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

expecting you. You’re welcome here as long as you want to stay.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œMy cousin, Tony Begay,” Zahnie finished.
    Right off the bat, Red liked Tony. Judging from his body language, the name Begay suited him. Almost made Red homesick for the Bay Area.
    Tony led Red by the elbow into the living room, Zahnie and Gianni alongside and … Winsonfred?… trailing behind.
    â€œThis house,” Tony spat, playacting disgust. “It was built—can you believe this?—by the town’s patriarch, the leader of the Mormon pioneers, also the first bishop and first local polygamist. Which is the reason we have a big upstairs and so many bedrooms.”
    â€œNeville, my enemy,” said Winsonfred in his papery voice.
    â€œMy ancestor on my Anglo side,” Tony plunged ahead. “Thank God I’m not all Anglo. This house, it still feels like his—so masculine it makes me wiggy. Look at that fireplace, petrified logs. Like this was a hunting lodge or something! I want more color and light in here, but we don’t have the time or the money.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Red nodded toward a wall hanging.
    Tony smiled. “A rubbing of some rock art—Kokopelli, a big-time god of fertility. You see his back? That’s not a hump, it’s a sack. He travels from village to village carrying seeds for plants and babies. Unmarried women, like Zahnie here, are afraid of him because he’ll plant a baby inside them.”
    â€œCool it, Tony,” said Zahnie. Clearly he was enjoying his role as tour guide.
    â€œAnd he plays the flute,” said Red.
    â€œDancing and playing the flute, that’s how he comes to the village. He’s also a god of music.”
    Right below the flute-playing god stood a baby grand piano that seemed to be in good shape—hey, a Steinway, no less. Red chuckled. Strange world here.
    â€œThat rubbing shouldn’t have been made,” said Tony. “That’s what the archeologists say now, but it belongs to Miss Clarita and she’s going to keep it. It’s her personal angel, and she is ours.”
    In the dining room, Red recognized the smells that had hit him when he walked in the front door. His grandparents’ house was filled with scents like this, decades of beeswax rubbed on furniture, rosewater, the satisfying odor of frying foods, hot bread with butter. Tony led them through the wide entrance to the kitchen, where two women worked, one very young and white, the other very old and red.
    â€œ Ya-teh-eh, Zahnie,” sang the ancient woman. She came toward them with a spry step, then quickly hid something behind her back.
    â€œIt’s okay, Clarita,” said Zahnie.
    Clarita drew her hand into view. Red recognized the aroma, even among the delicious kitchen smells. The old lady held a fat joint. She outwrinkled Methuselah, and under a big apron she wore the traditional purple velveteen skirt and plum blouse, plus a load of turquoise jewelry.
    â€œClarita Begay-Shumway,” said Tony, “Red Stuart.”
    â€œ Ya-teh-eh, ” said Clarita. Without repeating the “born to, born for” ritual, she offered him the hand without the joint. Red considered kissing it but shook it instead. Close up, she smelled like Pond’s cream and Pears soap, just like Red’s grandmother.
    â€œRed is Gianni’s friend,” Tony went on, “and he’ll be staying with us, too.”
    â€œDon’t worry about the joint,” Tony said to Red. “We use it medicinally. Only thing that helps certain kinds of pain.”
    Red put his hands up. “Hey, it’s cool.”
    Tony led him to the young white woman. “Jolo, this is Red Stuart.”
    She stuck out a hand before she realized it held a serving spoon gobbed with mashed potatoes. She laughed at herself and drew it back. She was about nineteen or twenty and looked sweet as creamed