Why the Star Stands Still (Gives Light Series) (7 page)

We set the table with corn soup and wild rose blossom and wojapi.  I tried not to vomit when Rosa set out the pan-seared elk.  Dad and Racine and Gabriel finally came around.

"Anything good on the radio?" I asked.

"No," Dad said glumly.  "Toros struck out."

The two things Dad's most passionate about are baseball and cats.  I don't know whether they let him watch baseball while he was in prison, but I'd imagine it's not the same as enjoying it with your friends.

"I'm gonna go get Michaela," Rafael muttered.

He didn't have to.  She poked her head into the kitchen, looking confused.

"Who are all these people?" Michaela asked.

Everyone collectively stopped talking.  The way they stared at her, I hoped she wouldn't turn tail and run.

"Michaela," I said, "this is my father."

"Hello," Dad said awkwardly.  He's one very awkward guy.

"And my step-mother, Racine."

"How's it going?" Racine said.

"Wait," Michaela said, screwing up her face.  She turned on me.  "Your dad's Indian.  Your mom's black.  Why are you white?"

"Why?" I asked.  "Why not?"

She didn't have an answer.

"Hi, Michaela," Gabriel said cheerfully.  "I'm Rafael's uncle."

"Hello," Rosa said shyly.

Michaela didn't respond.  I'm not sure she knew what to make of all this.

"You know," Gabriel said, glancing at the open window.  "It's a nice evening.  Why don't we sit outside instead?"

We all of us spent the next few minutes gathering our trays and pots and dishes and carrying them out the front door.  A patch of dwindling twilight sun shone on the smooth ground by the brook, the sky hazy and hyacinthine, shades of violet settling atop the silver clouds and chasing away the blue.  The last of the robins called to us from the safety of his beech home.  The first and faintest of the nightly winds tousled the pale yellow creosote bushes and tickled the wild pink centauries.

Michaela sat cross-legged on the ground.  "What's that?" she said, and pointed at the wojapi.

"It's like pudding," I told her.  "But it's made from berries."  And healthy, I thought, but no way was I going to say that out loud.  I know how much kids hate the H word.  I spooned wojapi onto Michaela's plate.  "Try it."

She dipped her spoon into the dish.  She stuck her spoon in her mouth.

"Well?" I asked.

She didn't answer me.  She must have liked it, though, because she went on eating.

"Are you coming on the hunt tomorrow, Rafael?" Gabriel asked.

"So long as the hospital doesn't page me," he said.

That reminded me.  "If I went to the council building," I asked, "how soon could I get another pager?"

Around the reservation, we rely on pagers if we ever need the reservation police.  Gabriel belonged to the tribal council.

"Pretty soon, I'd think," Gabriel said.  "We've got a few extras sitting around.  Why?"

I nodded subtly at Michaela.  I wanted her to have one in case of an emergency.

"You hunt?" Michaela asked Rafael, her mouth full of fried rose blossom.

"You wanna come?" Rafael asked.  "I'll get you a knife."

"Okay," Michaela said cautiously.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," I said.

"I want to," she said.

Dad opened his mouth.  He closed it.  He opened it again.

"So..." he started uncertainly.  "Where are you from, Michaela?"

"Mom's from Puerto Rico."

"I see."

"Are Indians from India?" she asked.

I tried not to laugh.

"No," Dad said gently.  "We're from America."

"Then why aren't you white?" she asked.

"Well, you see," Dad said, "whites aren't really from America."  I could tell what he was thinking.  What the heck were they teaching this kid in school?  "Their ancestors came here from other countries, like England and Spain."

"What country is Skylar from?" Michaela asked.

"America," Dad said.

"But he doesn't look Indian."

"Looks can be deceiving," Gabriel said, and winked.  He tossed his arm around Rosa and she blushed beautifully on cue.

Sunlight leaked out of the sky in one final farewell, save for the last remnants of gold atop the smudged black horizon, their saffron shadows reaching for the heavens in vain.  We carried our dishes aside and set them on the counter.  I'd clean up later, I told myself.  You can't count on Rafael to clean anything.  Dad and Racine said goodbye, and after them Rosa and Gabriel.  I heard the front door snap shut.

"Are you guys gay?" Michaela said suddenly.

I turned around.  I really hadn't expected that line of questioning.  In retrospect, I probably should have.

"Yeah," Rafael said, faltering.  "Why?"

"No reason," Michaela said.

I looked out the window.  Probably a matter of minutes until the stars came out.

"Hey," I said suddenly.  "Rafael.  Remember those blue stars?"

Rafael lifted his head.  "Yeah," he said.  A grin flashed across his dark face.  " 'Course I do."

Michaela looked from Rafael to me.  I had the feeling she was judging us by some unknown criterion.

"Stars aren't blue," Michaela finally said.

"Some stars are," Rafael said.

"You're lying."

"Then why don't we prove it to you?" I said.

"Go on," she challenged.

We went out through the front door.  Rafael stepped across the skinny brook.  Michaela looked dubiously after him.

"Don't worry," I said.

We crossed the brook after Rafael.  The lavender in the sky dulled to a deep gray.  Only the last of the sun's rays still reached the bottom of the clouds, a pale moon's spectral imprint stamped across the ethers.

"Where are we going?" Michaela asked.

"You'll see," I said.

We walked a little farther--but then Rafael came to a halt.  I stopped, my hand on Michaela's shoulder, and pointed.

The forest opened up onto a glade.  The glade was filled with crawling blue flowers, rounded petals tapering to five points.  Blue-violet markings ran from stigma to pistil.

"Oh!" Michaela said.  "Blue stars.  I get it."

"Just wait," I said.

Stars glittered faintly on the coal-gray skyline.  The final, feeble spark of sun dropped below the horizon.  And the blue stars rolled up in defiance, their petals curling closed.

For a moment it was silent in the glade, the moon shining silver on the grass, on the flowerbuds.  The night chill picked up.  I was glad to be wearing a turtleneck.

"How did they do that?" Michaela asked.

"They can feel the sunlight," Rafael said.  "When there's no more sunlight, they close up.  When the sun rises, they open again."

"I'm staying here until the sunrise, then," Michaela decided.

"No you're not," I said.  "Time to go home."

Michaela trudged after us on the walk back to the brook.  The house loomed in view, the weathervane clapped in the night breeze.  I pushed open the front door and lit the oil lamp in the front room.

Later that night I lit the hearth in the sitting room, fireflies twinkling outside the airy windows.  Michaela padded down the stairs in plain white pajamas.  I wasn't at all certain how many clothes she had brought with her, but I figured I ought to buy her some more.  In Nettlebush, some families knit their own clothes.  Well, I wasn't in any position to do that.  I can't figure out a needle and thread any more than I can a traffic sign.

I padded the gray eiderdown sofa with quilts and pendleton blankets.  Michaela tossed her pillow down and climbed on, firelight crackling between the windows.

"You clean up the glass in your room?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Check it out if you don't believe me."

I pulled the pendleton blanket up to her chin, soft fabric woven in shades of ocean blue and mellow sunrise.  She gazed at me with hard, appraising eyes.

"I broke that window," she said.  "You're really not going to kick me out?"

"You think you're tough, don't you?" I surmised.  "When I was your age, I broke a water fountain."

Michaela hesitated.  "Really?" she said with interest.  "How?"

"I was trying to blow it up.  But that's not the point.  If you think you're going to scare me, you've got another thing coming."

"That other guy, then," Michaela said.  "I'll bet he scares easily."

I smiled.  "You caught on, huh?  He's not as scary as he looks."

"He doesn't look scary to me."

"Oh, brave."

"What's his name?" Michaela said.  "Rafael?"

"That's right."

Michaela paused.  "Is he named after the angel?"

She surprised me.  "That's right," I said again.  "His mother loved the angels."

"Where's his mother?" Michaela asked.

"She passed away."

"Oh."  Another pause.  "Where's his father?"

I smiled regretfully.  "He passed away."

"Wow..."

I palmed the crown of her head.  Her eyes slid closed, reminding me of a kitten.  "You can ask more questions tomorrow," I said.  "Now you go to sleep."

"I want to see those stars again sometime."

"Sure.  Just never go past that glade.  The north's dangerous.  Black bears will gobble you up and floss their teeth with your bones."

"Cool."

I turned off the oil lamp on the side table.  Shadows jumped and swam across Michaela's face.

"Sorry I broke the window," Michaela said.

"You mean you're sorry you had to clean it up."

She tried to hide her smile.  "Yeah."

"How about we don't do that again?"

"Deal."

4

Lost Lamb

Rafael laid his hunting spear across the breakfast table.

I looked at him blankly.  "That doesn't go there."

"I stuck it in the fire last night," he said, disgruntled.  "So it's sterilized.  Anyway, look what I got for Michaela."

Rafael unclipped a stone knife from his belt and waved it at me.

"You look very threatening right about now," I said.  "I fear for my life."

"Shut up, Sky.  Anyway, she should be okay with this, right?"

"I don't know, Rafael," I confessed.  "You grew up hunting and butchering.  You have to remember, she didn't."

"That's true," he admitted pensively.

"It might scare her.  Or worse--she could hurt herself."

"Well," he said, "I'm gonna keep a close eye on her.  I won't let that happen."

I smiled.  "I know you won't."

He looked at me; then away.  It still amazes me when he lapses into bashful silence.  We've been together since we were kids.  There's nothing to be bashful about anymore.

Michaela shuffled into the kitchen.  Today's t-shirt didn't bear a witty message.  She sat down at the table; she stopped.

"What's
that
?" she asked, and pointed at her dish.

"Prairie bananas," I said.

"Oh," she said.  She picked up a honey biscuit and bit into it noisily.

"You still wanna go hunting?" Rafael asked.

Michaela nodded.

"Are you sure?" I asked.  "They're going to be killing animals."  I couldn't stand the thought of it.  I'm too emotional, I guess.

"I don't care," Michaela said.  "My mom killed my cat once.  I can take it."

Rafael and I exchanged a look.

"Forget it," Rafael said.  "We'll go some other day.

"What?" Michaela complained.  "Come on!"

"Eat your breakfast," I said.

Michaela bit into a prairie banana, chewed it up, and stuck her tongue out at me, mushy mess and all.

"Lovely," I said.

Rafael picked up his pager and punched a quick message to his uncle, complaining all the while about the size of the buttons.  He set aside his spear and the stone knife.  I took a quick trip to the front room closet and dug out the wicker baskets inside.

A few minutes later, and we headed west through the woods, out to the reservation proper.

"Why are we carrying these stupid things?" Michaela said, baskets hanging from her arms.

"Summer crops," Rafael said.  "We pick 'em up from our friend's farm."

"And they let you?"

"Why wouldn't they?" I asked.

"I don't know," Michaela said.  "Mom always stole food from the supermarkets."

I wasn't sure whether to feel sorry or upset.  On the one hand, her mother must have been in some pretty dire straits.  On the other, I'm not sure you should let your kid watch you shoplifting.