Sha'Di's Gift: Inheritance

Sha’Di’s Gift

-Inheritance-

by

David Powell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright @ 2015 David Powell

All rights reserved

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

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Table of contents

The Start

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Acknowledgments

The Start

Sha’Di, no longer a child, but not yet a woman, had put on her Kinaalda dress, slipped on the buckskin shoes, tied a sash around her waist, put on the heavy silver belt, and slipped the necklaces over her head and the bracelets on her wrists. She lay, face down in the hogan, and her mother, Maya, ran her hands over Sha’Di’s body to mould it to grow straight and true and slim.

Sha’Di turned and sat up in the doorway, facing the east; the Arizona night was nearly over, the moon a pale crescent over Navajo Mountain, the Milky Way’s carpet of silver just beginning to fade. The coyote, with a dead jackrabbit in her jaws, was making her way back to her cubs after a successful hunt; the buzzard was shaking his feathers and preparing to catch the first thermals to ride high above the desert.

Maya combed Sha’Di’s hair. Time and time again the comb rustled down the long black hair, whispering to the breeze. As she combed she chanted softly.

"Ma, what’s that song you are singing?’

Truly, Sha’Di, I don’t know. I know it’s a woman’s song my ma used to sing and her ma before her. It’s an old, old song. My grandmother used to tell me it was the song used to tell the moon to leave the belly of the earth and fly through the night skies. I guess it’s about the way life comes and goes, and we are all part of it. Maybe it’s a bit like that buckle on your belt, the sun rising and the moon setting.

Maya tied back Sha’Di’s hair with a long, thin strap of buckskin, and kissed the top of her head. Sha’Di stood, her hands shaking, and waited for the first of the sun’s rays to cross the ridge.

As the brightness startled the dawn sky she ran towards it. To begin with her mother and Aunt Cora and others in her family followed her, but they were not used to running and soon dropped back, but one cousin, Elissa Benally could, and did, keep up with her.

Elissa, like Sha’Di, was a thin girl, shorter and darker, with a serious face that was always crinkling up as she burst into laughter at any little thing. Sha’Di remembered her, just; she had met her a couple of times before when they had visited; they had been friendly, sort of, but it had been so long ago. Elissa was not saying much, just running with her, sometimes a pace or two behind, sometimes leading. Running came easily to Elissa; she seemed to float over the path, her feet never landing on rocks or sinking into sand, her head always high, facing the dawn.

To begin with the running was difficult for Sha’Di, the necklaces were heavy and banged against her, while the bracelets rubbed her arms. Every time she slowed or stumbled Elissa was there, a hand at her elbow to steady her, some words of encouragement.

Come on, Sha’Di.

Her mother’s chanting was still in her mind and, as each footstep followed another, the rhythm of it became the rhythm of her running, her footsteps providing a regular background beat, the bracelets and the necklaces making music in her head. Her breathing became regular, her body swayed from side to side and her feet seemed to skim across the sand, the dust and the gravel, towards the rising sun.

She felt her hair streaming behind her, the sun growing hotter on her face. On and on she ran, staying on the path, up hillocks and down into small valleys, on and on, her feet and legs moving automatically.

The countryside was changing, there were more bushes and small trees, less scrub, and soon she was running towards a small creek winding along the base of the cliff at the edge of the hills.

She seemed to be high in the sky, looking down on herself as she ran, with Elissa two paces behind, light-footed over the sand and scrub, into the small copse that bordered the stream,

A deer crossed the path in front of her; startled, it stopped, dashed off. She heard the pebbles under its feet after it had disappeared from sight.

Finally they reached the stream, just when the sun’s rays kissed the top of the Eggshell Arch, changing the plants around them from grey to green.

Elissa turned with her, Come on, Sha’Di, you can do this, you can show them.

Custom and ritual forbade Sha’Di stopping and drinking; she had to turn and run back again to the hogan where her family and members of her clan were waiting.

Come on, Sha’Di, it gets better, I love running, I do it all the time so, believe me, I know.

Running back, the sun was now on her back, but even with the chant in her mind, as the dryness in her throat grew, she found the way long and hard, and her head began to droop. Yet, slowly, the pains in her legs were receding, her head seemed lighter, her vision clearer.

Elissa’s voice was there, Come on, Sha’Di, you can do this, you really can.

She saw the hogan in the distance: there were cars and pickups all around it, smoke coming from two barbecues. Again she was looking down, seeing the tribe waving to her

As she drew closer, the clan turned to her and shouted encouragement, so she lifted her head and her feet and, pretending that she was not tired, ran up to her mother, waiting at the hogan door.

Sha’Di, you made it.

Elissa had more breath left than Sha’Di, Sure, she made it. And she will do it again tomorrow.

Sha’Di smiled at Elissa, grateful, then said to her mother, Did you think I wouldn’t do it? That I couldn’t do it, maybe?

Chapter 1

It seemed like ages since it all started in Los Lunas, although it was only a matter of weeks.

It had all begun on a Friday, close to the summer vacation, as Sha’Di was walking home from school with Jayne and Chantelle, the three girls arranging to go to the multiplex on Saturday afternoon. She had just told them she was changing her name to Maybelline. They both liked it better than ‘Sha’Di.’ even though they thought is was cute to have a name that meant ‘elder sister’

And, she said, I have decided to have my hair cut short and dyed blonde.

Your ma will never let you. Jayne was certain she controlled her mother better than Sha’Di did hers.

I’m not going to tell her, not ‘til it’s done.

So, how you going to pay for it? Chantelle was always practical, Going to cost you more than fifty dollars.

I’ve been saving, I’ve got nearly thirty dollars put by.

She’ll go crazy, like way over the top crazy.

I’m old enough to make my own mind up, she’s just got to learn to give me a bit more space.

Yeah, Navajo mothers do seem ultra on discipline. Well, yours does anyway.

You don’t how bad it can be… let me tell you…

So she started to tell them about her ma and the Kinaalda ceremony she was insisting on.

Jayne interrupted, So, you’re saying this Kinaalda is a big public ceremony - for your first period - like with all your family there? All of them? Cousins?

Sha’Di nodded miserably, Yeah, all of them. Boys as well.

Chantelle stopped in her tracks, Boys as well?

The girls had made a vow not to tell anyone except each other when their periods started.

Ma says the Navajo ‘celebrate’ it. So, it’s sort of having a big party to tell everyone. It means you are becoming a woman. She says she felt good about it when she had done it, and says I will feel the same.

Chantelle was thoughtful, puzzled, So, like, what do you have to do? I mean how long does it go on for? Half an hour? An hour? What?

Two days and three nights.

I wouldn’t go. Jayne said, I’d refuse. I have my rights.

Sha’Di sighed, It ain’t that easy. I wish it was. But Ma is really proud of this Navajo thing, says we have to keep our ancient traditions alive, and more and more of the true Navajo are doing it.

Chantelle said, Well, I think ancient traditions should be kept where they belong… in ancient history.

Their friend Erin, who they had missed as they left the school, came running up to them, Have you seen Ben?

Ben was her kid brother and always getting into trouble.

Erin didn’t wait for their reply, Ma’s going crazy back there, he’s been missing for over three hours now, she’s got the police out, and all the neighbors are looking for him.

As they passed the street where Erin lived they could see a crowd around her house, a squad car, lights flashing, half up on the grass. Erin’s mother was crying and a hanging on to another woman who looked just as upset.

Sha’Di felt a noise in her head. This had happened a few times before, but this time it was really loud, she was sure it was a child sobbing. She looked at all the other people, none of them were reacting; it was as if they couldn’t hear it. She had this feeling of being trapped, being bound up in something tough, yet soft. Her fingers seemed to be scratching at this material, trying to get out, but making no impression. It was dark and hot and dusty.

Then came the voice, Mom, help, help Mom. I can’t get out, help, Mom. I’m sorry, help.

She could feel herself gulping for air, it was so hot and dark, no light at all, and a feeling of no air, no matter how much she sucked into her lungs she could never breathe enough in.

Help me Mom, I’m stuck here. I’m sorry, Mom, please help me. The voice was getting weaker.

Then, there were other voices, asking where Ben had been playing, who with, but they were outside her head; Ben’s voice was inside.

She could feel him getting weaker; she could feel that every breath was an effort, an effort without the reward of air being sucked in.

As this voice in her head faded, she moved closer to the house. And it seemed to be stronger. Closer again and she felt she was in that hot dusty binding.

Please Mom, help me. I can’t breathe… Mom… She could feel his legs kicking, weak, against the material.

She moved closer again to the house, this time the voice faded, but got stronger as she moved to the garage door. She knew he was in there.

He’s in here, he was hiding from his mom, and he can’t get out.

I’ve looked in there.

I know he’s in there, all wrapped up inside something. Hurry, he’s finding it difficult to breathe.

Erin dashed into the house and came out with a bunch of keys, but the voice had faded from Sha’Di’s mind.

As Erin fumbled with the garage door the policeman took the keys off her and had the door open and up in seconds. A pile of junk fell out and there, at the bottom, was an old rolled-up carpet.

He’s in that carpet, I know he is.

The policeman unrolled the carpet and there, dusty and grimy, was Benjamin, face streaked with tears. When he saw the policemen his eyes flickered, opened wide, and he screamed, Don’t let the policeman take me, Mom, please, I’m sorry, honest, Mom, don’t let the policeman take me… please…

Sha’Di decided to drift away before anybody asked her questions. When she turned the corner, and was out of sight of the house, she heaved a sigh of relief.

But she heard the footsteps of her friends running after her.

Chantelle and Jayne stood in front of Sha’Di, staring at her until she become quite uncomfortable.

What?

Chantelle said, How did you know, Sha’Di? I mean nobody else heard him. I was there. I know nobody heard him. So, how?

Jayne joined in, Yeah, how? And why did you practically run away? I mean, you were a hero there, you might have been interviewed on TV, had your picture tweeted all over the world - with someone, maybe, starting a Facebook fund to reward you.

I don’t know. I don’t want attention. Look, it was just something that happened, I don’t know how, but we can keep it a secret, can’t we? Just us three?

Jayne said, You could maybe have made a hundred dollars.

More, Chantelle nodded, maybe two or three hundred.

Look, please don’t tell anyone, I am having enough trouble at home. Ma is always bad-tempered these days, worse when Pa comes home, and my brother Popé is teething. I don’t need it. I can’t handle any more stuff right now.

As they got close to where Sha’Di turned off she could see two cars, a van and a truck, outside her home. Her friends stopped talking, stopped walking, and said nothing. They understood straight away; it had happened to other friends before. She ran towards her home.

She glanced over her shoulder, her friends were whispering. Her heart was noisy in her chest, her throat dry.

Her ma, with her baby brother Popé on one arm, tears flowing down her face, was trying to throw old suitcases, bulging black plastic garbage bags, Wal-Mart shopping bags, filled-up cardboard boxes, on to the back of her pickup.

It was even worse to see some men in overalls putting up big sheets of fiberboard, screwing them into the window frames. A sign reading For Sale with "Foreclosure’’ written in letters nearly as big. Sha’Di Whitefeather had heard about these things, kids in her class had told her it had happened to their families.

Now it was her turn.

Ma, what’s up? she asked, but she knew. She had heard the raised voices through her bedroom wall, seen her mother, red-eyed, streaky-faced in the morning, her fingers trembling as she packed up some lunch for Sha’Di.

But, somehow, it was never going to happen to her. Her father had a big, shiny, new truck, worked all the time, so much that she hardly ever saw him; he was always bringing back presents from all over the country. But she’d heard the voices more and more, Ma and Pa shouting, doors slamming, his truck being revved up in the middle of the night.

And now, this.

She helped her ma throw their bits of stuff on the back. Her mother handed the baby to her, turned, and walked up the short path to the house. A big man wearing a badge stopped her going in.Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you in there again."

Her mother waved a couple of empty water bottles at him, Just trying to get some water for the kids. We have a very long journey ahead of us, you know.

Another man in a suit, wearing a Stetson and shiny boots, heard this and stepped up to interfere, We cannot allow you back in, ma’am. He was sympathetic though, But, if you want, I can let the girl in for five minutes.

Sha’Di handed Popé back to her ma and went in. With the fiberboards up, it was already dark inside the kitchen. The cupboards were all empty, but the table and chairs were still there. All the pots and pans had gone, but the fridge-freezer stood where it always had. She filled the two bottles and decided to have a quick look around.

In the sitting room she could see the sofas and Pa’s favorite chair. The sound center had gone but the huge loudspeakers Ma and Pa had quarreled over were still there.

Jason, we just cannot afford them… we have no money.

"Maya, they were a bargain and the sound I’ll get, wait ‘till you hear it… and I’ll pick up a bonus or something soon…’’

Sha’Di reckoned she had a couple of minutes left so she ran upstairs; her bed hadn’t gone, but there was no bedding on it. Her posters were still on the wall. It had taken her ages to get the ones she liked. She put the bottles down and slipped the posters free of the Blu Tack, rolled them up and shoved them under her arm. Her little chest of drawers that she had just painted sky-blue was there, but all her clothes had gone from the closet, but the loose panel at the back had not been disturbed; she reached in and sighed with relief when her hands felt a little purse with her thirty dollars in. She stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans.

A voice came up the stairs, Best come down now, Miss.

Sha’Di turned, went down the stairs, and left her old life behind.

Where are we going, Ma?

She was not expecting the answer, We’re going back to Juniper Ridge for good, to live on the reservation.

Sha’Di felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.‘Here, get in the pickup now, there’s no purpose in just hanging around."

The old pickup started with a bang and a cloud of blue smoke; Sha’Di turned and gazed back at the men on what was once their front garden. The house, with its windows covered up, looked blinded and helpless. They drove out of the small development they had lived on. A couple of her school friends waved at her and she gave a small wave back. They passed the Starlight Cinema where she was due the next day with her friends; Kentucky Fried Chicken, where her Pa used to take her to get supper, the Subway where he used to buy sandwiches before he drove away.

Facing the afternoon sun, they passed out of Los Lunas, climbing the long hill, through the dusty countryside.

What’s happened, Ma?

We’ve lost our home, that’s what happened.

What about our stuff? My bed?

We had to leave it. Didn’t have any money for it to be brought with us or stored. We’ve only got just enough money for the gas to get us back to Juniper Ridge, with a coffee or two if I drive real careful.

Do we have to go to Juniper Ridge? I don’t know anyone there, not really.

It’s the only place where we can go. You’ve got family there, for God’s sake. And you do know some people there. You were there until you were four and you’ve been back quite a few times since.

Ma, it was ages ago I lived there. And there’s no Internet connection, no mobile signal and only two TV channels. And one of them is mostly religion. And I don’t remember anyone except grandpa and Aunt Cora. I can’t even think of their names. And I’m supposed to be going to the cinema tomorrow with Jayne and Chantelle. It’s all been arranged. You’re taking me from everything I know. And what about the game next week? The school might get to the final for the first time.

Well, I wish we had never left Juniper Ridge. Anyway, we don’t have any choice, Sha’Di. Her voice got louder, I don’t want to say it again so for the last time we... have... nowhere… else… to go. Got it?

Ma, you don’t understand. Couldn’t we…?

Shut up. her mother was screaming, Just shut up. The side of her fist beat the steering wheel; tears were streaking her face.

Popé woke and kicked under his blanket. He started to cry. Sha’Di hid the tears of rage in her eyes by looking down at him as she gave him his bottle. She felt a dull ache low in her belly, but decided not to tell her mother.

Chapter 2

Nearly two hours had passed before they spoke again. There were signs for ‘Gallup’ by the side of the road. Sha’Di felt sick. The ache had grown: every minute it was a little worse. Her mother was driving slowly, never more than thirty miles an hour. Huge trucks were passing them, often with klaxons blaring, their lights full on, their slipstreams slamming into the pickup, pushing it from side to side.

Couldn’t you go a bit quicker, Ma?

Sha’Di, I have to save all the gas I can. I don’t even know if I’ve got enough in the tank to get to Juniper.

Ma, could we stop soon? I need to go.I’ll pull up here, you can go by the side of the road."

Ma, I’ve got some money.

How’ve you got any money?

I saved it up, just cents and stuff, but it’s thirty dollars.

Still, no need to waste your savings, I’ll pull up soon, just as soon as I can, you can go by the side of the road, no-one will see you.

No, Ma, it’s not like that. I’ve got this pain, down here, and she rubbed her stomach.

Her mother glanced sideways at her, concerned, then her face changed, Ah, I see. You’ve started. Don’t worry, we’ll pull up at Gallup; I’ll sort you out there.

They were about an hour in the café in Gallup. It wasn’t easy, with Popé to look after, and the three of them in the small washroom, but they managed and after some painkillers Sha’Di felt not too bad. They had a coffee, which Sha’Di paid for in cents and dimes. Her mother had stopped crying, had repaired her face, and she bought Sha’Di some chocolate that Popé wanted to share. They all felt much better as they walked back to the pickup in the late evening light. They bought a few more gallons of gas, her mother counting out all the small coins to pay for it. Sha’Di looked out of the window, pretending she was not there.

They got back on the main route, through a couple of sets of lights, and the traffic thinned as they drove north, out of New Mexico and into Arizona.

Her mother spoke, Now, you’ll have to prepare for Kinaalda when you get to Juniper Ridge. Normally, you have months, but this time you’ll only have a month.

Oh, Ma, not again. Do I have to have Kinaalda?

Your grandpa is a healer, a Hitaalli. It will be expected of you.

I know, you’ve already told me.

I’ve tried to explain to you that it is important to us. It’s the ceremony when a girl becomes a woman. It lets the family and tribe know. It’s the Navajo way. Better get used to it.

Sha’Di gazed into the night, desperate, I can’t believe you are doing this to me, she muttered.

All of them will be there. We kill a sheep and barbecue it.

You told me, she spoke slowly, A big family barbecue to let everyone know? About me? About what is private to me? No thanks. And killing a sheep? Gross.

It’s not just a barbecue, there’s a big ceremony as well. We get to stay in Pa’s hogan.

Grandpa’s hogan? She had been there a couple of times, it was, to her, a small hut mostly made of rocks with some planks and bits of stuff, "I remember that when I was little I was frightened of going inside and