The Ties That Bind (11 page)

"Hi, this is K.C.," I answered.

"Hello," said a warm female voice. "This is Ellen Tsosie."

"Oh, wow. Hi. Thanks for calling back." I sat down in my desk chair and reached for my notepad and a pen. "Do you have some time to talk for a bit?" She hadn't introduced herself with her clan name. I wondered if that was because she was talking to me, a white person.

"I do."

"Um--is this your home phone number? I can call you right back to save you the cost."

"Oh, no. This is my cell. I have a great plan," she said, with a little giggle. "I'll do my best to answer your questions, but some things I cannot talk about."

"I understand. And I really appreciate that you're taking this time with me."

"It's a good thing, to share some of our beliefs. It helps heal."

I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but for whatever reasons, I wrote it down. "Okay. Are you ready?" I offered a smile through the phone.

"Shoot," she said.

"Can you talk a bit about how traditional Diné beliefs about death might have changed in the last fifty years?"

She laughed, a sound sort of like windchimes. I tried to visualize her, sitting in her house in Farmington. I couldn't tell how old she was, but from her voice I imagined she might be in her mid-fifties, maybe plump and stocky, with a wide, pleasant face like the other Navajos I knew. I hadn't found any photos of her online. Maybe Sage had one. On cue, Ellen said, "Sage told me what you do. And she said you had a way of getting right to it, so I had to be prepared for that."

Shit.
"I'm sorry," I said, a little flustered. "I do tend to be pretty
gringa
when I'm researching things. My apologies. How about this? You just talk. Tell me what you think I should know."

"'
Gringa
'," she repeated. "I think I like you." She chuckled. "I'll start with your question and we'll see where it goes."

I murmured assent and waited, pen hovering over the paper, and she went back over traditional Navajo death rituals, providing more elaborate details that weren't in her e-mail about the precautions that had to be taken to trick the spirit. She spoke with the rhythmic, almost musical cadence that so many Navajos employed, an accent that was stronger in English if they also spoke their native language. "You must never, ever speak the name of someone who has gone to the spirit world," she said in a tone that carried a warning. "Because that could call a bad spirit back to the world of the living, where it might cause sickness and pain. The parts of a person that were good--those parts go back to the place from where the Diné entered this world. Those parts are not the ones that cause problems."

"So," I said as I wrote, "there are good and bad parts to all of us. The good parts go to dwell in--can I say 'underworld'? Is that right?"

"Close enough."

"And the bad parts might not do that. Those bad parts might decide to hang around. Am I understanding this correctly?"

"Not bad for a
gringa
." She giggled, pleased. "What many
bilagaana
do not seem to grasp is our idea of 'balance.' Everything is a balance between good and bad aspects."

Yin and yang? I wrote that down.

"The world around us requires vigilance to ensure harmony, and as Diné, it is important that we perform rituals properly and that we offer our gratitude to the natural order of things and that we not upset that order." She paused, allowing me a chance to write her points down. "And it's a struggle, keeping balance, because there are forces that try to upset it. Some of those forces might be Diné themselves."

"Why do the spirits of the dead want to hurt the living?"

She paused a moment before continuing. "Let me tell you a bit about the beginning of life in Diné tradition. When a person is born, the Holy People--you might think of them as 'gods'--breathe the spirit of life into the body, and this is a good thing. But when a person dies, a bad spirit is released with the last breath. I will not say this word, but I will spell it in English for you. C-h-i-n-d-i. This is a very bad spirit that wishes to avenge something it feels was done wrong to it in life."

"Does everyone have--" I stopped, trying to figure out how to talk about a
chindi
without saying the name. "A bad spirit like that?" I decided that was the best way to do it.

"No, not everyone," she responded and I thought I detected relief in her voice. "Babies and the very old do not."

"What happens to you if you come into contact with one of these spirits?"

"Sickness, maybe. Bad luck. Maybe death. If you think you have been in contact with one, it is important that you have a healing ceremony conducted within four days."

A chill crawled up my spine. I thought about what had happened two nights ago. "What if you're not sure whether you'd been in contact with one?"
Where am I going with this?

"You will know if it is something that isn't right," she said, matter-of-fact. "You'll feel it, though many
bilagaana
try to talk themselves out of believing in forces beyond their comprehension."

"What ceremonies should someone employ if they believe they have come into contact with a bad spirit like that?" I turned the page of my notebook.

Ellen was quiet for a long moment before speaking. When she did answer my question, I thought I heard a gentleness in her tone. "A Diné who believes she has been in contact with a bad spirit will return to the place she thought it happened. Spirits like that can take many forms, most often animals like coyotes. If she finds a coyote track in the place where she thought the spirit appeared, for example, she will place a piece of turquoise in the track and request a Talking God Blessingway. Within four days, she must have a Blessingway."

"But these are Diné ceremonies," I pressed. "Can they apply to others?" And a Blessingway, from my limited knowledge of them, required a lot of preparation and time. Not to mention a qualified Navajo practitioner.

"I know some
bilagaana
who have had Blessingways performed," she said thoughtfully. "Only a very few of those, however, understood in their hearts the significance."

"Do you think--" I started.

She laughed. "The next time I have need of a Blessingway, I will call you so that you might observe. And Sage, as well, though she has seen a few of them already."

"She has?"
My girlfriend has been hanging with the Navajo and I didn't know?

"We have known each other for a few years now," Ellen said in a tone that dismissed the topic.

I changed the subject, though I was surprised that Sage hadn't mentioned that to me. "What happens if a
bilagaana
dies on Navajo land?"

"We find another
bilagaana
to take care of the body. Nowadays, that's usually the closest police force off tribal lands."

I wrote that down. Cultural belief systems dictating jurisdiction. "Do Diné ever allow an autopsy?"

"Ah, this is a very difficult question. Some do, but it depends on the circumstances of the person's death. Remember, it is tradition to bury a body as quickly as possible, to prevent the bad spirit from remaining. There are many things that go into this decision. It is not one any Diné takes lightly, no matter how modernized they may think themselves."

I started to ask another question about autopsies when she interrupted me.

"I understand how an autopsy can help in a criminal investigation. But we Diné do not have this tradition and for any of us to imagine what happens to a body in such a situation and how that might affect the balance I have told you about is traumatic. Do you understand why this is such a sensitive issue?"

"I do." And I did. "What might a compromise be? Or is there one?"

"Now that depends on the way a Diné perceives the actions of the investigators." She took a humorous tone then. "Attitude is everything," she said, using a voice like a commercial announcer's. She giggled again. "If investigators don't behave respectfully, we might not want to compromise."

I smiled. "I don't want to keep you talking. But I really appreciate the information you've shared."

"If you wish to talk more, just call."

"I will. I don't want to misrepresent anything you've said."

"And I'll let you know when there's a Blessingway I think you can attend."

"I'd be honored." I closed my notebook.

"Sage was right," Ellen said in a teasing tone. "She said I would like you." And then she laughed again. "Very well. We'll talk later."

And she hung up. I set my phone on my desk next to the stack of books Kara had put there and jiggled my mouse to bring up my monitor. I Googled "chindi" and as I suspected, it could be applied as a generic term to other malevolent forces like witches. And skinwalkers. I rubbed my temples.
What is
wrong
with me?
This line of thought was messed up. I decided I needed to clear my head so I shut my computer down and got my workout gear together then left the house around two and headed for the UNM gym.

KARA PULLED UP in front of the house at four. I closed the copy of
Outside
magazine I'd been reading and watched as she locked up and approached.

"Hey." She took her shades off when she joined me on the porch.

"Pull up a chair." I gestured at one of the plastic lawn chairs.

"Don't mind if I do," she said, grinning as she pulled one closer and sat down. "So I had a very interesting experience today."

"Oh?" I watched her, wondering what was prompting her to talk to me about it.

She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture that I knew I shared with her. "Okay, so I went to Madrid because I wanted to see Sage's latest exhibit--holy fuck, Kase. She is so good."

I smiled about that and also because Kara had pronounced Madrid like the locals do. "I know."

"I mean, for real. She's got to have enough of a following that she could put a book together."

"That's a good idea." A great idea, I added to myself.

"For real. She could get a foundation to front the money for production costs, if she goes with a smaller local press. And she could keep the proceeds or donate them to whatever. Knowing her, she'll probably donate."

"True. Damn, girl. You're hired. For what, I don't know. But if you keep it up with shit like this, I'll think of some kind of title for you."

She leaned back, lips pursed in thought. "I need to think about this a bit. And I'll talk to Sage, too. The three of us need to have a conference about it."

Typical Kara, I thought, feeling a little tension in my gut. All talk, no action. Grand "I'll get back to you" ideas and then nothing. She never followed through.
Why am I surprised?
I forced myself to relax, remembering what Mom had said a few days ago.

"Anyway," she continued, "here's the rest of my interesting experience."

I waited, listening.

"I met this woman at the gallery and we talked for a couple of hours. We ended up having lunch over at the Mine Shaft."

Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

"And I asked her out to dinner tomorrow."

"You mean on a date?"

"No. To play a doubles tennis match. With Mom and Joely." She rolled her eyes. "Duh, Kase. Yes, a date."

"That's great," I said, trying hard to sound enthused and not take the disapproving big sister role. "Where does she live?"

"Santa Fe. She knows you and Sage."

"Uh--"
Holy fucking shit.
"Shoshana?"

Kara grinned. "The very one."

I clenched my jaws.
I will
not
start a fight with Kara.
I chanted that over and over in my head, alternating with "
new leaf
."

"She told me she came on to you pretty strong." Kara grinned at me like she was a cat who'd just eaten the proverbial canary.

"She admitted it?" I drummed my fingers on my armrest.

"As soon as she found out who I was, she got really embarrassed. We were talking about Sage's work--" she stopped and flashed me a mischievous little smile. "And yeah, we were flirting. But anyway, she said she thought Sage had a rare gift because she's able to capture the essence of something. I told her that Sage is my sister's partner and holy shit, the look on her face." Kara giggled. "She turned bright red and said had she known I was your sister, she wouldn't have been flirting. I told her it was too late and that's when she told me about what happened Saturday." Kara reached over and smacked me on the shoulder. "I can see you freaking out but trying to be all charming and not hurt her feelings."

"She didn't notice a family resemblance?" I asked, ignoring the comment.

Kara shrugged. "Context. Why would she make the connection? Plus, my hair's shorter than yours now. If it was longer, she might have wondered about a resemblance."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"What? That she made a play for my sister?"

I decided not to respond.

"Nope. She didn't know who I was and we were flirting for a while before she found out."

I recognized a certain petulance to Kara's tone and it took me right back to when we were teenagers, pushing each other's buttons.
New leaf, dammit.
"Well, hell. She's attractive and interesting. Why not?" I reached over and squeezed her forearm. "I hope you have a good time."

She looked at me, unsure, suspicion in her eyes.

"I'm still trying to get used to you dating girls," I said. "That kinda wigged me out a little."

Kara sat back, studying my face, the suspicion dissipating. "We need to talk." Nothing in her tone set off warning bells in my psyche.

"Yeah." I fidgeted with the magazine that was resting on my thigh. "But not just once. Maybe we should make it a habit. Or something."

She nodded. "I know we haven't always gotten along. And I know I drive you crazy."

I sighed. "I feel like a shit. I was thinking today that I've never asked you what you thought about things. I've been a total asshead older sister. I'm sorry about that."