Indian Voices: Listening to Native Americans

11. Practicing Medicine: Harrison Baheshone (Navajo)

209 c h a p t e r 1 1  Practicing Medicine harrison baheshone (navajo) “I’ll formally introduce myself, as is tradition in Navajo. My name is Harrison Baheshone. I am of the Rock Gap clan. Tsédeeshgizhnii is my mother’s maternal clan. My father’s clan is Kin Yaa’áanii, Towering House clan. My grandfather on my mother’s side, they’re Chishi Dine’e, which is the Chiricahua Apache clan. Then on my paternal side it’s the Tl’aashchi’I, Bottoms Red People clan, which are closely related to the Many Goats and the Many Mules clan. I am originally from a place called Coalmine Mesa, which is about thirty minutes east of Tuba City, Arizona.” The ceremony would take place on the Navajo Nation in the hogan of the Goldtooth family, relatives by clan to the medicine man, by blood to the patient. Directions, which the fastidious medicine man Harrison Baheshone sent by e-mail, included such instructions as “Enter cattle guard and turn diagonal east.” The Goldtooth Ceremonial Residence, as he labeled the eight-sided cement block and stuccoed hogan, was at an elevation of about 6,000 feet. The setting was desolate and gorgeous. A mile away, vistas opened into buttes and canyons, but the prevalent view here was flatness softened with scrubby grasses. About a hundred yards from the hogan was a combination cooking and sleeping building—upright split logs at one end, a trailer at the other, tires holding down a plastic and chicken-wire roof area in the middle. Walks away in two directions led to a wooden outhouse and a reclaimed Port-a-potty, its walls scratched with graffiti in Spanish. Apart from the four CH011.qxd 12/14/10 8:17 AM Page 209 disparate structures, earth met sky in a straight line. The air was clean and thin, the peace embracing. During a four-hour drive north from Phoenix to the hogan, I carried directions, fruit, a digital recorder, and a pack crammed with a sleeping bag. Nestled within was a triple-wrapped contribution. “I think it would be a nice gesture to our family,” Harrison had e-mailed, “if you could bring a small bottle of water. I usually prepare water from a natural spring. It would be great to use water that feeds into the great Pacific Ocean. You will need to offer a sacrifice to the deities and offer a prayer on behalf of our family. We make offerings such as corn pollen, corn meal, small jewels (white shell, turquoise, obsidian, jet), powdered mirage stone, etc. Pray that the water will provide cleansing, blessings, harmony, prosperity, and a good harvest for those that use it during the ceremony.” Days earlier, I had clambered under the Golden Gate Bridge onto slabs of broken concrete by water’s edge, placed corn meal on one slab, prayed as specifically as I could, gathered Pacific water in a bottle, and avoided a uniformed guard training binoculars on me. At the hogan, I stopped my car and bolted out. Seconds later a dark, trim man in jeans, baseball cap, and boots emerged from the cooking/sleeping shelter. Silence. Years of Navajo protocol gleaned from the mystery novels of Tony Hillerman, I realized with chagrin, had eluded me. According to Hillerman heroes Lt. Joe Leaphorn and Sgt. Jim Chee of the Navajo Tribal Police, when a visitor drives up to a home, the visitor waits in the car for a few minutes. This gives those inside time to see who it is, collect themselves, and come outside leisurely. At this man’s silence, I regained a fraction of protocol and introduced myself, if without the majesty of maternal and paternal clans. More silence. There seemed reason to add that Harrison Baheshone invited me. Then, I’m looking for the Goldtooth residence. “I’m Goldtooth.” Freddie Goldtooth led me from silent sunshine to the lively smoky shelter, where cooking for the ceremony was in full swing under the direction of his wife, Stella. An ample woman with a bad knee (she planned to get a new practicing medicine 210 CH011.qxd 12/14/10 8:17 AM Page 210 one), she had a commanding presence even sitting. She is the youngest of several sisters, someone later whispered, but assumes the role of the eldest. More Navajo etiquette à la Hillerman was returning: shake hands...