Kiss Me, Curse Me - By Kate Shay Page 0,27
full-bodied rattle came from the spot he had just disturbed. Ahanu focused in, not hearing the rest of the chores his mother explained. “Yes,” he said to calm her, “I’ll do them.”
Her tone changed to that of satisfaction, and she heralded him a friendly goodbye from inside.
Slowly approaching the spot in the grass and getting just close enough to see the light, grayish-green scales, Ahanu resisted the temptation to poke the creature—the rattlesnake. Common sense persuaded him to back up, making his way into the forest.
“See the rattlesnake . . . how he sleeps in the morning,” said Kanti.
“No.” Ahanu wept. “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill my sister.”
***
The reservation had its own rules. Sherriff Doby hadn’t been to the small village in years. The inhabitants came into town years ago to sign paperwork for permissions for the dam to be built on their lands, a payment to be paid out upon completion and a percentage of profits from the electricity thereafter. The rest of the time they’d be seen out and around mostly by the river. It was their life, their blood. A regular few were sent into town for supplies and such.
The heat hung in the air as Doby cut through it, parking his car. He chose the spot in front of the Indian’s main store. The buildings were much older, similar to D Street, weathered, dull, grey paint—the complete opposite of the new homes and buildings set up to support the economy of the dam. They were all new, an unspoiled white. The odd native sat here and there along the weathered strip, a few gathered beside a young teen strumming on his guitar on an empty store porch. It was calm and quiet, and all eyes were on the outsiders.
Doby nodded to Patty toward the deep melody. They slummed on over.
“Ahanu. You know where he is?” asked Doby, taking his stance just close enough to the group not to be intimidating.
The woody chords stopped. The guitarist lifted his straw hat, revealing dark-brown eyes and a buzz cut. He was a little on the pudgy side with a white t-shirt and dirtied tan pants. “He’s not here.”
“Where can we find him?”
“You won’t.”
“And why is that?” Doby leaned a shoulder forward, flashing his gold badge, the only noteworthy item on his lackluster, tan uniform.
“He’s never around here.” The teen put his hat back on and continued with a smooth track. This time it was a more lonesome, western beat.
“I’m not done here,” said Doby. “He must live around, in a cabin perhaps?”
The teen didn’t stop his play, another just pointed to a trail leading between the buildings and behind them, “That way . . . into the forest.”
The trail was long, half hour before they hit any sort of clearing. There were a few greyed cabins. They knocked on doors with no response.
“Someone has to be in,” said Patty.
They continued down the trail another twenty minutes, through thicker pines. It was cooler. It was a break.
“Water?” Patty passed his canteen to Doby, who took a drink. “This phantom of a kid, he better be somewhere.” As Patty said the words, they hit another clearing and a lone cabin. A woman was out front, humming while sweeping. She looked up surprised by the visitors.
Doby smiled at her; he couldn’t help it. She had a friendliness about her. He could feel it a mile away. She smiled back. She was stunning, her features, though she was older—in her youth she probably turned many a head. She wore just a simple, light-green, short-sleeved dress with a white apron around her waist.
“Hi there,” said Doby. “I’m the sheriff, and this is Patty, my deputy.” Patty stood smiling at the announcement.
“What is this about?” Her face turned from a warm welcome to one of concern. “Is it about my son?”
They paused a few feet away from the worn porch steps. “If his name is Ahanu, then yes.” Doby tried to give her an empathetic look.
“Come inside, I’m Dyani.” she said. “You must be hungry. I have some warm fry bread.” She brought them in; they passed through the living room where an old, white-haired woman dosed. Patty couldn’t help but look at all the décor—a a massive headdress hung from the wall with the most beautiful white feathers. There were a few black-and-white photos, a large group by the river, salmon held high, another family portrait with Ahanu’s mother in the center, a few men, some young, some old, a young girl,