by Len Levinson
Nathanial grinned. “That's a great idea, Beau! I'll give you a hundred head of cattle on credit. All you have to do is round ‘em up. But what I'd really prefer is to throw you this entire damned ranch, and run off with the Apaches.”
On the porch, Clarissa watched five Indian women approach. They pointed at the door, as if curious about the interior of her home. With impeccable manners, the former Clarissa Rowland of Gramercy Park opened her parlor to people described as blood-soaked savages, but they appeared shy, lithe as their men, with the capacity to show delight as they bounced on the chairs, lay on the sofa, examined the rug, and then one found the kitchen, where they puttered among Clarissa's pots and dishes. Each carried a knife, a few sported pistols, and looked capable of using them.
As Clarissa studied them, she realized that she'd never view women the same again, for these were not coddled New York society dames who never carried anything heavier than a volume of poems. No, this was a more fundamental breed, in tune with the seasons and the stars, giving birth not by the hand of a trained doctor, but in the wilderness, with a medicine man chanting prayers.
They approached the piano curiously, for it appeared beyond their comprehension. They probably think it's an altar, thought Clarissa as she sat on the stool. She launched into Schubert's “Sonata in A Minor,” and they stared at her, then rushed forward to touch her hands, as if to capture the magic. Clarissa felt herself swept away by their wildness, yet they were women too, they appreciated beautiful things, proud of themselves and their culture.
She arose from the piano and invited them to play, so they pressed the keys, seemingly hypnotized by the sounds, and to Clarissa it became a strange atonal ballad. They were pure, childlike, with a marvelous openness, and she couldn't help envying their freedom from the restrictions of civilization. Maybe Apache life isn't so bad after all, she thought. Should I run off with Nathanial and live with the Apaches?
Nathanial sat with Mangas Coloradas and Nana the medicine man a short distance from the dancers. “So tell me, my friend,” said Mangas Coloradas, a cigarette in his hand. “How have you fared since you left us?”
“I visited my family in the eastern lands,” explained Nathanial, “and then I was at Fort Thorn with Dr. Steck. I was his assistant, trying to make peace among the Mescalero People, White Eyes, and Mexicanos, but I failed, because the hatred was too great. Then I started this ranch, but many times I thought of returning to the holy Lifeway.”
“Often I have wished for your council,” said Mangas Coloradas. “Does the Pindah army plan to wipe us out?”
“That always has been their plan.”
“Are they strong enough to defeat us?”
“They will be eventually, but you can always sign a treaty.”
Mangas Coloradas shook his head emphatically. “I have not the right to bargain away this land. My plan is to make peace with the Mexicanos. Do you think I am right?”
“I would not trust the Mexicanos or the White Eyes if I were you.”
Mangas Coloradas peered into Sunny Bear's eyes. “Your words are harsh, Sunny Bear.”
“But true, my chief.”
“What will the White Eyes do if I surrender?”
“Cheat and humiliate you.”
“If you were Mangas Coloradas, what would you do?”
“I would think of future generations, but it is not easy to be cheated and humiliated. To suffer such punishment, a new kind of warrior is required.”
Then, out of the night walked Coyuntura, brother of Cochise, carrying a thick book that he had acquired on a raid down Mexico way. “Sunny Bear,” he began, “what is this thing?”
Nathanial looked at the spine and it was a King James Bible. “It contains the most holy words of my people.”
“And what do the words say?”
“They tell us to honor truth, love justice, and walk humbly with the Lifegiver.”
“What does it say about courage, Sunny Bear?”
“The greatest courage is not to fight at all.”
“And what does it tell about death?”
“There is no death to those who lead righteous lives.”
“And evil?”
“It is everywhere.”
Coyuntura opened the Bible at random, pointed to a page, and asked, “What does that say?”
Nathanial brought his eyes closer, and in the firelight saw the Book of Job. “It is about a man who suffers much, but then is rewarded by the Lifegiver.”
“Why does he suffer much?”
“It is a test.”
“Of what?”
“Of faith in the Lifegiver.”
Coyuntura nodded. “Where would the People be, if we did not respect the Lifegiver? This book has great understanding, Sunny Bear.”
Mangas Coloradas turned to Sunny Bear. “How can a warrior have faith, when his prayers are not answered?”
Sunny Bear's eyes were glassy from smoking and drinking. “A wise man once said it is preferable to believe than disbelieve, because the believer at least has the opportunity for paradise, but never the blasphemer.”
Chief Mangas Coloradas pondered the statement, then said, “I am certain the wise man was right, because the blasphemer will be cast into the pit, while the believer shall be exalted forever.”
Beau slipped into the barn, climbed to the loft, and said into the darkness, “Constanza?”
“I'm here,” she replied.
He found her huddled in a murky corner, wrapped in her blanket. Without a word, he sought to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“You and I are finished,” she said coldly.
He did not argue, but instead reclined beside her, rested his head on his hands, and said, “Anger is poison, and eats from within.”
“You are philosophical after drinking with the murderers of my family, but I shall never be happy again.”
He could not mouth the usual platitudes about putting the misery in the past and looking ahead toward a bright, new future. “I wish I could . . .”
“But you can't,” she replied, interrupting him.
He realized that her heart was permanently scarred, and nothing, not even a million gorgeous sunsets, could make her forget the most terrible reality of all. And then a wave of sadness came over him, because she would live under the cloud of the massacre for the rest of her days. “Perhaps I should leave you alone.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Yes—you must go now and never return, because if you stay, I will give myself to you, and the screaming of those savages will be nothing compared to me.”
Clarissa sat among Apache women and observed the dance. The hypnotic drumbeat, plus sips of various libations, had made her dizzy. She felt welcomed and even loved by the Apaches, and it was not the same as a New York drawing room, where a woman's most important attribute was her clothing, her essential humanity quite beside the point.
She wondered what her mother would think if she could see her pianist daughter sitting among Apaches. They're not as bad as I thought, she realized. In some ways, they're better.
She wanted to speak with her husband, and rose to look for him. Out of the night loomed Mangas Coloradas, smiling warmly. “I am looking for my husband,” she said.
“He is with the Mountain Spirits,” replied Mangas Coloradas, pointing toward the wilderness. “Sometimes a warrior must be alone, but you may speak with me. What is wrong?”
“I do not know . . .” she began.
“You have been taught to hate the People, but now you are not sure, no?”
“It's not just that. I feel . . .”
He laughed. “You are attracted to the holy Lifeway, I see.”
“I wanted to tell Sunny Bear that I understand his great love for your People.”
The old chief smiled in the darkness as drums continued their incessant beat. “Then you must come with us.”
“I would like to, but my child . . .”
“I was a child,” interrupted Mangas Coloradas. “A
nd now I am a chief. There is no telling what will happen to a babe, but there is no honor in herding the cattle.”
“Your people have been to war for centuries, and what has it got you?”
“This land. Sunny Bear understands. He cannot live without you, so you must follow him.”
“But I am not an Apache.” She pointed to her cheek. “Look and see—I am a white woman.”
“It is your duty to follow your husband wherever he leads.”
Clarissa had attended lectures by Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and the back of her neck bristled at the suggestion. “Why doesn't he follow where I lead?”
“Because you are a woman.”
“Ah—and I'm supposed to do whatever he says, no matter how loco, dangerous, or just plain stupid?”
“Yes, because that is the way it always has been. And on his side, he must love you with all his heart, for one cannot exist without the other, and from the convergence of two, you create new life.”
“You're advocating total surrender to love,” said Clarissa, “and I do not know if I am capable of such sacrifice.”
“What more could a woman want than a Sunny Bear, who is as wise as he is brave? And the Mountain Spirits have exalted him, because he has been struck by lightning—did he not tell you?”
She recalled Nathanial mentioning a storm but she hadn't really paid attention. “It is my child that I worry about mostly,” she tried to explain. “She would be safe in the eastern lands.”
“If she is as clever as her father, she will avoid danger. But the difficulty is not your child. The difficulty is your fear, doubt, and panic. You are a lost creature, you have had too many servants, and you are separated from life. If you believed in yourself as a woman, you would not hesitate to come with us.”
“I would rather be alive,” replied Clarissa, “but I will confess this, Chief Mangas Coloradas. My husband believes he is an Apache, and this gives him peace, whereas I do not believe in anything except . . .”
“Your own safety,” interrupted Mangas Coloradas. “But there is more than safety.” He raised his mighty arm, and pointed to distant buttes illuminated by the moon. “We are children of the Lifegiver, and when we live in harmony with the Lifeway, we are a powerful people, and even the great armies of your white race are afraid of us. So search your heart, and remember that ultimately the greatest warrior is he who can truly love, for only a warrior who can love can die for the justice of the People. You White Eyes may grind our faces in the dust, but you shall never conquer us!”
Tears streamed down Mangas Coloradas's weather-beaten cheeks as he glared at her, and she felt swept away by the power of his soul. Never had she known such an experience of absolute primeval energy radiating from one person. She discovered that she too was crying, as if Mangas Coloradas were taking possession of her. “No, we shall never conquer you,” she told him, “and all I ask is to serve you, Chief Mangas Coloradas.”
He raised his callused hand to her cheek. “If you want to serve me, follow your heart. But that is enough conversation for now. We will speak at another time.”
He turned toward a group of warriors, and Clarissa stared at his back, not sure of what had happened, as if she'd been struck by a tidal wave. Near the fire, warriors and women danced together, abandoning themselves to the beat, and then, after a night of drinking, smoking, and disturbing realizations, Clarissa hallucinated her blond fair-skinned ancestors cavorting around such a fire, wearing animal skins and brandishing spears.
I am descended from Vikings and Celts, she realized. They were warriors like Apaches, and they even bloodied the nose of Rome on numerous occasions, producing great legends, inspiring the world. And I have degenerated from that heroic vision to a spoiled rich man's daughter, with all the common opinions of my class, a combative toad. But a Celtic warrior's wife never would run from danger, and if I truly loved Nathanial Barrington, I would follow him anywhere, regardless of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Because marriage is about giving, even when painful or humiliating. But giving is based on trust, and if Nathanial ever betrays me, I will leave him, if I don't kill him first.
Beau found Nathanial standing alone beside the corral, looking at the horses. “It's a beautiful spot,” said Beau, “but I don't know if Rebecca would come here.”
“She might surprise you, because she's probably bored back in Santa Fe.”
“Meanwhile, there's Constanza. It's very sad, because I love her, I think.”
“It's easy to fall in love,” replied Nathanial as his eyes fell upon Jocita the warrior woman, dancing beside the fire. “And so hard to fall out of love.”
Jocita had been among those who'd visited the inside of Clarissa's home, and played the piano gleefully, but hadn't been as innocent as she'd appeared. She had examined carefully the wife of Sunny Bear.
Jocita considered Sunny Flower a pale, frail creature whom a warrior woman could defeat without much effort, but who had been polite, tried to please, and it wasn't her fault that her husband had been unfaithful. I know a secret that could shatter her life, thought Jocita. She felt an uncomfortable sensation of power, not the good power that came from the Mountain Spirits.
Jocita stayed away from Sunny Bear throughout the festivities, because she knew the dangers of impulsive behavior. For Sunny Bear was not merely a man to Jocita, but an exotic creature from another ken, a strange blond warrior of unimaginable origins, who one day had stepped out of the sun like a golden god, and made her long for him. But I am married to Juh, she reminded herself, and Sunny Bear is married to that poor wretch. Sunny Bear and I must never be alone with each other again.
She saw him standing near the corral, talking with his Pindah war brother, but glancing repeatedly at her, so she closed her eyes and danced solely for him, as if she were naked before his eyes. Gracefully she arched her back and pirouetted with arms outstretched. I cannot touch you, and I cannot tell you of my love, so let me dance for you, and let my body speak eloquently.
Nathanial retreated into the shadows, where he could watch Jocita without distraction. She gamboled in the firelight, her long, muscular limbs filling him with melancholy, for he knew he never would possess her again.
Out of the night appeared Nana the medicine man, who embraced Nathanial like a son. “Ah, Sunny Bear, if only our people could live always this way.”
“One day they will, I am sure.”
“Have you had visions since you left the People?”
“Not many.”
“Mangas Coloradas hopes you will come with us, and give up this foolish cow herding.”
“I want to, but cannot leave my wife.”
“How the women dominate young warriors. It is only when a man grows mature that he can be truly free.”
“But I don't want to be free from her, and where did she go?”
“She was headed toward the big wickiup,” said Nana.
Nathanial turned in that direction, when a taller-than-average middle-aged warrior approached. “So you are Sunny Bear,” he said. “I am Cochise.”
Nathanial never had met Cochise of the Chiricahuas, but had heard of his exploits. “And how is Chief Miguel Narbona?” Nathanial inquired.
“He has passed to the other world, and left me with difficult decisions. Do you think we should make peace with the Mexicanos?”
“If I were an Apache,” replied Nathanial, “I never would trust a Mexicano. And if I were a Mexicano, I never would trust an Apache.”
“But what is life without trust?” asked Cochise.
“Your best chance for peace is with the Americanos.”
“Tell that to my warrior brother Cuchillo Negro, who died in the Valley of Dead Sheep.”
“When you confer with the Mexicanos,” said Nathanial, “hide a gun in your boot, just in case.”
Clarissa walked toward them, and Nathanial introduced her to Chief Cochise, who could sense she wanted to be alone with him. He graciously withdrew, leaving the cou
ple alone. Nathanial said, “I apologize if I've neglected you, dear, but ...” Over her golden hair, he saw raven-tressed Jocita dancing beside the fire.
“I've been making new friends/’ replied Clarissa, “and I had the most interesting talk with Chief Mangas Coloradas. I can understand why you respect him so.”
“What did he say?”
“Can we talk alone?”
They returned to the main house, made their way to the master bedroom, and closed the door. Both windows were open, with no curtains to block the moon and stars. They faced each other beside the bed, and she placed her arms around his waist. “It's complicated,” she said, “so I'll come to the point. If you want to run off with the Apaches, I will follow my husband.”
He stared at her, wondering if his ears had malfunctioned. “What about Natalie?”
“If other Apache children survive, so shall she. In fact, she'll probably adapt more easily than any of us, especially me. Chief Mangas Coloradas has convinced me that love is more important that safety.”
Nathanial kissed her forehead. “Mangas Coloradas is right, and that's why I've decided to return east with you.”
“But you'd rather be with the Apaches.”
“No, I'd rather be with you.”
“Well I'd rather be with you too.”
“Then we must decide where to live. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Perhaps we should ask the children, because they're the most important members of the family.”
Nathanial and Clarissa returned to the fire, where the three Barrington children danced with Apaches. Nathanial called to them. “I want to ask you something.”
The children gathered before him as Nana sang a high-pitched thankfulness song, reminding Nathanial of coyotes howling in the night. “What's the question?” asked Gloria.
“Would you rather live on this ranch, or go back east, or run off with the Apaches?”
Zachary didn't hesitate. “I'd rather be with the Apaches.”
“Me too,” added Gloria. “They're fun.”
All eyes turned to the little girl in diapers, and someone had painted a line of ocher across her nose. She opened her mouth and said, “Ap-pach-chee.”
