The Bean Trees

"First let me go in alone," I said.

It looked like a different place. I remembered all the signs-IN CASE OF FIRE YELL FIRE. They were gone. Blue gingham curtains hung in the windows and there were glasses of plastic roses and bachelor buttons on all the tables. I would have walked right out again, but I recognized the TV. Good picture, but no sound. And there was the same postcard rack too, although it seemed to have changed its focus, placing more emphasis on scenic lakes and less on Oral Roberts University.

A teenaged girl in jeans and an apron came through a door from the kitchen. She had a round Indian face behind large, blue-rimmed glasses.

"Get you some coffee?" she asked cheerfully.

"Okay," I said, and sat down at the counter.

"Now, what else can I do for you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm looking for somebody."

"Oh, who? Were you meeting them here for lunch?"

"No, it's not like that. It's kind of complicated. I was in here last December and met some people I have to find again. I think they might live around here. It's very important."

She leaned on her elbows on the counter. "What was their names?"

"I don't know. There was a woman, and two men in cowboy hats. I think one of them might have been her husband, or her boyfriend. I know, this isn't getting anywhere. Ed knew their names."

"Ed?"

"Isn't that who runs this place?"

"No. My parents own it. We bought it in March, I think. Or April."

"Well, would your parents know Ed? Would he be around here?"

She shrugged. "The place was just up for sale. I think whoever owned it before musta died. It was gross in here."

"You mean he died in here?"

She laughed. "No, I just mean all the dirt and stuff. I had to scrub the grease off the back of the stove. It was black. I was thinking about running away and going back home. We're not from here, we're from over on tribal land. But I like some kids here now."

"Do any of the same people come in here that always did? Like men, drinking after work and that kind of thing."

She shrugged.

"Right. How would you know."

I stared at my cup of coffee as though I might find the future in it, like the chickenbone lady back home.

"I don't know what to do," I finally said.

She nodded out the window. "Maybe you should bring your friends in for lunch."

I did. We sat at one of the spick-and-span tables with plastic flowers and had grilled-cheese sandwiches. Turtle bounced in her seat and fed tiny pieces of grilled cheese to Shirley Poppy. Estevan and Esperanza were quiet. Of course. You couldn't speak Spanish in this part of the country-it would be noticed.

After lunch I went up to the register to pay. No other member of the family had materialized from the kitchen, so I asked the girl if there was anyone else around that might help me. "Do you know the guy that runs the garage next door? Bob Two Two?"

She shook her head. "He never came over here, because we serve beer. He was some religion, I forget what."

"Are you telling me he's dead now too? Give me a break."

"Nah, he just closed. I think Pop said he was getting a place closer to Okie City."

"It wasn't even a year ago that I was here."

She shrugged. "Nobody ever comes out here anyway. I never could see who would go to that garage in the first place."

I put the change in my pocket. "Well, thanks anyway," I told her. "Thanks for trying to help. I hope your family does all right by this place. You've fixed it up real nice."

She made a small gesture with her shoulders. "Thanks."

"What did you mean when you said you came from tribal land? Isn't this the Cherokee Nation?"

"This! No, this is nothing. This is kind of the edge of it I guess, they do have that sign up the road that says maintained by the Cherokee tribe. But the main part's over east, toward the mountains."

"Oklahoma has mountains?"

She looked at me as though I might be retarded. "Of course. The Ozark Mountains. Come here, look." She went over to the postcard rack and picked out some of the scenery cards. "See how pretty? That's Lake o' the Cherokees; we used to go there every summer. My brothers like to fish, but I hate the worms. And this is another place on the same lake, and this is Oologah Lake."

"That looks beautiful," I said. "That's the Cherokee Nation?"

"Part of it," she said. "It's real big. The Cherokee Nation isn't any one place exactly. It's people. We have our own government and all."