Archive for the ‘Kat Beyer’ Category
General Yamamoto Softens
Friday, May 28th, 2010
When Women’s Battle College went on Candlemas break, Dana Yamamoto went home to Japan. She took the Orient Express to the hydrofoil from Vladivostok, caught the Kyoto Limited, then shouldered her pack and walked through the blossoming streets to her mother’s high wooden house. When she entered the courtyard, the General chided her.
“I would have sent a chair,” she said.
“I know, Mother.”
“Well: welcome back,” said the General.
They sat in the spring silence and drank tea, looking out at the rock garden; Dana saw that her mother had raked it into a new pattern.
“What do you see in the sand, Mother?” Dana asked suddenly.
Her mother took a sip of tea, set down her cup, fastened her eyes on a river rock near the center of the waves of stone.
“Lives I could have saved,” General Yamamoto replied. “Wheels that turned too quickly.”
Dana put out a hand and found that her mother’s arm was living bone clothed in flesh, warm to the touch; somehow she had expected river stone.
“Mother!” She said. “I am studying with Dr Fujiwara. I will learn to save the lives, to slow the wheels.”
General Yamamoto looked at her with the kindest eyes Dana had ever seen in her mother, and did not tell Dana that she too had studied hard for the same end.
Instead she said, “I know, Daughter.”
Say It with Horses
Wednesday, May 12th, 2010
I was troubled in my mind about my parcel getting foreclosed upon, a man situation I’d’ve liked to improve, and Dog’s vet bill from a tumor. I put Dog in the pickup and drove down to Ghost Ranch.
Ghost Ranch is one of those places God or the chief Katsinas didn’t leave to any odd-job angel to make. The canyons speak with red and orange voices, glitter with cottonwoods. Half of my ancestors called it Canyon of the Witches, avoiding it like hell unless they felt the need for some cave painting; the other half, that showed up late and pale to the Turtle Island party, just loves it here.
“Sleep with me, bella Izzy?” asked my friend Felipe when I got out of the truck.
“Nope. I’ll cook, though.”
“You look awful. Not here to see me, are you.”
“Nope. Though I’m glad to.”
Up past the guest houses and the classrooms, the road runs up into the canyons. I parked the truck.
We walked the rest of the way up above the mouth of the wash. Nobody was going to come down here from Box Canyon, the reason being, nobody can get into it. I shared my sandwich with Dog and the spirits. I scattered corn pollen for them, telling them, “I can’t sleep up at my old place. I hope you’ll excuse me ‘til I can find some answers.”
After moonrise Dog and I listened to the coyotes singing like witches.
I don’t remember falling asleep; maybe Dog does. I remember the horses. They came down from Box Canyon that has no way in. There were painted ponies, palominos and appaloosas and one big Clydesdale, which is how I knew a variety of ancestors had sent them. They came down quick like thunder. I knew they’d trample me.
They did. I felt their hooves in my skull and ribcage, crushing my lungs and hips.
I woke up with rain on my face. The thunder had gone down the canyon like horses. Dog sat up, looking at me thoughtfully.
I still had my skull. Hips, too, and lungs.
I stood in the rain and offered up both corn pollen and my fears. The man would manage; the land I could ask for help on; Dog’s vet wouldn’t starve yet.
I left a note for Felipe: “Got told. Cook next time. Love, Isabella.”