Читать книгу Komatke Gold - Benjamin Vance - Страница 11

Much later that day I sat on a sparkly red vinyl barstool at Dale’s Diner, waiting on my sirloin tips with mushroom gravy. With my fist on my cheek, lost in thoughts of Myra and the wonderful smells of cooking that only cool dry air can carry, I was suddenly mystified to see an old Indian gentleman had taken the seat next to me. I didn’t feel him come in. I glanced his way and tentatively said, “Howdy.”

He said, “Howdy” back and added, “I was in Korea! I saw a lot of the world before I came back to this place, and I knew your father.”

He had a Hopi kind of face with a Roman nose and dark smooth skin except for the crow’s feet at his eyes. He looked like the caricature of a proud Native American. He was about twenty pounds overweight, but carried it nicely and had braided salt and pepper hair down his back to his waist. He was dressed in Western boots, worn Wranglers, and a Paisley western snap shirt. He had on a beautiful horse-hair belt with a moderately large turquoise buckle and a small turquoise-stone bolo tie. He looked warm, but thinking back, I seldom saw him sweat.

Several heartbeats later I said, “How did you know who I am?”

With a sly grin he said, “Well, you know, you sure look a lot like he did, and besides, I was at his funeral. You were a lot younger and so was I, but I still recognized you. He was a good man you know. He helped a lot of folks with income taxes, ‘cause a lot of people here still don’t know nothin’ much about income taxes. They change every year anyway. He never cheated anybody, and always got them back everything he could from the government.

“People around here don’t forget stuff like that. He even went to court a couple of times for people. He knew those tax laws better than the lawyers did. There was even one judge that threatened him when he told the judge he was wrong. But, your father was right and the case was thrown out of court and my uncle didn’t have to pay any taxes.” He snickered under his breath. “That time at least,” he added. “You know, your father was my best friend in this world.”

I offered my hand; he took it. It had been a long time since I’d felt genuine, open friendliness like that. At the time I just hoped I wasn’t getting smoke blown up my ass again.

I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself, but I really didn’t know you’d come in. Then when you started talking … well, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s our job … to sneak up on people, you know. I saw that in some movie one time, down in Yuma.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you sir. My name is Will Wayne.”

“It’s good to see you again, Wilhelm. My name is Preston Flashes. I’m Myra’s uncle on her mothers’ side, the side that counts. Yep, I’m a Chemehuevi, whatever that means. I think we’re all just a bunch of mixed up Papagos lookin’ for fancy names. I can speak Hopi, English and a little Chemehuevi, but that language’s almost lost. ‘Seems like most people prefer Hopi or English now, ‘specially the kids. There’s only about three hundred or so of us left around here, and no one wants to learn the Shoshonean words or songs anymore.”

He quickly continued in a new direction, “Myra’s a good lady who’s been through a lot in her life. She had a husband, one of the tribal police force guys. She met him at the hospital after he started a fight and got beat up pretty bad by some drunken Anglos. He needed a nurse and she needed somebody to nurse. It turned out he liked to beat up about anybody. Especially when he got the fire water in ‘im.” He grinned impishly. “They didn’t get married for a few years. They had two kids, a boy and a girl. Great kids! That’s because of Myra’s’ side of the family. She thought that gettin’ married would help their relationship, so she talked him into it. ‘Just made things worse though. He started beatin’ her and the kids when he got drunk. Myra reported him to his boss about a hundred times, but it didn’t do no good.”

He took a sip of coffee, looked straight ahead stirring it slowly and continued, “Finally, she took it up with the tribal council. The council had been waitin’ on her to do it. He was fired pretty quick after that. He got so mad he moved to Gallup to live with some Zuni friends. I guess he’s still there. Myra never got no divorce, so she’s still legally married to him, but not tribally married. I think she wants the kids to be “legal” is all. My old wife and me watched out for ‘em, especially the boy; he’s older and a lot like his father, but better in the right ways.

“Myra works for the La Paz County hospital now. They’ve been good to her. She’s about eight years from retirement, but the way she works, I don’t know if she’ll make it. She picked up some of those fry-bread genes somewhere and now she’s got sugar diabetes. Bein’ a head nurse has a lot of responsibility and she always took her responsibilities to heart. She takes real good care of those kids, her Hogan and her relatives who need it. She tries to watch her weight ‘cause of the diabetes. You want more coffee? My old wife’s gone now though.”

“No thanks Mr. Flashes. I’m sorry about your wife.”

“You can call me Preston ‘til we get to be friends” he said, grinning. “Does Myra know you’re back on the reservation? Has Lew-Ann Lewis tried to scare you yet? If it was up to her all the Anglos would be kicked off the reservation. She never thinks beyond her nose though. Who would take care of her Lexus if all the whites were gone? All us Indians know how to work on is pickups.” He laughed silently at his own Res-grown humor.

I told him I didn’t think Myra knew I was back yet and that Lew-Lew had definitely tried to scare me. We talked quietly a while longer and I learned a great deal about the honorable man. “Duty, honor, country” were still part of his vocabulary as well. However, it was hard for Preston to trust a white man, especially one who was intent on seeing his niece again. Because of our mutual distrust, some imagined … some real, he kept many things from me over the next months that would have alleviated the stress between us. I guess what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Still, it’s hard to stay on a straight path with a bunch of broken bones.