Magpie Speaks Read online

  Old man Paul T’Sosi scowled. “He didn’t say nothing about me?”

  Charlie cleared his throat and looked away. “Not in so many words, Paul, but I’m sure someone with your previous experience would be high on his list.” Charlie was aware Paul had worked as a laborer under several prominent archaeologists over the years, and that he actually had quite a good grasp of basic field procedures.

  The old man snorted and turned toward the brush arbor before throwing back over his shoulder. “Well, if he does mention me when he gets here, you tell him I’m too busy.”

  Thomas Begay watched as his father-in-law walked away, and waited till he was out of sight before shaking his head. “He’s in no shape to work an excavation, and I’m sure the professor knows it, too. But the old man won’t let it go… it’s been a sore spot since that last dig. Maybe you could ask the professor if there isn’t something Paul could do––he writes a fine hand and seems to know something about fieldwork too.”

  Charlie sighed and looked away again saying, “I’ll see what I can do, but Paul’s really not looking well. I’m not sure he’s up to it.”

  “Maybe not, but it would be nice if he could at least have the satisfaction of turning down an offer.”

  “Hmmm, maybe… I’ll talk to George and see what he thinks.” Charlie didn’t like leading the old man on if nothing was to come of it.

  Lucy Tallwoman asked the Yazzie family to supper, but Sue declined, saying Charlie had warned her they could only stay a few minutes. “He said he wants to stop by Harley Ponyboy’s place on the way back into town––tell him about Professor Custer and the chance of a job. Harley hasn’t had it easy of late and everyone knows he thinks a lot of the professor. Harley says George is about the only white he’s known that treats him right.”

  ~~~~~~

  Paul T’Sosi went directly to his cot in the summer hogan and lay down to await the call to supper. He tried not to fall asleep as that would bring the dream. Perhaps he would go to the sweat lodge in the morning––maybe that would help. He and Thomas had built a small earth and stone sweat lodge back behind the hogan and several people had already come to him for the service. He was still thinking of the cleansing when he drifted quietly off to sleep.

  Later, haggard and irritable, the old singer had come in, took his place at the table, and hunkered over a cup of coffee. He thought only of the dream.

  There was more to the story of the Witch of Ganado than the rest of them knew. He had known for years it might someday come to this––there weren’t many left who would test the will of a witch… maybe even a yeenaaldiooshii. No, it was a job better left to him, one who had trained under the same master. Their old uncle, Elmore Shining Horse, had taught them both well, but in different directions.

  As he helped his children with their homework, Thomas Begay occasionally glanced over at his father-in-law. Thomas had an unusually sharp mind, and despite his own lackluster performance at boarding school, insisted his children should do their best at the new day facility. This was a newer, more modern way of thinking for Thomas. In his father’s day a child had only to say he didn’t want to do a certain thing and, within certain limits, that was the way it would be. Thomas, however, had come to see the good in education and considered the nearby school a great improvement over children being whisked away to boarding school, where they might not see their families for months on end. He knew how that was, and tried to help all he could to make this new educational approach work for his own kids. His college-educated friend, Charlie Yazzie, had been a great influence in this regard.

  Thomas glanced over at his wife as she busied herself at the cook stove. She hummed to herself as she stirred a pot and readied their supper. He thought he had been fortunate to find such a fine woman and one so good to his children. They both looked up to Lucy and took pains to please her. Thomas couldn’t help but be proud and felt himself lucky beyond his due.

  Lucy’s mind was elsewhere and it really didn’t register when her father mumbled, “I expect I’ll have to kill him.”

  “Kill what, Shizhé’é?” Lucy asked, still not paying full attention. Perhaps it was that goat with one horn he was talking about; the animal had a mean streak, had twice tried to hook one of the children and would have, if not for the dog.

  “Why, that witch that’s causing all this trouble.” The old man gazed into his coffee cup… didn’t like the look of it, and added more canned milk. “He’s been needing a good killing for a long time.”

  Thomas Begay took notice at this and wrinkled his brow. “What witch trouble is that Paul?” Thomas was still quite traditional when it came to witches and grew cautious at the very mention of them.

  The old man didn’t answer, but stirred his coffee furiously and stared at the far wall.

  Thomas was beginning to wonder if his father-in-law might be losing his mind.

  2

  The Drunk

  It was nearly dark when Charlie Yazzie pulled up to Ponyboy’s ramshackle trailer and found the place deserted, not a single animal in the corral and Anita’s truck nowhere to be seen. The beginnings of a night wind stirred the dust of the corrals and caused a loose screen door to bang.

  “Now where do you suppose they’ve gone off to?” Charlie wondered. “They don’t get out much… at least Harley don’t; he hasn’t had a license to drive for years. He doesn’t even have his mule Shorty any more.”

  Sue looked through a veil of windblown dust at the deserted yard and pointed to the screen door hanging askew and swinging noisily on its hinges. “It doesn’t look to me like they’ve been here for a while. When’s the last time you saw Harley anyway?”

  Charlie rubbed his jaw. “I guess it’s been a week… maybe more. He dropped by the office, but when he saw I was busy with a caseworker, told the receptionist he would catch me later, and then just never came back. I’ve been so busy I hadn’t really thought about it till just now.” He paused and raised an eyebrow at his wife. “That’s just not like Harley at all.”

  On their way back into town Charlie looked over at Sue and said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Thomas and Harley both are supposed to come in and help me fix the horse shed.” He shook his head. “It’s only been a month since I finished the damned thing, and it’s already falling down,” and then, almost as an afterthought, “…Thomas said it wouldn’t last.”

  In the dim glow of the instrument panel Sue cuddled the baby on her lap and smiled to herself.

  ~~~~~~

  There was a storm that night; a low-pressure system formed over that rugged country beyond Ute Mountain and sat itself astraddle the Colorado border. By midnight the Wind People raged down the La Plata valley, howled up and down the frigid waters of the San Juan and for miles in either direction the river whipped itself to a brown froth. The next morning Charlie stood at the corral and scowled at his shed. It now leaned even more and threatened to come down completely should there be more weather. He cursed out loud, causing the two horses to perk up their ears and back even farther from the structure. They had been suspicious of it from the start and now looked from the shed to the builder, and Charlie thought he could see blame in their eyes. He cursed again, and glowered at the pair.

  When he thought about it, he had never actually seen either of these horses in the shelter since he built it. His grandfather had probably been right. “Horses don’t need no barn in this country,” he’d said. “They been doing alright without them as long as there’s been any horses.” His grandfather hadn’t been one to mollycoddle livestock… or people either, for that matter. Charlie thought that might have been because he had never been mollycoddled himself, and probably didn’t know how to go about it.

  The crunch of tires on gravel and clatter of a diesel engine coming up the lane meant Thomas Begay had arrived, and when he got out of his truck, he was already smiling and pointing at the shed. Thomas never missed an opportunity to say, “I told you so,” which was exactly what he did say as he settled himself alon
gside his friend. Leaning on the top rail, he surveyed the afflicted shelter with a critical eye. “I told you those corner posts should be stuck in the ground deeper… and as I said before, the roof poles shoulda been a little closer together, too.”

  Charlie didn’t bother to look at him. “I thought you were supposed to bring Harley with you?”

  “Well,” Thomas scuffed the dirt, “I’ve got some news about Harley.” He looked down as he said this and Charlie could tell by his voice it wasn’t going to be happy news.

  Both men considered the shed for another full minute before Charlie sighed and asked what had happened with Harley Ponyboy; he already knew he wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

  Thomas fiddled with a tiny splinter he’d picked up from the corral. “He’s drinking again, for one thing,” then hastened to add, “But that’s likely just cause Anita left him last week.” Thomas wanted Charlie to know there was good reason for their friend to fall back into the same old trap. “Yep. Just up and pulled the rug out from under him, didn’t say a damn thing neither… Took everything she could get in her truck and went to live with her mother over by Kirtland.” Thomas shook his head. “She told her mother the only reason she didn’t kick his ass out and take the place for herself was cause it wasn’t worth taking––said Harley had let it run down to the point it wasn’t even fixable anymore.”

  “What th…”

  “Yeah… I went by the co-op early this morning thinking he might be hanging around looking for a job, like he does sometimes. He wasn’t there, but his father-in-law was, loading feed. He told me all about it when he saw I hadn’t already heard. He knows Harley and me has always been tight.”

  “Anita left him because he was drinking?”

  “No… I guess Harley didn’t even start drinking until after she left. This was about something else, according to her father.”

  “He didn’t say what?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No, and I didn’t ask him neither. I could see he was some put out about the whole thing… or maybe just about Anita coming back home to live––one or the other, I guess. Anita was never an easy one to get along with, you know.”

  Charlie realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled in a long slow sigh. “I hate to see that, and I’m sure Professor Custer will be disappointed too, that is, assuming George hasn’t started drinking again himself.” Harley and the professor had gotten along quite well when drinking, as long as Harley could keep up. “They made an odd pair. You wouldn’t think two so different people would take such a liking to one another, but they did.”

  Thomas agreed. “Yes, yes they did… and Harley never really cared for no white people neither.”

  “I suppose we ought to go find him before he gets himself in a jam.” Charlie was watching two magpies in one of the young cottonwoods across the pasture. For a moment he thought they were considering building a nest, but that wouldn’t make sense. The tree was too short and spring too far off. He was sure they both were this year’s hatch; perhaps the mild weather was giving them the urge to start something.

  Thomas again eyed the ailing shed. “Do you want me to hook onto that thing with my truck––pull it down, before it falls down and maybe kills one of those horses?” He smiled. “Sue’s not going to like it if her horse gets killed.” He didn’t look at Charlie when he continued in a whisper, “It’s going to have to be totally rebuilt anyway.”

  Charlie briefly considered this. “No, I guess not. Those horses already know better than go anywhere near it.” He knew Thomas was itching to show what his truck could do. Charlie, for his part, still thought the shed might be saved, and hopefully without starting from scratch. His friend knew a lot about building… but he didn’t know everything.

  Thomas nodded and studied the horses as they looked on, and at last decided they were already on their guard, and not likely to fall victim. He grinned at his friend. “Alrighty then, let’s go see if we can find Harley. Maybe he’ll be sober enough to help us prop this thing up––if that’s what you’ve got in mind… I personally don’t recommend it.”

  Charlie headed for the house to tell Sue what was happening, but he wouldn’t mention the shed. Another perfectly good Sunday morning shot all to hell, was what he was thinking. He told Sue he was afraid to let Thomas go looking for Harley by himself for fear he might wind up just like him. Thomas and Harley had quite a history when it came to drinking.

  It was still early and there was a decided nip in the air as the two Navajo left in Thomas’s truck. Charlie thought it best they not take his tribal truck. If Harley was where they suspected, his official unit would only make things harder. People down there didn’t like cops and anyone whose vehicle had a tribal emblem on the door was suspected of being one.

  In those parts there was really only one place an Indian was likely to get a drink of a Sunday morning and Thomas was well acquainted with it from his and Harley’s rougher days.

  ~~~~~~

  Johnny Deboe was said to be only half-white and came from a long line of bootleggers and erstwhile traders to the Navajo––back when trading with Indians was still something a man could make a living at and bootlegging was considered an honorable profession. Even then the pursuit required a certain skill set. There were very few left now who had those skills, and despite his heritage Johnny Deboe was not one of them. His ramshackle property was just off the reservation––a rundown Mormon-style farmhouse with an old set of sheep pens flanked by long weathered lambing sheds. Without those sheds newborn lambs would be at the mercy of the harsh February winds funneling in off the San Juan. Not that Johnny kept sheep anymore, but the sheds had endured. His grandfather had started a small trading post right there in the house over seventy years before. The only trading his grandson Johnny did now was in liquor.

  Bad Johnny, as the Navajo often called him, inherited the place from his father, Big Johnny who had himself been a better bootlegger than sheep man, and certainly not the trader his father had been. Still, over the years Big Johnny had formed a close relationship with the Navajo, so close, in fact, his son was half-Indian. His mother was dead now and Bad Johnny, to his credit, allowed no one, Indian or white, to speak ill of her.

  The establishment was camouflaged by ancient cottonwoods, thick with underbrush and nearly hidden from the county road––a place where down-and-outers whiled away their lives when the Indian bars of Farmington were closed… or when a person just couldn’t make it any further. If you were known to the owner, or vouched for by someone who was, you could buy pint bottles of sweet Mogen David 20-20, the fortified wine Indians called “Mad Dog 20-20.” Liter bottles of Thunderbird, the beverage of choice for the younger drinkers, were also available should one have the wherewithal.

  Legal Services Investigator Charlie Yazzie had twice written official complaints to the County Sheriff’s office about the place, but had not really expected anything to come of it. He mainly just wanted to get it on record that he had tried. The Sheriff thought those Indians were better off out in the country among their own kind when drinking––rather than in town, where the rougher element sometimes abused or took advantage of them. Charlie understood; the simple fact was… the Sheriff was right.

  By the time Thomas turned the truck off the county road and eased up the lane, the sun was beginning to make itself felt; a glint of water could be seen through the trees, and the air wafted clean and fresh off the river. The cottonwoods were already beginning to turn, and the occasional golden leaf fluttered to the ground like a wounded bird.

  “It’s a little early for people to be out here drinking, isn’t it?” Charlie wondered as he rolled down the window and looked askance at the many trails leading off into the brush.

  Thomas grinned and pulled the truck into the trees then pointed it back the way they had come. He reckoned that might prove advantageous––should it come to that. “It’s not early at all if you never left the night before.” He frowned over at Charlie. “You didn’t h
appen to put your gun in your jacket pocket this morning, did you?”

  Charlie grinned; Thomas always wanted to make things look worse than they were. At least Charlie hoped that was what he was doing.

  “I didn’t think you’d brought it… just figured I’d ask before the bullets start flying.” Thomas himself grinned at this and narrowed an eye up toward Bad Johnny’s. “There was a day, and not so long ago either, when that would have been a real possibility down here. Hopefully not today though.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Charlie couldn’t help having a little more doubt, however, and focused his full attention on the way ahead.

  The pair walked the short, littered distance to the outbuildings, with a close eye on the open places in the brush, where they noted the remnants of old sleeping bags and empty wine bottles strewn across the little clearings.

  They both wore hats pulled down low, and Charlie had his jacket collar turned up, though it was nearly too warm for it. Bad Johnny would know Thomas all right, but they hoped he wouldn’t know Charlie, or who he was. That might make information harder to come by. The Legal Services Investigator doubted the bootlegger would know him; Johnny Deboe had always steered clear of the reservation itself. The FBI held sway there, and the man’s chosen line of work was a federal offense on the reservation.

  Thomas circled around through the lambing sheds. This was where he and Harley had always done their drinking when the fall weather turned chilly. He hoped they might find their friend sleeping one off and whisk him away without making too much of a fuss.

  Harley Ponyboy was nowhere to be seen. Hosteen Benny was, however, and when Thomas shook him by the shoulder, Hosteen came awake with a knife and a bad attitude––nearly cutting Thomas before Charlie kicked the knife out of his hand. He grinned when he picked up the knife and shook it at Hosteen. The man was well known to Legal Services where, among other things, he was often the subject of spousal abuse complaints. Still Charlie frowned when Thomas gave the drunk another kick for good measure, and then grabbed him by the throat.