Walker of Time

by Helen Hughes Vick

  Three white, tightly woven yucca baskets with bold black designs stood in front of the large pots. Each lidded basket was about twelve inches high and six inches around. Food seasonings such as wild mustard, dried onion, wild oregano, and salt were most likely kept in these baskets, Walker decided. The family’s dishes, three neat stacks of ceramic pots, bowls, and mugs in various shades of white, gray, and reddish-orange, were placed near the baskets.

  Every inch of the cooking area was utilized to its best advantage. The last bit of space against the back wall was taken up by two large, ceramic water jugs. These plain brown, five-gallon jugs were shaped like giant tortoise shells—flat on one side, rounded on the other. Each had a narrow, round opening at the top and was laced with a thick, leather shoulder strap.

  In the room’s opposite back corner was a stack of rolled-up mats, similar to the one Walker sat on. Even rolled up, these mats, he could tell, were longer and wider. They were probably used for sleeping on. A pile of varicolored furs was neatly stacked on the mats. Blankets? Next to the sleeping mats sat three large, yellow baskets, about two feet tall, each with a distinctive design woven into it. They had wide, open mouths. Storage for clothing and other personal items? Since Flute Maiden had placed his backpack next to these baskets, Walker felt sure that they were.

  Walker’s heart suddenly filled with a wave of homesickness. Great Owl’s home reminded him of Náat’s one-room house. Only the barest essentials had been allowed. Anything else had been stored away in the small storage area next door till it was needed. “Live with only what you need today,” Náat had said many times. “It is the old way.”

  How right you were, Uncle, thought Walker, scanning the ancient ones’ home.

  The only sources of light in the room were the small cooking fire and sunshine through the doorway. With the mid-afternoon sun shining through the T-shaped opening, Walker could see quite well. He watched Tag glancing toward the cooking pit. Walker chuckled. The smells coming from the cooking pot were definitely not what the bahana was accustomed to.

  “Flute Maiden, now that our visitors have quenched their thirst, we must see to their wounds,” Great Owl said, his voice soft and warm. He sat next to Walker, his old legs crossed in front of him. His staff lay beside him.

  Flute Maiden nodded, moving to the sleeping mats. Reaching into one of the large baskets, she brought out a reddish colored fur and a small, stark white, ceramic bowl. As she knelt in front of Walker, he could see that the fur was an entire pelt from a small fox. Its legs and stomach had been stitched together. Its tail was folded and sewn between its legs, making a neat little bag. Flute Maiden untied the leather thong around its neck. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small, leather pouch with a red, cotton drawstring through the top of it.

  Opening the bag, Flute Maiden emptied a couple of teaspoons of fine, red powder into her hand. Placing the powder in the ceramic bowl, she poured in some water. As she swished the water around, it turned bright red. Setting the bowl down, she reached again inside her fox pouch and brought out a small piece of white cotton material.

  “The skin here is just bruised,” Flute Maiden said, inspecting Walker’s cheek. Walker had all but forgotten striking his cheek against the wall in the cave. “The angry color will leave soon.” She dipped the woven cloth into the red water and squeezed out the excess. Then she gently washed his bruised cheek with the wet cloth. The bruise was sensitive to Flute Maiden’s soft touch. A strong flowery scent drifted to Walker’s nose, but he couldn’t match the familiar smell with a flower.

  “But here,” Flute Maiden continued, indicating the small cut in Walker’s chest just below his eagle pendant, “where Gray Wolf’s spear showed his hatred, the skin is broken. But not too deep.”

  The breath caught in Walker’s throat. Flute Maiden’s touch was gentle, but the red water stung the open wound. Whatever the red water was, it felt like iodine!

  “It smells like wild geraniums,” said Tag, sniffing the air. With a chuckle, he added, “Even if it doesn’t kill any germs, you’re going to smell great.”

  After rinsing the cloth again in the red water and cleaning the wound a final time, Flute Maiden reached into her fox pouch. She brought out a second leather drawstring bag. Opening this bag, she explained, “All the evil feelings have been washed out. Now we must cover the wound, so that no bad spirits can enter through it into your body.” Reaching into the small bag, she brought out a clear, thick poultice on her fingers. She gently spread the ointment over Walker’s wound. The stinging disappeared and was replaced with a cool, soothing sensation.

  After applying the medicine, Flute Maiden’s fingers stole up to touch the eagle pendant. Her serious eyes studied it.

  Watching her intent face, Walker wished he could read her mind. What answers would he find there at this minute? Walker looked down at the pendant in Flute Maiden’s fingers and then into her beautiful eyes. “Thank you. It feels better already.”

  With obvious embarrassment, Flute Maiden let her eyes fall to the ground. Gathering her things, she said, “Before you sleep tonight and again at sunrise, I must cover the opening to protect it against Gray Wolf’s evil thoughts and feelings. They must not find a way into your body.” She rose, taking her things with her.

  “Flute Maiden is a very skilled medicine woman. Her touch is one of healing for both the body and the mind,” Great Owl said with pride in his voice. “My oldest daughter, Morning Flower, has magical powers in her hands, too, but when she touches food.” Great Owl nodded toward Morning Flower, who was now setting down a large gray-and-black bowl in front of Tag and Walker. It was full of something that looked like very thick stew.

  Morning Flower also set down two small, gray bowls with intricate, black, wavelike designs on them. Without looking up, she moved back to the cooking area. Her son, Small Cub, who had followed her, curled himself up next to White Badger. His curious eyes stared at Walker and Tag.

  Picking up one of the cup-size bowls, Walker dipped it into the serving bowl. He filled it about half full of stew. Holding the bowl with one hand close to his mouth, he put his fingers into it. Using his fingers as a spoon, he scooped up some stew and put it into his mouth. The flavor was strange but good. He could taste bits of corn, mixed with chunks of squash in the thick, spicy sauce. He dipped his fingers in the bowl again. This time he crunched into something nutty with a wild flavor to it. Acorn or maybe some kind of wild seed, thought Walker, chewing. With his next mouthful, he bit into something crisp that reminded him of bacon. It felt as if it had little legs poking the top of his mouth. Swallowing, Walker wondered how the bahana was enjoying his meal. He looked over to Tag, who had followed his example and now held a bowl of stew. He was peering down into his food with a bewildered look on his face. Walker had to stifle a laugh.

  Staring up at Walker, Tag said, “My mom would just die if she ever knew that I didn’t use a spoon. So maybe I’ll just try drinking it.” He brought the bowl up to his mouth.

  Great Owl chuckled watching Tag. Flute Maiden, who had sat down on the other side of Great Owl, covered her mouth to catch the giggle that was escaping. White Badger, sitting next to Tag, watched with humorous interest. The young child burst into loud laughter. “The spotted stranger is trying to . . .”

  “Hush, Small Cub,” whispered White Badger, gently pulling his nephew to him.

  Lowering his bowl, Tag muttered, “It’s so thick it won’t even run out.” He smiled weakly. “Oh well, my mom will never know, right?” He dipped his fingers into the bowl. With a quick jerk, he put them into his mouth. As he chewed, the expression on his face changed from apprehension to approval. He took another finger scoop. “Mmmm,” he mumbled, nodding his head and chewing. Suddenly his mouth froze. His eyes grew wide with a look of shock and disbelief. He jerked his head around to face Walker. Three tiny, thread-thin legs dangled out of the corner of his mouth.

  Walker grinned. Scooping more stew into his own mouth, he watched the bahana.

 
Tag looked back into his bowl. He shrugged his shoulders and swallowed hard. “Not exactly chicken noodle soup, is it?” he mumbled. Staring at the rest of his stew, he shrugged his shoulders again, took a deep breath, and dipped his fingers back into his food.

  Finishing his stew, Walker set the bowl down. After licking his fingers, he said, “Morning Flower does have magic with food.”

  There was still stew left in the large serving bowl. Walker’s stomach was only half full, but he knew that this food would be needed to feed the others.

  Tag also set his bowl down without helping himself to another serving. “Best grasshopper, or whatever, stew I’ve ever eaten,” he said, smiling at the others. He winked at Small Cub, sending a giggle through the little boy.

  Morning Flower came from the cooking area carrying two small, white, ceramic drinking mugs. One was covered with a complicated black design of swirls and lines. The other had a simple outline of an owl painted on it. Keeping her eyes cast toward the ground, she handed each boy a mug.

  “Thank you,” Walker said, taking the mug with the owl. A strong, minty scent drifted up from the warm tea. The mint tea filled Walker’s stomach, satisfying his remaining hunger. Putting his mug down, he said, “Great Owl, thank you for your kindness. My stomach is full.”

  Great Owl nodded his head. Looking deep into Walker’s eyes with his large penetrating ones, he said, “Tell me about your people, Walker of Time.”

  A shiver slithered up Walker’s back. Did Great Owl know that they had traveled back in time? Of course. He was a Seer. This realization gave Walker an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he began. “My people are the Hopi, the People of Peace. I am of the Water Clan. My village, Mishongnovi, is northeast of the Holy Peaks, many days’ journey from here,” Walker told Great Owl. He knew the others were listening intently. “My people also live in homes made of rock and mud, but they are built on top of great cliffs. We are farmers like your people, depending on mother corn to feed and sustain us.”

  “Do your people have lots of corn to eat?” interrupted Small Cub, with hunger in his voice.

  “Hush,” whispered White Badger, this time setting his nephew in his lap. Small Club looked up into White Badger’s serious face. White Badger pinched his lips together in displeasure. Small Cub squirmed around on White Badger’s lap. Finding a comfortable spot, he sat still, with his eyes on Walker.

  “If my people have lived in harmony with Mother Earth and each other and if our prayers have been said in the proper way, yes, we have enough corn, squash, and beans to eat. But many times our stomachs have growled with the anger of hunger,” Walker said, looking at the thin boy. He could almost count Small Cub’s ribs.

  Great Owl’s old head nodded, his lips in a slight smile across his wrinkled face. His thoughts seemed to be far away, but his eyes remained on Walker. After a long silence he asked, “And your friend, his people?”

  Walker looked over to Tag, who was just wiping his mouth after finishing his tea. Walker chewed on his lower lip in thought. After a minute, he answered, “Tag’s people, the bahanas, are different from both our people. Their ways are strange. Some are good, some not so good . . .”

  “What do the speckled bahanas eat?” asked Small Cub, his large eyes peering at Tag.

  White Badger’s hand came down gently onto Small Cub’s shoulder, “Shhh . . .”

  Walker laughed. “Tag, Small Cub wants to know what bahanas eat.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, Tag said, “Tell him we eat ice snow, painted all the colors of the rainbow. The very best kind is chocolate.” Tag smacked his lips.

  “I don’t think Small Cub has ever tasted chocolate,” Walker said.

  “Oh, you’re right,” Tag said. “Sort of mind boggling trying to keep the two time periods straight. Let’s see. It tastes like . . . like wild raspberries. I know they have those here.” Tag grinned at Small Cub.

  Walker translated. Small Cub’s large eyes filled with wonder while the adult faces reflected amazement mixed with uncertainty.

  Great Owl asked, “Where are the bahana people now?”

  Walker had to think. Where were the bahanas in A.D. 1250 or thereabouts? “Now, they live very far away to the east over the great mountains, across the vast flat lands, and beyond the great waters. Someday they will cross the great waters to come to this land.”

  “Many, many moons till they come . . .” Great Owl’s voice sounded distant. His eyes seemed to peer into the future. “Our people will no longer live in the walls of this canyon . . .”

  The mysterious feeling swept over Walker, almost stopping his breath. His head swam. The sound of his heart thundered in his ears. Black spots began to blur his vision, till everything around him faded into darkness.

  Yet in this total darkness, he began to see a steep, narrow path winding its way up and through the limestone cliffs. The call of an eagle rang in the air as it circled high above the trail. A line of people climbed the path . . . Men carrying spears and bows, with huge baskets slung over their shoulders . . . Women with small infants in cradle boards bound to their backs and young children clinging to their hands . . . Older children following their parents, stopping often to look back toward their abandoned homes in the cliffs . . .

  12

  Walker, Walker!” Tag’s voice penetrated and echoed in Walker’s mind, shattering the darkness with its vision.

  Blinking his eyes, Walker’s mind came back to the present. Tag was shaking his shoulder, with a look of fear on his face.

  Walker glanced around at the others. Each person, even Small Cub, sat erect, quiet, intensely watching him. Great Owl’s old hands gripped his staff, his gnarled knuckles white, his eyes seeing deep inside Walker’s mind. His white-haired head nodded. A sigh escaped his thin chest. He closed his eyes as in prayer.

  The cavelike home was as quiet as a tomb. To Walker, the air had become thick, hot, stifling. His head throbbed with pain. His hands and face were wet with sweat. He tried to swallow the hollow, washed-out feeling that was caught in his throat. Bringing his hands up, he pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to push out the pounding pain.

  “Yes, the time draws near, Walker of Time,” Great Owl said, opening his eyes and looking toward Walker. Seeing his distress, Great Owl spoke quietly to Flute Maiden. She rose and brought Walker a cup of water.

  Taking small, even swallows, Walker felt the tightness leave his throat. Drawing a deep breath, he set the cup down, keeping his eyes on it. He did not want to look into anyone else’s face, not till he could gather his thoughts together.

  “You have come far, my son,” Great Owl’s voice was warm and smooth, “very far, very fast. You and your friend must be at peace. Nothing more can be done until our chief, Lone Eagle, returns. You will be safe with us till then.” His face was washed with a deep weariness mixed with fatigue. “This old man must rest now.”

  Walker got to his feet. Pain throbbed in his head with every movement. He turned to the doorway. Bending down, he placed his palms on the hand ledges on each side of the door and went outside.

  The sun’s afternoon rays were bright. It took a few seconds for Walker’s eyes to focus. He took one deep breath after another, letting each out slowly through his mouth.

  He walked to the edge of the narrow path that ran in front of Great Owl’s home. The scent of smoke from cooking pits filled his nose. The noise of daily life drifted in the air. The familiar sound of corn being ground came from somewhere down the path. The echoes of children’s hungry voices seemed to surround him. From within nearby dwellings, he could hear the hushed, worried voices of adults. The pain in his head began to fade. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Tag asked. “What happened in there? You sort of blacked out or something. But your eyes were wide open. You looked as if you were seeing something.”

  Turning to face Tag, Walker shook his head. “I’m not sure what happened. I did see some
thing, but I don’t . . .” his voice trailed off. His eyes fell to the ground.

  Tag pressed, “What did you see?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Walker answered, “I’m not sure, or at least I don’t understand what I saw.” Walker paused, staring down into the canyon. He let the sights, smells, and sounds drift around and through him. They were all so familiar. “Have you ever walked into a building or a room for the first time and had the feeling that you had been there before? Even when you knew you hadn’t?”

  Tag nodded. “It’s called déjà vu. I guess everyone has felt that way at one time or another.”

  “But felt it so strongly that it almost overwhelms them?” Walker bent down to pick up a small rock. Squeezing it in his right hand, he said, “I’m not sure what’s happening here or why we are here. But something deep inside tells me,” Walker tossed the rock into the air and caught it with his other hand, “it’s not just to teach the ancient ones to make pizza. I am also sure,” Walker said, looking toward Great Owl’s home, “that they know why we are here.”

  “Then why don’t we just go back in there and ask them why in the heck we were zapped back here?” Tag demanded.

  With a smile, Walker tossed the rock toward Tag. As Tag caught it, Walker stated, “It is not the Hopi way. Or these people’s way to ask questions that will be answered in their own time and place.”

  “You mean we are just going to wait around till who knows what happens to us?” Tag tossed the rock back to Walker.