Running Barefoot
Page 27
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I reached up with my right hand and gently touched his bruised cheekbone. “What happened?” I repeated softly, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.
“Compliments of my mom’s husband.”
“He hit you?” I whispered, shocked.
“Yeah. I hit him, too. Don’t look so alarmed. I gave as good as I got. In fact, I had to hold back a little because he was so drunk it really wasn’t a fair fight.” Samuel’s voice and face were smooth and untroubled. I wasn’t really buying it.
“Your mom lets him hit you?”
“Mom doesn’t have much control over anything at this point. She drinks way too much too, and she’s scared of him. But she’s more scared that he’ll leave, and even more scared that I will be the reason he does. It’s better for everyone if I go and stay gone.”
“But…I thought your mom wanted you back home. That’s what your grandparents said.”
“My mom doesn’t want me to be a Marine and get myself killed in some “white man’s war.” My mom doesn’t understand why I want to go. She says she never should have married my father. She says I am leaving her because I am ashamed I am half Navajo…the funny thing is, she wants me gone, but she doesn’t want me to go.”
I felt his helplessness and didn’t know how to comfort him. I didn’t understand the relationship he had with his mother, or the difficulty in being of mixed race, from mixed cultures, full of mixed emotions.
“What made you decide to come back?” I didn’t think I would have had the courage to leave my family.
“I spent some time with my grandmother. During the winter the sheep are corralled close to home, and my grandmother works almost non-stop at her loom. She makes these amazing rugs and blankets. She says her ability to weave is a gift from Spider Woman.” He looked at me, a faint smile lurking around his firm lips. “Spider Woman is of no relation to Super Sam or Bionic Josie.” He quirked his eyebrows at me and then continued, serious again. “Spider Woman is considered one of the Holy People - kind of like the Gods of the Navajo people.
“My grandmother never went to school. Her parents were suspicious of the schools of the white man. They hid her in the cornfield when the social service people came to enforce the education laws on the reservation. There were boarding schools for the children then. The children were sent away, and they weren’t allowed to speak Navajo. Her parents worried that school would change her. They told her the sheep would provide for her, give her everything she needed.
“The funny thing is, they were right. My grandmother is very independent. She cares for the sheep, and they provide for her. She knows how to shear, wash, card and spin the wool into yarn. From the yarn she makes the rugs and blankets to sell. The Navajo name for sheep means “that by which we live.” She says she is grateful for the gift of weaving from Spider Woman, and for her sheep, for her hogan, for her life…but she wishes she had been able to go to school.
“When I was there she told me to study hard, to be proud of my heritage and not be afraid of myself. She said I was Navajo, but I was my father’s son as well. One heritage was not more important than the other.”
Samuel grew quiet, and I sat next to him in contemplative silence.
“I’ll help you, Samuel.”
“I know you will Josie…and Josie?
“Hmm?”
“Remember when I told you that you were the furthest thing from a Navajo?”
I laughed a little, remembering the derision with which he’d made the statement. “Yep, I remember.”
“I realized something when I was with my grandmother.” He paused, smiling faintly. “You remind me of her…funny, huh?”
I pondered that for a minute. Samuel continued, apparently not expecting me to answer.
“She sang me a healing song before I left. Usually the chants and the songs are sung by the old men, but she said the words are like a prayer, and prayer is for everyone.” The words of the song are:
There is beauty behind me as I walk
There is beauty before me as I walk
There is beauty below me as I walk.
There is beauty above me as I walk.
In beauty I must always walk.
“You always walk in beauty, Josie. You are constantly looking for it.... I think you are secretly a Navajo after all.” Samuel took my hand in his this time.
“Can I have a secret name?” I teased, but I was touched by his sentiment.
“I’ll think about it.” Samuels’s lips twitched, and merriment flitted across his stern features. “By the way, Nettie and Don said you came looking for me. They said you were acting strange and talking about umbilical cords.” Samuel’s eyes danced with laughter.
I giggled and covered my mouth with my free hand.
“Samuel?” He looked at me in response. “I think I have a new code word for music.”
His forehead creased “What?”
“Sheep.”
“Why?”
“Because music is ’that by which I live.”
“Bee’iin’a at’e?”
“Wow. Is that how you say it? That’s even better.”
And we listened to Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ in peaceful companionship.
8. Deceptive Cadence
I told Samuel that I would help him read Othello, but it proved difficult for me. I was not a stranger to Shakespeare’s language, but the themes of jealousy, racism, and betrayal were not ones I enjoyed. I found myself increasingly anxious for Othello, and frustrated by the ease in which he fell for Iago’s machinations. I desperately wanted a happy ending, and I wasn’t going to get one.
“Compliments of my mom’s husband.”
“He hit you?” I whispered, shocked.
“Yeah. I hit him, too. Don’t look so alarmed. I gave as good as I got. In fact, I had to hold back a little because he was so drunk it really wasn’t a fair fight.” Samuel’s voice and face were smooth and untroubled. I wasn’t really buying it.
“Your mom lets him hit you?”
“Mom doesn’t have much control over anything at this point. She drinks way too much too, and she’s scared of him. But she’s more scared that he’ll leave, and even more scared that I will be the reason he does. It’s better for everyone if I go and stay gone.”
“But…I thought your mom wanted you back home. That’s what your grandparents said.”
“My mom doesn’t want me to be a Marine and get myself killed in some “white man’s war.” My mom doesn’t understand why I want to go. She says she never should have married my father. She says I am leaving her because I am ashamed I am half Navajo…the funny thing is, she wants me gone, but she doesn’t want me to go.”
I felt his helplessness and didn’t know how to comfort him. I didn’t understand the relationship he had with his mother, or the difficulty in being of mixed race, from mixed cultures, full of mixed emotions.
“What made you decide to come back?” I didn’t think I would have had the courage to leave my family.
“I spent some time with my grandmother. During the winter the sheep are corralled close to home, and my grandmother works almost non-stop at her loom. She makes these amazing rugs and blankets. She says her ability to weave is a gift from Spider Woman.” He looked at me, a faint smile lurking around his firm lips. “Spider Woman is of no relation to Super Sam or Bionic Josie.” He quirked his eyebrows at me and then continued, serious again. “Spider Woman is considered one of the Holy People - kind of like the Gods of the Navajo people.
“My grandmother never went to school. Her parents were suspicious of the schools of the white man. They hid her in the cornfield when the social service people came to enforce the education laws on the reservation. There were boarding schools for the children then. The children were sent away, and they weren’t allowed to speak Navajo. Her parents worried that school would change her. They told her the sheep would provide for her, give her everything she needed.
“The funny thing is, they were right. My grandmother is very independent. She cares for the sheep, and they provide for her. She knows how to shear, wash, card and spin the wool into yarn. From the yarn she makes the rugs and blankets to sell. The Navajo name for sheep means “that by which we live.” She says she is grateful for the gift of weaving from Spider Woman, and for her sheep, for her hogan, for her life…but she wishes she had been able to go to school.
“When I was there she told me to study hard, to be proud of my heritage and not be afraid of myself. She said I was Navajo, but I was my father’s son as well. One heritage was not more important than the other.”
Samuel grew quiet, and I sat next to him in contemplative silence.
“I’ll help you, Samuel.”
“I know you will Josie…and Josie?
“Hmm?”
“Remember when I told you that you were the furthest thing from a Navajo?”
I laughed a little, remembering the derision with which he’d made the statement. “Yep, I remember.”
“I realized something when I was with my grandmother.” He paused, smiling faintly. “You remind me of her…funny, huh?”
I pondered that for a minute. Samuel continued, apparently not expecting me to answer.
“She sang me a healing song before I left. Usually the chants and the songs are sung by the old men, but she said the words are like a prayer, and prayer is for everyone.” The words of the song are:
There is beauty behind me as I walk
There is beauty before me as I walk
There is beauty below me as I walk.
There is beauty above me as I walk.
In beauty I must always walk.
“You always walk in beauty, Josie. You are constantly looking for it.... I think you are secretly a Navajo after all.” Samuel took my hand in his this time.
“Can I have a secret name?” I teased, but I was touched by his sentiment.
“I’ll think about it.” Samuels’s lips twitched, and merriment flitted across his stern features. “By the way, Nettie and Don said you came looking for me. They said you were acting strange and talking about umbilical cords.” Samuel’s eyes danced with laughter.
I giggled and covered my mouth with my free hand.
“Samuel?” He looked at me in response. “I think I have a new code word for music.”
His forehead creased “What?”
“Sheep.”
“Why?”
“Because music is ’that by which I live.”
“Bee’iin’a at’e?”
“Wow. Is that how you say it? That’s even better.”
And we listened to Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ in peaceful companionship.
8. Deceptive Cadence
I told Samuel that I would help him read Othello, but it proved difficult for me. I was not a stranger to Shakespeare’s language, but the themes of jealousy, racism, and betrayal were not ones I enjoyed. I found myself increasingly anxious for Othello, and frustrated by the ease in which he fell for Iago’s machinations. I desperately wanted a happy ending, and I wasn’t going to get one.
