“That’s what it’s called, the bluff, and aren’t you glad I insisted you wear ground-grippers instead of those pretty sandals?”
“Oh, yes. I was just so taken by—”
“The beauty of El Morro?”
“It’s incredible.”
“You have yet to see how incredible it truly is. Let’s walk another half mile so you can see the inscriptions. They date back to the fifteenth century. You’ll have to hold my hand, though. The terrain is hilly. Can’t have you falling off a cliff.”
“Could that happen up there?”
“Only near the ruins, which we won’t be going to, though I know you want to.”
“Can’t we?”
“Justine,” he said sternly.
“Okay, okay. Show me the inscriptions, then let’s tour. Surely, there are other places you can take me to.”
“There are, and just so you could have something tangible to remember this day, I have one of your cameras. I slid it into the picnic basket.”
“Quite the man, aren’t you?”
“Quite! Let’s roll. I think you’ll like Inscription Loop. There are over two thousand signatures and petroglyphs to look at.”
“Really? Who are some of the signers?”
“Mostly the Spanish on their trek to conquer many a Native American lifestyle. I can’t remember some of the names, but you’ll see them. They’re very old, and preservationists are constantly finding ways to keep them safe.”
Inscription Rock was a wealth of sights that Justine was eager to capture. She was thankful Darrius brought one of her cameras. The Examiner would be indebted to her for years to come for these pictures. She only wished she could shoot the ruins, the old Anasazi villages at the top of the mesa and whatever it was behind Red Rock, but values and traditions were not something she dared tamper with. It would be like someone coming into her parents’ home, uninvited, and rifling through their most prized possessions. Besides, her lover would send her flying back to her own ancestors, and she was not ready to go yet. She took his hand and followed him to the wall, which was covered with inscriptions and petroglyphs.
Darrius led her to something he thought she would love: the first English inscription made by Lieutenant J.H. Simpson and artist R.H Kern. Without a word, she aimed and shot the 1849 inscription, murmuring, “This autograph will be the prize of the photo spread.”
“Not quite,” Darrius said. “I think this will be: Don Juan de Ornate, New Mexico’s supposed first governor, though many an Indian ruled this place first. Let’s look at his and a few more and then try to get to the pool of water at the bottom for our picnic.”
“Is it safe for us to travel down that far?”
He smiled. “No, not the way I go. I come here a lot when I need to think.”
If only I were as brave as he thinks I am. “To have sweat lodges or vision quests?”
“No, just to think about life, what’s going on and what I need to do to make my people happy despite adversity.”
Justine looped her arm through his. “You always seem to think of others first. That’s the second thing I like about you.”
“And the first?”
“The way you love me. I feel warm and needed when with you.”
“I need you too, kid. Come on, my belly is rumbling, and we’ve got things yet to see.”
Justine took a few shots of the inscription Don Juan Ornate and his men made back in 1605. Using her poor Spanish skills, she tried to make out the inscribed words. Finally, she pulled Darrius away from other inscriptions and asked, “What does Paso por aqui mean?”
“ ‘I passed through here.’ He made his arrival on April 16, 1605. You see where he made his mark, just above a native petroglyph, almost disfiguring its natural beauty.”
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Our land should be respected. I, too, am part of the efforts to keep this place intact. I donate money, and sometimes my time when I have it.” He faced her. “I love my land, Justine, and anyone who can’t doesn’t have a place in my life. That’s why I’m so taken with you. True, you would like to venture into territory that is off limits, but not to exploit it without seeing the beauty of it. You want to share its beauty with others, not see what you can get out of it.”
Not quite knowing how to respond, she took his hand. “Come, let’s see the rest of its beauty.”
With a lighter heart, Darrius took her to a place that he had sworn he would never take anyone who wasn’t Native American—the Pueblo ruins. Atop a large hillside, they stared into the distance and saw the beautiful sandstone city sectioned off into what looked like separate ancient homes. “The Pueblo city, huh? It reminds me of the old Pueblo woman who had this bracelet before I did. Her family probably had many memories of how this place used to look when it was thriving.”
“Probably so.”
Justine’s eyes soon looked beyond him and widened in glory. She was dying to photograph the place, but remembered what Darrius had said about loving her for her non-exploitive ways. She wanted to keep his view of her intact, and that meant not desecrating sacred lands for a mere photograph. It took hundreds of years for the Pueblos to create life there, back in the day, and that’s how she wanted it to stay. Yet her zeal to explore was almost getting the best of her.
19
KACHINA SUNSET
Darrius saw the look on Justine’s face and knew she was itching to get closer to the Pueblo ruins. No deal. True, she was a part of his heart now, but his ancestors were still his ancestors. He took her by the hand. “Come, we’ve been here long enough. You never know who might be watching us.”
“There’s no one here but us.”
“I don’t mean the physical.”
She felt a sudden chill, and looked skyward, as if expecting to see the great kachina rise above the clouds and scold her. “You are kidding, right?”
