St. Clair (Gives Light Series) (33 page)

"It's a good thing you're so damn white," he said

gruffly. I raised my eyebrows. "You're like

paper." The pencil tip was starting to tickle. And

then a shadow fell over the both of us, and Rafael

was forced to put down his pencil and look up.

It was Mr. Owns Forty, looking very unkempt.

Mr. Owns Forty was Zeke's dad. His hair was

long, curly, and loose, his face haggard and in need

of a shave. His clothes looked like they belonged

on a body two sizes bigger than his--or maybe it

was just that he was very lean.

My stomach tightened; my nerves steeled. The last

time I'd really seen Mr. Owns Forty was about a

year ago, during the Navajo pauwau. He'd gotten

drunk--I don't know how, because alcohol isn't

allowed at pauwaus--and decked Rafael across the

face.

I could feel Rafael tensing at my side. Rafael's

father had claimed a lot of lives. Zeke's sister--

this man's daughter--was one of them.

The three of us were silent, motionless. I could

actually hear the creaking of the metal windmill

blades as they picked up on the spring breeze.

Mr. Owns Forty sighed, rubbing his elbow. He

looked away.

I can't explain what really went through my mind. I

just wanted to hug him. Don't get me wrong; I don't

think it's okay that he took out his anger on a kid.

Two kids. Zeke never admitted it, but I knew his

father had struck him in the past. It's just... I don't

know. Dad said something to me once. "Loss

changes people. Sometimes it destroys them." I

could believe that, and it made me feel lousy.

I didn't hug him; and he didn't say a word. He

went on walking past us, to his house on the other

side of the field.

"Poor guy," Rafael mumbled, so faint that I almost

didn't pick up on it.

I can definitely pinpoint that as the moment when I

fell in love with him all over again.

"Was your speech therapist really Lakota? You

know, they were enemies of ours, centuries ago. I

don't mean 'enemies' as in we killed each other, but

we certainly counted coup millions of times."

It was a Sunday evening, and Annie and I were

standing together at the firepit with dozens of men

and women, cooking frybread to bring to the

upcoming Navajo pauwau. Frybread's easy to

make as long as you've got a skillet and oil. If

you're clumsy, though--and I kind of am--you'll

probably get burned a few times.

I rolled the dough between my hands and Annie

stretched and pulled on it. She took the dough

from me and dropped it onto the cast iron. It

sizzled and burned a golden brown.

I wiped my hands on a wet towel.
So who usually

won?
I signed.

"The Lakota did," Annie said fairly, but with a

spark of rivalry. She flipped the bread over with a

pair of tongs. "They were a scary bunch. You

know, it's strange how two people can be so

different, but so alike. They believed in the Great

Spirit of the universe, too. Only they called it

Wakan Tanka and we called it Tam Apo. But the

vision quest, the sun dance, even the way we

dressed--we could have been twins. I suppose

that's why we fought so much. We were too alike."

A few boys sat on the ground and split apart the

haunches of a big-horned sheep. I nearly vomited

on the spot. I quickly turned away.

"You know that's where warbonnets come from,

don't you?" Annie said. "I'm talking about the

feathered headdresses you sometimes see Plains

People wearing at a pauwau. They're very

sacred. In the old days, a warrior was permitted

to wear an eagle feather in his hair for an act of

bravery on the battlefield--or counting coup.

Touching your enemy and running back to your

side without getting caught. The more acts of

bravery you committed, the more feathers you

wore. White feathers if you got away unscathed,

red feathers if you sustained a wound." Annie

picked up the frybread with her tongs and laid it on

a platter on the ground. "You could tell how

accomplished a warrior was just by looking at the

length of his warbonnet. Some warbonnets were

so long, they reached the ground! Nowadays we

don't count coup, of course, but sometimes we

wear our ancestors' warbonnets out of respect for

the past." Annie smothered what looked to me like

a pang of bitterness. "It positively
infuriates
me

when you see non-Natives wearing warbonnets

like it's something fashionable, or a Halloween

costume. Just think; our ancestors in the Indian

schools were beaten to death if they wore their

Native dress, and now the descendants of the

people who put them there steal our symbols and

wear them like they're nothing..."

I sat on the ground and mixed the flour and

powdered milk for a second batch of frybread.

That was when Rafael came running over to the

firepit.

"Sky, c'mere for a sec," Rafael said.

I looked up.

Annie rolled her eyes. "You know, he's not

actually at your beck and call, Rafael."

"I'm not talking to you, Little Hawk." I noticed

Rafael wasn't covered in mutton blood like the

other boys. He was carrying a thick library book

under his arm. "You got a sec?" he asked me.

I stood and smiled, bemused.

Annie sighed. "We're on the last batch as it is. I

suppose I can let him go--"

Rafael didn't wait to hear another word. He seized

my hand and dragged me off.

I wondered where we were headed in such a

hurry, but I couldn't very well ask him when his

hand was around mine. We walked past clusters

of bull and pinyon pines and out on the dirt road. I

realized, mystified, that he was taking me to the

hospital.

We walked through the hospital's sliding doors.

Ms. Bright rolled her eyes when she saw me. I

stared. Was this woman ever off duty?

Rafael hunched over the receptionist's desk. He

put his library book down. "Who do I talk to about

science stuff?"

"Your teacher, hon."

"That's not funny," Rafael said darkly.

"What's going on here?" asked Robert the nurse.

He approached us in hospital scrubs, a clipboard

in his hands.

"Nothing.

I'm

just

showing

these

two

troublemakers out the door," Ms. Bright said.

But Robert was already gaining on me, grabbing

me by my shoulders. His clipboard lay forgotten

on the floor.

"Back so soon!" He shook me, my eyes rattling.

"It's not time for your checkup, silly. Or did you

just miss me that much?"

"Uh," Rafael started.

Bad move. Robert turned on him now. "Oh, it's

you
," he said slyly. "If I were ten years younger--"

Rafael looked genuinely frightened. I was glad my

laughs were soundless; I was laughing so hard, I

could feel the stitches in my stomach pulling taut.

"Robert," said an irritable Ms. Bright, "isn't there

something you should be doing?"

"Not really. My walk-in walked out. Terribly

rude." He scooped his clipboard off the floor.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

Rafael collected himself. "I need to...is there a

research doctor around here?"

"Nope. Sorry. We haven't had one of those since

Tish left the rez."

Rafael fumed. "An ENT? Anyone? Who's Sky's

doctor?"

"Aisling's not on duty." Robert checked the clock

on the wall. "Look, if it's an emergency--"

Seriously, I thought, what's all this about?

"I wanna regrow Sky's vocal cords," Rafael

blurted out.

I didn't know what to think. Neither did Robert,

from the looks of it. He smiled slowly. "Oh.

Honey--"

"No, I've been reading, okay? A
lot
. And I read

about this--the vocal cords are made of lamina,

right? But the vein inside a human umbilical cord

is made out of the exact same lamina. Isn't it?

Sir?"

Robert actually seemed to consider him. "That's

true," he said at last.

"So if you took the umbilical vein and attached it

to the laryngeal nerve, wouldn't he start talking

again? Can't you do that?"

"I can't do that," Robert said.

"But--"

"First of all, I'm a nurse," Robert said. "If I tried

to operate on him, I'd bungle it. Badly. Second of

all, that's called stem cell research, and it's not

quite legal at the moment."

Rafael was so quiet, I could practically hear the

gears turning in his head.

"Why?" Rafael asked.

"Crazy Catholic fundies. They'll go up in arms if

you experiment with a baby's umbilical cord.

Don't ask why me why, it's not like the baby's using

it once he's born."

Rafael sank his fingers into his hair and pulled,

frustrated. "But Sky could talk again!"

"You think crazy Catholic fundies care that your

boyfriend can't talk? Honey, please. They're

already convinced the two of you belong in hell.

Wait until you find out you're not even allowed to

donate blood!"

"Who do I talk to to change their mind?"

"The president of the United States?" Ms. Bright

tossed in.

Rafael yanked his hair. I thought he was going to

punch someone. I put my hand on his shoulder and

he jumped. I ran my hand down his arm; he slowly

calmed down.
It's not worth getting worked up
, I

wanted to say.

"I'm really sorry, boys," Robert said. "For what

it's worth," he said to Rafael, "I think you're one

very
smart cookie. Now if you'll excuse me, I've

got to go look like I'm busy."

Rafael watched him walk off. He kept closing and

opening his eyes, like he wasn't quite sure whether

he'd woken up this morning.

I tapped on his shoulder until he noticed and

looked at me. I picked up my plains flute half-

heartedly. Maybe I could play Ring of Fire now, if

he still wanted.

Ms. Bright was starting to get tired of us crowding

around her lobby. She pointed emphatically at the

double doors and we left the hospital, Rafael

dejected. I felt so bad for him. I put my arm

around his back and drew his shoulder against

mine. He turned toward me, his shoulders

slouched.

"Sky," he said. "I'm sor--"

I kneaded his shoulders and smiled.

"I want you to talk," he said. "And sing. And all

the other things you've wanted to do. I thought I

could give you that. I suck. I'm sorry. I'm so

sorry."

I sat down on the hospital steps. Once he realized

I wasn't going anywhere, he sat with me. I took his

face between my hands. I brushed his hair behind

his ears.

You
, I wished I could say,
do not suck. You the-

opposite-of-suck.
And even if I could have

spoken, I don't know that I would have had the

words to tell him exactly what he meant to me.

How enormous it was that he combed through

boring medical books to try and find me a voice.

That's more than love. That's... I don't even know

what that is.

Rafael stayed silent and moody over the next few

days, even the very day before the Navajo

pauwau. To be fair, that was also the day Rafael

found out his uncle wasn't driving us.

"Charity's much too little for all that excitement,"

Gabriel told him at dinner that night. "Rosa and I

are staying home. I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm sure you

can find someone else to drive you."

"Whatever," Rafael mumbled.

Gabriel looked very nonplussed. He didn't know--

he couldn't know--what Rafael was really upset

about.

Rafael and I sat together underneath a ponderosa

pine. We watched Lila Little Hawk skip circles

around the bonfire to the calls of her father and

grandfather. I tried to get him to eat a roasted

apple. He wouldn't.

That's crazy, I thought, and bit into it myself. Food