Sacred Ground

Drawn to the thick volume entitled, “Indian Handbook of the Far West,” I looked up the Chuponan one more time to peruse the black and white pictures of mortar holes in weathered bedrock where the women of the tribe pounded acorn and the poignant photos of men drilling fire or posing with their bows in hunter’s stance. I studied the artistry of Chuponan baskets and the festive garb of the Yoka dancers, and I could see there was much substance to this once thriving civilization ... a civilization that now seemed to be clinging to the earth by a single vine.

I had to wonder if I had the guts to be so committed were my own heritage on the line, before laughing at the thought, remembering that nothing in my pedigree would indicate there was any such legacy to preserve. I came from a thicket where any trace of tradition had long since been weeded out, and it wasn’t as though we were running around our fast food and scripted existence trying to establish anything fertile for future generations to root in.

After a beckoning buzz broke my stream of consciousness, I picked up to hear Andrea say, “Your son’s on one.” And when I punched the blinking button, Dylan asked, “When’re you comin’ home?”

“Beats me,” rolled off my tongue. “What’s up?”

“Mom roped me into baby-sittin’ the brat.”

“So, what of it?”

“It’s not fair,” he cried. “Joani gets busted, and I end up doin’ the time.”

“I’ll see if I can’t spring you,” I replied, before weighing that offer, “But what’s so pressing that you’d bother me at work?”

“Chuck’s gettin’ a telescope for Christmas, and I wanna check it out.”

Passing on the sarcastic reply, I opted for, “I’ll try and work something out.”

On hanging up, I glanced down at the image of an old Chuponan woman ... with her ragged hair cut short in mourning ... to wonder what she’d have thought of that conversation. Her dark skin parched by the elements, she teetered beneath her load. With the salmon drying in the dilapidated shack behind, I sensed there was precious little time in her day to consider anything so trivial.

Closing the book with no desire to face the work on my desk, I slipped out the back to wander in the fog towards downtown, where from storefront to festive storefront, I mindlessly poked along toward the ocean, until one such storefront was Sarah’s.

“Sam’s looking for you,” she said when I ducked inside.

“What does he want?”

“Didn’t say,” she said while making it out from behind the counter. And giving me a crooked smile, she asked, “Where’ve you been?”

“Window shopping.”

“In this weather?”

“It’s Christmas,” I pointed out. And she gave me her “What else is knew?” expression, before asking, “Do you need a ride back?”

“No, I’m fine,” I replied. “I thought I’d head over to the Anchor and grab a bowl of chowder.”

“That sounds good,” she said. And heading for the back to get Shauna to cover the register, she added, “It’s been dead around here.”

“Great,” was about all I could say, but by the time we were immersed in the drizzle, it finally crossed my mind to ask, “So where’s Joani?”

“I gave her 20 dollars and a couple of hours to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Time off for good behavior?”

“Well, she’s got to have a few minutes to herself.”

“I have no problems with that,” I said, before she could switch gears to mention, “Dylan called.”

“He blessed me as well.”

“Then he told you what he wants for Christmas?”

“No,” I replied. “But let me guess.” And I pretended to think about it, before saying, “A telescope, right?”

“I thought you said he didn’t tell you,” she replied as the neon from the intended eatery poked through the drab.

“He didn’t,” I said while opening the door. “But I know the way his mind works.” And as the girl led us to a table, I added, “It’s so foggy you can’t see your hand in front of your face and he wants a freakin’ telescope.”

“He knows which one he wants,” she took a seat while saying. “And he said it wasn’t too expensive.”

“This isn’t The Price is Right,” I shot back. “It’s Christmas and we’ll damn well get him something we decide on.”