The Shaman Laughs (25 page)

"Then what happened?" Parris asked.

"I was nearly there…" Benita opened her eyes. "I saw his convertible, off the road… on the shoulder. It was raining, but he had the top down and was just standing there with his hands in his pockets. Looked real pitiful. I felt sorry for him."

Who did you see?" Parris leaned over to speak into the microphone.

"Mr. Nightbird. Arlo Nightbird. I stopped and asked if he needed any help. He said his car was running hot and out of water, said he needed a ride back to Ignacio. He was wet and cold."

"And you gave him a ride?"

"I told him I had to drop off the salt blocks for the stock in the canyon, but I'd pick him up on the way out. He said he'd have pneumonia by then, so I said 'get in.' When he got inside the pickup, I smelled the whiskey on him. Told him I couldn't give him a ride when he was drinking, then he said he'd ride in the back of the truck."

"He got in the back?"

"Yes. He laid down on the straw." Benita paused to gather what remained of her strength. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. "I thought he'd sleep it off, so I drove into the canyon and found the cattle. When I got in the back of the truck and opened the tailgate, he got up and… and…" She stopped and grimaced at the memory.

"Benita," Parris urged gently, "tell me exactly what he did… I know this is hard, but don't leave anything out."

"Mr. Nightbird," she said, "had already pulled off his boots. Then… he took off his pants."

"Did he say anything?"

"Yes," she shuddered, "he said he'd had his eye on me for a long time. Said he hadn't…"—she glanced at Parris who ducked his head in embarrassment for her—"he said he hadn't had himself a 'cherry' for a month of Sundays."

Moon groaned and hid his face in his giant hands. "What did you do?"

"I got mad… told him to get out of the truck. He pulled a knife… said he'd cut me up if I didn't… cooperate. I guess that's when I tried to run away."

"He chase after you?"

Benita sobbed. "Yes. He caught me and ripped my blouse. I tried to kick him between his legs and he fell down and held onto my ankle. He got mad then, and that's when he did it."

"When he did
whatT'

"When he cut me."

Moon was stunned. "He
cut
you?"

"On my leg… right here." She pointed toward her swollen left thigh. "It hurt and it bled, but not too much. I guess it got infected… I don't want them to take my leg off."

Moon stared at the tape recorder, as if it were an intrusion into what should have been a very private conversation.

Parris nodded at the girl. "Go on."

"I got away again and ran down to the creek bed. There was already some water in it from the rain. I slipped on a rock and fell in the water. Mr. Nightbird, he jumped on top of me—he was so heavy. Then, that's when I did it."

"You did what?"

"Hit him."

Parris grinned with delight. "You hit the son of a… you hit him?"

"With a rock I found on the ground. He fell to one side. I was running back to the road, and he was coming after me, but he was staggering. I sprained my ankle, then I knew I couldn't get away. I stopped and waited for him… I still had that rock in my hand. When he got close, I hit him again, real hard. I heard the bone in his head crack and he fell down and dropped his knife. I knew he wouldn't hurt me anymore. Then I got in the truck and drove home."

"There's something I need to ask you about, Benita."

Parris searched for the right words. "Something about Mr. Nightbird's body…"

She didn't hear the
matukach
policeman. "When I got home, my leg was hurting something awful." Her voice was weakening; she was a little girl lost in a bad dream. "Daddy saw the blood running down my leg and started yelling. I told him Mr. Nightbird done it… that I'd hit him in the head with a rock… then… then…" Benita's head rolled to one side. At this instant, a nurse entered with a tray of instruments and a paper cup with two tiny yellow pills inside.

"Oh," she stage-whispered, "I hope you won't disturb her, she needs to sleep."

Parris pocketed the tape recorder. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Moon gave the nurse his parcel. "I'm a friend of the family; just came by to drop off some of her things."

The nurse unwrapped the package and began to store the night-clothes in a cabinet. She paused as she saw the red Bible. "Oh," she said, "poor little thing's been asking for this. Thank you so much." The nurse turned to look at Moon. "She's been asking for her father too; they're absolutely devoted to one another. Do you know when he'll be back?"

Parris rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That," he said, "is hard to say."

Moon leaned with his hands on the window frame. There was no earth, no sky. The rain fell straight down, through a still gray fog. He could barely see the bank of the
Rio De Los Animas Perditas
—the River of Lost Souls.

They were halfway to Ignacio when Parris gave voice to what they were both thinking. "There's a big hole in her story."

The Ute nodded. "The missing body parts?"

"I can't believe that little girl mutilated the body," he said.

"No," Moon said. It was unthinkable that Benita would do such a thing.

Parris pressed the point. "But somebody did." It was obvious enough, but he knew Moon didn't want to face it. "Let's say her father takes her to the emergency room at the hospital. He's not too worried about his daughter, not with a superficial wound on her leg. No way he could have known she'd develop a bad infection. He steams awhile, then decides to go to the canyon. He finds Nightbird. Dead or unconscious. Figures his daughter may have some trouble with the law. Maybe he finds Nightbird's knife close by. He gets this great idea: Why not fix Arlo the way someone fixed Big Ouray? That way, it'll look like the nutcase who mutilated his bull also murdered Arlo. What Gorman Sweetwater doesn't know, is that Arlo Nightbird left his boots and britches and underwear in the back of Gorman's pickup truck!"

"Yeah," Moon said sadly. "Could have happened just that way."

"We'll need to have a long talk with Mr. Sweetwater."

Moon, lost in his thoughts, didn't hear him. She
will
get well. Tomorrow, she'll be walking around the room, wanting to go home.

Benita Sweetwater used most of her strength to turn on her left side as the night nurse lifted the covers and jabbed her buttock with a disposable hypodermic syringe. The girl was grateful for the stinging injection; it would soon melt the pain away—at least enough for a precious few hours sleep. She turned onto her back and sighed; the dark-eyed nurse said something about using the call button if she needed anything and was gone. It was then that she felt the presence in the room.

Benita raised herself on one elbow; she stared wide-eyed at the aged figure of a bow-legged man standing by her bed. "Nahum Yacüti… it's you!"

"It is me," he said simply.

"But everybody thought you were dead since that storm hit your place last year… Some said you'd fallen into the Animas… I must be dreaming. You're not real."

"Touch me and see," he said gently, holding his hand barely above hers.

She raised her tiny hand and touched the warm tips of his fingers. "You're really here." Tears welled up in her eyes.

He sat on the bed and the springs creaked. "Can't stay long," Nahum said. He was a long way from home.

"I'm real sick," Benita said. "The doctor wants to—"

"To take your leg off?" Nahum frowned as he touched her hot forehead.

"I won't let him," she said defiantly. "I won't let him cut my leg off!"

"It's up to you," her visitor said. "You choose the path, then you walk on it."

"I've made up my mind."

He had expected as much. This girl was much like her mother. Nahum slid off the bed. "Then it's a done deal."

"Will you come back and see me again?"

"I'll be back," he said as he patted her hand.

Scorr Parris arrived at the station as Charlie Moon was hanging up the telephone. The Ute looked up, his face split by a wide grin. "A good mornin' to you, acting chief of the SUPD."

"You are disgustingly cheerful this morning," Parris said, "enough to put me off my breakfast. Any fresh coffee around this place?"

"Read this. Fresh off the fax." Moon offered him the flimsy sheaf of papers.

Parris held the document at arm's length and squinted to get a good focus on the copy.

"You need to get yourself some spectacles," Moon advised.

"Just need longer arms. This a copy of the medical examiner's report on Nightbird?"

"Preliminary report. From the Granite Creek M. E.'s office, but it doesn't have Doc Simpson's signature on it."

"Simpson's on his annual vacation to the South Pacific," Parris observed as he read. "He usually trades off with someone for a couple of weeks when he visits the Sandwich Islands. Let's see… says here that Mr. Arlo Nightbird was killed by a blow to the head. We already knew that."

"Try the next page," Moon said.

Parris flipped a page. "Says there were '… indications of animal predation on the digits of the right hand and on the lower lip.' That's pretty grim." Parris glanced over the top of a page at Moon, who still wore the look of smug satisfaction. "Don't see why it makes you so happy to hear that one of the People got chewed on by coyotes."

"Read on."

Parris moved his lips as he read, then he brightened. "Well I'll be rode hard and put away wet! The report says 'predators are probably responsible for the mutilation. Coyotes or buzzards… could have torn off the ears and testicles.' " Parris felt a sympathetic twinge in his crotch. "But the M. E. only says
probably
—that still leaves the possibility that Gorman Sweetwater went back and castrated Night-bird…"

"Let Hoover try to take that to court," Moon chuckled. "The important point is, the official report says that animals could have done the deed. No way Hoover can make anything stick against Gorman now. Not without some brand new evidence. Everything we have supports Benita's statement. Arlo left his boots and britches in her Daddy's pickup, chased her with a knife. Benita smacked Arlo on the noggin, he gave up his nasty little spirit, then the coyotes showed up and nibbled at him. That's all there is."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Parris said. "Let's drive up to Durango and find Hoover; he'll have to spring Sweetwater and we'll be there to gloat. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "I imagine you'll need a couple of hours for breakfast before you can think about police work."

"I'm not hungry," Moon said. "We'll grab something to eat after we stop by the hospital."

Parris followed him to the parking lot. "Hospital?"

"Gotta tell Benita the good news," Moon yelled over his shoulder. "When she hears her Daddy's in the clear, she'll get better in nothin' flat! Yes boys and girls," he raised his hands to the sky and bellowed off-key: "it's a beee-oooutiful day in the neighborhood!"

* * *

The sky had been robin's-egg blue all the way to Durango, and the air was sparkling fresh. But even as they approached the parking lot, Parris sensed something dreadfully wrong at Mercy Medical Center. There was a peculiar, barely visible gray smog hanging over the building; the gloom seemed to permeate into the long, hollow hallways. Parris felt confined by the dismal atmosphere, but Moon didn't notice anything amiss until they were near Benita's room. Then, the snap faded from the Ute's energetic stride. The policemen paused at her door; a short chubby priest was reading aloud from a black leather-bound volume. His voice boomed, as if he were preaching to a large congregation.

"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust…"

"That," Moon whispered to Parris, "ain't Father Raes."

Benita spoke through trembling lips in a voice that might have belonged to a child. "I will not be afraid of the terror that comes by night… or," she breathed deeply, "the arrow that flies… by day."

Moon took off his hat and fumbled with the brim. "Let's stay out here until he's finished."

The priest was reciting something about
the pestilence that walketh in darkness
. "Suits me," Parris said.

Benita's voice rose and fell like swells on the waves of time; they could hear her clearly, then her speech would fade away into a far place: "… for He shall give His angels charge over me…"

"They shall bear thee up in their hands," the priest intoned solemnly, "lest thou dash thy foot against a stone."

"I don't like the sound of this," Moon muttered to no one in particular.

They heard Benita's voice. "Surely… Goodness and Mercy
shall follow
me." The young woman used then-names in a familiar fashion, as if Goodness and Mercy were her old, dear friends. Finally, the policemen heard the priest clamp the covers of the little book onto its gold-edged pages.

Moon watched Benita for a moment; she seemed to be sleeping. The priest crossed himself, then turned to leave.

Moon nodded respectfully at the priest. "You're not Father Raes."

The plump little man raised his eyebrows. "No, that I am not." His speech had the sweet lilt of an Irish brogue.