Chapter 26: Red Snakes

Snowball was napping in the sunny living room with three of her adolescent pups when they jumped up, barking. Peter ignored the noise from his spot on the bed with the ledger and his notebooks. A frantic bleating distracted him, and he glanced toward the window. Lenna’s outraged scream brought him to his feet and out into the living room. The kitchen’s side door was slowly closing when a shotgun blast boomed just outside. With his heart in his throat, he dashed to the door and stepped outside just in time to see three woolly butts disappear over a rise with four eager canines giving chase. A cloud of gun smoke dissipated as the woman lowered the gun. She stared beyond the deck and gave a harsh cry of dismay.

“Fuck!” she screamed angrily as she slammed the shotgun onto the deck rail and stormed down the side steps toward her ruined garden. Peter stepped over to the rail and gasped at the wreckage. “I’m gonna kill the fucking pig-eater!” she yelled in a strangled voice as she examined the remains of her winter squash and cabbages. There was only torn-up dirt and scattered vines and foliage.

Charity joined him on the deck and covered her mouth as she gaped at the destruction.

Might not be the best time to ask her about new sheep. He stared anxiously at the steaming woman as she kicked at a dirt clod. The fence surrounding the small plot had been trampled, and the metal stakes lay bent and twisted. They could hear excited barks from the far side of the rise as the four mutts chased the offending sheep. The sharp crack of a rifle echoed from over the rise, followed by a second. The barks turned into frightened yelps, and Charity screamed in dismay as she bolted for the gate.

“Char! No!” Peter yelled as the teenager raced through the garden toward her dogs’ yips. He grabbed Lenna’s arm as she reached for the shotgun. “No more shooting!” The barks grew louder, and the four canines appeared over the rise, rushing toward the girl, who dropped to her knees, hugging them.

Peter sighed with relief as Kathy stepped onto the deck—returning from her hair appointment with Trink. “Were those gunshots?” she asked, carrying two large grocery sacks. Her eyes widened at the garden’s wreckage. “Oh, my God!” She handed the sacks to Peter. “What happened?”

“A bunch of sheep broke down the fence and had a smorgasbord,” he said as he took the bags inside. Another gunshot sounded in the distance, and he grimaced as he dumped the bags on the table and ran back outside.

“Charity, come back!” Kathy yelled, cupping her mouth.

He saw the girl holding two pups in her arms while the other two returned to the house.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled angrily as he stepped off the porch and jogged towards the rise.

“Peter! Don’t!” Lenna cried after him. “It’s Old Man Begay, and he’s in a killing mood!”

“Peter!” Kathy shouted after him.

He raced past Charity with an encouraging nod and disappeared over the rise.

“We need to call the tribal police!” Kathy insisted, wringing her hands.

Lenna snorted as she picked up the shotgun again. “Like they’re helpful,” she griped.

Charity skipped up the steps and shooed her dogs into the house, entering after them. “I’m locking the dog gate,” she panted as she slid the kitchen door closed.

“Sheep did this?” Kathy gazed in shock at the destruction.

“It’s all they do,” Lenna retorted. “I can’t stand the damn things. They stink, eat, and shit!”

The kitchen door slid open again, and Charity rejoined the two women. “That fucker’s gonna pay for shooting at my dogs!” she hissed.

“Where does he live?” Kathy asked, sweeping her hand toward the rise. “There’s nothing out there for miles.”

Lenna pointed northwest. “His hogan is a couple of miles over there,” she replied dismissively. “Who knows what his animals were doing down there.”

“Look!” the girl pointed. They turned to see two figures at the rise’s top: Peter and a shorter, stockier man. Peter was carrying a rifle. The women watched them approach, and Lenna began spitting and cursing under her breath as they got closer.

Finally, she grew impatient and swung her arms around, “Look at what your goddam sheep did to my garden!” she yelled across the field. Peter held his hand in a quelling gesture, and she bit off her following words.

The man accompanying him could have been an old John Ford film character. He was ancient, with dark wrinkled skin and a face frozen into a caricature of eternal strife and hard living. His clothes were threadbare but bulky as if he kept adding layers as they wore out. He wore a patchy woolen sheepskin around his shoulders with a ragged brimless hat. His feet were covered by long strips of hide that wound around his calves, up to his knees.

As soon as they were within earshot, he began cursing and yelling unintelligently, shaking a fist at Lenna, who bristled at his verbal attack and started to retaliate. Peter raised his hand again in a placating manner and uttered a single word in Navajo that silenced the old man.

“Why did you bring that filthy old bastard here?” she demanded, turning her rage onto him. Kathy held a light hand on her shoulder but shook it off angrily.

“What did he say, babe?” Kathy asked as he led the man into the ruined garden, where he glanced around without expression.

Peter leaned the rifle against the deck rail and gave Lenna a sharp look, prompting her to set her shotgun down. “He is upset because the dogs chased his sheep across the chasm.” He was referring to a rift caused by rushing water that eroded the soil, leaving a steep gully. The rents were typical of the land, and locals called them arroyos. “All the flock made it over except one that he had to put down because it shattered its legs when it fell in.”

Kathy gasped, but Lenna and Charity scoffed without concern.

“Serves him right for letting them graze this far,” the teenager muttered.

The old Navajo pointed at her and muttered something disdainful. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched.

Peter stifled a grin as he translated, “He says you are a child who speaks with your mouth and not your head.”

Charity responded with her middle finger.

“Why did you bring him here?” Lenna demanded. “He is not welcome in my home or on my land.”

“Will you just stop?” he asked, frustrated. “And Listen?” He stared into her angry eyes, daring her to challenge him. “Or will you keep talking with your mouth, too?” He ignored her shock and indignation and continued, “He never meant for his sheep to wander this far. They escaped from their paddock—”

“Then he should have built a stronger one...” she snapped back, then her words froze in her throat as he stared intently at her.

“—they escaped because the rails were knocked down by a group of ‘punks,’” he continued firmly, “Right after they set fire to his hogan.”

“What?” Kathy gasped. “Who? When?” she snapped angrily. “Why?”

“That is what I am hoping to get to the bottom of,” he replied calmly, glancing at Lenna, whose expression was distraught. “May we come inside?”

Charity stared down at the two of them with a guilty expression while her aunt grumbled about the implications of everything she heard. Finally, she sighed and grabbed her shotgun back off the rail. “Yeah, I suppose,” she muttered as she turned to the sliding door. She stepped inside and set the shotgun on its rack by the doorway. “Come in!” she griped as she backed into the kitchen. She glanced down at the Indian’s muddy feet. With a shake of her head, she turned to make coffee. “Never mind, just come in,” she muttered.

Peter joined her as she made a fresh pot of coffee using blends Kathy had brought from New Orleans. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, in a low voice.

She blew a lock of hair out of her face, “You have no idea what you’re asking of me.”

He grabbed her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. “I understand there’s history here,” he muttered firmly. “And I get you’re pissed about your garden. But please try to keep an open mind.” He gazed into her eyes. “You have every right to be mad, Len—I just want you to direct your anger correctly.”

As she gazed back at him, he saw her eyes soften. She sighed in resignation before lowering her face and pressing her forehead into his chest. He hugged her briefly and released her.

“Thank you again. Could you call your cousin? Explain what you know and ask him to bring Sue here,” he asked. “I can’t understand half of what he is saying.”

Charity grew bored and returned to her room to draw (she was becoming a gifted sketch artist). When that failed to settle her, she turned to her portable CD player and headphones. Once C+C Music Factory was blasting through her skull, she began her typical crazy dance, which led her back out into the living room. She sang, “Everybody Dance Now,” as she stomped her groove and whirled around people and furniture.

She caught Old Begay staring at her and sidled across the room toward him, strutting and shaking provocatively until she posed between him and Peter. “Give me the music!” she cried in a high-pitched imitation of Zelma Davis reaching for the ceiling and spinning around.

Kathy giggled while Lenna shook her head at the girl’s antics. Both stood in the kitchen preparing Indian tacos for lunch.

The teenager froze, facing the old man, and slipped the headphones down to her neck. He stared back at her and glanced at the CD player in her hand. “Ain’t you ever heard Pop Dance, Grandpa?” she asked.

“Honey, I doubt he’s ever heard headphones before,” Lenna replied.

“Huh,” Charity muttered, pulling them off her neck. She stopped the song, pondering the playlist. “Let’s start with some Mariah. Might as well experience the greatest voice in history for the first time,” she muttered. Setting the player on the table, she placed the earphones over his head, ensuring they covered his ears. “There we go...” she murmured. “Ready Grandpa? Hold on tight.” She pressed play and stepped back to watch.

Peter discreetly took the steaming coffee cup from the old man’s hands and set it on the coaster.

The ancient Navajo blinked several times, and his eyes widened as the music began. He sat up sharply and looked around wildly. Charity giggled as he glanced up and down trying to locate the source of voices singing inside his head. She grooved to the whisper-quiet sound leaking from the earphones. She shook her finger at him with her best Mariah impersonation as she mouthed the lyrics back at him. Peter grinned at his incredulous expression as he touched the foamy cushions on his ears.

“Brad and Sue are here,” Lenna called as the dirty truck appeared around the bend behind the house.

“Sorry, Grampa,” Charity murmured as she halted the music and pulled the headphones off his ears. She patted his head before skipping into the kitchen. The truck doors could be heard closing out front, and the dogs barked excitedly to assure everyone they were relevant. They grew quiet with a sharp whistle from Peter.

A disheveled and cross-looking Nana Shima limped into the room, her dark eyes on the old man at the table. Lenna moaned and covered her face as the couple followed her inside and began removing their coats. “I told you not to bring her!” she grumbled at Sue as she removed the old woman’s heavy shawl while she glared balefully at the old Navajo.

Sue made bug eyes back at her, “What was I supposed to do? Tie her to a post?”

“Why won’t you just ... die?” the old Apache crone demanded in English as she stormed over to the Navajo man.

“Nana!” Lenna cried out in dismay. Kathy covered her mouth with both hands as she backed against the kitchen counter. Sue stood frozen by the front door, hanging up coats.

Peter stood and tried to offer a seat (at the far end of the table) to Shima Littlewolf, but she spun away to wave her arm at Lenna. “And how could you let this ... thing into your home, stupid child?” she scolded as she shuffled to the seat Peter held for her. “Now we have to burn the place down,” she lamented, “Just to get rid of his ‘taint,’” she spat the last word as she plopped into her seat.

The old Navajo stared shrewdly across the table at her. He began speaking in his weaker, higher tone, repeatedly smacking his rough, leathery hand lightly on the table to emphasize his words. Sue gasped, and the color drained from her face as she stepped closer to the table.

“What did he say?” Charity asked, standing against the wall by the sliding door with a curious light in her eyes.

Peter frowned, “Something about her stepping over the ... threshold?” He glanced at Sue, who was shaking her head in disbelief. “And something about a tired or worn out...”

“He said, ‘You first.’” Sue interjected as she stepped before the old man. “Then he called her a ‘withered old shrew.’”

Kathy squeaked through her hands, and Bradly grunted, stepping into the kitchen. “This ought to be lively,” he chuckled. “Got any beer, cuz?”

Lenna nodded toward the fridge and glowered at him. “And get those boots off my floor,” she snapped.

Sue stepped into the old man’s field of vision, drawing his attention. She smiled and knelt before him, making hand gestures before speaking softly in their language. Then she took his hands and kissed them before rising to her feet and taking the chair that Peter offered next to him. She placed a calloused hand on his leathery knuckles and listened as he spoke.

Peter entered the kitchen to refill his cup and filled another, which he handed to Charity. While she took it to her great-great-grandmother, he updated Bradly. Lenna returned to kneading her dough and set a large cast iron skillet on the stovetop.

“Sounds like the Largo Clan boys from Indian Pine,” he remarked disgustedly. “I heard they were causing Old Begay trouble now and then, but it seems they’ve stepped it up from plain harassment.”

“He can’t or won’t tell me his name or age,” Sue said softly from the table. “I don’t think he remembers, to be honest.”

“Ask him about the punks who attacked his hogan and set his sheep loose,” Peter asked her. Turning to Brad, he said, “We need to gather those sheep for him and check his house.”

“Sheep know where their bed is,” the tall man replied. “I’ll bet we find them back in their corral by the time we arrive.” He turned back to his wife as she looked up sadly.

“He said he couldn’t catch his sheep because he was trying to put out the fire,” she sniffed, and a tear leaked from her eye. “He used all of his winter water to try and save his house,” she turned back to him and spoke again. After he answered, she added, “The roof is badly damaged. Who would do such a thing?” she nearly wept.

“Red snakes,” Shima spat under her breath as she sipped her coffee.

Bradly nodded while Lenna clenched her jaw and angrily beat the bread dough.

“Who are the Redsnakes?” Peter asked calmly.

“Bad blood from the Largo Clan,” Brad replied grimly. “The old man runs a sawmill up north.”