The wild Night

The wild Night

A harsh wind blew down out of the Sierra Madre's, carrying with it tiny bits of rock and dust that stung exposed skin and wore away rocks. The sun beat down relentlessly on the valley floor, raising the temperature to the point that nothing moved in the heat of the day unless it was a dire emergency.

A gray wolf lay in her den under the natural overhand created by an ancient rockslide. Her sharp eyes picked out movement on the valley floor far below her. A small procession of beings that moved upright was raising a thin cloud of dust. She watched for a while, curiously, and then dismissed them as no threat to her or her two cubs.

She stretched and then moved deeper into the dark coolness of her cave.

Twenty-one was the actual number of the group. Ten men, ten women and the old medicine woman. As it had been for uncounted years this was the correct number.

Only Hila, the medicine woman, wore traditional garb, the rest were dressed in a mishmash of traditional and modern clothes. They had been moving since before sunup to reach this sacred place deep in the mountains. Some years before prospectors for one of the big oil companies had cut a road in, but tradition demanded they walk and so they did.

On a flat stone outcropping, the men laid large bonfires to be lit once night came, while the women erected the ancient tepee. It was a buckskin color and meticulously maintained. Only the lodge poles were new, cut from aspen near the timberline, days before.

As darkness fell, the blistering heat abated rapidly. People seemed ignorant of the fact that a desert at night was as frigidly cold as it was blisteringly hot during the day. That same dry mountain wind now carried a chill that cut through clothing like it was not there.

The bonfires were lit, and the silent people gathered around them to cook meat, taken in the traditional way.

The quiet of the desert night was broken by the muted roar of engines. In the vast emptiness of an empty land, they made a haunting sound as they climbed the steep grade. They became louder and louder until six motorcycles pulled up and stopped before the fire. Each bike was black, save for a red hourglass painted on the fuel tank.

The riders were all women, and all were excessively big women save for the lithe girl who rode behind the leader. She alone rode double and compared to the powerful woman in front of her she seemed fragile. The illusion was deceptive, however, for Andrea Sanchez was anything but frail.

She was only a few inches above five feet tall and gracefully built. Her breasts were small and tight and rode high on her chest. Her legs were long and lean, with enough muscle to be shapely, but not enough to be bulky. Her long dark hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and coppery skin were the gifts of her Sioux mother, while the wide hips, bubble butt and sensuous lips were the gifts of her Hispanic father. The ragged jeans, demure white blouse, cowboy boots, and the denim jacket with a black widow spider on the back were her own.

She nodded to one of the two men standing sentinel outside the flap that covered the entrance to the teepee and then ducked inside. A fire blazed brightly in a circle of rocks at the center of the dwelling and blankets and pillows were spread over the hard ground. Her maternal grandmother was seated next to the fire. Hila's once raven hair had long ago turned silver and her doeskin dress hung loosely where it once clung to her curves. She sat cross-legged, with her back ramrod straight.

Andrea did not want to be here; in fact, she did not even know why she had prevailed on Lina to bring her. The big biker disdained her Native American heritage and was obviously displeased that Andrea did not do the same. The old woman watched her as she seated herself across the fire, but she did not speak.

"Well, hello to you too, Grandma. Nice to see you as well. Yes, everything is great with me," Andrea said sarcastically.

"This is not a night for levity," the old woman declared.

"Just what the fuck is the night for, Grandma? Calling up ghosts? Making big medicine?

Maybe putting on our war paint and taking a few scalps?

Why did you demand I come to this fucking cold and desolate place? I had plans for the evening!"

"Your lesbian lover can do without you in her bed for a night," the old woman said, and chuckled softly at the look of shock that passed over Andrea's pretty features.

"How did you know?" she blurted out.

"The sins of Lina Running bear are known to me and her proclivities are known to everyone in the village. Do you think there are no whispers about you? No rumors floating around. Do you think she does not brag about who she is sleeping with when deep in her cups? For someone who considers herself so worldly, you really are naïve. Let us hope not tragically so."

"No one has ever said anything to me," Andrea said defiantly, but there was a questioning note in her voice.

"Of course not. You are my grandchild, and no one in the village will risk speaking out against you. But my time here grows short, and my destination on this long journey is now in sight. Soon you will have to take my place if you're able."

"I don't want to take your place. I want out of this shit hole. Lina is taking me to Vegas when the Widows pull out of here next week."

"What you want is of little consequence. I have chosen you from among my living kindred and thus you will take the test this night."

"What if I don't want to?" Andrea cried.

"It makes no difference. I wish I could have prepared you better, your insolence and rebelliousness will be a great danger to you, but I lingered too long in making my choice due to your mother," she lamented.

At the mention of her mother, Andrea's face turned ugly. Her eyes blazed with hatred and even the stern old woman flinched.

"I have no mother," she spat.

"Of course, you do, child. No one springs from the grass or rocks. I was there the night you were born."

"Where was my mother when I was a child and needed love? Turning tricks for my asshole father in Tijuana. Where was she when I graduated from Jr. High? On a bender in Reno with Jack Hickman. Where was she when I had my first dance recital? High as a fucking kite over at Marv Donte’s place. Every time I have ever needed her, she has been too drunk, too stoned, too high, or too busy getting laid to be there for me."

"I've been there, child."

"I know, Grandmother," Andrea said, releasing a long sigh. "If it were not for you, there's no telling how Sarah and I would have turned out. Look, I know this hocus pocus is important to you and I know I owe you everything. I'll take this hokey test to make you happy, but please don't mention that woman again."

"For once in your life, don't disdain the ways of your ancestors. If you enter the dreamlands with a light heart, you will be utterly consumed."

"You can't scare me. I do not believe in the dream lands, or the happy hunting grounds or brother Coyote. It's all crap," she said.

The old woman sighed heavily.

"You think you know it all. Newer is better. The white man rules the world and thus his god is greater. You crave the things his world offers and wish to leave the land that nurtured you for the bright lights and big cities."

"I want to experience the real world, not live in this backwater forever," Andrea reiterated. Her tone was less harsh, however. Her grandmother really had been the only one who was ever there for her or kind to her. At least until Lina came along.

"You know nothing. And I have little time to prepare you. If you will not listen, then go," the old woman shouted.

Andrea jumped to her feet and rushed to the flap but stopped and heaved a heavy sigh. She turned and sat back down, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Grandmother. You gave my sister and me the only home we knew and the only love we ever got. This is really important to you, isn't it?"

"There is nothing more important."

"Then I will listen, and I'll do my best to please you."

To be continued