The Wind in His Heart

by Charles de Lint

  Ruby looked at her but didn’t even bother to lift her head.

  Sadie walked over to the computer. She wondered how far it was to civilization. Maybe she could take off, sell the computer to somebody for a quick few bucks... Oh, who was she kidding? Even if she got back to the city, she had nowhere to go. She was stuck out here in the middle of the sticks until she could figure out more than just running away. Because the problem with running was, you needed to have somewhere to run to.

  All she knew for sure was she wouldn’t be going home again. Who knew where the hell Reggie would dump her the next time.

  She sat down and opened the computer. Once it woke up, she called up a browser.

  Yeah, she was stuck here. But until she came up with a way out, she could at least find out who Steve really was and why he was hiding out in the mountains. She knew just where to start.

  She typed a string of words into the browser’s search bar: Sadie. Texas. Death penalty.

  4

  Thomas

  Working at Little Tree Trading Post, there was no way Thomas would ever be able to save enough money to get away from the rez. His boss, Reuben Little Tree, couldn’t afford to pay much, but the little Thomas did earn had to cover living expenses for the whole Corn Eyes family. Mom and Auntie. Two sisters. A little brother.

  He had no other jobs except for the one at the school, but that was volunteer work since he didn’t have a degree. But he liked kids, so he did it anyway. He couldn’t move to the city because even if he could get a job, there’d still be nobody here to take care of the family.

  Which meant Thomas was never getting out of this place.

  He leaned on the counter now and stared out the window. He did that a lot. The prickly pear had shifted again since the woman had driven off in her Caddy. That made him think of her raven aura, and that made him think about this ability he had to see into the spiritworld.

  Maybe he should go talk to Ramon Morago. For all he knew, a shaman’s apprentice got a salary. Though if he committed to studying with the shaman, he knew he’d really never get out of here.

  The doves and quail out in the parking lot scattered suddenly as Reuben’s pickup pulled in, dragging a cloud of dust behind it. It was early October and the rains would be coming soon, but right now the land was bone dry. You couldn’t even walk without kicking up dust.

  Thomas went out to help Reuben unload.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Reuben asked as they brought the last load of dry goods and dairy inside.

  Thomas shrugged. “I promised my sisters I’d take them to some thrift shops in the city, if Ben will lend me his truck.”

  “You can borrow mine if he’s using his.”

  Thomas’s spirits lifted a little. He loved driving Reuben’s pickup. Taking it all the way to Santo del Vado Viejo would be a fun adventure for a change.

  “Thanks.”

  They busied themselves restocking the shelves and cooler.

  “There’s going to be a sweat on Saturday,” Reuben said. “Over by Aggie’s place. You should come.”

  Thomas shook his head. “You know I don’t do stuff like that.”

  Reuben regarded him for a long moment, then just shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t figure you out,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You come from one of the most traditional families on the rez—you know your Aunt Lucy was Morago’s spiritual advisor, right?”

  Thomas shook his head. Lucy was Auntie’s sister. They were both his mother’s aunts, not his, and he didn’t know much about her since she’d died when he was still a little kid. He knew her sister Leila—whom everybody just called Auntie—better, but not by much. Leila had turned ninety-eight this past summer, and spent her days sitting on the porch looking at the mountains. She told stories and handed out advice whether it was asked for or not, but she never talked about herself.

  “I didn’t think women could be shamans,” he said.

  “They don’t have to be. Women’s magic is more powerful in our people—always has been.”

  Thomas just looked at him.

  “You’re a good kid,” Reuben said. “You’re responsible, you take care of your family, you help out at the school. But sometimes I get the feeling you’re embarrassed about being a Kikimi.”

  “You think I should be running out in the desert with your dog boys.”

  Reuben waved that off. “I get it’s not for everybody. Some of us run in a pack, some are lone wolves. Whatever turns your crank. I’m just curious as to why you don’t want anything to do with our traditions.” He held up a hand before Thomas could even think about how to respond. “But if you want to tell me to mind my own business, that’s fine. No hard feelings.”

  Thomas sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Thomas put a last bag of sugar on the shelf and stood up. He looked out the window to the dusty parking lot, the scrub brush on the other side of the road, the foothills, the mountains rising up behind them. Finally he turned back to Reuben. “I feel trapped here,” he said. “There’s more to the world than these dry hills and dust, but I feel like I’m never going to see it.”

  “Because you have to take care of your family.”

  Thomas nodded. “That. And no offense, because I appreciate this job, but there’s no way I can put enough aside working here to get a travelling stake. I’m stuck in this place.”

  Reuben laughed, but he stopped right away when Thomas began to bristle.

  “You think you’re the only one to feel that way?” Reuben asked. “I left the rez when I was sixteen and spent the next ten years seeing the world until I realized the thing I was looking for was right here.”

  “You? But you’re—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Warrior Society. Out beating the drum for all our traditions to anyone who’ll listen. But once upon a time I was a punk whose only dream was to get as far away as I could from here.”

  Thomas didn’t know what to say.

  “I wouldn’t even be telling you all of this,” Reuben went on, “except I know you’re not like a lot of kids. You’ve got something—in here.” He brought a closed fist up against his chest. “A connection to this place. To the spirits. And I guess I just want to tell you that you don’t have to be afraid of it. Embrace that connection, even just to try it on for size. You could surprise yourself. You could fall in love with this place, the same as me. And if nothing happens, or you don’t like what you’re feeling…” He shrugged. “Well, you can still just walk away from it all.”

  Thomas returned his gaze to the stark landscape beyond the windowpane. It was weird how Reuben’s words echoed those of the woman with the raven aura.

  “Except I don’t want to be a shaman,” he said. He glanced at Reuben, who raised his eyebrows.

  “Who says you have to be?” Reuben asked when Thomas didn’t go on.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “You see those cacti out there?”

  “The prickly pear?”

  Thomas nodded. “Every morning when I come here, they’re in a different position.”

  “Yeah,” Reuben said. “Those prickly pear boys don’t try all that hard to go unnoticed.”

  “Seriously?” Thomas said. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “What am I supposed to say? I know you see things other people don’t. I watch your eyes track things only people like you and I see.”

  “Exactly.”

  Reuben gave him a puzzled look. “I’m not following. What’s your point?”

  “Kikimi who see stuff like that end up as shaman. Or one of your dog boys.”

  Reuben smiled. “Well, at least you don’t go through life in denial like Steve Cole.”

  “The old desert rat?”

  “He’s not that old.”

  “Come on. He might be even older than you.”

  Reuben’s smile widened and he shook his head. “Some parts of being eighteen, I
forget.”

  “Okay,” Thomas asked. “So neither of you is old. But what about Cole?”

  “He’s been living outside of the world for the past forty years and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “You mean he sees stuff too?”

  “You bet. But mostly, he just takes it in and carries on as though everything’s normal. He doesn’t even realize how special that spot is, where he’s camped.

  “But he’s not even Kikimi.”

  “You don’t have to be Kikimi to see spirits or to walk in their lands.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Sounds like there’s a lot you don’t know.”

  “I...”

  Thomas’s voice trailed off. He took a steadying breath.

  “So what time does this sweat start?” he finally asked.

  5

  Steve

  I think about my conversation with Aggie as I follow the ridge trail from her place down into the rez and finally to the Painted Lands Community Center, which also houses both the school and Morago’s office. The whole time I’m walking, I can’t get one comment out of my head.

  Be careful. Fox girls are tricksters.

  What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I can’t see any reason why Aggie’d go warning me about Calico. It throws me a bit, then I remember she added that antelope are loyal, so I’m probably okay. I hope she’s right.

  I have to admit that when Calico first showed up, I thought I was having some crazy LSD flashback. Even having heard plenty of campfire stories on the rez about ma’inawo, or ‘cousins,’ it took me a while to accept not only Calico’s presence, but how she took such a personal interest in me. Personal is an understatement. That girlfriend of mine’s horny as a jackrabbit and not the least bit shy to let you know about it. She’s another piece of the beauty in this wild land, and I love it all the more for her part in it. I just wanted to hold on to our privacy. Sadie spouted off to Aggie, but I hope it doesn’t go any further. Like any small place, people on the rez love nothing more than to toss around some juicy gossip, so it travels fast.

  * * *

  The community center is a long low adobe building. It looks like every time they needed more space, they just added another few rooms on, which is exactly the case. Mesquite and palo verde cluster near the walls, with one old uncle saguaro and the usual mess of prickly pear and brush.

  I pause at the glass front doors and try to clear my head before I go inside.

  Janet’s at the front desk, looking at something on her computer screen.

  “Ohla, Steve,” she says.

  “Hey, Janet. Is Morago in?”

  “Are you kidding?” she says. “Sometimes I think he lives in that office of his. There’s nobody with him right now.”

  “Thanks.”

  I can hear kids playing in the gym as I follow the hall to Morago’s office. He’s the tribal shaman, but he also runs the whole center and the dorm down the road, where the kids who don’t have homes live. It’s mostly other tribes in the dorm—Yaqui, Apache, Tohono O'odham—with a handful of Mexican kids who lost their parents crossing the desert and don’t have families on this side of the border. They’re supposed to be sent back, but Morago’s got a way of bending the rules if it’s better for the kid.

  He’s on the phone when I step into his office, and he waves me to a chair. The furniture’s all mission style, solid and dependable, softened with pillows and rugs in bright Kikimi patterns. It feels more like a traditional home than an office, if you ignore the modern gear. Computer, printer, fancy phone.

  Morago’s pureblooded Kikimi, but he doesn’t look it. Where most of the tribe members have wide faces and carry some weight, he’s lean, with piercing amber eyes and narrow chiseled features, and his hair is a deep russet colour. I remember asking him about it once and he said he thought a few generations back one of his ancestors was probably a red-tailed hawk.

  I laughed at the time. Now, thinking about Aggie’s comment about cousins stopping in for a visit, and I’m not so sure anymore.

  Morago finishes up his conversation with an “Ohla” and hangs up. In Kikimi, ohla means both ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye.’

  I get an “Ohla” too, then he asks, “And how are you today, He Who Walks With the Moonlight?”

  “Feeling stupid. And stop trying to give me one of your phony made-up Indian names.”

  Every time I see him he’s got a new one for me. My favourite is Pisses Like a Horse. Is it my fault I’ve got a big bladder?

  “Feeling stupid’s a good way to start a journey into wisdom,” he says.

  “No, it’s just because of something Aggie told me: that some of the people I meet out in the hills aren’t necessarily human.”

  Morago smiles. “And you’re only figuring that out now?”

  “Jesus. Don’t you start.”

  Morago spreads his hands. “The world is what it is.” He waits a beat before adding, “Is that what you came to talk to me about?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then it must be about the white girl you left at Aggie’s place.”

  “How the hell could you know that?”

  He nods to the window. On the other side of the glass, a couple of crows are perched on a low-hanging branch of a mesquite tree that’s almost touching the pane.

  “The crows were gossiping about it,” he says.

  Aggie’s got me so rattled that I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He’s always coming out with crap like that. The difference now is, I’m actually wondering if it’s true.

  I decide to ignore it and tell him what I know about Sadie.

  “You sure it’s a good idea?” he asks when I’m done. “The kids are all getting along right now, but they still hang out with their own tribe or race. She’ll be the only white kid.”

  “Aggie says it’s okay for Sadie to stay at her place for now.”

  “Okay. And you’re sure she’s serious about studying? We’ve only just gotten Olivia to stop acting out. I don’t know that we need another source of disruption right now.”

  “Maybe you could have a talk with her—judge the situation for yourself? I mean, she’s got nothing to go back to.”

  “Yeah, but is anybody going to come looking for her?” he asks.

  “What do you think? Her old man threw her away like garbage.”

  Morago sighs. “The problem is, lots of people throw things away and then decide later they want to keep them after all.”

  “Sadie’s a person, not a thing.”

  “I know that. It’s just that the Indian and Mexican kids—we can be sure nobody’s coming for them. Their parents are dead, or in jail, or meth heads who can’t string a couple of thoughts together. Sadie’s father sounds like a monster, but he’s still in the picture, as it were. Trouble starts with her, it could blow back on everybody.”

  “Just tell me you’ll talk to her and think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  “Of course I’ll talk to her. Hell, if you really want her in, just say the word.”

  I shake my head. “When we started this I said no strings attached. You’re the guy in charge.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “We can’t go down that road,” I tell him. “She either gets in on her own merit and your say-so, or I start looking for other options.” I stand up. “And I’ll know if you’re bullshitting me.”

  “You always do. You heading home? Aunt Nora puts on a great spread for the kids. You could eat with us.”

  “No, I need to get back to my place and think about all of this.”

  I’m about to turn away, except Morago’s holding my gaze and I find I can’t look away.

  “Don’t look at this new knowledge as something that’s going to mess up your life. Look at it as finding a deeper understanding of the worlds you’re living in.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Instead of answering, he asks, “You’re going home by the ridge trail?”

  I n
od.

  “Do me a favour when you get back to the trailer. Pull out a map and measure the distance from here to Painted Cloud Canyon.”

  “I know how far it is. I’ve walked it a thousand times. It takes me about an hour.”

  He nods. “I know. But humour me. Look at a map when you get back.”

  “You don’t have to do the cryptic shaman crap with me.”

  “I’m not. But if you have any questions later, you know where to find me.”

  I am so not enjoying this day.

  “Fine,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “Ohla, brother.”

  He’s got a smile you can’t resist. No matter what’s going on—how pissed off you might be about something, or how bummed—you can’t help but respond.

  I’m still grinning when I give Janet a goodbye wave and head out the front door of the community center.

  * * *

  Once I’m climbing up into the foothills behind the rez, I decide to time myself. I get a reading from the sun and start walking. It’s steep going until I reach the ridge trail. The sky is cloudless and the sun is unrelenting. I pick up a trio of turkey buzzards once I’m on the trail, all three drifting in lazy circles high above me as I head north. I wish I were up there with them. The heat bouncing off the rocks and dirt makes it twice as hot down here as where they are.

  We didn’t have our usual furnace of a summer, but the fall’s been making up for it with day after day of unseasonably hot weather. Usually the rains have come by now, cooling everything down, but we haven’t had any water since the spring monsoons.

  I keep to a steady pace. It gives me plenty of time to think.

  I don’t know what Morago’s game is. Possum showed me this trail back when we first met, and like I told Morago, I’ve been walking it ever since. I know every foot of it, every view. I don’t see how tracing it out on a map is going to tell me something I don’t already know. But Morago’s always been there for me—for me and Possum. He’s seen us through a lot of crap. Hell, I’ve probably known him longer than I have anybody else I can think of, on or off the rez, because we go back to long before I got to the Painted Hills. So I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and accept that he’s got a good reason for his strange request.