Read Online Ariel's Crossing by Bradford Morrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bradford Morrow
Ads: Link
waster.”
“I’m not all that romantic or religious but you’ll forgive me for saying there’s some purpose to everything. Living on a ranch, I see it every day. Ecosystems—you’re still part of one, like it or not.”
She wondered how to broach her question. As she opened her mouth to speak—ask him directly; he was a direct man, she’d come to believe, despite the fact his mind sometimes cruised in ellipses—Kip asked her something instead, out of the blue.
Did she know that the Spaniards, who’d had difficulty pronouncing the Tewa language, had renamed Nambé after Francis of Assisi, feeling a greater affinity toward him than any crazy local bird spirit— k’untsire —for whom the pueblo people cast cornmeal heavenward during ceremonies that the colonialist padres frowned upon as fetishist?
“You’ve been reading,” she said.
“Somebody left a book behind.”
“Well Saint Francis, I know, is the patron saint of the poor and crippled,” Sarah said, wondering where this new exchange was leading.
“I like Francis, but k’untsire and the idea that we should act with goodwill and generosity toward the gods—those things are even better. Fact they need our goodwill keeps the gods in their place.”
“It’s good if you think gods need to be put in their place.”
“Oh, they do,” Kip nodded.
“Saint Francis fed the birds but he always knew that it was the birds who were letting him feed them. It was their gift to him, not the other way around. Kind of the same thing.”
Kip said, “A little different, I think, but I get your drift.”
“Would you rather be Saint Francis or the birds?”
“Either way.”
Now Kip was getting lost.
“You know what the word Nambé means in Tewa, too, then?”
“Something to do with circling,” said Kip.
They watched a hummingbird, a rufous, at the plastic feeder, both of them quiet in the warming light.
“You’re from around here, aren’t you.”
“Nambé means ‘roundish earth’ or ‘circle of earth,’ doesn’t it? And the pueblo is protected by some kind of water dragon.”
“People used to call you Kip, didn’t they.”
He paused to look down at his hands, which silently clapped, palms touching, fingers splayed. His profile was sharp, forehead smoother than riverstone though finely lined; his jaw and nose were so clearly defined as to seem drawn in ink.
“This book said that the Nambé Indians buried the water dragon when they built their dam up in the Sangre foothills by the falls.”
Her turn to nod. A long silence before Kip spoke again.
“I used to go hunting down in the box canyons around here when I was young. Jackrabbits mostly. I remember being haunted by this strange feeling that they could sense me taking aim at them. They couldn’t see me, couldn’t smell me. But they knew. You could see them square themselves in the crosshairs of the rifle scope. Like they knew they were about to take the bullet and just like that be gone. Well, that’s how I’m feeling. Squared up in the crosshairs. Maybe I always felt this way but never admitted it to myself.”
“I’m sorry, Kip. Kip’s the name, right?”
“People used to call me all kinds of stuff,” he said. “But I haven’t lied to you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Sarah didn’t flinch. Again out of the blue, Kip asked, “What happens when you spend your life running away from home and then life forces you to go back, but there’s no one waiting for you?”
“If Saint Francis is your patron saint, and I think he is, you find out that other people are willing to make their home yours,” she said, causing him to look at her with the first wholehearted smile Sarah had ever seen on his face. Their dialogue did not come to an end before Kip confessed what had brought him to Chimayó a year earlier, and what had driven him across the desert into her life and the lives of her family.
In the weeks after she learned about Kip Calder, Ariel kept to her
“I’m not all that romantic or religious but you’ll forgive me for saying there’s some purpose to everything. Living on a ranch, I see it every day. Ecosystems—you’re still part of one, like it or not.”
She wondered how to broach her question. As she opened her mouth to speak—ask him directly; he was a direct man, she’d come to believe, despite the fact his mind sometimes cruised in ellipses—Kip asked her something instead, out of the blue.
Did she know that the Spaniards, who’d had difficulty pronouncing the Tewa language, had renamed Nambé after Francis of Assisi, feeling a greater affinity toward him than any crazy local bird spirit— k’untsire —for whom the pueblo people cast cornmeal heavenward during ceremonies that the colonialist padres frowned upon as fetishist?
“You’ve been reading,” she said.
“Somebody left a book behind.”
“Well Saint Francis, I know, is the patron saint of the poor and crippled,” Sarah said, wondering where this new exchange was leading.
“I like Francis, but k’untsire and the idea that we should act with goodwill and generosity toward the gods—those things are even better. Fact they need our goodwill keeps the gods in their place.”
“It’s good if you think gods need to be put in their place.”
“Oh, they do,” Kip nodded.
“Saint Francis fed the birds but he always knew that it was the birds who were letting him feed them. It was their gift to him, not the other way around. Kind of the same thing.”
Kip said, “A little different, I think, but I get your drift.”
“Would you rather be Saint Francis or the birds?”
“Either way.”
Now Kip was getting lost.
“You know what the word Nambé means in Tewa, too, then?”
“Something to do with circling,” said Kip.
They watched a hummingbird, a rufous, at the plastic feeder, both of them quiet in the warming light.
“You’re from around here, aren’t you.”
“Nambé means ‘roundish earth’ or ‘circle of earth,’ doesn’t it? And the pueblo is protected by some kind of water dragon.”
“People used to call you Kip, didn’t they.”
He paused to look down at his hands, which silently clapped, palms touching, fingers splayed. His profile was sharp, forehead smoother than riverstone though finely lined; his jaw and nose were so clearly defined as to seem drawn in ink.
“This book said that the Nambé Indians buried the water dragon when they built their dam up in the Sangre foothills by the falls.”
Her turn to nod. A long silence before Kip spoke again.
“I used to go hunting down in the box canyons around here when I was young. Jackrabbits mostly. I remember being haunted by this strange feeling that they could sense me taking aim at them. They couldn’t see me, couldn’t smell me. But they knew. You could see them square themselves in the crosshairs of the rifle scope. Like they knew they were about to take the bullet and just like that be gone. Well, that’s how I’m feeling. Squared up in the crosshairs. Maybe I always felt this way but never admitted it to myself.”
“I’m sorry, Kip. Kip’s the name, right?”
“People used to call me all kinds of stuff,” he said. “But I haven’t lied to you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Sarah didn’t flinch. Again out of the blue, Kip asked, “What happens when you spend your life running away from home and then life forces you to go back, but there’s no one waiting for you?”
“If Saint Francis is your patron saint, and I think he is, you find out that other people are willing to make their home yours,” she said, causing him to look at her with the first wholehearted smile Sarah had ever seen on his face. Their dialogue did not come to an end before Kip confessed what had brought him to Chimayó a year earlier, and what had driven him across the desert into her life and the lives of her family.
In the weeks after she learned about Kip Calder, Ariel kept to her
Similar Books
