There was only the light now. Muted. Hushed. Shadow threaded across the breadth of grass. She breathed and reached out for the feel of the light on her skin, silken, tenuous, fragile, and she forced herself into even smaller moves so that it would not shatter. Each step seemed to take minutes. Her body was weightless. She eased forward and the deer kept on grazing, her tail twitching slightly.
She cut to her right. She slip-stepped and approached the doe broadside. She could see all of it now, the tan of it cut by intermittent lines of black and the thrust of its ears, sharp and angled into the breeze. The deer raised her head to get at aspen leaves and Emmy saw the white of its eyes as they rolled toward the shape of the woman at the periphery. She stood there in the opening between saplings and the deer turned its head and studied her. She could see its nostrils working. She stood stock-still and the deer turned back to the aspen and continued to graze. The breeze rose slightly and there was a swishing though the trees, and she used it to step closer until she was a yard from the deer. It turned to look at her and she expected it to bolt but the doe only swivelled its ears to catch the breeze. Her heart drummed again and she stood there for long moments, forcing herself downward into calm, and her breathing slowed and quieted and she slipped a foot through the grass and edged closer to the deer, who looked at her full-on. She reached a hand out into the space between them and it felt airy and unreal, and when she touched the doe with her fingertips she could feel the energy of it against the nub of them and she wanted to scream in exultation. The deer craned its neck up to the leaves again and she put her full palm on its flank and closed her eyes.
She could feel the land at her feet, the breeze on her cheek, and the hot flush of the deer, and she raised her head and felt the sun on her eyelids and wept silently. The deer moved away. She opened her eyes to an empty glade and the feel of the breeze. She turned and he stood there and opened his arms wide, and she stepped into them and let herself cry openly against his chest.
* * *
—
It was late afternoon and the light was shifting. She slumped into the mare’s gait and when Starlight kicked the gelding into a trot up the slope, the mare stepped up too, and she caught the shift in gait quickly and leaned up, took the rein in two hands, and rode the trot to the crest, where he slowed the horses down to a walk again. She eased the mare past the spare horse and settled in beside him and they rode the trail side by side.
“When I was a little girl I used to climb inside the cedar chest where my mother kept blankets.” The words tumbled out of her almost on their own accord. He rode easily, head down, nodding, listening.
“It was real quiet in there an’ it kinda felt like my burrow or somethin’. Like I was a little creature. I’d climb in there and just listen to the silence. Like here. It was like being nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was magical. I thought I could stay in there forever.
“I was in there the day my ma walked out. They were drunk an’ fightin’ and yellin’ like they always done, an’ I heard him slap her an’ kick her and her fallin’ against the wall an’ she left and I never seen her again. Ever. I never went into the chest again after that. I thought if I hadn’t been hiding in that chest, all consumed by the silence like that, then maybe I mighta heard something that woulda changed things. Somethin’ I coulda said, somethin’ I coulda done, somethin’ that coulda kept her there. I never forgave her for that. I’ve been angry ever since. Angry at her for leaving. Angry at him. Angry at all men.”
They rode on and Starlight lazed on the horse and she mimicked his posture. The riding was easy. She felt lost but assured in the sway. The scrunch of gravel from the hoofs echoed in the trees.
“I used to fight when I was a kid,” he said. “Every day almost. Schoolyard scraps, neighbourhood beefs; hell, I even got into it at Sunday school. They told the old man I was too much of a handful. They said I was wild. But I was just a kid. A kid who never knew where he come from. Who his folks were. Where he belonged. Why he was brown an’ the others were white. That’s what all the fights were about. Feelin’ lost an’ not knowin’ why. I carried that around a long time an’ I never told no one until I told the old man finally. That’s when he brung me out here more an’ taught me how to touch the deer.”
They emerged onto a flat. It was about a quarter-mile wide and he stopped the horses and they sat and looked out across it. He drank from the canteen and handed it to her and she drank and sloshed some into her palm and rubbed it along the back of her neck. The cool of it slick against the heat from the sun.
“We’re gonna gallop across that flat,” he said.
“But I’ve never done that.”
“Don’t mean you can’t.”
“Might mean I shouldn’t.”
“We’ll take them up to a canter, then give her a squeeze with your legs. She’ll take that as you askin’ for more. When she breaks into it you’ll feel a four-beat kinda thing, thump thump, thump thump. Lean into it some but not too much, and kinda move your girdle like you’re scooping with it. That way you’ll move with her, not against her.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Scared?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Good. Ride through it.”
He nudged the gelding and they broke out of the trees and he brought the horse to a trot, then a canter. She struggled with the gait. He took them around the clearing so she could get accustomed to the different gait. Then he nudged the gelding up and when it broke she felt the mare respond and tried to remember what he’d told her. She clenched her jaw and leaned forward and tried to discern the rhythm. It took some doing but she found it and they tore across the last two hundred yards and she pushed with her pelvis like he told her and fell into the full force of the gallop. It was a surging feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The burst of air when all four hoofs cleared the ground. When they stopped she slid off the mare and leaned against the trunk of a tree with her hands on her knees. She was shaking.
He leaned forward on the gelding and crossed his wrists on the pommel. He watched Emmy regain her breath and she huffed out a breath and stood and shook her head and looked up at him. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shimmering with a high excitement.
“My God,” she said.
“You touch a deer, you gallop a horse. There’s no room in there for hurt or anger. That’s where you learn to live when you come to the land.”
He nudged the horse again and she remounted and they walked up the slope of the trail. He walked the gelding around the curve of the trail and she let him ride on and climbed down off the mare. She was alone in the trees, the full flush of land around her immense in its push and swell. The western slope was in shadow and she traced the fall of it and closed her eyes, and felt the rush of space and the wild energy of the horse and the thrill in her belly like the great wide open of the sky. She walked to the mare and flung herself aboard. She sat the horse and looked ahead at the trail through the trees. Then she nodded, pulled on the rein, turned the mare to the trail, and nudged her with her heel.
“Git up, girl,” she said.
“THEY REALLY WANT YOU IN VANCOUVER, Frank.” Deacon stared at him intently across the diner table.
Starlight sipped his coffee and gazed out the window at the street. “You know I ain’t of a mind to go.”
“I know. But I’m thinking of your future. Your career.”
“The farm is my career.”
“But you’re an artist. A singular one, and people want to hear from you, to see you.”
“You always said my soul is in them pictures. If that’s true, then they don’t really need me is what I figure. Besides, me and cities ain’t no workin’ fit.”
Deacon set his cup down on the table and twirled it around slowly. When he looked up at Starlight again his face was intent and grave, and Starlight met his look and they sat in silence while the sound of morning in the small town broke around them. Starlight pursed his lips,
took a drink of coffee, and leaned back in the booth seat.
“I know your feelings about that, Frank. But this is a big show at a major gallery, and it would mean so much to your name recognition, not to mention your sales.”
“I never got into this for sales.”
“I know that too. But your work itself dictated this change. I think you owe it to yourself to show up for this. It doesn’t have to be a regular thing. An appearance every now and then. It wouldn’t upset your lifestyle or your peace of mind.”
“Feels to me like it already has.”
“Every great artist compromises for success.”
“Gettin’ two good crops of hay in a year is success enough for me. When we started this you said you’d take care of all the business stuff. That was our deal.”
“I know,” Deacon said. “But that was before things took off. Before people began falling in love with your photographs. You’re an artist now, Frank. You can’t turn the clock back or change what is.”
Starlight picked up his cup and drank the rest of the coffee and set the cup down and drummed his fingers on the table. Deacon could see how much the idea of this venture upset him. He waited for the big man to speak.
“Gotta talk to Roth,” Starlight said, finally. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ without Eugene on accounta whatever I choose affects him too. If I go, he has to go with me.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Deacon said.
“And Emmy and Winnie. They deserve to see somethin’ different. Get away from cow stink and manure for a few days. I’ll consider it if you can make all that happen.”
“Count on it, Frank.”
“No promises. Depends on Roth. I gotta go now. Boards need replacin’ on one wall of the barn.”
“Okay,” Deacon said. “You know, there’s not another Native photographer in the country with your acclaim. You’re special. Unique. People want to see you.”
“Me bein’ Indian’s got nothin’ to do with this. I do what I do because I love it. Old man woulda said that love ain’t got no colour or no skin. I pretty much lean to that.”
Deacon nodded solemnly. “There’s those who will want to put that label on you nonetheless. Native. Photographer. Just so you know that.”
“You take the label off a can of beans you still got a can of beans. Seems to me the label don’t matter much at all. What counts is what’s inside. Another thing the old man said one time.”
Deacon smiled. “He was a wise one.”
Starlight slid out of the booth and shrugged into his denim jacket and stood looking down at Deacon. He nodded. “He was,” he said. “Figure maybe I owe him this trip when it come down to it.”
Deacon watched him walk out of the diner and cross the street to the old truck. He filled space easily. Deacon left a fan of bills on the table and rose and made his way to his studio, fascinated all over again by the man he was privileged to call a friend.
* * *
—
The boards they worked to replace were high on the south side of the barn so that labouring on ladders and rope and pulleys with their backs exposed to the hard heat of the sun was draining. Still, they suffered through it. Starlight hauled on the rope to bring the boards up so they could both grab an edge and angle it into place. Roth wore a carpenter’s belt and when the board was in place he nailed the top end to the spar that ran the length of that side of the barn. Then they eased down a few rungs. Starlight pressed the board flat to the spar and Roth nailed it again. Each length of lumber took a lot of time to replace. When they were finished they stepped off the ladders and moved into the shade on the north side of the barn, where they sat with their legs splayed and leaned against the cool concrete foundation and drank water from thermoses and wiped at their faces with neckerchiefs then rolled smokes and sat taking long hauls off them without speaking. Starlight leaned his head back against the cool hardness and closed his eyes. He loved the feeling of effort and the satisfaction of work well done. He heard Roth exhale and turned his head and squinted at the skinny man, who grinned at him and nodded.
Roth arched his back and pressed the back of his shoulders against the concrete and sighed. “Well,” he said. “Might as well say what ya got to say now before we fix on painting them slabs.”
“What makes you think I got somethin’ to say?” Starlight asked.
“Like I told ya, Frank. I been around you long enough to know when ya got somethin’ in your gut needs gettin’ out.”
Starlight nodded grimly. “Yeah. Truth is, I do. Spoke to Deacon in town this morning. He thinks I should go to Vancouver for that fancy display of my pictures. Says I owe it to people to be there.”
“Whattaya figure?” Roth asked.
“Kinda wanted your take on it before I decide.”
“Me? I’m a farm hand. What do I know about your art?”
“Guess I was asking about how you’d feel about comin’ with me.”
“You want me there, I’m there, pal. But I gotta ask what you’re feelin’ about it. That’s what matters here, not my take on it all.”
“You know how I feel about cities.”
“Gotta rip ’em off ya like ticks or they’ll suck the blood right outta ya. I’m like you in that. Me and cities parted company a long number of years back and I been the better for it since. But this ain’t about going to Vancouver is it?”
“No,” Starlight said. “Guess it ain’t really.”
“What is it then? Gotta be big on accounta you don’t get all scrunched up about the eyeballs over small stuff. That’s pure constipation of thinkin’ and carryin’ things on your own. Some drink over that. Others act out in all kind of bizarre ways. You? You get more wrinkled up than heifer tits after calving time.”
Starlight laughed. “Paint quite a picture, don’t ya?”
“I been a spellbindin’ word slinger long as I can recall. Cut straight through the fat and gristle right down to the bone’s always been my way. You’d be well served to speak like that more often. You’d be less wrinkly that way. So what is it?”
Starlight tapped the steel toes of his work boots together and stared down at the grass. Roth waited him out.
“It’s about change, I reckon. A man gets used to the lay of things, the routine. Least I do. I never started this whole picture-takin’ thing so that anything would change. It was just the way I always wanted to see the animals and the land. Kinda like freeze ’em in time so they wouldn’t never change neither. I never figured on none of this tomfoolery with galleries and talkin’ to folks about what’s always been a private thing for me. Never figured on makin’ no money neither.”
“Kinda grew legs didn’t it?” Roth asked.
“Yeah. And for the life of me I don’t know why.”
“Because most folks only got one set of eyes and one way of seein’. You and that camera give ’em a whole other world than what they think they know. Guess in a way that’s how come you’re here, Frank.”
“To be someone’s eyeballs?”
“Not so much as showin’ them what their own are missin’ out on. I know you changed the way I look at things now.”
“You talk like what I do is magic.”
“It is, chum. It is. You and the land and them creatures are perfect. You go out there and bring back magic Deacon puts in a frame and, pow, you change people, rearrange ’em so they come to understand something more about this world and this life than they ever figured on. That’s what an artist does, I figure. And a magician.”
“So I should go and talk about magic?”
It was Roth’s turn to laugh. “Nah,” he said. “I’d go and talk about you. How it feels to be so close to wild animals, nature, the friggin’ universe. The pictures will always speak for themselves.”
“You’ll come with me then?”
“Wasn’t never no question about that. ’Sides, the last time I let you even go into Endako on yer own you wound up bringin’ home a woman and a kid. Lord knows what y
ou’d haul back here with a whole dang city around you. And I wouldn’t be too worried about dealin’ with change. You brought on a whole shebang of change that day. And that’s the other thing we might as well talk about while we’re at it.”
“What’s that?” Starlight asked.
“You wanting to take Emmy and the girl along.”
“How’d you know I was thinking about that?”
“Told ya. You get all scrunched up about the face. You got feelin’s you been totin’ around inside ya for a while and yer plumb confounded on what to do with them.”
“What kinda feelin’s you talking about, Eugene?”
“Man-woman feelin’s. The both of ya been like cats in heat strollin’ around each other with yer tails in the air, waiting for the other to make the first move. It’s in the way ya look at each other when ya think I don’t see. All that’s missing is the fur flyin’ and the yowlin’ in the moonlight.”
“Yowlin’ in the moonlight? What makes you think she’s feeling anything for me but grateful?”
“Grateful passed a long time ago, Frank. Ya give her the land. You woke up things she never knew she had in her. Ya showed her that men ain’t all like what she grew used to. You taught her that life could be different. Better. Ya showed her how to walk into the possible and ya did it as tender as you treat a green broke colt. Yeah, grateful’s way downstream now, pal. And you’re carryin’ the same ache and don’t know what to do about it either.”
“I never had a woman. You know that,” Starlight said.
“I know. Don’t mean ya never had the ache for one.”
“She does make me feel awkward, that’s for sure. Sometimes there’s things I want to say but when it comes to speaking them it’s like I never learned how to talk. I feel like I did when I was a kid scratchin’ around the dirt with a stick on accounta I never had the words yet.”
Starlight Page 16
