by Steve Hayes
The young policeman grudgingly backed his pony out of the path of the wagon.
James motioned for Sven to follow him, whirled his pinto around and led the way into the village.
Although they had seen Sven Bjorkman many times in the past, the presence of white strangers attracted a crowd of men, women and children. Emerging from their dwellings, they walked alongside the wagon, dark solemn eyes fixed on Lawless, Violet and Joey, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and resentment.
Shortly, James Tall Tree reined up outside the large council-and-ceremonial wickiup. Dismounting, he told Sven to wait and ducked inside.
Lawless tied the reins around the brake and went to jump off. But Sven signaled to him to remain on the wagon. It was considered impolite he explained, to dismount before they were invited.
They waited in silence, ignoring the sullen stares of the Apaches gathered around them.
Ten agonizingly slow minutes passed.
Lawless looked back at Violet, who still held Joey cuddled to her, and smiled reassuringly. She didn’t respond. Cheeks wet with tears, she kept her face pressed against her brother’s and continued to cry without sound.
Guilt ate at Lawless. Despite knowing he had reacted as any man would after having his horse shot out from under him, he could not shake the thought of killing a boy of fourteen. It was a nightmare he knew would haunt him to his grave and silently damned the day he had left Chihuahua and crossed the border into New Mexico.
Finally, James Tall Tree emerged from the council wickiup. Good news, he told Sven. Almighty Sky had agreed to talk to them after he was done ‘making speak’ with the Elders.
‘How long’s that going to take?’ Lawless said.
The Apache policeman shrugged. ‘You cannot rush wisdom, White Man.’
‘Tell that to Joey’s corpse,’ Lawless said.
CHAPTER NINE
Almighty Sky’s wickiup sat on the bank of the creek, closer to the water than the rest of the village. Despite his exalted position in the tribe, the shaman’s wickiup was rundown like all the others. The jaw bone of an elk, split in half and painted white with a gray eagle’s feather attached to the rear, hung over the doorway – a doorway that faced east so that Almighty Sky would awaken each day with the first rays of the sun warming his face.
According to Apache superstition, anyone walking under the jawbone would be blessed with good luck. And those who touched it as they ducked under it and then spat on their fingertips would not only be lucky but would be able to pass their good fortune on to their descendants.
Lawless, who didn’t believe in superstitions, Indian or white, ignored the jawbone and reined in the team outside the shaman’s dwelling. Climbing into the back of the wagon, he gathered Joey in his arms and gently lowered the boy to Sven, who took him into the wickiup. Violet followed. Lawless jumped down, took out the makings and rolled a cigarette. Without asking, he tossed the makings to James Tall Tree, flared a match and lit both of their smokes.
The policeman nodded his thanks. Together the two sat on the bank and looked across the creek at the solitary wickiup built on the opposite shore. It was a sight rarely seen by Pale Eyes. Considered sacred, it was covered in white goose feathers painstakingly woven into the grasses and strips of yucca leaves. A white ceremonial blanket hung over the entrance above which dangled a string of ancient seashells that tinkled musically in the breeze. The wickiup gleamed like snow in the sunlight, reminding Lawless of a picture of an igloo he’d seen in a magazine in a barbershop in El Paso.
‘Those two,’ he said, pointing at the muscular young braves standing outside, ‘are they Lolotea’s guards?’
‘The Sacred One does not need to be guarded by earthlings,’ James Tall Tree said disdainfully. ‘As her name implies, she is a ‘Gift from the Great Spirit’. He watches over her at all times. Runs With Head Up and Walking Man are merely her shadows. She speaks to them by thought and they do as she asks without question.’
Lawless didn’t say anything.
‘I can tell by your eyes that you do not believe me.’
Lawless shrugged and flipped his butt into the creek. ‘Let’s just say I’m sceptical.’
The sun had climbed above the craggy pinkish-yellow cliffs by the time Almighty Sky arrived. By then Lawless and Sven were pacing outside the wickiup and Violet had grown frantic. Miraculously, Joey was still alive. But Lawless sensed by now the boy had lapsed into a permanent sleep.
The old shaman, a stooped, frail man whose leathery wrinkled face was framed by two long gray braids, greeted Sven cordially and led the two men into his wickiup.
Inside, there was room for six people to sit around the fire pit centered under the smoke hole in the roof. Almighty Sky sat cross-legged facing the door, an old blanket draped over his permanently hunched shoulders. He looked gravely at Joey, who lay inertly in his sister’s arms.
He took forever to speak. He sat motionless, his lidded glittering eyes barely open, his breathing so slow and rhythmic Lawless wondered if he had drifted off. He glanced at Sven, who mouthed ‘Patience’ to him.
Finally, Almighty Sky broke his silence. ‘It has been told to me in a vision,’ he said to Violet, ‘that your brother sleeps in a place where he hears no one.’
About to reply, Violet saw Sven shake his head and remained silent.
‘It is also known to me that you have brought him here so the Sacred One may cure him.’ He paused and sucked on his few remaining teeth, then turned to Sven and spoke in Mescalero. ‘You are not one of those who wish to see all Apaches dead. These old ears will hear you when you speak. Can you tell me why I should allow this to happen?’
‘No,’ Sven replied in the same tongue. ‘No more than I can tell you why many summers ago my father chose to save you from the Comanches. Long before he found you staked out over the ants, Apaches had murdered and scalped his sister, her husband and their two daughters. His hatred for all Indians was legendary.’
‘I have heard this,’ Almighty Sky said. ‘And to this day his act of mercy still puzzles me.’
‘These are mysteries only the Great Spirit can answer,’ Sven said. ‘They are too deep for mortals to understand.’
‘This is true,’ the old shaman agreed. Without pausing he added: ‘Do you have tobacco for me?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you two are chewing on,’ Lawless said to Sven, ‘but in case it’s slipped your mind, Joey’s life is clinging to a straw.’
Sven ignored him. Turning to Violet, he told her to give Almighty Sky the coffee and tobacco that Ingrid had given her.
Violet obeyed.
Almighty Sky nodded his thanks, took out the tobacco and papers and with fumbling fingers ‘made smoke’. Pulling deeply on the cigarette, he slowly exhaled a stream of smoke before saying: ‘I will speak to the Sacred One.’ Rising, he ducked out of the wickiup.
Sven smiled at Violet. ‘I think your prayers have just been answered.
CHAPTER TEN
They hadn’t long to wait.
Lawless barely had time to roll a cigarette before Almighty Sky re-entered the wickiup. Violet looked at him hopefully. He ignored her and sat there stoically staring at the dirt floor. Lawless studied him from across the fire pit but could not tell what he was thinking. Finally the old shaman looked up and spoke directly to Sven.
‘Nii nahii’maa at’e, ya nahiika’ee at’e.…’
‘What’d he say?’ Violet asked.
‘The earth is our Mother, the sky is our Father.’
‘What’s that mean, Mr Bjorkman? Why did he say that?’
‘He’s reminding us that we and the universe are all one … in perfect harmony. And therefore what happens to Joey happens to all of us.’
‘Tell him to quit the council fire lingo and talk English,’ Lawless said to Sven. ‘All this translating is taking seconds off the boy’s life.’
Almighty Sky studied him tolerantly, eyes full of wisdom. ‘I hear your words, Tall Man. But you are on
my land, in my lodge, among my people. Should it not be you who speak my tongue?’
‘I’d be happy to,’ Lawless said. ‘But I can’t speak Apache.’
‘And so it goes,’ the old shaman sighed. ‘We, The People, who have lived here for more than a thousand winters, must change, must give up our language, our ways, our life in order to survive in the Pale Eyes’ world.’
‘No one’s saying that your people aren’t being treated unfairly,’ said Lawless. ‘But right now the fate of the Apache isn’t up for discussion. This is about Joey: it’s his life that’s on the line—’
‘Mister, don’t crowd him,’ Sven began.
Lawless ignored him. ‘So I ask you, hombre a hombre,’ he said to the shaman, ‘is the Sacred One going to try and save Joey, or not?’
Almighty Sky looked offended. ‘Impatience,’ he said, ‘is a white man’s word.’
‘So is decision,’ Lawless said. ‘And right now that’s what you got to do – decide! Otherwise we need to start digging the boy’s grave, because he’s going to die just as surely as if you’d shot him full of arrows.’
Almighty Sky gave Lawless a warning stare. ‘Be careful, Tall Man. Do not let guilt guide your anger.’
‘What’s he talking about?’ Sven said.
‘Somehow the old devil knows I shot Joey,’ Lawless said. ‘Thinks that’s why I’m so anxious to save his life.’
‘You shot Joey?’ Sven said, shocked.
Lawless had already turned back to Almighty Sky. ‘If you know I shot the boy, you must also know it was unintentional.’
‘So does the Sacred One. And because of this, Tall Man, she has asked that it be you who brings the boy to her.’
Violet sagged with relief. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. She started to thank Almighty Sky, but Sven waved her silent before she could offend the old shaman.
Lawless kneeled beside her, ‘Here, let me have him,’ gently grasped Joey in his arms and got to his feet.
Sven went to the door and raised the blanket so Lawless and Almighty Sky could duck under it. Violet started after them but Sven held her back.
‘Why can’t I go too?’ she protested. ‘Joey’s my brother.’
‘I know,’ Sven said. ‘But the Sacred One has spoken. And for now, we must do as she asks.’
Led by Almighty Sky, and watched by most of the village, Lawless waded across the creek with Joey in his arms. The brackish water reached up to his knees. He knew it must be cold but he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t hear anything either – other than his heart hammering in his chest. He glanced down at Joey’s pale freckled face, at his closed eyes and slack-jawed mouth, and thought: Hang on, boy. Hang on for just a mite longer so Lolotea can bring you back to us.
‘It is good, Tall Man.’
Lawless realized he had reached the other bank and that facing him was Almighty Sky, his lidded dark eyes bright with compassion.
‘What is?’
‘That you now believe in the Sacred One’s powers.’
Lawless frowned, unable to figure out how the old Medicine Man had read his mind.
‘If it’ll help save Joey,’ he said, ‘I’ll believe in the Devil himself.’ Pushing past Almighty Sky, he carried the boy up the bank.
Ahead, Walking Man and Runs With Head Up stood blocking the entrance to the sacred white wickiup. Both watched Lawless approaching, eyes full of hatred and distrust.
He kept walking, Joey’s limp body cradled in his arms. The Apaches’ fierce expressions never changed. Lawless returned their stares, undaunted. He wondered if this was some kind of gauntlet that he had to survive in order to reach Lolotea, and regretted obeying Almighty Sky’s order to leave his shooter with Sven. But at the last moment the two braves stepped aside.
Pausing, Lawless looked back to see if the shaman had any final instructions.
Almighty Sky stood at the water’s edge, withered arms out-stretched toward the sun. ‘Enter,’ he said. ‘The Sacred One awaits you.’
Walking Man now lifted the white blanket covering the entrance and Lawless ducked inside.
The seashells, once buried under an ancient sea, tinkled musically behind him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Once inside, Lawless was surprised to find the sacred wickiup devoid of all comforts and religious pretentiousness.
No bed of soft pelts to sleep on. No fire pit to cook over or to keep warm by in winter. No customary smoke hole in the roof. No idols to pray to. Not even the usual spiritual paraphernalia – sacred bones, teeth, beads, amulets – that Apache holy men used to read the thoughts of the Great Spirit.
Only a simple white blanket spread in the middle of the dirt floor.
On that blanket, legs tucked under her, sat the Sacred One.
Lawless guessed she was about twelve or thirteen. But though barely more than a child, such was her presence that he could only stand there and stare at her.
Earlier, Sven had told him that Lolotea was related to the famous Mescalero warrior woman, Dahteste. Now, looking at her, Lawless saw she had inherited Dahteste’s beauty and willowy grace. Bareheaded, with flawless persimmon-colored skin, she wore a beaded white doeskin dress and matching knee-high moccasins. Her sweet childlike face, pure as any saint, was framed by long, prematurely white, hair. Even more startling, her large almond-shaped eyes were completely covered by milky cataracts.
Surprised to find her so young, and blind, Lawless felt a strange spiritual aura permeating him like an invisible shroud. He could not describe the feeling. He just felt it, sensed it, was put at ease by it, and knew at once that he was in the presence of someone special; unearthly.
Lolotea motioned for him to place Joey before her.
Lawless obeyed, setting the unconscious boy on the white blanket. As he did he felt her hand, cool and gentle, lightly press against his forehead.
He looked at her, pleased and comforted by her touch.
Her lovely sightless face stared into his. Her expression was bright with the Great Spirit. It filled him with a peace he hadn’t known since shooting Joey.
He did not see her lips move but heard her say, ‘Leave now.’
Lawless obeyed. But as he reached the doorway, he could not resist looking back.
Lolotea now had one hand on Joey’s forehead, the other over her heart. As if knowing Lawless was watching her, she looked at him and smiled. It was a simple smile, barely enough to tilt the corners of her mouth, yet its radiance lit up her entire face.
Lawless stood there, reluctant to leave.
Her milky, sightless eyes studied him. Again he did not see her lips move. Again he heard her voice, as musical as wind-chimes, telling him to return across the water and wait.
He left.
As he waded back across the creek, he sensed that a miracle was about to occur.
‘What happened?’ Violet said as Lawless entered the shaman’s wickiup and sat opposite her and Sven. ‘What did Lolotea say? Tell me, tell me.’
Lawless knew words could not properly describe what had happened. At the same time he did not want to disappoint Violet.
‘She told me not to worry,’ he lied.
Tears of relief filled Violet’s eyes. ‘I knew it,’ she said excitedly. ‘I just knew she’d be able to save Joey.’
Sven Bjorkman started to caution her. But he saw Lawless shake his head and fell silent.
‘If I were you,’ Lawless told Violet, ‘I’d get some rest. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.’
‘Yes,’ she said as if trying to convince herself. ‘I must rest. Joey’s going to need me when he wakes up.’ Leaning back against the wall of woven grasses, she tried to go to sleep.
Lawless swapped glances with Sven, neither man really believing that Joey would regain consciousness. Drawing his Colt, Lawless set it in his lap, pulled his hat down low and closed his eyes.
Outside, a warm breeze sprang up. It ruffled the surface of the creek and stirred the seashells over the door of the sacred wi
ckiup. Their tinkling, mingled with Lolotea’s faint rhythmic chanting, was the last sound Lawless heard before dozing off.
When he next awoke it was dark and someone was gently shaking him. Instantly he raised his Colt. It was only Sven. The Norwegian put a finger to his lips and pointed at Violet, asleep in the corner. Lawless rose soundlessly, holstered his .45 and followed Sven out of the wickiup.
Outside, Almighty Sky stood with Walking Man. Moonlight glinted on the blade of the ceremonial knife held by the old shaman. ‘Your blood is needed, Tall Man.’
Lawless looked at Sven, who nodded. Trusting him, Lawless held out his hand.
Almighty Sky cut across the palm, drawing blood.
Walking Man caught the blood dripping from the wound in a white-painted clay bowl.
‘What’s this,’ Lawless said, ‘an eye for an eye?’
‘Something close to that, yes,’ Sven said.
When there was enough blood to cover the bottom of the bowl, Walking Man carried it across the creek to the sacred wickiup. Setting the bowl inside, he stepped back and took up his position beside Runs With Head Up.
‘Now what?’ Lawless said.
‘Ntse nt’ah,’ Almighty Sky said.
‘Wait,’ Sven translated.
Lawless went to the creek. Dipping his cut hand into the water, he knotted his kerchief around it and sat on one of the flat rocks the squaws had used to wash their clothes. Sven joined him. Lawless dug out the makings and handed them to Sven. The Norwegian built a cigarette and stuck it between Lawless’s lips. Building another, he scratched a match on the rock and lit both their smokes.
They sat there smoking under a sickle moon, listening to a lonely coyote yip-yipping in the distance.
A shimmering reflection of the moon floated on the surface of the creek. Lawless gazed across it and contemplated the sacred wickiup. ‘You ever seen her?’
