Conflicting geography was one thing. What about when he started dealing in the crossed wires of personalities? There had been no particular need to tell Candace much about being raised by Rita Antone, who in turn had been raised by her own grandmother, Understanding Woman. Over time Davy had mentioned a few things, of course, but only the simple, straightforward parts, not any of what Richard Waverly, Candace’s father, would derisively call the woo-woo stuff.
Davy had never mentioned Looks At Nothing’s Peace Smoke, for instance. He hadn’t told Candace or any of her family how the blind old medicine man from his childhood would light his foul-smelling wild tobacco with a flame sparked by his faithful Zippo lighter. He hadn’t told them about Looks At Nothing’s spooky way of knowing things before they happened or of the blind man telling others what he had “seen” in his divining crystals.
How would Candace and her family react to a discussion of medicine men and divining crystals—and medicine baskets, for that matter? Or try scalp bundles on for size. The one from Rita’s medicine basket—an
Davy was sure now that the scalp bundle had been the primary reason Rita had insisted that it be kept out of Lani’s hands until she was old enough to handle it with proper respect. Davy cringed at the idea of sitting down and trying to explain to Richard Waverly how improper handling of a scalp-bundle could bring on a bout of Enemy Sickness, the best cure for which was a medicine man singing scalp-bundle songs at night.
Old Man Waverly will just love that one, Davy thought.
And yet, those things—which he could imagine Candace and her family not quite understanding—were far too much a part of Davy’s life and experience for him to dismiss them. The stories about
Almost without realizing what he was doing, Davy reached into his pocket and pulled out Father John’s rosary. At age twenty-seven, David Ladd closed his eyes and saw in his mind’s eye those three aged adults who had played such important roles in his childhood—Rita, Looks At Nothing, and Father John. They were all so very different and yet, despite those differences, they had drawn a healing circle of love around him—a little half-orphaned Anglo boy—and held him safe inside it.
How had they done that? And if, from the vantage point of being that well-loved child, Davy himself couldn’t answer that question, how in God’s name would he ever be able to explain it to anyone else, including Candace Waverly?
By then the beads were laid out across his palm. He began slowly, one bead at a time, silently moving his lips as he recited the words. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
Halfway through the process, probably somewhere over Colorado, someone tapped on his right arm. Startled, he looked up. The lady next to him was smiling a benignly cheery smile.
“I know just how you feel,” she said. “I used to be afraid of flying, too, young man. But they have classes for that kind of thing these days. I took one at Pima Community College a few years back. You might look into taking one yourself. Those classes don’t cost very much, and they help. They really do.”
Blushing furiously, Davy dropped Father John’s
Leaving the hospital, Fat Crack Ortiz stopped by the Walker house in Gates Pass long enough to see that no one was home. After that he headed the Crown Victoria toward Sells. No doubt the dance was still going strong, but he didn’t even pause at the Little Tucson turnoff. Instead, he drove on home.
When he had warned Brandon Walker of danger the day before, it hadn’t occurred to him that the danger in question, the evil emanating from Diana’s book, might fall on Lani. He had expected Diana herself to be the target, never Lani.
Once he reached the house, he was grateful to discover that Wanda still wasn’t home. Although she tolerated his medicine-man status, she certainly wasn’t thrilled by it. Gabe went straight to the wooden desk and retrieved Looks At Nothing’s medicine pouch. Then he went outside. Using a stick of mesquite, he stood in the middle of the dirt-floored patio and used the stick to draw a circle around himself. Then he eased himself down on the hard ground in exactly the way the old blind medicine man would have prescribed.
With the porch light providing the only light, he opened the pouch and took out a rolled cigarette made from
In all the years Fat Crack Ortiz had been in possession of the medicine pouch, he had seldom touched the crystals or taken them out of their protective bag. But if any occasion called for the use of Looks At Nothing’s most powerful medicine, this was it. Lani Walker was in danger. The old medicine man had been dead long before Rita Antone’s ant-kissed child had been born. Nonetheless, his influence, even from the grave, had directed almost every aspect of Lani’s young life, from her unusual adoption to the things she had been taught by the people who had been placed in charge of caring for her.
The responsibility of caring for the child had been left to a number of people, but Looks At Nothing’s medicine pouch had been entrusted to Fat Crack alone. The treasured pouch had come to him with the understanding that the Medicine Man with the Tow Truck would save it for Looks At Nothing’s real successor. For a time, while the children were young, Fat Crack had fooled himself into believing that the mantle would fall to one or the other of his own two sons—to either Richard or Leo. And then, when Rita had insisted on taking Clemencia Escalante to raise, she had told her nephew that perhaps the ant-marked baby was the one Looks At Nothing had told them about. Over the years, Fat Crack had come to believe that was true.
Carefully, patiently, Fat Crack unknotted the drawstring that held the chamois bag closed. Holding out an upturned hand, he dumped the collection of crystals into his palm. There were four of them in all. As soon as Fat Crack saw the four of them winking back the reflected glow of the porch light, he had to smile. Four crystals made sense. After all, as everyone knows, all things in nature go in fours.
