Scared Stiff

by Laura Baumbach, William Maltese, Josh Lanyon

  Cody's hands were still and dark against the pale bark of the Aspen tree, and they glanced at each other for a moment. Robert felt it like a spear in his chest, that wounded dark glance. “You won't leave me until it's done, Robert?"

  "Maybe I won't leave you then, either.” Cody ducked his head. Robert stared out at the river. “Did Val say anything to you? When you saw him at the hospital?"

  "He said to trust you. He said you were strong."

  "He told me the same about you, Cody."

  They lashed the three largest trees together like a tripod, and it formed a tipi shape. The smaller trees covered the outside, then the branches went over that. “This is like we're a couple of boys building a fort!” Just for a second Robert could hear Cody's young voice again. Cody mixed up some river mud and piled it on the branches, and Robert hauled some smooth, pale river rocks inside the sweat for the fire hole.

  He rested inside the dark space, the only light coming from the smoke hole. It wasn't very big. They'd have to sit cross-legged to fit all three of them in here.

  Cody crawled in through the entrance with a small shovel, sat up on his knees and started digging the fire pit. He hauled the dirt outside, crawled back in and rimmed the pit with rocks. “We need a few more."

  Robert sat up. “I'll get them."

  "You rest, Robert. I'll get them."

  Robert leaned back, put his hands behind his head. The space was still and dark and quiet, the sunlight a golden shaft like an arrow through the smoke hole. Maybe the medicine of the sweat lodge just came from the peace of the space, when you could leave the world outside and be still and think. Cody crawled back in, glanced at Robert, then finished the fire pit. Then he leaned back, too, studied the roof. “Do we have anything to drink?"

  "Cokes, coffee, and water."

  "Where's the rest of the bourbon?"

  "We finished it. That's all there was. Besides, you don't drink, Cody."

  "It helped me to sleep before. You gave me a sip, and the voices shut up and I could sleep for a bit. It was a relief not to hear them, Robert."

  "I think it's too dangerous, Cody. I may not know what's going on, but I know that for sure."

  "And you just decided this for me, like I'm a child? Like you decided I needed a medicine man? Booze isn't illegal. Not all Indians are alcoholics. That's just white bullshit."

  "Cody, you told me you don't drink. Maybe somebody else in your head's clamoring for some whiskey. You gonna just let the bad guys tell you to poison yourself?"

  "I could knock you on your skinny white ass and take your truck and do whatever the fuck I wanted. You couldn't stop me."

  "You go ahead. Live out your lonely, miserable life with a head full of murdering ghosts. Go ahead, Cody. Take the truck, drink some whiskey. The keys are on the table. Then maybe you can find a couple of guys out for a Sunday afternoon ride on their motorcycle. And you can just run them down like their lives don't mean anything."

  Cody climbed out of the sweat without another word, and Robert lay still, on his back, tears sliding down the side of his face and dripping into his ears. Maybe he should ask the medicine man to help him, too. Could he get Val's ghost out of his head? Maybe. But he didn't want to lose Val's ghost. Val? You there, baby? Nothing. Maybe this, like everything else, was out of his control.

  The shaft of late afternoon gold moved across the floor, and Robert crawled stiffly out of the sweat, stood up on the second try. His truck was still where he'd left it. Where was Cody? In the cabin, sharpening the tomahawk? Hitchhiking into town, to visit the liquor store? No, he could hear him. Robert walked around the back of the cabin. Cody was in the river again. He had stripped off his clothes, knelt among the rocks, and was crying with his head down on his knees, crying like the heart had shattered in his chest.

  Robert couldn't speak around the tightness that gripped his throat. He went into the cabin, pulled a towel out of the bathroom, then looked into the chifferobe for something warm. There was an old hooded sweatshirt of Val's in there; it would fit Cody better than his smaller one. He threw the towel over his shoulder and walked back outside, kicked off his shoes and walked out into the river.

  Cody's skin was icy, and he shook his head when Robert tried to lift him up. “Just leave me alone, Robert."

  Robert wrapped the towel around his shoulders. “Please, baby. Please come in with me. You're so cold."

  Cody's head lifted, and his voice sounded strangled. “When you talk to me like that, kind of sweet, it almost sounds familiar. Maybe I'm starting to remember you."

  "Please come back into the cabin. I don't want you to get sick, Cody. And I don't think we have any more dry clothes between us."

  "I'm sorry, Robert. I'm sorry for what I said. I can't believe what a fucking asshole I was to you."

  "It's okay, baby. Come on, now. Come inside with me."

  Cody stood up, his legs shaky, and Robert dried him off, slipped the sweatshirt on over his head. Cody held out his arms, humble as a child. When they got back in the cabin Cody dried his legs and feet, sat down on the end of the bed, and Robert rooted around for a pair of clean boxers.

  Cody slipped them on, but by then his teeth were chattering, strong shivers rocking his frame. Robert pulled back the covers, and Cody crawled into his bed.

  Robert put some coffee on, started browning the stew meat for tomorrow. It felt cozy. The cabin was warm, with the smells of cooking food and Cody curled up asleep in his bed. He looked at the food Lillian had brought for the medicine man. Oatmeal had a certain appeal on a night like this. Comfort food. Maybe he and Cody would be happy that way, living poor together, out in the wilderness. Robert sighed. Not yet. No wishful thinking yet. After tomorrow, Cody might just run as long and far away from him as he could possibly get. Robert walked over to the bed and picked up Cody's hand, pressed a kiss into the palm. Cody opened his eyes, blinked for a moment like he was wondering where he was. Then his eyes found Robert's face. He looked like himself, warm dark eyes, no evil ghost snakes slithering through his brain. Robert tucked the hand back under the quilt, and Cody closed his eyes and slept again.

  * * * *

  It was after midnight when Robert heard the wolf. The howl shivered up his spine, and he wondered at first if it was another dream, but Cody was sitting up, too, looking around. “He sounds close, Robert."

  Robert climbed stiffly out of the chair, but he didn't turn the light on. “Cody, did you hear that? It wasn't a dream?” The moonlight was coming through the window, lighting the cabin enough they could see each other, bathed in the silver light. “Is that a wolf?"

  Cody nodded. “I think so. Let's be real quiet, see if we can see them.” He opened the back door of the cabin as quietly as he could, and Robert followed him out to the porch. They stood silently, looking across the river.

  A pair of wolves moved into the moonlight. The huge male had solid black fur, eyes like liquid amber. His companion was smaller, with dappled silver fur. They were on the other side of the riverbank, and the big black wolf lifted his head and howled. Robert took a picture of the scene in his mind, as if his eyes were a camera. This is the shield. The wolf was Cody's spirit guardian.

  "Come on.” Robert touched Cody on the arm. “You'll be safe tonight. They're here to protect you. So am I.” Robert turned back to the wolves one more time. They were real, alive and strong and beautiful. Like Cody.

  Cody crawled back into bed, curled up on his side. “Robert, come sleep in your bed. The chair isn't good for your leg. I'm okay. I won't go nuts or something during the night."

  Robert slid in next to him, wrapped his arms around Cody's waist. “Did you see how beautiful they were?"

  "I liked the smaller one with the silver fur."

  "Yeah? I liked the big black one."

  Cody chuckled, and his throat sounded raw from crying.

  "We can sleep, Cody. The wolves have got our backs."

  "Yep. They got our six."

  "Our six? What does that mean?
"

  "It's slang, Robert. It means they've got our back."

  "I don't get it."

  "Go to sleep. I'll explain it in the morning."

  "Cody, did you call them? Did you call the wolves?"

  "I don't know, Robert. I was praying."

  "Who were you praying to?"

  "To whoever was listening."

  * * * *

  When dawn broke, Robert went out to the back porch. They were still across the river in the shade of one of the big trees on the far riverbank. The little silver wolf was asleep, but the black one was awake, down in the river taking a drink of water. He looked up at Robert, then turned back and nudged his companion with his nose. Then they were running through the trees, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Lillian arrived first, while Cody was still bleary-eyed, sitting on the porch steps with a cup of coffee, staring off blankly at the sweat lodge. She had a teenage girl with her and Beth, and everyone was carrying bags. Robert thought he smelled cinnamon rolls.

  Lillian came back outside after dumping her bags. “Robert, this is my niece, Sharona. We'll start the stew. We brought yeast bread and salad and bowls. You probably don't have enough bowls, do you?” She didn't wait for an answer, just moved to Cody and held his face between her hands, forced him to look up at her. “You look better,” she announced. “You're starting to look like yourself again.” She patted his cheek, and then Beth was there, untwining a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from the backpack she was carrying. She tried to stare into his eyes, too, but Cody flinched away from her.

  "Don't make me get the flashlight.” Her tone was light, but no one doubted she meant it. Then she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm and started pumping the bulb.

  David pulled up a few minutes later. The trailer was still hooked to his truck, but the bulldozer was gone. In its place was a redwood picnic table. A teenage boy climbed out of the pickup. He looked about sixteen, and had a long, straight nose and black hair that looked familiar.

  Robert looked over at Cody and Beth. “That boy, is he Blackfoot?"

  Beth looked around. “Did Redmond come? Amazing. Usually he's locked in the basement, playing Dungeons and Dragons or whatever they're playing now. He's our cousin. David's wife, I mean."

  "Second cousin,” Cody said.

  "No, Gail's our first cousin. So that makes Redmond..."

  "Second cousin. I told you."

  "I am not going to argue with you."

  Robert walked out to the truck. David hitched up his jeans and shook hands. “Thought you might need someplace for everybody to eat. Robert, this is my son, Redmond."

  Redmond was wearing black, and his hands were in the pockets of black pants that were only held on his skinny ass by a wish and a prayer. He was wearing a black stocking cap with a patch on the front: Slipknot. Robert assumed this was the name of a band or a drug, but decided not to ask. They unroped the picnic table and carried it into the shade of the big oak. “Nice and green under here,” David said. “This the septic tank?"

  "Yep."

  "That tap root? That big sucker is probably tearing this septic tank up. You gonna have a major problem soon, my friend."

  "That's what Val thought, too."

  "Well, you call me, you start having trouble, we'll pump that baby out."

  Redmond was wilting, cringing away from them, and Robert could read on his face a desire to die rather than become the type of adult who would stand around and talk about septic tanks.

  But he straightened suddenly, walked casually away down to the river. A moment later Sharona, responding to some silent mating call, appeared on the porch steps, then made her way down to join him.

  David nodded, watching them. “Well, I admit I was wondering why he agreed to come out here with me. These days I usually have to give him cash to spend ten minutes in my company. When he was a little boy, I couldn't even pee alone, he was always hanging on my leg. I thought I would see about this Sun Dancer Lillian found. He needs to do his puberty ceremony soon, if he's gonna do it. Cody never did his, and look what's happened to him. How's our boy this morning?"

  "He seems a little better. You want to hear something wild? A couple of wolves came last night to the other side of the river. They stayed here all night."

  "Goddamn! Were they real? Or, what do you call them, spirit animals?"

  "They were real. But I got the feeling..."

  "They came to protect him."

  "Yeah.” Robert felt a sudden surge of affection for this good old boy, who twice now had dropped everything to come and help. What was it with the people of Salmon, Idaho? Were they all born with hearts as generous as the mountains?

  Cody had escaped the women and gone to the river. He had his fishing pole and had rolled up his jeans, and was walking down the river away from them all.

  "Hey, Cody! Wait up! I got my pole in the truck,” David said. “Robert, you don't worry. I'll stay with the boy."

  Robert did a quick check of the bathroom to make sure they had clean towels and plenty of paper. Lillian and Beth were in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. Beth turned from the sink and dried her hands. “Robert, his blood pressure is still high, and I don't think he took the pills I left with him last night. We're gonna have to be careful today."

  When he went back outside, there was an old man sitting on the front porch. He was Indian, Blackfoot, with that same hatchet nose and long, steel-gray hair down his back in a ponytail. He was wearing jeans and an indigo blue twill shirt, both old and worn, but clean and neatly pressed. He sat without speaking, his gnarled old hands resting on his thighs, and looked around.

  Robert sat down next to him and studied the view. The blackened hole where the onion field used to be, the big oak next to the river, with the picnic table underneath in the shade. The sweat, the green grass, and the wildflowers. Robert looked at him, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. “Would you like to see the river?"

  The old man nodded, and he and Robert walked slowly around the back of the cabin and down to the river bank. The river sounded happy, water flowing over the rocks, and the air was sweet and cool. The Sun Dancer studied the teenagers—Sharona was picking a wildflower and trying to put it in Redmond's hair—then he turned and looked downriver at Cody and David. His hand crept to something under his shirt, something on a thong around his neck. “Is that him?"

  Robert nodded. “I would be very thankful for anything you could do to help my friend."

  Old black eyes sharpened on him. “This is a good place. A clean place.” He put one of those knobby old hands on Robert's shoulder, the knuckles swollen and twisted.

  Robert looked at his hand. “I have a small gift for you. I hope you can use it with your arthritis. It's a radio, designed to hear radio stations all over the world. Russia, Africa, South America, everywhere. And it has a special battery inside. You can recharge by turning the handle. It makes its own electricity, so you never need to buy batteries."

  The Sun Dancer's face looked delighted. “Voices from around the world! And music! I heard music once from Africa. They know their drums, those Africans. Thank you for the thoughtful gift."

  "It was my pleasure. And thank you for making the long trip down here."

  "There is a story we tell about this place, about children hidden during the year of the last buffalo hunt, about a woman murdered. Do you know this story?"

  Robert nodded and pointed to the blackened hole in the onion field. “That's where they were buried, the men who murdered the woman. I burned their bones yesterday. It was their ghosts. They turned themselves into snakes, and hurt my friend."

  The old man hissed softly between his teeth. “My name is Black Moon Rising. I am Blackfoot, of the Blood. We will finish writing this story today. I'll go alone,” he said, as Robert fell into step next to him. “Get me that basket out of my truck?"

  Robert walked back over to the Sun Dancer's truck, a pale blue Chevy that looked like he'd been driving it since it rolled off t
he showroom floor in 1957. In the front seat was a small plastic laundry basket, and inside the basket were a couple of bundles of dried grasses and plants, a water bottle half filled with a pale, greenish liquid, some dark brown sticks floating in it, and a couple of small hide pouches full of something that Robert was pretty sure he shouldn't touch. Also a rolled up copy of American Cowboy.

  Robert took the basket over to the medicine man. He pointed to the ground. His eyes were already half-closed, standing in the burned onions, and he reached for one of the hide pouches, took some yellowish powder from the inside and threw it into the hole. “Does the boy have his medicine bundle?"

  "Not one of his own.” The old man looked around, frowning. “His grandfather's..."

  "Okay, good. We'll use that one. He'll need his weapon and shield."

  Robert left him, went into the kitchen. Lillian and Beth were peeking out the window. “Robert, is that him? He looks tough, doesn't he?"

  "Yes, he does. Lillian, I need you to go break into the Historical Society and steal Cody's grandfather's medicine bundle. Also, I need some hide. Buffalo skin would be better, I guess, I don't really know. And something to paint the shield. I don't have any idea what you use to paint on a hide."

  She was staring at him, her face blank. “Oh, and a rawhide thong for the tomahawk. The weapon and the shield, Lillian. And the old man wants the medicine bundle."

  "Right! Okay, medicine bundle, hide, paint, thong. Got it. Beth, would you please stay here and make sure Sharona..."

  "I sure will."

  Lillian reached down and kissed Robert on the cheek. “You sure liven the place up, Robert. But I swear, Blackfoot men are lunatics! You wouldn't catch a Nez Perce ... never mind.” She grabbed her keys off the counter and was out the door.