On way to McNeil Island Prison
Silas John Edwards –
“Apache Jesus”
Whiteriver, Arizona

He sensed a story in those words, beyond the murder he’d been asked to investigate. As a lawyer, Earle Stanley Gardner was well aware that real cases rarely wrap up into tidy explanations. True, his fictional attorney, the infallible Perry Mason, easily solved every mystery that came his way. But that was formula fiction, happening in an environment that Gardner controlled. This, now, was a real case, and a really cold case. It would be hard enough to find facts about a nineteen-year-old murder on a primitive and remote reservation. It would be even more difficult to understand the vanished world that had created the character of the man some called the Apache Jesus.

Sweet Earth breathed deeply and held onto her huge belly, hoping that words from the old tales might help her know what to do. She was frightened, but calm. As they waited, some of her kinswomen teased her about the size of her blooming, especially her half-sister, the wavy-haired Raven Song. “That Yoohn, he must have planted a big seed in her all right,” the girl snickered, “or else she is carrying two!”

Their little sister, Spotted Fawn, scowled at Raven Song and squeezed Sweet Earth’s shoulder as their grandmother whispered, “Hush! See how you are scaring her. Sweet Earth is a faithful wife. She would never have twins!”

Sweet Earth knew her grandmother was wrong. Something had happened to her earlier in the year, something that didn’t fit into the world where she and her husband, Yoohn, lived with her grandmother’s clan. Somehow she had slipped into a world before the dawn of remembering - or into one beyond the sunset of this living.

During the last nine months, ever since she had been pulled out of that mysterious world and tossed back into her ordinary life, she hadn’t known what to do. She couldn’t fit the immensity of the experience into her mind. The memories of that mysterious time whirled round and round in her head without helping her know what to do with the dangerous result. She was alone with the problem because she knew it would be impossible for anyone else to understand what had happened. But she hoped to find some answers and guidance in the ancient words of her people’s sacred tales and trance song

She looked at her grandmother’s face in the glowing firelight and knew the kind-hearted elder was worrying about the future of her people. The wise woman had often complained that their world had been broken because Apaches were allowing their old ways to be buried under the rotten influence of the White Eyes. She warned her family that anything could happen now that the ancient cycle had been disturbed.

Sweet Earth was uneasy about the other-worldly experiences that had both frightened and delighted her months earlier. She wondered if she had fallen into a crack of the broken world, and if those experiences, which had filled her with the most powerful sweetness, could have been evil. She remembered her grandfather saying, “Evil is the other side of good.” Sweet Earth studied his strong deeply lined face and thought, Grandfather is old. He has learned many things during his long life. His stories are even older. They come from a dim time, maybe a time similar to the strange place where I have been. If only they could help me find the path! I must push aside my thoughts and let the words flow through me.

Sweet Earth concentrated on the steady rhythm of her husband’s drumbeats. A stillness began to settle over the wickiup. Everyone edged closer to the fire circle as the smoke sailed up and out of the air hole into the cold night and upward toward the stars.

Yoohn quit drumming and looked at his wife’s grandfather. The whispering and rustling stopped as the old man closed his eyes, cleared his throat, raised his left hand, and began:

"Long ago - they say, when the earth was fresh and newly formed, a lovely girl was wandering about all alone, enchanted by the wonder of it all. She met nobody as she wandered. She was all alone. Yet she heard a voice from above, a voice of somber sweetness, a voice of commanding color, a voice that made her tremble with desire. The voice told her to lie down under a tumbling waterfall. She eagerly lay beneath the falling water. There she felt the most wonderful delight. Her delight grew within her and became a baby, which she bore on the bank near that wondrous waterfall.

"Then, they say, she left the infant in that safe enchanted place to go home for the night. The next day she went back and found the baby all smooth and clean. Again, she left for the night. When she came back in the morning, the baby had tears on his cheeks. He was crying. As before, she left him for the night. In the morning, she found the baby walking around. She made a little bow and arrow for him. Then, she took him home and they lived together in contentment.

"After a time, they say, she again heard a voice from above, a sky voice, a voice like thunder and lightning, a voice like the wind singing and swirling about her ears with tender caresses. It took her breath away and sent her quivering to do Its bidding. It told her to climb a small hill and there to build a shelter with four poles where Sun’s first rays would strike the next morning. She painted each of the poles with zigzag lines for lightning, on the east pole – black; on the south pole – blue; on the west pole – yellow; and on the north pole – white.

"Then, they say, she went inside and lay down. When the Sun came up, she pulled up her dress and spread her legs far apart. Sun entered her with a radiant red beam. That radiance became a child, which she bore in seclusion. As night fell, she left the infant and returned to her camp. When she came back the next day, she found the baby good and smooth and clean with his eyes open. Again, she left him and returned to her camp. In the morning, she found him sitting up. The morning after that, she found the baby crying. She went home again and came back to find him walking about. So she made him a tiny bow and arrow and took him home to live with his brother in her camp.

"They say, the woman’s first child was called T’uba’tic’isticine (Born From Water). His father was Water Old Man. The second child was called Bilna’nolti.hn (Marked with Zigzag Lightning). His father was Sun. Those boys got their power from their fathers long ago."

The sound of the sacred stories rolled beneath Sweet Earth’s thoughts like the murmur of a distant storm as her own story rose up to claim her mind. It had happened to her earlier that year in the month the White Eyes call April, but that the Apaches know as T’aa na’chil (The Leaf Buds Are Swelling.) There was nothing strange about the first few days when her grandmother led the clan to their springtime gathering grounds to collect roots, greens and tender sprouts. The wise woman had taken them there because she was scornful of the "lazy sit-around-the-forts," who relied on rations passed out by the White Eye soldiers. As a healer, she knew what would happen to her people if they ate only the food provided by the Indian agent. She knew they would become sickly and weak. So the band followed her when she said, "It is time to get the springtime food that Giver of Life has sent for us to enjoy.”

The old woman made an announcement after they had all worked together for three days. She said she need to take Sweet Earth out alone to teach her about plant power because the girl had been chosen by the spirits to be the clan’s next herbal healer. The sky seemed to be promising a clear spring day when they left the others shortly after dawn.

They were barely out of the camp when an angry Raven Song stormed up and demanded to go with them. She became even more furious when her grandmother told her she couldn’t come. The wild-eyed girl stomped to the edge of a thick stand of trees and stood there with clenched fists before she spun around and shouted, “I am ready to learn about plant power,” she shouted. “Many times I have begged you to teach me. My mother told me a true thing. She said you would not share secrets with me.” Raven Song’s scowling mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile as she pointed her chin toward Sweet Earth and sputtered, “Now that one goes with you, that dim-minded one. She needs to learn some love medicine to keep her man, not plant power.”

Their grandmother’s kind face became fierce. She pointed her walking stick at Raven Song and hissed, "Swallow those evil words. People will say you are a witch. Who has filled your mind with wicked thoughts of love power? Never say those words again! Great harm will come if you don't heed me. I was right to say you could not come with us. Power is a gift to be used to help all the people. It is not to be given to one selfish girl."

Raven Song began to tremble, but her voice was hard and steady as she answered, “I am not afraid of Power. Those who have it say it’s dangerous. They only say that to scare others so they can keep all the Power for themselves. I am strong enough for Power and will be even stronger soon.” She stormed off, screaming, “I'll find out what I want to know without you."

Sweet Earth understood the source of Raven Song’s bitterness. Her anger came from being left behind when her Mexican mother, the captive second wife of Sweet Earth’s father, ran away. Still, it was upsetting to see her half-sister be so disrespectful to the woman who had taken such good care of Raven Song after her mother had disappeared. The old woman looked crushed until Sweet Earth tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to a tiny white flower. “Look,” she said, “a promise of good growing things.”

“Yes,” the elder replied, “We will think of the good gifts around us. I have no medicine to take away that girl’s anger, but we do not have to carry any of her poison with us. Come now.” The next few hours were pleasant. They talked about healing while they wandered farther and farther from their kin. When Sweet Earth realized how far they had walked, she tried to convince her grandmother to return to the others. But the twinkle-eyed elder insisted they go on to a holy place called Singing Waters, where they would find a special herb. She kept on saying, “We are nearly there. You will soon see the four sacred springs.” She seemed happy as she scampered along the path, pointing to pale green shoots with her twisted walking stick. The healer was fussing at her granddaughter in a love-scold about the proper way to dig up tender plants when she stopped in mid-sentence. The color drained from her face as she closed her eyes and leaned heavily on her cane before toppling down the sloping bank and landing next to a fast flowing creek.

Sweet Earth brushed aside a few strands of silver hair and placed her own face near her grandmother’s mouth. Breath still came. There was hope, but the girl knew she would have to stay with her the sick woman and wait for the others to find them.

After Sweet Earth had carried her grandmother up the creek bank, she noticed that the bright face of the sky was changing as quickly as the elder’s face had changed a few minutes earlier. It was even more alarming when the day’s warm friendly breeze began to churn into a furious windstorm. Sweet Earth struggled against the bone-chilling gusts to build a shelter around her unconscious grandmother. She had erected a snug hut from saplings, reeds and branches with a hole in the top for the smoke to escape and was bringing in firewood when it began to snow. Sweet Earth crawled into the shelter’s tiny entrance and looked over at the bed of soft branches and leaves that she had made for her grandmother. There was no change in the motionless form lying there. The old woman didn't respond to her tender cooing, but the breath of life still fluttered from her lips.

Snow was still falling but the wind had moved on when Sweet Earth went out in the middle of the afternoon to collect water in her pitch-covered tus basket. As she thought about the sacredness of that life-giving liquid, she began to chant and move in a slow measured reverent pace. Her steps took her around a bend to the holy place her grandmother had been longing to see. Four springs gushed out of the ground and flowed down a gentle slope to mingle in a rippling stream. There were pieces of turquoise in the water, and eagle feathers fluttering from snow-covered branches in a cluster of trees. Sweet Earth had filled her tus with the clear water and was listening to the music of the springs when she realized that she would freeze to death if she stayed any longer.

The shivering girl hurried back to the shelter, stripped off her wet clothes and placed them near the fire. She used a piece of rough bark to rub the circulation back into her numb hands and feet while she huddled by the flames. There had been no dusk. Night had swooped and captured the day. Sweet Earth peeked outside and saw nothing but darkness. There was no moon and the sky was starless. Her fire seemed like the only light in the entire world. Sweet Earth’s body ached for sleep, but she knew she needed to keep herself awake until her clothes were dry. She made her grandmother a cup of willow bark tea, but broke into sobs when she couldn’t figure out to help the unconscious woman drink the healing liquid. The exhausted girl wept for several minutes before she decided to drink the tangy tea herself. She studied the tin army cup in the flickering firelight. It was a useful item - a gift from her husband, but it didn't make her happy to think of the giver.

Sweet Earth heard an eerie sighing sound, which terrified her. It made her think that death might be coming to claim her beloved grandmother. If it did, Sweet Earth didn’t know how she would be able to stand the sorrow or get along without the wise woman’s counsel. Her grandmother had always been by her side. She had raised Sweet Earth and Spotted Fawn after their parents died from the coughing sickness. Later, she even took in the abandoned Raven Song.

And there was another worry. Sweet Earth would have to leave the hut and wander around in the storm if her grandmother died inside the small space. If Sweet Earth didn’t go, she would be overtaken by ghost sickness. All Apaches knew ghosts were dangerous, even ghosts of people who had loved them. When a person died inside a wickiup, the structure was always destroyed along with all of that person’s possessions. Sweet Earth couldn’t risk staying in a shelter that had been visited by death, even though she might end up dying in the freezing, blinding snow.

Would Yoohn care? she wondered. The answer was not comforting. Their new marriage was not going well. Sweet Earth thought about how quickly things had changed. Three weeks earlier she had been eager to have Yoohn move into her wickiup. But now she wished he would stay away forever. Not that she wanted him to die. No, not that. She just didn’t want him after seeing his violent side on their wedding night. Yoohn had turned into a different person after drinking a bottle of whiskey that another army scout had given him during the celebration. Sweet Earth shuttered as she thought about what had happened in her wickiup later that night, and about how Yoohn had acted the next morning. He had swaggered around with a smug look on his ashen, hung-over face, when her relatives teased him about his wild wedding night. Sweet Earth hid her bruises and bit back her angry words. It was only pride that kept her from telling them he had been a worthless lover, who had beaten her in his frustration. Yoohn seemed puzzled by her frosty face. He clearly didn’t remember he had been too drunk to make love to her the previous night. She was about to take him aside and tell him off when the Chief of Scouts rode into the camp and ordered Yoohn to head out immediately after some renegades.

Sweet Earth hadn't seen him since the morning after their wedding and didn't want to. She didn’t want to even think about him. But she had to because Raven Song had heckled her about him every day, more than hinting that she could make Sweet Earth’s unsatisfied husband very happy. "Too bad the soldiers won't let our men have two wives anymore," Raven Song had sighed. "Some men don't choose well the first time. A man like Yoohn could handle two wives, even if one of them was filled with fire like me. I might be a year younger than you are, but I know more about making men feel good. I'd treat him like a man. He is wasted on you and your cold ways."

It made Sweet Earth sad to remember how much she used to adore Yoohn, how he had charmed her by playing little warbling tunes on his flute, and how he had chased her until they both fell laughing on the soft earth by the cattail marsh. She recalled the excitement of having his arms around her while he whispered, “You heard my mouth play courting songs on my flute, but you didn’t come to me. So now I will make my mouth play all over your face and body until you sing out in delight. I want to make your heart sing. I want you to agree to be my wife."

Sweet Earth remembered how she had pulled out of his arms and stumbled away, muttering, “You must talk to my grandparents first.” And after that how she had burst into tears and stayed awake all night tingling with desire.

The weary girl wondered if she would ever feel a longing like that again. She didn't know. For now, it was enough to be out of the storm, close to her grandmother, almost asleep next to a warm fire. It snowed steadily as she slept. It flowed down smothering sounds and blocking out the sky, burying the earth in a soft stillness, similar to death.

TO BE CONTINUED