Bordello Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  The sounds of flute and drum, of bells and voices, were energizing, and soon the kids were all dancing as they stepped, forward and back, side to side. Lacey found herself doing a quick two-step, and Roxanne laughed and followed along. Lacey knew this was a serious matter to all the Fireclouds, yet the celebratory feel of the ritual was positive and uplifting. For that, she was grateful. The procession snaked its way up the slope to the bluff above and then turned left, southward, all following Sam’s lead.

  Lacey felt transported. From the grainy sandstone beneath her moccasins to the shining diamond dust strewn across the black sky above, hearing the chants and bells, feeling the chill night air—it could just as easily be the sixteenth century as the twenty-first. She felt a peculiar pull on her soul, as if it fought for release from her body, and she had to force herself to stay aware of the here and now. She moved and sang instinctively, the impulses rising up from someplace deep inside and riding on unfamiliar electrical currents that bypassed her brain and functioned without words. It was at once mystifying and exhilarating.

  She was only aware of Sam turning again down the hill by the drift of the voices and music that trailed after him. They had circled around behind Ben’s hogan and now were approaching his fire pit shelter, the bonfire throwing orange light and deep blue shadows across the sand. Lacey realized as they neared that the old man was there, bent over the ground and sprinkling something on the earth. He had a red bandana tied around his forehead and a colorful blanket over his shoulders.

  As they approached, he took a seat upon the ground.

  Sam stopped several feet from the crude shelter, his staff held high, and waited while everyone else fanned out around him. When all had stopped, the chants and music fading away on the night air, only then did he step forward and, with great reverence and slow ritual Navajo words, sat before his grandfather, bowed his head, and held the staff out toward the medicine man.

  Ben did not immediately take the staff. Instead he asked Sam a question in their native tongue, pointing to the staff and the sky above. Sam answered, nodding, his head down. The old man asked another question, and another, Sam’s responses all in the affirmative. Only when Sam had satisfied all of Ben’s conditions did the old man lean forward and take the staff.

  Lacey was surprised when Gabe took a seat on the ground behind Sam, and Roxanne and the kids moved to do likewise. Just before settling on the ground, Roxanne took Lacey’s arm and cautioned her about avoiding the area beside Ben. When Lacey looked more closely, she realized there was a sand painting there on the flat ground. The angle of the firelight made it difficult to discern the pattern, but she moved to the side with Roxanne and folded her legs beneath her.

  Ben was examining the staff. He fingered the designs cut into the wood, felt the yarn and shook the stick so the feathers fluttered. As Lacey watched Sam, apparently awaiting a verdict, she wondered how many times as a boy he had sat before his grandfather, hearing the stories, learning the rituals. This simple scene, she realized, was timeless.

  Finally Ben spoke, his projecting words and his lift of the staff a validation, an approval. Lacey sensed relief in the others, and their relief was also hers. Ben then held the staff horizontally in both hands, lifted his head and began to sing. Although his voice was thin, the chant had a strength behind it, a confidence. Ben raised the staff up toward the sky, exalting the stars, then offered it to the east ahead of him, to the south on his right, and to the north on his left.

  When the last words faded into silence, Sam lifted his head for the first time. Lacey couldn’t see him well, not for the angle where she sat nor for the low firelight, but she thought he sat up straighter, taller. Was the medicine already having an effect? She certainly hoped so.

  While she could see no pattern to the rest of the ritual evening, it was obvious there was one. Roxanne took Kira’s drum and handed the girl one of the brightly patterned blankets, and as Roxanne beat out a measured pattern, Kira rose and began to dance. She wore the blanket like a cape, or held the edges outward in her hands like the wings of a soaring eagle, all the while stepping lightly on the earth to the pattern of the drum.

  To Lacey, it sounded like the heartbeat of the earth.

  When Kira took a seat again, the group passed gifts to Ben, through Sam. Carson offered up one of his beaded arm bands, Gabe a gourd rattle, Roxanne a blanket, Griff a flute. All were accepted by the old man, acknowledged and put aside. Then Ben passed a plain clay bowl of cornmeal mush. Sam took a fingerful of the contents and ate it, then passed the bowl back to the others. When the bowl came to Lacey, she recognized the sweet cornmeal, and took her ritual helping.

  Finally Ben began to sing again. He lifted his voice and his hands to the sky, appealing to all the powers of the universe, gathering them together and bestowing them on the small group. When he broke into a rhythmic chant, the others joined in and the voices blended together in a woven tapestry of sound. Lacey, unsure of the protocol, hummed along.

  The fire burned low and the stars wheeled overhead. The night wind plucked at strands of long, dark hair and dappled skin with chill bumps.

  At a signal from the old medicine man, the evening was over.

  Lacey walked with Sam as he helped his grandfather back to his hogan, and she was silent on the rattling trip back to the house. She murmured good night to Kira when she left, then to the others as they drifted to their beds. When she lay with Sam on the converted bed in the living room and the house was dark and quiet, she still felt the beat of the drum in her chest, still felt the cloak of night around her shoulders. She laid her head on Sam’s chest and slid one arm around him. His breathing, although calm, was still labored.

  “I love you,” she whispered fiercely.

  He pulled her close. “I love you, too, Lacey.”

  ~~~

  EIGHTEEN

  Morning came too soon. Lacey felt dopey, hungover perhaps from the sights and sounds and actions of the ritual night. She dragged herself from bed and showered and dressed, but still had an eerie sense of otherworldliness about her.

  Roxanne was preparing breakfast, and Lacey pitched in. While Roxanne cooked scrambled eggs, and potatoes with onions and peppers, Lacey cooked raw tortillas in a frying pan, loaded them with the hearty fillings, and folded them into fat bundles. She wrapped those in aluminum foil and stacked them in a willow basket for the trip out to Ben’s. Kira did not join them this morning, so the boys rode in the cab of Gabe’s truck while Sam and Lacey rode with Roxanne.

  The old man was already up and about his chores. He was stoking the fire in the small woodstove in the center of his hogan when they all crowded in. He dipped water from a tall jug into smaller cups, and Sam brought those around to everyone. Ben happily munched his breakfast burro, smiling to himself, and Lacey wondered if this was a rare treat for him.

  Lacey had no idea what this day would hold. She only knew no one had worn jewelry or ritual objects, no bells or feathers. She wondered how normal families could keep up the singing, dancing, eating and chanting for seven days. It seemed exhaustive.

  The boys finished their breakfast first—two burros each—and went outside. The sun was well up, warming the morning air. When all the adults were finished, the two couples went outside as well. Ben took a few minutes to follow, a blanket over his shoulders and the staff in his hand. He stood in front of the doorway and motioned to Sam to come stand beside him.

  At some silent signal, the others all began to sing.

  Lacey did her best to blend in. The voices rose up, lifting to the turquoise sky above, the chants sometimes harsh and guttural, other times ululating in higher, softer tones. Standing amid her copper-skinned adoptive family, Lacey could almost imagine they were in another life, hundreds of years ago, petitioning the gods of nature, imploring the spirits to cast good health and good fortune on them all. For a few brief moments, she had a sense of this microcosm as macrocosm, this tiny encapsulated moment as the essence of the universe.

  A
bruptly the singing ended. Ben stood before them with the staff, smiling, nodding. Then he ducked back into the hogan and reappeared a moment later with his arms full. One by one, he bestowed a gift on each person: a clay pipe for Gabe, a large, round bowl for Roxanne, a new flute for Carson and an eagle feather for Griff. When he came to Lacey, he presented her with a polished blue-green stone mounted on a rawhide thong. Following the others, she bowed her thanks.

  The gift-giving signaled an end to the morning ritual. Roxanne slipped inside the hogan to gather the remains of breakfast, and Sam and Gabe spoke quietly with Ben. The boys wandered toward the trucks.

  Lacey studied the stone Ben had given her. It was turquoise, she felt sure, but it was far greener than most turquoise she’d seen. It was rounded and smooth, but not perfectly shaped. It bulged at one end, narrowed at the other, and through the soft green were delicate veins of brown. She amended her initial thinking—it was perfect. She slid the rawhide thong over her head and felt the weight of the stone on her chest.

  Sam joined her then.

  “We’ll be free the rest of the day,” he said, picking up the stone to see it more closely. “Well, most of the day,” he amended. “You doing okay?”

  She nodded. “Aside from feeling like I’m jumping back and forth between centuries, yeah.” She smiled to show that wasn’t a bad thing. “Most of the day?” she asked.

  “Yeah. We’ve got some things to do to get ready for tonight, but they won’t take all day.”

  She had a thought. “Would it be okay for me to go look at Ben’s sand painting? I couldn’t see it well last night.”

  “Sure.” He released the stone and took her hand, leading her to the simple roofed shelter.

  “So this is part of the process, too?” she asked. She stepped gingerly up to the edge of the painting, tilting her head to orient herself.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “The dry painting will enter into it Sunday morning. Grampa will finish it over the next couple days.”

  “Dry painting?” she repeated. As she walked around, she realized there was no up or down, no top or bottom to the symmetrical design, and it was actually on buckskin instead of the bare ground.

  “That’s what we call it. You know it’s not actually paint, right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Just colored sand, placed very meticulously, right?”

  “Sand and other materials.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She gazed down at the large cross, centered and with all four arms of equal length—a giant plus sign. The cross was black with a brilliant red outline, and a yellow-gold square sat at the middle. Standing tall on each arm’s right side were two figures, one wearing white and the other in black. Beyond the reach of the cross’s arms were more tall figures, one along each of the four sides. These were dressed elaborately, with multiple designs and impressive headdresses.

  “I won’t ask what it all means,” she said, thinking some grad student could probably write a thesis about all the layers of symbology there.

  “It’s pretty simple, actually,” he said. “It’s all about balance and harmony.”

  She could see that. The symmetry, the repeating figures on opposite arms, the stable, closed system. Balance, indeed.

  She looked up at Sam then. “How are you doing?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t answer immediately, sparking worry, but when Lacey heard his calm voice, she knew he was speaking honestly.

  “I’m still tired, but… I think I can fight this.”

  She studied his face. He still had that gaunt look, but he’d hardly eaten much in the last few days. She hoped he had the strength for this fight. Choosing to stay positive, she squeezed his hand. “Good,” she said. Then, thinking that one word wasn’t enough, she leaned in and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back with more zeal than he had in days.

  “Hey, guys,” Roxanne called. “Let’s go. We still have lots to do.”

  Sam smiled down at Lacey. “The taskmaster calls,” he said.

  “I’m ready,” she answered. “Let’s go.”

  Back at the house, Roxanne was still directing activities, but today’s tasks didn’t have the sense of urgency that last night’s did. Lacey guessed that was purely a function of having more time today. Roxanne sent the boys on a scavenging quest for wood and plant material, while she and Lacey apparently had a project at the dining room table. Sam and Gabe, meanwhile, were loading up Gabe’s truck with plastic buckets and shovels.

  “Be back later,” Sam said when he came in to give Lacey a quick kiss.

  “Where are you off to?” she asked.

  “Gonna dig some clay, then go gather up some sheep dung,” he said.

  “Sheep dung,” she repeated, surprised but not.

  “For firing,” he said. “It’s harder to find in LA.”

  “Of course,” she said. Laughing, she just shook her head as the guys left. “What man doesn’t get excited about sheep dung?” she murmured to herself.

  Roxanne brought two cups of tea to the table, then fetched her sewing kit and a plain clay bowl. Smiling, she settled in the chair next to Lacey.

  “What, men in LA don’t do that?” she asked.

  “Not usually,” Lacey admitted. “But then Sam doesn’t do much that normal men do. Thank God.”

  “Well, here’s another new thing for you,” Roxanne said. “We’re going to make ghost beads.”

  “Ghost beads,” Lacey echoed. “Okay, what’s that?”

  Roxanne set the clay bowl between them, and Lacey could see it was half full of small, dark round things that looked shrunken and dried. She looked questioningly to Roxane, not even trying to guess.

  “Juniper berries, dried and smoked.” Roxanne picked one out of the bowl. “See? They’re hollow. Ants have made a hole in one side and eaten out the inside. We’re going to put a hole through the other side and string them into necklaces.”

  “Okay.” Lacey took the needle Roxanne handed her and watched as her sister-in-law pulled off a span of white cotton thread. When Roxanne passed her the spool, Lacey took a similar length and threaded her needle. She took one small berry and pushed the needle through the skin. The skin was tougher than Lacey would have guessed, requiring a bit of a push to get through, but not excessive. She grabbed a handful of berries and laid them on the table where she could pick one at a time.

  “So what do ghost beads do?” she asked as she added to her string.

  “They form a chain of connection,” Roxanne said. “They create a bridge between the earth, the animals, the trees and people, and as such they protect the wearer. It’s a necklace of interconnectedness, of the harmony of the world.”

  Lacey nodded. Harmony. Restoring balance. Putting the world to rights.

  “You know, it’s so great that all of you are so willing to help Sam,” she said. “Taking time off work, devoting your whole weekend to him. It’s… it’s wonderful.” She felt herself start to choke up, so quit while she was still ahead.

  Roxanne shrugged. “It’s what we do. You’d do the same for us.”

  “You’re right about that,” Lacey said. “We absolutely would.”

  ~~~

  NINETEEN

  The family gathered together for lunch, then broke apart again. Sam, Gabe and the boys went back to Ben’s to prepare for the evening’s events. Lacey and Roxanne made several small bundles of feathers and sage, wrapped with strips of yucca fiber, and then constructed prayer sticks. These were thin, straight sticks the boys had found, and Roxanne and Lacey wound colorful yarn around them and tied on feathers and bells.

  Lacey no longer asked the meanings of the things they did. She knew they were for Sam, and for restoring harmony. That was enough.

  As the sun began to slide down toward the west, Kira arrived. “Ready for more dancing?” Roxanne asked her.

  Kira nodded, smiling shyly. The girl had a feather tied in her hair and had brought her drum. She glanced at Lacey, then quickly away.

 
Sweet, Lacey thought. A good counterpoint for Carson’s boisterousness.

  The three females loaded all their newly crafted items, plus paper plates, napkins, trash bags and a cooler, in Roxanne’s truck and drove out to Ben’s. Lacey was getting so used to the road now that she barely glanced over the edge of the dry wash as they lurched down the slope.

  The men were waiting for them. They sat in a loose circle on blankets in front of Ben’s hogan. The door to the hogan stood open, and Lacey saw the wood stove emitting heat. Light gray smoke drifted out of the stovepipe and dissipated into the black night.

  Everyone helped unload the truck, and some things went inside the hogan while others were laid outside on the blankets. To Lacey’s mind, it looked like they were going to have a cookout, although she saw no barbecue. Finally, when everything was arranged to Roxanne’s satisfaction, she realized the food was simmering in a cook pot on the stove in Ben’s hogan.

  They took turns taking their paper plates into the hogan and spooning up a thick, aromatic stew. Lacey saw meat, potatoes, corn and carrots swimming in the brown gravy, and a shallower cast iron pot held biscuits that had browned perfectly on the stove. The sight and smells reminded her that she was very hungry.

  They sat in a casual circle in front of the hogan, eating more than talking. Lacey tasted it all, and found it all good, but… different. She tried the meat again, but couldn’t place it. It wasn’t chicken. Beef? Finally she had to ask.