Ancient Blood

by R. Allen Chappell

  “Yep,” Thomas agreed, “this was someone who knew this country and how to get around in it.” He scratched his head. “I had thought for a while they might have come horseback, but I can see now it would be a long ride in here. You would beat horses to death trying to trailer them anywhere near here.”

  That evening as the two Navajo came dragging back into George Custer’s camp, they were amazed to see how much had been accomplished in so short a time. The place was a beehive of activity; the entire area had been cleaned up and four sleeping tents set along with a larger mess tent. Firewood (including several broken camp chairs) had been gathered and neatly stacked by the fire pit. A blue plastic barrel of drinking water had been collected from the spring and sat near the big tent. It was a good camp. George Custer knew what he was about and how to make things happen, too. There were nine team members, three of them women, but none of them greenhorns. Counting the professor, Thomas, and Harley, that made an even dozen expedition members.

  Thomas was parched, and with Harley close behind, went directly to the water barrel. Most Navajo think it silly to carry water for just a day hike, no matter how arduous the terrain. They have been known to go without water for long distances, should they be called upon to do so.

  Some fastidious person had installed a dispenser of small paper cups on the side of the water barrel. Harley filled one twice and then just kneeled down and put his mouth under the spigot and had his fill. Thomas was on his fourth little cup when Dr. Custer caught their eye and motioned them over to his new tent, which was set well apart from the others.

  “So?” he asked when they had planted themselves on the cedar log beside the tent. “Turn anything up out there?” The professor pulled his campstool in closer, glancing across the compound at the rest of his crew. Several of them were bringing the last loads up from the trucks, as others busied themselves in the mess tent. These were all seasoned people who had been on several previous digs, some of them with Dr. Custer himself.

  Thomas related in some detail what they had found. Harley added a few theories along the way that may or may not have been relevant, letting the professor sort them out as he pleased. Harley and George Custer had come to something of a thought-sharing process in their recent drinking days and now understood one another to a remarkable degree.

  The odor of cooking wafted its way across the campsite, and Thomas fidgeted, darting glances in the direction of the food. He stood finally and was about to move toward the good smells when he remembered something. Digging in his pocket, he produced a small object on the palm of his hand. He had almost forgotten about it. “I found this following the tracks in the oak brush beyond camp. Must have torn off someone’s clothes. I wouldn’t have seen it myself if I hadn’t caught my own shirt on the same bush and had to look down to undo it.”

  Harley Ponyboy rose and pushed closer for a look, as did Dr. Custer. “It’s a little beadwork,” Harley exclaimed, taking it from Thomas’s palm. He held it out to Custer while frowning at Thomas for not bringing it to his attention earlier.

  “Interesting. It’s a boot or moccasin pull, Hopi design… the rain-cloud symbol,” and that was all George Custer offered, taking the item and depositing it in his shirt pocket. He had not said a single word during the entire report and now rose without further comment and moved toward the mess tent. The two Navajo fell in behind and exchanged questioning glances.

  The people selected for mess duty knew something about camp cooking, and the meal was deemed a resounding success. Thomas and Harley showed their appreciation in the Navajo way—by making sure there were no leftovers.

  After a hard day’s work, Professor Custer was often inclined to relax with his crew around the campfire, where opinions were expressed, and general small talk bantered about. A portion of this night’s talk concerned the empty whiskey bottles the cleanup crew had found. It was generally agreed this was further evidence left by the delinquents that trashed the camp. It was in the volunteer’s agreement that no alcohol was allowed in camp, and George Custer and Harley Ponyboy exchanged guarded looks. The professor felt his secret was safe with the two Navajo.

  Some of the crew were just getting to know one another, and this night there was lively conversation around the fire. Thomas and Harley were not the only Indians. There was a young Cherokee undergrad named Ted Altman, an even younger Pueblo woman, Tanya Griggs, as well as two Hispanics, one an undergrad from Utah State and the other a South American woman. An older anthropologist, Neva Travis, who taught at a small New Mexico college, was the only white woman. All in all, it was an eclectic mix, and one that would not prove particularly harmonious.

  Harley was a bit shy in the company of so many intellectuals and stayed to the outside of the circle and close to Thomas, who while seldom intimidated, seemed hesitant to join in the conversation. The woman anthropologist was particularly determined to draw Thomas out. She reminded him of the white anthropologist who lived with his uncle Johnny up at Navajo Mountain. He liked Marissa—she was almost like family—and she had shown a genuine interest in Lucy Tallwoman and the children. This new professor was a harder copy of Marissa. Thomas avoided her inquiries when he could.

  Several of the group had changed their work boots for more comfortable footwear, and all three of the team’s women had changed from their work clothes as well. As the evening wore on, Harley Ponyboy occasionally nudged Thomas and pushed his chin toward the other side of the circle. Thomas looked across to see the Pueblo girl and thought for a moment his friend might have designs on her, but that was not likely. Harley was extremely shy around any female and Thomas often wondered how he had ever gotten together with his wife Anita. He could only conclude that they were two of a kind, thrown together by a kind providence. At the third elbow in the ribs, Thomas, irritated at last, turned to Harley and whispered, “What Harley? What?”

  Harley looked away for a moment and then again covertly indicated the Hopi girl. This time he raised his eyebrows and then stared pointedly at the girl’s feet. Thomas followed his gaze and immediately understood. The girl was wearing knee-high moccasins of a type once very popular among Indian and local white women alike. These particular moccasins had little beaded amulets on the sides, though it was hard to make out the design.

  George Custer, perceiving the two Navajos interest in the girl, couldn’t help but notice the moccasins as well. Being somewhat closer, he could easily see the small beaded pattern; it was not at all like the one in his shirt pocket. This was not the first time he had seen such moccasins on one of his expeditions.

  5

  The Bebie

  The hospital staff had barely settled Sue Yazzie in her maternity room when her husband advised the head nurse he wanted to be present at the birth. She eyed him up and down and then, with a wry smile asked, “Are you sure you can handle it?” The nurse had never known a Navajo father who wanted to be in the room during a birth. It was not thought proper among older Navajo.

  In olden times when no female clan members were available, a woman would just deliver herself of a child and think little of it. Consequently, most Navajo men who found themselves in a modern maternity ward were often quite happy ensconced on a couch in the waiting room, watching television, sometimes the only television they had ever seen on a big, clear screen with good reception.

  “I think I can manage.” Charlie smiled. “I’ve delivered a few lambs and foals.”

  The woman nodded and muttered, “Alright.” She pointed through the open door. “I’ll let you get suited up after you wash up across the way.”

  Sue listened from her bed as the nurse told Charlie what he could and couldn’t do during the coming birth. It boiled down to just staying quiet and out of everyone’s way. Sue was glad he had chosen to stay with her but still was a little apprehensive. He was in an anxious state of mind, and that made her nervous as well. Sue’s own birth had been attended only by her aunt, in a dirt-floored Hogan; this, after her mother’s five-mile horseback ride to get
there. The actual labor took only about forty-five minutes, possibly hastened by the horseback ride.

  Sue Yazzie’s pains came and went for some hours. Once, when the doctor came in to check on her, Sue spied Lucy Tallwoman and her father in the hallway, being redirected to the waiting area. Paul’s recent familiarity with the place had emboldened him to search Sue out. Lucy Tallwoman, a reluctant accomplice, was determined her father not make trouble for her friends.

  Paul T’Sosi was still limping from his own recent ordeal, but if this birthing was to end well, he was convinced it would only be with his help. Lucy warned her father they could be thrown out altogether should he not settle down. The old man paid no attention and continued to harangue the orderly sent to retrieve them. Paul clutched a small leather bag beneath his coat and was anxious lest it be discovered. There were things in that bag that could prove harmful in the wrong hands.

  By the time Charlie was “suited up” and had figured out the mask and the shoe coverings, things in the delivery room had slowed to a crawl. He was shown to the head of the bed where he took Sue’s hand, and as the occasional contractions came and went, she squeezed with all her might. Well into evening, things still were not progressing as expected, and both Sue and Charlie were beginning to wear down. Sue was mildly sedated but told the young doctor she did not want a spinal block or even an epidural, if it could be avoided. She and Charlie had discussed this a number of times during the pregnancy, and it was Sue’s thinking that she could do without that sort of thing. She said her mother had only a piece of cedar wood wrapped in soft leather to bite down on when she was born. This would be the first baby in Sue’s family to be born in a hospital. Charlie, too, had been born at home. They agreed this could be done without heavy sedation and felt the natural way might still be the best way. After all, it had worked for their people since their very beginning.

  The attending physician was not their regular doctor (already in the midst of another delivery some miles away). The on-call doctor seemed quite young yet appeared to be in control of the situation. Charlie couldn’t see past the tented sheet but did hear him ask for various instruments with long names, none of which sounded indicative of a normal birth.

  The baby’s head was nearly out before Charlie allowed himself to think the worst might be over—for him anyway. He was now sweating nearly as much as Sue and mopped both their brows with the same gauze pad. He occasionally leaned over, offered encouragement, and helped Sue sip water through a straw.

  The doctor mumbled something under his breath, causing the two nurses to move in closer. Charlie thought he heard one say something about the cord.

  From down the hall there was the faint sound of singing—Navajo singing. Old Paul T’Sosi was conducting a prayer vigil in the waiting room, much to the consternation of several white visitors, one of whom eventually reported the matter. The beleaguered orderly was again sent to see what could be done about the old man. He was soon back, shaking his head, and saying he had done what he could and could do no more. He was Navajo himself, and when the old man offered to include him in the incantations (and not in a good way), the orderly felt it best not to interfere further with the old man’s magic.

  At the foot of the bed the doctor looked up and, for just an instant, Charlie thought he saw something in his eyes—something that caused him to catch his breath.

  ~~~~~~

  West of Aneth at George Custer’s camp, Harley Ponyboy sat bolt upright in a cold sweat. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and recall the dream. It had been filled with bad images, which even now caused his skin to crawl and his heart to race. He rose and quietly made his way by moonlight far into the outlying cedars, to a place he might find a bit of sage and have a little fire without being seen. Harley Ponyboy was quite a religious person, in his own way. Navajo religion is a rather loose affair at best and may often vary from place to place, and even clan to clan. There is no written protocol in regard to appeasing the gods. The various deities and their involvement in the affairs of man are subject to individual interpretation, for the most part. While there are set guidelines for the ceremonies that deal with particular evils, a private appeal to the gods is a very personal matter, and each person generally must find his own way in the thing.

  Harley Ponyboy knew many of the old prayer songs and even the accepted way in which to approach the deities. His family went back, almost directly, to the first people and had kept all the old traditions alive when others had let them fall by the wayside. If he had, in any way, caused harm to the Yazzie’s baby, he meant to fix it this night.

  Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay had chosen to sleep out beyond the perimeter of the camp, since the weather was good, and neither felt comfortable in the space allotted them at the back of the mess tent. Professor Custer had earlier insisted they bunk in his tent, but both declined, Thomas saying they had spent the better part of their lives sleeping in a brush “summer hogan” in good weather and that is where they slept best.

  Thomas Begay, a light sleeper when sober, lay awake in his blankets but did not follow after Harley Ponyboy when he left the camp. He knew Harley had been worried about Sue and the baby. This was something Harley Ponyboy would have to do alone. Thomas recalled his Uncle John Nez once saying, “A man must sometimes meet with his devils and talk them down to size.” Thomas had no idea what he meant by the saying. Uncle Johnny had fought in Viet Nam and had picked up several unusual ideas over there. Uncle Johnny would have made a good code-talker; if there had been code-talkers in that war.

  When Thomas again woke, it was to the muffled clang of the breakfast triangle. He saw that his friend Harley, was back in his blankets and smelled of sage and wood smoke. His face was streaked with charcoal. The little man wore a faint smile of contentment and snored noisily. Harley Ponyboy had been praying in the only way he knew how; the old way.

  ~~~~~~

  In the end, the umbilical cord was found to be the culprit impeding the birth of Sue and Charlie Yazzie’s baby. It had wrapped around his neck and eventually required several manipulations by the uncertain young doctor. When it finally came, it was indeed a boy and as worn out as its parents. Charlie and Sue were both relieved and revitalized by the sight and cries of their new son—though they had only a glimpse before he was swept away to the ICU.

  Sue would later say, “I knew that baby was doing some flips in there. Maybe I was drinking too much coffee and that’s how he got that cord wrapped around his neck.”

  The doctor smiled, looking somewhat older now, and said, “The baby’s breathing seems a little shallow, and he will require a short time in an incubator until stabilized.” He noted the new parents’ concern. “Not long,” he said, stripping off his mask and gloves and rubbing his jaw with a hand that still shook slightly. Charlie was ushered out of the delivery room after a quick kiss for Sue, who offered up a wan smile in spite of the ordeal.

  The nurse told Charlie she was proud of the way he had held up. After Sue was cleaned up and taken to her new room, she would advise them as to how the new baby should be held and cared for. Charlie somehow resented this and though he had never actually held a baby and didn’t know if Sue had either, he thought it should be a natural enough inclination. He already had seen the doctor hold the child up by the legs and give it a little swat to jumpstart it’s breathing. How far off could he and Sue be from holding it properly?

  When Sue was taken out of the room, the doctor motioned Charlie into the hall and said confidentially, “That baby was in trouble for a while.” He bit his lower lip and went on almost hesitantly, “I was afraid he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.” He chuckled nervously. “I’ve never really had a delivery like this. The baby seemed to be in some sort of struggle, first strong and then weak, as though something was pulling him first one way and then another.” He turned to go, then, over his shoulder, said, “Someone was watching over that baby. That’s for sure.”

  Charlie slumped against the wall for a moment and then we
nt to the end of the long corridor, where he found Lucy Tallwoman and her father alone in the waiting room.

  Lucy smiled guiltily as he came in and said with a sweep of her hand, “I think we might have run a few people off.”

  Her father, who appeared to be dozing, sat up at this. “Well, they missed a good chance to learn something then.” He smiled, nodding his head in Charlie’s direction, “How’s that new baby?”

  Charlie had to smile himself. “He’s fine, or will be soon. They said we could all go in and see them as soon as he’s had a whiff or two of oxygen.”

  “How’s Sue doing?” Lucy stood and touched Charlie’s shoulder. “She was a long time in labor. My dad almost ran out of prayers, I think.”

  Charlie gazed thoughtfully at the old man for a moment, “Well, I’m glad he didn’t. We needed all the help we could get in there.”

  The old man grinned. “That is a fine-looking doctor suit you have there, I wouldn’t mind having one of those for when I make house calls.”

  Later, when the orderly peeked in, he looked only at Charlie and avoided the glare of the old man. “The nurse says you people can come back up to your wife’s room now, if you want. The baby should be along shortly. They said he perked right up in that incubator.”

  Charlie heaved a sigh of relief and thanked the young man.

  Old Paul T’Sosi scowled at the orderly until the young Navajo grew nervous and left the room. When his daughter frowned at him, he gestured at the open doorway. “That boy is in need of some manners when it comes to his elders.”

  As they trooped into Sue’s new room she was already holding her son and smiling and cooing at the small red face. All the statistics were revealed, and Charlie was quite proud of the fact that at eight pounds the baby was the largest born in several days—this according to the head nurse, who seemed a bit proud of him herself. The nurse gently took the baby from Sue and showed Charlie exactly how to hold the infant before passing it over. He gingerly took the child and showed it all around. The baby looked blearily up at Charlie, and a little smile appeared on its tiny lips.