ve seen miracles that had nothing to do with medicine or our fancy machinery.”

Bernie, Chee, and Rodriguez stood next to the bed, surrounded by stands and equipment. Chee put his leather bag with the sacred items for the ceremony on a chair. He leaned toward the lieutenant and spoke softly in Navajo. “The people at this hospital told me it would be wise to come and see you now. Bernie is with me, and a good man who has helped us. I’ve come as you asked to sing for you. To ask for you to be restored to harmony, for your spirit to go once more in beauty.”