The Wind in His Heart

by Charles de Lint

“Sammy’s just jumped on this bandwagon,” Reuben goes on, “because we gave him a hard time about one of his hunters. And his story doesn’t even fit with what the father told you, so what the hell are we doing here?”

  “I need to—”

  “What happened to the father anyway?” I ask. “I thought you’d pulled him in.”

  “I did. I brought him here and then had a deputy from the sheriff’s department drive him home.”

  “And then you hooked up with Sammy.”

  “I didn’t ‘hook up’ with him. He went into the sheriff’s department and they asked me to round you up.”

  “Of course they did,” Reuben says. “So they’ve got you jumping through their hoops.”

  Jerry sighs. “I know the story he’s telling doesn’t add up. But Sammy’s also a respected businessman and if he makes an accusation like this, and it involves a minor, we have to look into it.”

  “I’m a respected businessman too,” Reuben says, “but I guess a casino trumps a trading post any day of the week.”

  “It’s not like that and you know it.”

  “Maybe. But I’m in here answering your questions while he’s not.”

  “He already gave his statement to the sheriff’s department.”

  “So we do the same with you,” Reuben says, “and we walk out of here?”

  “I wish it was that simple.”

  “I’ve got twenty of my dog boys will tell you where I was Thursday night.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Jerry says. “But to anybody off the rez, they’re going to think your boys vouching for you might seem a little biased, and Steve’s saying he was out alone in the desert all night. We’re going to need more corroboration than just his word.”

  He looks from me back to Reuben. “You have to understand,” he says. “Break a kidnapping case, deliver a solid arrest to the DA’s Office, bring the victim in safe—that all looks good on a cop’s record, doesn’t matter if you’re with the feds, the sheriff’s department, or even the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Everybody’s looking for a promotion.”

  “What about the tribal police?” Reuben asks. “They feel the same way?”

  Jerry shrugs. “The chief does.”

  “What about you?”

  Jerry gets a faraway look in his eyes. “You know what the happiest time in my life was? When I was herding sheep on my grandfather’s land. That was after Dad took off to follow the rodeo circuit, and me and my little sister Annie and my mom moved in with her parents. I missed my dad, but God, did I love living out on that ranch. We never had much of anything, but we grew squash and corn and beans, and ran those sheep, and we made do. I didn’t start school until I was ten, and I thought I was going to die when they took me out from under those painted skies.”

  “And your point is?” Reuben says.

  I put a hand on Reuben’s forearm. “Let him finish.”

  This is a side of Jerry I never knew, but I totally understand. Once you’ve lived out in those dusty hills, you never want to leave. If I lost what I have here, my heart would break and I don’t think it would ever recover.

  “Mom loved her parents,” Jerry says. “Respected them, too, but she wanted more for Annie and me. We were always a traditional family, but she pushed me to become a cop and that’s why I’m here today. I can’t stand with either the traditionals or the casino crowd because, to do my job properly, I can’t take sides.”

  “So?” Reuben says. “What’s that mean for us?”

  “It means I take the job seriously. It means that if the sheriff’s department needs to talk to the pair of you, I’ll make sure that happens. Just like I plan to interview Sammy myself. What’s important to me is that we get to the bottom of what’s going on here, not that somebody gets to score points. I don’t care if it’s you boys sniping at Sammy, or Sammy sniping at you. I don’t care about anybody bucking for a promotion. That’s not what this is about. It’s about a teenage girl and what’s happened to her.”

  Reuben slaps a palm on the desk. “And I’m telling you—we don’t have anything to do with her.”

  That’s not entirely true, at least it’s not true for me. I get where Jerry’s coming from. It’s commendable that he puts his concerns for Sadie first. But I happen to know that none of it holds up. Not what her father says, not what Sammy claims he saw. Because I know Sadie’s in no danger. She’s way safer than she was with that piece of shit father.

  “I can’t go talking to the sheriff’s department or the FBI,” I say.

  Jerry nods. “Look, I know something brought you to these hills and I’ve never asked what, or looked into it, because you’ve been a good member of the community. But I need you to step up now. You need to face up to whatever the hell you’re running from and help me. There’s a young girl’s life at stake.”

  “I’m not living here because I broke any laws.”

  Jerry shrugs. “Granddad used to say this is an unforgiving land, but one where you can find forgiveness. Come with an open heart, live here long enough, and the sun and the desert will burn away anything you might have carried with you when you came.”

  “Some things can’t be forgiven,” I tell him.

  Jerry gives me a sympathetic look. I buy his sincerity, but he’s got it all wrong.

  “What did you do, Steve?”

  “I didn’t do anything. It’s what I let happen, and if I talk to your cop friends, it’ll all come back on me.”

  “So you’re an accessory.”

  “Not in the sense that you’re thinking,” I say. “It had nothing to do with the law.”

  “The girl—”

  “I told you the truth. I was in the desert. Reuben and I didn’t take her. If I were you, I’d be asking the hard questions of her old man.”

  I push my chair back and stand up.

  “Sit down,” Jerry says.

  “No, I’m done here.”

  “Don’t make me put you in a cell.”

  “You really think a cell can hold me?”

  I can see him remembering how Calico and I just appeared out of nowhere back at the community center parking lot.

  “Don’t do this,” he says. “I can help you.”

  His hand is edging toward his holster.

  “Look,” I tell him. “Let’s cut the bullshit. You know the same as us that if we go to the other cops, we’re already guilty. All they’ll see is some desert rat, an Indian, and an easy solution to their problem. They’re not going to listen to us, and you won’t be able to do one damn thing to help us.”

  “I can’t let you walk out of here,” Jerry says. His hand drops to his gun handle, but before he can pull it out, Reuben is over on his side of the table pressing one hand on Jerry’s shoulder so that he stops him from drawing his gun, and keeps him sitting at the table. Dog boys might not be ma’inawo but they’re still faster and stronger than any normal person. I can see Jerry struggle but it’s no use. He gets his free hand up where Reuben’s holding his shoulder, but he might as well try to pick up his patrol car as pull off that grip.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Jerry says. “That’s resisting arrest. You say you’ve got nothing to hide, so why are you throwing everything away to go on the run?”

  Reuben bends his head close to Jerry’s.

  “There are two worlds,” Reuben says. “You know that, same as me. What you’re trying to do here is make a man from one world obey the rules of another, and that’s not going to happen. In my world, a man doesn’t do what he knows is wrong just because somebody else tells him to. If you want to stick your nose up Sammy’s shitty ass, that’s your business, but you don’t get to drag us up there with you.”

  Jerry tries to lunge out of the chair but he still can’t move under Reuben’s grip. “You sonovabitch!” he yells. “This has got nothing to do with Sammy.”

  “No?” Reuben says. “Then maybe we should all go have a conversation with him and see what he’s got to say.”

  Reuben look
s pointedly at me. “Steve,” he says.

  I sit there for a moment, then I get it. I come around the desk, grab Reuben’s bicep, and he steps us all away into the otherworld. Jerry’s chair doesn’t come with us, and he falls down on his ass in the dirt. He recovers quickly and stands up, his hand going back to the butt of his gun, except it’s not there anymore.

  Reuben snagged it from its holster when we crossed over. Popping the ammo clip, he tosses the clip away into the brush. He checks the gun chamber for a round. Satisfied that it’s empty, he hands it back to Jerry.

  “Okay,” Reuben says. “Let’s go talk to Sammy.”

  Jerry looks around us and I understand his confusion. The tribal police station is gone. Everything he knows is gone. All he can see is miles and miles of desert scrub.

  He stands up, stares at his useless gun for a moment, then holsters it and brushes the dust off his jeans. “Where the hell are we?” he asks. His tone is even, but it’s plain that he’s seriously pissed off, especially about losing his dignity.

  “You shouldn’t have to ask,” Reuben says, “but this is my world.” He spreads his hands. “We do things differently here. A man’s measured on the weight of his word and what he does. So this is where we’ll talk to Sammy.”

  “That’s not going to change anything.”

  Reuben nods. “Then we’re done. Let’s get going, Steve.”

  “Wait!” Jerry says. “You can’t just leave me here.”

  “Why not?” Reuben asks. He sounds genuinely interested. “You were going to turn us over to the sheriff’s department and wash your hands of us. How’s this any different?”

  “I didn’t go out and—” Jerry starts, then he breaks off.

  “Kidnap some little white girl?” Reuben finishes for him.

  Jerry drops his gaze and Reuben looks at me. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Guess it’s different when the Indian’s got deep pockets. He can just make shit up and all his little toadies run around and make sure the chips fall the way he wants them to.”

  “You know it’s not like that. It’s just standard procedure to interview persons of interest in a situation like this.”

  “Will you listen to what you’re saying? Why don’t you use plain language instead of trying to cover up your bullshit with cop jargon?”

  “I’m not—”

  “And like I said, I didn’t see Sammy in the tribal police station.”

  “I already told you. He was interviewed by the sheriff’s department earlier.”

  “Yeah, and you took our story from us.”

  “They still want to talk to you.”

  Reuben nods. “Fine. We’ll be here waiting for them.”

  Jerry wipes his brow with his palm then looks to me for help.

  I keep my features bland.

  “You backed the wrong Indian this time, Jerry,” Reuben says, his eyes hard with anger. “And don’t think I’ll forget your playing at believing us. That grandfather of yours would be ashamed to see what kind of man you’ve become.”

  It’s a low blow and I see it hit home.

  “The world’s not black and white,” Jerry says. “Sometimes you have to make compromises for the greater good.”

  Reuben waves a hand. “There aren’t any greys in my world—stick around here long enough and you’ll figure that out.”

  “Take me back,” Jerry tells him. “We can talk about principles when that girl is safe.”

  Reuben nods. “Yeah, she’s the greater good. I’d expect as much from an apple like you.”

  Red on the outside, white on the inside.

  Jerry’s eyes flare with anger. He takes a swing that Reuben easily avoids. It puts Jerry off balance. Reuben gives him a little extra momentum, pushing him with the sole of his boot, and Jerry’s on his ass in the sand again.

  I’m feeling bad. This has gotten way out of hand. But if Jerry knew what I know, maybe he’d understand. I’m looking out for Sadie too. But I’m not going down just because Sammy’s got a bone to pick with me. And I’m sure as hell not going to talk to any other lawmen.

  Reuben points his finger at Jerry while he’s still sitting in the sand. “Black and white,” he says. “Right or wrong. In this place, there’s no in between.”

  Jerry gets to his feet. I almost expect him to have another go at Reuben, but instead he keeps his distance. For the second time he brushes the sand and dirt from his pants. He still looks angry but there’s a wariness in his eyes as well, like he just realized what a deep hole he’s gone and dug for himself. I can see it plainly. He can’t get out of here without our help. He’s not even sure we’re going to let him try to find a way on his own.

  But he’s a cop and he’s tough—he has to be, to deal with some of the rougher elements on the rez—so he puts on a brave face. “Must be nice to be so sure of yourself,” he says.

  “I have to be,” Reuben tells him. “I’m the tribe’s war leader. I might make mistakes, but when I make a decision, I have to believe it’s the right one. I have to believe it’s the only one.”

  “Well, I don’t have that luxury,” Jerry says. “I have superiors that I answer to.”

  “And I answer to the Women’s Council. But I have their trust. If I didn’t, they’d replace me in a heartbeat.”

  This whole argument’s gotten circular and I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe it’s something they just have to work out, but now’s not the time or place.

  I’m about to say as much, but then I see Reuben looking over my shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he tries to make something out. I turn to see Calico and Sadie in the distance, heat waves dancing between them and us.

  “What the hell?” Reuben says.

  I’m thinking the same thing.

  “Who’s that with your girlfriend?” Jerry asks as they get closer.

  I don’t bother responding. And then I don’t know what the hell to say because Sadie gets this scared look on her face and points a finger right at me.

  “That’s him!” she cries. “That’s the guy that raped me!”

  30

  Leah

  Aggie was silent as she led the way down the slope from the studio to her house. The dogs rose in a group as soon as they came outside, padding along on either side of them, their paws raising little puffs of dust in the dirt.

  Leah stopped for a moment in the middle of the yard, captured by the view of the red dirt hills that danced off into the distance. Something swelled inside her at the sight. She could have stayed there all morning, but then Marisa called her name. She blinked and hurried to catch up with her friend, and the two women followed Aggie inside. The dogs dropped onto the flat stones outside the kitchen door, except for the red-furred one who trotted in behind them right on their heels.

  “I’ll get the girl,” Aggie said.

  She walked away down a short hall, leaving the two women time to admire the wealth of ma’inawo portraits that peopled her walls or were leaning five to ten deep against the baseboards. The art pulsed with life, the bright colours and startling images waking an array of stories in Leah’s head that bounced, one against the other, until she wanted to write them all down in the same rapturous jumble they provoked inside her. Looking at Aggie’s paintings, she could believe they were actual portraits. She could believe it was possible to call beings to you from another world through the application of pigment on canvas.

  Leah glanced at Marisa. “How could you have never told me about Isabelle?” she asked as she continued to make a slow circuit of the room.

  “It wasn’t my story to tell,” Marisa said.

  “But you thought Aggie’s art did the same thing as Isabelle’s, didn’t you? I think our coming all the way out here on the basis of that little bit of withheld information makes it my story too.”

  Marisa offered up a wry smile. “Whatever it was before, I suppose that’s true now.”

  “So tell me—”

  She broke off when Aggie reappeared. The older
woman was alone.

  “She’s gone,” Aggie said.

  “Gone where?” Marisa asked.

  The old woman shrugged. “Who knows? She’s a troubled child.”

  “But who is she?” Leah asked.

  “Her name’s Sadie, and I don’t know much more about her other than her father drove her out into the desert and dumped her. A friend of mine found her and brought her to me.”

  Leah remembered the return address of the email that had brought her here: sadinsan@gmail.com

  Which could read as an abbreviated “Sadie in Santo del Vado Viejo.”

  “She sent the email,” she said to Aggie.

  “Probably. That’s what I wanted to ask her.”

  Aggie walked over to a stack of paintings that leaned against one of the walls, lifted one out and brought it over to them. “She could have used the camera on the laptop to take a picture of this to send to you.”

  Leah studied the painting the old woman handed to her. Looking at the original, the subject looked even more like an older Jackson Cole than the image file had. “Who sat for this?” she asked.

  “A friend of mine named Steve.”

  “What’s his last name?”

  Aggie shrugged. “Never asked.”

  “So you aren’t close?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t ask. What’s important to me is who a person is, not who they once were. I accept the gifts of what I’m told and don’t push for more.”

  Which sounded far more altruistic than most people.

  Leah dug in her purse and came up with a copy of Burning Heart: The Jackson Cole Story, the first book she’d written about the band. Flipping through the pages, she found a good picture of Cole. “Do you think your friend Steve could have looked like this forty years ago?”

  Aggie looked down at the picture and shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, it’s not important. This is now, not forty years ago.” She handed the book back to Leah. “Now let’s see if we can find the girl. What do you say, Ruby?”

  The question was directed at the red dog who sat up, then trotted to the front door as if she understood exactly what her mistress was asking.