The Way We Bared Our Souls (18 page)

Thomas still looked like he was about to pass out. “Inhale to the count of four,” I said. “You can do this, Thomas. Focus. Ready?” He nodded. “One, two, three, four. Now hold it. Now exhale until the count of five. Good, now repeat.”

I watched his abdomen expand and contract under his shirt. I led him toward some fold-out chairs on the grass outside the tent.

“Is everybody . . . ?” He struggled to get the words out.

“Everyone is okay,” I said. “No one is hurt. We’re all safe.” He relaxed somewhat, and I rubbed his back. “You’re doing great,” I said. “Keep going. Keep breathing.”

“
There
you guys are,” Ellen said, followed closely by Kit and Kaya. “Thomas, are you all right?” He nodded.

“Will you guys keep an eye on him for a minute?” I said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

I WENT UPSTAIRS TO ONE
of the Sibley guest bathrooms, where I was pretty sure no one would find me. I was supposed to be strong and brave for Thomas, and here I was falling apart.

I’d never told anyone this, but last summer I’d kept my bedroom door closed. I didn’t know how to watch Karine waste away. I couldn’t witness her physical anguish. Which took place away from her home in California, away from all the places and people she knew best. Away from the San Francisco streets where she performed her hoop routines, and away from the little makeshift shrines in her apartment where she kept all her special things. She seemed to be not only sick but in exile, and I couldn’t stand the tragedy of it. Neither could my mother. She did a lot of praying in the hallway between our bedrooms. And then the hospice people came with their soft eyes and brochures full of stock photos of sunsets.

One gorgeous Saturday afternoon in mid-July, Karine called for me. I was listening to Bob Dylan’s
Desire
album while pretending to take a nap, but I timidly crept into her room when I heard her voice ring out across the hall. She asked if I wouldn’t mind brushing her hair. Mortality was impossible, but hair I could manage.

I raised my aunt’s rented hospital bed so I had better leverage and used the ribbons to secure the auburn braids I twisted in my fingers.

“You used to do my hair when you were little,” she said softly. “Do you remember?” Of course I did. When I was three or so and Karine had just graduated from Berkeley, she used to come visit us in Sebastopol on the weekends. I thought she was the most beautiful, most magnificent woman in the world, and it was a privilege to play with her hair. I’m sure I inadvertently yanked out many a clump of it with my combs meant for baby dolls, but she never complained.

Those were happier, greener times. When Karine’s life was just starting out. When we could smell the Pacific from our back porch. When I barely knew what death was.

But then my aunt lay in a rented hospital bed in Santa Fe and couldn’t grip a brush because her muscles were so shot. When I was done, I wanted to unravel the braids and start all over again, ad infinitum, so her hair would remain in my hands and her vivacious body across the hall. What did she feel about dying? What did she dream about? Did she pity herself? Did she regret anything? Did she wish she could go back and do things differently? I so wanted to ask her, but I was afraid of the answers. I could only squeeze her tight and dash away again before the tears started. And a week later she was dead. And then buried in the ground. And then I was sick. Sick with the full knowledge that MS runs in families. McDonough Scourge. McDonough Sacrifice.

I wasn’t able to be close—really close—to Aunt Karine while she was dying. Dying was a distant planet back then. But now I understood what she’d been going through while I was sequestering myself in my room, essentially abandoning her. Now I could relate. And it killed me to think that I’d done nothing to help her or to ease her pain. Especially since I knew that I would do just about anything to ease my own.

• • •

There was a knock at the door. “Lo, are you in there?” I recognized Kaya’s voice. How long had I been in the bathroom? I unlocked the door.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Kaya said. She sat beside me on the bench next to the shower. “Have you been crying?”

I started to nod, but burst into fresh tears instead. “I stupidly got it into my head that because I couldn’t feel physical pain, I was absolved from all pain. But outside, I was remembering my aunt, and then when Thomas couldn’t breathe. . . . I was so scared, Kaya.”

“Consuelo, just because you’re not hurting in the same ways anymore doesn’t mean you’re cured.”

“Why not?” I sniffled. “Isn’t that how it should work?”

“Our lives are a lot deeper than we know. They don’t stop at skin and bone. All those creepy games we used to play together? We were always looking for some greater reality. Something mystical beyond ourselves. But now I think we could have put down the cards and the candles and everything and just listened to what our souls were trying to tell us. They’re right there, underneath our burdens and our problems and our complaints, clamoring to get out and speak.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I understand it completely either. Yet. Do you remember that day on the playground when I knocked out my tooth? I didn’t feel anything, of course, but you got a toothache in the same place where I would’ve had one.
That’s
what we should have been examining instead of our horoscopes. The mysterious connections between us.”

“I found your tooth in the sand when I was playing a few days later,” I said. “I still have it. Oh god, I’ve never told anyone that before. You can have it back if you want.”

“It’s okay,” Kaya said. “Keep it. Consider it a relic. You know, like with the saints with their old yellow teeth and bones and hair.” We both laughed.

“I’ll make a . . . whatchamacallit . . . a reliquary for it,” I said.

Kaya grabbed my hands tight. “Consuelo, can I be honest with you for a second?”

“That’s sort of been the order of the day.”

“I’m so grateful that you allowed me to be part of this. Although Thomas’s burden hasn’t, like, displaced my one true self, I feel like it’s woken me up in a lot of ways. Taking on Thomas’s trauma has allowed me to access some deeper part of me, some part that goes beyond
me
, even, and is connected to my people. I know it sounds a little bananas, but a few times since the ritual I’ve gotten this feeling that I’m not even
in
my body anymore. I’m just living on an intensely spiritual level.”

“Wow,” I said, not sure how else to respond. “That sounds really . . . extreme. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Oh, definitely,” said Kaya. “I was talking to Ellen about it yesterday at the rodeo. How special this is. How lucky I am.”

“But the flashbacks?”

Kaya’s face darkened. “They’re awful. Dreadful, actually. My mom had always shielded me from the truth about my ancestors, so I’m seeing a lot of these things for the first time.”

“It’s super heavy, Kaya, what you’re dealing with. Maybe we should find someone else who knows about this stuff, someone you can talk to. . . .”

“No,” she said harshly. “I’ll be fine. This is my path.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like I was going to start crying again.

“Look,” Kaya said, softening, “I’m sorry that I had to get all high priestess on you, but what I was trying to say is that you need to remember that pain is a part of life. Just because you can’t feel it in your bones twenty-four/seven doesn’t mean it’s not there. And it’s not all bad, Lo. I can feel the pain of my people, but I can also feel the earth. I am grounded to my soul again. To everyone’s. Connected.”

“I wish I could feel all of that,” I said. “Right now I just feel sad. And alone.” If I was no longer sick in body, what was wrong with me? Maybe I was sick in spirit.

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me, and Ellen, and Kit. And you’ve got Thomas—”

“Is he doing okay outside?” I interrupted. “He seemed stable when I left. . . .”

“He’s fine. Just had a scare, is all. He’ll recover. You have a universe of people who love you, Lo.”

“Thanks, Kaya. And if you don’t mind
me
getting all Pollyanna on
you
, it’s been wonderful to be with you these past few days. To be together again, like old times.”

“That makes two of us,” she said. “Now let’s get back to the party.”

We returned to the backyard to find the others still huddled together. As soon as I saw Thomas, I ran over and flung my arms around him. He was breathing regularly now and even had a drink in his hand. I didn’t realize quite how terrified I’d been for him until I was leaning against his chest, inhaling his smells and nuzzling against his scar. The band was still playing.

“Anybody feel like dancing?” Kit said.

“You must be joking,” Ellen said. “I’ve got pins and needles everywhere.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just slow dance. Come on.” Kit pulled Ellen toward the casita.

“You too, Kaya,” I said, feeling like myself again. “Let’s go.”

Minutes later we were all on the dance floor. Kit stayed true to his promise to slow dance, even though the band only played fast songs, but he still managed to dip Ellen somewhat extravagantly at least twenty times. She didn’t complain. Thomas took turns twirling me and Kaya around the dance floor. I knew that if Karine had been there, he would have twirled her too. Alex and Juanita kept trying to pull me aside for details about Thomas, but I wanted to keep moving. Soon the whole Agua crowd was right there with us, singing along and shouting out requests. Considering our states of mind just the week before, it was hard to believe that the five of us could all be so free and happy, so uninhibited, and all dancing at once, but I guess when we joined together and finally opened up, we made more than a star: We made music.

ON THURSDAY MORNING I WOKE
up before dawn, even before the chickens and Seymour’s usual dance across the window screen. I remembered the night before and felt peaceful— triumphant even—and decided to go for a walk before school.

Suddenly I loved September in Santa Fe. The air was so crisp and clear that I was no longer perturbed by its lack of Pacific breezes. I stepped outside my house to find dried chili peppers hanging in bunches from our front porch like shriveled red bananas. The first hints of an ethereal sunrise outlined their crimson forms. Over the Airstream trailer in my neighbor’s yard, an American flag flew fast and lofty.

From my house I could cut across the railroad tracks and onto the hiking trails that led through the desert, toward the Tinderbox. I’d never done this alone and wasn’t sure if my parents would be thrilled about it, but the landscape called to me.

I hadn’t seen another human being for about a mile when I noticed two figures materializing through the cacti like ghosts. As they got closer I recognized them. Jay and Dakota. As usual, the coyote trotted up to me first, then the man she walked with.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jay said. “Are you thinking of joining the ranks of the cave people after all?”

“Nah,” I said. “Just enjoying the morning glow. We’ve all been wondering when you might show up.”

“I have a lot of faith in you kids, Consuelo. You don’t need any interference from me this week. I don’t perform rituals for just anyone. Only for people who know how to honor the sacred within themselves. So how is everybody doing?”

“Well, to be honest . . . everyone was a little surprised about what . . . transpired after the ritual. Maybe—just maybe—you could have warned us about the side effects of the totem ceremony before we went through with it.”

“I told you that it was powerful medicine, dear. You don’t always know how it’s going to affect different people. But it’s always absorbed in the way it needs to be. Is everyone safe?”

“I think so. Last night we all went to this party at a friend’s house. And it was good. We’ve become . . . close.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Personal growth and transformation don’t have to estrange you from others.”

“I had this one moment at the party when I was remembering my aunt Karine, who . . . anyway, I was definitely sad. But Kaya helped me through it.”

“Kaya has experienced many dark nights in her lifetime.”

“Yes,” I said. “I guess we all have.”

“Did you ever talk to Karine about her own dark nights?”

“No. I think I was too . . . wrapped up in my own grief.”

“I knew your aunt, Consuelo,” Jay said.

That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

“You knew Karine?” I said. But yes. Of course he’d known her. A vague recollection came to mind: a smell in the hallway, a coyote howling in the backyard one night, a quiet presence at the rear of the church when we had the funeral. No wonder I’d felt so comfortable with Jay. He was already familiar.

“I met her years ago,” he said, “on one of her first visits to Santa Fe. She and I were immediately drawn to each other. We felt the earth in similar ways. We stayed in touch over the years, mostly through letters. She wrote beautifully about the ocean, the stars over California, the people she met on the street. About you. She was sensitive to the keys and colors of things. I came to your house when she was dying, and we spoke about spiritual matters that interested her. We talked for hours about the afterlife.”

Yes, that all definitely sounded like Karine. I struggled to take in this disclosure.

“She asked me to look after you, Consuelo,” Jay said. “Everyone needs a teacher, a guide, and yours left too soon. Karine knew that you would take her death the hardest. She was the perfect example of someone whose soul remained intact even though she was suffering from an illness that took possession of her body. Someone had to translate her life into a lesson. And for what it’s worth, to me, she seemed strong—maybe even happy—at the end. Though who can really know a soul in its final movements in the waking world? You were the one full of sorrow.”

“I let her down,” I said. “I didn’t help her or comfort her. At the end, you know. At the end I did nothing but stand back and watch her die.”

“But you did do something,” Jay said. “In her waning months, she told me she liked to listen to your movements. She felt your energy from across the hall.”

“My energy is evil,” I said, surprising myself. “It’s a loud, obnoxious song. It’s sick. It just hurts people. I’m not sunshine and light like Karine was. I’m all broken inside.”

“You are more like her than you know,” Jay said. I didn’t believe this for a second. This statement, more than any other, made me doubt him. More so than on the day we met, when he was just some crazy coyote man from the Tinderbox.

“Souls aren’t just some
thing
that you can wear around your neck or put in a box,” he said. “Souls are an activity, a dynamic essence that you add to life.”

“Can you . . . help me live like her?” I asked.

“You already are.”

Overwhelmed, I sat in the sand and caressed Dakota’s fur. I felt like a human cactus.

“Let me tell you something,” Jay continued. “When Karine died, I took to the woods. I missed her terribly. I loved her. She was brave and honest and sublime. Her soul shone through everything she did. So when she left this world, I left it too, for a while. I fasted. I burned the items that reminded me of her. My grief was bottomless.” I knew the feeling. But I hadn’t prayed or fasted. Instead I’d inherited her disease. It was as if my body wanted to remain as close to Karine as possible.

“And now?” I said, as Dakota licked my palm.

“Now I don’t feel so sad anymore,” he said. “I also did a swap. Like you and your friends. Except I conducted the ceremony myself, out here in the wild. And instead of swapping burdens with other people, I swapped with the mountains, I swapped with the valleys. They could absorb the pain of Karine’s death. They could take it when I couldn’t. And now I carry the peace of the land with me. The timeless peace that can withstand every tragedy.”

That sounded nice: to exchange a hurting, human heart for the resilient earth.

“Kaya said something like that to me last night,” I said. “About what she’s been experiencing since the ritual. Do you think she also carries the peace of the land now?”

Jay was silent for a moment. “Kaya cannot be a mountain,” he said. “Because she is a volcano.”

I shivered.

Jay went on. “As for your new condition, it’s important that you don’t get carried away by the thrill and novelty of it all. I know this is a rare and magical experience, but you still have responsibilities. Even when it’s difficult, an awakening is always a gift you must treasure, in yourselves and in each other. You must nurture each other’s souls. Keep up the good work, but do remember to tread lightly and protect one another always.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said. “I already made the mistake once of neglecting someone I love when life . . . and death got too hard. I won’t do it again.”

Jay gave me a hug that felt like a beam of light through my body. I’m sure I must have imagined it, but I seemed to smell my aunt in the wilds of his hair. He whistled for Dakota.

“See you Saturday,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the rising sun.