Read Online Moonlight Water by Win Blevins - Free Book Online Page A

it.”
    â€œLooks like the freaking edge of the planet. The creeks aren’t even on speaking terms with water.”
    â€œThe water speaks in the spring, when the snow melts.” Granni pointed to the mountains spiking high at the head of the wash.
    Red looked down at Zahnie Kee’s taillights and had a vivid thought—maybe he’d give up intriguing women. He’d learned long ago that the interesting ones were a lot of work and the uncomplicated ones bored him.
    She made a hard, skidding right turn onto a dirt road, and they bounced along for a while. “So what’s this old folks’ home?”
    â€œAssisted living center, and they’ve got a room set up for you there. I help support them.”
    â€œWhat about staying at your place? A motel? Gianni, this is pretty weird, and that woman doesn’t like me at all.”
    Gianni unclenched his teeth and took a deep breath. “This is my place. You wanted adventure. Open your door to this part of it.”
    Red felt like a kid being dropped off for the first day of school.
    â€œZahnie’s good people, a little rough around the edges, but we’ve all got edges.” Gianni looked sideways at Red, smiled like the Cheshire Cat, and thonked him on the knee. “This is Moonlight Water Canyon we’re driving through. Stick your head out the window and smell the desert.”
    Red did. The evening air was full of hints he couldn’t catch. His eyes gave him rimrock walls on either side of the dirt road, the last of the sunlight making them glow red, the treed tops of the bluffs high and dark. On the canyon floor were the voodoo shapes of desert plants and rock formations, each one a goblin or leprechaun or space alien. The quiet was steep and layered, just like the ancient canyon walls. Dense, dark folds of silence held unknown civilizations and strange worlds of time, frightening, enchanting, enticing. Eerie, he thought, maybe okay, maybe not. Adventure, I guess.
    They pulled into a dirt driveway that circled in front of a big stone-masoned building, almost a mansion. Zahnie beat them up the stairs and shouldered open the sticky front door, its solid wood warped by time and solitude. They stood in an anteroom. The air swirled around Red, carrying a flood of memories and feelings.
    He shuddered. There was a two-story living room, Victorian in style, with a balcony. Smells drew him to, to …
    â€œ Ya-teh-eh, ” said a whispery voice behind them. Red jumped and whirled to meet the voice. A very old Navajo man sat in the shadows, deep in a battered recliner.
    â€œ Ya-teh-eh, ” the old man repeated. His smile was Buddha with a pinch of chile.
    Winsonfred crooked his finger at Red. The younger man bent down and put an ear near the elderly mouth.
    â€œ Ya-teh-eh means ‘hello’!” His smile was big and his cloudy eyes sparkled with delight. “You’re supposed to answer, ‘ Ya-teh-eh, hosteen, ’ which is a term of respect, such as you owe your elders.” He pronounced it more like hah-steen .
    â€œI’m sorry, hosteen .”
    â€œGrandfather,” said Zahnie, “this is Red. A longtime friend of Gianni’s.” The old man extended a hand. When Red took it, the man gave him the faintest touch. “Red, this is Hosteen Winsonfred Manygoats, my great-grandfather.”
    The old man added formally, “Welcome, friend of my friend. If you were a Navajo, I would tell you that I am born to the Folded Arms People and born for the Red Running into Water People, and from my grandparents the Bitter Water People and the Badlands People.”
    â€œHe always does that,” Zahnie said, “in his dotage.”
    â€œZahnie!” This was a musical baritone from beyond the living room, perhaps the kitchen. A potato-bodied Indian man of about forty came bouncing toward them.
    â€œTony,” Zahnie said, “this is Red.”
    â€œWe’ve been