Читать книгу Hangar 13 - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

Ellie scrubbed the skillet as she spoke. “Shamans—and shamanesses—have a very unique skill,” she told Mac as he waited patiently at the sink, dish towel in hand. “We operate in the fourth dimension.” She glanced up at him to register his reaction. “What we do is talk lost pieces of a person’s soul into coming back to that person. That’s what we call a healing.”

“Pieces of your soul?” Mac gave her a very skeptical look.

“Don’t judge what I’m saying yet,” Ellie warned. She rinsed the skillet in hot water and handed it to him to dry. “Our belief embraces the possibility that people, as they go through life, lose pieces of themselves to another person or situation. If you’re having trouble with the words soul or spirit, then consider it a loss of energy. People, when traumatized by a situation such as a divorce, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job or some other kind of tragedy, will very often lose a piece of themselves or their energy. Because of the shock, the ‘piece’ becomes stuck or lodged in that time period of their life.”

Mac slowly dried the skillet, scowling. “Shock or trauma creates this condition?”

“Yes.” Ellie took the bean pot and washed it. “And it’s shock or trauma as perceived by the person, not by the world at large. For instance, a child of six falls off her bike and breaks her arm. Now, for an adult, this might not be such a shocking thing. But to the child, it’s a horrible trauma. That little girl will, in all probability, lose a piece of herself.”

Mac shook his head. “What does this losing of pieces do, then?”

She smiled a little and handed him the rinsed pot. “With enough pieces of energy or spirit lost, people fall out of balance with themselves. It’s a highly unconscious thing, but people who have suffered major soul loss begin to automatically rebalance in not-so-positive ways. A woman who gets divorced and loses a large piece of herself to her ex-husband may begin to binge on food, or drink, or be stuck emotionally in the past, never able to let go of that time in her life.”

Mac put the pot aside and leaned thoughtfully against the counter. “Divorce is something I can understand,” he said.

“Most of us do, unfortunately,” Ellie said. She pulled the plug to drain the soapy water and rinsed her hands under the tap. Leaning over, she pulled a dry towel from a peg on the side of the cupboard and dried her hands. “There’re a lot of what I call ‘red flags’ that tell me whether or not a person has lost a piece of himself—or herself—in a divorce.”

“Such as?”

She smiled. “I can see I have your attention a hundred percent.”

“I’m interested,” Mac said, “but that doesn’t mean I believe in this theory of yours.”

With a shrug, Ellie motioned for him to sit down. She began to put the pots and pans away. “That’s fine. I don’t force anyone to believe as I do. But to me, a sign of soul loss is a person who cannot forget the divorce—the hurt, the anger or whatever negative feelings were created as a consequence.”

Mac pulled out his chair and sat back down at the table. He could see dusk begin to settle outside the kitchen window, a few high clouds turned red-orange by the coming sunset. “I’d think it would be natural to have all those feelings after a divorce.” He certainly did.

“Yes, but two or three years afterward? No, that’s not healthy, Mac.”

He scowled.

“Have you been able to adjust to it? Have you gotten on with your life? Or are you carrying the divorce around with you like a good friend?”

“Ouch.” Mac rubbed his jaw. “My life hasn’t been very good since Johanna divorced me,” he admitted slowly.

“And you still think about it and her almost every day?”

He eyed her warily.

“I’m not being psychic, Mac. What I can tell you from my experience is that you two have taken pieces of each other. You’re still living in the past with your ex-wife. You’re probably wishing you had back the ‘good old days’ before the divorce happened.”

He shrugged. “You’re right….”

“That’s a sign of soul loss.” Ellie rested her hands on the table. “In a divorce where no pieces were taken by the partners involved, both are able to get on with their lives. They aren’t constantly thinking about the partner, about their part in causing the divorce. They are able to live in the present and look to the future.”

“Johanna divorced me,” Mac admitted in a quiet voice. “I didn’t want to, but…”

Gently, Ellie reached out and touched his arm. “Then, to correct this imbalance, I would tell you to have a shaman take a journey and check out the situation. Your ex-wife probably has a piece of you, and you have a piece of her. That’s why the past is still living in the present with you.”

Mac felt the brief touch of her fingers on his arm. His skin tingled pleasantly. He was sorry it was such brief contact. Ellie’s eyes held such compassion for him and he sensed her sincerity. “You’d use your drum and do what?”

Rising, Ellie gestured for him to follow her. “Come on, I’ll show you my healing room.”

Highly curious, Mac followed her through her home. Down a hall, she opened the first door on the right. Mac stopped short, amazed. On the floor was a dark brown buffalo robe. A small table held a number of Native American items, including sage, a long brown-and-white feather and a pottery bowl that held ashes. More than anything, Mac was aware of the feeling in the room. At first, he pooh-poohed it, but as he moved toward the center of the room, an incredible sense of tranquility blanketed him.

Ellie quietly shut the door and moved to his side. She saw disbelief warring with what his senses were picking up about the room’s energy. She leaned down and retrieved a drum covered with elk hide. A butterfly was painted on it. “This is the drum I use when I want to put myself into the right-brain state.” She took the drumstick and began to softly hit the instrument.

Mac felt the deep, low-throated sound coming from the circular drum that Ellie held. At first, he consciously stopped himself from feeling anything, but as the steady, monotonous beat filled the room, he sensed something. And he saw a change in Ellie’s eyes; they became less sharp, seemed to lose their focus.

With a small laugh, Ellie stopped beating the drum and set it back down against the wall. “If I keep playing it, I’ll go into an altered state, and I don’t want to.”

Shoving his hands in his pocket, he turned and looked around the rest of the room. There was a picture on the wall, and he went over to it. “Who are these people?”

Ellie touched the dark frame of the picture. “The woman in the middle is my mother, the other woman is my sister Diana, and that’s my father.”

The woman in the middle had fierce black eyes; she wore her gray hair in braids, but otherwise bore an uncanny resemblance to Ellie. Mac studied her face for a long time. Ellie’s sister looked more like her father, with lighter skin, dark brown hair and brown eyes. The women were wearing some kind of ceremonial clothes; the father was in a suit, looking proud. All of them were smiling.

“This photo was taken on the day I got married,” Ellie said reminiscently. “I had convinced my husband to let us get married on the reservation, with my mother performing the ceremony.” She sighed. “Actually, it was a compromise. Brian let my mother marry us, but then he demanded that a ‘real’ minister marry us off the reservation.”

Mac felt Ellie’s sadness. “He didn’t believe in your mother’s authority on the reservation?” Mac gazed down at her and saw the pain in her eyes.

“No. Actually,” Ellie admitted, “that’s why we eventually divorced. Brian couldn’t accept my culture, what I do, the fact that I’m a shamaness and my life is devoted to the healing arts.”

“So the women of your family are doctors on the reservation?”

Her mouth twitched. “We are called medicine people or healers. I let the medical doctors call themselves doctors. And there’s a big difference between a healer and a doctor.”

“Such as?” Mac took his hands out of his pockets.

“A healer, where I come from, is interested in the whole person, Mac. Modern doctors treat only a single piece or part, and address only the disease—not the issues that go into that state of imbalance. Healers take into account all the things about a person’s life that may make them ill. There’s a lot of common sense and practicality that comes into play, too.”

Ellie pointed to the buffalo rug. “Let’s take off our shoes and sit on down, shall we?”

Mac respected her request and placed his tennis shoes against the wall. He sat down cross-legged opposite Ellie. The robe was thick and silky feeling.

Ellie rested her arms on her crossed legs. “I get people from all walks of life who have heard about me word-of-mouth. I journey for my clients in one of two ways, Mac. If they come and see me in person, we both lie down here on the robe together, side by side. I place my left hand over my client’s right. I have a cassette of my drum being beaten, so I turn that on.” She pointed to a small cassette player in the corner of the room. “I close my eyes and allow the drumbeat to make it easy for me to switch to the right brain, and then I move into the fourth dimension.”

“Can you feel it happen?”

“Sure. I’m consciously triggering the switch. It’s important to know that a shaman is trained to turn it on and off at will, Mac. If we don’t, then we’re in big trouble. Let me give you an example. One of my clients—to protect the confidentiality of the healing, I’ll call her Susan—was very sick. She had a major trauma in her past. So we lay down here together with the drum beating in the background. I asked my chief guide, who is a great blue heron, if I had permission to journey for Susan, and I was told yes. I flew on the back of my heron and we went down into what is known as the dark world, which is contained within Mother Earth. I was brought to a house and taken into a room. I saw Susan as a little five-year-old and I saw this man grab her.” Ellie grimaced. “I won’t share all the terrible details, but what I did see was Susan being sexually molested.”

Mac felt Ellie’s emotional reaction to the scene. “You actually saw it?”

“Yes. You see, everything we’ve experienced in life is recorded, like film in the fourth dimension. My guide took me back to the time when Susan was emotionally traumatized, where she lost a huge piece of herself after being abused that way.”

“What did you do?”

“I stopped the man from molesting her, separated them and asked Susan’s little girl if she wanted to come home with me, back to the present Susan. She said yes, so I picked her up and we both rode back on my spirit guide.”

Mac shook his head. “This sounds really weird, you know that?”

“Yes, I do. But before you judge me or the journey, wait until I tell you the outcome.”

“Okay…”

“I brought back Susan’s five-year-old, which really was a traumatic symbol of what had happened to her.” Ellie patted the robe as she got to her knees. “Here, lie down here for a moment and I’ll show you what I did, what I do to all my clients who want soul recovery.”

Mac laid down on his back, his arms at his side. Ellie knelt by his left arm; she cupped her hands over his chest and lightly touched the region over his heart.

“A shaman will ‘blow’ the piece back into the person’s heart and then sit the client up and blow the piece back into the top of his head.” She leaned over Mac and pretended to blow into the circle of her cupped hands, which lay across his heart. Then she placed her hand beneath his neck and helped him sit up. Getting to her feet, she moved to his shoulder and cupped her hands once again, this time on the top of his head. Again she pretended to blow a piece into him. That done, she went to the table, where she picked up a rattle.

“Then I shake this rattle and move it around you four times.” Ellie shook the rattle gently around Mac, noting his doubting expression. “You see, everything is living. This rattle is made out of a gourd, so it’s alive. There are small pebbles gathered from an ant-hill in the rattle, and they’re alive. As I bring this rattle around in a circle and shake it, I’m asking the spirits of the gourd and the stones to encircle you with protective gold light. We always do this after a recovery, because it ensures protection for the client for forty-eight hours afterward.”

Ellie finished and sat down opposite Mac. She held the rattle gently in her hands. “Blowing a piece of someone’s spirit back into them is like major surgery,” she said. “The gold light put into place around you is like a dressing or bandage over the parts of you that experienced it, namely your heart and head.”

Mac nodded. “This is pretty strange, Ellie.”

Sadly, she nodded. “I know it is. The world I live in probably seems like another planet compared to yours.”

“Yes,” he admitted with a chuckle, “it does.” And then his smile disappeared, because he saw the sadness in Ellie’s eyes. “Your ex-husband didn’t buy this,” he said, gesturing around the room.

“No, and he knew what I did long before we married.” She handled the rattle as if it were a child, slowly turning it between her hands. “I was young then. And idealistic. I thought love could conquer all.” Glancing up at Mac, she saw the compassionate expression on his face. “I was wrong. My mother tried to warn me…but I wouldn’t listen. I thought I knew better.”

“Head over heels in love?”

“Yes.” Ellie fought the sudden tears and blinked them away.

Mac didn’t miss the luminous look in her eyes. “If he didn’t accept your beliefs, why did he marry you?”

“That,” Ellie sighed, “is a long story.”

And one she obviously didn’t wish to share with him. Mac could understand that. After all, he was a stranger who had walked into her life only a couple of hours ago. The funny thing about it was, Ellie didn’t seem to be a stranger to him. He liked her. A lot. Silly beliefs or not, she was obviously a well-grounded, practical woman. Mac cast about for a safe topic.

“My marriage wasn’t much better. Johanna met me here at Luke when I’d graduated from flight training. I think she was in love with the fighter-pilot image, not the man.”

Ellie nodded. Mac was an attractive man, not pretty-boy handsome, but he had a strong face, projected immense confidence, and she could see how a woman could be swayed by such a combination. “How long were you married?”

“Six years.”

“Me, too.”

Mac wanted to ask if there was anyone in her life presently. But he knew that was none of his business. Forcing a smile, he said, “So tell me, what happens after one of these healings?”

Relieved to be off a highly sensitive topic, Ellie said, “When I come back from a journey, I write down what I found. I turn off the drumming tape and we sit here talking. I told Susan what I saw, for example. She didn’t relate to it nor did she remember being sexually molested.”

“Did Susan believe what you saw?”

Ellie shrugged. “It’s not the shaman’s responsibility to prove anything, Mac. I told her that now this piece of her had been returned, she would begin to integrate it back into her consciousness, and memories or dreams might occur. In the meantime, I suggested that she find a woman therapist to help her uncover her past.”

Mac just sat there, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a farfetched concept.”

“It’s strange, I know that.”

Mac shrugged. “I feel like I’m in an alien world.”

“That’s okay. So, let’s get back to your problem in Hangar 13.”

“Do you think it may be a lost piece of someone?” Mac ventured, trying to see through her framework of reality.

“I don’t know. It’s possible, Mac. But it could be what we call a discarnate soul, the spirit of someone who has died but is refusing to leave to go to ‘heaven,’ and is staying around for a particular reason.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can’t. Maybe if I go over to the hangar, I might be able to pick up on the energy. Maybe not. I can’t ‘see’ particularly well when I’m not in that altered state.” She touched her hair. “When I’m not journeying, I’m pretty much left brain, like you. So I’m ‘blind’ to the more-subtle vibrations of the fourth dimension that surround us.”

“I’ve heard some people can see spirits or ghosts, though.”

“Some can. I don’t have that skill.”

“But if you were in that altered state, you could ‘see’?”

“That’s right.”

Mac nodded. “So you need to go to the hangar?”

“Yes, and we’ll take the drum along.”

He grimaced. “If my people heard a drum being beaten, they’d think I was crazy.”

Ellie said nothing and watched the play of emotions on Mac’s face. His large eyes reminded her of an eagle’s piercing look. “I imagine you took a real chance just coming over to talk to me about it,” she guessed wryly. “The metaphysical and military worlds don’t usually have any common ground to walk upon.”

“You’ve got that right,” Mac muttered, bowing his head, his mind racing with possibilities.

“Is the hangar always in use?”

“Usually.”

“We could go over when no one is there. That would save you the embarrassment of being ‘found out.”’

Mac saw that her eyes were dancing with amusement. “I’m going up for early lieutenant colonel and the last thing I want is someone besides my master sergeant knowing that I’ve come to consult a psychic.”

“A shamaness.”

“Yes, whatever. If my superiors got wind of this, they’d send me to the nearest military hospital to check out my mental stability. But I’ve got to put an end to those wrenches flying around. I’ve got an IG—an inspector general’s inspection—coming up in two months and I can’t afford any problems. The hangar is empty right now. Could you come over with me and check it out?”

“You mean, feel my way through the hangar?”

“Yes. Maybe you’ll get an impression or something.”

Ellie hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll try, but no promises. I’m blind as a bat when I’m not in an altered state to receive impressions.”

“I’ll take that risk.” Rising from the robe, Mac held out his hand to Ellie. Her fingers wrapped firmly around his and he gently pulled her to her feet. The simple touch of her hand sent warmth racing up his arm. He tried to ignore the sensation. Releasing her hand, he said, “Thanks for taking the time with me. I appreciate it.”

Ellie’s hand tingled where Mac had held it. “You’re welcome.”

“What is your charge for doing a journey?”

“Whenever I do a journey for someone, I leave it up to them to give me what they can afford. It’s on a donation basis only, Mac.”

“But—”

“Healers operate from a very different perspective,” Ellie interrupted, walking out of the room with him. “Unlike medical doctors, who expect financial compensation for their services, we often get other things in return.”

“What do you mean?” Mac asked as he followed Ellie back into the living room.

“Well, a lot of my clients are either elderly or are single working mothers with children. Both are on very tight, fixed incomes.” Ellie gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. She opened the door to her pantry. “You see that row of canned fruit?”

Mac peered into the gloomy depths of the large, deep pantry and saw at least two dozen quart jars filled with various kinds of fruit. “Yes.”

“One of my clients couldn’t afford to pay me any money, so she gave me what she could.”

Impressed, Mac eased out of the pantry. “I’ll bet the electric company doesn’t want to be paid in jars of fruit.”

She laughed. “No, but you’re missing my point. Not everyone who wants healing can afford the money, so I was taught to accept whatever gift the person had to give. On the reservation, it’s common to bring groceries, blankets or other goods to the medicine woman. My mother often gave the groceries, the blankets and other items to the poor of our reservation because my father made a decent living as a plumber in the area.”

“You were taught to be generous.”

“Exactly. Being a healer means you live in the community and are a part of its fabric. I have another client who is very poor, but she came over and helped me plant my garden one evening. It was her way of paying me back for my services.”

“I wish the rest of the world could operate on that kind of generosity.”

“Like you said,” Ellie murmured as she walked Mac to the front door, “the electric company doesn’t want jars of fruit for payment. They want cold, hard cash.”

Mac turned as he stepped out onto the front porch. “I like the world you live in.”

“At least, that part of it.”

Mac nodded and smiled slightly. “There’s a lot to like about you, about your style of living,” he told her seriously. “I may not believe in what you do, but I can respect you for it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Then,” Mac said, opening his hand toward her, “I’d like to ‘pay’ you for your services by taking you out to dinner sometime afterward. What do you say?”