Daniel Hecht - Land of Echoes

That brought a widening of the startling eyes, surprise followed by satisfaction. "Gosh, news travels fast out here. What did I say, exactly?"

The disingenuous deadpan awoke a flash of anger in Julieta. "You're fired, Lynn."

"No, I'm not!" Lynn almost laughed at the idea. "Don't be silly!"

"Yes, you are. What you've done is a clear breach of patient confidentiality. Not to mention an outrageous demonstration of disloyalty to this school and everything it stands for. Now if you don't mind-"

"Urn, remind me-what does it stand for again? Your desire to pose as some Great White Mother for all the cute little Indian kids? Or just one particular Indian kid?" Lynn paused as if to savor Julieta's stunned expression. "And no, you can't fire me. Because if you do, I will share what I know in additional select circles. It's not a breach of confidentiality, it's an obligation imposed by professional ethics. You wouldn't want the MacPhersons to know you hired a… an exorcist for a student health problem, would you? Or the people at, say, the Osbourne Trust?"

Julieta's outrage flared and she turned disdainfully for the phone, picked it up, punched Frank Nez's extension. She'd ask him to come escort Lynn off the school grounds. But she had doubts as soon as it began ringing, and before anybody could pick up, she put the receiver back in its cradle. She turned back to face Lynn, anger replaced by heartbreak. In all probability, this was broken beyond fixing. All of it. Lynn, the school, Joseph. Tommy.

Her life.

"What did I ever do, Lynn?" she asked softly. "Did I ignore you? Is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself!" the nurse snapped. But Julieta could see she'd been wounded.

"I didn't know it mattered so much. Really. I would have been a better friend. It's just that doing my job, it takes everything I've got and then some. Sometimes I lose sight of-"

"I have a theory. Want to hear it? It's about you and Joseph."

"He's part of it for you, isn't he? That he and I are close. Is that it? I know you admire him as much as I do. Is that why you hate me? Jealousy?"

Lynn's hands trembled as she took a cigarette pack and a folded foil ashtray from her pocket. She lit a cigarette, drew hard on it, turned her head to blow smoke toward the door. She looked back at Julieta. "You're quite the unusual pair. Lot of history there. Very devoted to each other. So close and yet so far, huh?"

Julieta was surprised at the painful wrench that seized in her chest. So close and yet so far! The sense of urgency became intolerable: Joseph! She had to find him. She had to leave here. She turned away from Lynn to hide her face as she put on her jacket, found her purse, and checked in it for her keys. "I have to go now, Lynn. Consider this your two weeks' notice. I'll put it in writing tomorrow. I can't tell you how sorry I am that it all blew to pieces for you."

"More accurately, my theory is about you and Joseph and Tommy. The two of you are so deeply concerned about Tommy, aren't you. And you're so sure no one knows why. But I think I do. And you know what? I'm not the only one. People have known for a long time."

Julieta lost her breath. She hoped Lynn couldn't see the shock register in her shoulders. She desperately wanted to ask just what she meant by that. But the last thing she should do was show interest or weakness.

"I have no idea what you're implying. But I'm leaving now, and so are you. I'm sorry you lost your husband. You must have loved him a great deal for his death to do this to you. To turn you into this." Julieta turned, saw the damage on Lynn's face, and regretted saying anything. She hadn't meant it cruelly. She went to the door, opened it, and stood aside.

Lynn crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head forward, a posture at once defensive and defiant. She marched past Julieta and into the hall like that, the cigarette between her fingers trailing a slender banner of smoke.

Julieta followed her down the interminable hall to the side exit, neither of them able to say one more word.

"Hey," Cree said. "Hi." Tommy had surfaced behind the brown eyes. She was very glad to see him.

His bed was a nest of sheepskins and snarled blankets on the dirt floor. Behind the bed and all around the room, the hogan's log walls were hung with tools, coats, sheepskins, chairs, brooms, bundles of kindling, coils of rope. Shelves held cans of food, bottles, flashlights, matchboxes, magazines. Suspended from the sloping, smoke-blackened rafters were several old kerosene lamps and Coleman gas lanterns. At the center of the room, a boxlike woodstove supported a length of rusted pipe.

When Tommy's fit had subsided, they had carried him back to the bed, and now Ellen and Ray stood near the door, watching. Cree knelt at the edge of the blankets, trying to arrange the uncooperative limbs, stuffing folded sheepskins behind him to prop his head up.

Tommy didn't seem to recognize her immediately, but when he did he managed a tiny, quick smile. "Dr. Black," he croaked.

"Think you can eat anything? Your aunt says you haven't been able to keep anything down. You must be starved."

He shook his head and grimaced at the prospect.

"Water?"

"Yeah. Please." His voice cracked, dry and reedy.

Cree took a plastic canteen from the windowsill, held it to his parched lips. He steadied it with his left hand; his right arm hung loose from the shoulder. He was able to drink a fair amount.

"How's the thing?" she asked. She gestured at the limp hand and arm. He frowned at it and seemed about to say something. Then he glanced over at Ellen and Ray, their frightened eyes round in the dark hogan, and clamped his mouth shut.

Cree thought about that for a moment. "Listen, why don't I take the next shift with Tommy, you folks rest up. We'll be all right. We'll call you if we need you, okay?"

They got the message. Ellen gave Tommy a weak smile as she shut the door.

"You must be glad to be up here, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too. It's so quiet. Did you spend much time here when you were a kid?"

He nodded weakly and pointed up at several pieces of yellowing paper tacked to the walls. The drawings were clearly his, a younger hand's rendering of family members, sheep, trucks.

As if exploiting his momentary inattention, the right arm rolled slowly so that the hand lay palm up, and the fingers spread slightly, a sleeping infant's gesture. Tommy's eyes darted at it and quickly away again.

Shit, Cree thought. She hoped it wasn't awakening. She needed some time with Tommy. " Can you tell me what you're feeling?" she whispered.

"Like my head is in two places at once," he mumbled. "Like my eyes are crossed or something, I can't see right."

"Do you know what's the matter with you?"

"Hastiin Begaye said there's a chindi in me. Said it's the ghost of an ancestor."

"If it is, do you know who the ancestor might be?"

His shook his head, defeated. As if taking its turn, the ghost rolled the head to the right.

"Could it be your father or mother?"

"Don't think so."

"Why not?"

He shrugged, baffled. "Just doesn't… feel like them."

"Tommy, ghosts always want something. Do you have any idea what this one wants?"

"Hastiin Begaye said it died in an evil way. An unjust way. It wants the injustice to be made right."

"Is that what you think it wants?"

"All I know is, it wants to… come back."

Cree nodded. That much was obvious. "Anything else?"

He started to shake his head again, but hesitated. "It tells, like

… a story."

Narrative! Cree thought. "What story?"

The hand moved again, that lethargic roll and lazy spreading of fingers. It looked as if it could spring suddenly to vigorous life. Tommy's jaw started vibrating up and down, as if he were chilled to the bone, teeth chattering. But he was able to answer: "Walking. Got to walk a long way in a big hurry. It's cold. Then something bad happens. Like a fight."