The Almanac of the Dead: A Novel (133 page)

Leah asked the boys and Angelo to give her some time alone; she asked Angelo to make the funeral arrangements and to notify the family. She felt restless indoors. She sat by the pool and watched the sun disappear behind the mountains. The violent thunderclouds and lightning had dispersed, leaving swirls and strands and fluffy masses of clouds to catch the colors of the sunset—silvers and golds becoming chrome-yellow, fire-orange, fire-red, fire-purple. Max had been right about one thing; the Arizona sky was spectacular. The Arizona sky would make her a billionaire.

STERLING HAD NEVER been the same after the time he had spent in Tucson. Loud noises such as firecrackers or gunshots or thunder sent him straight up in the air, ready to run again the way he had that afternoon the gunmen had come to the ranch. After the gunshots, Lecha’s old white Lincoln had come careening down the hill. Seese had flung open a car door so Sterling could throw in his shopping bags and suitcases. The car had still been moving as Sterling jumped in the backseat. Lecha had gunned the big engine, and they had left a big rooster’s tail of dust behind them as the Lincoln plowed down the driveway. Sterling was certain they would crash the security gate, but then he saw the gate was already open, and ahead there was something dark lying in the middle of the long driveway.

Lecha never hesitated. The big Lincoln had surged over the dead dog. Sterling had gasped and tried to look back through the car window to see which dog they had run over. Then Lecha had pointed out the other dogs. They were lying scattered near the outer security gate; their swollen tongues hung from their mouths. Lecha had slowed to look at the dead dogs. They had been shot with little silver darts. Sterling had been impressed that Lecha could remain so calm with gunfire behind her and the dead guard dogs in front of her. Seese had hidden herself
crouched down in the front seat; Sterling could hear Seese crying. Lecha had not looked back. She drove eighty miles an hour all the way to the New Mexico border.

Sterling had so many questions. How had the gunmen got past the alarm devices and the TV cameras? Maybe Paulie had forgot to activate the system as he left for town. Paulie had become more and more upset. The last week, after Ferro’s friend had been killed, Paulie had drowned all but one of the pups nursing the red Doberman bitch.

Lecha talked as she drove and didn’t seem to care if anyone was listening. Seese had fallen asleep slumped low in the front seat. Sterling had been too upset at the time to follow everything Lecha had said during the trip, but later much of it had come back to him. Lecha had said it was a good time to get out of Tucson for many reasons. She had had a dream about war. She had dreamed hundreds of big green helicopters, U.S. gunships flying in low from the south over the saguaro cactus forests outside Tucson. The cargo doors of the helicopter gunships had been wide open; and inside, Lecha had seen dozens of wounded soldiers in U.S. army uniforms. Lecha said she knew the helicopters were evacuating wounded U.S. troops from Mexico. Very soon the U.S. would send troops and tanks across the border to help the white men who ran the Mexican government keep all those Indians under control. The U.S. had always feared Mexico might fail to control her Indians. Sterling didn’t know what to think about such a dream. He thought it sounded more like a nightmare. When the shooting started, women and children, the old and the sick, the innocent and the weak, would die first. For all the trouble Sterling had had with the Tribal Council, he still respected the Tribal Council and the people; because they had all met and discussed Sterling’s offenses, and they had at least let Sterling speak before they had voted to banish him.

Lecha had stopped for gasoline in Willcox. Sterling was glad to get to the men’s room. He had been careful not to drink any of the coffee in the thermos Lecha had brought along because of his aging bladder. Seese seemed exhausted; she had hardly stirred in her sleep even when the car door slammed. Out of Willcox heading for the New Mexico state line, Lecha had talked about the gunmen. Ferro had got the drop on two of the gunmen right away. Zeta had shot the third gunman through the back of the head as he had tried to flee across the patio. The gunmen were coyote food now. Lecha was taking Seese and leaving Arizona for a while as a precaution. They would return when the heat was off—Lecha had laughed at her pun. Would the heat be off for
Sterling with his own people? Lecha had invited Sterling to come along. She and Seese were headed for South Dakota to the secret headquarters where Wilson Weasel Tail and the others were making preparations. Lecha wanted Sterling to join up because they could use him. Weasel Tail had plans to ally his Plains army with Mohawk forces.

Sterling had thanked Lecha for her kind offer. He told her he thought his grandnephews might let him live in the stone shack at the family sheep camp. The next time the Navajo sheepherder quit to celebrate the Navajo Tribal Fair, Sterling thought he could probably have the job. Sterling didn’t care to return to Aunt Marie’s house in Laguna village. It wasn’t the banishment order from the Tribal Council that stopped him. Sterling knew if a person stayed away for a year or so, the way he had, usually no one mentioned the banishment, unless of course there was trouble again. To return and see Aunt Marie’s empty armchair by the window would have caused Sterling too much sadness, and Sterling was not sure he could endure much more sadness.

He knew he could never again live as he had before. Aunt Marie and the other old folks used to scold Sterling when he came home from Indian boarding school to visit because he wasn’t interested in what they had to say and he wasn’t interested in what went on in the kivas. Sterling had only been interested in his magazines and listening to the radio as he did at boarding school. Sterling had never been disrespectful of the old folks’ beliefs, he just had not cared either way about religion. This indifference had been used against Sterling during the banishment proceedings of the Tribal Council. Before, it seemed Sterling had not known enough and had not caught on fast enough, and that had got him in deep trouble with the Tribal Council over the movie crew. But now, after Tucson with all the violence and death, after everything Lecha had revealed, Sterling felt as if he knew too much, and he would never be able to enjoy his life again.

On the long drive, Sterling had awakened and for an instant forgot where he was and what had happened. But the instant he saw Seese huddled in the front passenger seat, Sterling had remembered. Somehow Seese had been crushed by whatever had happened the night of the shoot-out at the bar. All Sterling knew was two others in the room with Seese had been killed by the police. Since that morning, all Sterling had said to her was “Can I bring you anything?” and “I hope you’re feeling better” because even the most simple words seemed to break Seese down, and tears had welled up in her eyes whenever she tried to speak.

Lecha had stopped in Albuquerque for gas before they headed west.
Albuquerque still looked normal, as if nothing were happening because Albuquerque was five hours by car from the border—a distance safe enough that those fleeing Tucson and El Paso had relocated there. Albuquerque appeared to be booming. Sterling looked out the window at people walking to their cars from the shopping malls and from the K marts. The faces he saw were placid. The shoppers didn’t seem to have a clue about what was happening. Maybe they had noticed a few more U.S. government cars on the street, or increased military-helicopter flyovers, but that was all. On the West Side, Sterling could tell the people didn’t know either, because the faces had been excited, happy, even joking. They didn’t know, and Sterling knew even if someone told them, they would not believe it. Sterling had not believed the old prophecy either, but he had seen what was happening in Tucson with his own eyes.

Lecha had claimed certain human beings sensed danger and began reacting without being conscious of what they were preparing for. They had no idea others like themselves existed as they worked alone with feverish plots and crazed schemes. But all that mattered was, they were making preparations. When the time came, all these scattered crazies and their plans would complement and serve one another in the chaos to come. The people would be smarter this time. They had learned from Watts and from police bombs in Philadelphia; the people would head for the fancy high-rent districts so when police firebombed the protest marchers, the Ferraris and the fur coats would go up in smoke too.

What would these people in Albuquerque do when they heard about the twin brothers and their followers? How would the Native Americans and Mexican Americans in New Mexico react when the U.S. military opened fire on the twin brothers and thousands of their followers, mostly women and children? How many of these Chicanos and these Indians had ever heard the old stories? Did they know the ancient prophecies? It all seemed quite impossible, and yet one only had to look as far as Africa to see that after more than five hundred years of suffering slavery and bloodshed, the African people had taken back the continent from European invaders. Sterling shuddered when he remembered the terrible price the tribal people of South Africa had had to pay while the nations of the world had stood back and watched.

Lecha warned that unrest among the people would grow due to natural disasters. Earthquakes and tidal waves would wipe out entire cities and great chunks of U.S. wealth. The Japanese were due to be pounded by angry earth spirits, and the world would watch in shock as
billions of dollars and thousands of lives were suddenly washed away. Still there would be no rain, and high temperatures would trigger famines that sent refugees north faster and faster. The old almanac said “civil strife, civil crisis, civil war.” Allies of the United States would decline to intervene or send military aid. England and France would cite the distances and the costs and point out that no “armed force” threatened the U.S. border, only thousands of defenseless and hungry refugees from the war-torn South. Lecha’s reading of the old book had Canada alone proclaiming herself a U.S. ally in this last big Indian war. The Germans would follow the lead of the Japanese, who wanted to watch and to wait until the dust settled. Of course all of the northern European nations would find themselves in similar predicaments with massive onslaughts of refugees from the South. Lecha had even dreamed the streets of downtown Amsterdam were full of Indians from all the tribes of the Americas. She had seen only Indians crowding the streets of Amsterdam and no Dutch; many of the Indians had looked pale, as if they had been born there.

When Sterling caught a glimpse of the distant blue peaks of Mt. Taylor, his throat tightened and tears ran down his cheeks. Woman Veiled in Rain Clouds was what the old people had called the mountain. Sterling was home. Sterling asked Lecha to drop him off near Mesita Village where Interstate 40 cut through the red sandstone. Seese had been crying too hard to say good-bye; she had clung to Sterling. “It’s all right,” he heard himself say over and over, “don’t worry,” but the roar of the vehicles that sped past had obliterated his words. The emergency lane of Interstate 40 was no place for long good-byes. Lecha had pulled an envelope from her purse. “You might need some money,” she said. They shook hands. Seese had hugged Sterling one last time, tears streaming down her face, and then Sterling had slammed the car door, and the old white Lincoln had roared off.

STERLING HIKED over the little sand hills across the little valley to the sandstone cliffs where the family sheep camp was. The windmill was pumping lazily in the afternoon breeze, and Sterling washed his face and hands and drank. The taste of the water told him he was home. “Home.” Even thinking the word made his eyes fill with tears. What was “home”? The little stone shack seemed to be deserted although Sterling had found an empty Vienna sausage can on the little wood-burning stove. On the shelf there were two coffee cans; inside he had found dry pinto beans and some sugar.

Sterling didn’t think what he was experiencing was depression; it felt more like shock. For three days Sterling lay stunned; he could barely swallow water. On the fourth day Sterling awoke and no longer felt exhausted, but he had felt different. He didn’t have the heart to look at his magazines anymore. He didn’t even glance in the direction of his shopping bags. The magazines referred to a world Sterling had left forever, a world that was gone, that safe old world that had never really existed except on the pages of
Reader’s Digest
in articles on reducing blood cholesterol, corny jokes, and patriotic anecdotes.