Full Wolf Moon

by K. L. Nappier

  As he was driven toward the main gate, it occurred to Max that, in a certain way, Doris Tebbe reminded him of Annie. Annie had been more doll-like in stature, had a much quicker smile. But she'd had Mrs. Tebbe's spunk. Then he was sorry the comparison came to mind, because it tugged up the nightmares. Instead of images of picnics or anniversaries, there was her mouth gaping in that shuddering wail.

  He clenched his jaw, determined to drive the picture from his mind and almost didn't see the M.P. standing at the gate with a copper-skinned man. The guard was taking papers that the man offered, an old green truck parked a few feet away. Max abruptly ordered his driver to stop, then rolled down his window.

  "What's going on, Private?"

  The soldier snapped to attention and saluted.

  "At ease, what's up?"

  "Just routine, sir." The soldier nodded toward the man. For the first time, Max could see that the fellow was an Indian. "Says he's a farmer and wants permission to sell his produce to the residents."

  Max stepped out of the car. Once he was close enough, he knew the man's tribe immediately. It was evident by the bandanna -folded to a three-inch width, worn around his head- and the way he bound his steel-gray hair. It was long and pulled into a ponytail, which was doubled back onto itself and wrapped with yarn so that only the looped end showed.

  But it was the man's jewelry that caused Max a moment's hesitation. Navajo jewelry. Highly praised as elegant and beautifully rendered. But during his days near the reservation, Max discovered he didn't like it. In fact, he had a particular aversion to it. It was almost always bulky. Even now this man wore a wide bracelet on each wrist. An oval pin, half the size of Maxwell's palm, was fastened at the top shirt button.

  But really, it was the materials he didn't like. All that turquoise. All that silver. Especially the silver. Even so, the coincidence of meeting a Navajo delighted him and forced him past the jewelry. He greeted the man, saying, "Ya'at'eeh."

  "Haala' 'ahoodzaa," the fellow replied with a polite smile and then asked in his native tongue if Max spoke Navajo.

  "Only enough to understand your question, I'm sorry." Max offered his hand. "Captain Maxwell Pierce. I just transferred from Morriston. Do you know it?"

  "David Alma Curar," the man replied. He looked at Maxwell's upturned palm for a moment before accepting his hand. "Sure, I know it. Not far from the Reservation's border. Close to Long Walk."

  Alma Curar's eyes lingered on their clasped hands before looking up again. Max was the first to let go, relieved that his fingers hadn't touched the bracelet. Alma Curar suddenly didn't seem as pleased with this chance meeting as Max.

  Max tried small talk. "Happen to have family at the 'rez', Mr. Curar?"

  "Alma Curar," the man corrected politely. "No, I don't."

  That was it. No elaboration. After an awkward moment, Max asked the private for Alma Curar's papers and brought the wrinkled leaves close to his face.

  "Alma Curar. That's not Navajo, is it?"

  "Spanish."

  "How long have you been at Disjunction Lake?"

  "I was called to this place three months ago."

  "Called?"

  "I'm a healer, Captain."

  Max lowered the papers. He felt suddenly suspicious of Alma Curar. "Your papers say you're a farmer."

  "That, too. There's a demand here at the camp for oriental vegetables. The government doesn't provide them, isn't that correct?"

  "So did you come all this way to sell a little bokchoy or is there a Navajo reservation nearby?"

  "No, there isn't."

  "Too much competition where you come from?" Max peered closely at the papers again. "At Tohatchi, New Mexico?"

  "Too little, I'd say."

  "Well. I've never known a medicine man to take his business so far from home..."

  A trace of a smile finally came to Alma Curar's face. "You know so many healers, Captain?"

  Behind his pressed lips, Max drew his tongue across his teeth thoughtfully. He looked at Alma Curar's papers again. Even if he had had the authority, he could find nothing in them to deny the man access, much as he'd like to. Max returned them to him.

  "Your documents are in order," he said, "the private here will show you to Center Administration. You need to be cleared by that office, Mr. Curar. Alma Curar... sorry. Tulenar is a War Relocation Authority installation, not a military one."

  Alma Curar folded the papers and tucked them into his wallet. "Thank you." He pushed the wallet into his back pocket and glanced briefly at Max's hands again before looking up. "I'll look forward to meeting you again, Captain."

  Max slid his palms into his pockets. "It's unlikely we will, Mr. Alma Curar. Unless you get into mischief."

  "I don't like mischief, Captain. I don't like it at all. But as a healer, sometimes I have to deal with it."

  Chapter 7

  Tulenar Internment Camp

  Sunset. Second Night of the Full Moon.

  From her office window Doris watched Harriet Haku and her family descend the hill, the child walking between the parents. Darling little round-faced girl, pigtails pinned like a laurel wreath around her head. Doris wondered if the Inu Hunters had ever seen Harriet walking with her family. She wondered if Tsuko Ataki was safe. Should she call on Mrs. Ataki, see how she was doing, or would her presence be resented?

  Doris decided not to think at all. Instead she spent time in the area between her little house and the administration building and readied her bow. She worked at her archery for thirty minutes, doing well, just before glimpsing Mr. Satsugai walk up the hill. Doris came around to the front and greeted him.

  "I thought I'd come a little early," he said, "and help you set up."

  "Thanks, but Harriet prepared the meeting area before she left. All we have to do is plug in the coffee makers. Will there be that many coffee drinkers, do you think? One is filled with hot water for tea, but we can do that with both."

  Doris knew she was prattling. She'd lectured herself earlier to avoid doing that, but here she was babbling on. She wasn't foolish enough to pretend she didn't know why. She was attracted to the man. A Nisei. An internee. A clergyman, for crying out loud. Facing up to the attraction didn't make it any less absurd. But it did allow her to recognize it and resist. She was thirty-eight years old and in a position of profound responsibility. She'd snap out of it or die trying.

  In the meantime, Mr. Satsugai was smiling at her as if he knew her every thought. "I'm sure everything's fine."

  "Well, come in, please..."

  "How about if we sit here on the steps for a while," he said. "I don't feel like going in yet."

  It took a moment, but Doris finally managed to reply, "Certainly."

  She sat beside Mr. Satsugai, and they watched the sun graze the mountains. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

  To break the silence, she said, "Have you gotten much feedback from the council heads regarding this meeting?"

  "They were positive," he replied. "Mr. Ataki's disappearance has dampened the enthusiasm, though."

  From the corner of her eye, Doris saw Mr. Satsugai turn to look at her.

  "What's being done about that?" he asked.

  She met his eyes. "You're the police liaison. You already have all the information. I'm not holding out on you, if that's your real question."

  "Mr. Ataki's disappearance is being treated solely as an escape, isn't it?"

  "Mr. Satsugai --"

  "None of you have considered the other possibilities have you? Could any of the good citizens around Disjunction Lake be behind this, for example?"

  "Yes. We have. But none of you want to believe the obvious. That Mr. Ataki likely panicked, that he's just a poor old man whose mind couldn't handle the stress of internment. Jesus, everyone thinks there's a huge conspiracy one way or the other." Doris took a moment to collect herself. "I'm sorry, I forgot who I was talking to." She looked into the sky. "Sorry, Jesus."

  Mr. Satsugai chuckled and Doris felt a little better. She
said, "Mr. Ataki's disappearance has put a strain on us all."

  "I know. Just, please, don't stop looking at all the possibilities. You and I both know what people might do if they think the law is looking the other way."

  "Nowadays I'm beginning to think anything's possible."

  Mr. Satsugai looked back at the sun as it began to slip below the mountain ridge. "I've always felt that way."

  Doris didn't know what to say to that. But she felt an urgent need to keep the talk bland and safe as she looked down at the minister's long, delicate hands.

  "I met the strangest man today. An Indian. He's a farmer and a medicine man of some sort...correction...healer. He prefers 'healer'. He put in a request to sell produce to the camp residents." She stopped for a moment, the man's bearing in her mind's eye, then repeated, "The strangest man."

  "What makes him so strange?" Mr. Satsugai asked.

  "Well, his hair, for one thing. It's as long as woman's and he ties it funny, all wrapped in yarn. But that's normal in Indian culture, I guess. But...really, it isn't that. There's something about his manner." A little disgusted with her own uncertainly, she gave herself a dismissive wave. "I don't know. I suppose Mr. Ataki's disappearance just has me on edge." She glanced down at her wristwatch. "Well, the council heads should be starting this way any minute. I'd better get the coffee and water plugged in."

  Mr. Satsugai touched her. Just a quick gesture, lightly on her forearm, as if to stop her from rising. It worked. "We'll see them walking up from here. Could we just sit and chat? If you don't mind."

  The thought of sitting with Arthur Satsugai...just sitting there with no desk between them, no agenda to delineate...

  "You need to understand. I'm not going to discuss the Ataki case, not until the meeting."

  "How about discussing yourself?"

  Doris's eyes narrowed.

  Mr. Satsugai smiled broadly. "You should see your face. Relax! I just thought it'd be nice to get to know you a little better. We'll going to be working together, after all."

  "Well...I..."

  "How about if I go first?"

  "By all means."

  "I was born in Sacramento," he said. "My parents are dead, but I have a brother who's lived in Japan for fifteen years. He's a monk."

  "I didn't know there were Episcopal monks."

  "There are, but my brother is Buddhist."

  "Oh! I beg your pardon."

  "No need to..."

  "Is that an awkward situation for you?"

  "Not at all, we're very close. Of course, we can't get letters to each other right now."

  Doris leaned her arms across her knees, her curiosity relaxing her a little. "Did your parents live to see you both take vows?"

  Mr. Satsugai moved forward onto the edge of the step, much like Doris. He was looking at the sunset again, his long, pleasantly lined face soft with a memory.

  "Oh, yes. They died five years ago and I've been in the priesthood since my late twenties. It took a little getting used to for them, but eventually it was a matter of pride for them to have a son in each tradition. They preferred to see it as a marriage of their native and adopted cultures." He chuckled and looked at Doris again. "So long as, at least, one of us could marry and give them grandchildren."

  In spite of herself, Doris was disappointed by the implication. She kept her eyes fixed on the foothills as they turned deep blue.

  "So you're married?"

  "No..." He paused, as if unsure if he should elaborate. Then he said, "I'm divorced. It's not something I'm proud of. Especially..." He gestured toward his collar. "I had to find another parish because of it."

  Doris tried to swallow her curiosity, but couldn't resist asking, "Why did you? Divorce your wife, I mean."

  "Actually, it was the other way around. A clergyman's wife can have a rough go of it. We married young, before I answered the Call. I left it up to her to accept it instead of asking how she felt about it." When he looked at Doris, he seemed pensive. "What do you think? About me being a divorced man."

  "Oh, well, Mr. Satsugai ... it's none of my business, especially as Center Administrator."

  "What about as Doris Tebbe?"

  There was danger in that question. It was clear to her what he was really asking.

  Pointedly, she didn't answer, asking instead, "Do you have children?"

  He watched her quietly a moment, then replied, "I have a son. He's a college freshman at New York State. He lives with her mother in Newark. He can almost pass for white which, quite frankly, I consider a blessing right now. That's his mother's blood in him."

  There was no longer anything casual in what he was saying. He was showing her his history. Doris still didn't look at him, startled anew by his words. His wife had been Caucasian. Doris didn't know what to think of that. She had never really met anyone who was in a mixed marriage before.

  She knew she shouldn't reciprocate. She knew to offer her own history would be a permission of sorts that should not be given. "I'm a widow, myself."

  "Oh? I'm sorry."

  "He had a heart attack several years ago, but he got a lot done before he went. He was a senator. What a bulldog he was."

  "He would've had to have been, to keep up with you, Mrs. Tebbe."

  "No, it was the other way around. I was hardly more than a naive ingenue when I met him. I learned a great deal that I'm especially grateful for now."

  "Sounds like a man who never relaxed."

  "Relax? Abel? He didn't know how."

  "Do you, Mrs. Tebbe? When was the last time you watched the sunset, like you're watching it with me now?"

  He turned and looked directly at Doris and she wished he wouldn't.

  She replied, "There's too much to do."

  "More important things...?"

  "Yes."

  Mr. Satsugai smiled. "You're wrong. There's nothing more important." He straightened his shoulders and did a little parody of her. "All your administrating. You'll do it much better if you look at the sunset. Every day. Every single day."

  Doris wasn't sure if she was amused or irritated by his teasing. She took refuge in the irritation. "That's very spiritual. I appreciate the advice."

  His smile never dimmed. "No, you don't." He looked back at the sunset. "Come now, Mrs. Tebbe, just look at the color that's pouring out of that sun. Red like a red you can't find anywhere on earth, isn't it? Watching something like that helps you live more consciously. Maybe, deep down, the reason you've been too busy all these years to watch a sunset is because you feel tiny when you look at it. Does it make you feel like all your dreams and all your nightmares add up to nothing? But, trust me. If you look at the sunset enough times, you'll understand that it's only your flesh that's tiny, not you. Flesh? It can't contain any of us. That's why God made the universe, Mrs. Tebbe. To contain all of you."

  Chapter 8

  Lakeside Assembly Center

  Sunset. Second Night. Full Moon.

  Max prepared for the night. He set a large pail of iced water and several towels beside the easy chair in the living room, then settled into the chair with a book. He'd read until he couldn't hold back the sickness any longer, then spend the rest of the night in the dark, naked, enduring the seizures, bathing himself between attacks.

  There was a rhythm to all this. The nightmares began on the first night. The severe seizures, the second. The lesser ones on the third. And then he was fine again. Better than fine, really. Afterward, he would float through the next several days on a warm wave of euphoria. Always the same. Nothing he couldn't handle.

  Still, his hand trembled as he held the book. He set it on the arm of the chair and walked out onto the cabin's porch to watch the sun as it set. For a moment he felt a surge of despair... no, don't go... but, then he had control once more. He went back in, sat down and tried to read again.

  Chapter 9

  Tulenar Internment Camp

  Night. New Moon.

  There was no moon out. Harriet Haku had only the silho
uettes of the barracks to show her the way. Occasionally the black-on-black was interrupted by dim squares of yellow, hinting of evacuees that had not yet gone to bed. But these were few and overwhelmed by the long darkness of buildings to either side of the dirt road, featureless and flat in the night.

  Harriet was late coming back from the Shibai theatre where she was helping with the final touches. Next month was September, and the theatre would have its first production, a modest Kabuki put on by some of the residents of Block Six.