heartbeat and a scent of sage smoke. She was greeted, but not by an audience of anonymous lights, voices echoing her name. She recognized the voice that drew her close. It was Coyote’s voice,
“Cherokee, my little one,” Coyote wept. They were not the tears of silver—moons and stars—she had once imagined, but wet and salt as they fell from his eyes onto her face.
Dear Cherokee, Witeh Baby, Raphael and Angel Juan,
We are coming home.
Love,
Weetzie
Home
T he first things Cherokee saw when she woke were the stained-glass roses and irises blossoming with sun. Then she shifted her head on the pillow and saw Raphael kneeling beside her.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered, his eyes on her face.
She nodded, trying to swallow as her throat swelled with tears.
“We’re all going to take care of you.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry, Kee. Coyote said he is going to help all of us. I’m going to quit drinking and smoking, even. And he called Weetzie. They’re all on their way home.”
“What about Angel Juan’s headaches?”
“Coyote is going to get some medicine together.” He pressed his forehead to her chest, listening for her heart. “I’m so sorry, Cherokee.”
“I just missed you so much.”
“Me too. Where were we?”
Cherokee looked down at herself, small and white beneath the blankets. “Do you like me like this?” she asked. The tears in her throat had started to show in her eyes. “I mean, not all dressed up. I’m not like Lulu. …”
Raphael flung his arms around her and she saw the sobs shudder through his back as she stroked his head. “You are my beauty, White Dawn.”
Coyote, Witch Baby and Angel Juan camein with strawberries, cornmeal pancakes, maple syrup and bunches of real roses and irises that looked like the windows come to life. They gathered around the bed scanning Cherokee’s face, the way Raphael had done, to see if she was all right.
“What happened?” Cherokee asked them.
“Witch Baby saw how you were acting at the party and she went to get Coyote,” Angel Juan said, squinting and rubbing his temples.
“She told me all about the horns,” Coyote said. “Forgive me, Cherokee.”
“
I’m
sorry,” Cherokee said. “About the horns.”
“It’s my fault!” said Witch Baby. “I should never have taken those clutch horns.”
“Yes,” said Coyote, “we were all at fault. But I am supposed to care for you and I failed.”
“Did you know we had the horns?” Cherokee asked.
“I could have guessed. I turned my mind away from you. Sometimes, there on the hilltop, I forget life. Dreaming of past sorrows and the injured earth, I forget my friendsand their children who are also my friends.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I called your parents and they will be home in a few days.”
“But will you help us now?” Cherokee asked. She looked over at Witch Baby, who was gazing at Angel Juan as if her head ached too. “Will you help take away Angel Juan’s headaches and help Raphael stop smoking?”
The lines running through Coyote’s face like scars were not from anger but concern. He took Cherokee’s cold, damp hands in his own that were dry and warm, solid as desert rock. “I will help you,” Coyote said.
After they had scrubbed the house clean, glued the broken bowls, washed the salsa-and liquor-stained tablecloths, waxed the scratched surfboards and fastened the dolls’ limbs back on. Coyote, Cherokee, Raphael, Witch Baby and Angel Juan gathered in a circle on Coyote’s hill.
Coyote lit candles and burned sage. In the center of the circle he put the tattered wings, haunches, horns and hooves. Then he beganto chant and to beat a small drum with his flat, heavy palms.
“This is the healing circle,” Coyote said. “First we will all say our names so that our ancestor spirits will come and join us.”
“Angel Juan Perez.”
“Witch Baby Wigg Bat.”
“Raphael Chong Jah-Love.”
“Cherokee
“Cherokee, my little one,” Coyote wept. They were not the tears of silver—moons and stars—she had once imagined, but wet and salt as they fell from his eyes onto her face.
Dear Cherokee, Witeh Baby, Raphael and Angel Juan,
We are coming home.
Love,
Weetzie
Home
T he first things Cherokee saw when she woke were the stained-glass roses and irises blossoming with sun. Then she shifted her head on the pillow and saw Raphael kneeling beside her.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered, his eyes on her face.
She nodded, trying to swallow as her throat swelled with tears.
“We’re all going to take care of you.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry, Kee. Coyote said he is going to help all of us. I’m going to quit drinking and smoking, even. And he called Weetzie. They’re all on their way home.”
“What about Angel Juan’s headaches?”
“Coyote is going to get some medicine together.” He pressed his forehead to her chest, listening for her heart. “I’m so sorry, Cherokee.”
“I just missed you so much.”
“Me too. Where were we?”
Cherokee looked down at herself, small and white beneath the blankets. “Do you like me like this?” she asked. The tears in her throat had started to show in her eyes. “I mean, not all dressed up. I’m not like Lulu. …”
Raphael flung his arms around her and she saw the sobs shudder through his back as she stroked his head. “You are my beauty, White Dawn.”
Coyote, Witch Baby and Angel Juan camein with strawberries, cornmeal pancakes, maple syrup and bunches of real roses and irises that looked like the windows come to life. They gathered around the bed scanning Cherokee’s face, the way Raphael had done, to see if she was all right.
“What happened?” Cherokee asked them.
“Witch Baby saw how you were acting at the party and she went to get Coyote,” Angel Juan said, squinting and rubbing his temples.
“She told me all about the horns,” Coyote said. “Forgive me, Cherokee.”
“
I’m
sorry,” Cherokee said. “About the horns.”
“It’s my fault!” said Witch Baby. “I should never have taken those clutch horns.”
“Yes,” said Coyote, “we were all at fault. But I am supposed to care for you and I failed.”
“Did you know we had the horns?” Cherokee asked.
“I could have guessed. I turned my mind away from you. Sometimes, there on the hilltop, I forget life. Dreaming of past sorrows and the injured earth, I forget my friendsand their children who are also my friends.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I called your parents and they will be home in a few days.”
“But will you help us now?” Cherokee asked. She looked over at Witch Baby, who was gazing at Angel Juan as if her head ached too. “Will you help take away Angel Juan’s headaches and help Raphael stop smoking?”
The lines running through Coyote’s face like scars were not from anger but concern. He took Cherokee’s cold, damp hands in his own that were dry and warm, solid as desert rock. “I will help you,” Coyote said.
After they had scrubbed the house clean, glued the broken bowls, washed the salsa-and liquor-stained tablecloths, waxed the scratched surfboards and fastened the dolls’ limbs back on. Coyote, Cherokee, Raphael, Witch Baby and Angel Juan gathered in a circle on Coyote’s hill.
Coyote lit candles and burned sage. In the center of the circle he put the tattered wings, haunches, horns and hooves. Then he beganto chant and to beat a small drum with his flat, heavy palms.
“This is the healing circle,” Coyote said. “First we will all say our names so that our ancestor spirits will come and join us.”
“Angel Juan Perez.”
“Witch Baby Wigg Bat.”
“Raphael Chong Jah-Love.”
“Cherokee
Similar Books
