Shell Shaker

by LeAnne Howe

  When the policeman asks her how Hector D’Amato got the claw marks all over his face, she will shake her head and say, “I don’t know.” It’s not the whole truth. Just as she pushed the invader, she saw a large panther leap out of a wall of the Billy house and attack him. Together the panther and the Italian rolled over and over, all the way to the bottom.

  16 | Absolution

  TALIHINA,

  ROCKY ROAD

  One more curve in the road and Auda Billy is sitting in a car that has come to a stop. Redford McAlester is next to her in the driver’s seat. Standing in the middle of the road a hundred feet away are her Uncle Isaac and Aunt Delores. They hold hands like lovers.

  All roads should be this black, all headlights so dazzling. They walk out of obscurity toward the high beams and stand before her. Behind them seven women are shaking shells and dancing. As Isaac and Delores draw nearer, the shell shakers form a circle around them. All space and air vibrates as the women transform themselves into multicolored beaks and wings that take flight. Voices arise from the throats of birds. The sound penetrates Auda and her body glows white hot, filled with absolution. The birds circle above the car before they disappear, leaving Auda to confront the dead chief.

  “Where did they come from?” he asks curtly.

  “Look at me,” she says.

  He refuses.

  She leans toward him and whispers, “We are going to be separated forever. You thought I’d forgotten.”

  He cries. Seeing him makes her cry too. She moves so close that she can hear the sound of his breaking bones. He grasps at what he is losing, the life that is leaving him, the memories that are turning to stone. He says quickly, as if it has just occurred to him, “You’re making this up.”

  She shakes her head no.

  “I want to know how you would have finished me that winter night in Yanàbi Town,” he says, pitifully.

  “Like a true enemy,” she answers, “I would have killed you with cruelty. First poison, then I would have severed your head from your body while you still breathed. Next I would have posted it on a white pine of peace in the center of town and sung to you in the full light of Hashtali.” Auda’s voice trails off.

  “I see.”

  “Wait,” she says. “There’s more.”

  He listens.

  “After your death, I would have covered myself with white chalk, sung my own death song, and slipped out of my body into na tohbi. At one time I wanted to be with you forever, to have our bones buried together in a nameless mound where no one would ever disturb us, but this was not to be.”

  He is totally still. “Naturally, when we met, it was the same for me,” he says, his expression suddenly tender. “Go back and take up where I left off. You could still run the casino, just use the money for good.”

  She looks at him and feels herself divide. Part of her watches him with the utter sadness of knowing the one you love is gone forever; her other self feels completely free. “If only you could have been...”

  “Truly,” he says, putting his fingers over her mouth to stop her speaking. Redford McAlester then squares his shoulders, his warrior body returns. He grasps her fingertips, kissing them one by one. “I’ll never leave this place, I promise. After all, my fortune is here,” he says, motioning toward the black nylon bag in the back seat.

  For a while longer they remain like this, linked by icy hands. At last she moves. “I must go back and stand trial for what I’ve done,” and the man she has simultaneously loved and murdered goes all out for her. He blows her a small kiss and unlocks the most hidden passageways of his heart. In an extraordinary moment the car door opens and Redford McAlester pushes her out into the road where she is met by Isaac and Delores.

  Her uncle hugs her as if she were a child and gives her the stone that once belonged to Grandmother of Birds. “Delores and I will take over from here. Be sure to feed GeorgeBush for me.”

  Auda pretends to be strong for her uncle. She can only guess that he and Delores must have been killed by one of the D’Amato brothers.

  Isaac reads her mind. “This is what was meant to happen,” he says, helping Delores into the car. “Someone must remain with the chief and help him to stay put. It’s not so bad. Delores and I will be together and this is what we’ve wanted all along,” he says, locking himself inside the car.

  But Auda doesn’t want her aunt and uncle to be condemned to a future of obscurity and isolation with Redford McAlester. She strides alongside the car with her palms pressed against the window until he hits the gas and the car peels away.

  The wind is warm at first. Auda’s senses return and she smells corn soup and coffee.

  Auda, do you hear, do you understand, wake up.

  Her mother’s voice sounds far away. When she opens her eyes Dovie’s hands seem to flutter over her face like tiny birds pecking, patting, blotting. Tema is very calm, she doesn’t even flinch as Auda tries to pull the tube out of her mouth. “Chiske apela,... Mother help me,” are the words she tries to speak before falling asleep.

  During the next three weeks Auda receives many visitors. Buster Jones and the doctors marvel at the fact she is alive. They claim it’s a miracle that she hasn’t suffered too many ill effects from the coma. Her sore throat, caused by the ventilator tube, takes the longest time to heal.

  Eventually her mother and Aunt Dovie tell her what she already knows. Delores and Isaac were shot sometime after McAlester’s funeral near the Nanih Waiya. They were the last to leave his burial site, and apparently Vico D’Amato caught up with them. The FBI is searching for him, but Gore thinks his body will roll out of the swamp one of these days. Just when is anyone’s guess.

  When Auda regains the use of the muscles in her hand, she writes out a confession. On the day Tema and Borden wheel her into the Choctaw Superior Court at Tuskahoma, Judge Aaron stares dispassionately at her.

  Auda turns around and scans the benches behind her. It seems the entire Choctaw Nation is looking over her shoulders. The small courtroom is packed with Indians, reporters, agents from the BIA office, a lawyer from the Attorney General’s office in D.C., and, of course, seventy young warriors Hoppy has gathered from Southeastern Oklahoma, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama. All her family is present except Susan Billy. She catches Hoppy’s eye before speaking. He points to the warriors, then mouths the words, “Just in case there are complications.”

  Auda walks to the witness box and, before the judge and all the people in the courtroom, she reads her confession:

  At nine A.M. on September 22, 1991, I went to Redford McAlester’s office to shoot him with my mother’s gun. Although I can’t remember exactly what happened, I know I must have done it. Afterwards, I covered his face with kisses, then I let the gun fall to the floor. This is all I remember.

  Auda Billy

  October 17, 1991

  As she is reading the date, her mother enters the courthouse escorting a tiny old woman. Susan Billy is wearing her best blue suit, with the porcupine sash tied over the shoulder. The old woman wears a traditional Choctaw red dress. It has a very full skirt, with a white apron, and she has a white head piece with long ribbons that stream down her back. Auda thinks the two elder women look ridiculous as they walk slowly toward her and Judge Aaron. After her mother and Gore Battiste have a short conference with the judge, Auda is asked to step out of the witness box. The older woman then takes her place.

  Her name is Sarah Bernhardt, she says. In the beginning her testimony is prompted by Gore. But after she gets going, Sarah Bernhardt talks easily without hesitation. The old woman tells the court that she’s a volunteer switchboard operator for the tribe and that she works weekends. Auda scrutinizes Sarah Bernhardt. She can’t remember ever having laid eyes on her before, although she realizes she’s forgotten a lot of things. They tell her this is normal after a coma, and someday part of her memory may come back.

  Sarah Bernhardt’s testimony before Judge Aaron is everything a theatrical performance should
be. It rocks the audience with surprise and is full of emotion without seeming rehearsed. Auda puts her head in her hands and listens to a tearful Bernhardt explain what happened on the day of the McAlester’s murder.

  “I was fixin’ to go home—I can’t work long hours, like I used to, but them, them gunshots scared me so bad, Your Honor, I nearly wet my panties.”

  There’s a lot of chuckling and tittering among the audience. Judge Aaron bangs his gavel. “Chuloso!” he says, looking sternly at the courtroom audience.

  Bernhardt says that curiosity got the best of her after she heard the shots fired, and she peeped in the side door of the chief’s office. “Standing there like a demon, above poor unconscious Auda, was Hector the Harpoon,” she says, her voice shaking. “He had a gun in his hand.”

  “Was McAlester dead?” asks the tribe’s prosecutor.

  “He seemed to be,” answers Bernhardt.

  “Then you can’t say for sure whether Auda Billy shot him, or Hector the Harpoon shot him,” quips the tribe’s prosecutor.

  Auda looks up when she hears a flaw in Bernhardt’s testimony. Maybe there’s hope for the truth to come out, after all?

  “No sir, I can’t,” says the old woman, “except Mr. Harpoon says on the tape I brought with me, that he’s going to splatter Chief’s brains all over the state of Oklahoma if Chief don’t return the money he stole from Hector’s Italian family back east.”

  The courtroom erupts. The judge pounds his gavel and screams quiet again.

  Sarah Bernhardt continues stringing her audience along, threading her story together into a pattern. “Chief had been shot, and them two men talked in a language I can’t understand, Your Honor. Anyway, I watched ‘em rub their fingerprints off the gun and drop it beside our girl...I mean, Miss Auda Billy.”

  The tribe’s prosecutor leans over to Gore Battiste and begins talking. Both men shake their heads conspiratorially. Auda can’t believe this is happening.

  Bernhardt then tells the judge that she ran back to the switchboard and called the county sheriff’s office. “A deputy was the first on the scene, and ever since then I’ve been living in desperate fear for my life,” she cries. “I’m so ashamed that I didn’t come forward until now.”

  Gore Battiste interrupts Bernhardt’s testimony by saying he’s received a file from the FBI proving that Hector D’Amato’s alias was “Hector the Harpoon.”

  “Hector was a member of the Genovese crime family,” continues Gore, “and, as the court has also learned, Hector and Vico D’Amato were brothers. We can further prove that Hector met Redford McAlester at Dartmouth, Your Honor. The Mob seems to have been involved with McAlester since the 1970s.”

  The judge politely accepts her lawyer’s evidence. Then Gore replays the tape cassette Sarah Bernhardt brought with her. The date recorded at the beginning of the tape is September 21, 1991. Hector D’Amato can be heard talking to an unidentified voice, saying exactly what Sarah Bernhardt says he said.

  The old woman weeps loudly on the witness stand as the tape is being played and replayed. Susan Billy rescues Sarah with a box of Kleenex and a nappy gray shawl.

  Auda studies the judge. It’s all over. The expression on his face says everything. Her lawyer has won her case without having to put up much of a defense. She listens as Battiste summarizes the events.

  “We’ve heard Hector D’Amato say he’s going to kill Chief McAlester for stealing the Mob’s money. On September 22, he does this. On September 24, Auda Billy is shot up with insulin at the Choctaw Health Clinic by a cohort of Vico D’Amato’s. Miss Billy nearly dies, and her assailant, Vergie Reagan, is still at large. September 26, Hector D’Amato breaks into the Billy home, apparently to finish what Vergie started. Tema Billy kills him in self-defense. On this same day in another state, Isaac Billy and Delores Love are shot and killed. The FBI believes that Vico D’Amato, thinking Mr. Billy and Ms. Love were running away with the Mob’s money, is the assassin. Currently Vico D’Amato is still at large. On September 26, in New York City, Adair Billy and I obtain a set of documents from James Joyce, not his real name. These bank records prove that McAlester was siphoning off money from Shamrock Resorts and funneling it to the I.R.A.”

  Judge Aaron interrupts Gore.

  “Mr. Battiste, if you had all this evidence, why did you allow Miss Billy to perjure herself by saying she’d killed Redford McAlester?”

  “I made a promise to Ms. Billy when I took her case,” says Gore. “I didn’t have all the facts at the time, but I still had to keep my word to let her tell the story her way.”

  The judge scratches his head. He says he’s throwing out Auda’s written confession. “All I can say is that your client is suffering from the effects of the coma. She must have gone to the tribal headquarters intending to shoot the chief, but Hector D’Amato beat her to it. I’m not excusing intent, but it’s obvious she’s innocent of murder.”

  Judge Aaron cites more evidence. “Her fingerprints were not on the weapon used to kill Redford McAlester. Nor were there any powder burns on her hands at the time of her arrest. Because of Hector D’Amato’s obvious motive for killing Redford McAlester, because of his knowledge of the Billy home and its contents, and now, because a witness has come forward who saw Hector with Mrs. Susan Billy’s gun in his hand, the Choctaw court finds Hector D’Amato guilty of murdering Redford McAlester, Seventh Chief of the Choctaw Nation.”

  Sarah Bernhardt grins widely and stands up to leave the witness box. However, Judge Aaron orders her to sit down while he gives her a tongue lashing for not coming forward earlier. “You have nothing to fear from this tribal court,” he says sternly.

  “Yes sir, I deserve your anger, but go easy on me, I’m just a poor old worn-out porcupine.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, cocking his ear.

  “Pokni,” says Bernhardt. “I meant to say Pokni. Grandmother, Your Honor.”

  “You’re dismissed, little Grandmother, the court thanks you.”

  With that, Gore stands. “I ask the court, in light of this new evidence, to drop all charges against my client, Auda Billy.”

  “Any objections from the tribe’s prosecutor?” asks the judge.

  “None, Your Honor. But we reserve the right to recall Auda Billy in other criminal matters relating to Redford McAlester, as well as in our investigation of the murders of Delores Love and Isaac Billy.” The tribal prosecutor pauses, pulling out another file. “And in the case of Vergie Reagan, a hygienist who allegedly injected Ms. Billy with insulin.”

  “That’s agreeable,” says Gore.

  “Motion granted, Mr. Battiste.”

  With that, Auda loses her chance to convince anyone that she was a murderer. Neither her sisters nor her lawyer believe her any longer. She feels defeated. She asks Tema and Borden to drive her home, especially since her mother and Sarah Bernhardt are nowhere to be found.

  Over the next few days she lies in bed trying to put her life in order. What will she do? Where will she go? When Gore brings her more papers to sign, he begins filling in the details of what is happening at the federal level.

  “The FBI shut down Shamrock Resorts. They’re still investigating, but McAlester’s accounts at Citisavings Bank Corporation were part of a very complex money laundering scheme in the United States, Ireland, England, and the Cayman Islands. Citisavings Bank officials had ignored some of their own safeguards against the laundering of illicit funds. They’d moved millions from McAlester’s accounts and never asked for standard information on his financial background, and made virtually no effort to verify the source of his money. Even when Citisavings finally warned the Feds of McAlester’s suspicious transactions, the bank failed to tell the government about the network of foreign ‘shell accounts’ they had set up to shield McAlester’s money.”

  “That’s interesting,” she says, flatly.

  “Auda, you can’t stay in bed forever.”

  She pulls her face into a blank mask. “Why not?”

  “Y
our family needs you, and the Choctaws need a leader who knows how to fight and how to compromise.”

  “Clichés.”

  “It’s the truth. You said you wanted to help the tribe; that doesn’t always mean you get what you want.”

  “Are you saying you understand why I didn’t expose McAlester to the Feds?”

  “I’m not saying that, it’s just something that James Joyce said.”

  “What?”

  Gore imitates an Irish accent. “She’s good for metaphors. Her perseverance unraveled every stitch of his sweater.’”

  “Meaning?”

  “That you were determined to finish McAlester’s story.”

  It is her turn to be surprised. “Perfect, the only person who understood us both was an incoherent, melancholic agent for the Irish Republican Army.”

  “Look, many tribal and BIA officials are coming forward to testify before the Choctaw Superior Court about what they know about McAlester’s deals,” he says. “You should be proud; their testimonies will mean the end of their careers. Early retirement—or worse.”

  Auda swings her legs out of bed and sits up. “Why haven’t you told me about the investigation into my uncle and aunt’s murders?” she asks. “That’s all I really care about. Catching Vico D’Amato!”

  “The FBI believes Vico D’Amato is already dead. But they’re hunting him. They’ve traced his movements through credit cards and phone logs to Philadelphia, Mississippi, shortly before Isaac and Delores were killed. D’Amato probably asked Delores and Isaac where the ten million was and when they couldn’t—or didn’t—tell him, he shot them. D’Amato became too visible. By the time the FBI finds him, he’ll be nothing but bones.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Absolutely. Right now I’m much more worried about Hoppy. These past three weeks have been hardest on him. He blames himself for Isaac’s and Delores’ deaths. After the Choctaws buried McAlester, he’d offered to stay with Isaac and Delores at the mound, but Isaac told him to head back to Oklahoma.