I let go of Sky, mortified. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sky's neck flush pink. Paul Looks Over came ambling clumsily to the cemetery gate, a bear of a man with a paunchy belly.
"You're leaving?" I said dumbly.
Sky needed immunizations for school--why the hell he didn't have them already, I'll never know--but he promised it wouldn't take long. Maybe I'd see him at the grotto later. Paul gave me an infinitely awkward look. I thought there was a touch of pain behind it, but I couldn't imagine why.
Bye, Rafael, Sky said placidly, touching my hand. His feelings rushed through me, jubilant, tranquil.
I watched Sky and his father when they stalked off toward the reservation hospital. Rosa came out of the church and said she was headed home, but I told her I'd linger behind. I decided to visit Annie's grotto in the woods. I say "Annie's grotto" because she was the first one to find it, and she was awesome, and anyway, I didn't want to get on her bad side. I was fourteen inches taller than her and I feared her like the reckoning.
I followed the pine woods southeast. I came up on the skinny creek, then the rock cave, bent and peaceful in a facade of glittering gray rocks. Annie wasn't sitting outside, nor Aubrey, which miffed me, because sometimes I forgot they had homes and families of their own. I went inside the cave and fetched a spare notebook and a pencil. I sat under the weeping willow, a giant, droopy umbrella of a tree, and drew the creek as best I could: the individual drops of sparkling water, the tumbling shadows when minnows slithered beneath their surface. The cool green forest overgrowth spread out over my head, a patchwork quilt of mismatched foliage, pale fanning alders and dark oval beeches. I put my head back and watched them, hypnotized, amazed that so many shades of green coexisted, that I'd never seen them before.
Ugh, not even five seconds in this dump and I'm bored again.
I started at the voice. At first I thought it was Sky's, the one I heard when no one else did, the one that sounded like nothing in particular and everything at once. It couldn't be Sky's voice, I reasoned, because apart from when Sky had to read books for school or something I'd never known him to be bored, not even when we bummed around in my bedroom with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
There was one other person I used to communicate with wordlessly. But I hadn't seen her in over a year.
"Mary," I said to the trees, swaying in the wind.
The trees held still. Childlike peace swirled inside my gut. I could have been six again, that age when you hate you big sister with one breath and idolize her with the next.
Ha.
The tree branches bowed again, leaves fluttering in a youthful dance. The weirdest thing, though: I didn't feel wind on my face, or in my hair.
"Mary?" I repeated. I wanted to see her. I wanted to yell at her.
Don't hold your breath, kiddo, said the voice without the voice.
All throughout the rest of the day Mary was almost all I could think about. I stopped drawing, stopped watching the flora, and ran home early just to see whether she was waiting for me. She wasn't. Uncle Gabriel came home at four PM and I asked him if he'd seen her. He shook his head, puzzled.
"She said she was coming back to the rez," I reminded him, insistent. "She wrote you that letter weeks ago."
"Yes, I'm aware of that," Uncle Gabriel said, pouring himself a cup of elderberry juice.
It was a shame Uncle Gabe had to be so indirect about everything, because apart from that he was the nicest guy you'd ever meet. But I didn't get another word out of him about Mary for the rest of the afternoon. Eventually Rosa came home with friends of hers from the hospital, Bethany Bright and Robert Has Two Enemies. Rosa and Robert cooked dinner in the kitchen and we all piled into the room after them. Uncle Gabriel found a serial for everyone to listen to on the radio.
"Starting school tomorrow?" Beth asked suspiciously, peering at me with one bespectacled eye.
I sulked. "Uh-huh."
"My God," said Robert, "Caias was the teacher when I was in high school. He's so old!"
"I think he's only forty," I mumbled.
"Oh, aren't you precious," Robert said.
"Make room there, budge up," George Black Day said gruffly, absently, edging his way into the kitchen.
The bread and the sage sizzled on the stove. I went out to the sitting room and sat down in front of the computer while everybody laughed at The Switch Dancer, a Navajo comedy series about a Nadleeh who bamboozled his unsuspecting victims by dressing like a woman. I can't believe I just said the word bamboozled. After twenty minutes of gaping stupidly at the computer, banging on the keyboard like a rhino with thumbs, I managed to open my e-mail account. I had four new letters.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Subject: ME THAT'S WHAT ALSO DID YOU GO TO THE LAKE TODAY BECAUSE THERE'S A BUNCH OF
AHAHAHAHAHA LOSER I AM SO MUCH COOLER THAN YOU I CAME HERE TO TELL YOU THAT CUZ YOU MIGHT OF FORGOTTEN IT CUZ I DIDNT SEE YOU SINCE THE PINE NUT DANCE MORAN AAHAHAHAA OH MAN DID YOU NO IF YOU TURN YOUR COAT INSIDE OUT YOU CAN WEAR IT THAT WAY TO
I stared at the computer monitor, my face twisting with slow disgust. Every time Zeke Owns Forty opened his mouth a deluge of vomit and stupidity poured out. I smashed "Delete" on the secondhand keyboard. Unfortunately, the next message was from him, too.
IS BLUE A SHADE OF PURPLE OR IS PURPLE A SHADE OF BLUE
"Bite my ass!" I yelled at the computer screen.
George Black Day poked his head through the kitchen door. "Wazzat?"
"Nothing, sir," I said through gnashed teeth, face heating up.
The third message, thankfully, wasn't from Zeke at all, but from my friend Sarah. The Tyke needed more friends her own age, I thought, disgruntled.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Subject: Sleepover
Hello Rafael. We are having a sleepover at the In Winter house tomorrow and I wanted to know if you would come? There will be plenty of candy for you. Autumn Rose would like very much to put lipstick on your face. Yum!
Sarah
I didn't know about the lipstick, but candy sounded good. I tried to press "Save" next to her message. Only I couldn't get the computer-controller-thing to cooperate with my hands.
"Move!" I said through gritted teeth.
George stuck his head out of the kitchen again. "Easy does it," he offered unhelpfully.
My fourth and final e-mail was the one that puzzled me the most.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Subject: um
hi i was wondering
if you could maybe give me some advice or help me or something
um
Blankly, stupidly, I stared at the glowing screen. Yeah, I knew Sage In Winter--vaguely. I must have exchanged a total of five words him over the course of his lifetime. What did he want from me all of a sudden? I bashed on the controller until the spinning-wheel-thing let me look at the bottom of the e-mail. Sage hadn't bothered writing an explanation. I wondered whether he'd meant to e-mail someone else, but had gotten my address by accident.
"Rafael!" Uncle Gabriel called. "Come have dinner!"
I left the computer as was, skulking my way into the kitchen. I grabbed a seat at the island, staring dizzily at the ceiling fan. I felt awkward just being here, on account of I was the only teenager in a room full of twenties-going-on-thirties. George made the awkwardness way worse by staring at me.
"What?" I asked darkly.
"Did you get a haircut?" George asked.
"No," I said, bewildered. I speared a stack of frybread with my fork.
"The funniest thing," Robert said, lounging backward in his seat. Now that was someone who could do with a haircut; his locks were wavy and wild and found their way in everything, even the water pitcher. "Lorna found antelope hooves outside our house today."
"Did she really?" Uncle Gabriel asked. He passe
d Robert a basket of buttered anise cookies. "Rafael thought he heard an antelope yesterday. They don't normally come out this far, especially before autumn."
"I would worry that there's something going on in the badlands, then," George said. He stuffed his frybread loaf in his mouth whole.
"Don't be stupid," Beth Bright said.
"Excuse me?" George said, mouth full.
Beth rolled her eyes. "You haven't seen the shaman lately, have you?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" George asked. George swallowed.
"He lives in the badlands," Beth said.
"I don't get it."
Moody, I turned my thoughts to Annie and Aubrey. I hadn't seen either of them all day. It was Annie I worried for the most; she'd lost her mother last June.
"Can I be excused?" I said churlishly.
Uncle Gabe passed me a disapproving look, but nodded.
My chair scraped on the floor when I jumped out of it. I whisked my gray jacket off the back of my chair and tugged it over my arms. Before I left the house I lit the hearth in the sitting room, because my teeth were chattering, and it was only a matter of time before everybody else's chattered. That's the desert for you: scorching by day, glacial by night. Sure enough I stepped outside the house and a frigid wind slapped my face. I zipped up my jacket, disgruntled. I set off down the unlit dirt road.
The Little Hawk home sat five minutes away from mine, north of the communal firepit. I knew from experience that Annie's room was on the eastern side, first floor. When I came in view of the house I watched the windows flicking merrily with yellow warmth. I thought they were calling for me. I crept around the side of the house and threw rocks at Annie's window. It slid open, and she put her head outside. Her brown hair hung below her dainty chin.
"We humans like to use the door, Rafael," Annie said.
She withdrew from the window so I could put my arms on the windowsill, my chin on my hands. Behind her I saw handmade lanterns glowing golden on the wall shelves, a kind of protective nook around her tiny bed. Her quilts were girly, too, stitched pink with a fluffy lamb decor. I liked lambs. Especially with leeks.
"How you feeling?" I asked.
"Much better," Annie said. "For the time being. Since when do you wear glasses?"
"Since yesterday," I said. "Where'd you go today?"
"Tucson," Annie said. "Granddad wanted us to visit family."
"Do they got ice cream out there?" I asked.
"By the truckload," Annie said smoothly.
"Okay," I said. "I wanna go there."
"You should learn to drive, then," Annie said. "I believe you're old enough for your permit, aren't you?"
"Don't wanna," I said.
"Honestly," Annie said, "you're impossible."
"I don't like cars," I said. "They're weird."
"I can't stay awake talking to you," Annie said. "I have to put my brother to bed."
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," I said testily.
"Thank you very much," Annie said. "Shoo now."
If she hadn't been a girl I would've flipped her off. I stalked away instead, diving back into the forest. Every now and then you meet a person who exists to press your buttons. It doesn't matter how highly you regard her. Maybe you even regard her so highly because she found the buttons in the first place.
Nighttime was my favorite time of day. Now that I could see it better than I used to, I didn't want to go to bed. I left the forest and followed the main dirt road, my eyes on the moon. Gray craters gleamed off the white surface, the moon almost full. I thought of silver seals reposing on the snowy ice caps of the north. The stars scattered back and forth in front of my eyes, roaming silver fireballs with lazy, effervescent trails. I wondered where the stars were going. I wondered how long their light had to travel just to make it to Earth, just so some dope standing in the middle of an Indian reservation could hold his breath and admire them. I'd heard it said before that we can only ever see the stars the way they looked millions of years ago. Each and every one of us was a time-traveler, and had the gall to think that we hadn't done much with our lives.
When thoughts like these built up inside my head I had to pour them somewhere, else they exploded. I crossed the road from Annie's house to Sky's, a plain log cabin with a flat roof. I scaled the wall, the siding raised, and rapped on his bedroom window. An oil lamp flashed on his bedside table; he pushed his window up; he beamed at me, and I climbed inside, toppling onto his messy bed.
"That clock is creepy," I said. I eyed the cat-shaped clock on the wall opposite us.
Sky rolled his eyes at me. I told you before, it's my dad's.
"Yeah, and you notice he's keeping it in your room? Even he knows it's creepy."
Rafael.
Sky was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. He never, ever wore shorts, which was how I knew he was dressed for sleep.
Sheepish, I asked, "Should I go?"
That's okay, Sky said, shaking his head. I'd much rather listen to you, he said, cradling his chin in his palms, his elbows on his knees.
"But you gotta sleep," I said, worried. He couldn't help it if I burned energy slower than most folks did.
I'll sleep when I'm dead, Sky signed with his hands. Or at least I think that's what he was saying. He did that thing where he flipped both hands over, a gesture he normally only made when we were talking about our unpleasant past.
"Don't even joke like that," I said harshly.
Sorry, Sky said, mouth wrinkling.
"Anyway," I said. "I forget what I was saying. Oh yeah, I put your name on my book report, we gotta turn it in tomorrow. You're gonna fail, but at least you're not gonna get a zero. Do you wanna do our homework together from now on? I mean, I dunno how much of it's actually gonna get done--"
Sky gave me the kind of look that made me feel weak, and ridiculous, and precious all at once. He watched my every movement with curious, smiling eyes, his whole body relaxed. I'd never seen anyone center himself around me like that. I'd never seen anyone so totally invested in the dumb shit I had to say. Honest to God, he looked like he'd found the pinnacle of contentment. I could have been an ambassador with pressing news from across the seas. I could have been a king. I was a Daigwani, I realized, or the son of a Daigwani. It struck me as surreal; not to mention completely stupid.
You're not stupid, Rafael.
Normally I could guess what Sky was thinking if I paid attention to his face. Now I wondered whether he could do the same when he paid attention to mine. His smile faltered with the faintest hint of reproach. He shifted, scratching his elbow.
"I'm not stupid when I'm with you," I mumbled, light-headed.
You're not stupid any of the time.
Sky took my hand absently, twining my fingers through his like they were supposed to be that way, like it was only an accident that they weren't. My throat went tight, which made me think my heart had lodged there, and if I wasn't careful I'd throw it up all over him. I didn't want to throw up all over him. I wanted to grab him and hold him and find my home on him. His skin was my home, and his arms were my home, and his voice was the voice I heard when I didn't know where to go, and needed someone to tell me.
I loved my glasses. I loved the freckles on Sky's arms. They transformed into individual landscapes, richer and more detailed than I'd ever been able to see. My favorite freckle, the blobby one on his right wrist, was a shortgrass prairie, the kind where camas grew and buffalo roamed and when the sun set, it glowed orange. The drunken half-moon on his upper left arm was a chain of desert islands. Sky liked the desert. I was starting to like the desert, too.
I took in the sight of the scars on Sky's throat. He had two of them, sore and sad, uneven red lines marring smooth white skin. Now that I could see them better they looked crueler than I remembered. They looked like tears in the fabric of his throat, messy seams where someone had lovingly but artlessly pieced him back together. When I realized that that was exactly what they were, I couldn't breathe.
Rafael?
In the sagging of his eyes, in the disappearing of his smile, Sky was worried. He reached across his mattress and gently jostled my knee. I came back to myself.
"Can I--" I broke off, feeling stupid.
You can, Sky said, holding my gaze. Whatever you want.
I touched his scars with hesitant fingers. He tensed underneath me; but he didn't move away. His scar tissue was rougher than the rest of his neck. It didn't feel real. It felt like I could rub it away, and once it was gone his voice would come back, and no one would hurt him ever again.
I took my fingers away. The scars were still there.
Rafael.
Sky took my hand again, pressing it against his skinny chest. My palm was big, my fingers short. His heartbeat was slow and meditative and I felt his feelings for my own. Penitent. Calm. I didn't know how he could stay so calm. Every time I touched him it sent me into a frenzy, because I loved him, because I was allowed to touch him, I wasn't my father; I didn't have to be my father.
I'm fine, Rafael. I'm okay.
He wasn't. He couldn't be. Not until I found a way to give him back the voice my father had stolen.
I forgot!
Sky reached inside the pillow on his bed. I had no idea what he was doing. I eyed his bare legs, skinny, free of freckles but dusted in blond hair. I wanted badly to touch the hairs, to find out if they were as soft as the curls on his head. I held my wavering hands on my lap. Sky's bedroom was austere, I thought, glancing at the walls. Apart from the cat clock, the California poster, the sole decorations were a dreamcatcher above his bed and a slew of photographs on the sliding closet door. I saw my face among the photos, smack dab in the center. I looked away, dizzy.
Here, Sky said.
He handed me a black paperback book. It looked secondhand, the front cover peeling at the corners, the white letters faded on the spine. Carmilla, the title read.
"A book?" I asked, infatuated at once. My book. A book for me.
Sky tapped the cover illustration, two colorless women standing together in flowing, elegant robes. Because you like fairy tales, he signed. He put his hands above his shoulders, rotated them, and flapped them, probably my favorite word in the entire sign language alphabet. They're gay, too, he said, swiping his chin, his index finger and thumb sticking out.