An Unearthly Undertaking Page 8

  “But the police said it was a fatal wound.”

  “Cops aren’t doctors. They made a mistake. Head wounds bleed a lot and they don’t see many gunshot wounds out here, believe it or not. And who is going to contradict me when I'm standing right there?”

  “Good point.”

  “I’ll tell them I was dazed. Apparently, then I wandered off and I woke up at home. No one will bother to check that part. They’ll arrest the guys for assault, I imagine. On Jerry as well as me.”

  It all seemed as reasonable as it could, under the circumstances. And so they headed back, leaving a long, low cloud of dust to trail off to the horizon. Charli thought the world looked different. Colors were more vivid and the landscape that had seemed so barren to her before appeared to be alive somehow. What she couldn’t see, she was learning to feel. And coming to grips with the idea that her dreams were true, and that the people in them could be aware of their presence in a dream, her dream... she needed to think about that.

  And once again, almost nothing of what she’d learned would fit into one of Elle’s reports that they would have to file with the insurance company. And what would fit, if she was truthful, would never be believed. Among the many other things that Charli was having to accept was the fact that at times a good lie was necessary.

  “WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO go through Ramah to get that burger,” Sabrina said happily. “I hope you don’t mind. It would be really stupid for me to survive a bullet to the head and then die of starvation.”

  Charli wasn’t sure she had an appetite. “I’m beginning to feel like I’m just along for the ride anyway,” she said. “In more ways than one.”

  “Hah. I get shot and dragged back from a... whatever it was and you think you are along for the ride.”

  “Yeah, I suppose we are both just caught up in this play.”

  “But when stuff is important, it sounds like you get to dream it in different ways. The rest of us have to catch everything on the first pass.”

  “Get too? Believe me, there are lots of times when I’d like to know how to stop. It’s rough when you dream troubling things that don’t make sense, and then suddenly you see that the nonsense is real. I wind up having to rethink my perceptions of the real, the daily life world.”

  “I think I’d like that,” Sabrina said. “Not dreaming troubling things, but dreaming things that don’t make sense until later. It would be like being given personal puzzles to solve. Then, as you explore, you get to find out what each little thing means. That part must be awesome.”

  “Except when Coyote confuses the meanings.”

  “There’s always that,” she laughed.

  Seeing this woman, this survivor taking everything in stride made Charli feel... well, it told her that she needed to step up her game.

  Sabrina laughed. “The way I see it, a lot of the time, Coyote decides that his job is to remind us of how easily we let ourselves wander around inside of little boxes. Just to stir things up, he comes out of the shadows to remind us that: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  “So you think the Bard knew Coyote? Of course, since that was in Europe, he would be Reynard, the fox.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Why not?” Then she laughed again. “I feel giddy; I suspect it’s from hunger and mostly from the joy of being alive. You know, I think Coyote in whatever form would’ve liked being Shakespeare’s muse. Not only did he challenge mores, being part of something so close to eternal among humans would appeal to his vanity.”

  “Vain spirits,” Charli sighed. “Who would’ve thought?” It was one of those counterintuitive ideas—another one. But then, she was running across so many things that ran counter to her expectations that this was just another, small thing. Her life was upside down. Children learned to put away the fantasies as they became adults. She was learning that what seemed to be fantasies were often the true reality; the surreal informed the real. She laughed. “Of course, in my life, things are unfolding more strangely than in my wildest dreams. Things like summoning people into my dreams.”

  “And you know it’s true,” Sabrina said. “Welcome to the world of Native Americans. Welcome back to it, that is. Keep dreaming.”

  “I do feel welcome. And I couldn’t stop dreaming if I wanted to, so I better learn more about dreaming effectively. Even if my dreams won’t hold up in court.”

  Sabrina pulled into a burger place and parked. “They’ll hold up if I’m your attorney,” she said.

  Charli laughed. Suddenly she was ravenously hungry and a burger sounded more than just good. “I hope I never need one, but you’d be my first choice,” she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sorting it Out

  Elle wasn’t pleased with Sabrina's explanation. Not at all. “I don’t buy it,” she said. “A person doesn't get shot in the head and just sleep it off.”

  “Good thing you aren’t the tribal police then,” Charli said. “They are happily on board. And I’m here to tell you that if you insist on trying to figure this all out logically, all you will do is drive yourself nuts.”

  “I’m already halfway there. So your dream did have something to do with all this? You knew because you dreamed it?”

  Charli laughed. “It isn’t as simple as that, Elle.”

  “That’s simple?”

  “Compared to what really appears to be going on. According to what Iron Eyes and Raymond have said, I dreamed what was going to happen, in a general way, but part of what happened was because I dreamed it.” She struggled with her words. “I’m still trying to understand it, but Iron Eyes and Sabrina said they were pulled into my dream.” She laughed. “Hell, I don’t even know what that means.”

  Elle stared out the window of Raymond’s office across the dirt parking lot. “Aren’t all the magical places supposed to be forests and gingerbread houses.”

  “I guess not,” Charli laughed.

  “They were when we were kids. And no disrespect to the reservation or anything, but this doesn’t look like a magical place.”

  “Yet it very much is,” Charli said. “It took magic, a lot of serious magic to help the people survive and magic leaves traces.” She sighed. “The cause-effect thing has gotten a lot more circular for me lately.”

  “Because I know you, because I’ve seen it, I can buy into the idea that you see stuff in dreams that you couldn’t know. You used your dreams to find the missing man in Tennessee, but now you are telling me that your dreams are also about things that are going to happen and that people in your dreams are aware of you. That’s a lot tougher.”

  “It seems I dream about things that need to happen and sometimes things that shouldn’t happen, as well. Iron Eyes told me I need to learn about that, how to interpret the dreams and understand the difference. That’s my thing, apparently—the dreamer thing.”

  “It’s confusing, Charli. It sounds a little crazy.”

  Charli laughed. “If you think that's crazy, try to imagine what it feels like from inside this head. I’m not quite sure what end is pointing up, right now, much less what is real.” She held out her hand, opening it and closing. For a moment she imagined that she could feel the rattle in her grasp, then she let go back where it came from. It had felt real and her pulse raced. Where were the limits of dreams? “I do know that I have to learn about the power or whatever it is or this chaos will make me crazy. Right now the dreams aren’t dreams at all, but another place I live and it is...”

  “Spooky,” Elle said.

  “Exactly.” She shook her head. “I don’t think there are any instructional Youtube videos on the subject either.”

  “We can check, but I suspect you’re right.”

  Raymond came in, smiling. “The doctors have pronounced Sabrina healthy, although their report on her wounds might be less than satisfying to authorities other than the Tribal Police. The State Police wouldn’t settle for ‘no comment’ when it comes to gunshot wounds. Fortun
ately, the Tribal Police, with the encouragement of the Chief, have Navajo wisdom to fall back on in such cases.”

  “So they aren’t going to inquire into how someone fatally wounded turns up healthy?” Elle asked. “The woman looked like she was ready to run a marathon.”

  Raymond limped behind his desk. “The official position is that none of that matters much. The court documents will report that she was shot, had life-threatening injuries, supported by the doctors, which justify prosecuting the cowboys who tried to kill her. How fast she healed is a medical issue, not a police problem or a judicial matter.” He smiled at Charli. “And I assume we can count on support from our Mescalero sister in this matter?”

  Charli grinned. “You can, although I don't think anyone will ask me for my opinion about what happened.”

  “It's only an issue if the story of the rattle were publicized in the wrong way.”

  “I'll say nothing that might complicate your lives. And by the way, while I’m honored for you to accept me, to call me an Indian, I have to say that it feels bogus. My entire upbringing rejected my heritage. I don’t know what it means to be Indian, not really. That makes me feel a lot like a fraud.”

  He laughed. “Don’t we all feel that way? Imagine being a Tribal Chief. I’m a bull rider who got stomped and can’t ride. That’s sort of the definition of failure, not a hallmark of leadership. But the job needed doing and I was asked and here I am, doing my best, but I keep expecting people to catch on to who I really am.”

  “But you are a good chief. You work for the people. That’s what matters.”

  “And so can you,” he said. “There’s no reservation residency requirement for being Indian, you know. You are of the blood, we say. The white men say it’s in your DNA. Same thing. Live with it sister.”

  “We will need to make a report too,” Elle said. “And I have no idea what to tell my superiors.”

  Raymond interlaced his fingers. “I can tell you are an honest and thorough person, Ms. Kramer. May I suggest something?”

  “Of course. All this happened on your turf, so to speak.”

  “You tell them that the woman who was injured is fine now, so there is no claim. You tell them that the rattle was returned...” he raised an eyebrow at Charli.

  “Iron Eyes asked... his friend to see that it got back in a timely manner.”

  Elle looked at her. “His friend?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Charli said. “Over stiff drinks.”

  Raymond nodded. “Then most likely when you return to the museum they will have discovered their artifact. I would imagine that means the claim will be cancelled.”

  “That might require an explanation.”

  “They found it,” Raymond said. “Keep it simple. Ask yourself this: Do they really want to know what happened. Do they care why they don’t have to pay out money, or, as with the police matters, is the point filling out the forms in a way that pleases the bean counters?”

  “The forms, of course.”

  “So, if you don’t volunteer details, they will quite likely be happy that there is little or no paperwork that needs doing. The less you explain, the more pleased your superiors will be.”

  Elle leaned back and considered the idea. “That, my friend, is a brilliant bureaucratic solution.”

  “Well, I’ve learned a couple of things being chief, mostly about not stirring pots when they are simmering nicely.”

  “Then that is what we will do.” Elle took some papers out of her purse and put them on Raymond’s desk. “The reports on Sabrina’s shooting,” she said. “Since there is no claim, they don’t need to be troubled with learning that they might have to learn to spell her Navajo name. That would screw up the data-entry people seriously.”

  Raymond took the pages, wadded them up and tossed them in a trash can in the corner. “Two points,” he said. “And more points for you, Ms. Kramer.”

  “And now we should go,” Elle said. “We need to go settle things with the museum.” She looked at Charli. “The rattle will be there, right?”

  “So I am told,” she said. “I have every reason to think it will be. Iron Eyes has excellent courier service.”

  Elle scowled. “Then we need to confirm that they know it is back, then get the curator to sign a release, and catch a flight home. The company won’t want us dawdling around her on their dime.”

  Raymond stood. “Then have a safe trip.” He winked at Charli. “Talking about your dad made me remember that I have some photos of us back in the day. There might even be one of you. Would you like copies?”

  “Absolutely,” Charli said.

  “I’ll have to track them down. My wife will know where they are. We macho Indians consider computers squaw work.” He winked. “Except for the braves working in the IT center, of course. They have a more modern outlook.”

  “You can send the pictures to me?”

  “Of course. However, if you were to find yourself in our neighborhood again sometime, perhaps on another mission of your own, you would be welcome to come to my house, where we could look at them together over a cup of tea and I could tell you stories.”

  Charli's head spun. She looked over at Elle but saw an Indian woman sitting in a chair, pouring tea into cups and handing them around. Raymond sat next to her, pointing to photos in an old-fashioned photo album. His reassuring voice was telling her something, but she couldn’t catch it.

  “Charli?”

  Abruptly she was back in Raymond’s office, staring at Elle. “I’m sorry. I saw... something in the future maybe?”

  “A waking dream?” Raymond asked.

  For the moment it seemed better to not think too much about that, to ignore what had happened. But the look in Raymond's eyes told him that he knew. It deserved an honest answer. “We were sitting together and you were telling me something. I couldn’t understand the words, but I’m sure it was about my father.”

  He grinned. “Then perhaps he didn’t want you to hear that story. Not yet. Not until you come for tea.”

  Charli laughed. “I definitely would love to hear those stories.”

  “Not now, unfortunately,” Elle said. “We need to move on.”

  Raymond nodded. “One day, perhaps.”

  As they stood, Raymond came around the desk and walked them, haltingly to the door and out into the parking lot. He opened the car’s passenger door for Charli and as she got in, he bent down. “The people need you, Bonita. Come home when you can and we will have that tea and talk of many things.”

  “But Raymond, my people are the Mescalero.”

  He nodded. “But the tribes share what is needed. We all talk to the same Coyote and Changing Woman, although at times we call them by different names. A Shaman doesn’t talk to the spirits only for his own tribe when the issue affects all the nations. Iron Eyes heals anyone who comes to him—people of all tribes, even whites. The nations all need dreams and interpretations if they are going to deal with the challenging present, much less the future.”

  “I don’t trust my abilities to understand my dreams, Raymond.”

  “You will learn. If you are here. And even without the dreams, you belong here. Not on this reservation, perhaps, but where you are learning that you are wanted. Think on it. Better yet, dream on it, and invite your Grandmother to help you understand.”

  “My Grandmother?”

  He nodded. “A fine woman and the one who has tried to teach you at a distance.” Then he closed the door and stepped back.

  As Elle pulled out onto the two-lane road that would take them back to Santa Fe, Charli peered through the dust at a stocky man, hobbling back to his modest office and felt a tug at her heart.

  “I want to go straight to the museum,” Elle said as she accelerated. “We should be able to get there before they close.”

  Charli saw her friend was tense. “What’s the rush?”

  “This place,” Elle said. “It’s getting to me.”

  “The place or the thi
ngs you’ve seen?”

  “Both. From the time we arrived I’ve felt like I’m on some alien planet. After all these unexplainable things that happened, well, I'm on edge. You know how much I like things tidied up.”

  “Yet you were comfortable using my dreaming when it helped.”

  Elle gripped the wheel tight. “Somehow, back in Tennessee, it was a game, like when a friend can guess what card you’ll turn over next. Things were under control because normal was right next door. I admit that got a kick out of being able to include you in my investigation and using your ability... but the only eerie thing was that you saw things in your dreams, and I didn’t see that. But here, I’ve seen the footage of something disappearing. That can't happen. I met a perfectly healthy woman who witnesses swear was shot in the head and left for dead just a couple of days before. I’m talking with people who not only take your dreams for granted, but tell you that they are more than prophetic.” She let out a long breath. “I’m so far out of my element that it hurts.” She curled her lip. "At the root of it, this whole case has been about you.”

  “And my people,” Charli said, beginning to understand.

  “Yes. With the emphasis on them being your people. I have no experience in dealing with people who talk to wild dogs or think it is normal to get sucked into someone else’s dreams.”

  “You’re afraid,” Charli said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Of me,” she said.

  “Not of you. Of this... whatever is going on.”

  “But that is me.”

  “It didn’t used to be you. You didn’t use to accept everything that you studied as real.”

  “That’s not entirely true, but I tried to hide what I didn’t understand.”

  “And now I think you are embracing it. Charli, I know you actually think that asking some Coyote to return the rattle will make it appear in its case.”

  “And you are afraid that’s exactly what will happen. It’s okay. I don’t find it rational or even necessarily a good thing, but you’re right that I accept that is what is going on. I know it will be there when we arrive. And, if nothing else, it will be because a lot of people believe that Coyote returned it.”