Walker of Time (15 page)

“Son of Great Bear!” Flute Maiden's voice from within the house was urgent. A long, painful cry followed.

“Light—get more light!” Son of Great Bear pleaded, looking at Walker. He turned and scrambled back into his house.

Walker took two giant steps, bent down, and crawled through Great Owl's doorway. With one more step he was next to his sleeping mat. In the darkness, his fingers searched for his backpack. He found Tag's foot instead. It was soft, gritty, and cold.

“What's wrong?” Tag's voice sounded as if he were talking in his sleep.

Walker's finger's felt his backpack. Grabbing it, he turned, and started toward the door. “Morning Flower is having her baby.”

“Oh, is that all,” Tag's voice floated back into sleep, as Walker went out the door.

Bending down again, he slipped through Son of Great Bear's doorway. In the dim light of a small fire in the corner of the room, he saw Morning Flower lying on the ground. Son of Great Bear was kneeling, holding her head in his lap. Morning Flower's cries of pain filled the air.

Flute Maiden knelt between Morning Flower's drawnup knees. She was speaking in a soft but firm voice to her patient. “Pant, Morning Flower, pant as if you have been running. Don't push. Good. Keep panting.” Tenseness filled her voice. “Something isn't right, but I can't see what. Light! I need more light!”

Walker fumbled at the buckle on his backpack. His fingers seemed thick and clumsy. His palms were wet with sweat, his fingers sticky as he got the buckle loose. Reaching inside, he felt the soft feather on the prayer stick. Gently, he dug under the fragile paho. He felt the rough, cotton flour bag that held the red cornmeal.
Spirit food
. Walker's blood suddenly felt like ice. He pushed the bag to one side of the backpack, feeling for his flashlight. Where was it? The seconds seemed like years. Groping, his fingers came in contact with hard, smooth steel. With quick steps, Walker moved toward Flute Maiden. Flicking the flashlight on, he knelt down beside her. “Is this enough light?”

Flute Maiden gazed at the unknown source of bright light for a split second, then returned to her work. “Yes, now I can see what must be done,” her voice trailed off.

Walker held the light steady. Morning Flower cried out in agony.

“No, don't push. Don't push—not yet,” ordered Flute Maiden. “Pant!”

The seconds became hours. Walker's forehead was wet,
and his heart beat against his chest as he watched Flute Maiden work.
In these primitive conditions how many women die in childbirth? How many babies survive?
“Great Tawaa,” he prayed silently, “guide Flute Maiden's hands and mind.”

“Good,” Flute Maiden's voice sounded confident. “Now things are as they should be.”

Within minutes, a healthy cry filled the home. A tiny, beautiful daughter with black, downy hair lay in Morning Flower's loving arms.

Walker slipped outside unnoticed. The sky was growing gray with early morning light. The moon and its sister star hung in the far west. Walker closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled clean, fresh—new.

“My son,” Great Owl's voice sounded like a gentle breeze in the pines.

Walker turned to see the old man standing outside his house. “You have a new granddaughter,” Walker said, warmth filling his heart.

“Then we have much to thank Taawa for this morning.” Great Owl moved slowly down the trail. Walker followed.

He led Walker to a flat, rocky ledge overlooking the canyon. Using his carved staff, Great Owl knelt. Then he lifted his arms toward the sky and closed his eyes. In a deep, throaty voice, he began to sing a prayer of thanks.

Here prayers are also offered to the first rays of sun each day, just as it is done at my village, Walker thought. He knelt down not far from Great Owl. His mind and heart were full. For the first time since Náat's death, Walker felt joy in living. He had seen a new life begin and he had helped in his own small way. Was this the reason he had been sent back here—to help this small infant into the
world? Would she play a significant role in her people's future? If this was the reason he had been sent, it was enough. With a smile, Walker closed his eyes to pray.

Finishing his prayer, Walker opened his eyes. He spit over his right shoulder. Now he was cleansed and ready to start a new day. He rose to his feet. Great Owl was still kneeling. Walker stood listening to his deep, humble voice petitioning for guidance.

Suddenly Walker felt the hair on his neck rise. With a swift movement he jerked around toward the trail. Standing there with a smirk on his face and hatred burning his eyes stood Gray Wolf. He held a spear in one hand, while his other hand rested on the knife strapped on his waist. “I will not be cheated a third time,” he growled just loud enough for Walker to hear. Giving a short snort, he turned and stalked out of sight.

“. . . while saying his morning prayers, he fell to his death . . .” The words spoken the night before echoed in Walker's mind.

The news of the baby's birth spread like the sun's early morning rays. Even before Great Owl's household had finished eating a meager breakfast of small, round corncakes, village women began to arrive next door at Son of Great Bear's house.

Standing just inside Great Owl's door, Walker watched small groups of women, two or three at a time, come walking up the trail. Each woman carried a large, ceramic bowl or pot slung over one hip. Upon reaching Son of Great Bear's door, the women patiently waited outside until Son of Great Bear came out to greet them and to invite them in. Sometimes a group had to wait five or ten minutes until the women in the previous group left. While waiting, the women visited and laughed in soft voices. Walker recognized most of them by name.

“What's happening?” Tag asked, looking over Walker's shoulder. He shoved the last bit of a corncake into his
mouth. His hair was a tangled mane of curls. But somehow his freckled face was clean.

“Women are coming to see Morning Flower's baby.” Walker moved a bit so Tag could see out the doorway.

Tag watched. “I guess a new baby always attracts women. What are they all carrying in the big pots?”

Walker shrugged his shoulders.

Three women holding empty pots emerged from Son of Great Bear's door. They spoke to the two women waiting outside, then left. Before the other two women could enter Son of Great Bear's doorway, Small Cub came tumbling out. He came barreling into Great Owl's home, almost knocking over Walker and Tag. Looking up, his face broke into a huge grin. “Father says that I must bring you to see my new sister!”

“We would be honored to come,” Walker answered, ruffling the little boy's thick, black hair.

“Small Cub, please tell your mother that I will be over in a few minutes,” Flute Maiden called from the back of the room where she was tidying things up. “Is Great Owl at your house now?” she asked.

Small Cub nodded. “Grandfather and Uncle White Badger both came, but Uncle left.” Taking Tag's hand, Small Cub began pulling him out the doorway.

Son of Great Bear greeted them at his door. “Welcome to my house. Please come in and share in this special day.”

Morning Flower lay close to the back of the room, covered with a blanket made from strips of animal skins woven together. Great Owl sat cross-legged on a mat close to Morning Flower. Small Cub pulled Tag toward them. “Hurry before she starts crying again. She loves to cry.”

“Brother,” Son of Great Bear said to Walker. “I did not get to thank you before you left earlier. Without your help, Morning Flower and my daughter might have . . .” his voice faltered.

“I was proud to help,” Walker said in a low voice. His eyes met Son of Great Bear's and saw acceptance reflected in the intelligent, dark eyes.

Walker knelt beside Tag and Small Cub by Morning Flower's mat. Morning Flower smiled shyly. She pulled back the edge of the white rabbitskin that covered the small bundle in her arms.

Walker's heart filled with wonder as he looked at the small, dark, wrinkled face framed by the soft fur. The baby's eyes were closed. Her small, heart-shaped mouth moved as if it were sucking. A tiny, perfect fist lay against her round, smooth check.

“She doesn't like to have her eyes open,” stated Small Cub, still holding Tag's hand. He crunched up his face into a scowl. “I think she's funny looking,” he whispered to Tag. As if he had understood, Tag smiled and nodded. Walker tried hard not to laugh.

“What are you going to name her?” Tag asked, squeezing Small Cub.

Walker conveyed the question. Shaking his head, Small Cub squealed with laughter. “Big brothers don't name babies—aunts do!”

It was also a Hopi tradition to have a maternal aunt choose an infant's first name. How similar the two cultures are, thought Walker, turning to Tag. “You will have to ask Flute Maiden if she has chosen a name yet for the baby.”

Tag rubbed his chin. “Hmmm, just like the Hopis do, right?” he asked, as if he were entering it into his mental journal of living archaeology.

Walker just nodded, surprised again at Tag's knowledge of his people's ways.

Watching the baby and listening to Small Cub's chatter, Walker became aware of movement in back of him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw two women working in the front corner of the room by the doorway. After a few seconds of watching them, he nudged Tag's arm. Tag turned. Walker nodded toward the women.

Littlest Star was bending down, reaching into the big pot at her feet. Her hands came out cradling dark, wet mud. With quick, smooth movements, she spread the mud out over the wall. The other woman, Fawn, was also plastering the wall with mud from her large bowl.

“It is a tradition to make our homes as fresh as possible after the birth of child,” Morning Flower said in a soft voice. Walker realized that it was the first time she had spoken directly to him. “It is our way of showing respect and gratitude for the new life among us.” Morning Flower's tired face looked pleased as she watched her friends work. “By nightfall, all the walls will have a new layer of plaster.”

“Everywhere except there,” said Small Cub, jumping up and running over to the door. He stood pointing to a spot over the doorway where Walker could vaguely see something with a small feather tied to it.

Son of Great Bear explained, “When our daughter's birth cord dries up and falls off, I will tie it to a small prayer stick. Then I will wedge the prayer stick in the wall above the doorway just below the smoke holes.”

Still pointing to the spot above the doorway, Small Cub exclaimed, “Father put mine right there, so that I will always
know where my true home is.” With a proud smile, Small Cub ran back and plopped down into his father's lap.

“At my village, we do the same thing,” Walker said, “except we put the prayer stick into the woven reeds in our open beam ceilings. We, too, always know where our hearts began and where they belong.”

“Our people's ways are very much alike,” Great Owl said, his deep eyes resting on Walker.

The mysterious feeling began to swirl around Walker like smoke from a fire. “Very much alike . . . alike . . . alike . . .” it whispered.

“Come on, Walker. I think we'd better leave so Morning Flower can feed her baby or whatever,” Tag said, poking Walker in the ribs. He stood up and moved to the door.

Walker rose. The mysterious feeling faded away. “Thank you for sharing your daughter with us,” he said to Morning Flower. “She is beautiful.” Morning Flower smiled and lowered her eyes.

Son of Great Bear touched his arm. “I think it would be best if this were hidden,” he whispered, handing Walker the flashlight. “Our people are not accustomed to seeing the sunlight captured.”

Taking his flashlight, Walker answered, “You are right. I'm sure that Gray Wolf could explain it in one word: witchcraft. Thank you for trusting me.”

White Badger and Scar Cheek stood waiting outside on the trail. White Badger turned to Son of Great Bear. “Most of the men have left for the fields. We will also go up on the rim today to help them. There is still much being said about our visitors,” White Badger said in a low voice. He looked worried as he spoke to Walker. “I think it is best that you stay close to Scar Cheek and me for the day. Where is Tag now?”

Walker looked around. “He must be in Son of Great Bear's house still. I thought he went out before I did. I'll go . . .”

Tag came crawling out of Son of Great Bear's low doorway. Seeing the others waiting for him, he grinned sheepishly. “What's up?” he asked, wiping his very muddy hands on his loincloth.

Walker looked at Tag's muddy hands. What had Tag been doing? Would he ever understand this bahana? He shrugged his shoulders a bit and quickly explained to Tag what White Badger had proposed.

Tag's sheepish face broke into his toothy grin. “Great! Now maybe we can meet the chief's son.”