Disposition of Remains (7 page)

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve heard the term, but what exactly does it entail?”

“I feel really weird explaining a powwow to a Native American. Should I be waiting for the cameraman to jump out and tell me I’m on some reality show?” Wilbur said as he glanced dramatically over each of his shoulders.

“Yes, so don’t make a fool out of yourself!” I laughed.

He grabbed my face between his hands and turned it in both directions.

“I’m trying to see which is your best side…y’know, for the camera.”

I couldn’t believe how tender his hands felt against my skin. For the first time in forever I felt reassured, protected. I wanted him to pull me into those big, strong arms and hold me tight, to tell
me everything was going to be okay—that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me—not Evan, not cancer, not the end of the Mayan calendar.

The look on my face must have betrayed my thoughts as Wilbur pulled away quickly and diverted his eyes, assuming an air of nonchalance, as if we hadn’t just shared a tender moment.

“A powwow, Stacia, is a gathering of Native people from North America. It comes from the Narragansett word
powwaw,
meaning ‘spiritual leader.’ It’s like church for them. They sing and dance as others might pray and worship. Modern powwows are also meant to educate non-Natives, like me, about Native culture.”

“I don’t really sing or
dance…but I don’t usually swim naked with strange men either, so what the heck.”

“But you’re not naked this time.”

“Wrong,” I grinned.

As he looked back at me, I stood mostly under water holding my wadded bathing suit in one hand. The look of shock on Wilbur’s face was priceless. I had never been a flirt, but somehow it came naturally to me in his presence. Something about him just made me want to take my clothes off.

Wilbur glanced in both directions again to reassure himself that we were alone. As he did so, I jumped out, threw a towel about my body, and giggled. He burrowed his face in his hands and shook his head. It was fun to flirt with him because it was harmless; there was no way he and I could ever be romantically involved.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

I wasn’t killing him; I was empowering myself. This picturesque hunk of a man was actually suffering somewhat at my behest. For a moment, he was my marionette, and for once,
I
was the puppeteer. I was toying with masculinity for sport.

“Maybe, we should get something to eat,” he sighed.

I looked around, suddenly aware that we hadn’t packed any real provisions.

“What’s on the menu, Nature Boy—sticks and rocks?”

“I’m sure I could rustle up some of those,” Wilbur replied. “Or we could just go back and eat at the lodge.”

“I think I’d prefer the latter.”

We ducked behind our respective trees to change. Afterward, we took a few minutes to set up a campsite near the falls, and then began our two-mile trek back to the lodge.

“The café, which is the one and only place to eat here, isn’t known for its speedy service—just to warn you.”

“Got somewhere you need to be?” I replied, fully aware than an extended dinner could quickly devolve into awkward city.

“Um…”

He seemed slightly baffled by what I’d intended to be a rhetorical question.

“I’m sure I’ll survive
the wait,” I quipped without revealing that for me, food was nothing more than a necessary fuel, not an actual experience I looked forward to. My appetite had waned significantly since the onset of my tumor.

After the less-than-chipper Native hostess seated us in a window booth, Wilbur introduced me to our waiter, Billy, who, like Jimmy, gave me a curious look. I began to notice that none of the Havasupai really communicated any more than absolutely necessary. They were a people of few words—such a contrast from the typical American who will blather on about nothing just to hear his own voice.

We placed our orders, both opting for the relative safety of hamburgers and fries.

“How many times have you been to Havasupai?” I asked Wilbur as we waited patiently for our dinner.

“I’m not sure. Countless times. This is one of the travel destinations my company offers. We only provide transportation though. The Havasupai own everything down here.”

“Where else do you go?”

“The closest is a place called Vermilion Cliffs on the Arizona–Nevada border. We guide people on the two-and-a-half-mile hike—the only way in. Can’t even bring the helicopter there. Only twenty people are allowed in per day to maintain the integrity of the sandstone. It’s called The Wave,
and it’s incredibly beautiful. There are ribbons of different-colored rock that flow together in waves like the ocean. It’s said to have formed in the Jurassic period.”

“Wow, sounds pretty cool!” I enthused, thinking that might be a good addition to my bucket list. “So your business is all in Arizona, then?”

“Actually, I mostly go abroad, but I started in Arizona, so I keep a few places here. My house is in Arizona…I guess so is my heart.”

“How involved are you in the
day-to-day business?” I asked neutrally.

“Not as much anymore, although I do enjoy dropping in and surprising my employees once in a while. I find I’d rather spend my time with the people I’ve met along the way, or discovering new places.”

“Sounds tough,” I noted sarcastically as Billy dropped off a pair of leathery burgers and limp fries.

“I can’t complain. Life’s been pretty good to me.”

We ate in silence. I’d been having a great time with Wilbur but I realized that we shared almost nothing in common. He was this accomplished, well-traveled, worldly man, and most of what I knew about the world was what I’d gleaned from books or the Internet. I yearned to be more like Wilbur. I hadn’t traveled at all. Evan frequently took business trips that he would never really describe, and about which I had stopped asking years before. All I knew was that I was never invited, and after a while, I ceased to care. I became thankful for the alone time.

After dinner, we hiked back to the camp—slowly, this time. It was dusk, and an incredible hour to
behold Havasu Falls. We strolled in silence, admiring the reflection of the dim moonlight on the crystal waters. Wilbur pulled our sleeping bags out from our tents so we could sleep under the star-spangled sky. I had to admit that being away from the smog of Los Angeles and being able to actually see stars in the heavens was something I’d desperately wanted to experience. I wished upon a shooting star that turned out to be merely a satellite as Wilbur pointed out the various constellations. Then we quietly soaked in the sky until we drifted off to sleep.

Wilbur and I spent the next couple of
days hiking around the other waterfalls of Havasupai. First, we made the treacherous hike to Mooney Falls. It was named after a miner, Daniel “James” Mooney, whose rope snapped during a valiant attempt to rescue his friend. He fell to his death onto the rocks at the bottom, and was found ten months later covered in a thin layer of travertine. This story Wilbur thankfully shared with me
after
we’d reached the bottom of the sheer-face descent.

We spent some time swimming with a few visitors from Quebec, and sunbathing on the small island in the middle of the pool before moving on.

Beyond Mooney Falls, we spotted the even-more-difficult-to-reach Beaver Falls. Beaver Falls appeared to be a congregation of smaller waterfalls situated closely together, flowing over a staircase structure of rocks. We traversed a rough and rugged area to get to its base, and climbed an eight-foot rope to reach its summit. Whatever physical effort Wilbur had saved me by flying us down into the Canyon by helicopter, he made up for tenfold over those two days. 

The next
day we hiked to the New Navajo Falls. A few years back, a flood destroyed the original Navajo Falls, named after an old Supai chief. After several days of rain, the Redlands Dam on Havasu Creek burst, causing a huge mudslide. Some four hundred fifty stranded people had to be airlifted to safety from the threat of the rising floodwaters. The old Navajo Falls, which had been the largest of the four, eventually dried up, and the diverted floodwaters created the “New” Navajo Falls.

E
ach of the falls was distinctly lovely and unique, but I found there to be something special about Havasu Falls. I was mysteriously drawn to it, and sensed that somehow, it had always been a part of my life.

The powwow was to occur on this, our third evening at Havasupai. Natives from many different North American tribes began arriving to the area. Wilbur and I hiked into the village to grab an early dinner before the festivities began.

Over those few days, most of the locals waved to Wilbur when we passed by, but never really engaged either of us in conversation. It was surprising when one of the Native women approached us as we were leaving the café. An eerie feeling descended upon me when our eyes met: an unsettling déjà vu.

“Hello, Wilbur. Who’s your friend?” the squat little woman asked. 

“Irma, this is Stacia.”

“What tribe are you from, Stacia?”

I looked at Wilbur before cautiously answering, “I’m Havasupai. But…”

She gave me an exaggerated look of confusion.

“This is my first time here,” I continued hesitantly, “but my mother was born here. Her name was Nova Uqualla.”

Irma hesitated for a moment, stared at both of us blankly, and then said to me, “Why don’t we get you dressed for the powwow?”

Before I knew it, I had left Wilbur behind as Irma whisked me off to her living quarters. She rummaged around in her closet for a bit and eventually emerged holding several incredibly colorful outfits, which she called “regalia.”

She held up a blue beaded and
feathered outfit and announced, “This is the one. It will match your eyes.”

“Are you
sure?
” I asked, timidly.

“What? You would rather have the yellow?”

“No, I mean, it’s beautiful. Are you sure I can borrow it?”

“Yes,” she replied tersely as she began to help me into it.

Irma looked to be about sixty years old, only slightly older than my mother would have been, had she lived.

“Irma, did you know my mother?”

“Yes,” Irma admitted with no expression whatsoever, then left the room. When she returned, she was carrying a cedar box. She opened the box, revealing the ceremonial feathers inside.

“These are for your hair, but we have to braid it first.”

Irma braided one side as I did the other. I had a thousand questions for her but she gave no indication that she would be willing to answer any. She raised her eyes to the window when the sound of drumming began.

“We must go. Don’t want to miss the contest.”

She grabbed my arm and practically dragged me back to the village. An arena had been set up, and everyone we had crossed paths with in the few days prior had gathered in the small area. Wilbur approached me with a magnificent toothy smile on his face and threw his muscular arms about my shoulders in an unexpected hug.

“You look…
great.
”

“Thanks. It’s a little weird,” I admitted.

I felt as though I were dressed up for Halloween.

“You know, it’s very unusual for the Natives to loan out their regalia. In fact, it’s a great honor.”

“Is Irma normally that generous?”

“I don’t know. Th
is is the first time she’s ever talked to me.”

As the
dancing began, we found a place to sit and turned our attention to the performers. Irma sat with the rest of the Havasupai on the other side of the arena. I could feel her eyes on me throughout the entire show.

The Havasupai beat on drums and sang songs to the Creator in a native dialect as the different tribes took turns performing their individual native
dances. There were strict rules that no other people were permitted to enter the arena while the tribes performed, but when the occasional dog would stroll through, no one seemed to mind or notice.

I found a soothing sense of calm in the rhythm of the drums, like a lullaby meant to inspire a peaceful sleep. I felt myself swaying back and forth, entranced by the movement of the
dancers.

One of the Navajo elders performed a storytelling
dance called The Hoop Dance, in which he formed several of what looked like my childhood hula hoops into different shapes and formations. The Navajo encore consisted of a group Grass Dance, a style that seemed to me to be the long-lost forefather of break dancing.

Next up were the Hopi. They
danced The Butterfly Dance in colorful regalia while shaking beaded rattles, followed by The Konina Dance in which they swayed smoothly back and forth, further deepening my trance.

Women and girls of every age and tribe joined together as they performed The Fancy Shawl
Dance, which dizzied me as I beheld the blurring array of vibrantly colored spinning shawls. It was reminiscent of the vortex, and a quiet spiritual calm came over me. It was all so foreign, but yet at the same time, oddly familiar—like the experience was somehow etched into my soul.

The fog rolled in as the Havasupai took the arena, their heads adorned with rams’ horns. They formed a circle and began to chant and
dance just as an elderly Native man sauntered through the mist directly in front of me. His eyes were as black as coal, and he spoke with a deep, ominous voice. It was almost how I imagined the voice God would sound, or possibly more like the booming timbre of The Wizard of Oz.

He
stared directly at me with his piercing obsidian eyes. It seemed he was speaking only to me.

“The Havasupai are the guardians of the Canyon. The bighorn ram is a protector to all those who inhabit the Canyon. The Ram
Dance honors our protectors. The ram calls to the animals. The ram calls to the trees. The ram calls to the people and everything in the Canyon.”

He paused, but
continued to stare at me, transfixed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away. The dancers continued behind him, and that’s when I saw
her
. My mother. She was dancing with her people. I tried to call out to her but I couldn’t speak or move. Then the terrifying man with black eyes demanded, “Why have you come here?”

The drums began to beat loudly in a different rhythm. I don’t know at what point the tall, muscular Aztec
dancers took over the arena, but they spun wildly with their enormous headdresses.

“The Havasupai consider themselves the guardians of the Grand Canyon,” Wilbur said. “That was the Ram
Dance.”

Either he thought I was deaf or really dense.

“I know, I know. The ram calls out to the trees, and the animals and stuff.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, perplexed.

“The old man,” I retorted brusquely, raising my hands in a
what the hell
gesture. “Did you seriously not hear him?”

The
look Wilbur gave me clearly indicated that he believed I’d been hallucinating. I was terrified at that moment, sure that my cancer had metastasized to my brain. I hadn’t yet come to terms with my body failing, and I definitely wasn’t ready to lose my mind. I assured myself that I must have just nodded off for a moment; it was simply another period of narcolepsy combined with an incredibly vivid dream.

I shook it off as the tribal announcer asked the spectators to stand. The Aztec
dancers formed a semi circle as they turned to face us. They invited us to form a large circle and hold hands for The Friendship Dance. Wilbur explained that this was the one exception in which the Natives were willing to make physical contact with strangers. In other instances, outsiders (non-Natives, especially) could transfer their bad energy to the tribe simply by touch.

I had never been much of a
dancer, but it proved easy to follow along. I kept looking around, searching faces, expecting to see another apparition of my mother, but the only other Native woman I recognized was Irma. She was dancing on the other side of the circle, continuing to examine me from afar. Something about her was so alluringly mysterious and intriguing, but also seriously intimidating.

I felt an energy in Havasupai, much more than I’d experienced in Sedona. It was almost like a connection to everything around me. But there was a
lso something a bit unsettling there—a daunting air of unsolved mystery. I kept thinking of what my mother had told me: that there was evil in our past, and I should never look back. But I was in Havasupai to live in the present and I certainly couldn’t focus on the future.

As we continued to
dance, I turned my concentration to Wilbur. He looked incredibly handsome in the light of the full moon and the roaring bonfire nearby. Wilbur and I continued to hold hands after The Friendship Dance was over. We shared our own “friendship dance” as we laughed and spun all the way back to Havasu Falls. The moonlight was shining down on the blue-green pools of water beneath the cascading waterfalls. I felt completely removed from the life I had been living just days before. I even temporarily forgot about my disturbing hallucination.

I sat
close to Wilbur atop a small rock formation, so close that my leg grazed against his. He didn’t pull away. I had momentarily blocked from my mind all of the reasons that I shouldn’t be with Wilbur. Suddenly, I found myself uninhibited, drunk with dance and Native spirit. My overloaded senses had reached a crescendo and I couldn’t help but turn and face him. I leaned in and gazed deeply into his lashy eyes.

“Is this another joke?” he asked nervously.

“No,” I murmured, donning the most seductive look I could muster.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now, but you’re still wearing that ring,” Wilbur
responded.

I had almost forgotten about my wedding ring. With some difficulty, I tugged it off and held it in my palm for a long moment. That ring had defined my life for the last
seventeen years. I looked back at Wilbur and smiled, then tossed the ring over my shoulder into the blue-green water below.

I leaned toward Wilbur again, so close that our noses touched. We were softly breathing the same air. Our lips barely grazed each other’s at first. I felt dizzy with anticipation as he gently stroked my face. When his warm, supple lips finally made contact with mine, it unleashed a pent-up fury of passion.

I had no idea how intense it could be to be passionately kissed by a man. My only previous experiences had been with a boy and a monster. Evan hadn’t even attempted to kiss me in years and sex had become a chore. Kissing Wilbur was worth whatever amount of guilt and difficulty that would inevitably result.

Wilbur cradled my face in his hands, and I ran my fingers through his hair. I had been dying to fondle those
dark, wavy locks since the moment I first saw him. We continued to kiss for what seemed like hours and only moments at the same time. Finally, Wilbur stopped and looked at me intently.

“Stacia, I really like you.”

“I like you too,” I gushed, eager to return to our prior activity. I pulled him back toward me.

“Wait, Stacia, I just…I really think you should see about getting some treatment.”

“It was just a dream. I’m really not crazy.”

“No, no, I mean for your cancer,” Wilbur revealed.

My heart sank. He had known all along. What had seemed to be the greatest night of my life was nothing more than an illusion based on my assumption that he genuinely wanted to be with me—not that he was trying to rescue me.

“Misty told you,” I grimaced, horrified.

“No, Misty told Paul. Paul told me…after you passed out.”