Aaron Elkins: The Dark Place

"Well, they don’t."

"But it would be rude to suggest it. They’re being very mannerly, and we should be, too. For all we know, three people have already been killed because they weren’t sufficiently decorous. Now shut up and eat."

The Indians had been watching them silently. When Julie and Gideon spoke to each other, it aroused not a flicker of interest. The Yahi appeared not to notice. It was as if they were a couple of dogs muttering to each other.

Gideon held up his fish and smiled at the Indians. "Good!" he said in Yahi, smiling and chewing. There was no response.

"Gideon," Julie said, reaching irresolutely for a fish, "do you really think these people are killers? They’re more frightened of us than we are of them. Except him." She tipped her head toward the reclining Big Cheese, who seemed bored and impatient with watching the saltu eat. "You can practically see the hatred oozing out of him."

Gideon nodded. "Yes, the others don’t look exactly bloodthirsty. I think that as long as we’re not alone with Big Cheese we’re safe."

Julie clawed a tiny piece of meat loose, popped it in her mouth, and licked her fingers. "Even if we were alone with him, I wouldn’t be too worried. I don’t think you’d have much trouble with him. Just don’t you leave me alone with him."

Sitting there, living through one of the century’s anthropological summits, the distinguished professor glowed just as much, and for precisely the same reason, as he had when he was thirteen years old and Ruthie Nettle said she bet he could beat up Meat Baumhoff. He picked up another trout, bit it, and waved it directly at Big Cheese. "Good fish!"

"Can’t you talk to them?" Julie asked uneasily. "It’s awfully uncomfortable sitting here with them just staring at us."

"I don’t think you understand how little Yahi I know. It’s strictly Me-Lone Ranger-You-Tonto."

"Well, what about that? Wouldn’t it be polite to ask their names? Tell them ours?"

"No, it’d be rude. And they’d never tell. No white person ever found out a Yahi’s name."

"What about Ishi?"

"That wasn’t his name," Gideon said. "’Ishi’ is a nickname. It’s just what Kroeber dubbed him. It means ‘man’ in Yahi." He sucked the last shreds of meat from the ribs of the fish, taking pains to show noisy appreciation, and picked up another. The Indians watched stolidly. "To them the purpose of a name isn’t to label someone, it’s a placation of a dead ancestor, a magical source of power-"

Surprisingly, Julie burst out laughing. "Here we are in the middle of this scene right out of King Solomon’s Mines, and you’re delivering a lovely, stuffy lecture from Introduction to Primitive Kinship Systems. "

To show her he wasn’t at all stuffy, he suggested they assign the Yahi nicknames and suggested Shy Buffalo for the soft man with the big body and the gentle eyes, and Startled Mouse for the small, tremulous man he’d seen at the gravel bar. The young one, of course was Big Cheese. Julie chipped in with Gray Sparrow for the old woman, and Keen Eagle for the patriarchal old man.

When they finished the fish, Gray Sparrow groped for the basket she’d been working over earlier, a well-woven, watertight cooking basket with the Yahi stepped design on it, and began stirring again.

"The next course, I think," Gideon said. "Have you ever had acorn mush?"

"No. Am I about to?"

"Yes," he said, making a face. "A rare treat."

Every few moments Gray Sparrow would use two sticks to deftly lift a heated, round stone from the fire, dip it quickly into a small pot of water to wash off the ashes, and drop it into the basket. One of the sticks was used to keep the stones rolling about so that the basket wasn’t burned, and in a very few minutes the pale mush was boiling. The stones were removed, and the large basket was set down in front of Gideon and Julie.

This course was to be communal. First Big Cheese slouched over offhandedly and sat down near the basket. Without waiting for the others, he dipped two fingers into it and slurped up the yellowish-white porridge. Then, by means of a brusque gesture with the same hand, he told Gideon and Julie to do likewise, which they did, Julie with only a momentary hesitation. A turn of his head over his shoulder and a few abrupt words brought the older Indians up to the basket like a family of shy deer ready to bolt at the first move of the saltu.

The bland, oily acorn mush was consumed in near-silence, with Gideon and Julie eating little. Gideon made friendly overtures several times, but the Yahi wouldn’t even meet his eyes, let alone respond.

When it was done, another platter, of fish and root vegetables, came from the oven. This was politely if indifferently offered to Julie and Gideon, who declined.

"Too much," Gideon said in Yahi, patting his stomach and smiling. "Good."

The Indians ate, stuffing the food into their mouths but never taking their eyes off the strangers.

"Feel better?" Gideon asked. "It looks like they have plenty."

"Much better," Julie said.

Afterward, the old Indians crept away again and looked at them from a distance, but now there was a touch of expectancy, naive and even charming, in their faces. They hadn’t forgotten the gifts. Gideon opened his pack and looked through what he’d brought. If they’d never seen a mirror before, it would be a first-rate way to begin.

"Here goes," he said to Julie. "Unless I miss my guess, Big Cheese is the kind of guy who’ll find his own face the most fascinating thing in the world."

With a smile, he held one of the pocket mirrors out to him, tilting it so that the Indian would see his own reflection when he looked at it. But he wouldn’t look at it. He turned his head away with his eyes closed, as a privileged infant might show his contempt for a proffered spoonful of mashed peas. When Gideon persisted, the naked arm flicked out in an impatient, backhanded swipe, sending the little mirror to the ground, where it struck a stone and cracked in two. The old Indians watched, blank-faced and reserved.

Gideon took a deep breath. "Not exactly a howling success," he said to Julie. "Let’s hope some of the other things appeal to them more."

He took the four ball-bearing necklaces from his backpack and let them dangle from his hand. Big Cheese watched disdainfully, but the others craned their necks to see, nonetheless maintaining their prudent distance. Giving Big Cheese a wide berth, Gideon began to walk slowly toward them, holding the necklaces out and murmuring what he hoped were soothing sounds.

The Indians were obviously torn between their curiosity and the desire to run, but they held their ground and at last Shy Buffalo stretched out a tentative hand. Gideon, however, quickly slipped the necklace over his head so that it lay like a collar, burnished and sleek, on the dark, rough skin of his mantle. There was a shocked silence, and Gideon wondered momentarily if he’d violated some sacrosanct Yahi norm. But then Shy Buffalo’s big face split in a slow grin, and his fingers moved over the smooth, heavy beads of steel.

Gideon held out the necklaces to the others, as if he was coaxing pigeons with bread crumbs, and they came. He gave one to each of the other three, and they placed them around their own necks, murmuring to each other in gentle surprise at the weight of the ball bearings. They were definitely beginning to thaw-except for Big Cheese, who remained off on one side, grim and uncommunicative.

"How did you know to bring four?" Julie asked.

"Dumb luck. Let’s hope it keeps up."

It was the curtains that scored the major success, but not in the way expected. When Gideon tore open the package, there were murmurs of astonishment, and four pairs of hands reached not for the bright cloth but for the clear plastic wrapping. They held it up to their eyes, pressed it onto their faces, and crinkled and uncrinkled it. The curtains themselves were fingered politely and ignored.