Leslie Silko - The Almanac of the Dead

Sterling had wanted to alert Lecha to the developments in the kitchen, that someone Ferro knew had been killed, but Lecha had been in a hurry. She gave Sterling the keys to the old Lincoln and slipped a pistol from under a pillow into her purse. Then she got out of bed in her red silk robe and stepped into the wheelchair. She had seemed healthy enough to walk, and she wasn’t crippled. She rolled herself around in a wheelchair; for sympathy and to fool the cops, she said, but still, Sterling had felt something was odd.

In the kitchen Paulie was on his hands and knees wiping up the spilled coffee; Sterling saw the paper towel had spots of blood where Paulie had cut himself on shards of the broken cup. Zeta had her arms around Ferro, who stood rigidly, resisting her comfort, shivering as if he were about to explode. Sterling saw wet streaks down Ferro’s pale, fat cheeks. Lecha had looked at Ferro and Zeta, and at Paulie; Lecha had seen Ferro was upset, but Sterling knew her mind was on the phone call, and they had to hurry. Lecha had not told him, but Sterling thought he knew: it was Seese who had just called. Lecha didn’t want Zeta to find out Seese was in trouble. Zeta had focused all her attention on Ferro as she tried to console him, and she did not look up even when Lecha and Sterling came into the room. Paulie had kept his head down, but Sterling saw the tears in his eyes.

Zeta could not stop the stampeding horses that had scattered in all directions — that had been her nightmare after the police shootings. Now Ferro had gone off with Paulie. Paulie wanted to park a junker car loaded with dynamite next to the Prince Road police substation. Zeta had seen the expression in Paulie’s eyes; Paulie wanted more than anything to prove his love to Ferro now that the rival was dead. Paulie’s devotion had only made Ferro’s grief more fierce and Zeta was afraid Ferro might want to follow his boyfriend to the grave. Zeta’s grief had surprised her, and she felt a terrible pain in her chest as if her grief had crowded her heart against her ribs.

She and Calabazas had been fools. Their lives were nearly over and what had they done? What good had all their talk of war against the United States government done? What good had all their lawbreaking done? The United States government intended to keep all the stolen land. What had happened to the earth? The Destroyers were killing the earth. What had happened to their sons? She loved Ferro; she didn’t want him to die.

The time had arrived more quickly than any of the people had ever dreamed, and yet, all the forces had begun to converge. Lecha had learned a strange story from the gardener, Sterling.

A giant stone serpent had appeared overnight near a well-traveled road in New Mexico. According to the gardener, religious people from many places had brought offerings to the giant snake, but none had understood the meaning of the snake’s reappearance; no one had got the message. But when Lecha had told Zeta, they had both got tears in their eyes because old Yoeme had warned them about the cruel years that were to come once the great serpent had returned. Zeta was grateful for the years she had had to prepare a little. Now she had to begin the important work.

Packing a great sidearm put a rare glow in Zeta’s eyes. She had walked the dingy street along the railroad tracks and felt light on her feet because the.44 magnum was in her purse. Greenlee had phoned to say he was ready to do business. Zeta told Greenlee she’d sell him the.44 Blackhawk he wanted. Her hands weren’t as steady anymore, and she wanted to buy a pistol that was less demanding.

Greenlee had never realized how much Zeta hated him. The more tense and stony faced she had been, the more animated and friendly Greenlee had become. Zeta had allowed the misunderstanding to continue for years because he had sold her guns without any questions. But now, messages from the South had indicated Greenlee was a key man.

Greenlee had waved off the six security men pointing Uzis when he saw it was only Zeta with the.44 Blackhawk in its holster. She was one of their “best customers,” Greenlee had exclaimed as he pretended to scold the security guards for not recognizing Zeta. Zeta had always let Greenlee think she was swallowing the flattery with the lies. Today she smiled and winked at him. She wanted to be left alone with him in the huge basement vault; she wanted plenty of time, no hurry. She let Greenlee show her special laser scopes to fit handguns and examined an automatic rifle he had taken from the rack on the wall.

He had a hilarious new Indian joke for her too, Greenlee said as he answered the red phone next to the computer terminal. Zeta could barely stomach Greenlee’s jokes; she knew the jokes were his way, his little test, for dealing with Mexicans or Indians and blacks. His theory had been that anybody who got huffy or hot while he told his nigger and beaner jokes would eventually try to cut his throat. “Cheaters win, and winners cheat,” Greenlee liked to say. So he got them first. Greenlee thought his jokes and “tests” were foolproof.

Today Greenlee seemed enormously pleased with himself; Zeta knew business was good; Awa Gee had just intercepted computer data that revealed big transactions between Greenlee and Mr. B. Greenlee’s small, pale-blue eyes were bloodshot. He had always watched Zeta’s eyes as he told the jokes, and she had never flinched. Greenlee really liked this one, he said, “because it’s about that TV broad — you know, what’s her name? Bah-bah Wah-wah! So anyway the bitch is talking — interviewing this Indian chief.”

Zeta smiled; she still had to marvel at the hatred white men harbored for all women, even their own.

“Oh, by the way,” Greenlee added, “the joke’s title is ‘Never Trust an Indian.’ ”

Zeta had burst out laughing.

“I knew you’d really like that!” Greenlee said.

Zeta was still chuckling and had nodded her head. Zeta really was going to enjoy this one.

“So Bah-bah Wah-wah asks the chief why he has so many feathers, and he tells her, ‘Me fuck them all — big, small, fat, tall — me fuck them all!’ ” Greenlee tried to imitate a falsetto scream. “ ‘Oh, you ought to be hung!’ ” he lisped, then Greenlee had bellowed, “ ‘You damn right me hung! Big like a buffalo, long like a snake!’ ”

Zeta had laughed out loud because everything essential to the world the white man saw was there in one dirty joke; she had laughed again because Freud had accused women of penis envy.

Greenlee had mistaken her laughter as a compliment and preened the hair at the edge of his shirt collar. “So Barbara Walters cries out, ‘You don’t have to be so hostile!’ The chief says, ‘Hoss style, dog style, wolf style, any style, me fuck them all!’ ” Here Greenlee had doubled over with laughter until his pale eyes watered.

Zeta smiled and had nodded to encourage Greenlee to laugh harder.

“So she cries out, ‘Oh, dear!’ The chief says, ‘No deer — me fuck no deer. Asshole too high! Fuckers run too fast! No fuck deer!’ ” Greenlee had not laughed so hard before. Zeta could feel a chill at the base of her spine. Greenlee was almost hysterical, and Zeta could not resist laughing at the bright pink color of his face. How perfect his face was for this one moment! Ah, his laughter! How it echoed up and down air-conditioned aisles of the basement vault. “No fuck deer!” Greenlee kept repeating the punch line over and over.

“Bombproof, bulletproof, fireproof, but not foolproof!” Greenlee had loved to brag about his office in the basement vault. Because only a fool would dare attack this vault. Zeta had let the revolver rest comfortably on her lap after she had removed it from the holster. She had used both hands with the barrel at a perfect forty-five-degree angle the pistol butt braced against her stomach. “No, not foolproof,” Zeta said as Greenlee’s grin went flat on his face when he saw the pistol was cocked. “Soundproof though,” Zeta said as she squeezed the trigger. Soundproof but not foolproof because only a fool fired a.44 magnum without earplugs. Zeta took her time. Greenlee’s security unit would not return for hours unless Greenlee called them. The vault was off-limits. With her ears ringing, deaf as dirt, Zeta had gathered the disks and readouts Awa Gee needed to complete his work.