Stealing Fire (14 page)

We were both more than happy to see each other—it had been almost a year. And he'd been buried then, taking care of the movie business plus Howard Hughes plus helping me save my family from my so-called father. There hadn't been time to sit back and chew the fat.

We talked like old friends do, picking up as if no time had passed. He said he was real busy and asked how Santa Fe was. I told him security for the railroad was a good job, and this bodyguarding job came from that. At my grandfather's and great-aunt's ages it was best to have medical care handy. He was sorry, but he understood.

“Harry?” I said to him. “There are a few people I'd trust with my life. You're one of them.”

“That serious, Yazzie?”

“Yes. I'd like to tell you a story and get your thoughts.”

“I'm all ears.”

I gave him a five-minute summary of everything that had gone on with Wright, aiming toward what I needed.

“All of this happened in the course of less than one week?”

“And that's not all.”

“I think I need a notepad or a scorecard.”

“How about a beer?”

“Sounds good.”

I opened a cold Oly for him.

“Here's the hard part, Harry. When I woke up this morning, Jake Fine was sitting at our kitchen table. He'd even made a pot of coffee.”

“Holy macaroni!”

That was Harry's way of cussing.

I went through the rigmarole Jake spun about me hiding his daughter here, which was BS, and hiding Wright here, which wasn't.

“The whole thing with Fine? Harry, he didn't know where his daughter was—he was here on a fishing expedition and he hoped I'd bite. Same with Wright. Had a man with him, but he just seemed to be a driver.”

“Doesn't seem like he'd come with muscle,” Harry said.

“It wouldn't surprise me,” I said. “He's the kingpin of the operation. Kings don't do their own dirty work.”

“Where are Wright and Mose now?”

“River House Ruins. I drove them as far as I could, then they walked. Two ancients hiking in the desert, one with a walking stick with a carved ivory head. But Wright was crazy to see it, and Grandpa was crazy to be his guide.”

“Mose is armed?”

“Of course.”

Harry relaxed some. “Don't worry about them. Out in the wilds, Mose can take care of anything and anybody.”

“And no one could stop him from doing something. Wright's the same way.”

“Which is why they've both lived so long.”

“Wright is older than Grandfather, around eighty. Hard to believe Wright is more stubborn.”

“Those two old soldiers are not going to be herded. That won't make your job any easier.”

I wanted to tell Harry about the plans for the Guggenheim, but I was afraid he might ask if he could take a look at them, and that would feel like a major violation, a betrayal of the promise I made to Mr. Wright. Plus, where they were hidden, that was something only I wanted to know. My own peace of mind. Plus I wasn't going to risk moving them. Anyone could be looking through our windows. I pulled out a few teaspoons of Alka-Seltzer and stirred it in a glass of water. Harry got a kick out of that.

“Go easy, Yaz. We don't want you tanked up on fizz and water.”

“Ha ha.”

“Well,” he said, “I didn't get to chauffeur Mrs. Wright to Taliesin West, but I'd still like to see the place someday.”

“It's not going anywhere.”

Harry took a swig of beer. “Iris called this morning. I told her you'd be at our place tomorrow, and you'd call her back from there.”

My heart about fell through the floor.

“Yazzie?” he said. “You look like someone just let all the air out of your balloon.”

“My wife … Just hoping there's not an emergency.”

“Relax. She said she was fine and she just wanted to send you her love.”

“Make a call for me, would you? Tell her that we're okay here. And listen, I mean really listen, to her voice.”

“I figured,” Harry said, “you might want to tell her yourself.”

“She's at Goulding's?”

“Yazzie, get a grip! I would have brought her with me, and ASAP.”

“Sure, sure. This is driving me nuts. Sorry.”

“Tomorrow you call Iris.”

“I'm all for that.”

“Also, there's a large Indian guy who wants to talk to you. Paid me three times what a room is worth at my new little motel down the road. Worked as an extra for Ford on this film. Sort of a hobby with him.”

“What's he want?”

“Only wanted to talk to you. Educated guy, speaks English well. I think maybe he wants to talk to you about buying the trading post.”

“Grandpa will never go for that.”

“Things change. Wouldn't hurt to hear him out,” Harry said. “If you're up for it, I'll see if I can smooth the way. Someone else wants to speak with you, too.”

“If he looks like a reptile in a pricey suit, it's Jake Fine, and I'm done with that.”

“It's John Wayne. Ford talked you up, and the Duke wants a few words.”

“Harry? How does a kid grow up in the back-end corner of the rez, part Navajo and part Jewish—how does this guy get to know the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright and John Wayne and a bona fide gangster?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” he said.

Right then I felt like anything but.

 

Twenty-one

Harry and I ate a ham sandwich, and then we both fell asleep in the rockers by the woodstove. Harry snored to beat the band, but it was rhythmic, and I was so tired I could have slept through a windstorm.

Knocking on the front door, hard, rapid, impatient. A fist. I jumped out of the rocker, my heart going a million beats per minute. Gads, we had more people coming through here than we did in Santa Fe.

It was Eno Kee.

I looked at my watch, and it was ten minutes past time to pick up Wright and Grandpa. I shook Harry awake. He said yes, he'd like to come with me. I asked Eno to stay inside, said we'd catch up later, and told him to bolt the doors from the inside. Not to let anyone in but me. And no fights over love. That was the last thing we needed.

I was talking fast, white-man fast. Eno looked stunned, but he got it. He'd sit and wait. I thought about those plans for the museum, and the large window that opens into the rug room. I decided to take the plans with me. Mr. Wright would brain me with his walking stick if I let them out of my sight.

“You've got some big trouble.”

“Yes, and I don't know where it's coming from.”

“I come by to warn you that my wife's uncle is on your tail,” Eno said. “Says you treated him real rude.”

“He must have me mixed up with some other guy.”

“That's what I told him. See, this is why I think my wife and me got so many problems, her being Ute. We've got a history of hard times between us.”

“Eno? Don't let the uncle in.”

“I would have bolted everything up without you telling me. He's the last guy I want to see—large and nasty.”

Harry and I climbed into the truck. Four in the cab wouldn't cut it on our way back. Harry said he'd sit in the bed.

We bounced down the two-track toward the river.

“Eno does a real good job on our house, you're right about that, but his life would go easier if he kept his pants up.”

“He doesn't drink,” Harry said. “That's something.”

“No, he fools around on his wife when he's cold sober.”

“Some people just have too much charm.”

We rattled over the rocks about five miles per hour. The air was getting a little thick with words unsaid.

“Harry, something on your mind?”

He squirmed a little.

“This is going to sound ridiculous, I mean, Frank Lloyd Wright is pure class.”

“He's a regular guy with hard times and good times, both,” I said. “Well, not regular. But he's a man like anyone else. Pretty much. Never mind. What were you going to say?”

“I thought maybe you'd all like to come over to my place tomorrow.”

“We already talked about that. I'm for it.”

“Well, I thought you might like to spend two nights, maybe three, play it by ear, and watch a movie being filmed. Think Wright might enjoy that?”

“Are you serious?”

“I know. It's silly.”

“No, Harry. It's brilliant.”

“He'll like it?”

“Number one, he is crazy about movies and movie stars. Number two, because Jake Fine was in my house, easy as pie, I'd just as soon be somewhere else for more than one night.”

“Too late to leave today.”

“How about you and I trade places at the woodstove all night? Keep watch.”

Harry laughed. “Who is going to shake us awake when we nod off?”

“I shake you awake, and then you shake me awake. We bolt everything. And the old fellows aren't allowed to wander around, not without taking one of us.”

“They'll love that.”

“They're going to have to get comfortable with rules for a few days.”

“Good luck.”

“After your place, if it seems safe, Wright and I will head to Taliesin West,” I said. “Then I collect my check, and I'm through.”

“Want to leave your grandfather with us, or you want him with you at Taliesin?”

“Easier to leave him at your place, if you've got room.”

“I can always find room, and I can invent a job for him. Going over my art, pricing it, changing the prices if he sees fit.”

“We sell my grandfather on that, and it'll be a done deal.”

*   *   *

I had met with Jake Fine, twice, in Reno, Nevada. Nothing more than a cow town with slot machines, mines, and a few divorce ranches.

Fine was headed to Vegas to make plans for nightclubs. He wanted input. I had no idea how you could build a classy nightclub with slot machines, but I humored the man. We worked out a plan that was good for both of us. I had no intention of running into Fine again. But then Helen happened.

I had planned to use Helen, but that hadn't worked out very well. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was using me. Maybe it was to get back at her father. Maybe to bounce architectural ideas around. It turned out that I'd been wrong about the second part. She was smarter than I was, but I would never let her know that. As far as women went, she was a perfect fit. The expecting-a-baby thing that I'd told Mrs. Wright was a complete fabrication. Something to keep her occupied and concerned about me.

Then it came to me, just like one of those ridiculous cactus-shaped neon signs that line the street of Grants, New Mexico. (I couldn't wait to get out of there.) I could turn my feelings—I hated having feelings—for Helen into a plus. She had a brother who, by all accounts, was a real loser but was trying to horn in on whatever Helen did with Fine. Take out the brother, get the drafts for the Guggenheim, sell them for a nest egg, marry Helen, and become her father's new son. That seemed doable. Winning her heart would be easy—no plan needed with a woman.

The phone rang. It was her. She'd meet me in Flagstaff; she told me the place and gave me the number. She said she didn't know where her brother was. That was disturbing. The woman was the suspicious type and she was gorgeous. A drop-dead combination.

I hung up the phone and shut the door to the pay phone. A pretty little blonde with
FLOOZY
written all over her strutted by. She was wearing red short-shorts and a tight middy blouse. Very patriotic.

She walked into teepee number 12. I gave her ten minutes and then knocked on her door. She opened it. I put fifteen dollars in her hand.

“For this,” she said, “you get the full treatment.”

Women.

 

Twenty-two

No sign of them at three thirty—they were even later than me. That was no surprise. Harry and I walked down the wash toward the river.

Turn to the north, and you step back in time 1,200 years. There, above you, is the ruin that I love above all others. It looks out on the San Juan River. The rippling sound is sweet. Walk up tumbled rocks—Mr. Wright must have had a field day staying upright with his walking stick there—and you see a cliff dwelling following the shape of the alcove beneath the bluff. It is the image of water and sand and stone and wind creating the perfect home. Carved rock doorways, walks, hidden walls, grinding stones, corn cobs … all there. Feels as if the people might return any moment.

How many lived there? Who knows. Their rock drawings and carvings are a story we can't read, we can only feel. And there, painted across the back wall, is a snake about fifteen feet long and as thick as a man's thigh. The Hopis revere it as the origin place of their Snake clan, and conduct a ceremony there every year. The Navajos also claim it as a sacred site. You can almost see the snake move across the wall, protecting and caring for all those who enter.

Walk inside that cave and you've no longer moved 1,200 years back in time. You have lost time altogether. This is what I miss when I'm in a city. No places where time disappears. I take that back. At the edge of the ocean—if that's where your city is—with your feet in the tide, yes, you lose track of time. The wide, magical desert, and the huge rollicking ocean. Both these places take your watch and toss it to the winds.

Harry and I saw Grandfather and Mr. Wright sitting on stones inside the cliff dwelling. Simply sitting. No sounds. I couldn't possibly blame them for missing three thirty. For missing three o'clock. What's time in a place that swallowed it whole thousands of years ago?

We climbed up the rocks and sat with them, no words, just part of it all. The smell of tall grasses, the light of cottonwoods laying down their leaves. The moisture off the river. The eddies and the blue herons. If a person had never known love, any kind of love, this is where I would take them.