Kiss of the Bees

Je’e—One With Two Mothers.”

Molly Juan pushed her wire-framed glasses back up on her nose and peered closely at Rita. “I remember now. This is the Anglo boy who was baptized by an old medicine man years ago.”

Rita nodded. “Looks At Nothing and I both taught Davy Ladd things he would need to know, things he can teach Clemencia as she gets older even though the medicine man and I are gone.”

“How old is this boy now?”

“Twelve.”

“And he speaks Tohono O’othham?”

“Yes.”

“But what makes you think he would be willing to serve as a teacher and guide to this little girl?”

“I have lived with David Ladd since before he was born,” Rita said. “He is a child of my heart if not of my flesh. When he was baptized, his mother—Mrs. Walker here—and I ate the ceremonial gruel together. He is a good boy. If I ask him to do something, he will do it.”

That was when Judge Molly Juan finally turned to Diana and Brandon Walker. During the course of the proceedings, in an effort to keep the restless Clemencia quiet, Diana had handed the child over to Brandon. By the time the judge looked at them, Clemencia had grasped the tail of Brandon’s new silk tie in one tiny fist and was happily chewing on it and choking him with it at the same time.

“Sheriff Walker,” Molly Juan said, “it sounds as though your family is somewhat unusual. What do you think of all this?”

Still holding the child, Brandon got to his feet to address the judge. “Clemencia is just a baby, and she needs a home,” he said. “I hate to think about her being sent to an orphanage.”

“But what about the rest of it, Sheriff Walker? I know from the paperwork that your wife taught out here on the reservation for a number of years. She probably knows something about the Tohono O’othham and their culture and beliefs. What about you?”

Brandon looked down at the baby, who lay in his arms smiling up at him. For a moment he didn’t speak at all. Finally he looked back at the judge.

“On the night of my stepson’s second baptism,” he said slowly, “I stood outside the feast house and smoked the Peace Smoke with Looks At Nothing. That night he asked three of us—Father John from San Xavier Mission; Gabe Ortiz, Mrs. Antone’s nephew; and myself—along with him to serve as Davy’s four fathers. It seems to me this is much the same thing.

“If you let us have her, my wife and I will do everything in our power to see that she has the best of both worlds.”

Judge Juan nodded. “All right then, supposing I were to grant this petition on a temporary basis, pending final adoption proceedings, have you given any thought as to what you would call her?”

“Dolores Lanita—Lani for short,” Brandon answered at once. “Those would be her Anglo names. And her Indian name would be Mualig Siakam—Forever Spinning.”

“And her home village?” Judge Juan asked.

“Ban Thak—Coyote Sitting,” he answered. “That is Rita’s home village. It would be hers as well.”

“Be it so ordered,” Judge Juan said, whacking her desk with the gavel. “Next case.”

13

Then all the people near the village of Gurli Put Vo—Dead Man’s Pond—were told to come to a council so they could arrange for the protection of their fields. Everything that flies and all the animals came with the Indians to the council. And everybody promised to watch carefully so that the Bad People of the south should not again surprise them.

When PaDaj O’othham had eaten all the corn which they had stolen, they were soon hungry again. So they began once more to think of the nice fields of the Desert People. They began to wish they could steal the harvest, but they did not know how to accomplish this because, as you know, the Indians and their friends, the Flying People and all the animals, were on guard.

Then a wise old bad man told PaDaj O’othham what to do.

Now when the Desert People held that council to arrange for the protection of their fields, they were so excited that they called only the people who live aboveground. So this wise old bad man told PaDaj O’othham to call all the people who live under the ground: Ko’owi—the Snakes, Nanakshel—the Scorpions, Hiani—the Tarantulas, Jewho—the Gophers, Chichdag—the Gila Monsters, and Chuk—the Jackrabbits. The Bad People said they would give all these people who live under the ground good food and beautiful clothes if they would go through the ground to the fields of the Desert People and fight the Tohono O’othham while the Bad People stole the crops.

Chuk—Jackrabbit—did not like this plan. The Indians had always been good to Chuk, and he did not want to fight them. But Jackrabbit did not know what to do.

Some bumblebees were sitting in a nearby tree. Hu’udagi—the Bumblebees—told Chuk to run with all his speed to the Desert People and tell them how PaDaj O’othham were planning to steal their harvest. The Bumblebees said they would tell U’uwhig—the Birds.

So Jackrabbit ran. He went in such a hurry that he took longer and longer jumps. As he jumped longer and longer, his legs grew longer and longer. That is why, my friend, even to this day, Jackrabbit’s legs are so much longer than the legs of his brother rabbit, Tohbi—the Cottontail.

Lani awakened in the dark. She was hot. Salt, leached from her sweat-stained shirt, had seeped into the raw wound on her breast. The smoldering pain from that was what had wakened her, and it seemed to expand with every breath, filling her eyes with tears. Her whole body was stiff. Her back ached from lying on what seemed to be uneven grooves in the floor beneath her.