In The Face Of Death (18 page)

Hagen looked at her sharply. “We could be in a great deal of danger.”

“We could,” she agreed. “But I doubt that you will make it better by acting as if you expect them to kill us at once. They may well decide that you are intending harm to them, and then it will be . . . what is the expression? dicey?”

“That’s one expression,” said Hagen. “Who knows how the dice will roll this time? It depends on them.” He cocked his head in the direction of the strangers.

Carlos came hurrying toward Madelaine. “Señora, they want to find out if it is true that you are the one who is seeking them.”

“And how do they plan to do that?” Madelaine asked, looking toward the three Indians. She wanted to address them directly, but lacked the language to do it. She also suspected that these men would not take kindly any direct contact with a foreign woman; few, of all the Indians she had met, did.

“They will ask you. They have ways of detecting lies, or so they say,” Carlos told her, crossing himself at the end.

“Fine,” she said, and rose, her dispatch case slung over her shoulder. “Lead me to them.”

“I will,” said Carlos, taking his duty very seriously.

Madelaine followed after, wondering how she would answer their questions, and what they would ask.

With the Havasupai people, 26 February, 1856

. . . The canyon where they live is isolated as it is beautiful; the waterfalls are unlike any I have seen, appearing to be a luminous blue-white due to the way light falls in the steep rock walls rising around us. It does not surprise me that these people are not much known, even by those tribes that live nearby. . . . A woman named Flower Wisdom has been given the task of trying to make the way of the people known to me. Carlos serves as translator, but as he knows very little of the Havasupai dialect, it goes very slowly. I do not know how much of her teaching is actually what Carlos is telling me. I am going to have to learn some of their tongue myself. . . .

Mineata has put herself into Dutch Hagen’s care, and keeps herself isolated with him. He appears satisfied with the arrangement, though he has not spoken of it directly to me. . . .

Madelaine held up the plant Flower Wisdom had just dropped into her gathering basket. “What is this for?” she asked in the Havasupai dialect, one of the few phrases she had learned.

With Carlos to translate, the Havasupai woman answered, “That is for the illness-of-seven-days. It lessens the harm of the malady.”

“How is it used?” asked Madelaine, reverting to Spanish.

“It is dried and pounded to powder, which is mixed with pure water, and given to the sick person in the morning and the night.”

Madelaine wrote down the information as Carlos relayed it to her. “I thank you, Flower Wisdom,” she said when she was done. “Is the virtue of the plant the will of your gods, or is this plant like the cactus—one that was punished for some error?”

“This one is favored by the south wind,” said Flower Wisdom. “It is the warm and pleasant vitality that comes from the south, with the main river.” She did not smile—her people, Madelaine realized, where chary of smiles—but her face changed subtly to show how she felt on the matter of these beneficent plants and the kindly south wind.

As Madelaine finished her notes, she remarked, “It is good that you are willing to let me know these things. I will honor your teaching.”

“There are other plants that help us,” said the Havasupai woman as if she had not heard or understood the compliment as Carlos translated it for her. “And roots, as well. And things in the water.”

“Anything you are able to teach me of your knowledge, I am willing to learn,” said Madelaine, and listened to Carlos repeat her words, a trace of fatigue in his voice; he was finding Madelaine’s interest in Havasupai traditions and practices dull as well as possibly heretical.

“If you will listen, I will tell,” said Flower Wisdom, and pointed to a clump of low-growing grasses. “These will be next,” she declared. “They are for the fever and watery bowels. They are gathered when the trouble begins and are made into a thick tea, boiled down several times to something very dense.”

Madelaine prepared to write.

On the trail to the Zuni people, 31 May, 1856

. . . It was necessary I leave; I could not risk visiting another of the Havasupai men in dreams, for these people put great importance in the messages of dreams, and from their dreams they glean understanding which places me at risk. They have legends of those like me, and they know how we are to die the True Death. It is too great a hazard to remain now that they are alerted. . . .

The country here is arid and becoming scrubby, making hunting more difficult. Occasionally we come across a small party of settlers in wagons bound for whatever place they are seeking. . . . Many of them are European, often driven away from their homelands by war and persecution; most are poor, with all they own piled into a single wagon. They must be desperate beyond conception to come to this stark place for refuge.

It was Carlos Nisachii who broached the matter to Madelaine first. “It is the Apache,” he said as they sat at the long plank table at the coaching inn at Santa Fe, two days after their arrival in late July. Outside it was hot in the keen, cutting way of high altitude; masses of clouds piled over the parched land, as if mocking the mountains, mottling the ground with their shadows. “The Apache are not like the Zuni or the Tewa or the Hopi or the Havasupai. You were fortunate with them; they allowed you to live beside them for a short time and did not demand anything of you beyond the respect you offered them. The Apache are less cordial. They want no one asking questions of them, least of all a foreigner like you. You will not be welcome among them. They will treat you as a foe, and will not change.”

“That’s possible. Yet I was not very welcome among the Zuni, either, when we first arrived there, but they soon realized I was not dangerous to them and left me alone to go about my studies,” Madelaine pointed out, wondering where all this was leading.

“But the Apache are not the Zuni, or the Hopi, or the Tewa. It would be an unwise thing to stop in their company for long. They do not like white people. They do not like Mexican people. They do not like most other Indians unless they are compelled to, and they do not wish anyone to study them, and would not be content to leave you alone if you tried,” said Carlos, trying to make his point as deliberately as he could. He stood very straight. “If you must go among the Apache, I will not be able to remain with you, nor will Mister Hagen or Mineata.”

This announcement held Madelaine’s attention. “Surely it is not so bad as that.”

“It may well be,” said Carlos, looking miserable to have to say such things to so kind and generous an employer. “I know good men, strong men, who will go no nearer to the Apache than we are now.”

“But we are a good two or three days from their camp, and in a Spanish town,” protested Madelaine, beginning to wonder if Carlos had concocted a tale. “They cannot leap that distance in an hour.”

“No, but they will be watching us. The Zuni living near Santa Fe have told me that they have seen Apache scouts on the ridges.” He indicated the well-ordered surroundings outside the adobe inn. “These people, the Spanish and the Zuni as well, have found a way to keep peace with the Apache. So have the Hopi and the Tewa. They give the Apache no cause to become suspicious or angry, no reason to hold them responsible for their ills. This is very wise, and I hope you will learn to behave in the same way.” He folded his hands, not quite prayerfully. “I beseech you, Madame, do nothing that would put all these good people at risk. They are already uncertain as to what course they should take in regard to newcomers. You, staying here and studying them, alarm the others.”

“You mean the Apache are not pleased that we have come here? I would think they would rather have us here, with the Spanish, than with the Zuni or the Tewa or the Hopi, if matters are as delicate as you suggest.” She set her writing case aside. “Why should I have anything to fear from the Apache that I would not have from the Zuni or the Hopi?” She smiled slightly. “I have already dealt with many Indian peoples, the Cheyenne and Pawnee, among others. They have sometimes questioned my motives, but I have never felt threatened by them.”

“Never?” asked Carlos, his eyes becoming keen. “That is not what you said to the Zuni medicine man. Do you tell me you were foolish enough to lie to him?”

“No, I did not lie,” Madelaine admitted. “But I meant that in another way.”

“Then you do know that you could be in great danger among Indians,” Carlos said, his face brightening. “Good.”

“Of course I do. But there is danger in living and the Apache are a very important nation among the Indians. They reach from the forests of Louisiana to the middle of New Mexico Territory. Surely they are aware that they need an advocate with the white government in America? Don’t they realize that their refusal to allow anyone near them is working against them?” Madelaine asked this with a strong expression of indignation; this was the argument she intended to use with the Apache themselves. She braced herself to defend her position only to have her hopes dashed with Carlos’ laughter.

“The Apache want no part of any government, Madame,” he said when he could speak. “Other than their own, they do not think any authority is worthy of notice. The treaty they signed here four years ago means little to them, Señora, for their raids continue; the major clan of this region, the Mountain clan, has no reason to respect the treaty. Their Chief Mangas Coloradas has not required that the terms of the treaty be honored. They are independent in their own groups, as well—”

“But I have been among the Kiowa people already, and they have long associated with the Apache. Surely with the good word of the Kiowa—” Madelaine protested.

“Which Apaches?” asked Carlos sharply. “The Little Basket clan, which is called Jicarilla, or the Mescal clan, called the Mescalero, or the—” Madelaine held up her hands. “All right. I will consider what you tell me,” she said, already trying to think of reasons why she would not have to heed the warnings.

“And Señora,” said Carlos with a faint, warning wag of his finger, “I will not accompany you to these people, nor will Señor Dutch. We will not help you to this madness. It would be senseless to ask us.”

Madelaine sighed and capitulated. “All right.”

Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory, 29 August, 1856

Between the arguments of Mister Hagen and Padre Bernardo Lopez, it seems necessary that I give up my intention to study the Apache, at least for the present time. Padre Lopez has promised to arrange for me to speak to one of the chiefs of the Chiricahua and the Mimbreno, the local clans. I will have to content myself with this, I suppose, and leave the study of these fascinating people for another time, when it will be possible to be reasonably safe among them.

Tucked away behind the little church was a small, three-room adobe house where Padre Lopez lived; its furnishings were spartan but for the elaborate antique crucifix which hung over the long plank table at the end of the main room nearest the kitchen.

“I fear that Mangas Coloradas is not convinced of your good-will,” said Padre Lopez as he offered Madelaine a bowl of fruit. He smoothed the front of his cassock and sat down on the bench across the table from his foreign guest, and did his best to soften the blow he felt obliged to deliver. “I did what I can, but he holds all of us in suspicion.”

“You mean whites in general? Or of me in particular?” asked Madelaine, politely moving the bowl aside with a small shake of her head.

“Yes, of all whites. It is the way of the Tinde, as they call themselves; Apache is a Zuni word for them, from their word for foeman,” said Padre Lopez. He folded his hands and looked beyond her to the long, glowing shards of sunset light. “He also required that this meeting be at the end of day, so that they can observe this house and the church and be certain that this is not a trap. This house has been watched for hours.”

“And if it is a trap, they can move against it under cover of darkness,” said Madelaine, who had seen similar tactics used over the last century.

“True,” sighed Padre Lopez. “Of course, you are a foreign noblewoman, and that makes you a curiosity as well as a danger, which may or may not be to your advantage. It is uncertain which will be stronger—his suspicions or his inquisitiveness.” He crossed himself and fidgeted with his amber-and-silver rosary. “At least your hair is dark. They distrust all those with fair hair. A pity your eyes are that strange shade of blue; that will be considered a bad omen.”

“An old friend of mine said that the Chinese once, long ago, thought all those with fair hair were ghosts.” Even this oblique reference to Saint-Germain had the power to cause her a pang of longing, which she reminded herself was as useless as it was unavoidable.

“Is something the matter?” asked Padre Lopez, his weathered face creasing in concern.

She shook her head. “I may have had too much sun today.”

“That is easily done in this place,” said the priest, not aware of the irony of her comment. “Those with such fine skin as yours, Señora, if you will permit me to say it, are in the greatest danger.”

“I thank you for your concern,” said Madelaine. She was concentrating on listening, aware only that the evening was unusually silent, a condition that made her very uneasy. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders more to conceal her nervousness than to keep warm, for the evening was still hot from the relentless sun of the day.

A sound at the door brought Padre Lopez to his feet. With a fastidious gesture he adjusted his pectoral crucifix, then went to answer the summons.

The man in the door was not young; probably at least forty, judging by the depth of lines in his face and the first few white strands in his hair. He was in traditional Apache dress, but with a frock coat over his patterned cloth shirt, as a concession to the occasion. He stepped into the candlelight and made the sign for one who comes with peaceful purpose. “Good evening,” he added.