Looks Over(Gives Light Series)

Looks Over

Rose Christo

1

Computers Don't Work That Way

"
Now
what is it doing?" Granny cried impatiently.

I ran into the front room of our little cabin home and found my grandmother and my father bent over the newest addition to the decor: a bulky, secondhand computer sitting on a polished pine desk.

Out of all four hundred Indian reservations in the US, Nettlebush was probably among the very last to get with the 21st Century.  At the start of September, the tribal council had announced--kind of gleefully, I thought--that we were finally getting internet service.

Predictably, reactions were a mixed bag.  My best friend, Annie Little Hawk, had serenely stated she'd use the hookup to find more recipes and sell her crafts online.  Her boyfriend, Aubrey Takes Flight, had squawked and squeaked like an excited prairie chicken and spent countless hours talking about the metaphysics of cyberspace and the liminal ramifications of such a thing and William Gibson and--well, at that point, I'd kind of tuned him out.  Sorry, Aubrey.  No offense.

Really, the old folks had had the best reactions.  Imagine a bunch of little old Plains People who have never seen the inside of a car, much less the upside of a computer.  Now imagine trying to explain to them what a search engine is.  For bonus points, make sure you're talking to the ones who don't speak English.

I joined Dad and Granny by the computer with an amused, inquisitive smile.    Their identical, water-gray eyes were fixed on the dully glowing monitor.  Dad's raven-black hair fell smoothly over his shoulders, his hands on his knees.

"It's booting up, Mother," Dad explained stiltedly.  He had a profile like a sad, chubby hawk, a straight nose and a wobbly chin.  He was turning forty soon--sometime in January, Plains People don't traditionally celebrate birthdays--and his stomach had accumulated an indicative paunch.

"I don't see what I need this rickety-rackety nonsense for," Granny said severely.  I think she must have been a beautiful woman in her youth, but in old age, you couldn't really tell what she looked like beneath all those heavy, leathery wrinkles.  Her snow-white hair, braided, was Rapunzel-length; she wore a simple trinket around her neck, a glass gem on the end of a willow string.

I don't look anything like Dad or Granny, except for my nose, maybe.  My hair's a crazy, curly blond and my eyes are a plain brown.  I've got freckles all over my arms and stomach, and until I learned how to cull oil from lavender spikes, I used to burn in the sun.  I inherited all my looks from Mom.  I inherited her last name, too:  Plains People are matrilineal, so the kid always belongs to the mother's clan.  We were Paul Looks Over and Catherine Looks Over and Skylar St. Clair.  Nothing out of the ordinary here.

"To keep in touch with your friends outside the reserve," Dad said.  "Solomon set up a tribal website.  You--"

"A what?"

"A website.  Now you can talk with the Northern Shoshone whenever you want.  You don't have to wait for the winter pauwau."

"That's what the postal service is for!"

I hid my smile.  Granny was set in her ways.  No amount of arguing would ever change her worldview.

"Skylar," Granny said.  "What is it doing?"

I bent over the desk and peered at the computer screen.  It wasn't actually doing anything, unless you count sitting still as doing something. 

I shook my head. 
Nothing, Granny
, I meant to say, but couldn't.  I've been mute since I was five.  My vocal cords never healed correctly after--well, there's no reason to dwell on the past.

"Then make it do something!  I didn't let the Gives Light boy put all those wires around my house for nothing!"

What did she want the computer to do, shawl dance?  Granny looked at me sharply, accurately surmising my thoughts.  I grinned sheepishly.  Granny wasn't a lady you wanted to cross.

"Here," Dad said wearily.  He took the mouse in his pawlike hand and clicked around on the screen.  A blank window popped up.  He typed on the keyboard, and a big orange website flooded the screen.

The website read, "WELCOME TO THE HOME OF THE PLAINS SHOSHONE."  I winced.  I wouldn't have chosen bright red text for an orange background.

"Hmph," Granny said noncommittally.  She sat down on the stiff wooden chair.  Then:  "Quiet," she ordered, though no one had said anything.  "I'm reading."

Dad and I exchanged sideways smiles, his wry, mine endeared.

The website had a neat little history blurb about the Shoshone tribe: how we had originated in the Sierra Nevada but migrated to the Plains, where we bonded with the Paiute and fought bloodless battles with the Lakota; how our Lost Woman had led Lewis and Clark in making the first real map of America and our benevolent chief, Shoots Running, had taught the white men to ford the rivers and survive in the wilderness; how a small band of Eastern Shoshone had fled south to Arizona after the harrowing Bear River Massacre, where Dad, Granny, and I lived today.

"I don't see anything about Bear Hunter," Granny said.  Granny was very hard to please.

"There's a chat room, Cubby," Dad said.  "You can check and see if any of your friends are connected."

Granny waved at us dismissively.  She rose from her chair and shuffled off to the kitchen for a cup of roasted acorn tea.

"Or Eli's boy," Dad said meaningfully.

I didn't look at him.  I took Granny's seat, my face burning with embarrassment.

Dad chuckled, low but audible, and went upstairs.

I looked again at the website, squinting to shield my eyes from the red-and-orange onslaught.  There were a whole bunch of tabs on the side for tribal resources, including a map of the reservation and an event calendar.  I found the button labeled "Chat," clicked on it, and typed in my name.

Mercifully, the bright background faded to an off-white chat room window.

ZEKE: AHAHAHAHAHA IM TYPING THE FASTEST

William Sleeping Fox is idle.

stu stout: Why are you typing in all capital letters?

matthew: i dont wanna go to church 2day

Annie: Hi, Skylar!

Skylar St. Clair: :)

prairierose: me neitherrrrr

ZEKE: WHAT

HollyAtDawn has entered the room.

stu stout: Never mind.

ZEKE: OKAY

Aubrey TF: hi skylar!!!

Aubrey TF: how are you??

Skylar St. Clair: hey holly :)

Annie: Hi, Holly

Skylar St. Clair: hi aubrey. not bad, thanks

HollyAtDawn: ugh

Skylar St. Clair: you?

ZEKE: OH ITS YOU

ZEKE: I MEAN SKYLER

ZEKE: SKYLAR WHATEVER

dosabite: sk,hdksh,f

ZEKE: I DIDNT NO YOU COULD TALK

HollyAtDawn: stop yelling...

dosabite: hinni

Aubrey TF: well, a little confused, really!

He sure wasn't the only one.

dosabite: ekkesah

dosabite has left the room.

HollyAtDawn: good riddance

Annie: That's not nice.

ZEKE: I NO RIGHT SHES SO WEIRD

Aubrey TF: was that imaculata?

ZEKE: LOOK I AM TYPING

stu stout has left the room.

Annie: Yes, that was Immaculata.

ZEKE: FINE

William Sleeping Fox is no longer idle.

Aubrey TF: wait, the shaman has a computer??????

Skylar St. Clair: ;) he keeps it in his tipi next to the travois

rafael has entered the room.

Oh, boy, I thought.  If there was anyone I didn't trust with technology, it was Rafael.

ZEKE: HEY DUMBASS GET OUT CAN;T YOU SEE THE SIGN THAT SAYS COOL GUYS ONLY (JUST PRETEND ITS THERE)

Skylar St. Clair: hi rafael :)

HollyAtDawn: stop yelling, stop yelling, STOP YELLING!!!

Annie: In that case, Zeke, what are you still doing here?

Aubrey TF: eek.......

rafael: hi

rafael: huh

HollyAtDawn has left the room.

Siobhan Stout has entered the room.

ZEKE:
WHAT AWWWWW WHAT THE HECK FINE IM OUTA HERE IT'L GET BORING WITHOUT ME ANYWAY

prairierose: SIOBHAN

William Sleeping Fox is idle.

rafael: sleeping fx

ZEKE has left the room.

rafael: fk you

Skylar St. Clair: rafael :(

Siobhan Stout: this is cool heh

Skylar St. Clair: hi siobhan :)

Siobhan Stout: whats up?

Annie: u r all losers

Skylar St. Clair: hi lila ;)

Annie: hey baby

Aubrey TF: where did annie go??

rafael: how you gtthe thing to stop blinking

rafael: huh

Aubrey TF: ???

The computer screen was starting to give me a headache.  I said a quick goodbye to the chat room--although it probably got lost in the flood of textual chaos--and turned off the monitor.

I went outside the house, sat on the porch, and breathed in the fresh morning air.

The Nettlebush Reserve was the most beautiful place I'd ever been.  A very vocal part of my heart wished that I had grown up here, but you know what they say:  Better late than never.  An early blue sky of pale pastels hung high above the bull and pinyon pine trees.  The fervor of a sweltering August, mercifully, had yielded at last to a cooler September.  It would be autumn before long.  The oak leaves would turn color, then tumble to the ground.  I couldn't wait to see it.

The door opened, then snapped shut again.  Granny climbed down the porch steps, Dad following her.

"Come, Skylar," Granny said sternly.  "It's time for church."

The three of us walked down the dirt path together, Granny leaning heavily on my shoulder.

"Skylar!"

A family of five was traipsing down the path toward us: two men, one of them elderly, and three children.  I grinned at Annie Little Hawk.  She was a very small-statured girl, and very pretty--or I thought so, anyway, but I was way too biased.  She ran to me, her short hair bobbing around her chin, and took my hand.

"So how do you like the internet?" she quipped.

I smiled. 
Pretty cool
, I signed.  Annie's whole family knew sign language.  Annie's little brother, Joseph, had been born deaf.

"Yes, did you see the history section?  Mr. Red Clay wrote it, he's got a mind as sharp as a tack.  Listen, I won't be around later.  We're visiting family in Tucson today.  Will you tell Aubrey?  And Rafael, if he asks, but I doubt he will."

I'm sure he will
, I signed.  Annie scoffed.  She kissed me on the cheek and ran back to her family.

"Don't miss me for too long, sweetcheeks," shouted Annie's eleven-year-old sister.

I couldn't help laughing, though it was soundless, like all my laughs were.  I waved wide to Lila Little Hawk.  That little brat was one of my favorite people on the planet.

The Little Hawk family trekked south.  Granny nodded curtly after them and we went on to the church.  I caught the hint of a smile on Dad's face.

The church in Nettlebush was nothing more than an old white building with polished pews of gleaming wood.  It wasn't very remarkable to look at.

But the services themselves--now those were crazy.  I don't mean that disrespectfully.  I just mean to say that they were incredibly diverse.  The preacher was an old man named Reverend Silver Wolf, and he was the sort of guy you couldn't help but like.  His hair was long and silver with age, and he never went anywhere without a bashful smile on his face.  He reminded me of a little kid at times.  He read from the Bible with loving zeal, but the Christian proverbs were always bookended with traditional Plains parables.

Granny, Dad, and I arrived at the church just as Reverend Silver Wolf took his place at the pulpit.  Granny led Dad to the very front row and took a seat.  Reverend Silver Wolf was soft-spoken, and not very good at projecting his voice; to remedy this, Granny preferred to sit as close to the altar as possible.  I would have followed her, as I did every Sunday, except that someone sitting in the back row captured my eye.