Magpie Speaks

by R. Allen Chappell

  Edward smiled there in the gloom, held up his newly acquired gun for them to see, and chuckled to himself at the thought of these two now being in his power. How quickly things can change, he thought as he reached behind to push the door open a bit further and allow enough light to settle with these two at last. “Get up, brother; now is the time for you and me to get things straight between us. This is what you have been waiting for, isn’t it? Face to face… just you and me?” Edward spoke in old Navajo as they had done as children, and his lips drew back in a snarl when he shook the gun at Paul and motioned for him to get up. “What has happened to your granddaughter, brother?” He nudged Alice’s boot with the toe of his shoe. “Has her sickness finally caught up with her? Is this how my niece will cheat me of repaying her kind attentions?” He canted his head and peered closely at the fallen woman, was certain she was done, then wondered gently, “Is there not still some little life I can take in return for her thoughtfulness?”

  Paul T’Sosi rose from the floor as easily as one much younger. Infused with new purpose, he fixed his brother with a stern and unwavering eye. “Yes, Edward, I expect it is finally time!” Paul’s voice grew stronger and took on so hard an edge it caused his brother to falter and become uncertain. “It’s time you lifted that curse you put on Harley Ponyboy… and any other evil magic you might have laid against our family.” His eyes narrowed even more. “Otherwise, you will forever be doomed to wander the underworld as a Ma’iitsoh Diné… I have already sung the songs and made the prayers to make it so.”

  Edward Bitsinnii recoiled slightly at this, but lifted his chin and made a great circle with one arm, his words harsh and grating, “You have no power over me, old man. You speak like the Wind People pushing sand around… when you are done, all will be as before… everything the same… nothing changed. Your magic has always been weak. Mine will live forever!” He raised his revolver at Paul, and a blast shook the hogan––but it was not Edward’s gun that spoke. It was Alice’s automatic. The surprise on Edward Bitsinnii’s face mirrored that of old Paul T’Sosi. Both brothers stood in shock, staring at Edward’s shattered knee.

  Alice Harney raised herself on one elbow and fired again, this time hitting Edward’s right shoulder, causing him to drop the .38. He clutched at his ruined knee with his one good hand and cursed as she drew down again––this time for a killing shot.

  “Wait,” the witch whispered, holding up his arm between them in a last pitiful bid to save his own life. “Wait… I will take off that curse!” He cursed as he attempted to stem the flow of blood from the knee, “I’ll make everything right… and more. Do not shoot me again, niece. I am family… and I am likely killed already.”

  Paul moved closer to his brother, one hand stretched out behind to block his granddaughter’s line of fire. He wanted to hear for himself if Edward would indeed undo his witchcraft. The curse must be properly undone, and he knew there could not be the slightest mistake in doing it. Alice Harney lowered her pistol a little and watched through bleary eyes as her grandfather took charge.

  Edward Bitsinnii began his chant to undo the spell and Paul T’Sosi followed every syllable with rapt attention, until at last he was convinced the spell was broken. As his brother uttered the final phrase, a great sigh escaped the old singer, and a heavy weight lifted from him and caused him to look upon Edward in a slightly more generous light.

  There was shouting outside the hogan and of a sudden Harley Ponyboy pushed his way into the room, on the fight, and he made to attack the witch… and would have, if Paul T’Sosi had not held up a hand for him to back off and allow his brother to finish. Paul could see Edward had more to say and moved to support him as he attempted to speak in the barest of whispers. Paul leaned closer to hear and was instantly seized by the throat in so vicious a grasp he was unable to free himself. Before Harley Ponyboy could jump to the old singers aid, a final shot rang out and the hand at Paul’s throat fell away. The brothers looked upon one another for a last time and Edward smiled at him and clutched at his arm. Paul T’Sosi could only stare as the blood coursed down his brother’s shirtfront. As Edward released his hold on his brother’s arm and staggered back he whispered one last message and did not take his eyes off Paul as he said his final words.

  Paul turned to see Alice drop her pistol, cough deep in her lungs, and begin gasping for air even as she watched her uncle sink to the floor. Edward Bitsinnii’s final regret was how close he had come to some small bit of immortality.

  Alice drew only one or two more rattling breaths… and was dead by the time Harley and Paul knelt at her side, her expression already relaxed, leaving the hint of a smile and an aura that spoke at last of peace.

  Harley Ponyboy took Paul T’Sosi’s arm and helped the old man from the hogan, saying it would be best to leave before any chindi might appear and look for some unlucky person to be the victim of it’s evil. Edward Bitsinnii himself could do them no further harm, he said.

  “Well, you wouldn’t think so would you?” Paul answered, not fully sure he believed it. The thing Edward Bitsinnii had last whispered still echoed in his mind. Now you’ll never see that legacy from Elmore Shining Horse.

  When a man uses his last breath to say a thing, it is worth remembering, Paul thought, and pondered the meaning of it.

  Outside, Paul was silent for a long time but finally, with a questioning glance, turned to the little man at his side. “Charlie said you mentioned footprints the day we were at Edward’s mother’s place––out in the old sheep pen, he said. Charlie thought Edward might have made those tracks.”

  Harley nodded. “Yes, I wondered what he might be doing so long in that one place. First, I thought he might just be going ta the outhouse that lies in that direction, but still I could see no reason for those many tracks crisscrossing that one little spot. Maybe that is where he went to make his magic––there was a little pile of stones… might mean a little ceremony of some kind.”

  The old man nodded. “Maybe, or maybe even more than that. How about you and I go back out there tomorrow? There is something I want to see, and only you and I need know of it.”

  Harley shrugged and nodded in return. He felt he owed the old singer that much. It wouldn’t hurt to humor the old man.

  “Good,” Paul said. “Lucy will be in Farmington with Thomas tomorrow. We can take her truck. I’m pretty sure she won’t mind.”

  As they stood in the cool fall air, watching the sun disappear into the trees across the river, the two Diné thought of all the forces that had been at play that day and how their lives might be forever changed by them.

  Harley canted his head, said he thought he heard talking, and only moments later they made out Thomas and Charlie walking toward them through the dusk. Charlie’s arm was thrown across Thomas’s shoulder for support. The pair had heard the shots but now were grinning, relieved to see Paul and Harley alive and sound.

  13

  Magpie Sings

  Charlie Yazzie stood flanked by Thomas Begay and Harley Ponyboy, all of them glued to the top rail of the new round-pen. Thomas had built the pen only the week before and invited everyone out for his son’s birthday and to see their new horses. Professor George Armstrong Custer was in the center of the circle, lead line in hand, urging a small black mare with a boy on her back to trot, then walk, then trot again.

  George twirled the end of the line and clucked to the mare while reassuring the child––telling him how well he was doing. Two-year-old Joseph Wiley Yazzie smiled ear to ear and called to his father, who grinned and he too encouraged the boy, putting two fingers to his teeth to give a loud whistle. This startled the mare and caused her to jump sideways, making the boy laugh as he clung to the saddle horn. Sue Yazzie caught her breath at this and decided she had best get back to her friend Lucy and the food preparation before she was compelled to intervene.

  Young Caleb Begay and his older sister, Ida Marie, watched and shouted advice at the rider while waiting their turn. Caleb wanted to give J
oseph’s mare a try to and see what she would do without the lead rope. He hoped she would buck a little so he could impress his father, assuming he was able to stay on. Caleb too, had a new horse, loose in the flats below, as did his sister Ida. Paul T’Sosi had bought them… said it was time they had their own horses. Paul T’Sosi was not one to fritter away his money on finished horses when a “green” animal might better teach youngsters. Caleb’s new sorrel had already taught him a thing or two about staying in the saddle. This birthday get-together of his would be a good time for people to see how well he could ride.

  “I didn’t know George knew anything about horses.” Thomas rubbed his chin and watched as the professor put the mare through her paces. He seemed more than a little pleased to learn something new about the professor.

  Charlie laughed. “Dr. Custer grew up with horses. He once told me his people back in Ireland were all horsemen, from ancient times on.” Charlie grinned at his friend. “They had horses over there long before we did here, you know.”

  Harley was surprised to hear this, and he too shook his head at what he thought were the never-ending talents of his employer. Harley thought a great deal of George Custer, even if he was white.

  They had all been taken aback when the Professor and Charlie pulled up that morning with the black mare in George’s new horse trailer. The mare was a present to Joseph Wiley from his Aunt Annie Eagletree, and Charlie wanted Thomas to have a look at her before his son got too attached. The professor had volunteered his trailer, which he’d just bought used at an auction. He thought it just the thing to haul tools and supplies for the new business, but now found his Navajo friends to be getting the most use from it.

  From time to time, Thomas couldn’t help but glance toward his family’s newly framed house that was going up in front of the hogan, hiding the older structure from the road. The house would have three bedrooms but only one bath. Lucy thought more than one bath might seem too uppity, or make them appear better off than they really were.

  George Custer’s new business was finally taking off, and everyone seemed financially the better for it. Even so, Charlie thought Old Paul T’Sosi and Harley Ponyboy were showing a bit more affluence than the new jobs might warrant. They were both dressed to the nines in new Levi’s western shirts with pearl snaps, and shiny new boots. Charlie couldn’t be sure, but he thought Harley’s boots might be from a very expensive maker––a brand seldom seen on the reservation.

  Paul wore a new silver ring, set with Morenci turquoise, and a watchband to match, while Harley had sky-blue turquoise from one of the Nevada mines, set in a silver bolo tie, a fashion accessory he had long admired. The jewelry looked to be old pawn and expensive, too. Charlie wondered idly how much George must be paying them to afford these things. Occasionally he would see one of them look at the other, as one conspirator might to another, or so it seemed to him. He was, nevertheless, happy for them and glad things now seemed easier for everyone; it had been a long time coming.

  Harley had fixed up his old trailer house and had even begun buying a few sheep… was reported to be looking for another mule as well. Charlie had promised him he would look into getting his driver’s license back, and this, too, had given him hope for a brighter future. Harley was still sad when he thought of Anita, which he tried not to do. Such thinking could only encourage illness of the mind or body and the eventual loss of hozo. That was the way it had always been. The dead were the dead and on their own path. He recalled a saying George Custer was fond of quoting, “The past is another country… they do things differently there.” The little man wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but he liked the sound of it and was sure it meant something.

  ~~~~~~

  Paul T’Sosi paid to have his granddaughter interred in the missionary cemetery, in the white way. Paul thought it only proper she be buried in the manner she preferred to live. She had never been of any religious bent he was aware of, and Paul doubted it would have mattered to her how she was buried.

  An Episcopal clergyman performed the service, and having been long in that country, delivered part of it in his best Navajo. There were no Navajo present to hear it of course. Not one of Alice’s family members attended, and that was as it should be as far as Paul was concerned; it was not their way.

  The clergyman later related that a flock of magpies came to sit in the branches of a nearby tree and would not quit their raucous singing, if it could be called that. They had only flown away as the grave was being filled.

  One lone bird, however, stayed on and began to mimic the call of the dove, something magpies are very good at but usually only attempt in the spring when the doves are nesting. The good reverend only mentioned all this, he said, because it had been so unusual to see such a large number of these birds. “Perhaps they’ve learned to watch for insects and the like in the fresh-dug earth.”

  Paul T’Sosi only smiled and nodded. “Yes, I expect that could have been it.”

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writer/Poet R. Allen Chappell's work has appeared in magazines, literary and poetry publications, and has been featured on public radio and television. He grew up in New Mexico, at the edge of the great reservation.

  Books in the Navajo Nation Mystery Series include:

  Navajo Autumn

  Boy Made of Dawn

  Ancient Blood

  Mojado

  Magpie Speaks

  Be sure to check out the new audio book series of all the Navajo Nation Mysteries beginning in February of 2016. They will be available on Amazon, and in Public Libraries, as well as many retail outlets.

  Chappell’s unrelated short story collection Fat of The Land is also on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle.

  The author and his wife spend most winters on a small sailboat and summers at home in Colorado, where he pursues a lifelong interest in the pre-history of the region. He welcomes reader comments at: rachappell@yahoo.com

  If you’ve enjoyed this book, please consider going to its Amazon book page and leave a short review. It would be most appreciated.

  Glossary

  1. Aa’a’ii –– Magpie

  2. Acheii –– Grandfather *

  3. Ashkii Ana’dlohi –– Laughing boy

  4. A-hah-la’nih –– affectionate greeting*

  5. Billigaana –– white people

  6. Ch’ihónit’t –– a spirit path flaw

  7. Chindi –– (or chinde) Spirit of the dead *

  8. Diné –– Navajo people

  9. Diné Bikeyah –– Navajo country

  10. Hataalii –– Shaman (Singer)*

  11. Hastiin –– (Hosteen) Man or Mr. *

  12. hogan –– (Hoogahn) dwelling or house

  13. Hozo –– To walk in beauty *

  14. Ma’iitsoh –– Wolf

  15. Shimásáni –– grandmother

  16. Shiye’ké –– My sons

  17. Shizhé’é –– Father *

  18. Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii –– Monument Valley

  19. Yaa’ eh t’eeh –– Greeting; Hello

  20. Yeenaaldiooshii –– Skinwalker; witch*

  *See Notes

  Notes

  1. Acheii –– Grandfather – there are several words for Grandfather, depending on how formal the intent and the gender of the speaker.

  2. Aa’a’ii –– Long known as a trickster or “thief of little things.” It is thought Magpie can speak and sometimes brings messages from the beyond.

  4. A-hah-la’nih –– A greeting; affectionate version of Yaa’ eh t’eeh, generally only used among family and close friends.

  7. Chindi –– When a person dies inside a hogan, it is said that his chindi or spirit remains there forever, causing the hogan to be abandoned. Chindi are not considered benevolent entities. For the traditional Navajo, just speaking a dead person’s name may call up his chindi and cause harm to the speaker or others.

  10. Hataalii –– Generally known as a “Singer” among the Din�
�, these men are considered “Holy Men” and have apprenticed to older practitioners—sometimes for many years—to learn the ceremonies. They make the sand paintings that are an integral part of the healing and know the many songs that must be sung in the correct order.

  11. Hastiin –– The literal translation is “man” but is often considered the word for “Mr.” as well. “Hosteen” is the usual version Anglos use.

  13. Hozo –– For the Navajo “hozo” (sometimes hozoji) is a general state of well-being, both physical and spiritual, that indicates a certain “state of grace,” which is referred to as “walking in beauty.” Illness or depression is the usual cause of “loss of hozo,” which puts one out of sync with the people as a whole. There are ceremonies to restore hozo and return the ailing person to a oneness with the people.

  14. Ma’iitsoh –– The Navajo Wolf is yet another reference to one of the many forms a witch can take, something like a werewolf in this instance.

  17. Shizhé’é –– (or Shih-chai) There are several words for “Father,” depending on the degree of formality intended and sometimes even the gender of the speaker.

  20. Yeenaaldiooshii –– These witches, as they are often referred to, are the chief source of evil or fear in traditional Navajo superstitions. They are thought to be capable of many unnatural acts, such as flying or turning themselves into werewolves and other ethereal creatures; hence the term Skinwalkers, referring to their ability to change forms or skins.