Woman of Light (73)

“Are you headed somewhere nearby?”

Maria Josie didn’t know any women who drove, and besides that, the people of Saguarita still rode wagons pulled by tired mules. “I’m headed to Denver, se?ora.”

The woman laughed, and even through twilight, lipstick was visibly smeared over her teeth. “You’re not getting to Denver tonight, or tomorrow night, or probably the night after that. Not walking at least.”

“Figured I’d get a ride from someone going that way.”

“Haven’t run into any?”

Maria Josie pushed her hat higher on her head and turned her shoulder to the rising moon. She noted that the woman spoke with a strange and quick cadence. Her clothes were finer versions of the dresses modeled in The Saturday Evening Post. “Time has gotten away from me.”

“Haven’t you got a family?”

“No.”

“A husband, anyone?”

“Pardon me. I need to keep walking.”

“You’re liable to be killed by a bear out here. Why don’t we give you a lift?”

Maria Josie was startled to see a narrow black German shepherd sitting tall in the back seat. “Is your dog nice?”

“Nice enough.”



* * *



—

They drove in silence for several miles, leaning into the road’s forested walls. There were the engine’s breathing sounds, and the black dog panting behind Maria Josie’s neck. The woman seemed preoccupied, asking few questions. She looked small behind the steering wheel, and her eyes focused on every stray animal streaking silver across the road. Smart. She was a smart woman. She said her name was Millicent. Her husband was away with their son on a hunting trip and did she ever feel more free? No. She did not. “You’re an Indian, correct?”

“My father was,” said Maria Josie.

Millicent shifted in her seat. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m somewhat of a collector. I have several pieces from this area. Hopi?”

Maria Josie told her no. She peered out the window.

“I’m going to my father’s ranch. You can stay with me tonight. There’s plenty of room.”

Maria Josie thanked Millicent for her kindness, but said that she’d hate to put her and her father out.

“He won’t be there. It’ll just be you, me, and Noche.” She said this without gesturing toward the dog. It was understood she had an animal named night.

Millicent turned down a dirt road that was almost invisible in the dark. She drove for several minutes, the car hopping over gravel, the sounds of spitting rocks whipping the bottom of the Pierce-Arrow like hail in reverse. There was no fancy iron gate to welcome them to the ranch. The wooden home stood in the dark with a single light glowing from a window. It was enormous and appeared vacant. Millicent stopped the car in a paved lot.

“Is this a cattle ranch?” asked Maria Josie.

“My father is in the oil business. This is more of a vacation home than a ranch.”

“My father was in the theater business,” said Maria Josie, with a certain amount of bite.

“I thought you didn’t have a family.” Millicent laughed. She whistled for Noche as she stepped out of the car. “Come on, Maria Josefina, you’ll catch cold.”

The home was a cavernous space with levels and staircases and echoes of emptiness. Noche trailed Millicent as she walked a hallway in her high-heeled shoes, lighting the lamps and opening doors. At each stop, the house revealed itself to be more grand. Maria Josie now understood what she meant by collector. There were Diné squash blossom necklaces in glass cases, Zuni pottery on high shelves, beaded Ute wedding dresses pinned to the walls as if an invisible and crucified bride watched them as they walked. Where did it all come from? Were the makers all dead? Maria Josie moved toward a mask of the Talking God. The mask was larger than half her torso and hawk feathers poked down a long trail from the skull, while the eyes were black slits in a square leather face. Turquoise dripped from the side panels, and the center, where humans have their mouths, was a familiar circular hole. The rabbit fur was tattered, and the spruce branches lining the neck were disintegrated.

“It’s one of my father’s favorites. Navajo, I believe.”

“Pretty.” She didn’t tell Millicent that masks are their own spirit. She wondered if it had been fed recently, or if it was angry or sad. When she was a child, there was a hoop dancer in her father’s show who kept a mask. He fed it cornmeal, cared for the spirit as if it were alive.

Millicent had started a fire in the main room. Noche stood beside her like a statue come to life. Through the massive windows, the sky was a dazzling lid, turned and tightened above them. The rocks and pines were moon blanched. There were dark pillars of smoke across the mountainside. Someday, and someday soon, Maria Josie thought, these sights will be gone from my life. Millicent stood at a cart with glasses and crystal bottles. She poured something brown and offered it to Maria Josie. They were both young, though Millicent was maybe a decade older. She had crow’s-feet around each eye.

Maria Josie said, “Se?ora, I’m very tired. Could I have some water?”

“For heaven’s sake. How rude of me. You must have walked all day.” She snapped her fingers, leading Maria Josie into the washroom. “I’ll heat water for a bath and fix you some tea.”