Holes in the Sky

by Mark Reps

  “Why? By whom? For what reason?”

  “By Jimmy Song Bird.”

  “Jimmy Song Bird?”

  “You don’t know what I’m gettin’ at, do you?”

  “I’m lost.”

  Deputy Kate Steele suddenly felt weak in the knees.

  “Then I guess I’d be beholdin’ to let the cat out of the bag now, wouldn’t I.”

  “Please do.”

  “Son of a gun,” sighed Doreen. “Talk about relief. I’ve been bustin’ a gut for near a year tryin’ to keep myself from spoutin’ off about the whole dang deal. But I made a promise, and yours truly, if nothin’ else in this vale of tears, is a loyal puppy dog when it comes to keepin’ her promises.”

  Doreen walked behind the counter and refilled both of the cups with a freshly brewed pot of black coffee.

  “Cream?”

  “Just a smidgen.”

  Doreen smiled slyly as she poured cream into Kate’s coffee cup.

  “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to arrest you to get a confession?”

  “I can tell you the secret, only now, because I promised Song Bird. Actually, he made me promise that I wouldn’t say nothin’ until you figured it out first. I guess he musta had his reasons, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what they’d be.”

  “Good Lord, Doe, you sure can take a long time getting to a point.”

  “So I’ve been told. Everybody knows that most of the fun ain’t in the arrivin’ but is in the gettin’ where you’re goin’.”

  Doreen scooted back around the counter, sat down next to her friend, and looked at her face to face, eye to eye, friend to friend.

  “When your daddy was dyin’,” began Doreen.

  A wave of joy peppered with sadness rushed through Kate. Memories came flooding back as she thought of her father in his final days, slowly dying from cancer as he lay like a helpless child on his tattered sofa. In those bittersweet final days of his life, father and daughter bid farewell in a thousand gentle ways. Her father talked with her at length about how the Medicine Men, Jimmy Song Bird and Geronimo Star in the Night, had prepared him for his unknown journey. They taught him that his fate was to return to his ancestors. The wise practitioners led him down a path of enlightenment and awareness as his transition to the next world slowly became a reality. When he slipped peacefully from his living body, thanks to the Medicine Men, Kate was given a uniquely powerful yet somehow strangely beautiful view of death.

  “When he was makin’ his preparations, in the way Apaches do,” said Doreen. “In the old ways I mean, with the Medicine Men...”

  Kate’s thoughts flashed to a moonlit night outside of Geronimo Star in the Night’s sweat lodge near the top of Mount Graham. Inside, the Medicine Men were helping her father prepare for his journey to the spirit world. As a woman she was not allowed to participate in the ceremony, but her heart was with her father.

  “…one of the things your father asked Jimmy Song Bird to do was…well, he didn’t actually ask him to do it.”

  “What did my father want of Jimmy Song Bird?” asked Kate.

  “It was more of a wish actually,” said Doreen. “He wished you would have the great gift of love like he and your mother had.”

  Tears from the infinitely deep well of human emotion welled in the eyes of Kate and Doreen. Neither woman made any attempt to ebb the flow.

  “Jimmy Song Bird made a magic potion out of sandalwood oil. He give it to me to give to you. It was your father’s final gift to you,” said Doreen.

  Kate’s spirit soared in the transcendent realization that the love in her heart was unbound by the worldly constraints of life and death. It was her father’s passing that brought her back to the Southwest, to a life she loved. Now she realized while preparing her father for his death, the old Medicine Men of the Apache tribe had also helped prepare her for life.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate Steele tingled with a sense of nervous anticipation as she dressed for her date with Eskadi Black Robes. Dabbing a touch of sandalwood oil behind each ear, she spoke to herself in the mirror.

  “It’s not really a date. It’s more like another cultural lesson.” She paused. “Who am I kidding? My feelings for Eskadi are getting stronger and stronger.”

  Eskadi’s private tutoring in the traditional ways of the Apache was slowly beginning to give her an understanding of what it meant to be an Athabaskan, an Apache. Tonight, when Song Bird addressed the public gathering and gave the oral history of Mount Graham, Eskadi would be by her side.

  Kate pulled her shiny, black hair into a ponytail, accenting her favorite abalone necklace and lapis earrings. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, her sea green eyes sparkled with delight as she thought about Eskadi. Heading toward the reservation, she let her mind ponder the ‘what ifs’ of her life.

  At the tribal center, she stepped out of the car to the steady pulse of rhythmic drumming. Her skin warmed as the deep harmony of chanting male voices reached her ears. Four half-asleep reservation mutts were lying on the ground in the parking lot. They lazily opened their eyes in acknowledgment of her arrival. Eskadi had explained to her that these dogs were part of the intricate harmony of all living things. He believed they were not unlike people. Some were good and others were bad. Some were so fat they could barely carry their own body weight. Others were so skinny a strong wind could push them over. They also had personalities. Some were kind. Others were as ornery as a knotted piece of wood beneath the saw blade. But, just like people, the dogs were living beings, so they should be given respect.

  Eskadi had taught her to observe the animals by what he called the lesson of looking. Kate was tilting her head to make eye contact with a particularly mangy looking mutt when she felt the soft touch of a human hand on her shoulder. Her heart raced.

  “Eskadi, you surprised me.”

  “I was watching you having a staring contest with Jingles. I figured if I didn’t intervene, he was going to get the better of you,” laughed Eskadi.

  “Jingles?”

  “He got hit in the head by a car when he was a puppy. He lost his sense of direction. The kids tied a bell around his neck so they could find him when he wandered off. Now he’s old. He doesn’t get lost anymore because he doesn’t go any further than the back of the building.”

  “Is he your dog?”

  “He’s everybody’s dog. Come on, let’s get going. The story telling is about to begin.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Weren’t you listening to the drumming?”

  “Of course I heard it.”

  “You heard the drumming, but you weren’t listening. From watching your interaction with Jingles I know you are learning to see. Now you need to learn the art of listening.”

  In the near distance people were gathering around a bonfire. Kate’s ears picked up the changing of the drumming cadence.

  “The drums are now telling everyone to gather,” said Eskadi. “Soon the story telling will begin.”

  Eskadi held Kate’s hand as they walked among the stragglers making their way to the gathering. As they drew closer, the modulation of the drumming rose up with the suddenness of a desert wind. Just as quickly it dropped off into a dull, flat roar. The murmuring crowd that had gathered responded with a collective quietude. Little children sat peacefully on grandmothers’ laps. Old men exhaled lazy swirls of smoke from their cigarettes. Teenage couples melded into each other’s bodies. Kate didn’t see Sheriff Hanks sitting near Song Bird’s extended family.

  Fry bread and soda pop were served as snacks. No one was drinking alcohol. It was strictly forbidden. Kate smiled at the older people who seemed to be curious about her.

  “People are noticing you,” said Eskadi. “You are going to be the subject of more than a little gossip tonight.”

  “I see that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. A lot of people are looking because they wonder why I don’t have a wife yet. They have been trying to get m
e married off ever since I came back from college. They figure I should set an example as a community leader and start having lots of children.”

  “What do you think of that?”

  “They mean well. But…they should mind their own business,” laughed Eskadi, squeezing her hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  The pounding on the animal skinheads of the esadadedne began anew in yet another timbre. This time the tempo brought utter stillness to the crowd. The brightly painted Medicine Man, dressed in a multi-colored kilt and wearing a tall, wooden-slat headdress, danced with deliberation. Flames from the bonfire shot up behind him. Hypnotized by the events, Kate felt adrift from her usual emotions. Her mind, however, remained crystal clear as Song Bird began his story. The backdrop of the crackling fire enhanced the aura of ritual.

  “The ancient spirits have spoken to me about Dzil Nchaa Si An.”

  The words echoed in Kate’s ear. Eskadi had taught her Dzil Nchaa Si An was the Apache name for Mount Graham.

  “There are many people who do not know the mountain is alive. There are many people, even among us here tonight, who think Dzil Nchaa Si An is nothing more than a big pile of stones and dirt. Many of our children and young people have never heard our sacred traditions. Some of them don’t even know the creation story.”

  As he made this strong proclamation, from the youngest child to the eldest member, not a soul moved a single muscle. Sheriff Hanks tuned in to Song Bird’s every word.

  “There are Apache brothers and sisters who no longer believe the Ga’an exist anywhere but in the minds of old men who spend their days sitting around telling stories. But listen to me, the mountain spirits have come down from high atop Mount Graham. They are with us right now.”

  The elder males grunted like bulls. The elder women made high-pitched ululations in the back of their throats. The young children mimicked perfectly what they had just heard.

  “Dzil Nchaa Si An brings us rain so that our crops may grow. How many of you have not looked upon the peaks of the mountain and seen that the Gods are going to bless us with water? When we pray in the right way, the Gods send us dark clouds, bursting full of water so the rivers may be full, the fish may grow and the crops return for another season. If we forget to pray, all of those blessings may go away and the cycle of life may cease to be.”

  Upon hearing the ominous warning the crowd became still.

  “Many of you have lived long enough to see what happens when we forget about the proper way of living. We must teach our children how to speak to the spirits. We must, each and every one of us, remember to be thankful in our prayers when Dzil Nchaa Si Na has blessed us. To be inattentive of the mountain spirits is to be disrespectful to the Makers of the mountain. To be defiant of the Gods who bring us these precious gifts can only mean trouble.”

  Each spoken word appeared to penetrate young and old alike. Even teenagers were paying close attention. Zeb observed it all with a keen eye.

  “The Gods have warned me that there are those who pray very hard that no rain clouds ever pass over the high peaks of Dzil Nchaa Si An.”

  A discernible murmur rose among the crowd as the Medicine Man spoke the dire admonition. Kate watched babies become agitated as the old women who held them began to rock and sway. Men’s faces became taut and their eyes narrowed.

  “It is the duty of every Apache to pray so we may continue to have the water we need. These same people who want no rain from the mountain and no clouds in the sky believe that the Ga’an spirits are nothing but dreams in the feeble minds of stupid Apaches.”

  Song Bird paused. The level of anxiety in the crowd rose. He held his silence until the tension was as tight as a bowstring.

  “We Apaches know the Ga’an are like the wind. No one sees the wind, but who denies its existence? Who among you has not felt the gentle caress of a soft wind rolling across your skin? Is there anyone who has not heard the wind howl like a coyote mother looking for her straying child? Do we all not smell the aroma of the spring flowers drifting on the wind? Have you not tasted the dryness of the wind as it sears your mouth on a hot summer day? Who among us would be so foolish as to not respect the wind? We would be crazy not to believe in the power of the wind.”

  Each person in the crowd was alert now, thinking almost palpably. Each question made fundamental sense to Zeb. But what was Song Bird really saying? Zeb’s skin rippled with goose flesh at Song Bird’s next words. He knew something big was up, but what that thing was he could not determine. Across the way he caught the eye of Jake Dablo. The men exchanged a glance. The eye contact told him Jake was sensing something as well.

  “Those very same enemies who would wish an end to the Apache Nation say that we are fools to believe in the Ga’an who have given us the ability to see and to know the power of the wind.”

  The hollow drums began to beat anew in subdued tones. Occasionally an accented crescendo seemed to pierce Kate’s heart. The drummers muffled the sound by resting a hand atop the drum skin. The rhythmic pulsation continued for five minutes before stopping in a reverberating echo. All the while Song Bird slowly walked in a clockwise circle around the fire. Holding a string of black beads in his hand he faced the east and bowed his head in prayer. Moving to the south he repeated the same movements. This time he held a string of blue beads. Twice more he repeated the ritual. While facing the west he held yellow beads as he chanted his prayers. Caressing white beads he chanted his prayers to the north direction. Returning to his point of origin, Song Bird flourished a hidden sword from beneath his kilt. Using both hands he raised it to the sky with an offertory chant. The crowd froze at this action.

  “The Ga’an on Dzil Nchaa Si An have given me a vision.”

  The Medicine Man lowered the sword to the center of his body. There he held it for a long minute before carefully placing it on the ground. Kneeling, the Medicine Man lit an offering of tobacco.

  “The Ga’an have told me our healing plants, our curing waters, our sacred animals, our ancient burial grounds must be protected.”

  Song Bird picked up a handful of the earth. He turned sideways, backlit by the fire. The sand falling from his hands glistened and sparkled as it returned to the earth exactly from where the Medicine Man had snatched it. The lighter flecks of dirt were blown toward the crowd by a blast of heat from the fire. The effect of the heat on the dust particles swept them in a gyrating motion heavenward.

  “My vision tells me that a small mountain will grow on top of the Great Sacred Mountain. Only it will not be made of ancient rock. The little mountain will glisten like the afternoon sunshine reflecting on water. It will be made of iron. Though it has no heartbeat, it sees through eyes made of diamonds. These precious jewels will allow it to see more clearly than a thousand eagles’ eyes. The small man-made mountain of iron and steel will have the power to see right through the holes in the sky.”

  The tribe, nearly unable to grasp such a disparate concept, was captured between awe and disbelief as the Medicine Man ceased his homily with a final admonition.

  “Each one of you will recognize it by its distinct marking. Towering above the small mountain will be a cross made of wood.”

  Zeb couldn’t help but sense the wonder of the crowd. He, himself, felt it. But Zeb had no idea what it meant. Song Bird squatted. Taking the sword into his arms, he began dancing around the fire. One by one the adult males joined him. Mesmerized, Kate observed the lithe motions of the men as they danced in unison. When all of the men had entered the circle, the rhythm of the drumming altered, increasing dramatically in momentum. The change in the music inspired the women to begin another ululating chant. Within moments the young boys joined the men in dance and girls joined the women in wildly harmonic intonations.

  Kate’s eyes followed the motion of the dancers and singers. Then through the flames of the fire she noticed the few people who were not participating in the event. Jake Dablo stood stoically next to a short man with thick glasses.

  The strang
e, beautiful noises, synchronized with the dancing movements, carried Kate into a state of ecstasy. The lightness of the night air made Kate feel she was experiencing the ancient, collective memory of the people surrounding her. From the throng emerged a smiling, young Apache child with green eyes. With a tiny hand she reached out for Kate. Silently, the child led her to the group of chanting women who welcomed her with their smiling eyes. Standing at the center of all the women was the hundred year-old Beulah Trees. Within moments Kate found herself singing the same haunting, resonating tones as the Apache women. Losing her sense of self to a sense of timelessness, she found herself staring into the glowing embers of the dying bonfire. The women and girls of the tribe hovered around her. They each touched Kate as they departed one by one. In her heightened state of awareness, she had all but forgotten about Eskadi, who was now standing by her side. Zeb and Jake had watched the entire transformation. The altered state of consciousness Kate was experiencing was not lost on them.

  “Come with me.”

  Eskadi held her hand as they made their way to an open field. Magically, he pulled a blanket from a hiding spot and laid it on the desert ground. The world seemed perfect. Kate sat in front of Eskadi leaning against his chest. His muscular arms surrounded her. Together they gazed toward the brightly shining stars.

  “Tell me, Kate, are you beginning to see what it means to be an Apache?”

  “Something inside of me changed tonight. I saw things in a completely new light. It was beautiful and scary. The women were wonderful, but Song Bird’s vision was scary and sometimes incomprehensible.”

  “Which part?”

  “I understood him to be warning us about something which hasn’t occurred yet. But then he spoke about it like it has already happened.”

  “You are right.”

  “How can I be right when I don’t even understand what I am saying?”

  “Do you remember what Song Bird said about the wind? About how it is there even though we don’t see it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I think he was talking about the same thing. I think he was saying the seeds of the small mountain that will grow on top of Mount Graham have already been sewn.”