Daniel Hecht - Land of Echoes

Something moved in Cree's peripheral vision and for an instant she didn't recognize it as it hurtled toward her face. Reflexively she shied from it before she saw it was her own hand and arm. It came up and joined her left hand to sweep the hair out of her face and tuck it back behind her ears.

Afterward she held the hand in front of her and wriggled its fingers. They did as they were told. She made a peace sign and a thumbs-up and a fist. It really was her hand and arm, she was in charge. But that half second of unfamiliarity terrified her more than anything she had ever seen or imagined.

Julieta was at her wit's end. Joseph wasn't answering his phone. She had called twice and listened to his usual answering machine message that said that if he didn't pick up he was probably at the hospital and that if this was a patient emergency, please call Dr. Irving's office. When she called the hospital, they told her he wasn't on the schedule for today, Dr. Bannock was filling in for him, would she like to have Dr. Bannock paged? She dialed Joseph's cell number only to be forwarded to its answering service, where she got the same message recited by the robotic voice of a stranger.

She had to give up on Joseph for now. She took a last tour of the school to make sure the facility was in order, talked to several key faculty and students, and by the time she was done it was almost eleven, time for the MacPhersons to arrive. Her secretary had taken several calls and left message slips that demanded attention: Donny McCarty, Dr. Corcoran at Ketteridge Hospital, the New Mexico Child Protective Services. But Julieta put them aside. She couldn't do anything about any of it. She had no idea how to respond, and in any case for the next five hours she couldn't let any of it affect her. The major donor ritual had to be done.

The MacPhersons had come all the way from Boston. They were an elderly couple, white haired, tanned, trim, dressed in expensive, ruggedly casual clothes, radiating the robust serenity of the very wealthy enjoying shopping for the appropriate philanthropy. They arrived at eleven in a tremendous Land Rover that they'd rented God knew where; Julieta and the student body president, a senior girl named Rosa Benally, met them with open arms. They went to her office for coffee, where she made them welcome and they chatted for a time. At noon, they went about the sacred fund-raising rite: They joined the students for lunch. They filed through the cafeteria line with the kids, sat at one of the tables with three students and a couple of faculty members. Bright and clean and new, the big room echoed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the scooting of chairs. The kids were great about the strangers in their midst: curious but too courteous to stare, generally well behaved but as noisy and energetic as ever. Julieta spent the meal introducing students and staff members who passed with their trays and adding occasional comments as Rosa talked about the mural that took up one wall of the long room.

"Way over on the left," Rosa told them, "those are the early Athabaskan-speaking emigrants, ancestors of today's Navajo and Apache tribes, exploring this region for the first time."

The MacPhersons beamed as Rosa took them through the other panels: the Spanish period, the American colonial period, the Long Walk, the treaty signing, and the handsome Tribal Council chambers in Window Rock, signifying the tribe's growing self-reliance. Sketched but not painted yet, the last panel featured Navajo youths looking toward high-tech professional futures represented by Navajo men and women in lab coats working with microscopes and computers; traditional symbols suggested continuing awareness of cultural heritage.

Julieta explained, "We began it during our second year. The content was chosen by the whole student body, and the drawing was done by our art majors. The painting is being done for art credits by any students who volunteer."

"Very impressive," Mr. MacPherson exclaimed.

"Wait till you see the classrooms!" Rosa told him enthusiastically.

One sharp kid, Julieta thought. With Rosa in charge, the MacPhersons were toast. She smiled at the thought, but abruptly she recalled how much Tommy had been looking forward to working on the mural. And that he'd never gotten the chance.

With that, all the worries swarmed over her. She excused herself and went to the hallway outside the girls' bathroom, where she tried Joseph's numbers one more time. Answering machines and forwarding services again.

Joseph, where are you? What's going on? Maybe he was up at the Keedays' with Tommy? But he hadn't said he planned to go today. And why wouldn't he answer his cell phone? Maybe the place was out of service range. She didn't know.

She wanted to run out, dash to her truck, leave the school, go find him. But she didn't know where to look! At home? The hospital? The Keedays'?

The really scary part was that this was not like Joseph. Sometimes he had to go away, or do work he couldn't be disturbed at. But he always let her know in advance. And he would never disappear at a time like this. He knew what she was going through. He wouldn't do this.

Unless something was wrong. Something was wrong. She'd heard it in his voice when they'd talked yesterday.

She pecked at the phone one more time, but she misdialed and got computer noises. Too shook up to even dial right! She slapped it shut and shoved it into her jacket pocket. She went into the bathroom, where she checked her face and hair, took three deep breaths, and practiced her smile before going back out to the clamor of the cafeteria and the MacPhersons.

Four hours later, the Land Rover pulled out of the parking lot as Julieta and a handful of students waved good-bye. In their last private tete-a-tete, the MacPhersons had talked about four hundred thousand, half to go to the endowment and half to the scholarship fund. It was a whopping gift, and she knew she should feel high as a kite. Instead she felt split like a tree hit by lightning after dividing herself into two utterly disparate beings for five hours. And the fact was, it would take weeks for the MacPhersons' attorneys to conduct the financial audit and for the check to be cut. It left plenty of time for Donny to follow through on his threats and monkey-wrench everything.

Four o'clock. She took one look at the growing stack of messages on her desk and backed out the door, retreated to the refuge of her room in the faculty residence wing. She called Joseph's numbers and got no answer. She called the Navajo Nation Inn to see if Joyce Wu or Dr. Mayfield could give her a cell number for Cree, but they didn't answer their room phones. She called Tommy's aunt's number in Burnham and got no answer.

She stripped off her formal clothes, took a shower, blew her hair dry. She dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, then sat on the bed, trying to decide what to do.

What she wanted to do was get in the car and drive. To Joseph's house. Or to the Keedays' place, but that would take two or three hours, it'd be dark before she got there-not possible tonight.

Joseph's, then. Just the thought of seeing him made her feel better. He probably wasn't there, but the decision felt good. She needed to do something. She got up and scanned the room for her truck keys.

A quiet knock at the door brought her heart to her throat.

But it wasn't Joseph. It was Lynn Pierce, in her nurse's uniform, her silver braid stiff on one shoulder. Julieta stepped back to let her in.

The brilliant blue eyes took in the room before darting at Julieta's face. The bronze fleck sparkled distractingly. "So, how'd it go? Land the big fish?"

"Is there something I can do for you, Lynn? I was just on my way-"

"What do you hear from Tommy? How's he doing?"

"I can't talk with you about Tommy. I know what you did, Lynn. I know you talked to Donny. You and I need to discuss this, but now is not the time."