Komatke Gold. Benjamin Vance

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СКАЧАТЬ box I kept the map in. I took it out and unrolled it on the table oriented for her viewing pleasure. It still smelled faintly of safety deposit box. She didn’t say a word while she purposely reoriented it and took her time with every detail. I remained shut-mouthed. This thing couldn’t be real, could it? Did I care?

      After what seemed like too long for someone wanting to drive to Williams, she gently rolled the parchment and placed it in the box like a baby.

      I thought, “Shit, the thing is real.” I should have been jumping up and down.

      “You may have something here Colonel,” she said with the faintest smile. “If I were you I’d take this to NAU, and have someone in Antiquities look at it.”

      “Do you know anyone up there?” I asked, not really wanting to make that drive.

      “Not well enough to recommend.” I know now she lied, more or less.

      “Why do you think it’s worth pursuing?” I asked as genuinely as possible, thinking I’d never be able to steer the conversation toward Myra if this kept up.

      “Well, there are a number of reasons. First, the Spanish script looks like Old Spanish; I’ve seen enough of that to know. Secondly, the Gila, and Salt Rivers are shown with stream beds very different from what they are today. At the confluence of the Gila and Colorado Rivers, there is a variation shown, which is how it would have been without flood control. In addition, any reference to the Hassayampa River is missing. Anyone wishing to counterfeit a map in modern times would surely include the Hassayampa and the Agua-Fria, which everyone knows were free flowing rivers back then.

      “The omission may simply mean there was no need to include the other rivers or washes since it wasn’t meaningful, or because they didn’t flow directly into the Colorado, or because they hadn’t been explored yet. Also, the map just looks and feels right; genuine I mean. And why did you come back here to ask about your map Colonel?”

      I felt my face go red, “Well, I wanted to visit my father’s grave and do some research in the library. Since this map may have originated around here, I thought perhaps I could find someone who knows about it,” I lied.

      “Why me?” she asked, drilling me with those big, beautiful eyes.

      “Well, Myra Page mentioned you a few years after my father died. She said you were going to study Anthropology and bragged about you being her cousin. She also said you were going to be someone important someday. So I looked you up.”

      “I’m not in the book,” she lied.

      “I looked you up in the library,” I said, again lying. Actually I got her name from Cristal, one of the very talkative ladies at the library. She actually remembered Myra and I from years back; told me she was Myra’s cousin, but that was about all.

      “Well, I guess those ladies at the library need to gossip less and file more.”

      “Ms. Lewis, for some reason you don’t have much use for me, but remember I know a few things about your past as well. It’s always been my credo not to throw stones.”

      She looked like I had slapped her face, which happens a lot to judgmental people I hope.

      “Look Colonel, I don’t give a shit about your map, or you! I think you treated Myra the way Native Americans have been treated for over two hundred years. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions and see how mercenary you really are. I always thought Myra was lying when she talked about you, poor sap that she was.”

      I stood up. “What the hell do you mean, was,” I half choked out.

      “I thought that’s what you were really here for,” she huffed in my direction. “You need to forget about my cousin and get off our reservation. If you don’t, Colonel … Custer, or whatever the hell your name is, we have ways of encouraging you to leave.”

      “What the hell do you mean … was,” I yelled, discarding all pretenses and gaining everyone’s attention?

      “Get off our land and forget about Myra, before you get hurt,” she spat as she turned to leave.

      “I stopped worrying about getting hurt when I left Iraq, you bitch,” I yelled.

      I yelled louder at her backside as she strolled from the restaurant, “Myra’s still here isn’t she?”

      Not looking back, she held up the middle finger of her right hand in what must have been a Native American war challenge.

      I sat down to think and let everyone’s attention get back to his or her lunch. The ladies at the library didn’t say anything about Myra passing away, but then some tribes don’t even talk about the dead. I finally realized I had to get back to the library before Lew-Lew did. Otherwise, I’d be up the creek with regard to information about Myra … from them at least. I requested the bill, paid it … still hungry, and made it to the library just as Lew-Lew was pulling away. I couldn’t blame the woman for thinking faster than me.

      Chapter 7.

      My thoughts raced as I prepared to face the library ladies who were then likely equipped with a bad opinion of me. As I walked into the cool building and smelled the smell of used books and wood furniture again, I found myself looking around to avoid any accusing eyes. From the glass-walled office came a distinctly female voice welcoming me back.

      It was like old home week; a stark contrast to what I expected. The lady in the office, whose name tag said “Lucy” rose from her chair and started toward me. Another lady, “Geraldine”, came from behind the stacks where she’d been shelving books, and yet another, “Cristal” introduced earlier and not wanting to miss the show, came ambling out from a room in the rear of the building, sans name tag. Lucy said, “Hey, Mr. Wayne! Welcome back! We thought you’d been eaten alive and we would never see you again.”

      All three started laughing uncontrollably, apparently at their inside joke. I must have looked bewildered and embarrassed because Geraldine took pity on me and said, “We thought the Wicked Witch of the North cast a spell on you or sumpthin”. The uncontrolled, hand-over-the-mouth giggling started all over again.

      Now, if you haven’t been fortunate enough to witness the contagious laughter of a bunch of Indian women sharing a joke, usually about a man, you haven’t witnessed giggling at its best. After a while though, they made me feel at ease again and I learned Cristal was actually related to both Lew-Lew, whom she called “Miss Twiggy,” and to Myra. After pleasantries and with a very serious and cautious face she told me Myra still lived on the reservation. With my temples pounding, my ears ringing and after promising to bring back some lunch for Lucy and Geraldine, Cristal and I went to eat.

      This time I had a very nice lunch with a very nice lady who had nothing very nice to say about Lew-Lew. Over the course of a two-hour lunch with an intermission delivery to Lucy and Geraldine, Cristal told me about how close her and her first cousin had become after I’d left; how much Myra had loved me and wanted me to come back, even though I was married and had a career and children. In her optimistic innocence Myra clung to the idea I would divorce my wife. Cristal also had kids and knew it wouldn’t happen. She’d consoled Myra when the phone calls stopped and eventually Myra began to accept reality as well. Although she didn’t like my involvement with her cousin, she understood Myra’s’ propensity to endear herself to almost everyone.

      The fact that Myra had loved me in return was СКАЧАТЬ