Читать книгу Komatke Gold - Benjamin Vance - Страница 9

That was two days earlier, including a stop for a pee break in the middle of U.S. 95, and I’d just started to sweat with a vicious nervous tension. I applied three times the deodorant I normally did, because nervousness can raise a stink and the knowledge alone exacerbates the process. I had a date! No, not a date with Myra Page, but with someone who knew her well; her cousin!

Lew-Lew was not your average Indian, or at least not what Hollywood would cast as a middle-aged “squaw”. She was entirely professional and entirely gorgeous. She kept her hair in a tight bun like Myra did, but with no furtive strands. She had an easy, elegant carriage with chin always up and nose in the air. Had it not been for her isolate demeanor and overbearing conversational demands, she might have been easy to talk to and easy to know. She was shapely and her skin was flawlessly olive. She dressed impeccably, to demonstrate her shape and announce her status. Her perfect makeup enhanced her cheek bones and beautiful black eyes. Yep, she was pretty, but I’d known beautiful.

I initially thought her lack of body fat stemmed somewhat from her desire to elude diabetes, which is such a scourge for some Native Americans. She definitely watched what she ate. No fry bread for this lady I guessed. With a degree in Anthropology, and a Master’s Degree in Native American Studies from Northern Arizona University (NAU), she’d become a teacher and political advocate for her tribe. Then she earned a law degree and turned into just another attorney. She did have a way with words though, and some people. Lew-Ann Lewis was formidable as she strolled into the Holiday Inn restaurant looking for someone she’d only heard about. I stood up and she found her way to my table.

“Hello, Miss Lewis.” I said with a grin, as she allowed me to help with her chair.

“Hello, Colonel.” No smile-no handshake!

“I appreciate you coming to look at the map. It’s probably a fake, but you never know. It was in my father’s things. We found it in his safety deposit box years ago and ... .”

“I have to drive over to Williams today Mr. Wayne. Could I see the map?” she interrupted.

“Sure, no problem,” I said, reaching for the small cardboard box I kept the map in. I took it out and unrolled it on the table oriented for her viewing pleasure. It still smelled faintly of safety deposit box. She didn’t say a word while she purposely reoriented it and took her time with every detail. I remained shut-mouthed. This thing couldn’t be real, could it? Did I care?

After what seemed like too long for someone wanting to drive to Williams, she gently rolled the parchment and placed it in the box like a baby.

I thought, “Shit, the thing is real.” I should have been jumping up and down.

“You may have something here Colonel,” she said with the faintest smile. “If I were you I’d take this to NAU, and have someone in Antiquities look at it.”

“Do you know anyone up there?” I asked, not really wanting to make that drive.

“Not well enough to recommend.” I know now she lied, more or less.

“Why do you think it’s worth pursuing?” I asked as genuinely as possible, thinking I’d never be able to steer the conversation toward Myra if this kept up.

“Well, there are a number of reasons. First, the Spanish script looks like Old Spanish; I’ve seen enough of that to know. Secondly, the Gila, and Salt Rivers are shown with stream beds very different from what they are today. At the confluence of the Gila and Colorado Rivers, there is a variation shown, which is how it would have been without flood control. In addition, any reference to the Hassayampa River is missing. Anyone wishing to counterfeit a map in modern times would surely include the Hassayampa and the Agua-Fria, which everyone knows were free flowing rivers back then.

“The omission may simply mean there was no need to include the other rivers or washes since it wasn’t meaningful, or because they didn’t flow directly into the Colorado, or because they hadn’t been explored yet. Also, the map just looks and feels right; genuine I mean. And why did you come back here to ask about your map Colonel?”

I felt my face go red, “Well, I wanted to visit my father’s grave and do some research in the library. Since this map may have originated around here, I thought perhaps I could find someone who knows about it,” I lied.

“Why me?” she asked, drilling me with those big, beautiful eyes.

“Well, Myra Page mentioned you a few years after my father died. She said you were going to study Anthropology and bragged about you being her cousin. She also said you were going to be someone important someday. So I looked you up.”

“I’m not in the book,” she lied.

“I looked you up in the library,” I said, again lying. Actually I got her name from Cristal, one of the very talkative ladies at the library. She actually remembered Myra and I from years back; told me she was Myra’s cousin, but that was about all.

“Well, I guess those ladies at the library need to gossip less and file more.”

“Ms. Lewis, for some reason you don’t have much use for me, but remember I know a few things about your past as well. It’s always been my credo not to throw stones.”

She looked like I had slapped her face, which happens a lot to judgmental people I hope.

“Look Colonel, I don’t give a shit about your map, or you! I think you treated Myra the way Native Americans have been treated for over two hundred years. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions and see how mercenary you really are. I always thought Myra was lying when she talked about you, poor sap that she was.”

I stood up. “What the hell do you mean, was,” I half choked out.

“I thought that’s what you were really here for,” she huffed in my direction. “You need to forget about my cousin and get off our reservation. If you don’t, Colonel … Custer, or whatever the hell your name is, we have ways of encouraging you to leave.”

“What the hell do you mean … was,” I yelled, discarding all pretenses and gaining everyone’s attention?

“Get off our land and forget about Myra, before you get hurt,” she spat as she turned to leave.

“I stopped worrying about getting hurt when I left Iraq, you bitch,” I yelled.

I yelled louder at her backside as she strolled from the restaurant, “Myra’s still here isn’t she?”

Not looking back, she held up the middle finger of her right hand in what must have been a Native American war challenge.

I sat down to think and let everyone’s attention get back to his or her lunch. The ladies at the library didn’t say anything about Myra passing away, but then some tribes don’t even talk about the dead. I finally realized I had to get back to the library before Lew-Lew did. Otherwise, I’d be up the creek with regard to information about Myra … from them at least. I requested the bill, paid it … still hungry, and made it to the library just as Lew-Lew was pulling away. I couldn’t blame the woman for thinking faster than me.