They were halfway to Ignacio when Parris gave voice to what they were both thinking. "There's a big hole in her story."
The Ute nodded. "The missing body parts?"
"I can't believe that little girl mutilated the body," he said.
"No," Moon said. It was unthinkable that Benita would do such a thing.
Parris pressed the point. "But somebody did." It was obvious enough, but he knew Moon didn't want to face it. "Let's say her father takes her to the emergency room at the hospital. He's not too worried about his daughter, not with a superficial wound on her leg. No way he could have known she'd develop a bad infection. He steams awhile, then decides to go to the canyon. He finds Nightbird. Dead or unconscious. Figures his daughter may have some trouble with the law. Maybe he finds Nightbird's knife close by. He gets this great idea: Why not fix Arlo the way someone fixed Big Ouray? That way, it'll look like the nutcase who mutilated his bull also murdered Arlo. What Gorman Sweetwater doesn't know, is that Arlo Nightbird left his boots and britches and underwear in the back of Gorman's pickup truck!"
"Yeah," Moon said sadly. "Could have happened just that way."
"We'll need to have a long talk with Mr. Sweetwater."
Moon, lost in his thoughts, didn't hear him. She will get well. Tomorrow, she'll be walking around the room, wanting to go home.
Benita Sweetwater used most of her strength to turn on her left side as the night nurse lifted the covers and jabbed her buttock with a disposable hypodermic syringe. The girl was grateful for the stinging injection; it would soon melt the pain away-at least enough for a precious few hours sleep. She turned onto her back and sighed; the dark-eyed nurse said something about using the call button if she needed anything and was gone. It was then that she felt the presence in the room.
Benita raised herself on one elbow; she stared wide-eyed at the aged figure of a bow-legged man standing by her bed. "Nahum Yacuti… it's you!"
"It is me," he said simply.
"But everybody thought you were dead since that storm hit your place last year… Some said you'd fallen into the Animas… I must be dreaming. You're not real."
"Touch me and see," he said gently, holding his hand barely above hers.
She raised her tiny hand and touched the warm tips of his fingers. "You're really here." Tears welled up in her eyes.
He sat on the bed and the springs creaked. "Can't stay long," Nahum said. He was a long way from home.
"I'm real sick," Benita said. "The doctor wants to-"
"To take your leg off?" Nahum frowned as he touched her hot forehead.
"I won't let him," she said defiantly. "I won't let him cut my leg off!"
"It's up to you," her visitor said. "You choose the path, then you walk on it."
"I've made up my mind."
He had expected as much. This girl was much like her mother. Nahum slid off the bed. "Then it's a done deal."
"Will you come back and see me again?"
"I'll be back," he said as he patted her hand.
15
Scorr Parris arrived at the station as Charlie Moon was hanging up the telephone. The Ute looked up, his face split by a wide grin. "A good mornin' to you, acting chief of the SUPD."
"You are disgustingly cheerful this morning," Parris said, "enough to put me off my breakfast. Any fresh coffee around this place?"
"Read this. Fresh off the fax." Moon offered him the flimsy sheaf of papers.
Parris held the document at arm's length and squinted to get a good focus on the copy.
"You need to get yourself some spectacles," Moon advised.
"Just need longer arms. This a copy of the medical examiner's report on Nightbird?"
"Preliminary report. From the Granite Creek M. E.'s office, but it doesn't have Doc Simpson's signature on it."
"Simpson's on his annual vacation to the South Pacific," Parris observed as he read. "He usually trades off with someone for a couple of weeks when he visits the Sandwich Islands. Let's see… says here that Mr. Arlo Nightbird was killed by a blow to the head. We already knew that."
"Try the next page," Moon said.
Parris flipped a page. "Says there were '… indications of animal predation on the digits of the right hand and on the lower lip.' That's pretty grim." Parris glanced over the top of a page at Moon, who still wore the look of smug satisfaction. "Don't see why it makes you so happy to hear that one of the People got chewed on by coyotes."
"Read on."
Parris moved his lips as he read, then he brightened. "Well I'll be rode hard and put away wet! The report says 'predators are probably responsible for the mutilation. Coyotes or buzzards… could have torn off the ears and testicles.' " Parris felt a sympathetic twinge in his crotch. "But the M. E. only says probably-that still leaves the possibility that Gorman Sweetwater went back and castrated Night-bird…"
"Let Hoover try to take that to court," Moon chuckled. "The important point is, the official report says that animals could have done the deed. No way Hoover can make anything stick against Gorman now. Not without some brand new evidence. Everything we have supports Benita's statement. Arlo left his boots and britches in her Daddy's pickup, chased her with a knife. Benita smacked Arlo on the noggin, he gave up his nasty little spirit, then the coyotes showed up and nibbled at him. That's all there is."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Parris said. "Let's drive up to Durango and find Hoover; he'll have to spring Sweetwater and we'll be there to gloat. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "I imagine you'll need a couple of hours for breakfast before you can think about police work."
"I'm not hungry," Moon said. "We'll grab something to eat after we stop by the hospital."
Parris followed him to the parking lot. "Hospital?"
"Gotta tell Benita the good news," Moon yelled over his shoulder. "When she hears her Daddy's in the clear, she'll get better in nothin' flat! Yes boys and girls," he raised his hands to the sky and bellowed off-key: "it's a beee-oooutiful day in the neighborhood!"
* * *
The sky had been robin's-egg blue all the way to Durango, and the air was sparkling fresh. But even as they approached the parking lot, Parris sensed something dreadfully wrong at Mercy Medical Center. There was a peculiar, barely visible gray smog hanging over the building; the gloom seemed to permeate into the long, hollow hallways. Parris felt confined by the dismal atmosphere, but Moon didn't notice anything amiss until they were near Benita's room. Then, the snap faded from the Ute's energetic stride. The policemen paused at her door; a short chubby priest was reading aloud from a black leather-bound volume. His voice boomed, as if he were preaching to a large congregation.
"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust…"
"That," Moon whispered to Parris, "ain't Father Raes."
Benita spoke through trembling lips in a voice that might have belonged to a child. "I will not be afraid of the terror that comes by night… or," she breathed deeply, "the arrow that flies… by day."
Moon took off his hat and fumbled with the brim. "Let's stay out here until he's finished."
The priest was reciting something about the pestilence that walketh in darkness. "Suits me," Parris said.
Benita's voice rose and fell like swells on the waves of time; they could hear her clearly, then her speech would fade away into a far place: "… for He shall give His angels charge over me…"
"They shall bear thee up in their hands," the priest intoned solemnly, "lest thou dash thy foot against a stone."
"I don't like the sound of this," Moon muttered to no one in particular.
They heard Benita's voice. "Surely… Goodness and Mercy shall follow me." The young woman used then-names in a familiar fashion, as if Goodness and Mercy were her old, dear friends. Finally, the policemen heard the priest clamp the covers of the little book onto its gold-edged pages.
Moon watched Benita for a moment; she seemed to be sleeping. The priest crossed himself, then turned to leave.
Moon nodded respectfully at the priest. "You're not Father Raes."
The plump little man raised his eyebrows. "No, that I am not." His speech had the sweet lilt of an Irish brogue.
"Then you must be the Catholic priest from St. — "
"No," the man interrupted, "that I am most certainly not." His blue eyes twinkled.
"I give up," the Ute said, and introduced himself and his pardner.
The priest stuck his hand into Moon's and shook it vigorously. "I'm Father Rory O'Dinnigan, and I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not a Roman Catholic. I'm Episcopalian. Serve as an informal chaplain over at Fort Lewis College. Benita's been attending our Bible study services for more than a year now; Father Raes called yesterday and told me about her illness."
The Ute policeman nodded toward the tiny figure in the bed. "How is she… doing?" Moon asked the question haltingly, as if he didn't want to hear the answer.
"Yesterday, the surgeon wanted to amputate her leg," O'Dinnigan said. "Said if he didn't amputate, the infection would spread." Even under the sheet, the infected leg now appeared to be much larger than the other.
"When are they going to do it?" Moon asked.
"Not going to," O'Dinnigan said. "Benita refused to sign anything. I visited her father over at the jail and pleaded with him to sign the papers; he made disparaging remarks about my parentage and made it very clear that if I came close enough he would break both my legs." The priest turned to look at Benita. "Mr. Sweetwater is very bitter; he believes God should not have allowed this awful calamity to fall upon his daughter. Father Raes and I," he said sadly, "represent this God who has failed him."
The Ute was not concerned with Gorman's theological problems. "If they don't take her leg off," Moon asked, "what's going to happen to her?"
"She's going to die." The priest walked daily with Death whispering in his ear.
Benita cried out: "Charlie!"
He was at her bedside in a moment; Benita had pushed herself up on an elbow. Her face was shining with a glow that Moon assumed had something to do with the fever. Parris, standing in the door, could see a pale halo of light developing, swirling like a frosty mist around her head. Father O'Dinnigan was on the opposite side of the bed from Moon, but Benita didn't seem to notice his presence.
She seemed to be blind. "Charlie… I heard you talking… are you there?"
"I'm here, right beside you… sweetheart." He gently lowered her onto a pillow that was soaked with her perspiration.
"Dear Charlie," she said, "Nahum was here last night"
Scott Parris blinked in disbelief at what he saw approaching her bed; he tried to speak but there was a knot in his throat
Moon, oblivious to the vision unfolding before Benita Sweetwater and, to a lesser extent, before Scott Parris, put his big hand on her forehead. "You're burning up with fever."
She lifted a trembling hand to point toward the foot of her bed. "Can't you see them?"
Moon was troubled by her feverish chatter. "See who? Father O'Dinny… the priest is here; my pardner Scott Parris, he's over by the door."
She pointed toward a blank wall, "… ooooh," she said with a little squeal of delight "it is plan. Do you see…"
Moon attempted to speak but could not.
"She's here," Benita said, "pian is here to take me home."
"What did she say?" O'Dinnigan whispered.
"It's Ute," Moon said hoarsely. "It means 'my mother.'"
"Charlie… Charlie," she sung as if the sound of his name was sweet music. She laughed. "Kiss me good-bye, Charlie Moon."
The Ute hesitated, then kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
"The Shadow of Death," she said, "it comes near. But I am not afraid."
Charlie Moon was afraid.
The startled priest took her hand. "For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them… and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters…" O'Dinnigan's eyes were moist with tears. "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." He wiped away his own tears. "Amen."
Benita slumped; her head rolled to one side on the moist pillow as her lips parted slightly. The priest continued his prayer; the policemen were like statues. Parris could no longer see the apparitions.
Father O'Dinnigan pressed a finger under Benita's jaw in an attempt to feel the carotid pulse. "She has left us," the plump little priest said simply. "May God grant her soul eternal peace."
Moon moved away from the bed and turned his back.
The priest clamped a hand on the Ute's elbow. "Someone will have to tell her father. I don't think he's ready to see a priest. Not just yet."
Moon leaned against the wall, his hand over his eyes. Gorman Sweetwater was the last person he wanted to see.
Parris turned toward the door. "I'll go over and tell him." Any excuse to get out of this room. He was rushing numbly down the hall, barely able to feel his feet hit the floor, when he met Emily Nightbird. She was flanked by veterinarian Harry Schaid and Herb Ecker. Herb was carrying a bouquet of yellow roses; Emily raised a dainty hand to stop Parris. "We've come to see Benita," she said, "poor little thing. How is she-"
"I'm sorry," Parris said, fighting the tightness in his throat, "she just left." He was gone before Emily could respond.
* * *
"Mr. Sweetwater… I'm Scott Parris. I was with Charlie when you were arrested…" It sounded better than / helped Charlie slam you on the ground and cuff you.
The old Ute sat cross-legged on the floor, his lips moving in some silent recitation. He didn't look up at the visitor in his cell.
"I'm afraid I've got some bad news," Parris said gently.
Gorman got to his feet slowly, in the cautious manner of old men whose bones are fragile. He hobbled to the window and nodded to indicate something outside. "You see that big tree?"
Parris looked over his shoulder through the rusty bars. "The cottonwood?"
"This morning, just before first light, he came."
"Who… who came?" Parris wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. This day had already been filled with phantasms that might, with the least excuse, come back to haunt him.
"Brother owl," Gorman said. That was what Saint Francis would have called the bird. Brother owl. "He came to see me this morning."
"Oh," Parris said with relief, "an owl." Only an owl.
"He sat right there," Gorman pointed at a dead branch, "and called her name." The old Ute looked up at the ma-tukach policeman to see if he understood. "He called out my daughter's name," Gorman said. The Ute would not say Benita's name aloud; it would trouble her ghost.
"That's why I'm here. It's your daughter."
"My daughter's spirit," Gorman said, "is gone. That's why the owl came, to tell me she would leave today, before the sun went down."
Parris fumbled with his hat and looked at an oily stain on the gray concrete floor. The cell stank of urine and disinfectant. "I'm sorry."
Gorman sat down on the wooden bench that was suspended from the green cinder-block wall by a pair of rusty chains.
"Ch-Charlie," Parris stammered, "… he's feeling real bad. Couldn't bear to see you right now… that's why I came."
"Charlie Moon," Gorman said, "is a good man." He smiled at sweet memories. "Benita, when she was a little girl, wanted to marry Charlie Moon. I told her to wait and find somebody more… more…" The old rancher removed a red bandanna from his pocket and wiped at bloodshot eyes.
"If there's anything I can do… or Charlie…" Parris began.
He put his hands over his face. "I was worried I'd have one of them cor-uh… heart attacks and die. And then my little girl'd be a orrifun. Now I'm the orrifun." He looked directly at the policeman for the first time, wondering whether this matukach carried a flask in his coat pocket. "You got anything to drink?"
"No."
"Then get me out of this stinking hole so I can find me a bottle."
"I'll do what I can." Parris hesitated. "There's something you should know."
Gorman Sweetwater stared into bitter nothingness. "What's that?"
"Your daughter said that someone"-Parris paused to clear his throat-"Nahum Yacuti… he came to see her last night."
"There was a bad storm last year… They never found his body. She must of seen that old man's ghost," Gorman said with a slight shiver. The notion of a visiting ghost was awful to the Ute psyche of Gorman Sweetwater. But the Christian soul of the old man was not surprised that Nahum's spirit would come to guide his daughter across that deep river. Benita had been close to that peculiar old shepherd. Maybe closer than to her own father.
Parris swallowed hard. "Just before your daughter… passed away… she saw something." The lawman felt oddly short of breath.
Gorman turned his head; he examined the policeman with a searching expression. This white man knew something. "You tell me about it, young man. Then you'll feel better."
"A woman came," Parris said, remembering the shining figures. Impossible phantasms of rainbow light. "Benita said it was her mother." He'd said enough. Maybe too much. It wouldn't do to mention who came with the woman.
16
Hoover rewound the tape and listened to Benita's faltering voice for the third time. His face was without expression except for the customary hardness in his gray eyes.
Parris leaned forward in his chair, straining to hear every whispered word from the young woman who was now spirit.
Charlie Moon sat with his eyes unfocused, his chin resting on clasped hands.
Hoover, twisting a ballpoint pen in his hand, finally broke the silence. "So, let's see what we have. Gorman Sweet-water's daughter makes a confession that she killed Arlo Nightbird…"
"It wasn't exactly a confession," Parris interrupted. "The young woman was defending herself from an attempt at forcible rape."
"She confesses, on her deathbed, to killing Arlo Night-bird," Hoover continued, "thereby giving her father, who has been arrested for the murder of the same Mr. Nightbird, a clean sheet." He tried to read Moon's unreadable face. "Very tidy."
Parris nodded. "The point is-"
"The point is," Hoover interrupted, "that since Miss Sweetwater is now among the deceased, it is not even pos-sible to question her about this"-he waved a hand at the tape recorder-"… this statement. Far be it from me to suggest that she concocted this whole story to save her father from a long jail term."
The Shaman Laughs cm-2 Page 19
