licorice back in my mouth, gut churning. "Why?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Uncle Gabriel said. He sat on the cushioned window seat. "I think I already explained why, don't you?"
Because Sky had memories of the night he'd lost his mom and his voice.
"Yeah," I said. "But what if--"
"He's not going to be here for very long," Uncle Gabriel reminded me.
My heart went crashing into my gut. I'd managed to forget as much.
"Our clans don't have a good history, Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said. "You don't want to pour salt in old wounds."
"It's not our clan that killed his mom," I said. "Dad's clan is Maison. You're not a Maison. Neither am I."
Maison means Night Singer, or Cricket. Some families just never bothered translating their names when we made the switch to English.
"Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said tiredly. "I don't think the semantics matter very much."
"Our clan doesn't have to be punished," I said. "Mom's clan doesn't have to be pun--"
Uncle Gabriel silenced me with a look.
"Don't disturb your mother's ghost," Uncle Gabriel said.
In Shoshone society, we believe that someone who died of wrongful causes doesn't rest until those causes are dealt with. But once the ghost has finally laid down to rest, it's impossible to disturb them again, no matter how hard you try.
This should have been my first sign that Uncle Gabriel knew something he wasn't telling me.
7
Heyoka
At the end of June Nettlebush went all misty again, which I took as a good sign that the monsoon was approaching. The mist was more of a damp rain than a wet rain, hot as hell to boot, but when I walked around the reservation one afternoon I saw families putting water buckets outside anyway, just in case there was something to catch. I walked up to Sky's door and knocked impatiently. He came outside with iced juniper tea, which I drank in one gulp. I'd never seen him drink the stuff himself. It flustered me to think that he was brewing it just for me.
"You ever been inside the badlands?" I asked.
Sky shook his head.
"C'mon," I said. "Eat some peppermint first. Don't want you getting sick."
He slipped inside his house with the empty tea glass. He tried to get me to go in with him, but I declined. What do we need houses for, anyway? I sat down against Catherine Looks Over's stone sundial, feeble rain dripping into my knotted hair. The dove's feather in my braid tickled my cheek like my mom's soft fingers. Guilt punctured my chest. I pushed thoughts of my mom aside.
Nettlebush looked nicer than I remembered it being. I mean, I'd grown up here; and it didn't make sense for it to change shape over time, but it had. The pine trees used to look sad and blobby to me, indistinct. They still looked blurry--or the needles did, anyway; to hell with eyeglasses--but they bled with colors I'd never noticed before. Green like arcane jade, like youth and vivacity. Brown in the way of the ancients, wisdom passed down in secret. I could even see the grooves in the tree trunks, worn and silvery-white and thin, life-bearing veins. What happened to my all-encompassing darkness? It was gone. The tallest bull pines were skinny like knives. They cut holes in the gray clouds, revealing the blue sky underneath.
Sky's door squeaked open and clicked shut. I stood up. He walked up to me on the damp lawn, his jacket zipped up. He touched my hand and smiled at me, flooding me with his feelings, a kind of giddiness cloaking a mellow, impenetrable calm. I swallowed some giddiness myself. His hair looked like a dense blond cloud in the rain, a glass peace symbol hanging from a cord around his neck. I freaking knew he was a hippie.
"I wanna show you the promontory," I said. "It's the highest point in Nettlebush. It's like you're sitting in the clouds."
He hooked his arm around mine. His feelings went from giddy to grateful. I tried to separate them from my own so I wouldn't confuse
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Uncle Gabriel said. He sat on the cushioned window seat. "I think I already explained why, don't you?"
Because Sky had memories of the night he'd lost his mom and his voice.
"Yeah," I said. "But what if--"
"He's not going to be here for very long," Uncle Gabriel reminded me.
My heart went crashing into my gut. I'd managed to forget as much.
"Our clans don't have a good history, Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said. "You don't want to pour salt in old wounds."
"It's not our clan that killed his mom," I said. "Dad's clan is Maison. You're not a Maison. Neither am I."
Maison means Night Singer, or Cricket. Some families just never bothered translating their names when we made the switch to English.
"Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said tiredly. "I don't think the semantics matter very much."
"Our clan doesn't have to be punished," I said. "Mom's clan doesn't have to be pun--"
Uncle Gabriel silenced me with a look.
"Don't disturb your mother's ghost," Uncle Gabriel said.
In Shoshone society, we believe that someone who died of wrongful causes doesn't rest until those causes are dealt with. But once the ghost has finally laid down to rest, it's impossible to disturb them again, no matter how hard you try.
This should have been my first sign that Uncle Gabriel knew something he wasn't telling me.
7
Heyoka
At the end of June Nettlebush went all misty again, which I took as a good sign that the monsoon was approaching. The mist was more of a damp rain than a wet rain, hot as hell to boot, but when I walked around the reservation one afternoon I saw families putting water buckets outside anyway, just in case there was something to catch. I walked up to Sky's door and knocked impatiently. He came outside with iced juniper tea, which I drank in one gulp. I'd never seen him drink the stuff himself. It flustered me to think that he was brewing it just for me.
"You ever been inside the badlands?" I asked.
Sky shook his head.
"C'mon," I said. "Eat some peppermint first. Don't want you getting sick."
He slipped inside his house with the empty tea glass. He tried to get me to go in with him, but I declined. What do we need houses for, anyway? I sat down against Catherine Looks Over's stone sundial, feeble rain dripping into my knotted hair. The dove's feather in my braid tickled my cheek like my mom's soft fingers. Guilt punctured my chest. I pushed thoughts of my mom aside.
Nettlebush looked nicer than I remembered it being. I mean, I'd grown up here; and it didn't make sense for it to change shape over time, but it had. The pine trees used to look sad and blobby to me, indistinct. They still looked blurry--or the needles did, anyway; to hell with eyeglasses--but they bled with colors I'd never noticed before. Green like arcane jade, like youth and vivacity. Brown in the way of the ancients, wisdom passed down in secret. I could even see the grooves in the tree trunks, worn and silvery-white and thin, life-bearing veins. What happened to my all-encompassing darkness? It was gone. The tallest bull pines were skinny like knives. They cut holes in the gray clouds, revealing the blue sky underneath.
Sky's door squeaked open and clicked shut. I stood up. He walked up to me on the damp lawn, his jacket zipped up. He touched my hand and smiled at me, flooding me with his feelings, a kind of giddiness cloaking a mellow, impenetrable calm. I swallowed some giddiness myself. His hair looked like a dense blond cloud in the rain, a glass peace symbol hanging from a cord around his neck. I freaking knew he was a hippie.
"I wanna show you the promontory," I said. "It's the highest point in Nettlebush. It's like you're sitting in the clouds."
He hooked his arm around mine. His feelings went from giddy to grateful. I tried to separate them from my own so I wouldn't confuse
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