Fooling around with Darrius on that damn horse made her late for the youth Buffalo Dance, but being late was a small price to pay for pleasure: Her body still quivered from his touch, and she desperately wanted to return to him. The way her mind was going, she could have easily sat on a rock and daydreamed about him and not gotten any work done. Nothing doing. The Examiner would fire her, and all over a wickedly decadent remembrance.
Justine followed the sound of drums from the smaller arena where she was in time to see the boys in buffalo costumes performing. She had not seen many of the dances, but she did know they encompassed legends, creation stories, tales of the hunt and the thanksgiving rituals. She did not know precisely what this particular dance represented, but she did have some idea. Of course, the dance movements themselves would provide clues. And she was able to gather pieces of information from different tribesmen.
Given permission to photograph the dancers, she proceeded to take scores of photos of the boys doing their Buffalo routines—enough, actually, to do a separate spread on dance. In their buffalo-inspired getups and their faces painted black, red and white, the boys—no doubt masters-in-training—danced around the makeshift teepee conjuring up images of buffaloes on the prairie. Each dancer carried a rattle in one hand and a large rod in the other. The green and yellow boughs on their heads symbolized the time of year the buffalo would be expected to return. Each bough represented willows in full leaf.
The smell of fry bread and the rhythmic beating of drums drew her to another arena. She trekked over to a small fry bread stand and purchased a piece of the bread with a side of chili sauce. She then headed in the directions of the drums, tapping her hand against her thigh, already feeling the beat and rhythm in her soul. Inside the arena, Justine saw tribesmen dressed in colors of the elements, like browns and greens for the earth, white for the wind and red and yellow for fire. She took a brochure and then asked permission to photograph the ceremony. With permission denied, her only option was to settle back and be a spectator.
As the activities got underway, Justine scanned the brochure, reading that the mound of dirt in the middle of the arena was called the buffalo mound. A plate containing maple sugar was atop the mound. She had no idea what it signified, thus read on. An emissary seeking volunteers to participate in the ritual drew her attention. At first, she was reluctant to step up and participate, but then her other side—the side that was bold enough to do anything for a good story—stood up. She was in the Land of Enchantment—what better way to get up close and view the festivities than to actually participate? When the emissary arrived, she waved her hands frantically, and with a smile, the young man chose her and several others.
The next step involved selecting someone from the Buffalo Clan to lead the dance. The appointed dancer donned a buffalo head and other ornamentation. Justine and the others were directed to follow him to the plate of maple sugar on the mound. First he, and then each of the volunteers, lapped up small portions as a buffalo would. Each participant then got the chance to beat the drum. When it was Justine’s turn, she was hesitant about licking the mound of sugar that had touched many other tongues. Not wanting to break tradition, however, she tasted the sweet mixture. She thought it was the sweetest of sugars imaginable, but really couldn’t say if she was responding to the sugar itself, or if the festivities had gotten to her.
Then came her turn at the drum. Beating on the deerskin took her to a place in her mind that was new to her. The sound of her own taps on the hide took her mind to a serene, magical place—a place where calm was the norm, life was easy and the chanting voices of distant tribesmen enfolded her as she drifted into daydream mode: Before her stood a man, her husband—Red Sky. His arms folded across his bare chest, he smiled down on his wife, who had fit in so perfectly with his clan…
Someone nudged her and Justine quickly returned to reality—her reality. A vision. If so, it was her first. In a way, it scared her, making her wonder if perhaps she was being drawn to this life a little too much. That didn’t explain Darrius’s image. He was as clear as day, from his shining black hair to his only article of clothing, a breechcloth. Yes, only a breechcloth! Justine had a sudden yearning to return to that vision, make it reality, be in the loving embrace of her husband and the old ones, living a simpler life…loving in a simpler way. She wouldn’t have to travel to distant lands to find her lover as she had in reality. He would already be there. That was also her reality.
Justine checked the time, two hours before reality met her for dinner at eight. Her lover would be there. She handed over the portable drum and felt a thin layer of perspiration on her forehead. Indeed it had been some type of vision; so short, so sweet, but it had ended, and the rest of the ceremony awaited…
The focus then shifted to a plate of wild rice in a central spot. It was meant for the leader and was to be shared with whomever he asked. Justine hoped she wouldn’t be asked since she was still a little unsteady from her vision. It was something she couldn’t shake. She stayed for the rest of the ceremony—observing. She wanted to do but one thing: return to the vision; see Darrius…be one with him again.
* * *
With more than an hour left before meeting Darrius, Justine stood against a cottonwood tree, still trying to make heads or tales of her short vision. There were no conclusions, just truth—the truth that Darrius was embedded inside her. Her mind saw nothing now but the only man she had ever wanted to kiss her. He was so alive and vibrant, so vivid.
Distant drums beat again taking her from her reverie. She followed the path to the larger bandstand where another dance was underway. In the center were four men representing the points from where the buffalo would be expected to appear. Two other dancers were dressed as bears poised to attack. Justine, again, found herself in the middle of the action.
She became engaged in the ceremony as an onlooker. In the middle of it, an actor in the disguise of Famine scared her with his wild antics, chasing cast members around and getting so close to her that she could see his features, see his anger, even though he was supposedly an actor. His acting was that real, that believable, and it made her take flight. Before she could flee, Famine took her arm and tried his best to pull her into his lair of doom, but she escaped, running to the back of the sidelines. He was the only aspect of Native American mythology she truly feared. She decided to go back to her word and keep her distance at ceremonies from then on. All she wanted now was to see her lover and have a nice quiet dinner—alone with him.
With everything that had gone on at the ceremonies, she had to clear her head, to get ready for Darrius, so he wouldn’t see the mixed emotions on her face. He would inquire, but what would she say to him? Would she tell him of her vision, or even the Famine character who scared her? Though the Famine character was not always a fearful being, this one was, and she didn’t want Darrius knowing that a mere character like that had scared the bold and vivacious Justine-Roberts Paretti.
* * *
Earlier in the day, Justine remembered that she had left her 35mm camera on her bed at the Best Western. She had wanted to use the camera for shots of some of the dancers, and then she and Darrius could develop them together. It had been fun developing his few pictures together and besides, she still liked the old way of developing pictures. She looked at the time and saw that she still had over an hour before meeting Darrius. Though she had not really wanted to leave the park, she did so anyway since the hotel was only ten minutes away.
On her way back, she knew she had to pass the road that led to where she ultimately wanted to be—the other side of Red Rock, the dangerous place that promised both beauty and danger. It was where she would find spectacular shots. She looked at the 35mm camera on the car seat and decided that she and Darrius would not develop pictures together after all. She would take the photos, leave the film inside the camera and develop them at home. Those would not be pictures for The Examiner anyway. They would be hers. Taking a trip up there, even in a car not right for the journey, would present images she would never forget. But to get them, she would have to overcome two obstacles: betraying Darrius’s word, and risking her life!
After re-entering Red Rock State Park, she veered due east up the hill towards danger and enchantment. If she was lucky, no telltale trace of what she was about to do would show on her face, nor, she hoped, would he pick up any vibes.
She looked through the windshield and saw hills so high and breathtaking, so rich in desert colors that she stopped the car to look at them for a moment. She started driving again, and the hills and valleys looked that much more outstanding against a pinkish-red setting sun. She would be alone up there—and in the dark if she chose to venture forward. Yet the small car kept moving, slanting backwards at an arc the higher she went.
Her heart practically beat through her chest, but the job of a photojournalist was sometimes a risky one, so she kept on. Her only regret, other than the car being on a complete upward axis, was betraying Darrius’s trust. What the heck! She knew she would be back way before she was to meet him. She only wanted a peek at the other side, see what all the fuss was about, and then return as if nothing had happened. Sure, it was a flawless plan, but the higher she ventured, the more edgy her nerves became. He warned me for a reason, so why am I doing this? Because of curiosity. Her hands shook, her mouth was dry and panic was steadily creeping though her nervous system.
Now more than halfway up the winding road, all she could see, other than the rapidly approaching darkness and brick-hued behemoths, was blurred vision due to fright. And Justine knew when she had been beaten. The mountain had won. Now her problem was how to back down without losing control of the car. Behind her was the road that had assisted her in the climb, which was of no help now. Before her was the goliath that piqued her curiosity, but also forced piercing fear into her heart. Again, she asked herself: Why the hell did I do this? Darrius was right. I could die up here. Her mind was racing, her breath fogging the windshield, her hands almost too nervous to steer. My God!
She had no choice but to go in the direction of the mountains and pray that there was a side road that would lead her back down. With eyes almost shut, she pressed the accelerator and the car shimmied and rattled, and could hardly make it with its limited power. It definitely wasn’t an off-road vehicle, and she knew that going up. But hey, the car started out great, crunching small rocks, digging into the rough terrain.
Tears dripped onto her dress, her lips trembled. There was no way out! The car was tilting and beginning to slide, yet she had to continue because there was nowhere else to go. She finally came to a small fork in the road and took a deep breath, seeing this as maybe a way to turn around. She inched into the middle of the fork and backed the car to the right, finally heading in the right direction back down. Suddenly there was life in her fingers, her head, her heart, and she could breathe. It was a steep climb back down, but she was no longer on the slope backwards. She cautiously drove down and came to a stop where the road merged with the entrance to the park.
After parking, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw a person she barely recognized. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks a darker red against brown skin, eyes swollen, the front of her dress wet from tears. What a stupid-ass move! The car clock read seven-thirty. She had exactly a half hour to look like the human Darrius remembered making love to on a horse. What would she do? What would she say to him? The day had been a mix of fun and fear, all at her own hands; and most certainly the uneasiness would show on her face. Darrius would see it right off if he hadn’t already picked up her bad vibes.
11
THE HIDDEN TRUTH
By seven fifty, Justine was perfect: no traces of puffy eyes, no shaking hands, no wet dress. In the small restroom near the main arena, she checked herself in the mirror, fixed her hair, refreshed her makeup and was good to go. Her secret was safe and would never turn into a lie unless spoken and then denied. Darrius was good at reading her; hopefully, not that good.
Justine could see the stick-frame teepees in the distance near the main entrance as the setting sun cast its last glow upon the earth. Behind the teepees stood her photographed caves that looked to be carved in the center of a large mountain. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember photographing caves. Then where did the pictures come from? She had to have taken them. As if in slow motion, she walked toward the caves, wanting to see the images on their walls; remembering seeing sketchy figures on the photos. Would they be petroglyphs? She hoped so. There were risks, though, either emotional or physical. Did she still want to go? Yes, but for her own knowledge.
Justine saw the rope and sign barring everyone from getting closer to the teepees and caves; nonetheless, she was about to slide under it when she heard her name.
“Justine!”
She spun around and saw Darrius holding his hand out to her and looking from her to the teepees. “Darrius?” It was exactly eight. “Right on time, aren’t you?”
“Apparently. What are you doing over here? This is forbidden. Don’t you see the ropes and signs?”
“I…yes, but—”
“Come on. I’ll take you to another set of caves later, ones we can go inside.”
She looked at the cave before her. “Why is this one so different?”
“Unsafe, mainly.”
She accepted his answer. Yet, her questioning persisted. “But since you were supposed to meet me at the entrance by eight, what are you doing here?”
“Since I’m on the board of directors for the park, I scout around at times, making sure everything is in order—like the caves you were about to violate.”
“I’m really sorry. Forgive me?”
