by Amber Foxx
The family with the odd name of Fatty was big-boned and sharp-faced, not fat except for the daughter-in-law, who was huge. Within seconds they were all talking, quizzing Mae on their names, laughing when she tried to pronounce Tsilnothos and even more when she said she hoped she’d heard right that the other last name was Fatty.
Bernadette said, “I met Mae when I was teaching at Coastal Virginia University. She was a guest once in my class on non-Western healing.”
Pearl’s round face looked rounder as her mouth made a little O and her eyes grew wide. “Oh—this is the girl who can see things. The psychic.”
Mae blushed. “Reckon that’s my most famous moment.” She was proud of her gift and yet hesitant to share it. Too many people in the past had misunderstood or mocked her abilities, or distrusted her as Reno had appeared to. As perhaps he should.
Discomfited by the recollection of what she’d almost agreed to do for Misty, Mae sat down beside Bernadette, who gave her a quick side-hug, saying, “I told people other things about you, too.”
“Like, that you’re an aerobics teacher, personal trainer.” Zak ogled Mae’s legs for so long she wished she hadn’t worn shorts. He finally looked up and gave his wife a teasing little shove. In contrast to her obesity, he was cut and hard. He wore a tight white T-shirt and close-fitting jeans, as if he wanted everyone to see that he worked out. Obsessively, Mae thought, from the kind of definition he had. He’d gone past looking fit to looking vain. Zak said to his wife, “Ought to sign up with her while she’s here.”
An awkward silence took over. The next powwow dance began, lively and graceful, done by women and girls in dresses decorated with silvery conical bells.
“This was a healing dance, in its origins,” Elaine said to Mae. “There’s a story about a girl who wanted healing for her father, and she had to go a long way to find help. That dress is like the raindrops she went through on her journey.”
“That’s beautiful.” Mae admired the quick-footed girls and young women. The sound of their jingling dresses was soft and steady, like rain.
“It’s not one of our stories,” Zak said. He was about her age, with a triangular face—high cheekbones, a Roman nose, and a long chin. His small bright eyes seemed to be laughing even when he didn’t smile. When he did, he showed a mouth full of large, crooked teeth. “So Mom could have it wrong.” He elbowed his mother and grinned. “But all this Indian stuff, Mae, just think: it’s all about healing.”
“All about healing?” Had Bernadette mentioned that Mae was a healer, too? She couldn’t tell if Zak was making fun of her, or if that was just his manner of speaking. “All the dances?”
“Healing and partying. We like to party.”
His wife shook her head and rose, clasping their toddlers’ hands, and announced she was taking them to the bathroom. “Don’t mind him,” she said under her breath as she passed Mae.
“It’s a ceremony and a party,” Elaine Fatty explained. “The families of the girls who are in the puberty ceremony cook for everyone. You can come to the feast after the powwow.”
“I’d like that,” Mae said. Jamie hadn’t told her they could eat there. He was vegan, though, so maybe he couldn’t. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry you missed the beginning this morning,” Bernadette said. “It’s beautiful when the big tipi goes up. The men of the families put it up. Then the girls and their godmothers do a blessing with pollen, especially for the mothers with young children.”
“I should have been there.” Mae still thought of herself as a mother. “I could have used that blessing.”
Watching Zak’s wife waddle down the bleacher steps with her little boy and girl, Mae hoped this woman had been blessed. She needed it, with that husband.
“You think it’d work on you?” Zak asked. “You’ve been here ten minutes and you believe in Apache religion?”
Don’t mind him. Mae tried not to, but he irritated her.
“It’s a strong blessing,” Bernadette continued. “There’s a lot of power coming into the girls now. They can heal people the last day, when they come out in the morning for the end of the ceremonies, just for that time. They become White-Painted Woman, part of our origin story.”
“That’s so wonderful.” Mae felt a touch of envy for these girls, growing up in a culture where healing gifts were seen as special and yet normal. “Seems like when I turned thirteen all I got was Mama telling me to stay out of trouble.”
Zak snickered. “Did you?”
He might be Bernadette’s relative, but Mae had a hard time not snapping when she answered. “Mostly.”
The jingle dress dance ended, the sparse audience applauded, and the emcee announced, “A veterans’ honor song. All the veterans, and all the active duty service men and women, we honor you here. Indians, non-Indians, families who lost your warriors, you’re all invited to dance.”
Bernadette’s brother ran down the steps of the bleachers to join the other dancers in the arena. The singers raised their voices, and the drummers kept a driving beat on the big drum. While some of the veterans shuffled, Michael Pena stepped high, as if he danced often and loved it. Though he had to be close to sixty, he had the slim fit body and the energy of a much younger man.
Zak rose slowly and took his time going down, but once he started dancing, he grew wild, like he was letting out a hidden storm. Michael was elegant in comparison, and Mae mentioned that she thought he was a good dancer. His older daughter said they had gone to a lot of powwows wherever they were stationed, and then asked, looking around at the rest of the family, “Zak’s never been on active duty, has he? Did he join the reserves?”
Pearl and Elaine exchanged glances. “He tried the Army for a while,” Elaine said finally. “He’s not a war veteran or anything, though. He had ... an administrative discharge.”
“What’d he do?” the other teenager asked. “I know that’s not like dishonorable, but it’s not honorable, either.”
Silence. The girls looked at each other and back at Elaine, who made a low, sweeping gesture that clearly meant we won’t talk about this any further. “Zak messed up, but he was trying to be honorable. That’s all you need to know.”
Mae’s dislike of Zak picked up a layer of distrust as well. His mama’s trying to hide what he did.
By the time the powwow ended and the feast was set up at tables in the center of the arena, Jamie still hadn’t arrived. Mae wished he was there. He was so much better at mingling than she was, and he knew a lot of people already. Bernadette kept introducing her to more friends and relatives as they lined up at the serving table, filling paper plates and bowls from the heaping salads, steaming pots of stew, home-made pies, and platters of puffy fry bread. The talk was cheerful and joking as the family went through the line. Mae did her best to remember who they all were, but the sheer volume of names and faces was too much to keep track of. She followed the group to a long table inside the arbor and sat on the end of the bench across from Zak’s wife and the couple’s children.
“I’m kind of embarrassed,” Mae said, “but I forgot y’all’s names. I met so many people.”
“Melody. And this is Dean, and Deanna.” Melody took a plastic knife from Dean’s small fist as he started to saw at his sister’s fingers with it. Deanna made a face and stuck her fingers in ketchup, rubbed it on the place her brother had been cutting and laughed. “Twins. The terrible twos going on three.”
“I got twin stepdaughters. I’m divorced from their daddy. Still see ’em, though. They were a handful at that age.”
Melody, wiping Deanna’s hand clean, gave no sign that she’d heard.
Mae tried again. “If you need a hand with the young’uns while I’m here, let me know. I’d enjoy it, and I’m good with two at a time.”
“Zak’s supposed to step up.” Melody bit into a hunk of fry bread, her eyes following her children’s every move. “We’ll see.”
During the powwow, Dean and Deanna had made a fuss when Melody stopp
ed them from taking soda cans from her cooler and rolling them down the bleachers. Though both children were throwing tantrums, Zak had done nothing, as if they weren’t even his kids. The Pena teenagers had helped out instead, taking the children off for a walk.
Mae found herself at a loss for any further small talk. Melody hadn’t made eye contact and didn’t speak again except for occasional words of mild discipline to her twins. Maybe Zak’s pointing out Mae’s fitness compared with his wife’s lack of it had put up a wall between them.
When she’d almost finished her meal, Mae finally thought of a new approach. “Are you Misty Chino’s sister?” There was so little resemblance between the two women, the connection hadn’t occurred to Mae until now. “Reno Geronimo said her sister was married to one of Bernadette’s cousins.”
“That’s me.” Melody took a bite of stew and a sip of soda, still focused on her children. Her silence felt thick and immovable.
Mae missed Jamie even more. He could talk to anyone, though he might say something like Jeezus, what in bloody hell’s the matter with you? She looked for Bernadette and spotted her in the middle of a noisy crowd, swallowed up by her extended family. Mae finished eating quickly and excused herself to take a walk. This wasn’t her family reunion. Maybe the best thing to do was stop trying to be part of it and enjoy the event as a tourist. She could catch up with Bernadette later.
“Don’t get kidnapped by wild Indians,” Zak called after her, and his relatives laughed. If the joke had come from anyone else, Mae would have been amused by it, too.
She passed the big tipi and saw that Reno was at his father’s booth now, with two boys of around ten and twelve—probably younger brothers—as well as Orville and his uncle. The whole group sat in folding chairs behind the counter, the adults watching passersby and the boys playing a fast-paced card game. Given their age, Mae was surprised it wasn’t electronic. Lonnie and Orville rose as Mae approached.
“This lady,” said the elder, “needs something warm. It gets cold here at night. We’d better sell her a sweatshirt.”
After her uncomfortable time with Melody, Mae was happy to encounter someone friendly. “Thanks. I got warm stuff in my car.”
Reno slipped out and went down one of the aisles of booths without acknowledging Mae or excusing himself to his family. Orville watched him go. “I don’t know what’s got into him.”
The old man took down one of the handprint images and showed it to Mae. “You like these? This is how the medicine man sees. Holding his hand up to the sunrise.”
Seeing with one’s hands. It was a perfect image for how she—and other healers and seers—could access their gifts through touch. “I do. Very much.”
He smiled knowingly. “I thought you would.”
Did that mean he knew what she could do? Mae wasn’t sure what to say, but her curiosity and confusion must have shown, because Orville said, “I called Niall to ask about my ex-wife. He told me how he quit smoking. He’s pretty amazed. I never heard him sound like this. It’s not like him to talk about himself. So my uncle and I have been talking about you.”
The older of the two boys, who somewhat resembled Orville, looked up. “Lonnie’s a retired medicine man.”
“Not quite retired.” Lonnie glanced back at the boy. “I still help people. I just don’t do the ceremonies here anymore since I married a woman from Nambe Pueblo a couple of years ago. She’s younger, still working, so we live there now.”
Mae found this charming, though unexpected. Stooped, ancient Lonnie was practically a newlywed, with a wife below retirement age. Maybe he didn’t feel like he was eighty or so. There was a sparkle in him. “Is she here with you?”
“No. She hates camping.”
“I can’t blame her. Daddy took me camping once when I was little and I loved being outside all day but the nights were awful. I didn’t take to the tent too well, or not having a shower or a bathroom.”
“I’ve got a nice little Winnebago, but she says that’s still too rough for her.”
Orville chuckled, “She needs a break from you, that’s what it is. She just tells you she hates camping.”
Customers came up to look at T-shirts, requiring Orville and Lonnie’s attention, so Mae said goodbye and wandered down a side aisle of the vending area, idly browsing at a jewelry booth, paying little attention to what was in front of her. She’d met so many people, she needed to sort them out in her head. Bernadette’s cousin Elaine’s son Zak is married to Misty’s sister Melody. Reno’s great-uncle is a medicine man. Where was Orville’s second wife, Reno’s mother? No one mentioned her. The two younger boys were playing at the back of the booth, as if there weren’t a second parent to keep an eye on them. Maybe Orville was like Mae, twice-divorced. No, Niall had said the second marriage had lasted.
As Mae lingered, the vendor behind the table smiled. “You can pick them up. Try things on.”
“Thanks. They’re beautiful, but I don’t want to make you think I’m gonna buy anything.”
The man smiled. “Nothing? A pretty lady needs jewelry.”
“I’m a poor college student.”
Footsteps crunched on the dirt and gravel beside her, and one of the approaching feet kicked a plastic foam cup.
“Poor college student,” Zak said. “What are you studying?”
Mae picked up the cup and put it in a trash can. “Exercise Science.”
“Good. So you’re not an anthropologist. You’re not studying us.”
Was that why he’d made fun of her interest in healing? “No.”
“Except for a select few.” He stood too close by her side. “Eh?”
“I am sure not studying you.”
“Hot Native guy? Come on.”
Did he think all white women wanted some trophy Indian, or was this more of his joking? “I have a boyfriend, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be interested in a married man. Or in you at all.”
“Wow.” Zak grinned. “I made an impression.”
“Not a good one.”
“Sit down. Give me a minute.” He nodded toward the benches in front of a food stand selling Navajo tacos—mutton and green chile on fry bread. With the feast going on, the booth was idle except for one person buying a cold drink. “I’m sorry if I pissed you off. I’m better than you think.”
“Really?”
“Ask that old man you were talking to.” Zak dropped onto the bench and propped an ankle on his thigh. He leaned back against the red-and-white-checked, plastic-coated counter, spreading his impressively defined arms along it and slouching just enough to look like a model posing—as long as he kept his mouth shut and didn’t show his crooked teeth. “Lonnie Bigmouth. Ask him.”
“I hardly know him. I just met him.”
“And you just met me, too. What have you got against me?”
She worked in a gym. She knew his type. Conceited, arrogant men, obsessed with their perfect bodies. She couldn’t say that, of course, but he’d been rude to his wife and ignored his children. “I didn’t like how you told Melody to sign up with me as a trainer. I mean, you couldn’t have meant it—I’m only here for four days. It was like you were nagging her in front of everybody. I think it hurt her feelings. I tried to be friendly with her later and she wouldn’t say much to me.”
“Oh—and that’s my fault?”
“It might have been.”
“I bet you nag your boyfriend.”
“I try not to. If I do, he either laughs at me or bites my head off.” Zak’s comment about anthropologists studying him suggested he knew Stan Ellerbee. “Maybe you know him. Jamie Ellerbee.”
“He’s your boyfriend?” Zak made a face as if thinking so hard it hurt. “Seriously? That’s a hard pair to put together. How long have you been seeing him?”
Without the preface, the question would have been normal and friendly. With it, Zak came across as questioning the relationship, which annoyed her even more than his flirting had. “I met him last summer. He can tell you t
he rest.”
“Don’t you want to talk about it? He didn’t come here last year. Catch me up on things.”
She didn’t want to. Jamie had been struggling in so many ways that past summer. If he wanted Zak to know his story, he could share it. It was possible they were friends—Jamie had a strange affinity for assholes—but it was also possible they were only acquaintances. She kept the news about Jamie superficial. “We’ve been friends for a year or so but we’ve only been dating for a little over a month.”
“So it’s not serious yet.”
Zak seemed to have migrated in her direction, though Mae hadn’t seen him move. She put her hands on the bench and inched away. “Serious enough.”
He said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her, his gaze directed down the aisle toward a pottery booth. The vendors, a short young Indian couple, were talking with a slim, dark-skinned woman in tight, tattered jeans, old cowgirl boots, and a Western hat atop an explosion of wavy black hair. Her skin-tight tank top revealed a firm, shapely figure and a full gallery of tattoos. A tiger, an elephant, a monkey and a snake paraded down one arm and the same menagerie climbed back up the other in reverse order.
Zak stood and tucked his shirt in snug. “I’ll catch you and Baldy later.”
Mae wanted to ask why in the world he’d called Jamie Baldy—his hair was one of his most conspicuous features—but Zak was already in motion.
He sauntered over to the tattooed cowgirl and struck up a quiet conversation. The woman’s body language suggested she didn’t mind. Unlike Mae, she didn’t move away, but looked up into his face. As the woman turned profile, Mae saw that she was older than Zak, probably in her late thirties, with a little gold stud in the side of her nose, a decoration that suited her South Asian features. She wasn’t a great beauty, with a small chin and too-large eyes and a blunt nose, giving her the look of a nocturnal animal, but she carried herself as if she felt beautiful, smiling with the confidence of a woman who feels admired. The opposite of Melody.
