Chapter 7

 

 

Ben walked into Trini’s office just as she was opening a lunch box with Star Wars characters on the sides. He was pretty certain it was a hand-me-down from grandkids.

“Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it should be thrown out.” Noticing his interest, she pointed at the lunchbox. “I think that’s a good attitude to have until I look around my house—I’m not a hoarder, but it looks like I’m in training.” She laughed. “I used to work for the Mission School out your way; Franciscans never throw anything away. I always say their habits rubbed off on me.”

“I meant to ask this morning but wasn’t comfortable in front of Nathan—how is his grandmother doing?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. She’d had pneumonia last winter after a heart attack and still isn’t very strong. But I’m so glad she’s here, and I am so glad that you were able to take Nathan in. I don’t know what’s going to happen if he loses his grandmother.”

“His parents aren’t able to care for him?”

“Both dead. He lost both of his parents when he was five. A car accident outside Gallup; they had been drinking. I doubt if he even has a clear memory of them now. His grandmother has been his only family.”

“He mentioned an uncle—grandmother’s brother?”

“Yes. Interestingly the grandmother’s brother did the same thing she did—took in his grandchildren when their parents died. There were two boys and it was difficult even after one of the boys passed. The uncle tries, but he’s getting older now, too. And the remaining child, his grandson? Don’t get me started. I’ll be kind and just say he’s worthless. But this is a common story on the reservation. The true extended family many times born out of necessity.”

Anything further was interrupted by shouting and the banging of car doors. Some kind of confrontation was taking place right outside the office. Ben couldn’t make out what was being said, but the anger was hard to miss.

“I’ll be right back.” Ben opened the office door and stepped onto the narrow porch just as the gun went off. “Get down.” This yelled over his shoulder to Trini. “Under the desk.” In the meantime, Ben hit the wooden planking and lay prone. Apparently, the shot had gone wild—maybe meant to scare and not connect. The young man getting into a silver and black Camaro was still angry, slamming the car-door shut and peeling out but not before yelling, “You want red-power? We’ll show you red power. Don’t mess with us.”

Idle threat? Some long-term grudge? Ben was at a loss because he didn’t know the history or the players. There appeared to be two other men in the muscle car but no gun in sight. The object of the attack was a man just standing up and peering around the hood of the van parked next to the building. He squinted through thick lenses in black plastic frames. In the hot Southwest sun, he looked out of place in a black suit and red-striped tie. Ben noted the van had government tags.

But what caught Ben’s attention and was absolutely mesmerizing was the sparkle as the sun hit thousands of tiny glass bottles scattered around the car and reaching to the bottom of the office steps. Glass containers that appeared to be some novelty shape—maybe miniature soda bottles? None of this made sense.

“It wasn’t my fault. I want you to make a note of that. I had no idea what they were sending. None. Zip. Zero.” The man slipped on the loose bottles as he came toward Ben. “This is an outrage. I agree with the hothead in the Camaro—not with firing a gun but with the anger at how the needs of thousands of people out here are being handled. Guess I should say mishandled. Charley Chase here.” The man started to hold his hand out, then drew it back.

Ben kicked aside a few bottles. The pandemic had put new procedures in place for meeting and greeting. He wished the man was wearing a mask. “Would I be right in saying that this would have been literally a case of killing the messenger?”

“Well, at least the delivery person. He could have done a better job of that, if he’d wanted to. Just put a crease above the door here.” He pointed to a scraped indentation in the van’s white exterior on the driver’s side. “I have a feeling this was a deliberate near-miss only meant to scare me, and let me tell you, he did one hell of a good job of that.”

“You don’t know the guy? Never seen him before?”

“Nope. First time out this way. I’m an office flunky in the IHS hospital over by Shiprock and last-minute substitute driver ‘cause the regular guy called in sick.”

“But miniature soda bottles? I’m at a loss here.”

“Just another foreign shipment that wasn’t checked when received. Another example of thousands of taxpayers’ dollars wasted. You ought to see what was delivered to the warehouse bearing the name of toilet paper. Rolls about one tenth the size of what we’d call normal. Over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth. Criminal. Just plain robbery.”

“I’m still not sure what had been ordered here? Why you got little novelty bottles.”

“Vials. Five thousand test vials for sample collection. The reservation has got to get a handle on who has the virus and who doesn’t. This debacle puts them back another month—thirty more days that the illness can go unchecked.”

“Who did the ordering?”

“You mean who’ll own up to it. Everybody passes the buck. Committee to committee. Nobody does any wrong. But the buck should stop with FEMA.”

“There should be some recourse with a government agency. Maybe take it to the courts?”

“We’ll pay hell trying to make it stick. But this is a criminal act—with lives endangered.”

A man in a white lab coat walked toward them, then stopped, surveyed the bottles and just shook his head. “No one even cares. I’m Dr. Henry. I’m heading up the task force out here. I volunteered to help but had no idea what I was getting into. I’m assuming there were no swabs?”

“None in this shipment.”

“I can get fifty or sixty vials and swabs from Albuquerque. Lovelace Medical Center has made the offer. But fifty or sixty test setups are a far cry from the thousands of tests that need to be done. “

“How can we make this right?” Ben asked.

“Well, this goes a little beyond writing your congressman. I’ll be honest; I don’t know.” The doctor sat down on the office steps before adjusting his mask. “I used to think I had a little pull with Washington but not this administration. We triaged ten patients over the morning. Half needed to be put on ventilators immediately—I had brought up five with me just yesterday from ABQ. That was pure luck. Now we’re waiting on a shipment of ventilators and hope we don’t get generators, or swimming pool pumps.”

“What if we contacted lawyers in Washington, made our case, even included pictures? I’d like to think no one really knows how dire our plight is out here. I’d be willing to take on the project. I think IHS sees me as a floater—do whatever I can, wherever I can—and I’d think they could be helpful with finding personnel to represent us.”

“As long as you have the time; I don’t. In fact, I need to get back to the tent now. My night shift is going to be made up of nurses from Gallup General, nurses putting in a double shift. I’m setting up one of the tents as a dormitory. As long as I’m borrowing nurses and overworking them, I need to allow them some rest and a little privacy. I’m also looking into setting up a cafeteria. I’ll let you know about that, and you keep me in the loop. Let me see what you send out, and if I need to make time to help, I’ll try to be available.” Dr. Henry stood up. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Ben watched as he walked back around the office. The word competent came to mind. They were lucky to have someone like that in charge. But now the work started.

He turned back to the government man in the black suit. “Mr. Chase, I’m going to need you to give me a statement. I want to know where you picked up the load of supplies, names of contact people, and I’ll need copies of your bill of lading.”

He showed Chase into a spare room in the office trailer, one not yet filled with supplies, and told him to make himself comfortable. Ben grabbed his laptop from his own trailer and a bottle of water from the ice chest. Wow, what a surprise—Ben heard the hum of the refrigerator. And just to make certain the electricity was on, he flipped the kitchen light switch. Lights. That was a relief. At least things wouldn’t spoil. He put a half dozen bottles of water in the fridge and pulled the ice-maker bar down before remembering there was no water hook-up. Oh well, electricity was the main thing.

 

* * *

 

He gave Charley Chase the cold bottle of water and a yellow tablet and closed the door, leaving him in the makeshift office while he talked with Trini.

“Who was the guy in the black Camaro?” He had seen Trini looking out the window as the Camaro was driving away.

“J.C. Yazzie, the grandson of Nathan’s uncle. It might have been a bit harsh, but I did refer to him as worthless.”

“What does the J.C. stand for?”

Trini laughed. “His name is actually Jacy, the male form of the Native word for ‘moon’—he was born at night under a harvest moon—it seemed fitting. When he went to school, first Gallup and then Albuquerque, initials seemed more macho, Anglicized, I suppose.”

“But why shoot at a van carrying supplies?”

“Because he’s bad news. This is just one example. If trouble isn’t following him, then he goes and finds some. The minute the chief reads his name in your report, he’s going to be pissed. This will be the third run-in Chief Billie’s had with him in as many weeks. He used to say he wore out more than one Bronco during J.C.’s teen years just coming out here all the time. It was worse when there was two of them.”

“Two of them?”

“Yeah, when the grandfather took them in, there were two of them. J.C. had a brother one year his junior, who became as wild as he is. He’s been gone five years now, died when he’d just turned seventeen.”

“What happened?”

“Rock-climbing accident. You know, that invincible age, an ‘I own the world’ attitude. Still….“ She paused and lowered her voice, “I hate to say anything, but the accident was suspect. That kid could shinny up a telephone pole in his sleep. To pass off his death as a fall from the face of an outcropping a couple stories high that he’d been climbing since the age of five, well, it was hard to believe. But there were two witnesses and no questions were asked.”

“I’m assuming one witness was J.C.?”

“And a neighbor. I think it tainted J.C.; made him wilder, more reckless. He had been close to his brother.”

“That would explain a lot of his behavior, but I’m still trying to figure out why he was interested in what he must have thought was a shipment of test vials.”

“Probably to steal them. Word has it that there’s an active black market in virus-related goods. And a local gang of twenty-something hoodlums who elude capture by getting lost on the Rez after they fence the goods.”

“Chief Billie is aware of this?”

“I’m sure J.C.’s on his list of suspects.”

Ben thanked Trini for the information and went into the spare office to interview Charley Chase. The man kept good records and had lists of contacts, phone numbers and dates of deliveries—both past and those upcoming—ready for Ben. A Bill of Lading itemized the crates of vials. He idly wondered if J.C. had been tricked, too? That would give everything an interesting twist. He thanked Charley once again and assured him that Chief Billie would get a copy of his report. Ben promised to follow up and make certain the IHS hospital was kept up to date.

After Charley left, Ben wrapped up the final report in less than two hours, emailed copies to Dr. Henry, and set up a file on his laptop for future documents. Mr. Chase was scheduled to deliver a PPE order in four days and would contact Ben if that date changed. Lastly, Ben wrote a short summary of the afternoon and forwarded that and a copy of his letter seeking restitution for the mislabeled glass vials to Chief Billie along with a witness-style narrative outlining the confrontation with J.C. Yazzie. He gathered up his laptop and headed for the door.

“Oh, Dr. Pecos, I meant to tell you earlier but you were busy. Zac and Nathan stopped by to let you know they got back all right. Nathan is such a good kid. I’m glad Zac has him for a friend. Absolutely night and day different from his cousin. And guess what? We have lights.”

“I heard my fridge running when I got my laptop. Do we know what time Oscar’s going to get here with the groceries?”

“Not for sure but should be anytime now. I’ll have him bring your order to your trailer.”

A half hour later Ben was helping Oscar Begay unload his truck.

“I know you didn’t order these hot dogs, but they were on sale and kids love ‘em. Got some buns here, too. Looked to me like you needed something more than just ham to put that mustard on.”

“I appreciate your help.” Ben thanked him and gave him an extra twenty.

“There’s no need to tip me. I like to help. But I thank you; it sure will come in handy.”

From the jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam on the counter and milk rings left in two glasses in the sink, it looked like the boys had had lunch. Ben checked his watch. In an hour they’d be hungry again, but there was time for a quick call to Julie. He’d sent her pictures of the tents and trailers, told her about Zac starting school and riding a horse to get there and bemoaned the fact that this wasn’t the way he’d envisioned their move to Florida. He missed her—a forced separation hadn’t been on the agenda and no one knew how long it would last.

He’d hoped to catch her right at the end of the day, but there had been a late meeting. He left a message and promised to call back.

Ben was tempted to walk over to the corral and see if Zac and Nathan were there, but that would be too much like checking up on them. At eleven and twelve trust had to be established or you’d be playing catch-up during the teen years. He’d seen it too many times before when working with parents. He was certain Nathan would help Zac take care of Rain. They needed to walk the horses and cool them down before brushing them and feeding a flake of the grass/hay mix Nathan had brought from his house. He hoped Oscar had filled the galvanized metal water trough. But, again, trust was everything.

He’d barely had time to split the hotdogs, and put them in a skillet when the boys showed up. He’d already sliced a couple apples, put chips in a bowl and poured two glasses of milk. Dinner was a little light on veggies, but Ben figured they’d all live until he had more time to spend on cooking—or the cafeteria materialized. That would be a godsend if it happened.

Finally, dinner was on the table and the hotdogs were already disappearing.

“Dad, Nathan’s half Hopi—Hopi and Navajo, like I’m Pueblo and Alaskan Native.”

And you need to throw a little Anglo in there, too, Ben thought—about a quarter’s worth—but didn’t say anything. Ben hadn’t known his father, a man his mother had met in school. Memories of his mother, dead by the time he was five, were already becoming shadowy. Had his father even known about him? Ben looked at Zac. Had history just repeated itself—fathers not knowing about the birth of their children? He hadn’t thought about it before but that was a possibility.

“My mother was Hopi, Rachel Honanie. When I was real little, I used to go to her village, Moenkopi. One time we were driving there and my dad got lost and it made my mom mad. She kept saying ‘just follow the cloud’. We were going to watch a rain dance. Dad stopped the car and got out. He was going to prove my mom wrong—but there it was, one single gray cloud, raining in just one spot. And it was right over the village.”

“Do Pueblo Indians believe that way? I mean can they make a cloud come to make rain just for them?” Ben could see that Zac was honestly curious. It was interesting, but challenging, being from two worlds.

“Yes, rituals are much the same for all of the Southwest tribes—Utes, Pueblos, Navajo, Hopi—all have ceremonies to encourage crops to grow, and to give thanks for the harvest of them. And that’s only two topics of many addressed by dancing.”

“My grandmother says I’m related to White Feather,” Nathan said.

“Who’s that?” Zac asked through a mouthful of hotdog.

“Sort of the Southwest Indians’ Nostradamus,” Ben said.

“Huh?” This time mustard escaped the corner of Zac’s mouth and he dabbed at his chin with a square of paper towel. “Nostros … who?”

“Throughout history all peoples have had their seers—those who can predict the future. Native people are no different. Correct me if I’m wrong, Nathan, but White Feather saw many of the changes that came true for this country. He saw the coming of foreign men who would kill for the Indian’s land; he saw the snaking of pathways across the land as in railroads and highways, as well as wires in the air that would stretch from coast to coast that would carry words.”

“Yeah, my grandfather was talking about how he saw the virus coming, too. How a pandemic is just the earth cleaning itself, renewing itself to start over. When man violates the earth, even its animals revert to attacking one another and then attacking man. This pandemic came from animals, bats and some weird animal that looks sort of like an armadillo. But because man didn’t honor his Mother, the earth, he needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Wow. White Feather knew all that?” Zac was obviously impressed.

“Yeah, and he told all these stories so that we wouldn’t forget the power of our Mother Earth. My grandmother still tells these stories today.”

Ben put a half dozen chocolate cupcakes on a plate, brought them to the table and refilled milk glasses. “What’s on the schedule for tonight?”

“I need to go back out to my house and get school supplies and some clothes.”

“Okay, we can do that.” There went a quiet evening with a long conversation with Julie, but he could always call her later. He knew she’d understand. Parenthood was pretty much 24/7 and he was surprised just how much he liked it.

 

* * *

 

There were four cars parked in front of the camper-trailer—one was the black and silver Camaro. Four men were drinking beer around a fire pit, having dragged up logs as chairs. There were two women, well, probably more like teen girls, also with beers coming down the steps. Their jeans looked spray-painted on, with halter-tops that left little to the imagination. Ben couldn’t believe himself—six months of fatherhood and already in favor of dress codes. He didn’t see J.C., but there were others in the camper.

“Damn. I hate him. He shouldn’t be here.” It was said quietly, but Nathan was dead serious. Hadn’t Trini referred to J.C. as ‘worthless’ and a trouble-maker? Had to be a reason he wasn’t winning popularity contests, being where he wasn’t wanted. It appeared he’d broken into Nathan’s home. Shooting at a delivery van should have gotten Chief Billie’s attention. Ben didn’t have proof that J.C. did the shooting, only that he was there and seemed to be in charge. Ben wondered if Chief Billie had read his report on the afternoon’s incident.

Ben coasted to a stop by the last car in the row, a red Mustang convertible that was parked next to a couple dark blue Dodge Chargers. Looked like a meeting of a muscle-car club. The men sitting around the fire eyed them as they got out, but made no attempt to even say ‘hello’. Only the girls acknowledged Ben and the two boys with a nod. Nathan walked ahead up the steps and pulled open the camper’s door.

“Get out of my house.” He had to almost shout it to be heard above the music, some old grunge rock band that Ben wasn’t familiar with. And that’s when he saw J.C. coming out of the bedroom. Shirtless and barefoot, jeans low on his hips, holding yet another beer in one hand, the other grasping the waist of a teen girl in Daisy Dukes with black hair cascading to her waist trying unsuccessfully to button her blouse.

Ben had to give it to J.C. —he was good-looking in a bad-boy sort of way. The kid had the abs and the toned arms coupled with black hair slicked straight back to his shoulders and a brooding, heavy-lidded look that girls probably thought was sexy. Even his attitude might be impressive to someone fifteen or younger. Ben was glad that Nathan could see through all the posturing.

J.C. smirked, then took a long swallow from the beer bottle but kept his hand on the girl. “Hey, little man, show some respect. You forget who got this tin can for your gramma?”

“You don’t live here.”

“You better hope your gramma doesn’t die, ‘cause if she does, you won’t live here.”

Ben had heard enough. “That’s it. This is a tough time for Nathan. Wouldn’t hurt to show you care. The woman’s your aunt.”

A short laugh. “Would I have to mean it? Or could I just pretend?” The other two men in the camper laughed with him. The girl looked embarrassed and wiggled out of his grasp.

It’d been a long time since Ben had wanted to deck someone. He was sizing up his chances of taking J.C. out when a siren interrupted. Although the patrol car was probably a mile away, the reflection of a flashing red light was clearly illuminated in the camper’s front window. Had Chief Billie read his report? He’d signed it ‘shrinkwrap’.

“Shit. Ditch the beer.” J.C. grabbed a six-pack off the kitchen table and pushed it under the couch. The men at the table chugged their drinks, tossed the empties in a garbage bag under the sink, then carried the bag out the back door. J.C. likewise chugged his and kicked the bottle under the couch with the six-pack.

Not all Indian tribes banned alcohol on their reservations but the Navajo did, Ben recalled. Beer and what were probably underaged females added up to trouble.

“What about my grandmother’s medicines? Should I take them to her?” Nathan was standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“That’s probably a good idea. Is there anything else she might want?”

“My uncle just gave her a big bag of Werther’s caramels. Those are her favorites, but she has to take her teeth out to eat them.”

Ben doubted she’d be ready for candy anytime soon with or without teeth, but in a weird way it kept hope alive, indicated there might be normalcy again someday. “Good idea. You wouldn’t want anybody else to get them.” Ben moved his head ever so slightly to the right indicating the man behind him. The meaning wasn’t lost on Nathan. He gave a sly smile and disappeared into the bedroom. The three muscle cars revved up and spun out in single file, leaving the fire in the pit glowing brightly through a cloud of dust. Everybody but J.C. had dumped and run. Even the girl who’d been in the bedroom with J.C. was gone.

Zac was pulling white garbage bags out from under the kitchen sink and heading toward Nathan in the second bedroom. Ben sighed. He was guessing the bags were for Nathan’s things. Why hadn’t Ben thought to bring a couple suitcases for Nathan’s clothes?

Chief Billie didn’t knock, just opened the door and stepped inside. “Looks like I broke up the party and, J.C., it looks like you’re trespassing.”

“Not me, Chief. My grandpa gave me the key to keep an eye on things. This place still belongs to his sister. It’s a family thing.”

“That include drinking and underage girls?”

“Look around, Chief, you see anything out of place?”

“Bet I wouldn’t have to look far. And that cologne you’re wearing—eau de hops?”

Ben thought the chief was pretty funny, but he was certain that the beer reference had gone right over J.C.’s head. “Let’s me an’ you step outside for a little talk and let these folks finish what they’re doing.”

J.C. shrugged but followed the chief down the front steps. Ben stepped closer to the camper’s kitchen window. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was a lot of head shaking. Finally, J.C. opened the Camaro’s trunk and took out what looked like a revolver. The chief slipped on a pair of latex gloves and took the gun from him, turned it one way, then another and with what looked to be a paper towel wiped something from the tip of the barrel before opening the cylinder and pocketing something that could have been a bullet. Finally, the chief handed the gun back and continued to talk to J.C. even after he’d gotten behind the wheel and started the Camaro. Then, with a wave, J.C. accelerated and was gone.

Ben walked out on the porch. “Nathan and Zac are collecting some school supplies. And Nathan needed to get some clothes. I was surprised to find J.C. here.”

“Figures. J.C. is nothing if not an opportunist. I wouldn’t have given them a warning if I hadn’t run up against a flock of sheep that wouldn’t move off the road. Had to light it up and turn on the siren just to nudge them along. I was planning on a nice quiet visit—catch the beer-drinking and the girls firsthand.”

“J.C. told Nathan that he’s out of the camper if his grandmother dies. You think there’s any truth to that? Won’t the grandmother’s brother take over? Protect his nephew?”

“I wouldn’t plan on the old man stepping in. J.C. pretty much has his grandfather wrapped around his finger. He’d probably give the camper to J.C. and expect Nathan to stay there, too. Nathan’s uncle is pretty high up in tribal affairs. It’s one of the reasons J.C. has had a free ride, been difficult to make a misdemeanor here and there stick. The uncle always steps in. Basically, that’s why I let him go. I want him to feel comfortable, above the law—at least, not looking over his shoulder. If my hunch pays off, I’ll catch him doing a lot more than a little drinking and groping of a fifteen-year-old.”

“Nathan’s a good kid. I wouldn’t want him hanging around the drinking and groping—I don’t see J.C. as a fit role model.”

“Nor do I. I was pleased when I found out Nathan was staying with you. Finding a friend in your son helps buffer the concern of having his grandmother hospitalized. And if she passes, Nathan will have support. I take comfort in that. Sometimes things in life have a purpose bigger than what appears on the surface.”

Ben nodded. “The kids are going to school together on Monday. I think they plan on riding the horses. Zac is having the time of his life learning to ride. I couldn’t have imagined a better friend for him. And you’re right; because Nathan can’t visit his grandmother, their friendship fills a void. It would have been difficult for a twelve-year-old to live out here, take care of himself, and ride back and forth to the hospital every day.”

“Yeah, Nathan wouldn’t have been safe out here either. I’m suspecting J.C. is using the place to do more than party. I’ll have a deputy swing by every other day and keep an eye on things, but I’m getting stretched thin when it comes to manpower. Go ahead and have Nathan take his belongings out tonight— anything he doesn’t want stolen. Oh, and don’t forget the horses; pack anything the horses might need, too.”

“Good idea.”

“I almost forgot—will I see you at the dances tomorrow?”

“I hadn’t heard there were any being held.”

“Trini’s slipping. When she’s not helping out during a pandemic, she’s my right hand over in the Shiprock office. Not like her to forget an announcement.”

“Is this a Harvest celebration?”

“No, that usually takes place in the fall—October. This is purely ceremonial, a call to our deities to stem the spread of the illness and give thanks for all that we have been given. In fact, the emphasis will be upon chanting—singing, if you will. It’s our way of calling out to the deities who protect us. Remind them of our need. There might be a sand painting. I don’t have all the particulars.”

“Where will this be held?”

“Behind the last trailer, to the right of the last hospital tent—the one marked Triage. After today, twenty-five trailers will have families in them—all with relatives in the hospitals, and all needing to quarantine. It’s filling up. But the good news is that there’s a cafeteria, and the government is picking up the tab on this one. Two women who usually have a food booth at area craft fairs have moved their kitchen equipment to the camp. Doctor Henry has made a space for them. They should be fired up and ready to go tonight—I hear the special is mutton stew and fry bread. And they’ve promised Navajo tacos by ceremony-time tomorrow. My mouth’s watering just talking about it.”