"Hey, get a load of this," Mary was saying.
We followed her voice into the sun parlor. She'd taken a tomahawk off the wall and stood twirling it effortlessly between her fingers. I worried that the heavy wooden handle would fly out of her grasp, that the sharp iron blade would rip her knuckles off. I needn't have.
"PUT THAT BACK!" Caleb instructed her. "AH, JESUS! GODDAMN KIDS!"
Grandma Gives Light pounded the starchy camas at the coal stove under the spiral staircase. A giant black kettle bubbled in the stone chimney and I groaned, because it looked exactly like a cauldron. I wondered whether the reason Grandma asked us to bring friends over wasn't so she'd have children to boil and eat. The five of us ate dinner in the alcove and Sky tried to catch Grandma's eye and smile at her. She pretended she didn't see him. I was ready to get angry; but after dinner she took me into the pottery room, and she said:
"Why does the boy not speak?"
It always surprised me when somebody asked that question. In Nettlebush everyone was connected by three degrees of separation.
"Dad cut his throat, ma'am," I said, digging my heel into the floor. "He busted something in Sky's throat and now it don't work right."
Grandma went on staring at me, blank and vaguely lunatical. It never occurred to her to offer her condolences. Have I mentioned I was scared of her? At the same time, this woman had lost her only daughter to her only son-in-law. It struck me powerfully that Grandma had brought Mom and Uncle Gabriel into the world, then watched Mom leave it. What does it feel like to bury your child? Without Grandma I wouldn't have had a family at all.
"Grandma," I whispered. "D'you miss Mom?"
"There is a Delgeth around you," Grandma said.
"Huh?" I said.
Grandma grabbed long hanks of my hair, like she was checking it for lice. She sniffed the dove's feather in my braid. I wriggled away from her, paranoid. I didn't like the feel of her bony fingers, all that meanness concentrated in one place.
"You have a Delgeth," Grandma announced. "Of this I am certain."
"Ma'am," I said warily. "Winter ain't even antelope season."
"WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING?" Caleb shouted from the sun parlor. "COME PLAY DO'PEDI, GOD DAMN IT!"
The five of us spent the evening playing Do'pedi, a Shoshone dice game that had more in common with War than gambling. I sucked at Do'pedi, mostly because I couldn't count very well and my reflexes were shit. Around eleven o'clock Caleb turned the oil lamps off and Grandma said it was time for bed. Mary had already passed out on the sheepskin armchair. Smart. I shook her awake and she snorted. She yawned widely, her tongue ring on display.
I trudged up the staircase to the second floor. Caleb stormed after me, slamming his bedroom door shut. I slinked into Uncle Gabriel's old room, the glass lamp lit on the table. Liquid oil shadows danced cheerfully on the wall. It was strange how homesick I felt just then. I mean, I'd stayed on Fort Hall before, yeah; but Uncle Gabriel had been with me during those visits. Tonight Uncle Gabriel was 1,100 miles away. His absence was the catalyst for a thousand tinier, but equally troubling thoughts. I thought about what dry desert wind sounded like at night. You didn't hear wind like that on Fort Hall, where the air was denser, heavier, not sharp and clear. I thought about the sparkling of fireglass. I thought about the kindness of Mom's grave. Shadows crept up from the floorboards. I hadn't seen them since the summer.
"Stop it," I said out loud.
I shucked off my clothes, my glasses, and got in bed, the lamp still on. The mattress didn't feel much like Uncle Gabriel, which might have been a good thing, because at least it meant I wasn't lying in twenty-year-old blankets. I closed my eyes and listened to the snowflakes pattering on the slanted roof. Each snowflake was a different song: deep and hollow like drums; light and frantic like fiddles; soft and watery like flutes. Flutes made me think of Sky, which made me remember he was sleeping down the hall from me. This had never been true before.
Without a second thought I crawled out of bed. I crept down the hallway, mind racing. I knocked on the door to Grandpa's room, but Sky didn't answer. The door swung open at my touch. I reached for the doorknob, ready to shut it again. I faltered.
Sky was one of those infuriatingly neat types. When he took off his clothes he actually bothered folding them. I'd never seen him wear the same socks twice. He was neat while he was awake; but asleep was a different story. He made for a comical scene, his bony legs splayed out and pale in snowy moonlight, knee hanging over the side of the bed, blankets drooping on the floor. He breathed through his mouth and got his curls stuck in his teeth. He snored like a freaking trucker. I'd never known that about him, and it amazed me to know it now. It made me wonder whether I'd have a reason to know it in the future.
I could hear the twin pulses in my temples. I could feel the third in my throat. I could see what Sky might look like in another ten years. Maybe his jaw and his arms would thicken out. Maybe he'd finally gain a few pounds. I turned eighteen in a couple of months. It made no sense that I was going to be an adult soon. It would have made more sense if Sky was an adult, too. Everything made sense if Sky was in it, which was how I knew that something had indisputably changed, that I wasn't just me anymore, but Me and Somebody Else. That ought to have frightened me. I was all of seventeen years old and I was irreversibly connected to another human being. I should have been scared. I wasn't scared.
Ten years from now, I thought, maybe Sky would have his voice back. Because I already knew what it sounded like; but he didn't. And that was unforgivable.
I went back down the hall and grabbed the blankets and pillow off of Uncle Gabriel's bed. I slipped inside Grandpa's room and closed the door soundly. I wadded the blankets up on the floor, and I lay on them and hugged my pillow. Eyes squeezed shut, I listened to Sky's noisy breathing. The air warmed around me, loving, comforting. I knew suddenly that no matter what the future looked like, I couldn't possibly be alone for it.
When I woke up the next morning I didn't immediately remember where I was. I panicked, because the floor was cool instead of warm, and I couldn't hear Uncle Gabriel's radio. And then I thought: Oh, yeah. Groggy, I flexed the bones in my back. I shifted; but when I tried to turn, I couldn't.
Sky must have woken up at some point during the night. He lay inches away from me on the floor, his hand wrapped tight around mine. At least I thought it was Sky, but underneath all those blankets, bunched and bundled igloo-style, it could have been anyone. Freaking wimp. His hand was wide on his skinny wrist, his freckles golden in solstice sunlight. He felt like kindness and silliness even while he was fast asleep. That's how you know someone isn't faking it. There are only two times in our lives we're incapable of lying: when we're asleep, and when we're bleeding.
"Sky," I whispered hoarsely. "My fingers are numb."
He didn't budge. I would've just left him, fingers be damned, but Grandma probably had chores for us. I kicked him. He jumped out of his blankets like a frog on a furnace. They fluttered to the floor and he looked around, confused.
"You look dumb," I said, but meant it as a compliment.
He scrambled to snatch his Plains flute off the nighttable. I jumped up before he could blast me in the face with it. He waved a dismissive hand at me, but couldn't keep the smile off his mouth. I went down the hall to change clothes and give him privacy.
I must've been a faster dresser than Sky. When I stuck my head in Grandpa's bedroom again Sky was only just pulling his shirt on. I jolted, my skin tingling. I turned my back, face burning. Sky hadn't noticed me, which made me wonder whether he was deaf on top of mute, because even though his back had been turned to me I wasn't the stealthiest guy on the planet. I covered my eyes with my hands. I turned my head over my shoulder and peeked between my fingers. A giant blue birthmark poked out from underneath Sky's boxers, vaguely resembling a flowerpot. Every Native American's got a mark like that, but I think the shape varies by family. Mine and Mary's was more like a horseshoe. God, was Sky skinny. That's w
hat happens when you don't eat meat. He was skinny, and he was elfish, and I'd never seen anything I wanted more. It was an uncontrollable want, the kind that sent the curious to the moon. I felt like I was bursting at my seams, the happiest pain you can imagine.
Sky tugged his jeans on, except he couldn't seem to find his belt. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out:
"It's on top of the drawers."
I slapped my hands against my eyes, recognizing my mistake. Unbearable discomfort settled around me. Gradually I heard the rustling of clothes, or maybe bedsheets. A few seconds later I heard rubber soles.
Sky touched the small of my back. I lowered my hands to look at him and he raked distracted fingers through messy curls. The discomfort wasn't just my imagination; it was written all over his face. I was supposed to be the person who made him feel safe. I stammered an apology, horrified, but Sky shook his head. Sky put his hand on my elbow.
"I'm sorry," I kept saying.
He picked up my hand and kissed the heel. He wasn't fooling me any. I followed him down the staircase, but I wanted to kick myself. No one was allowed to hurt Sky, least of all me. Even Sky wasn't allowed to hurt Sky.
"Have a good sleep?" asked Mary in the alcove.
She sat with a black cat on her lap, scratching behind its tufted white ears. I didn't know how she could stand to touch living animals. Horses didn't count. Sky tickled the cat's chin and it purred with delight. God damn it. Now I wanted to pet it, too.
"GO FEED THE CHICKENS!" Caleb yelled at me.
I jumped. I knocked over the ceremonial cradleboard on the white ash table. Grandma's pet crows squawked and screamed in the aviary next door. I dashed out of the alcove, my head splitting with pain.
The hens in the hen house were no less noisy when I shouldered my way inside. I tossed them stale bread crusts and sour milk and they squabbled and fought one another like gladiators. I scooped the eggs out of the nesting boxes and stuffed fresh hay in the roosts. Stale feathers and slimy droppings squashed under my boots. I tripped over them twice. When I went outside again a rez puppy sat staring at me with perked ears, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I gave him the rest of the bread loaf. He snapped it up and sprinted away without a word of thanks.
Inside Grandma's house Mary and Sky were still in the alcove. Sky had this weird rash on his wrists, which made me think that maybe he was allergic to cats without knowing it. Mary sat with her bass guitar on her lap, and Sky sat with his flute in his mouth, and they battled musically, furiously, but I'll be damned if I could tell what song they were trying to play. I took two steps into the kitchenette and gave Grandma her eggs. She shook a peyote rattle around her head, too busy chanting to acknowledge me.
"Why'd you even ask me over?" I complained, trying not to glare.
Grandma shook the rattle harder. "For the spring crop!"
I slouched back into the alcove. Caleb made a cranberry torte for breakfast, which was when I decided I liked him again. He puffed on his cigarette and put it out in the chimney and stood with his hands on his hips while the rest of us ate. I felt sorry for Caleb. He had a son who didn't like him any and an ex-wife who took his house in the divorce settlement. I wondered how the guy had managed to procreate while screaming. I wondered whether I ought to be wondering about that.
"You ain't gonna eat?" I asked him.
He lit a second cigarette. "Nah."
Grandma forced Mary to wash the dishes. Mary groaned. Caleb left the house to pick up the mail delivery. I went with him, 'cause I'd forgotten that Fort Hall had a real post office, not like Nettlebush. If I was going to college in the future--and I needed to, for Sky's voice--I had to get used to things like mail trucks.
"Whaddo you wanna study, kid?" Caleb asked me.
"Speech-language pathology," I told him.
"DAMN IT!" he said. I just about fell into Snake River at our side. "All the money's in ENGINEERING THESE DAYS!"
A crunchy black road ran past a lopsided gas station. We passed a grocery shop called the Trading Post, the signs made up in Old West typeface, and a newer sandstone building called the Shoshone-Bannock Hotel, something I'd never seen before. I wasn't sure whether we were still on the reservation. We took the Warbonnet Road exit, and I watched half a dozen federal mail trucks pull up beside the black curb. I put my head back and stared up the facade of a weird, rocky building, the roof pointy and the doors yellow.
"Wait here," Caleb instructed.
He strode inside the building. I put my hands in my pockets and stamped my boots on the clean, swept sidewalk, relishing the cold. A couple of girls waved at me in passing and I waved back, awkward. I thought about Sky. I'm not the kind of person who can just let shit go. I felt so terribly about looking at him, I knew I needed to apologize again. I just didn't know how.
Caleb marched angrily out of the post office, a stack of letters under his arm. I followed him down a side road, Ross Forks, which wasn't so much a road as it was a confused tangle of prairie grass and sage grass. It wasn't snowing any. The blue clouds roared and curled open in ocean waves. A low foothill out west stood prickled with pine trees, the needles a murky red-gray.
"Ridiculous," Caleb said.
I thought he meant me at first. I tore my eyes away from Henrys Fork, a runny, muddy tributary off the Snake River, ice floes crumbling on the current. I saw that Caleb was staring at a church to our right--Good Shepherd, or something like that; I'd gone there with Mom when I was little. A red steeple tapered above a squat exterior. Apart from the children's swing set, the old gray bridge in front of the entrance, you could've mistaken the building for a barn.
"What's ridiculous?" I asked.
Caleb shook his head; but I thought I knew what he was getting at.
"Believing in something makes people feel better," I said. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"It's a lie," Caleb said.
I felt irrationally angry. "Nobody knows that for sure."
"You believe in God, kid?" Caleb asked.
"Maybe not that God," I said.
"But you believe in one, yeah?"
"I think so," I said.
"Then you're an idiot!" Caleb said.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, alright."
We kept walking. I wasn't all that angry, I reflected; Caleb was so ridiculous it was hard to take him seriously. I started thinking about Sky again, but Caleb couldn't let well enough alone. He interrupted my thoughts.
"Make me believe," Caleb said.
I frowned. "You don't gotta believe if you don't want to."
Caleb didn't answer me. That was how I realized he wanted to.
"Uh," I said, thinking. "Well," I said. "I don't think God's a person or anything. I don't think it judges you or cares about you or sends you to Heaven or Hell. I dunno if I'd even call it God. I just know it's...there."
Caleb snorted, which humiliated me. I explained through my teeth, "Maybe the Great Spirit's a better name."
"You're not convincing me," Caleb said.
"If you wanna believe something," I said, irate, "then you'll find a reason to believe it. But if you don't wanna believe it, then nothing's gonna change your mind. That's the way people work."
"Then what's your reason?" Caleb asked. "Why not believe in unicorns? Or mermaids?"
I chewed on the inside of my mouth. I realized we'd stopped walking.
"Well?" Caleb asked.
"Because if you could scale the entire planet," I said, "and pull apart all the prairies and savannahs, all the mountains and forests and rainforests and deserts, every inch of available land, you could prove that unicorns don't exist. Or that they do. If you could assemble a really good diving team and send them throughout all the uncharted oceans until they were charted, you could prove that mermaids don't exist. Or that they do. Everything that exists can be shown to exist. Everything that doesn't exist can be shown not to exist. But not God. God is the only thing we'll never be able to prove or disprove. That has to mean something. It has to."<
br />
Caleb made a derisive sound.
"You asked," I defended, feeling stupid.
"I ain't begrudge ya any, kid," Caleb said. "Just...damn. Wish I had something to believe in."
"People," I said. "I mean. You can believe in people. 'Cause even when they disappoint you, they're only being the best versions of themselves they think they can be. They don't know any better."
"Even my bitch of a wife, ah?" Caleb said.
"She probably thought you were the one being the bitch at the time."
We straggled back to Grandma's house. Mary plodded listlessly out of the horse stable, carrying a brush and a feedbag. At some point it had started snowing again, milk-white flurries sapping the color from the sky. I held my hand out and caught two snowflakes. Two more fell on my palm.
"Caleb," I said. "Look."
Caleb sped into the house in a blustery whirlwind. A fifth snowflake caught on my finger. I begged it not to melt. I think I must have been a nutjob, because melting snow made me inconsolably sad; but then why shouldn't it have? One time I heard about these monks in Tibet who crafted giant mandalas from grains of dyed sand. Month by month, grain by grain they constructed these grueling works of art. You wouldn't believe the intricacy if you saw it. The symmetry rivaled nature itself. When they were finished building the mandalas the monks destroyed them. I wanted to scream just thinking about it. Nothing was permanent, the monks said, not even beauty. But they were wrong. I knew at least one thing that was permanent. I'm not talking about God this time.
"Whatcha doing, squirt?" Mary asked.
Her hair was unbrushed. Her face was unpainted, buffed pink by icy wind. I thought she looked larger than life. She sauntered playfully over to me and I showed her the snowflakes in my hand.