you." It would be best to change the subject. "You heard about Arlo Nightbird's plans for the canyon?"
"I don't pay no attention to rumors," Daisy retorted. She searched a cabinet drawer until she found the soup can with the sharp rim. "You listen to all that tribal gossip, you'll hear something that'll keep you awake at night." The old woman, waiting anxiously to hear the gossip, used the soup can to cut the biscuit dough into neat discs.
"This ain't just talk," Gorman said. "The Economic Development Board's workin' on a deal with the government. Want to put some kind of garbage in
Canon del Espiritu
."
"Garbage? In the sacred canyon?" She refilled his cup. "They'd never do that."
"It's not exactly garbage," Benita said, obviously proud of her knowledge, "it's well… waste. Radioactive waste from nuclear power plants."
Daisy paused and looked blankly at the greasy propane stove. "Why would the tribe want to do something like that… in my canyon?" She slid the tray of biscuits into the preheated oven, then lit a burner with a butane cigarette lighter.
"It's not all that bad," Benita said. "They put worn-out nuclear fuel elements into big tanks of water, then they put concrete slabs on top of the tanks. The water and concrete stops the radiation. You could sleep right beside it every night for your whole life, no problem." She watched doubtful expressions spread over the faces of her elders. "It shouldn't be any danger to our cattle."
Her father squinted at her. "What did you say that stuff was?"
Benita repeated her words slowly: "Nuclear… fuel… elements."
The old man added a pinch of tobacco to the brier bowl and relit his pipe. "If them knuckle filaments is so damned safe," he asked, "then why don't they just keep 'em where they're already at?"
Benita opened her mouth to reply, read the combative expression on her father's face, and thought better of it.
"You two need some breakfast," Daisy said quickly.
Gorman put on a sad demeanor as easily as some men slipped into a coat; it was carefully designed to generate sympathy. "Don't know if I can eat. What I seen in the canyon kinda took my appetizer away." He glanced at the black iron skillet and sniffed hopefully at the fetching aroma of the ham slab swimming in the popping grease.
Daisy played his game. "I made enough cheese omelet for all three of us. And there's a big slice of sugar-cured ham. And hot biscuits with maple cream." She paused to give him time to think about it. "But I expect you'd be better off to go home and have some oatmeal. They say oatmeal's good for old men's bowels. Cheese and eggs, they might stop up your plumbing."
Gorman sighed. "Well, if you're gonna keep after me, I guess I might as well have a bite."
"Maybe," Benita asked, "you have some cereal?"
"I got ham and I got eggs," Daisy replied sharply. Her tone said
take it or leave it
.
Charlie Moon, a half cup of coffee in his fist, was standing outside the police station. Away from the crackle of the short wave radio, the incessant ringing of telephones, the whining complaints of a drunken prisoner who insisted that he was a very important man in Denver and a "damn good friend of the governor." Moon sniffed at the pungent scent of pine in the air; he squinted at a half dozen ravens gliding in a wide arc through the pale morning sky. How could a Ute ever leave this place? But many of the People had.
Before he saw it, Moon heard Gorman Sweetwater's pickup pass the Sky Ute Motel and turn the corner at KSUT radio. The old GMC lurched into the tribal police headquarters parking lot. The policeman was not particularly pleased to see Gorman's pickup truck until he noticed Benita sitting next to her father. So she was back from college for the summer. For the past two years, he had wanted to say something. He had planned a dozen artful ways of letting her know that she was always on his mind, but he never knew quite what to say to this pretty girl. In her presence, Moon always ended
"I don't pay no attention to rumors," Daisy retorted. She searched a cabinet drawer until she found the soup can with the sharp rim. "You listen to all that tribal gossip, you'll hear something that'll keep you awake at night." The old woman, waiting anxiously to hear the gossip, used the soup can to cut the biscuit dough into neat discs.
"This ain't just talk," Gorman said. "The Economic Development Board's workin' on a deal with the government. Want to put some kind of garbage in
Canon del Espiritu
."
"Garbage? In the sacred canyon?" She refilled his cup. "They'd never do that."
"It's not exactly garbage," Benita said, obviously proud of her knowledge, "it's well… waste. Radioactive waste from nuclear power plants."
Daisy paused and looked blankly at the greasy propane stove. "Why would the tribe want to do something like that… in my canyon?" She slid the tray of biscuits into the preheated oven, then lit a burner with a butane cigarette lighter.
"It's not all that bad," Benita said. "They put worn-out nuclear fuel elements into big tanks of water, then they put concrete slabs on top of the tanks. The water and concrete stops the radiation. You could sleep right beside it every night for your whole life, no problem." She watched doubtful expressions spread over the faces of her elders. "It shouldn't be any danger to our cattle."
Her father squinted at her. "What did you say that stuff was?"
Benita repeated her words slowly: "Nuclear… fuel… elements."
The old man added a pinch of tobacco to the brier bowl and relit his pipe. "If them knuckle filaments is so damned safe," he asked, "then why don't they just keep 'em where they're already at?"
Benita opened her mouth to reply, read the combative expression on her father's face, and thought better of it.
"You two need some breakfast," Daisy said quickly.
Gorman put on a sad demeanor as easily as some men slipped into a coat; it was carefully designed to generate sympathy. "Don't know if I can eat. What I seen in the canyon kinda took my appetizer away." He glanced at the black iron skillet and sniffed hopefully at the fetching aroma of the ham slab swimming in the popping grease.
Daisy played his game. "I made enough cheese omelet for all three of us. And there's a big slice of sugar-cured ham. And hot biscuits with maple cream." She paused to give him time to think about it. "But I expect you'd be better off to go home and have some oatmeal. They say oatmeal's good for old men's bowels. Cheese and eggs, they might stop up your plumbing."
Gorman sighed. "Well, if you're gonna keep after me, I guess I might as well have a bite."
"Maybe," Benita asked, "you have some cereal?"
"I got ham and I got eggs," Daisy replied sharply. Her tone said
take it or leave it
.
Charlie Moon, a half cup of coffee in his fist, was standing outside the police station. Away from the crackle of the short wave radio, the incessant ringing of telephones, the whining complaints of a drunken prisoner who insisted that he was a very important man in Denver and a "damn good friend of the governor." Moon sniffed at the pungent scent of pine in the air; he squinted at a half dozen ravens gliding in a wide arc through the pale morning sky. How could a Ute ever leave this place? But many of the People had.
Before he saw it, Moon heard Gorman Sweetwater's pickup pass the Sky Ute Motel and turn the corner at KSUT radio. The old GMC lurched into the tribal police headquarters parking lot. The policeman was not particularly pleased to see Gorman's pickup truck until he noticed Benita sitting next to her father. So she was back from college for the summer. For the past two years, he had wanted to say something. He had planned a dozen artful ways of letting her know that she was always on his mind, but he never knew quite what to say to this pretty girl. In her presence, Moon always ended
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