Gray Magic

by Sarah Dreher

  "Some things," Stell said firmly, "require a certain amount of thinking. You can do it now, or you can do it later. But until you've thought all the thoughts, it isn't going to let you go."

  “I don't want to bother you with it," Gwen said.

  “Well, now," Stell said, and slipped an arm around her. “We have a nice storm here, the electricity's out, Tom Drooley's under the bed, and Ted's up at First Mesa on mysterious business. Seems to me you have the perfect opportunity to take advantage of my years of experience."

  Gwen sat miserably inside Stell's arm. "I don't know what to say."

  "Good! You can listen."

  Stoner got the fire going and leaned against the wall near the stove. The heat drew the water from her clothes and turned it to steam. Lightning ran from window to window. The storm slammed against the roof and hurled water at the glass. In the light from the kerosene lamps, the gray in Stell's hair shone brass.

  "Seems to me," the older woman said, "there's some folks in this world who find it easier to love than hate. Ted's like that, I hope I am-even though more sophisticated types might call us fools-and I expect the same holds for you. And there are others-I won't go so far as to say they'd sooner hate than love, but they do spend an awful lot of time wanting things and people to be just so. Does that describe your grandmother?"

  "Yes," Gwen said. "It does."

  "The problem isn't what you are, it's what she is. And I'd be willing to bet she'd find fault with whoever you decide to love."

  "She has," Gwen said. "But she was right about Bryan."

  "Of course she was. That's why Nature made us in two forms —so some of us could be right half the time, and the rest the other half. The problem is, her kind of bigotry has a lot of company these days." She pulled Gwen close and took her hand. “What I hope you'll stay clear on in all of this, is that it's her that's in the wrong, not you. Don't go getting down on yourself for loving. There's a lot of hurting and a lot of hating going on in this world, and I think it's time the ones that do the hating start doing their share of the hurting."

  Gwen began to cry.

  "The time might come," Stell said as she stroked her head, "when you feel like you want to give up on her. You shouldn't feel guilty if that happens. Your job is to care for yourself, and Stoner, and all the other people you love. It's a fine thing for you to love your grandmother, but set yourself a limit. Because if she doesn't want your love, there's plenty of folks who do, and it'd be a shame to waste it on someone who's just going to throw it away."

  Gwen put her arm around Stell's neck.

  "I know it's real hard," Stell said, rocking her gently, "to change how you feel about someone you've grown up loving. But that's part of growing up, too. Dogs and babies go on loving the ones that treat them mean, because they can't help it. But when you get older you learn to be a little more selective." She kissed Gwen's cheek. "And that's enough folksy wisdom for one night. Stoner, get me a paper napkin before she blows her nose on my shirt."

  Gwen laughed and looked up. "You think I'd do anything that tacky?"

  "You might."

  Stoner handed her a napkin.

  Gwen wiped her nose and eyes. “Stell, I really appre—"

  "Hold it," Stell said. "I don't want to hear that, it makes me uncomfortable."

  "I know, but..."

  "If you want to express your everlasting gratitude, go take a shower and help me with dinner." She plucked at her damp shirt. "Jesus, if it isn't wet dogs, it's wet dykes."

  "Stell!" Stoner said, and collapsed laughing against the wall.

  Stell glared at her. "You wouldn't win any fashion contest yourself, Madame. You get in that shower, too. Matter of fact, the two of you get in there together."

  "How can we take a shower?" Stoner asked. "There's no electricity.”

  "You fixing to bathe?" Stell asked. "Or electrocute yourself?"

  Gwen rolled her eyes in dismay.

  The storm was moving away to the east, leaving behind a purple twilight. The rain had let up, falling now in a hard drizzle.

  "I'll get clean clothes for us," Gwen started for the door.

  "Look out for Dineh Wash," Stell called after her. "It gets real mean after a storm." She pulled a couple of knives from the utensil drawer and tossed Stoner a cabbage.

  "Thanks, Stell," Stoner said. "Gwen really needed—"

  "I told you I didn't want to hear that," Stell cut her off. "That knife sharp enough?"

  Stoner touched the knife blade. "Sharp enough for brain surgery."

  "Forgot to tell you," Stell said as she pulled a couple of onions from beneath the sink. "Smokey Flanagan called while you were out. Said to tell you he's sorry he missed you, but he'll try you again next week."

  "How's he doing?" Stoner asked, trying to cut the cabbage into very thin slivers.

  "You know Smokey. All he needs to keep him happy is a crusade."

  Stoner smiled. “What is it this time?"

  "Buffalo. Seems the Forest Service and the Government have come to a serious disagreement over what to about the Yellowstone buffalo. He's gone up to the Park to try and swing the Park Service over to his side." She scraped her chopped onion into a bowl and took another. "If he had his way, of course, he'd throw the tourists out and turn Teton and Yellowstone back to wilderness."

  "That wouldn't do much for your business, would it?" Stoner asked.

  “Well, I suppose not. But I have mixed feelings about it these days. Seems as if people are just getting meaner and more selfish."

  Stoner glanced at her. "It scares me to hear you talk like that, Stell. You're usually so optimistic."

  "Oh," Stell said with a shrug. "It's probably just a passing fancy. Shoot, I have everything I ever wanted and more than I ever thought I'd have. But every now and then I get to thinking about how I was as a kid-shy and awkward and lonely most of the time, scared of people, couldn't get along with anyone but animals... You gonna finish that cabbage, or just stand there with your mouth hanging open?"

  "I'm sorry," Stoner said and got back to work. "I'd never thought of you that way."

  "Yeah, I was like that a whole lot."

  “What changed for you?"

  "Life. Age. It all changes. I sometimes find myself forgetting I've grown up, feeling like sixteen again. Sweet Jesus, that was one miserable time. And the worst of it is, once it's gone it's too late to change it." She glanced up and reached for another onion. "Not that I have regrets, mind you. Still, I do feel for that kid I used to be."

  Stoner nodded. "I know what you mean."

  "Every now and then, when something good happens to me, I think to myself... why couldn't it have happened back then, when I really needed it? This sound like self-pity to you?"

  "No."

  "I wouldn't want it to. It's just life. They save the good stuff for the end. Kind of a screwed-up way to do business, if you ask me."

  "I wish I'd known you back then," Stoner said.

  Stell brushed her hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Shoot, I'd have been scared to death of you. I was scared to death of everyone."

  "So was I."

  "Then I'm sorry it didn't happen. Maybe next time around."

  "Maybe."

  "But I'll give you fair warning." Stell said, "I'm not coming back to this planet until folks learn some manners."

  * * *

  Stoner pounded on the bathroom door.

  “What is it?" Gwen called.

  "Are you going to be in there all night?"

  "I might."

  "Then I'm coming in." She pushed the door open. Steam billowed out. There was a transparent curtain on the shower, and a kerosene lamp on the wash stand. Stoner stared at Gwen's naked body openly and appreciatively. "Stell says I smell like a mule," she said.

  "I don't know what you expect me to do about it," Gwen replied.

  Stoner grinned. "Stay put," she said as she stripped off her clothes. "Here comes Pig Pen."

  Gwen reached for the
soap, worked up a lather between her hands, and rubbed it over Stoner's face, her hair, her body. Her hands were warm and slippery.

  Stoner took the soap, ran it over Gwen's body, then pressed their bodies together, smooth breasts against smooth breasts, smooth thighs against smooth thighs. She stroked her back, her hips. She bent down and stroked her legs.

  Standing, she leaned against the shower wall and pulled Gwen to her, Gwen's back against her breasts, her buttocks cupped between her thighs and stomach. She soaped her hands again and slid them over and under Gwen's breasts.

  Gwen sighed and leaned back against her.

  She stroked her for a long time, the water sliding over and around them.

  She felt Gwen's breathing quicken, felt Gwen's hands fumbling for her. She slipped one arm around Gwen's waist, and with her free hand found the warm softness between Gwen's legs, circling and touching and stroking and teasing until Gwen's body went rigid and she gasped and clutched at Stoner's arm.

  "Stop," Gwen said without conviction. “What if... someone comes... ?"

  "Someone is coming," Stoner whispered, and stroked her harder.

  “I mean… if we get caught...?"

  “We won't get caught. Stell's on guard."

  "Stell!"

  Stell was in the kitchen, just beyond the door. She was singing at the top of her lungs.

  "Oh, Jesus," Gwen said. Her body was trembling, her knees giving way.

  Stoner held her up. "Jesus?" she teased with her words as she teased with her hand. "Is this some kind of religious experience?"

  "Oh, God, Stoner, I'm coming out of my SKIN!"

  "I don't think so," Stoner said, touching her harder, then lighter, stroking, teasing.

  Gwen's back arched. She moaned softly, fingers digging into Stoner's arm as surge after surge went through her. Stoner felt an answering surge in her own body. She pressed her back against the wall and locked her knees to keep from falling, and suddenly her body broke out in warm, damp tingling.

  She felt her muscles go limp, felt Gwen go limp against her, became aware again of the sound of water pounding on the shower floor, the gurgle of water as it swirled down the drain.

  Beyond the door, Stell was bellowing out Rock of Ages.

  "Hey, Mrs. Perkins," Gwen shouted to her, "did anyone ever tell you you have a terrific singing voice?"

  "Nope."

  "I can see why."

  Stell laughed and started in on The Streets of Laredo.

  "Care for another round?" Stoner asked. "That song has about twenty verses."

  Gwen touched her face and looked deep into her eyes. "Stoner, my love, has it occurred to you that sooner or later we'll run out of hot water, and we're going to have to go out there and face her?"

  Stoner shrugged. "So what? It's darker than night out there."

  Naturally, at that exact moment, the electricity came back on.

  * * *

  By midnight the storm was far to the east. Water still dripped intermittently from the bunkhouse roof, to be caught and swallowed by the ever-thirsty earth. Dineh Wash raged and tossed and rattled the smooth round rocks that lined its channel. The skies cleared. The Choochokan, the Pleiades, sparkled overhead.

  Siyamtiwa rolled the nearly-forgotten taste of tomatoes around on her tongue, sucked the sweet-tart-salty juice from her fingers, and wondered at the ways of Spirits who send a green-eyed pahana to do battle with a Skin-walker.

  * * *

  Hosteen Coyote prowled the base of Long Mesa.

  His eyes glinted silver.

  FIVE

  Morning sparkled like fresh laundry hung on a line. The sky was clean, the air sweet, the dust washed and settled. The scattered desert plants shone with brilliant green. The buttes and mesas stood out in sharp relief, basking in the sun.

  Stoner ran. Ran because it felt good, because the desert was beautiful, because she was happy, because she knew she would see Siyamtiwa again.

  An eagle soared overhead as she trotted down the road, hugging a paper bag filled with sweet rolls and water and a thermos of hot coffee. The shadows lay deep in the gullies. The road was swept clean by the rain. There were no tracks in the dust but hers. She felt her feet strike the hard dirt, breathed the pure, light air, knew the steady pounding of her heart, the pull of muscles in her legs, and thought she could run like this forever.

  The breeze ruffled her hair. The desert colors flowed past. The eagle drifted lazily, keeping pace with her. Her rhythm lifted her out of her body and into the air, higher and higher until she felt herself stretch out against the wind, her soul mingling with the wind's soul, with the eagle's soul, with the soul of the dust and rain and sacred mountains. Sounds rose in her throat, singing vowel sounds. She let them come, and offered them up to the morning.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she came to a stop and was silent. From nearby, echoed the same rhythmic chant, and the sound of slow drumming. She looked around, and realized she had reached the spot where she had seen Siyamtiwa yesterday. Where she had known, in her first thought of the morning, that she would see her today.

  There was no one here. It's not as if we made a date, she reminded herself to stave off disappointment.

  But I brought coffee, and breakfast. I was so sure...

  She sat on the ground and poured herself a cup from the thermos, tore a piece from a sweet roll.

  She probably thinks I'm not worth her time. She probably has more important things to do.

  She took a sip of coffee and watched a lizard watching her.

  Her shadow shortened. She watched it slip away from one pebble, then the next, and the next...

  A thought took shape in her mind. If there's nobody here but me, who was drumming? Who was chanting with me? Maybe my imagination.

  A magpie eyed her from a low, straggly bush. She tossed it a crumb of roll. It thought things over for several minutes, then hopped to the ground, snatched up the crumb, and flew off.

  Well, pal, you've been stood up.

  It made her sad, and a little empty. She got to her feet and brushed the dust from her jeans.

  "So, Green-eyes."

  A grin broke across her face.

  The old woman stood at the bottom of the hill, arms folded beneath a light multi-colored blanket. Her white hair was parted down the middle and drawn into two long braids, one of which hung down her back, the other over her shoulder and across her breast. "Well," Siyamtiwa said with a laugh, "what you think? Do I look enough like a Hollywood Indian for you?"

  "You look great."

  The old woman held up one foot. "You don't think the tennis shoes spoil it?"

  "I don't care. I'm glad to see you. I thought you weren't coming."

  Siyamtiwa shrugged. "You know Indians, no sense of time."

  Stoner held out her hand. Siyamtiwa grabbed it in both of hers and pulled herself up the hill.

  She's so light, Stoner thought. Her bones must be hollow.

  She took the blanket the old woman offered and spread it on the ground.

  "What you got in that sack?" Siyamtiwa asked as she settled herself.

  "Coffee and sweet rolls." She knelt and passed them.

  Siyamtiwa looked them over carefully. "I gotta get soft stuff," she said. "Only got a couple of teeth left." She chose one and tore it into tiny pieces. "I always liked sweet things. People used to tease me when I was a girl.”

  "Is there anything else you need?" Stoner asked.

  "You worry too much, Green-eyes." She took a long swallow of coffee from Stoner's cup and smacked her lips.

  "I brought a second cup if you don't want to share mine."

  "Indians are used to sharing," Siyamtiwa said. “Whites never left us enough to go around."

  "I'm sorry."

  Siyamtiwa grunted. A smile played at the corners of her eyes.

  "Did you say that to get me to apologize again?"

  The old woman chuckled and poked Stoner with her bony elbow.

  Stoner laughed.

 
"You have a nice laugh, pahana. "

  She felt herself blush. "Thank you."

  Siyamtiwa chewed thoughtfully for a while. “What happened to you yesterday?"

  Stoner hesitated, believing for a second that something important had happened which Siyamtiwa knew about, but she, herself, had forgotten... and then realized it was only residual fear and guilt, compliments of a childhood spent with parents who laid traps to catch her in lies. "Not much," she said. 'We did some errands in Beale, and there was a storm—but you probably know about that."

  Siyamtiwa nodded. "This friend you visit, you like her a lot, eh?"

  "Very much."

  The old woman seemed to think on this for a long time. "And Hosteen Coyote, did he come around?"

  "Not that I know of."

  “Well, that's good."

  "Siyamtiwa, have you ever met a man named Larch Begay?"

  The old woman seemed to search her memory, then shook her head. "Lots of Begay’s around here. I don't know that one."

  "He runs the gas station."

  “Well, I don't need that very much." She chewed on a bit of sweet roll.

  "I thought… if you're from around here, you might have heard ... "

  "I've been away. Long time away. Things change. Hard to explain. What about this Begay?"

  "He gives me the creeps," Stoner said. She glanced over. "Do you know what that is, the creeps?"

  Siyamtiwa nodded solemnly. "I know creeps."

  "He showed us some jewelry he'd gotten from the Navajos by selling them whisky. Do you think I should report him?"

  "Leave it alone, pahana. When the People get tired of this, they'll handle it their own way. They ain't gonna thank you for butting in."

  "Yeah," Stoner said, "that's what I thought, but it makes me mad."

  "The Spirits got their reasons. Maybe they got plans for this Begay." She shrugged and drew the empty tomato can from the folds of her skirt. "You want this back?"

  "No, thanks. They're not returnable."

  The old woman turned the can over and over in her hands and looked at it from every angle. "Maybe I'll keep things in this. Maybe make a little stove out of it."