Hour of the Hunter

Once more I’itoi traveled a long, long way, and once more he sang his song, about how Evil Siwani and the S-ohbsgam had killed him four times and how he had come back to life. As soon as the chief of the South heard this, he sent a messenger to the villages of all his brothers.

“Come,” he told them. “Whoever wants to prove his manhood must come with me. This man has suffered much at the hands of Siwani and his S-ohbsgam. We must go and help him.”

And this, my Friend, was the beginning of the final battle between Evil Siwani and I’itoi.

Morning came and so did breakfast. Rita lay with her eyes closed, but she didn’t sleep.

Understanding Woman went to the circle to visit with her friends while Dancing Quail gravitated to the younger women. Unfortunately, her new clothing and job at the mission didn’t purchase what she wanted most- respect and acceptance from her peers. To the others, she was still Hejel Wi’ikam, still Orphaned Child. Girls who worked in Tucson still looked down on her.

Laughing easily, they gossiped endlessly about the latest one of their number who had “done bad” and been shipped home in disgrace. They giggled about exploits from their latest day off and speculated about who would marry next. On the fringes of their laughter, Dancing Quail had nothing to say. Several girls who were planning weddings were younger than she. Finally, one of them turned on her, a mean girl she had known briefly in Phoenix.

“What about you?” the girl asked. “Who will marry you?”

“I don’t know,” Rita answered despairingly, ducking her head.

The other girl giggled. “Since you already live with the sisters, maybe you should be one of them. If no O’odham will have you, maybe you should be a Bride of Christ.”

At that, all the girls broke into gales of laughter. Ashamed, Dancing Quail took her sleeping mat and blanket and fled into the night, far from the fires and songs of the feast, far from the other girls’ deriding laughter. She stumbled up the mountain to a place where she had played and hidden as a child. There, she lay down and wept.

Much later, long after she’d quit crying, Dancing Quail heard someone calling her name. Worried when he found her missing from the group, Father John came looking for her.

“Here,” she called in answer.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, blundering into the clearing. “Why did you run away? Is someone here with you?”

“I am hejelko,” she answered. “I am alone.”

“But why? What’s wrong?” He knelt beside her. As he reached out to touch her face, the tears started again.

“I’m not brave enough to choose for myself. The girls say no one will choose me.”

“Nonsense.” Father John gathered her into his arms. “You’re young and beautiful, strong and healthy. Of course someone will choose you.”

Despite his intention of making only an obligatory appearance at the dance, it had been necessary, in order to be polite, that Father John drink the thick, pungent wine. He had sat in the circle while servers had come around several times, dispensing wine from ancient, wine-stained baskets. Without his being aware of it, the volatile drink had overtaken him. The comforting, fatherly caress with which he intended to console Dancing Quail soon evolved into something quite different.

The mutual but unacknowledged attraction between them had long been held at bay by sobriety and by the singular force of Father John’s convictions. Now, those convictions crumpled. What passed between them then was as unanticipated and electrifying as a bolt of lightning on a clear, still night.

It happened once and only once, but as is so often the case, once was more than enough. The damage was done.

Again Andrew Carlisle took his time at the scene of his latest triumph. He treated himself to a luxurious bath-Johnny Rivkin’s bathroom held numerous wonderful bath potions. Finished bathing, Carlisle meticulously removed all body hairs from the drain and flushed them down the toilet. He went through the room, looting it at leisure, taking all the cash, leaving everything else, and thoroughly cleaning each surface as he finished with it.

The closet was another matter entirely. There were some things in there that he simply couldn’t bear to leave behind, including a loose-fitting lush pink silk pantsuit that fit him perfectly. Two more wigs, these of much better quality than the one he had purchased, some underwear, and two pairs of hooker-heel shoes that might have been made for him. After choosing some items to wear, Carlisle stowed the rest, including the clothing he’d worn into the hotel, in one of Rivkin’s monogrammed Hartmann suitcases.

He took more than usual pains with his makeup, so that shortly after six that Sunday morning, when a well- dressed woman walked through the lobby carrying a suitcase, nobody paid the slightest attention to her. She paused outside the door long enough to pull a Sunday edition of the Arizona Daily Sun out of a vending machine, but nobody noticed that, either.

Three blocks away, totally out of sight of the Santa Rita, Andrew Carlisle climbed back into Jake Spaulding’s waiting Valiant. As he drove north, he took perverse pleasure in anticipating the kind of effect his costume would have on his mother. Myrna Louise had never approved of him dressing up, not even when he was little.

Oh, well, he thought, dismissing her. Other than packing his lunch and maybe washing a few clothes now and then, what had Myrna Louise ever done for him?

Driving home from breakfast, Diana seethed with anger. Some of it was aimed at Davy, but most was reserved for that damn full-of-business columnist. It was despicable for him to have taken advantage of an innocent child, to interview him and pry out information. Not only that, what, if anything, had he told Davy about his father? How much did George O’Connell know to tell?

Not as much as I do, Diana thought, with her whole body aching from the pain of remembering. Not nearly as much.

Garrison Ladd had slept the entire day away while Diana waited with her stomach roiling inside her. She wanted him to wake up and talk to her.

Feeling so physically ill bothered Diana. It wasn’t like her to be sick. Since she wasn’t feverish, she chalked it up to lack of sleep and a bad case of nerves. She steeled herself for what she regarded as the worst it could be- another other woman, she supposed. The very thought of it sent her spinning into a dizzying wash of memory, of coming home to Eugene from Joseph unexpectedly one weekend during her mother’s final illness, of walking into her own house and finding Gary in bed with one of the female teaching assistants.

Already worn by the constant strain of care-giving, Diana snapped, turning into a wild woman and running raving through the house. She screamed and threw things and broke them, while the terrified T.A. cowered naked behind a locked bathroom door. Gary followed Diana from room to room, trying to keep her from hurting herself, pleading with her to listen to reason.

Reason! He had balls enough to use the word reason on her, as though she were a child pitching a temper tantrum. Still raging, she left the house vowing divorce. She went straight back to Joseph and to caring for her mother. What else was there to do?

Predictably, Gary appeared in Joseph two days later, bearing flowers and candy and gift-wrapped apologies. He begged and cajoled. He hadn’t intended for it to happen, but he was so lonely with Diana gone all the time. It never would have happened if he hadn’t missed her so much. He’d change, he promised. As soon as Diana got her undergraduate degree, they’d leave Eugene, whether he was finished with his Ph.D. program or not. They’d go somewhere else and start over, if she’d please just take him back.

Christ! she thought, waiting for him to wake up and fighting back a wave of nausea. How could I have been so dumb? How could she possibly have believed him? she wondered, and yet she had. Why? Because believing was easier than admitting you were wrong, easier than telling your dying Catholic mother that her only daughter was getting a divorce. But most of all, because believing was what Diana Ladd had wanted to do more than anything else. In spite of everything that had happened, she loved Garrison Ladd. She wanted him to love her back with the same unreasoning devotion.