Zuni Stew: A Novel (9 page)

At a truck stop on the outskirts of town, he ate a breakfast burrito. He spoke to no one. Driving east on US 64, he cursed as the sun rose—he was driving straight into it. Barely seven in the morning.



Lori’s alarm went off at seven o’clock. Her stomach growled. She dressed quickly and headed down the street.
Huevos rancheros
at Lupe’s Restaurant. Everyone, especially Lupe, was talking about the earthquake. She also overhead a delivery man say he had talked to his sister in Dulce the day before, and everyone on the reservation was coming down with some awful bug. People were really sick, and that was before the earthquake.

She finally picked up a local radio station in the SUV. A dead-pan voice said, “The epicenter was the Jicarilla Apace village of Dulce, eleven miles from the Colorado border, in a remote mountainous region. The U.S. Geological Survey said the initial quake measured 7.5 magnitude at about 11:30 PM. and a 5.2 magnitude aftershock two hours later.

“Ambulances from as far away as Farmington to the west and Taos to the east are currently attempting to reach the vicinity.”

Off came the sandals, on went hiking boots. Shopping for supplies, water, groceries. A Styrofoam cooler and ice. When she got on the highway, the sun was high in the sky.



State police cars re-routed all traffic at mile marker 127, detouring around a buckled gap in the pavement. Mario’s car dragged bottom, letting out a steel-screeching scream. He had to whip the wheel to avoid boulders. The car groaned down the main and only paved street in town. Power company workmen leaned against their trucks, sharing coffee from thermoses with telephone linemen. The air smelled of diesel fuel. Belching D-Cats attempted to clear a side road.

It was easy to find the PHS clinic—pickups packed the lot. He counted three exits, then parked behind a dense stand of junipers. He tore off strips of red duct tape with his teeth, creating a cross on his aluminum-sided gun case. Makeshift, but real enough to get around the line and into the packed waiting room.

At the reception window, he said, “I’m from Albuquerque, and...”

The nurse interrupted him, saying, “You have our medicine?”

“No. I’m here to evaluate the situation. Your doctor...the new one, I need to talk to him personally.”

“Doctor busy. We got the clinic straightened up, but no power or water. But we’re lucky. Police won’t let some people back into their own houses.”

“The damage is that bad?”

“Eleven people died...so far. Quake left crack in the dam up on mountain—water and rocks came down, tore up sewer lines, everything in the way.”

“When do you think I could catch the doctor?”

“House calls all afternoon. Sick kids can’t get here. He’s staying across the street. He’ll be late. Do you have a card, an ID?”

He was gone. She shrugged and turned back to the quiet but anxious eyes of the patients, all staring directly at her.



Just before noon, Lori told the same nurse she was a field medic from Taos. She got the same story.

“I’ll try to connect with him later,” Lori said.

“You’ll have to get in line. Another man was here couple hours ago. From Area Office.”

“Did you get his name? Maybe I know him.”

“No.” She looked past her. “We are busy.”

Back in the Scout, she wondered how Zeller could have gotten a man up there so quickly. Had someone driven all night? No way. She picked up the radio transmitter.



Slumped behind the wheel, Mario watched the clinic, eyes only looking for a doctor-type. That was until a hot-looking woman came and went. Anglo. Probably another care-giver for the Indians, paid for with taxpayer money.

14

T
he Jahata home was centered in a five-and-six-tiered earthen quadrangle, a complicated maze of twelve-hundred rooms, housing over one-hundred families. In the early 1800s the narrow streets were like dark tunnels. Multistory levels were stacked over the alley-like maze of passageways.

Tito was back in the pueblo only days after the accident. No use arguing with a
shiwani
. Not one as powerful as Louis Paul Jahata.

Louis Paul removed the cast from his arm immediately. Skin marbled red and purple. Hot to the touch. Clear evidence of infection. He had anticipated such, and already had prepared a poultice. Prickly pear (to lessen pain and inflammation). Red root (to aid in circulation by generating capillaries). Hollyhock (to increase the ferocity of his white blood cells’ ability to grab bacteria). Spikenard (an antibacterial agent).

He blessed a long, five-inch-wide bear-hide thong, and wrapped it around Tito’s ripped arm and blackened hand.

Vervain mint tea. Sleep.

Louis Paul began a narrative, a re-education to ground his son’s recovery in the Zuni of the past. It made little difference. Tito was in a twilight zone. The tea. “A very long time ago, our people made homes, only to move after violent shaking of Mother Earth.”

In a mesmerizing cadence, he told of previous Zuni settlements. Northern California. Utah. Arizona. Northern New Mexico. Each historic move prompted by earthquakes, interpreted as the anger of the gods.

“Today, we inhabit
Hawikku
, reverently known as
Halona Idiwan’a
, the Middle Place of the World.” As he talked, Tito’s eyelids fluttered, unintelligible sounds came from his mouth through clinched teeth. Touching his forehead, he murmured, “Rest, my son.”

He turned to look down past ladders and chimney pipes down to a large packed-dirt plaza below, the heart of the pueblo. He was worried, not about Tito. He had felt a tremor in the night.

Natural forces. Very mysterious. Powerful. The most ancient deities reside in the Earth Below. Though unseen, a deity was sending a message.

He sat cross-legged, allowing himself to slip into a light trance. Open to Zuni cosmology, he connected to a power infinitely greater than his own limited human strength. He entered a formless mist. Solar alignments became fluid and crystallized. The moon cycle shifted in the traffic. There was chaos in the Earth Below. A warning. The vision came into focus for a millisecond. He saw a white man’s face, blue eyes. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The uphill road to the hospital in Black Rock was empty.

Dr. Newman saw him right away. “How’s Tito?” he asked, knowing Louis Paul had taken him from the hospital in Gallup against doctor’s wishes.

No comment.

“Can I help you, Mr. Jahata?”

“I need to speak to new doctor.”

“I have two. Which one?”

“The one who took Tito to hospital.”

“That’s Jack D’Amico. He isn’t here right now. Area Office sent him on a temporary assignment. Sorry, but I can’t divulge the location.”

“I understand.” Louis Paul nodded, turned to leave, but hesitated. “What color are his eyes?”

The question was a left-fielder, but he was accustomed to Louis Paul’s point of view. “Blue, very blue. I had an Australian Sheepdog that had blue eyes. China blue, the breeder called them. That dog could lock her gaze on a sheep, control them with the stare, get them to go wherever she wanted. Jack’s got eyes like that.”

“Thank you.”

Louis Paul pulled his dusty brown Ford truck in front of the Tribal Offices. Governor Allen Cooeyate had his sources. A doctor had been sent north to Apache country, to the clinic in Dulce.

“What’s wrong, Louis?” asked the governor. “You don’t need his help, do you?”

“No.”

“My guy said that earthquake shook mountains. Right after doctor got there.”

“I know,” replied Louis Paul. “
Elahkwa,
Allen
.”

“You are welcome, anytime.
Don ansammo yadon K’okshi’ sunnahk’yanapdu.
”

“I will try to.”

Back in Middle Village, Louis Paul closed the door to his workroom. He reached for the crude bear fetish and said out loud, “Blue eyes, you are in great danger.”

15

T
hat evening, Lori hefted two sacks of groceries, gave a quick knock at his door and stepped back.

When the light came on in her SUV, Mario realized she was the good-looking girl he had seen earlier at the clinic. So the doctor is having a little hanky-panky on the side. At least that’s normal. Something he was very accustomed to himself.

He would have to kill her, too.

Jack opened the door after the second knock, expecting another sick child. He was speechless. She said she was a field nurse, trained in emergency medicine. Jack just stared at her.

“I really didn’t know how bad it was up here, but I thought you might need food, so I brought some stuff from Taos,” she said. “Well, may I come in?”

He laughed, apologizing for being flustered. “I’m Jack—I’ve been up to my eyeballs with sick Indians. You surprised me, took my breath away, literally.”

She handed him the bags, thinking he was quite the man in his T-shirt, low-slung jeans, and bare feet. She also saw the family resemblance immediately. “The drive was terrible, and I am starving. I make a mean Caesar salad.”

“I can’t remember when I’ve had a fresh vegetable—that sounds great. There’s no electricity or water yet.”

Lori fished around in the grocery bags and pulled out a flashlight. “Can you grill?”

“Am I American, and is this summertime?”

They talked about the earthquake, the epidemic. Indians, the vastness of New Mexico. She ripped the romaine, peeled a clove of garlic and an avocado, whipped an egg. He trimmed and seasoned the steaks. The thought that they were perfect strangers never occurred to either.

Because his father was always at the restaurant, his mother as well in the early days of the business, a maid prepared dinner. That was why Sunday was his favorite day of the week. He could see them, Pasquale and Rose, side-by-side in the kitchen. Like himself and Lori May Wilson.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

“Making a salad in the dark?” Lori laughed. “This is nothing—you should see me gut an elk and filet the tenderloin.”

“I had too much of that in med school.”

Lori grated thin slices of Parmesan over the romaine, then glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. I have a long drive back to Taos.”

Jack ignored her, said the charcoal was ready, and stepped out the back door with the steaks. “Bring me another beer, would you? I’ll light some candles.”

They sat at a small, rusted table. Lori brought out two paper plates heaped with salad. The cracked terrace wasn’t level. Jack wedged a matchbook under one of the table legs. With a laugh, they agreed they would share the one and only steak knife.

“Here, let me cut your steak. I guess the resident doctor never had any company,” said Jack.

“Look what he’s missing.”

“I never have had time to enjoy the company of a woman, much less a beautiful one.”

“You’re kidding—I don’t believe you.”

“I just work—my work is everything. I haven’t had much of a private life for the last five years. When you become a doctor, you kind of jump in and never look back.”

“I have my work, too, and I’m good at it, but I’m my own woman.”

“That suits me fine.”

“I’ll bet you...”

“Ah, so you’re a gambling woman.”

“To a degree, let’s just say I’m competitive.”

“Me, too, my brother and I were at it constantly. One time we...”

Neither of them noticed a man moving from one scrub pine to another, getting closer with every move.

Mario watched. Waited. Part vicarious thrill, part professional killer. Now. Silencer on. He stepped out from behind the piñon with the weapon aimed at Jack.

A shot rang out. A scream filled the air. The bullet buried itself in the ground at the base of the concrete slab.

Jack and Lori jumped back, knocking the table over. His arm flashed out protectively to shield her. From a crouched position, they cringed in horror.

Snarling, growling, bellowing came from a huge brown bear. The first swipe of his enormous claws gouged out the shooter’s eyes. A second crushing swipe ripped out the throat. Blood gushed. Arteries pulsed. The bear reared up, screaming defiantly, then vanished.

16

J
ack rushed to the mauled body. No heartbeat. The shooter had bled to death. “We’ve got to get him out of here—that bear might be back.”

He half-carried, half-dragged the body inside the house. Lori picked up the revolver, slid it under her shirt at the middle of her back. Jack pointed the flashlight at what was left of the torn carotid artery on the right side.

“I’m going to get Gloria, my nurse. You watch the body.”

“No, you’re not. I’m with you. This body’s going nowhere.” She was in Jack’s car before him.

Twenty minutes later, Jack and Gloria maneuvered the body on to a stretcher and got it to the clinic. Lori went for the radio. Raised the tribal police. They would contact Fish and Game. Protocol dictated that the bear be tracked and destroyed. Gloria knew Officer Chino and agreed to meet him outside.