Kiss of the Bees

The coyotes had followed the Indians. The wolves and foxes had gone into the mountains. All the birds had left. Even Kakaichu—Quail—who seldom leaves his own land, was forced to go away.

Gohhim Chuk—Lame Jackrabbit—had found a little shade. It was not much, just enough to keep him from burning. The tips of his ears and his tail were already burned black. And that, nawoj, is why that particular kind of jackrabbit—chuk chuhwi—is marked that same way, even today.

As Gohhim Chuk—Lame Jackrabbit—lay panting in his little bit of shade, he was wondering how he would manage the few days’ journey to a cooler place. Then he saw Nuhwi—Buzzard—flying over him.

Now it is the law of the desert to live and let live, that one should only kill in self-defense or to keep from starving. The animals forget this law sometimes when their stomachs are full and when there is plenty of water, but when the earth burns and when everyone is in danger, the law is always remembered. So Lame Jackrabbit did not run away when he saw Buzzard circling down over him. Buzzard knew the law of the desert as well as Lame Jackrabbit did.

Nuhwi flew in circles, lower and lower. When he was low enough, he called to Lame Jackrabbit. “I have seen something very odd back in the desert,” Nuhwi said. When he was high up over the part of the desert which was burned bare, he told Lame Jackrabbit, he saw on the ground a black place that seemed to be in motion. He had circled down hoping it was water. But it was only a great crowd of Ali-chu’uchum O’othham, the Little People.

As you know, nawoj, my friend, the Little People are the bees and flies and insects of all kinds. Buzzard said these Little People were swarming around something on the ground. He said Nuhwi and Gohhim Chuk must carry the news together because it might help someone. It is also the law of the desert that you must always help anyone in trouble.

Lame Jackrabbit agreed that what Buzzard had seen was very strange. Little People usually leave early when the water goes away. Lame Jackrabbit said he would carry the news.

But Gohhim Chuk, whose ears and tail were burned black, being lame, could not travel very well. So he found Coyote and told him what Nuhwi—Buzzard—had seen.

Ban—Coyote—was puzzled too. He said he would carry the message on to the Tohono O’othham—the Desert People.

It was still dark when Lani’s alarm buzzed in her ear. She turned it off quickly and then hurried into the bathroom to shower. Standing in front of the steamy mirror, she used a brush and hair dryer to style her shoulder-length hair. How long would it take, she wondered, for her hair to grow back out to the length it had been back in eighth grade, before she had cut it?

From first grade on, Lani Walker and Jessica Carpenter had been good friends. By the time they reached Maxwell Junior High, the two girls made a striking pair. Lani’s jet-black waist-length hair and bronze complexion were in sharp contrast to Jessie’s equally long white-blond hair and fair skin. Because they were always together, some of the other kids teasingly called them twins.

Their entry into eighth grade came at a time when Lani Walker needed a faithful ally. For one thing, Rita was gone. She had been dead for years, but Lani still missed her. When coping with the surprising changes in her own body or when faced with difficulties at home or in school, Lani still longed for the comfort of Nana Dahd’s patient guidance. And there were difficulties at home. In fact, the whole Walker household seemed to be in a state of constant upheaval. Things had started going bad when her older stepbrother, Quentin, had been sent to prison as a result of a fatality drunk-driving accident.

Lani had been too young to realize all that was happening when Tommy disappeared, but she had watched her grim-faced parents deal with the first Quentin crisis. She had been at the far end of the living room working on a basket the night after Quentin Walker was sentenced for the drunk-driving conviction. Brandon had come into the house, shambled over to the couch, slumped down on it, and buried his face in his hands.

“Five years,” he had groaned. “On the one hand it seems like a long time and yet it’s nothing. He killed three people, for God’s sake! How can a five-year sentence make up for that, especially when he’ll probably be out in three?”

“That’s what the law says,” Diana returned, but Brandon remained unconvinced and uncomforted.

“Judge Davis could have given him more if he had wanted to. I can’t help thinking that it’s because I’m the sheriff . . .”

“Brandon, you have to let go of that,” Diana said. “First you blame yourself for Quentin being a drunk, and now you’re taking responsibility for the judge’s sentence. Quentin did what he did and so did the judge. Neither one of those results has anything at all to do with you.”

Lani had put her basket aside and hurried over to the couch, where she snuggled up next to her father. “It’s not your fault, Daddy,” she said confidently, taking one of his hands in both of hers. “You didn’t do it.”

“See there?” Diana had smiled. “If Lani’s smart enough to see it at her age, what’s the matter with you?”

“Stubborn, maybe?” Brandon had returned with a weak smile of his own.

“Not stubborn maybe,” Diana answered. “Stubborn for sure.”

So the family had weathered that crisis in fairly good shape. The next one, when it came, was far worse. As near as Lani could tell, it all started about the time the letter arrived from a man named Andrew Carlisle, the same person Nana Dahd had always referred to as the evil Ohb. Within months, Diana was working on a book project with Andrew Carlisle while Brandon stalked in and out of the house in wounded silence.

Lani was hard-pressed to understand how the very mention of Carlisle’s name was able to cause a fight, but from a teenager’s point of view, that wasn’t all bad. The growing wedge between her parents allowed Lani Walker to play both ends against the middle. She was able to get away with things her older brother Davy never could have.

It was during the summer when Lani turned thirteen that the next scandal surfaced concerning Quentin Walker. Still imprisoned at Florence, he was the subject of a new investigation. He was suspected of being involved in a complex protection racket that had its origins inside the prison walls. By the time school started at the end of the summer, a sharp-eyed defense attorney had gotten Quentin off on a technicality, but all of Tucson was abuzz with speculation about Brandon Walker’s possible involvement with his son’s plot.