"Ahem," Mary said.
She picked up her pick and her bass guitar and shredded the shit out of that sucker. The cacophony ticked me off, because I knew Mary was actually good with that instrument, but she had to be a dope about it. I cringed and covered my ears. Annie did nothing at all, her lips pursed.
"Well?" said Mary when she was finished, grinning.
Annie sighed. "That wasn't a song."
"Got you in my room, though, didn't it?" Mary said, winking.
"I'm leaving now," Annie announced.
When Annie was gone it was just Mary and me. Mary hole herself up in her closet while she changed clothes, rambling through the door to me about the time her band had headlined for Raging Skinflints, no joke. I narrowed my eyes at the lewd girls hanging on the closet door. That was when I had my epiphany. Mary strutted out of the closet in a spiked collar and heavy black slacks. I confronted her.
"Annie's got a boyfriend," I said.
"So?" Mary said.
"Mary," I said, irritated.
"I'm just having a little fun," Mary said. "Relax."
I didn't know what to say. I gave up; not because I wanted to, but because I wasn't itching for a fight.
"Are you going to the hospital?" I asked.
"Nah," Mary said. "Thought I'd kill Paul instead."
I stared at her.
"I'm kidding," Mary said. "You think an old dog can't learn new tricks? Speaking of, I'm not going to kill Paul while you're dogging me. Maybe I'll do it while you're asleep."
Yeah, great. The result was that I didn't sleep that night, either. I sat awake in the hallway with eyes open, paranoid. My scalp itched and my fingers shook. Every time my head drooped, my chin digging in my chest, I jumped. I don't know how I didn't wake the rest of the house. It was sunrise before Uncle Gabriel found me, and he crouched on the floor, forlorn. He shook me by the shoulder, a yelp dying in my throat. He hushed me, his finger in front of his mouth.
"Rafael," Uncle Gabriel said. "For God's sake, get some sleep."
"Mary's gonna kill Paul," I said wildly.
"I'm watching her," Uncle Gabriel said. "You don't have to watch her."
The orange lights around him hurt my weary eyes. I asked Sky if he wouldn't mind turning them off. Uncle Gabriel gave me a strange look.
"Sleep," Uncle Gabriel said. "I'll wake you in a few hours. We have to have a talk, anyway."
I don't remember dragging myself into my bedroom. I must have. I must have passed out before I hit the mattress, because when I woke up I was lying on the floor, my copy of The Secret of Platform 13 in my arms. The hell? I'd heard of sleepwalking, but never sleepreading. I stole into the bathroom and washed my face. I combed my hair, or pretended to, skimming it with lazy fingers. When I went out into the kitchen Uncle Gabriel was sitting on one of the tall chairs. He stared so intensely into the bottom of his coffee cup he probably wouldn't have reacted if the house had fallen down. He hadn't heard me walk in.
Watching Uncle Gabriel like this felt unsettling, because I had a front row seat to the face he'd never let me see in the past seventeen years. He looked so young. The hair on his cheeks did little to disguise his age. Was he afraid? He rarely showed fear, but everyone was afraid of something. The family Uncle Gabriel had grown up with was completely gone. His dad was dead. His sister was dead. His mother lived all the way in Idaho. I didn't know what that felt like. I didn't want to know what it felt like to realize the people who had shaped my childhood were all gone.
"Uncle Gabriel," I said. My voice was hoarse.
Uncle Gabriel looked up. Uncle Gabriel smiled. It made me feel sad.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You've done enough apologizing," Uncle Gabriel said.
I rubbed my arm, uncertain.
"Don't think you're off the hook," Uncle Gabriel said. "Because you're not."
I nodded. I sat down across from him.
Uncle Gabriel rubbed his wrists. "I'm letting you go to the winter pauwau," he said. "But only because your grandmother wants you and Mary to stay with her after Christmas. She said you could bring a friend. Just try not to overdo it. It's hard on her now that your grandfather's gone."
I didn't much look forward to the prospect of spending time with Grandma Gives Light. She was a formidable woman, as old Plains ladies often were. She scared the shit out of me. On the other hand, if Mary was in Idaho, it was one less opportunity for her to hurt Paul.
"Do you understand why I'm really angry with you?" Uncle Gabriel asked.
"Because I lied to you?" I asked.
"Yes," Uncle Gabriel said. "And no. This isn't just about the car. And this isn't your fault alone."
I couldn't see that Uncle Gabriel had done anything wrong.
Uncle Gabriel scratched his elbow. "If I couldn't see how strongly you felt about Skylar, what else have I missed?"
"I don't--what do you mean?" I asked.
Uncle Gabriel shook his head.
"Don't do that," I said, angry. "Don't be Shoshone right now."
"Alright," Uncle Gabriel said. He looked me in the eye. "I'm scared that I've been inattentive toward you and your sister. I'm scared I haven't been a good parent."
I was supposed to reassure him. I was supposed to tell him about all the good things he'd done for us over the years, about how many sacrifices he'd made and how much we appreciated them.
Instead I said, "You're not our parent."
The moment the words left my mouth I felt ashamed; I wanted to kick myself. Uncle Gabriel closed and opened his eyes in a rapid blink, like someone had sprayed cold air in his face.
"I might have worded that wrong," Uncle Gabriel said. "I'd never presume to replace your mother or father. But--"
"Then why did you say that?" I asked, my voice unsteady. "Why would you say you're our parent?"
Uncle Gabriel took a long pause. "I've had you since you were eight," he said quietly. "I may not be your father, but I think that makes me something of a parent."
I touched my glasses. I stopped. Uncle Gabriel had given me eyesight. Uncle Gabriel had given me shelter and purpose and a childhood--that childhood he'd lost too quickly.
"I thought I was something of a parent," Uncle Gabriel corrected, rubbing his face. "Now I don't know anything."
What was I supposed to say to him? "It's okay"? It wasn't okay that the more years that passed, the more I thought of Uncle Gabriel as my father. No matter the horrible things my real father had done, Dad was the man who had made me. It wasn't like Dad had been born evil. It wasn't like Dad could have helped himself. Nobody was born evil; and nobody became evil just because it sounded like a good idea. Evil was something you fell into, the way people fell into debt, or love.
"How do I fix this?" Uncle Gabriel kept saying. "How do I take better care of you?"
"Stop," I begged. He hadn't done anything wrong. I didn't know how to admit that.
"Maybe I should have let your grandmother take you," Uncle Gabriel said.
"Are you getting rid of me?" I asked, frightened.
"No, I couldn't bear that," Uncle Gabriel said. He rubbed his face again. "Stupid," he said, almost inaudible. "I was so stupid."
I was the stupid one. I couldn't think of a way to comfort him without dishonoring my father. So I didn't try it. That's something I really hate about myself. To this day I hate that I didn't put my arms around my uncle, or mollify the scared child in him. All of us are children. That's the truth. Grown ups are just big children taking care of little children, making loving mistakes along the way.
Christmas came to Nettlebush almost without my noticing; which wasn't very fair, because Christmas was my favorite holiday. It wasn't about the presents or anything--we didn't really do that in Nettlebush--and it definitely wasn't about the weather. I don't know; I guess it was a spiritual time. The day before Christmas Eve a bunch of dads put together a collapsible stage in the windmill field for the children's annual pageant. Reverend Silver Wolf hung red curtains from the ro
ds and Shaman Quick helped him, although you could tell he really didn't want to. Every family decorated the doors and windows of their houses with white holly, which made me think of holy ghosts. I loved those ghosts. I loved them because they were with God now, but God was right here on Earth.
On Christmas Eve the reservation's church held a late night mass. Velvet, violet midnight darkened the stained windows, the walls glowing with dozens of candles. The pews were the most crowded I'd ever seen them, twenty people scrunched in where fifteen were supposed to fit. Nobody uttered a single sound, not even Reverend Silver Wolf as he tossed bundles of braided cedar on top of the altar candles, the sweet incense settling over us like the breath of our ancestors.
In silence there was music, and kindness, and love. The love was so palpable it rooted me to my seat. Christmas was a time when people genuinely cared that their neighbors were doing well for themselves. I could see it in the auras that hung around their shoulders, sparkling and clean. I could feel it when strangers looked at me, or when they touched me in passing, so much benevolence that for a moment, I was their child. I was loved, and I loved them, and I felt it thrumming in my skin, drilling in my bones, the kind of love that feels so good it hurts.
After mass I went to the cemetery out back and left new drawings on the graves of my father's victims. I realized, maybe for the first time, that his victims weren't really dead. It's impossible to kill someone for good. As long as the people left behind remember you with fondness, they can resurrect you at any moment. You're with them at the breakfast table. You're with them when they lose their house keys and they remember the way you used to chastise them, gentle but incredulous.
It was cold that night, biting, but the warmth of the community provided more than enough respite. Sky and Annie and Aubrey and I climbed into the cupola above the church after the service was over. Zeke joined us. The dark pines rustled and shivered next to the open wall slats, a stark rice moon looming beside us. Sky waved a sprig of mistletoe at each of us in turn, but only Annie deigned to kiss him on the cheek.
"Does alcohol make your pubes grow?" Zeke asked the air.
Aubrey looked flabbergasted. "I hope not."
"Why's that?" Annie asked, eyebrows raised. "You don't drink, do you?"
"Ack! No, no," Aubrey said quickly. "Just, my mother does--"
"Ew!" Zeke complained loudly. "I don't wanna know about your mom's pubes!"
"Would you guys leave Aubrey alone?" I said harshly. "You know he's softer than you are."
Sky leaned over and left a noisy kiss on Aubrey's cheek. Aubrey patted Sky on the shoulder, flustered. I grumbled, arms folded. I hated when people stole Sky's kisses from me. Sky smiled at me deviously. He reached inside his jacket's inner pockets, procuring wrapped Christmas candies.
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Aubrey said.
Sky handed them out anyway. Aubrey got orange candies. Annie got Red Hots. Sky dropped a plasticky square on my lap and I picked it up, reading the label, grateful that tonight's moon was so bright. Cosmic Brownie, the label said.
Try it! Sky said.
I ripped open the plastic and a block of chocolate fell out, doused in blue sprinkles. I bit into it. It tasted like stellar explosions, like roller derbies and truck demolitions and all my favorite guitar riffs in one.
I didn't think I'd told Sky that brownies were my mom's favorite food. I peered at him, but he didn't notice. He tipped a bag of Skittles into Zeke's hand. Zeke cheered like a child, with the result that the candy spilled everywhere.
"A new year," Annie said happily. "The Bear goes back to sleep."
"Wasn't Y2K supposed to kill us or something?" Zeke asked angrily.
"Why do you sound disappointed that it didn't?" Annie asked.
"Aw, no! It's just I knew that they were lying! You can't trust anything you see on TV, you know why? It's because TV's funded by advertisements!"
"Zeke," Annie said. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know it doesn't!"
Sky picked up the loose pine needles on the cupola floor. Sky decorated Zeke's hair with them.
"Well, no, actually," Aubrey said fairly, "I do think much of what we hear on the radio or see on the television is fabricated. But then," he said in a hushed voice, apologetic, "sometimes I rather think this whole world is fabricated."
"You've been watching too much Keanu!" Zeke accused.
"What's Keanu?" I asked dully.
"No, no!" Aubrey said. "At this very moment there are physicists who believe the universe is a simulation of some sort! You see, there's something called the Anthropic Principle--in order for this world to sustain life too many coincidences have to line up; so many that physicists have decided the universe only looks the way it does because we're looking at it. I heard they've even begun testing certain numerical patterns in nature to determine whether they show signs of being generated!"
Annie and Zeke stared blankly at him. For a moment nobody said anything, and I started to feel bad for Aubrey. It wasn't his fault he was smart and we were dumb. Sky broke the tension by raising his eyes to the cupola roof, shaking his fist at our invisible computer programmer. Everybody laughed.
"I've always known that," I said, when the laughter died.
Aubrey gave me a polite look. "Known what?"
"That stuff looks the way it does because of the way we look at it," I said. "Even you guys. If we didn't see ourselves as separate from one other, we wouldn't be."
Aubrey didn't get what I was saying. It wasn't important, though. We decided to head home before our parents freaked out about where we'd gone. One by one we climbed down the cupola ladder, into the church. The lingering parishioners looked confused when we stepped out from behind the apse wall. Zeke was so entertained by their reactions, he laughed for five minutes straight. Annie said good night and took her siblings' hands and jogged outside to catch up with her grandfather.
"Don't tell my dad I was hanging out with you guys, okay?" Zeke said, hair swinging when he turned to me.
Sky tilted his head to one side. Why not?
"Just," Zeke said, forcing nervous laughter. "Uh." He looked away and mumbled, "Dad kind of hates your entire family."
Sky and Aubrey exchanged confused glances, like they seriously couldn't figure out which of their families Zeke meant. I already knew Zeke meant mine. Every time I crossed paths with Luke Owns Forty I had the feeling he wanted to cut me open, like my dad had cut his daughter open. Maybe he would have been justified. Maybe he wouldn't have. Mary seemed to think he wouldn't have.
"Is he alone right now?" I asked.
"Yeah," Zeke said. "Why?"
" 'Cause it's Christmas," I said. It was a day for loving people you didn't usually love. "He shouldn't be alone."
It was all the urging Zeke needed. He hurried on home, leaving Aubrey and Sky and me behind.
"Well," Aubrey said. "I'd better head back to the farm myself. Reuben likes to make a big spectacle for Serafine, it's really quite sweet--"
Sky looked as if he'd like to see that. He patted Aubrey on the back and waved goodbye. Aubrey waved at the both of us, loping out the church doors. He very nearly bowled over Autumn Rose In Winter.
"Your family at the windmill field?" I asked Sky.
He nodded. He grabbed my hand, my favorite part of the evening, and walked me outside with him. He was so gentle with me I felt like he was bigger than me, a magic trick if I'd ever seen one.
"I'm staying with my grandma a few days after Bear River," I said.
Sky looked up at me, curious.
"You could come if you wanted," I said, embarrassed. "If you aren't grounded anymore. Grandma's always telling me to bring a friend over. I think she used to say that because she knew I didn't have any friends. Joke's on her now."
Sky spent a moment looking appalled. Sky nodded at length, taking me by surprise.
"You'll come?" I asked.
Sky grinned brightly. I had the strong feeling just then that he wasn't grounded anymor
e. When Sky smiled at you, you wanted to give him things. If I couldn't resist his smile, I didn't know how his own family was supposed to.
Apparently they couldn't, 'cause the next day his dad and grandma gave him permission to take the train with me. Mary had to ask permission, too; from the clinician at the hospital, who cautioned her not to quit her meds cold turkey. I packed my regalia for the pauwau in Nevada. Uncle Gabriel told me to pack a winter coat. I hadn't stayed on Fort Hall in two years; my old one didn't fit me anymore. Uncle Gabriel surprised me when he opened my closet door and pointed at a new one hanging in the far back, gray, with thick sleeves.
"You didn't think I'd send you into that icebox unprotected, did you?" he said.
Even when we were fighting, he still looked out for me.
The morning came when all of Nettlebush piled into their cars--or their neighbors' cars, anyway--and drove to Nevada for the pauwau with the Paiute. It was a gloomy affair, because the Paiute were a poor tribe and ours was the only one willing to make the trip this year. It bothered me to see their broken houses, their secondhand regalia. Mary nudged me, and we hauled giant slabs of bear meat and elk meat out of the back of our trunk, and we left them outside the tribal office. That was another reason our being the only visiting tribe bothered me. More visitors would have meant more help for the Paiute.
We passed the pauwau telling stories to one another and singing traditional songs to the children. At night I shared a tent with Autumn Rose and Prairie Rose, who ganged up on me and made me polish their fingernails. I thought it wasn't fair that they got their nails painted and I didn't. I knew Paul had stayed behind in Nettlebush, on account of staying on the rez meant the feds couldn't arrest him for killing Dad. All the same, I spent the night on edge, listening for sounds in the next tent over. I think a part of me was convinced Mary could hurt Paul from a thousand miles away. People aren't just their bodies, but their feelings and thoughts. We think things, and we think them carelessly, and we leave them behind to linger without us, where they affect people long after we've thought them.