Until I got my own head out of my ass.
“Got room there for me?”
I inch over to make room on the log for my grandfather to plant his ass next to mine. He stares into the distance, and for a time doesn’t speak. Then he clears his throat. “Your mom ran off with the white man. Didn’t settle easy with me. Knew she had a son, hoped she’d bring you to meet us sooner. Didn’t happen that way.”
It hadn’t. Just as well. There’d have been nothing here for me then, as much as there isn’t now.
“Not good, a boy growing up not knowing his family or his history.”
I shrug. It had suited me just fine. Until Dad died, I’d had all I wanted in Tucson.
He gives me a sideways glance. Unlike my long hair, his was trimmed short. I was surprised to find not many Navajo wore their hair long nowadays, but I’d refused to cut mine just to fit in. Refused to do much to help myself. Just pig headed, another sign I was unwilling to do anything to make my life easier. Kepthoping it was all a bad dream and I was going to wake up and find myself back home. In Tucson, where I belonged.
“You ever hear about your great-grandfather?”
I shrug again. He wouldn’t mean the one on my father’s side who’d fought in the second world war.
“Heard anything about the Navajo Code Talkers?”
“Some.” I vaguely remember something in history, but it wasn’t a subject I was interested in.
“Navajo’s one of the most difficult languages to learn.” My huffed laugh, having already discovered that, rolls past him. “Well, the Navajo had been treated badly by the US Government, but it didn’t stop them joining up to fight alongside Anglos in the war. It was something bigger than this country, something that threatened the whole world.” His eyes, unfocused, look my way but don’t seem to see me. “At that time, the number of non-Navajo people who could speak our language could be counted in tens. And few at that. So, using a code based on Navajo, and using Navajo Marines to translate it, was proposed as a way to organise the troops without the enemy knowing what the American army was doing.”
My shoulders rise and fall, my head shakes. Okay, so they sent and translated messages in code. Big deal.
“They played an invaluable part in being able to beat the Japanese in the Pacific Theatre. Before the code was used, the Japs always got wind of what the US were up to, and what they planned to do. Wasn’t always easy though. Navajo looked like Japs to some of the US troops. Ended up they needed to be paired with a white man to keep them safe. They didn’t sit in an office; they were out on the front line. Saved those Marine asses.”
“And my great-grandfather was one?” My interest begins peaking.
“One of the original twenty-nine.”
“Cool.” For the first time, I realise that part of my history has played an important role in the world. Perhaps the Navajo have more to offer than I thought.
“Was he ever in danger?”
Grandfather grins, looking much like he’s caught a fish on the hook. Now he’s got me wriggling, he continues, “Sure was.” My interest caught, I eagerly listen as he rambles through some old stories, a boy intrigued by tales of war and fighting.
That was my first talk with the old man, but certainly not the last. Through him I started to learn about my Navajo heritage, their beliefs, their understanding of the world and the way it worked. Some things I scoffed at, some things made sense. We spent many a time on that log. Me absorbing an education I wasn’t aware I’d been learning. I smile at the memory as I back my hand off the throttle.
I’m here. I stop my bike at the sign denoting the reservation of the Navajo Nation, killing the engine, listening to the peace and quiet, breathing the air that at one time I never thought would make me think of as signalling I’ve come home. Above, a hawk is flying, dipping down as though to welcome me back. My Navajo blood seems to run freer through my veins. I shake out my hands, stiff from the long ride, then start my engine again. I’ve still got a way to go until I reach my destination, the reservation covers over twenty-seven thousand square miles of land.
Surprisingly, it was the one thing my mom had encouraged me to learn back in Tucson that started me on the road that would see me being accepted by my contemporaries.
“Hey, Tse. Navajo ride horses. Let’s see whether you’re a natural.”
My eyes sharpen as I look up from my book. Billy and Thom aren’t exactly my friends and I don’t immediately trust them.Well, none of the boys here are my friends. But maybe this is where I’ve got something up my sleeve to surprise them.
I’ve been here a few months now. Summer’s turned into winter the likes of which I’ve never previously experienced. Down in Tucson the dark months were mild, but here there’s snow and ice, and the wood stove is kept burning. Like any human I yearn for company, so gradually I’ve started trying to fit in. My initial aloofness I realised was a mistake as it had come back to bite me. Knowing now it was going to be an upward struggle to get Navajo boys to become my friends.
I stand, putting down my book. “Yeah, I can ride a horse.”
They mockingly laugh. “Sure you can.” Billy slaps my back. “Sure you can, White Boy.”
Yeah, because my habits were ‘white’ to them, I’ve picked up a nickname.
I follow them to Billy’s house, and to a corral out back. Then come to an abrupt halt. Hmm. I can ride, but not a fucking unbroken paint horse. But I committed myself when I told them I could. Can’t back out now. Not without looking like a pussy. Can’t be much worse than breaking Niyol back in Tucson.
As Billy approaches him with a bribe of an apple in his hands, I see the horse accepts the halter at least. But I also note the white in his eyes. My hands clench by my sides. I can do this. In my head, I see myself calming the mustang, bringing him under control, and back to my friends fully broke. One side of my mouth turns up. I got this. I’ll be the one to tame him. I’ll show them.
