The Beat – Chapter 6
I didn't know what I expected to see or overhear. Chances were everyone was fast asleep and I wouldn't pick up anything. I walked in the direction Sam indicated. If the Turtles were like the Birchtrees, one of their homes belonged to the elders of the family. Subsidiary families, most likely directed by the first, inhabited the other houses in the vicinity. I hoped my appraisal was correct. Perhaps it was not the central house that was giving Mrs. Birchtree and Matthew cause for alarm. The intrigue might be coming from someone else.
I kept alongside the path where the grass was longer and the mulch softer, to hide the sound of my footsteps. A dog set to growling and barking. I flung myself up to a high branch of a tall oak tree and waited. Before someone came out to inspect or calm the dog, I growled back. The dog yipped at the perceived menace, but also hunched up in the corner of a shed, keeping a log pile protected from the rain. The dog shivered in fright, but continued to bark out the alarm.
Its owner exited a storm door, a big man in a camouflage coat. He looked around first, found his dog, and then pulled it out of the shed by its ruff. I heard him say, "What did you see? Was it a bear? What did you hear, boy? Is it still here?"
The dog sniffed the air still whining, while the man walked as silently as a man can walk. He checked the outbuildings and circled the yard, his rifle cocked and ready to fire at the first noise. I did not want to be on the wrong end of that rifle. The slug wouldn't kill me, but it would knock me out of the tree and hurt like hell. Besides. I didn't want to explain what I was doing up his tree.
The dog lifted its nose to my perch and barked again. I pressed myself against the trunk and hid my eyes with my hand. They must have been glowing. I concentrated on one thought and projected it. I hoped, if his senses allowed it through, that he would catch my suggestion and act on it. There's nothing here, only squirrels, I sent.
"There's nothing there," said the man, looking directly at me. "You're barking at squirrels again. Be quiet." He dragged the dog inside.
I took an unneeded breath and exhaled my relief when the door slammed behind them. As little as I wanted to be discovered, the dog had done me a favor. No one was sleeping quite so soundly any more. People were more likely to be annoyed and talking. I did not come down, but extended my hearing to pick up any voices speaking in the nearby houses. To my good fortune, I was rewarded with conversations.
"Sam's back. I saw him drive up in that fancy car. He's got a guest with him again, another white man. He's always bringing home those trashy musicians to show them the Native way of life." It was a man's voice.
"He thinks we're a living museum. What else can you expect from him? He's a bad influence to the young people."
"He ought to say down there in New York City. It's the right place for him," a woman's voice answered, probably his wife. That was the gist of that conversation.
I was about to descend when I heard another voice from another house. My tree was kind of central to all of them. Again, I mentally thanked the dog. "I'll bet his grandmother called him home. The Birchtree matriarch is ready to kick the bucket any time now. How long can an eighty-five your old hang on?" Hanging onto the tree, I wondered about that myself. As long as I need to, I told myself.
"Do you think she's going to want Sam to take over for her?
"She's wanted it for years, but he won't do it, no matter what she wants. The trouble is, he'll probably stay around to make sure Matthew is given the position."
"The old ways aren't good enough for Sam. I say good riddance when he goes back to his other Village, Greenwich Village. He's a tourist attraction himself down there, and he likes it."
"But what about the boy? What does he want?"
"The kid isn't up to the responsibility - too young and not completely trained. The old woman can't stop hoping Sam will come around. She waited too long to begin training Matthew. Besides, Jacques should be the next head shaman for all the families. He'll know what to do for all of us. He's good. They say he's so good that when animals talk to each other, he knows what they're saying."
I refreshed my mental shield, not wanting my thoughts to be overheard. I never needed such guards in Los Angles, but this place was crawling with mind-listeners. At least it seemed that way to me. One was too many, but at least Sam and his grandmother were on my side.
The couple settled down to sleep. I wondered where Jacques Turtle lived and what he might be scheming. I waited a while longer, but all I heard was snores. It seemed there was no more I could learn tonight. I lowered myself through the branches until I was low enough to drop without making a sound. It was still dark, but the moon had set and the constellations were nearly through with their cycle. Dawn would come soon when I would have to find shelter.
I slipped into Sam's window and closed the drapes. The window faced east. It would not be dark enough in the room once the sun rose. I added the sheet to Sam's curtain, wrapped myself in my coat and hid under Sam's bed pressing myself as close to his wall as I could. I hoped the shade would give me enough protection.
Before I slept, I thought about what I'd overheard. Was there actually a threat? Mrs. Birchtree seemed to think so. The council was coming up shortly now that Sam was back home. I didn't have enough information to solve a premeditated 'accident', if that is what someone was planning. Nothing had happened yet.
Sam stirred uneasily. "Mick. Are you here?" he whispered.
"Yes," I replied just as softly. He sat up and looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. The window was shaded more than normally. "Here I am." I sat beside him on the bed. "Dawn is coming," I said to explain the window. "I was under your bed to avoid it."
Sam nodded and took my arm, holding it to ascertain exactly where I was. He felt the cold of the outside on me although I didn't. "Are you all right?" he asked. I told him that I was, that no one had seen me. "What did you hear?" His voice was like the predawn breeze moving through dry leaves.
"The Turtle family wants someone named Jacques Turtle to be the next head shaman when your grandmother retires. They say you don't want the position and Matthew is still too untrained."
"They're right. So why does my grandmother feel like there is danger brewing?"
"My guess is that your grandmother will still try to foist Matthew on them. They don't trust you or anyone from your family to do what's right for this community. They want to make sure nothing stands in their way. They're afraid you'll change your mind, get voted in, and set up the reservation like a tourist attraction, like the people here are museum displays. They didn't quite say that, but that was the impression I got."
"Ah yes," Sam said. He covered his eyes and swayed like I imagined a Hindu mystic in a trance might do. "I see a gambling casino in our future, and selling nasty souvenirs to remind visitors of our dark past. Maybe we'll serve deer blood at the bar. Lots of neon lights would help; don't you think?" I looked at him to see if he was serious. "I'm joking," he said.
"Not funny, not funny at all," I said. "The sun is rising. I have to get into the dark." I moved quickly. Sam opened the window to let in the cold, then ducked down and tucked his quilt around the bottom of the bed to shield me better from any rays that might make it through the window. "Thank you," I said. "I haven't been tucked in for quite a while." He snickered, and then I was out.
It was late afternoon when my eyes opened. My cave-like shelter under the bed did not bring me the sound of Sam's heartbeat. I was alone. I spread the quilt on the bed again, and then looked for my cooler. Only two bags of blood remained. Sam had my Freeze Paks frozen again and they were doing a fine job of keeping my supplies cold. The sheet and the curtains still blocked the daylight.
I removed the sheet from the window and folded it, laying it over Sam's quilt. I dressed before I walked out the door and looked for the bathroom. One of the Birchtree relatives was nearby. He wished me a good morning with a knowing smirk. "Musician's hours?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "It is okay if I use the shower?"
"The water will be cold," he said.
"I don't mind."
Clean and dressed, I walked into the kitchen. Sam was alone in there - finishing up a big breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and meat. The cooked deer meat and been sliced and fried, then drenched with maple syrup. "My mother spoils me when I'm home." He looked up at me. "Anything I can get you?"
I looked around and listened to make sure no one was around. "Yes. There is something. I'll get it myself." I looked for the refrigerator and found it. The deer blood was in a jelly jar. I sniffed it, then held it against the afternoon light to see if there was any separation. I twirled the blood a little to mix it and drank from the jar. "I was really thirsty." I wiped my mouth and licked my knuckles clean. "It's actually pretty good. No preservatives. What did I miss while I was sleeping?"
"The council meeting is tonight. After I wash the dishes, let's poke around and see if we can find out what people are saying in the daylight."