After dinner on our third day there, Samuel and I climbed a rocky rise near his grandmother’s hogan as the sun set. And as the purple dusk was overcome with black, we watched the stars blink and awaken above us. As the night deepened and the display became more dramatic, I felt that familiar, humble wonder that I always felt when I contemplated the heavens. My limbs were heavy and my belly was full, and I felt more content and relaxed than I could remember feeling in a very long time.
Samuel’s grandmother had killed a goat in honor of his visit, and she’d spent the last two days cooking and preparing dishes. I was not especially squeamish, but when Samuel had told me that his grandmother used literally everything from the goat, I had been a little doubtful about my ability to take part in the feast being prepared. I’d even watched her make blood cakes, and amazingly enough, in spite of the gruesome name, they weren’t bad. They were heavy and filling and when they were cooking they smelled delicious. Two of Grandma Yazzie’s friends came and helped her with her preparations, and I was struck by how similar they were to the women in my church, laughing and giggling and working side by side. I marveled at the ingenuity and resourcefulness of these people. They even used ash from the juniper trees to leaven and thicken their bread.
The goat feast had been a lighthearted gathering of Grandma Yazzie’s friends, all who seemed to know and hold affection for Samuel. His mother had come as well but seemed ill at ease and confrontational towards Grandma Yazzie. In some ways, she looked older than her mother, although she was probably only in her late forties. Deep lines and sunken eyes told a tale of a very sad woman. Samuel seemed glad to see her and embraced her warmly, but shrugged with acceptance when she left not long after she arrived.
Now, lying beside Samuel on the smooth surface of the sandstone rise, looking up into the endless expanse of the night sky, I asked him about the woman who was his mother.
“She still lives with my step-dad, although I haven’t seen him since I left that last time my senior year in high school. My shima’s hogan has been neutral ground for my mother and me to see each other over the years.
“She doesn’t seem to like to Grandma Yazzie very much,” I said truthfully.
“She can’t ever get a rise out of Grandma. I think she tries to provoke ill-treatment from her to justify her own bad feelings. But my Grandma just loves her and, from what I can see, offers peace whenever she comes around. Sadly, my mother has betrayed herself too many times, and she is turning into a bear.”
“A bear?” I questioned, confused.
“Another legend. When I was little, my grandmother told me a story about a woman who was captured by the bear-clan. At night they were bears, but in the day, human. The woman marries the chief of the bear clan and eventually, after living with the bear clan for many years, she starts to grow fur and becomes a bear.”
“And your mother is becoming like the bear she married?”
“Ahh, you catch on quick, Josie. Actually, in the legend, the bear is selfless and loving, and dies for his family in the end, but I was always struck by the idea that we become what we surround ourselves by.” Samuel sighed. “Or maybe it’s just easier to blame my step-dad for what my mother has become than to hold her accountable.”
“I think the legend is truer than you even realize. Have you ever noticed how old married couples start to resemble each other after many years of marriage?” I giggled at the thought of some of the very old couples in Levan, and how they could almost be brother and sister they looked so much alike.
“So if you marry me, in fifty years my hair will start to curl and my eyes will be a brilliant blue?” Samuel teased softly, not turning towards me, his eyes trained on the stars above us.
My heart stuttered, and the image of growing old with Samuel suddenly played through my mind in moving pictures. I sat up abruptly, wrapping my arms around my knees, and struggled to think of something, anything, to say that would take the pictures from my head and the longing from my heart.
If Samuel perceived my discomfort, he didn’t pursue it, and his voice was soft as he moved the conversation to less personal ground, but he stretched his hand out and ran his fingers gently through my curls as he spoke.
“I’ll be at Camp Pendleton in San Diego for the next couple of years, Josie. I accepted an assignment at the base with the sniper division. I will be an instructor, training and working with Marines who are expert riflemen. I won’t have to live on base, and I won’t be considered active for deployment with my unit. I’ve been accepted to law school at San Diego State, and I can attend classes in the afternoon and evenings.”
He had it all planned out. I guess he’d figured out what he’d wanted. When we’d stood in the kitchen the morning after our run, he’d claimed he hadn’t decided what came next. It seemed he now knew. I was proud of him and frustrated all at the same time.
“How do you do it, Samuel?” I asked, and I was surprised at the confrontational edge to my voice, “How do you come here and see your grandma, see her growing older, knowing one day she’ll be gone, not knowing if this time might be the last time you see her, and then leave again?”
“Do you think my shima needs me to stay, Josie?” Samuel sat up beside me, and the fingers that had been gently twined in my hair now slid to my chin, turning my face to his. “Do you really think she wants me to stay?”
I tried to jerk my face from his hand, but he leaned into me and answered his own question. “I accomplish nothing by staying here. My grandmother knows I love her, and she expects me to keep moving forward. Do you remember how, when I was born my grandmother buried my umbilical cord in her hogan so that I would know I always have a home?”