A Good High Place

Chapter 31

c H A P T e R T H i R T Y - o N e Kachina and Topini walk into Morrison’s Hardware, the years and chances settled now to where they belong. She needs that oil for the scars in the table, the ones she’s decided to enhance. The man behind the counter wearing a cotton apron wipes his hands down the whiteness of it and greets her with a half smile. They are friendly enough, Kachina supposes. They count on her, after all. But they’ll never understand everything. A knife is an extension of your hand; it joins you with your actions, with the force of it, with the motion, with your victim, for that matter. It keeps you honest. With a knife there is no distance, no indifference, no anonymity. She guides Topini down the aisle, the one with the wood stains and lacquers, but there are too many choices. She’s always been good with a knife. Her people had had to be. The Chemokmon had taken all the guns. She continues to search the shelves. She can always use a bit of corn oil or lard, but she has been hoping for better. Finally, she finds some boiled linseed oil and then she allows Topini to drag her back in her mind. Back and forth. Backward and forward. A GOOD HIGH PLACE 167 The ceremony, in special recognition of Kachina’s womanhood, turned out differently than Izusa had imagined. Kachina remembers the ceremony from outside her body. Atmidafternoon,Kachinaheadstothelaketofreshenup,accompanied by Nami Crowfeather and Wabisi. Since she won’t be allowed to bathe in the lake, the young women will help sponge her back. Nami and Wabisi busy themselves in the thicket, gathering daisies for her hair. The lake is calm and the day bright, which gives her a good reflection. And that is a good thing. She’ll need a good reflection. A bit of red string catches Topini’s eye, and she’s motioning to Kachina to buy her some. Kachina agrees, but the red string forms a flowing crimson line behind her eyes. The water moves in gentle ripples, enough so her face appears wavy and unreal before her eyes. For a moment she thinks she sees Hototo’s face but decides it’s simply her own resemblance to him. Then Hototo’s face, or her own, disappears and she sees all the rest of their faces. She can’t hear The Day, but she feels the energy move from Him to her, sees the years stretch out before her in one long line and her place, clearly, within the procession of them. The knife is ten inches long and curved. It’s the one she uses to kill and clean the animals she traps. She pulls it from between the folds of her skirt. It feels right in her hand, years of skinning everything from the doe her father had shot with his bow to the squirrels they ate regularly. She hears Nami and Wabisi heading back through the woods toward her; she will have only one chance. They are not near enough to stop her yet, but she is out of time. She feels the power fill her mind, feels it infuse her body, encompassing every part of her. Her reflection is clear, her hand steady. . . . Kachina has never seen red string before. She tucks the ball under her arm, then puts it on the counter along with the oil. Kachina can hear Wabisi scream as she pulls the knife from her face. Blood mixes with the shiny glint of the sun and the knife itself, and she can see streaks of blue hard silver through the red. Sees the blood that will replace the blood of fertility as her destiny. Sees her new reflection 168 L.E. Kimball in the gently rolling water, can feel her heart open at last to the seven great wisdoms: Truth, Honesty, Love, Bravery, Humility, Respect, and Wisdom. Fifty-nine cents for the string. That had been 1914. She had been careful, performed a nice even cut. Izusa had had no trouble joining the flaps of skin together. The damage had involved the muscle a little but not enough to drop the whole side of her face. But it was not her appearance that repelled them. The oil is a little more than a dollar. They believed she had...