up.
They sat up and pulled their clothes back together. The rain was easing, almost over.
“Who was that you kicked into the street?”
“Nobody. He had some phony story about a study of antibodies in the blood to find diseases.”
Anne buttoned the rest of her shirt in silence.
“How do you know it was phony?” She brushed her hair back.
“I just did.”
“Youngman, that’s exactly the study the Health Service was supposed to do years ago. And you kicked him out? Don’t you know how many Hopis I have to treat for pernicious anemia or blood parasites?”
She felt her anger rising, she couldn’t help it.
“It was a phony story,” Youngman repeated.
“How many go blind every year from venereal disease, or deaf from aural atresia? Why didn’t you let me talk to him? He didn’t have any accreditation?”
“A letter from Window Rock,” Youngman admitted. He didn’t mention what Paine was doing to Abner, he didn’t want any defense.
“Oh, that was it. He only had a letter from the Navajos and that wasn’t good enough for you. Thank you very much. Maybe I would have had a different opinion.”
With every word, she felt him withdrawing and shutting her out. What’s the use, she thought. Together, they were the perfect example of centrifugal force. Why was she exhausting herself against it? Youngman fumbled in the glove compartment for cigarettes.
“Smoke your own,” Anne said.
“Yours are stale.”
“So?”
“Might as well smoke them now.”
Besides his stubbornness, his habits of poverty also irritated her. In fact, smoking up stale cigarettes was one of his prison traits.
“You don’t trust Navajos, you don’t trust whites. Are you paranoid? You hate outside help so much, why do you tolerate me?” she asked.
“I love you.”
“It’s that simple?”
“What could be simpler?”
“Well, I’m leaving this place for good in seven days, Youngman. Are you coming with me?”
“To Phoenix?”
“It doesn’t have to be Phoenix. It can be anywhere. Mexico, if you want.”
“And what would I do there?”
“You happen to be one of the very few Hopis who could make it off the reservation. You know photography, painting. I have enough money for the two of us until you get started.”
“You could stay here, you know.”
“I have stayed. I’ve been the audience for all your battles against the imaginary slights of anyone who tries to help you. Like the way you treated Franklin.”
“He’s going to help me?” Youngman laughed.
“His foundation represents, among other sources, a number of drug companies. What the Hopi people need is a donation of medical supplies and money for a clinic of your own. I was hoping that the last thing I did before I left was guarantee that donation, but so far I’ve spent most of the morning apologizing for you.”
“Don’t!” Youngman’s face darkened. “Don’t ever apologize for me to those people.”
Anne looked out the side window, towards a rainbow that was already fast evaporating. She was more depressed than angry. “Those people” were the pahans, Anglos, whites. By some fluke, Youngman didn’t include her with her own type. The day would come of course, when he would . . . and she was begging him to follow her off the reservation? How crazy was she?
“Maybe it is just sex,” she whispered to herself.
“Maybe.” Youngman’s hearing was too good.
She was damned if she was going to cry in front of him again, so she found the key and started the engine.
“We’ll desert camp for a couple of days and go on to Joe Momoa’s to fish. We’ll come down to the Snake Dance with the Momoas. I’ll see you there.”
“Don’t go.”
“Why not?” Anne rested her hands on the steering wheel.
Youngman didn’t know. He’d said it quickly, not as a conclusion of any thought but from a sudden rush of images through his mind. Joe Momoa’s horses, a sand painting, Abner’s eyes, a stain of black pitch. The smell of that
They sat up and pulled their clothes back together. The rain was easing, almost over.
“Who was that you kicked into the street?”
“Nobody. He had some phony story about a study of antibodies in the blood to find diseases.”
Anne buttoned the rest of her shirt in silence.
“How do you know it was phony?” She brushed her hair back.
“I just did.”
“Youngman, that’s exactly the study the Health Service was supposed to do years ago. And you kicked him out? Don’t you know how many Hopis I have to treat for pernicious anemia or blood parasites?”
She felt her anger rising, she couldn’t help it.
“It was a phony story,” Youngman repeated.
“How many go blind every year from venereal disease, or deaf from aural atresia? Why didn’t you let me talk to him? He didn’t have any accreditation?”
“A letter from Window Rock,” Youngman admitted. He didn’t mention what Paine was doing to Abner, he didn’t want any defense.
“Oh, that was it. He only had a letter from the Navajos and that wasn’t good enough for you. Thank you very much. Maybe I would have had a different opinion.”
With every word, she felt him withdrawing and shutting her out. What’s the use, she thought. Together, they were the perfect example of centrifugal force. Why was she exhausting herself against it? Youngman fumbled in the glove compartment for cigarettes.
“Smoke your own,” Anne said.
“Yours are stale.”
“So?”
“Might as well smoke them now.”
Besides his stubbornness, his habits of poverty also irritated her. In fact, smoking up stale cigarettes was one of his prison traits.
“You don’t trust Navajos, you don’t trust whites. Are you paranoid? You hate outside help so much, why do you tolerate me?” she asked.
“I love you.”
“It’s that simple?”
“What could be simpler?”
“Well, I’m leaving this place for good in seven days, Youngman. Are you coming with me?”
“To Phoenix?”
“It doesn’t have to be Phoenix. It can be anywhere. Mexico, if you want.”
“And what would I do there?”
“You happen to be one of the very few Hopis who could make it off the reservation. You know photography, painting. I have enough money for the two of us until you get started.”
“You could stay here, you know.”
“I have stayed. I’ve been the audience for all your battles against the imaginary slights of anyone who tries to help you. Like the way you treated Franklin.”
“He’s going to help me?” Youngman laughed.
“His foundation represents, among other sources, a number of drug companies. What the Hopi people need is a donation of medical supplies and money for a clinic of your own. I was hoping that the last thing I did before I left was guarantee that donation, but so far I’ve spent most of the morning apologizing for you.”
“Don’t!” Youngman’s face darkened. “Don’t ever apologize for me to those people.”
Anne looked out the side window, towards a rainbow that was already fast evaporating. She was more depressed than angry. “Those people” were the pahans, Anglos, whites. By some fluke, Youngman didn’t include her with her own type. The day would come of course, when he would . . . and she was begging him to follow her off the reservation? How crazy was she?
“Maybe it is just sex,” she whispered to herself.
“Maybe.” Youngman’s hearing was too good.
She was damned if she was going to cry in front of him again, so she found the key and started the engine.
“We’ll desert camp for a couple of days and go on to Joe Momoa’s to fish. We’ll come down to the Snake Dance with the Momoas. I’ll see you there.”
“Don’t go.”
“Why not?” Anne rested her hands on the steering wheel.
Youngman didn’t know. He’d said it quickly, not as a conclusion of any thought but from a sudden rush of images through his mind. Joe Momoa’s horses, a sand painting, Abner’s eyes, a stain of black pitch. The smell of that
Similar Books
