St. Clair (Gives Light Series) (7 page)

the tribal council.

Everybody started milling over to the enormous

firepit. A pauwau always opens up with a prayer,

although I'm not sure why. We linked arms and

bowed our heads and Reverend Silver Wolf, the

shy, meek preacher, stammered his way through the

prayer, thanking the planet for its generosity and

our ancestors for the blood in our veins.

"Now what?" DeShawn whispered to me.

I pointed south. He followed my eyes.

The visiting tribes came pouring into the windmill

field, all at once. The Shoshone shouted and

cheered and waved, which is exactly the way it

should be at a pauwau. I grinned and waved at the

Kiowa tribe, Plains relatives of ours; they planted

their tribal flag in the ground, a sky blue banner

emblazoned with a gold star. The Hopi were as

solemn as ever in dark, heavy regalia and crazy

hairstyles Princess Leia might find cutting edge.

The Navajo were their polar opposite in bright,

dramatic silks with short sleeves, showy mantles

tumbling from their shoulders like seraphic wings.

This year the Timbisha Shoshone had come for the

pauwau, too. The only difference between a

Plains Shoshone and a Timbisha Shoshone is that

one used to be nomadic while the other stayed in

the desert.

Dad said something to Racine--I couldn't hear it--

and she burst out laughing and clapped her hands.

Whatever it was, it must have been good. Granny

came hobbling over to us in white and royal blue,

looking severe. Following her was a woman who

could have been her twin--except for the sunny

smile--and an eleven-year-old girl in round

glasses.

I beamed and waved. I hadn't seen my little cousin

since January.

"Hi, Skylar!" Marilu said. "I'm so glad we get to

stay at your house this summer!"

"Hello there," DeShawn said with great interest.

"Cut it out, Casanova," Racine said.

"You kids might want to sit down," Dad said with

a fleeting smile. He folded his legs beneath him

and sat on the brown grass. "The opening

ceremony is about to begin."

The whole field fell respectfully quiet. A row of

girls--mostly

twelve-year-olds--lined

up

underneath the whirring windmills, Lila among

them. An old man began banging on a double-skin

drum. The girls began to jingle dance.

The jingle dance has a rich history among Plains

tribes. The story goes like this. Long ago, an old

shaman

was

terribly

upset

because

his

granddaughter had fallen devastatingly ill. The

little girl wouldn't even rise from her slumber.

Then a dream came to the shaman, and in the

dream the Great Spirit told him to weave dresses

adorned with bells and give them to all the women

to wear. So he did; and the women danced every

single night, the bells on their dresses ringing all

throughout the Plains. One night the sick little girl

suddenly rose from her buffalo skin bed, curious,

and ran outside to see what was the matter. Plains

women have been jingle dancing ever since. It's a

really interesting dance, too. The girls kick and

twirl so precisely that the bells chime with every

beat of the drum. One step out of rhythm and the

whole dance is screwed up.

Everyone burst into applause at the end of the

dance. Lila clasped hands with Prairie Rose In

Winter and the girls all took a bow. Conversation

broke through the field. Now that we were done

showing off, it was time to relax.

"I wanna dance like that!" Jessica told me. She

flopped across my lap, splayed out like a belly

surfer, and kicked her legs.

"I'm going to get some frybread," Marilu said.

"Does anyone else want some?"

"I'll come with you," DeShawn said quickly.

Annie and Siobhan Stout and Autumn Rose danced

a shawl dance together. The effect was sort of lost

on Annie, who had given her shawl to Jessica to

wear. Granny and Aunt Cora and Racine sat

sharing a big bowl of buttered acorn squash while

Aunt Cora bragged about her daughter, an

anesthesiologist in Carson City. Rafael trudged

through the crowd in his muted gray regalia and sat

next to me with a heavy thump.

"Mary's pissing me off," he said.

I pat him on the knee and smiled, humoring him.

Rafael and Mary butted heads about as often as a

pair of rams. I took it as proof that they loved each

other.

"Yeah, well, that's not even the half of it. And

she's going everywhere with that girlfriend of hers-

-"

Girlfriend?

Rafael pointed darkly at the firepit.

I spotted Mary prancing flamboyantly around the

bonfire, pinching unsuspecting young boys on their

bottoms. Poor kids. Her partner-in-crime was a

Navajo girl in scarlet taffeta. Wait a minute. I

knew that girl. She was a friend of mine, Kaya,

from the Three Suns Reservation.

I guess you never really know until you know.

Rafael's uncle Gabriel and his girlfriend Rosa

came over to chat with Dad and the women.

Granny and Aunt Cora and Racine gathered around

Rosa and crooned about baby things, Rosa's round

face glowing shyly. I smiled at them and planted

my hands in the grass behind me, gazing around the

pauwau site. Mr. Red Clay and Ms. Siomme were

looking pretty competitive, Mr. Red Clay's arms

poised for the grass dance, Ms. Siomme's arms

behind her back for the smoke dance. I saw the

coquettish looks Ms. Siomme kept tossing Mr. Red

Clay, and the splotchy blush at Mr. Red Clay's

throat, and I almost felt like blushing myself. The

At Dawn girls started beating the double-skin

drum. The battle began.

"Oh! Oh!" Jessica tugged on my arm. She pointed

at Ms. Siomme. "What's she doing?"

"That's the smoke dance," Rafael filled in. I shot

him a grateful smile. "See how she twists her

arms, then her waist, then her legs? She's imitating

the way smoke moves."

"What about him?" DeShawn asked, nodding at

Mr. Red Clay.

"Grass dance. Long ago, we didn't have lawn

mowers. So when Plains men wanted to get the

grass to lay flat, they danced all over it. That's

why he's stomping."

Mr. Little Hawk got up and joined the grass

dance. Sarah Two Eagles joined Ms. Siomme.

"Skylar," Jessica said. "I wanna dance, too."

I got up off the grass and reached for her hand.

She hopped up and down and I led her out to the

dancing grounds.

Jessica spun around and around in dizzying

circles. It wasn't any dance I'd ever seen before,

but it was incredibly sweet. I took her by her

hands and twirled her around. I twisted and

turned, coiling, playfully mimicking the smoke

dancers. I probably shouldn't have. The smoke

dance is a girls' dance, and it's kind of

inappropriate for boys to perform it. It's a lot of

fun, though. The only dance faster than the smoke

dance is the shawl dance; so when you're smoke

dancing, there's this need to balance constant

fluidity with raw energy. If you can make the

audience think you're the wick of a burning candle,

then basically you've succeeded.

Daisy At Dawn struck the drum one final time and

the dancers all came to a halt. The spectators

applauded. Mr. Red Clay gave Ms. Siomme a

courtly bow. Ms. Siomme looked him up and

down and turned away with a small smile. I

wouldn't have been surprised if Mr. Red Clay had

a heart attack on the spot, because something told

me all his blood had gone south. How do women

do that, anyway? Just one look and they've got

grown men doing backflips. They must have a

secret handbook.

Jessica held my hand tightly and I walked her back

to her family. I sat between Annie and Rafael and

watched the Hopi perform their butterfly dance.

Or I tried to--but I realized I was the one being

watched.

Rafael's eyes were on me. I felt it before I saw it.

I looked at him, and I gave him a smile; he turned

hastily away. That wasn't like him. I examined his

profile briefly and noticed embarrassment on his

face. There was something else on his face, too.

And when I realized that he had watched me

dance--when I realized he had looked at me the

same way Mr. Red Clay had looked at Ms.

Siomme--I knew I had to do something about it.

I just didn't know what.

Marilu and I sat together at the breakfast table and

listened to the weather broadcast on the radio.

Granny and Aunt Cora were out on the porch,

talking about whatever it is that old people talk

about.

"I'm done," Marilu said, and pushed aside her

empty bowl. "After we cook, can we go fishing on

the lake?"

I washed our dishes in the wash basin and dumped

the water out the window. I took a yellow post-it

pad out of my shirt pocket. Marilu offered me a

pencil from the little table next to the kitchen

archway.

NO!!!
, I wrote, in big, dramatic letters. At heart,

I'm really one of those crazy animal rights

activists. The only difference is that I can't stand

around yelling on street corners the way the rest of

them do. I'm yelling in spirit, though.

"Can we go swimming on the lake, then?"

You swim. I'll watch.
The last time I'd gone

swimming was with Rafael--almost a year ago--

and I'd hated it. Not the swimming itself; just the

part where I'd had to undress. "Contaminate the

water" my ass. I hated undressing in front of

anyone, Rafael or otherwise.

Marilu and I went out to Annie's house after

breakfast. I introduced Marilu to Annie and Annie

let us inside. The hotbread was already cooking

over the hearth. Whoever first thought of mixing

sugar and tamales was a genius.

"Would you like to go to the grotto?" Annie asked,

when we'd taken the rosemary dumplings off the

stove.

Marilu looked from Annie to me so quickly, it was

like she was watching a tennis match. "You have a

grotto?"

We went outside to wash our hands at the water

pump, and then we set out to the woods.

Rafael was already at the grotto, a book on his lap

and his throwing spear at his side. He must have

come home from the hunt early. He looked up and

waved at us vaguely. Aubrey came along some

minutes later, beaming and covered in dirt. Marilu

looked around with awe and started climbing the

willow tree.

"You know what I like to do?" Annie called up to

Marilu. "Look in the branches for mourning

cloaks."

"Ooh, what are those?" Marilu called back.

"Butterflies, of course! They live in willow trees.

They're a lovely brown. The edges of their wings

are white."

I sat by the willow's hanging boughs and watched

Marilu with careful eyes, afraid she might fall.

"It's not that big of a fall," Rafael said at my side,

his hair behind his ear, his face buried in his

book. "Anyway, falling's good for a kid."

"I wasn't aware you were the resident expert,"

Annie returned.

"Was I talking to you, Little Hawk?"

I looked curiously at the book Rafael was reading.

The plastic cover told me it was a library book.

Principles of Voice Production
, the book read.

I think Rafael knew I was watching him. I noticed

his eyes weren't moving.

"Why the hell is cutting hay so hard, man?!"

And here came Zeke.

"It's not hard," Rafael shot at him. "You're just an

ass."

"Your ass is an ass! Ass man."

"I don't think you should use that language in front

of the C-H-I-L-D," Aubrey said nervously,

glancing toward the willow tree.

"I can spell," Marilu replied, puzzled.

Marilu slid down the trunk of the willow tree and

sat next to me, showing me a toothy smile. I

ruffled her hair and she playfully crinkled her

nose.