The Valley of Dry Bones Page 11

  “Minding our own business, WatDoc,” Zeke said. “What’re you doing?”

  “Well, it’s just li’l ol’ me, so nothin’ to be afraid of.”

  “Do I look afraid?”

  “No cause to be rude, Spokesman.”

  “You can keep moving.”

  “You don’t need nothin’?”

  “No, sir. Thank you.”

  “Sorry ’bout yer girl gettin’ hurt yesterday.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Reckon you heard me.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Word gits around.”

  “Not from us it doesn’t,” Zeke said. “Maybe you had something to do with it.”

  “Don’t pin that on us.”

  “Then maybe you know who did.”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Maybe you saw something.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “Like I say, stuff gits around.”

  “You’d better keep moving, WatDoc.”

  “And you better watch yerself, Spokesman.”

  “If you think I’m afraid of you—”

  But WatDoc raced off, the colossal truck spewing dirt and dust.

  “We’re going to sit right here for at least ten minutes,” Zeke said. “I don’t want to move while we can still see him. He doesn’t need even a clue which direction we’re headed. Kaga told me he wants to be the only water supplier to the Nuwuwu. He doesn’t need to know how tight we are with them.”

  When the tiny caravan rumbled into the settlement, half a dozen Nuwuwu kids came running, led as always by Zaltana and her gleaming smile. She embraced Elaine and Gabrielle, begging for a story, which the women promised after they unloaded the clothes and food.

  Yuma, the tribal leader’s son, connected Mahir and Katashi with the men running the compound’s aquaponics unit, then joined Zeke at the water tank, where he had already begun the transfer from the truck. “My wife and my father are waiting for you and Pastor Bob in the council hut. He wants to show off the shoes you brought last time.”

  “They fit?”

  “They’re a little big, but do not tell him that!”

  “I can see if we can get smaller ones,” Zeke said.

  “No! These are fine. You will see.”

  When Zeke and Pastor Bob finally reached the tribal council hut, where they met approximately every other time the holdouts visited, Zeke sensed tension, especially on the part of Yuma’s wife, Kineks, that he had felt since the beginning of the association with the tribe. Things had been smooth for a few years, except with her. He worried about a setback and hoped he had done or said nothing to cause it.

  Kaga seemed as warm and humorous—and self-deprecating—as ever. As soon as he saw the two he approached, marching in the brightly colored athletic shoes they had brought him the visit before. Everyone laughed at the contrast between the shoes and his traditional native garb, typically more ornate on council meeting days.

  Kaga, as usual, insisted that Pastor Bob sit next to him as they settled around a low wood table and, as if it were the first time, commented about Bob’s white thinning hair “that proves we are brothers.” Kineks poured the bitterroot tea Zeke knew he would never develop a taste for, but which he sipped as a courtesy.

  Seated on the other side of Pastor Bob, Zeke found the octogenarian tribal leader remarkably articulate and thoughtful. Sensing the man was about to get down to business, he said, “Sir, before we begin, if I may—”

  “Oh, these young people today, Pastor Bob!” Kaga said. “Hopeless! What are we to do about them?”

  Everyone laughed, and the pastor said, “All we can do is surrender and let them speak.”

  “Well, okay then,” the old man said. “Let the child speak, and then we will have our meeting.”

  “Thank you, sir. Actually, I was going to ask Pastor Bob to bring you greetings from his lovely wife.”

  “Oh, I assumed Miss Jennie was with the children.”

  “No,” the pastor said. “I’m sorry to say she has fallen ill, and quite seriously so.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “In fact, I am taking her back to our home so she can be near our children and grandchildren before she dies.”

  “Oh, Pastor Bob,” the chief said, his voice quavering. “I remember when I lost my wife. I am so sorry. And she could not even come to say good-bye.”

  “Sadly, no. I came to bid farewell for her.”

  “This is indeed a sad day. But thank you for coming and for telling us. We will pray that the heart of Jesus will be with you.”

  “Well, thank you, Kaga, I—I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said we would pray that the heart of Jesus will be with you.”

  “You pray to Jesus?”

  “Don’t you?” Kaga said.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “You didn’t know we knew Him?”

  “No, I—”

  “You didn’t know He knew us!”

  “I—I—”

  “Did you not think we figured out what you were doing here?”

  “I’m speechless,” Pastor Bob said.

  “I can see that,” Kaga said, laughing.

  Zeke wished God would give him just the right words right then. He didn’t want Pastor Bob to have to bear this embarrassment alone. “You must admit you vigorously resisted us at the beginning.”

  “We did,” Yuma said. “You must realize who we are, who we come from, who we represent. We don’t dare trust anyone. Why should we? How could we?”

  “But you’re Christians!” Zeke said. “How long did it take for you to realize we were too?”

  “Not long,” Kineks said, less kindly than her husband and father-in-law. “But we are not only Christians. We come from a long tradition, a rich tapestry that incorporates a variety of religious traditions.”

  “Aah,” Pastor Bob said. “I see. Such as?”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person. I am probably the least religious person here. I accept all of it but take none of it seriously.”

  “Then let me ask you, Kaga,” Pastor Bob said. “You said you pray to Jesus and that you would pray His heart would be with me. Where is that from?”

  “My mother raised me in the Native American Church. Some call it Peyotism. It includes a lot of our ritual and the Bible.”

  “What does peyote have to do with it?”

  “I remember we used the Peyote Rattle. It was made out of a gourd, which was a symbol of the world, and the rattle represented our prayers. It was decorated with Jesus’ crown of thorns. On the handle it said, ‘The heart of Jesus is with me.’”

  It hit Zeke. “Your mother,” he said. “That’s Zaltana’s Great-Great-Grandmaw?”

  Silence. Everyone seemed to look at each other.

  Finally Yuma spoke. “Yes, that’s my grandmother.”

  Zeke was afraid to ask, because clearly these people did not want to admit it for some reason. He forced himself. “Zaltana asked me if I knew Gaho. Is she still alive?”

  Again the silence and the looks. How old must she be?

  “Is she here? May we meet her?”

  Kaga and his son, Yuma, looked at the floor. Kineks spoke softly. “Enough. I want these people gone.”

  “I apologize,” Zeke said. “I meant no offense.”

  When Kaga did not respond, Kineks looked sharply at him. “End the meeting, Father-in-Law.”

  Kaga held up a hand. “Fetch your granddaughter.”

  “I will not,” Kineks said. “Let’s be done with this—”

  “Just do it,” Yuma said. “Do it or I will.”

  Kineks rose and rushed out. She soon returned with the girl whose ubiquitous smile had faded. “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “Come to me,” Kaga said.

  She climbed into his lap and pressed her head against his chest.

  “Go and see if Great-Great-Gra
ndmaw Gaho will see us.”

  She sat up. “All of us?”

  “Yes.”

  Zaltana scrambled down and ran out. When she returned, her smile was back. “She wanted to know who, and when I told her, she made me tell her how many was that. I had to count! Seven of us! She said she hadn’t seen that many people at once for a long, long time.”

  “What did she say, little one?”

  “She said yes!”

  13

  THE GIFT

  LITTLE ZALTANA LED the others to the last hut at the end of the compound, a cone-shaped dwelling that reminded Zeke of a thimble made with dried grasses. A hole in the center of the top emitted a plume of thin, dark smoke. Inside sat a stove with a chimney that ran to that hole. Zeke also saw four mats where he assumed Zaltana, her grandparents, and their grandmother slept.

  The seven were barely able to fit inside the stifling hut, and when Zeke’s eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to follow Zaltana as she moved to the other side of the stove and extremely delicately settled onto an ancient woman’s lap. The woman sat cross-legged about four feet from the stove, facing the fire with the metal door open.

  Zeke and Pastor Bob sat beside the stove in front of Gaho, while Yuma and Kineks stood on either side of the entrance. Kaga sat next to the woman, draped his arm around her shoulder, and kissed her cheek. She giggled and squeaked something in her native tongue, which made all the Nuwuwu laugh, even Kineks, who was clearly not happy with this meeting.

  “English, Mother,” Kaga said. “So our guests can understand.”

  “Oh! I said I have never seen such moccasins!”

  “This is my beloved mother, and may I tell them your age?”

  “Have you told them yours?”

  “They know I am eighty.”

  “Do they know you are not my oldest child? That I had two older than you and three younger, but that you are the only one left?”

  “I am the only one left here, Mother. I have two younger sisters in Arizona.”

  She turned her head away. “They are dead to me. They have abandoned me. Anyway, I am 101 years old. Welcome to my home.”

  “We are deeply honored to meet you,” Pastor Bob said.

  “Yes,” Zeke said.

  “These men have traded with us for the past four years. They have helped us and become trusted friends.”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “They have questions about our religion.”

  Her smile faded and Zeke felt her dark eyes bear into his. “Religion is private,” she said. “Why would you question Nuwuwu religion?”

  “We don’t question it or you,” Pastor Bob said. “We just wonder about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we are interested. We are people of faith ourselves, and we care about your family. So we are curious.”

  She continued to stare as if thinking. “It is good that we are all people of religion. That should be enough. We do not have to be the same. I am not curious about yours. You do not have to be curious about mine.”

  “I didn’t say we were people of religion,” Pastor Bob said. “Our faith is not in religion. It is in God and Jesus.”

  Gaho looked at her son, then back at Pastor Bob. “That is religion,” she said. “You speak in riddles.”

  “With respect, may I try to explain the difference?”

  “Enough of this nonsense!” Kineks said, causing Gaho to look up sharply.

  “I can speak for myself, child,” she said. “This man is talking to me. Now I want to hear his explanation.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Pastor Bob said. “May I ask you first what you mean by ‘religion’?”

  “What we do to please God, to worship God.”

  “Like you taught your son.”

  “Yes!”

  “Which was what?”

  “Our rituals and the Bible.”

  “Now,” God said clearly to Zeke who, though startled, pressed a knee against Pastor Bob, who fell silent.

  “Your son told us you used the Peyote Rattle as part of your ritual,” Zeke said.

  “Oh, I’m speaking to you now?” the old woman said.

  “If that’s all right.”

  “Yes, we used that, and because of our heritage we used parts of traditional tribal religion, the Sun Dance, the Ghost Dance, and Christianity.”

  “All for the purpose of what?”

  “Pleasing God. Worshiping God. Just as you do, if you say you are people of religion.”

  “As the pastor said, we are people of faith but not religion.”

  “And you are going to tell me the difference.”

  “We see religion—rituals and the like—as efforts to reach God or please Him.”

  “Yes, so do I.”

  “We see Jesus as God’s effort to reach us.”

  “You see?” Kineks said. “This is craziness!”

  “Quiet!” Gaho said. “Do I have to ask my grandson to take you out?”

  “No! I’ll leave on my own!”

  “Good!”

  “Grandmother!” Yuma said.

  “Let her go,” Gaho said, “and go with her if you wish. I am finding this interesting. At least I’m beginning to see the difference, even if I don’t understand it yet. Does not God want us to reach Him, to worship Him, to please Him?”

  “He wants us to want to,” Zeke said. “But we are not able.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “The point is that God has made a way for us through Jesus. In ourselves we cannot please God. We cannot save ourselves.”

  “This is profound,” she said. “Is it why I have never felt worthy?”

  “It very well could be.”

  “But I do not understand. Make me understand.”

  Lord, help me. Give me the words.

  “The words are there. Just speak them to her.”

  What words?

  “Open your mouth.”

  Yes, Lord.

  “There is none righteous, no, not one, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

  “If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. For the Scripture says, ‘Whoever believes in Him will not be put to shame . . . Whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”

  Gaho cocked her head and looked into Zeke’s eyes.

  “Say nothing,” the Lord told him.

  She maintained eye contact as she reached for her son’s meaty hand and lifted it off her shoulder, then clasped her hands around her great-great-granddaughter’s waist and pulled her close. She lowered her cheek to the top of Zaltana’s head and rested it there. “Thank you,” she said.

  Zeke started to thank her but God reminded him, “Say nothing,” so he just nodded.

  She closed her eyes, and Zeke was aware of footsteps behind him. He turned to see that Kineks had returned. “What now?” she said, and the others shushed her.

  After a minute, Zaltana whispered, “Great-Granddad, she’s sleeping.”

  Kaga leaned close to listen and with one hand steadied her while with the other extracting Zaltana. He laid his mother down and gently pulled her shawl to her neck. They all tiptoed out and back to the tribal council hut, Zaltana peeling off to join the other children.

  “What a fascinating woman,” Pastor Bob said.

  “I’m proud of her,” Kaga said. “I think she’s remarkable for her age.”

  “For any age,” the pastor said. “If I’m not rude for asking, why had we not been introduced to her before?”

  “That was her choice. She’s embarrassed about her age.”

  “She didn’t seem to be.”

  “The last
outsiders were government officials who wanted to make an example of her, use her to prove how wonderfully we were being treated if she could live so long. She hated that and said no more. After that she refused to meet anyone.”

  “I understand.”

  “Let us finish our business,” Kaga said, and he had Yuma quickly tally the day’s trade of crafts for water and food.

  “Now,” the Lord told Zeke.

  There’s more?

  Zeke had already learned that God was not in the habit of repeating Himself. “Kaga, may I leave you with a message?”

  “Certainly. We would be honored, and of course, Pastor Bob, we wish to send back to your wife the message of our prayers.”

  “Thank you,” the pastor said.

  Zeke said, “The heavens and the earth are reserved for fire until the day of judgment of ungodly men. But, beloved, do not forget this one thing, that the Lord is longsuffering toward us, not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance. The day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night, in which the heavens will pass away with a great noise, and the elements will melt with fervent heat; both the earth and the works that are in it will be burned up.

  “Therefore, looking forward to these things, be diligent to be found by Him in peace, without spot and blameless; and consider that the long-suffering of our Lord is salvation.

  “To Him be glory both now and forever. Amen.”

  Kaga cleared his throat. “Thank you, Zeke.”

  “‘Thank you, Zeke’?” Kineks said. “I say that’s why I’m not religious! What kind of foolishness was that? What did that even mean? Do you even know what it means, Zeke? I knew from the first time these people came here, pretending to befriend us, that all they wanted to do was change us, fix us, change our culture. We should have fled to Arizona with our brothers and sisters!”

  “I did not mean to offend you, Kineks,” Zeke said. “It was just a message I felt led to—”

  “Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to the sainted matriarch of this tribe who does not need her religion, her beliefs, and her heritage insulted and challenged after a century! We are the people who owned this land. We are the ones who were brutalized and cast aside, pushed into reservations and left with nothing. And now you come with your attempts to make us just like you. Well, it’s not going to work, so you can stop trying.”