Easy Street

by Elizabeth Sims

  "She had no idea? When was this?"

  "None. It was eighteen months ago, almost exactly. Well, the very day before the intervention I had my accident. The timing couldn't have been worse."

  "A terrible coincidence. What happened?"

  "I got hit by a car. And it ruined everything. I mean, don't get me wrong—I accept my paralysis as a gift from the Great Spirit. But at first I was devastated."

  "You were run over by a car?"

  "Yes, a hit-and-run. I never saw it coming."

  Chapter 24

  I listened carefully, silently. Amanda continued, "I had a break between river trips, and I was out jogging on my usual route before dawn. I always ran down to the river and back—three miles: a good run, uphill on the way back, a good test for the spirit. Well, I never knew what hit me."

  "The driver didn't stop?"

  "No. They panicked, I guess. Maybe they were drunk and didn't even know they hit me."

  "Any witnesses?"

  "There was a paperboy who heard the impact and saw me go flying, but he was too shocked to memorize the car. He saw it race away, but he couldn't describe it beyond the fact that it was a car. So the police were left with nothing. It's OK. It really is."

  "And nobody came forward."

  "Nope. But that's not the point of this story, Cloudrunner. Listen. When I woke up in the hospital, the first person I asked for was Bev. I wanted my sister. My mom was there, and all my friends came to give their love and support. But no Bev."

  "No Bev." I closed my eyes. Holy hell. Holy everloving hell.

  "No Bev. Even my boyfriend came to see me a few times before he dropped me." Amanda gave a bright, who-cares little laugh at that. "I could deal with the fact that he did that, but when Beverly didn't come, that hurt worse than having my back broken. I don't usually expect people to understand that, but you're different. That's how it was. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

  I swallowed and pulled myself together. "The velvet clings tightly to the antlers until violence occurs."

  She considered what I said. "That is so true."

  "So Bev disappeared when you were injured," I prompted. "Yet you say she's not in Idaho, so you at least know where she is not, so you must have experienced some form of commu—"

  "I'm getting to that part. It's true I haven't seen her since." Amanda bowed her head in sorrow and, it seemed to me, shame. "I still don't know why she ran out on me when I needed her most. Well, that was hard—that was real, real hard. But that brings me to who I am today. See, I stewed over my feelings of abandonment for a long time. I sulked and pouted about being paralyzed like a little child whose candy has been taken away!"

  "I don't know as I'd quite equate—"

  "But then I got back to studying Native American ways. I'd begun reading about them in high school, and talking to Native-blood kids. Plus, some of my fellow rafting guides were into Native stuff too. Well, eventually I realized I'd never been all that worthy of Bev. I'd always held myself above her, which was wrong."

  "To my ears, Beverly Austin behaved like a piece of dung, in opposition to your honest ways."

  "Even dung can teach us things!"

  I considered that. "Yes," I agreed wisely. "Yes."

  "It was wrong of me to look down on her. It was wrong!" Amanda's eyes snapped. "I realized I would only truly heal if I forgave whoever ran me over, but most important, if I forgave Beverly for running away. Some friends of mine helped me do an Anasazi forgiveness ritual, where you pulverize the bones of a mouse and smear the—well, you probably know all about that. After that ritual, I felt incredibly much better. I felt truly clean and healed, like I was filled with light and a real spiritual, natural love."

  "That's amazing," I managed to say.

  "And I've been getting more and more into the Native cultural thing. I really respect and admire them, not in a superficial way but in a really deep way. They've got tons and tons of wisdom that the white people threw away a long time ago."

  "Wisdom flies like time on the tongue of the trout," I agreed. "So you forgave Beverly for running you—uh, running out on you," I corrected hastily. "Uh—and you've decided to protect her from—"

  "I decided I would never betray her. All the people she screwed and skipped out on owing all kinds of debts—well, they've tried to get at her through me, but I decided that if I wasn't going to make her pay her debt to me—her debt of pain—then I'm not going to help anybody else collect their debt either. As far as I'm concerned, everybody can try to do what I've done: forgive."

  Amanda Austin picked up one of the leaves I'd brought and stroked it with her fingers, which on her left hand were almost gnarled with the paralysis. Dear God. I looked at her, this animated, sincere, if not terribly bright soul desperately trying to make sense of her life.

  She looked up at me. "But you know what? It's so beautiful that I forgave her because now she needs me."

  "She needs you?"

  "Yes, it's true, and it's so beautiful. She called just a few days ago—let's see, it was Friday morning and, well, you know Bev."

  Friday morning. I was looking for her, my guts churning, shouting her name in Porrocks's ruined house that morning. "What is the current situation?"

  "She needs a passport. She can't use hers for … reasons, so she asked me to get one for myself and send it to her. I've never gotten one—have no need for one, you know. I never was a world traveler! Well, she wired me the money to get it, plus extra for expedited service, which was sweet. I went and got my picture taken and sent in the forms yesterday, and now I'm waiting for it. Soon as it comes, I'll send it to her. It's supposed to take two weeks or less with the special processing."

  "She must be in great trouble."

  "I don't make that assumption. She's in a hurry to go somewhere. Could be she's in trouble, but it could be there's some special opportunity for her overseas somewhere."

  "Maybe so."

  "I hope so. I really hope so."

  It was time to close in. I took a deep breath. "It is good of you to protect your sister. Amanda Austin, I wish to tell you a story, one passed on to me by my spirit mother, the one called Rainbear, medicine woman of the Chippewa. She told me this story one night when we were traveling along a high river bluff, searching for powerful herbs that bloom only at night."

  To my gladness, I saw that Amanda was just intelligent enough to realize I wasn't changing the subject. She straightened in her chair, clasped her hands over my gifts in her lap, and listened.

  "Long ago," I began, "during the season of short white days—that is to say winter—there was a brave she-cougar who moved silently and powerfully through the forest. The forest was dark but never was she afraid. A special cougar was she, a cougar who had made mistakes in her life but was basically very good, deep in her heart.

  "One day, however, as she was hunting for food, she heard a snap! and felt a terrible pain. She was caught in an illegal leghold trap!"

  Amanda shook her head knowingly. "Bastards. White male bastards."

  "The cougar cried out for help. She called to the animals of the forest, but the other animals feared greatly to help her. After all, she hunted, killed, and ate them whenever she got the chance."

  Amanda interjected, "She had to feed her cubs."

  "Right, her cubs were small. Back at the den, they had no idea. So this brave she-cougar anticipated a slow death, not of hunger, for she had just eaten, but of thirst. At that time a she-raven flew overhead and saw what had happened. The raven too was a special bird, with great sensitivity and caring, and she could see that her sister cougar had stumbled into an unfair situation.

  "She could not free the cougar, but she could help the cougar survive. She flew up to a cedar limb that was covered in snow, and scooped snow with her wings. She glided down to the cougar and delivered the snow to her parched mouth, thus providing critical hydration."

  I rested my hands on my knees and paused. Amanda Austin was hanging on my words, gazing a
t me as people in televangelist audiences gaze at their televangelists.

  "After two days," I continued, "the man who had set the trap came. The she-cougar pretended to be dead, but as soon as the man opened his trap to remove his prize, she turned and snapped his neck with one movement of her powerful jaws. Ever afterward she walked with a limp, but she never forgot the kindness of the raven. That is the end of the story."

  Amanda was silent. "Thank you," she murmured at last, "for telling me such a magnificent story."

  "Amanda Austin, have you been given your spirit name yet?"

  "N-no, but it's something I've been dreaming about."

  This was the acid test right now. God forgive me, God forgive me. But I understood this woman well enough to manipulate her, and that's exactly what I did. She was a natural-born follower, a weak-minded, good-hearted seeker who was not ready to imagine her sister being a psychopath. If I pretended to a position of superiority over her and did it well enough, she would do what I wanted.

  "Amanda Austin, approach the one who is called Cloudrunner Wounded Deer."

  Eyes locked on me, she tweaked her toggle. She motored to me across the plain of her living room. I took her hand, fastened her eyes with mine, and said, "What do you dream, Amanda Austin? What do you dream for yourself?"

  She opened her mouth and whispered, "This is a pivotal moment in my life."

  I nodded.

  "I—I dream about being free," she whispered. "I dream of flying." She licked her lips and swallowed. Her hand trembled in mine.

  "From now on," I said, "you will call yourself Snow on Raven's Wing. Fleeting, evanescent, strong, light, kind. Never forget your name. Remember who you are until the mountains around us again meet the sea. That is to say, forever."

  "Thank you, Cloudrunner," whispered Snow on Raven's Wing.

  Oh, God forgive me.

  "Now do you understand what is happening?" I asked.

  With an expression of joy and relaxation on her face, she said, "I must permit you to pay your debt to my sister. You have nothing to forgive her for but wish to help her."

  "You are a deeply spiritual person, Snow on Raven's Wing."

  "And you are yet more deeply spiritual than I, Cloudrunner Wounded Deer. You have helped me see to the next level of spiritual deepness. I will never be the same. I will tell you where you can send the money."

  I am a shit. I am a shit. I am a shit.

  Chapter 25

  I was a shit all right, but I was going to track down Beverly Austin. I bought a phone card at a drugstore on my walk back to the Boise bus terminal. I was very tired and hoped to take a nap on a bench there—or be lucky enough to catch immediately the correct bus out of town. As it happened, I had a four-hour wait. Something told me, though, to make my phone calls before buying my ticket. Thank God my credit card was still good, though only God knew how I was going to pay the bill.

  I called Lou's cell number first, and she picked up while driving her city animal control truck. I heard the tinny hysteria of three or four dogs cooped up in the back.

  "Oh, yeah, Lillian, I got everything under control," she said offhandedly. Normally, whenever somebody claims to have everything under control, the opposite is true. But with Lou it invariably was the case. She was one of the most can-do people I knew. "The walls," she said, "aren't painted, but at least they're intact."

  "Owooo!" hollered her cargo. "Yatta yi yi!"

  She told me she'd checked a Time-Life home-repair book out of the library, studied the drywall part, hauled materials and tools to Porrocks's house, and on very little sleep put the place back together. "Her sister helped me. Yeah, she got in yesterday. And the place is clean."

  "How's Erma doing?"

  "Great, really great! They're gonna release her this afternoon, they said. And since Connie's here—that's her sister—she'll be fine at home. You won't believe this, but they're getting her to use a walker already right in the hospital."

  "No way!"

  "Way! She's doing marvelous. So I finally told her what happened at the house, like you said, then that cop, uh—"

  "Stonehauser?"

  "Yeah, Stonehauser, he came over to see her. You should call him. You know what he said? He said they found a clump of fuzz from Erma's sweater stuck in the grille of that rental car."

  "Oh, my God—the rental car? You mean the one that I found the receipt for over at—"

  "That's all he said: 'the rental car.'"

  "Holy crap."

  "So if you're doing your own investigation on this, Lillian, he's probably gonna tell you to lay off and let the police—"

  "Right. How'd Porrocks take the news about her place?"

  "Well, she took it pretty good, actually. I mean, she's a big girl and all that, but, uh—"

  "But what?" I asked.

  "I'd say she's pretty mad at you."

  "Yeah. Yeah, well, that's OK. I gotta live with that."

  "She sort of turned her head and muttered something about you that I didn't thoroughly catch."

  "Hauuurup! Rrup! Rowrooof!" went the dogs.

  "Lordy, Lou, how do you stand it?" I said.

  "Stand what?"

  "Never mind. OK, well, I'll let you—"

  Lou broke in, "One more thing, Lillian?"

  "Yes?"

  "You know—I really like Erma."

  "Yes, I know."

  Lou cleared her throat sharply. "I mean, I really, really like her."

  "Yes, Lou, I know. I'm aware of that."

  "Well …" She heaved a long, gusting sigh. "Well, I sort of, uh, hinted about my feelings for her, you know, uh, but, uh, well, she didn't seem too receptive."

  "Oh, Lou. When somebody's hurt and helpless like that, that's just not a good time to declare yourself. It's just not. You've gotta wait, hon. And Christ, moreover I don't even know if Porrocks is gay or bi or straight or what. I really don't. My God, Lou—"

  "Well, what I want to know is, would you do me a favor?"

  I pushed my forehead against the wall next to the pay phone. "I owe you, Lou. I owe you, OK? But if you're going to ask me to, like, advocate for you to Erma, I—"

  "No! I don't want you to advocate for me, I just want you to tell her I'm a good person, you know, and that I'd treat her like a queen. That's all."

  "Lou, did you tell her you love her?"

  Lou answered something very quietly.

  "What?" I half shouted. "The dogs are making so much—"

  "I said yes! Yes! OK? I love her and I told her so!"

  "Aw, Lou! I would not call that hinting, I would call that—"

  "Lillian, you've got to help me convince her!"

  "No. I'll do anything for you, Lou, except get in the middle of your love life. If you'll remember, we've been over that more than—"

  "Lillian, please!"

  "Look, pull yourself together. What did she say when you told her you loved her?"

  "She just said 'oh' and looked surprised."

  "I'll bet."

  "Then she said she couldn't really talk about a subject like that right now."

  "All right. Well, Lou, 'oh' doesn't necessarily mean 'no.' But you have to let it drop for a while. You gotta be patient, OK?"

  "It's hard. It's so hard."

  "I know, hon."

  "When will you be back?"

  "That's what I've got to tell you—I'm not coming back to Detroit just yet. I've got to get back on the bus and follow up on something."

  "But shouldn't you let the cops—"

  "Goodbye, Lou. I'll be in touch."

  Next I called Billie. I had no intention of talking to Stonehauser just yet.

  "I'm so glad you called," Billie said. "Why don't you have a cell phone? Nobody can ever reach you when—"

  "How's Todd?"

  "Lillian, he's fading."

  "I'll be there tonight."

  "I took him to Dr. Metz, but there really isn't anything they can do for the little guy. He looks around for you and won't eat."r />
  "All right. Thanks, Billie. I'm coming. Keep him …" I couldn't go on.

  "I'll do everything I can."

  I walked out of the depot and motioned for a taxi.

  "Take me to the airport, please."

  ----

  I crouched in front of the nest-like box Billie had fixed up for Todd. Softly, I said, "Hey, Toddy boy."

  He opened his eyes. I put my hand out for him to sniff. His ears perked up only slightly, but he coiled his haunches and awkwardly rose to greet me. "Ah, that's my Todd. That's it."

  "He's been taking a little water but no food," Billie said. "I mashed up some good alfalfa with warm water, but he wouldn't have any of it."

  "And Dr. Metz said, uh—"

  "He said he's nearing the end. He's old, and his systems are just shutting down. Do you hear him grinding his teeth?"

  "Yes." My faithful pet was definitely thinner, his movements stiff and effortful. When they're upset or in pain, rabbits grind their teeth. I picked up Todd and cradled him in my arms: I thought he felt hotter than usual, as well.

  "And you know, Lillian, the doctor said it's getting about time to … help him."

  "Oh, Billie."

  "You shouldn't let him suffer," she said gently.

  "I know, of course not."

  "I think he's in some discomfort."

  She was plainly right. And yet …

  "Why don't you take him home tonight?" she suggested. "Let him be with you tonight. Then take him to Dr. Metz in the morning. I could drive you if we go early."

  I swallowed. "That's a good idea." But something was stirring in the back of my mind. "Uh."

  "Are you all right? How 'bout a ride home?"

  "Oh, I don't want to trouble you. You've done so much."

  "No trouble, I gotta go over to F&M anyway for a major shop."

  "OK. Well, OK."

  ----

  That night Todd and I hung out together. On one hand, he was the same old Todd: calm, dignified, intelligent. Yet on the other, he'd lost his inquisitiveness. He'd lost his zest. He moved about very slowly, making one circuit of our flat, then returning to me. I put him on my lap and sat on the floor in the living room. I didn't feel hungry either. I petted his soft brown fur and told him how much he'd meant to me over the years. Boy, had he ever been there for me.