“Sorry,” the man said, reaching out to hand Lew some of the papers.
“You ought to watch where the hell you’re going,” Lew said. He reached for the papers the man held, and noticed a dark blue tattoo of an Indian spread across the man’s tanned forearm. He held his gaze there for a moment, then grabbed the papers and stuffed them into the folder.
“I know, and I’m really sorry.”
“You should be,” Lew snapped as he stood up and pushed by.
At his desk, Lew went through the folder, quickly reorganizing its contents. In checking to make sure everything was there, he remembered the tattoo. Joe would tell him it was a sign that he was doing the right thing and, although Lew didn’t always agree with Joe’s views, he suddenly found himself considering the possibility. The sight of it had frightened him. He knew it meant something.
That afternoon, Lew made arrangements to fly into Silver City, New Mexico, where he’d meet with a man called Running Wolf. How appropriate, he thought. He never really spoke with Running Wolf or a secretary or anything. The phone number, according to the note, belonged to a friend. They might not even show, he thought.
Lew was supposed to see Michael that weekend so he made his flight arrangements for early Monday morning. He’d arrive around lunch time; that way he could start by offering to buy lunch, right off showing them his generosity, getting them to acknowledge his kindness. As simple as it was to pay for lunch, Lew found that it quickly brought people to your side of the table, as it were. It started negotiations on a positive note.
That Friday, Lew took some books from the library and studied up on the Navajos, their history and present commercial successes. As Frank had said, they were natural businessmen. He wondered why this little band didn’t solicit help, but rather seemed to shy from it?
All weekend Lew thought about work, often reading while Michael and he sat in various restaurants eating breakfast, lunch or dinner. He stayed in a hotel while visiting his son that weekend. Why drive back and forth? The days for Lew went by slowly, rotating around meals. Between meals there was the park, movies, and shopping malls, for which neither Michael nor he had a particular affinity, except that it was somewhere to go. Sometimes they would hang out in the hotel room. They didn’t talk much, and Lew felt very uncomfortable the whole time. When it came time to drop Michael off, Lew felt relieved; although, not fifteen minutes on the highway heading back to the city Lew missed his son once again, almost to the point of tears.
Sunday evening Lew packed and went to bed early. Sharon had left several messages on his answering machine, but he didn’t intend to return them. Her last message sounded almost desperate. Lynne had also left two messages requesting to see him again, but those he definitely wasn’t going to answer. He had gotten what he wanted and it just wasn’t worth a second time to him. That decision had been made before she left his bed the first time, and probably could have been made earlier.
The next morning arrived with a start. Lew had been dreaming of two wolves fiercely fighting over a dead carcass. He sat up abruptly, sweat beaded his forehead and his muscles shook from the activity. The blankets were twisted and bunched around his legs. He closed his eyes to retrieve a look at the carcass, but quickly opened them once he realized it was human. He had no interest in seeing who it might be.
The folder sat next to his briefcase at the foot of the bed, along with his suitcase. He was positive that Running Wolf had been on his mind just as he fell off to sleep, and, indeed, he felt he was in for a battle.
After his morning routine, Lew left for the airport. Kennedy was busy at that time in the morning, with business people traveling all over the U.S. His flight wasn’t very full, though, and he had room to lift the armrests and prop his feet across the seats. Leaning against the window at a slight angle, Lew watched as they flew over clouds and land intermittently. He ate the breakfast they served, happy to have something in his stomach.
As the jet approached Silver City, Lew straightened in his seat. The ground looked luminous, clear, high-contrast. He buckled up for the landing, amazed at how good he felt just flying into this city. Comfort set in for a moment, then left when he began to concentrate on the job again. He needed to learn, as quickly as possible, what it was that meant something to the Indians. He hoped to get that information over lunch. People tended to open up while eating. He reminded himself: no business talk at lunch; get acquainted. Learn what motivates them and play off it.
At baggage claim, Lew’s suitcase came quickly. As soon as he had hold of it, he looked around for his liaison. There were quite a few people who could be Navajo. He walked outside with his chin held high and his eyes scanning the area. Near the curb, he saw a long-haired man dressed in an odd-colored vest and worn clothes: khaki pants and a plain faded blue undershirt. He wore moccasins and had some sort of carved stone hanging around his neck by a leather cord. The man had a solemn look on his face and held a sign that read: Saunders & James Advertising.
Lew had to laugh at how odd a sight it was—the sign, depicting a prominent New York advertising agency, held by this rumpled-looking man with an old, four-door crew cab pickup idling behind him. In the bed, there were supplies of some kind wrapped in a black canvas cover that flapped loosely at one corner. The blue truck was dented and rusted along the baseboard.
Your limo awaits, Lew thought as he walked over and greeted the man, noticing that there were already two people in the front seat of the truck, and two in the back seat. Smiling as broadly as possible, Lew set down his suitcase and held out his hand. He was definitely overdressed. “Llewellyn Smith,” he said.
The Indian threw the sign he held into the back of the truck and bent down for Lew’s suitcase. “Get in,” is all he said, nodding towards the truck. As that Indian walked back to throw Lew’s suitcase into the bed of the truck, another one pushed open the door and stepped out, motioning for Lew to climb into the back seat.
There wasn’t much room for Lew to put his briefcase, so he crammed it down in front of his feet, his toes slightly bent to the right and left to accommodate it. The cab of the truck was hot, even with all four windows down. The men smelled sweaty. When the first Indian got in the front seat and the other one pushed in beside Lew, the driver pulled the truck into the street. No one spoke for a moment.
Then Lew said, “Excuse me. I don’t know exactly how much time you all have, but I’d like to start off by picking up lunch.” He didn’t know if Running Wolf was even in the truck, or who any of the men were.
The man next to him said, “We’ve already eaten.”
“Oh,” Lew said, not knowing what else to say. He waited for a few more minutes and the quiet got to be too much for him. He realized they were headed out of town and that no one had asked where he was staying. “My hotel is downtown.”
The Indian sitting in the center in the front seat turned to face him and he realized it was a woman. “You won’t need a hotel.”
Instantly Lew took advantage of the eye contact. “My name is…” he reached out his hand.
“I heard,” she said.
“They call me Wolf,” he told her. When she began to turn her head back around, Lew spoke out again, “It’s my nickname.”
The Indian to Lew’s left turned and took the hand Lew had held out to the woman in the front seat. He was older than the others, his face was wrinkled by long hours in the sun, and he wore beads in his hair. Holding Lew’s hand firmly, he said, “I, too, am Wolf.”
Lew shook Running Wolf ’s hand, then the Indian let go and turned his head to look out the window.
“So, you’re the man I’m here to see,” Wolf said.
Running Wolf lifted his hand to shut Lew up. “We can talk later.”
“Sure,” Lew said, “no problem there. I can wait. Where are we going anyway?”
The Indian on Lew’s right poked him in the ribs with his elbow and Lew shut up.
The truck engine roared as they drove first along the highway heading out
of town and then turned onto a two-lane country road. Running Wolf ’s hair blew around as the outside air rushed in the open window. His head leaned against the window frame, and at one point, Lew thought that Running Wolf had fallen asleep, since his eyes had closed. But Running Wolf soon opened his eyes again, his head never having bobbed or shifted in the least. Lew’s cramped feet began to tingle and he lifted his briefcase to let them straighten and relax.
On more than one occasion, Lew had to hold himself back from talking. The silence annoyed him and made him edgy, but he didn’t know what to say.
The truck seat bounced whenever they went over a pothole, and Lew could hear his expensive suitcase lift up and bang back down, along with the unidentifiable items under the canvas in the truck bed. Since no one spoke, he listened to the flapping of the canvas, which became almost hypnotic. At one point, Lew closed his eyes and began to doze off, but when his briefcase shifted suddenly—they had made a quick turn—he woke fully and caught it before it banged into Running Wolf ’s shin bone.
The turn deposited them onto a dirt road. Branches slapped the truck and made swishing sounds along its sides as they careened between rows of trees that lined what was little more than a cow path. Lew wanted to know where they were going, but kept silent. He sensed he would offend them if he spoke.
The truck pulled off the dirt road and shot between a couple of tall aspens. They skidded to a stop at the verge of an open area that looked like it may have been a cultivated field at one time, but now was overgrown with weeds. All the Indians got out of the truck. The drive had taken about two hours, and each person moaned, bent, stretched as they exited. The driver even did a little dance to loosen his legs. Lew got out and went to the back of the truck to put his briefcase with his suitcase.
Running Wolf came up from behind and reached around Lew to pull out the suitcase. He dropped it on the ground and looked into Lew’s eyes. “Change clothes,” he said.
“Sure.” Lew’s back felt wet and his armpits were soaked. He still wore his suit, never having taken off the jacket. His neck was so hot, taking the tie off alone cooled him considerably. The cooler air near the woods had Lew looking forward to stripping the suit away. He walked to one side of the truck to change, while everyone else politely moved to the other side of the truck, walking from him and deeper into the field. Still, no one talked.
Wondering what to change into, Lew opened his suitcase. Dress casual, or jeans and tennis shoes? He looked over his shoulder and took in the view of the five Indians and laughed, “What’s it matter,” he said aloud, then dressed in the jeans. He had a hunter green polo shirt with him as well, and put that on. He rolled his suit into a ball and stuffed it in the suitcase. The hotel could send it out for cleaning if he ever saw the hotel at all.
The scent of unfamiliar woods penetrated his lungs. It had been a fleeting thought, but still, it bothered him: What if he never did see the hotel? After all, they had refused involvement from the agency, then got talked into a meeting. Perhaps Lew was to be an example. Perhaps they were going to kill him, leave him there to make their point. They’d surely be left alone after that.
Lew’s anxiety shifted to anger. “Fucking shit-head Indians.” He turned and saw they were coming back to the truck. “Scum balls,” he said under his breath. He kicked the suitcase and it slid a few feet from him skidding over weeds and grass. Then he slapped the side of the truck. As the Indians got nearer, Lew took the suitcase to the back of the truck and dropped it into its slot beside his briefcase. The driver and woman got into the front seat, the two others got into the back seat and shut the doors. Running Wolf stood next to the truck’s open front window and spoke in Navajo to the driver. Lew ran around from the back and stopped near Running Wolf. “What the hell’s going on now?” he said.
“We’re walking,” Running Wolf told him.
Lew thought to protest, then checked himself. He stood back and held his hands up. Maybe it was some kind of test. “Fine, I can do that,” he said, thinking that even though he hadn’t been to the gym in a few months, he had been blessed with good health and had never had a problem with a little hike.
The truck started and shook. It turned around in the field and passed back between the two aspens to disappear into the woods. A soft breeze bent the weeds and tall grasses that had taken over the field. The sun stood at three o’clock in the sky and the heat began to sink into Lew’s clothes once again. When he turned to look at Running Wolf, the man was already fifty feet away, walking slowly. Running Wolf was a strong man, not one to start a fight with, Lew noted. Then, he didn’t seem the type to fight anyway. Of course, that’s the worst kind: those silent ones.
Walking at about twice Running Wolf ’s pace, Lew caught up to him. As they moved along side by side, Lew looked for indications of the man’s age. Had it not been that his hair had absolutely no gray in it, Running Wolf easily looked in his mid-forties. His eyes were wrinkled, his forehead creased. Those things could have been from being in the sun his whole life. Lew guessed him to be in his late thirties.
At the far end of the field, they entered thick woods. Lew’s anger and anxiety paced back and forth inside him. He smacked branches out of his way as he followed closely behind Running Wolf. Neither of them spoke for over an hour. Part of the way they traveled over flat land, but eventually they switch-backed uphill, climbing steadily towards the sky. Lew had no idea where they were headed, nor why. He followed in silence.
When they broke out of the woods, Lew gasped at the magnificence before him. They stood near a ledge overlooking several valleys. Ridges, one beyond another, seemed to go on forever, each one more blue than the last until they were lost in the blue distance of the horizon. They paused for a moment before Running Wolf began walking along the great ridge.
Lew followed. Not having eaten all day, his stomach felt hollow and empty. He got light-headed. Once he noticed these things, he became uncomfortable, irritated. His entire body seemed to react to the lack of nourishment. His legs tired, his feet tingled, his neck and shoulders tightened painfully in suppressed anger. He began to breathe more heavily. He was tired, hungry and thirsty—thirstier than he had ever been in his life. His mouth felt sticky and his tongue larger than it felt after a good drunk. He tried to spit, but couldn’t accumulate enough saliva. And he was sweating.
He began to notice the focused pain of blisters developing on his feet. His expensive cross-trainers were not hiking boots. He began to appreciate the infrequent but refreshing breezes that came from the cool woods to his right.
Regardless of his pain or discomfort, Lew wasn’t about to cave-in—which is what he thought the Indian wanted. He’d stand up to the test.
The pace continued several hours more. Lew was tiring, and the pain from the blisters on his feet had so increased that finally he yelled ahead to Running Wolf. “When do we get to where we’re going?”
Running Wolf stopped and waited. Lew hobbled on his sore feet up to Running Wolf, who said, “We can camp now. Over there.” He pointed at a flat area ahead, one without a lot of rocks protruding from the ground. It looked mossy and soft.
“We’re sleeping out here? But I’ve got hotel reservations. I’d like to shower. Relax.” Lew was pissed and didn’t hold back. “How can you just abscond with me, lead me up here and not explain one damned thing? You don’t have the right.”
“You followed. I did nothing,” Running Wolf said.
“But I thought…”
“I am not responsible for what you think or what you do. You are not responsible for me.”
Lew put his hands on his hips, “So that’s what this is all about? You’re teaching me a lesson: you let me do my thing, I let you do yours. We don’t stop one another and we don’t help one another. Fine.” Lew brushed his hands together as though he was cleaning dirt from them. They felt thick from hanging to his sides all day. “You win. Now, take me to the hotel and I’ll head back to New York.”
“You say you are wolf,
but you refuse to act like a wolf.”
“What about this lesson thing? We’re not done with that conversation yet.” Lew stood defiantly, rising to his full height, a few inches taller than Running Wolf.
“There is no lesson. You are here because you want to be. Something is here that you need. You were called.”
“I was forced,” Lew corrected.
Running Wolf took a deep breath and strode over to the proposed campsite. From his vest he pulled a small canteen of water and held it out to Lew, who had followed him. Lew grabbed the canteen and opened it quickly.
“Three swallows,” Running Wolf said and Lew obeyed. “You can wait here,” he said. Lew obediently sat on the soft moss.
When Running Wolf had disappeared into the nearby woods, Lew removed his cross-trainers and socks. Most of the blisters had already broken. The liquid oozed into his socks. He couldn’t hike for another day like the one he just had. Trying to avoid the blisters, Lew rubbed his feet along the sides and tops, then leaned back onto his hands and placed his feet on the soft moss. In front of him, through the trees, spread the most magnificent display of color he had ever seen. It just seemed to appear suddenly. He had not noticed it a moment ago.
Running Wolf returned with a backpack sort of thing made from the rubbery branches of some bush. It was filled with wood. He carried kindling in his arms. In the orange-red glow of the sunset he kneeled on the ground and struck a fire that matched the color of the setting orb.
“Could I have more water?” Lew asked.
Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection Page 28
