Dance of the Bones

“Why not?” Rita had asked.

“They’re a superstitious lot,” Wanda explained. “They remember the story of Kulani O’oks, the Woman Who Was Kissed by the Bees who, under the name of Mualig Siakam—-Forever Spinning—-went on to become the Tohono O’odham’s greatest medicine woman. They’re afraid that the ant bites have made Clemencia a dangerous object, one who will bring Kuadagi Mumkithag, Ant Sickness, to the village.”

“What will become of her then?” Rita wanted to know.

“There’s an orphanage in Phoenix,” Wanda said, “one operated by the Baptist Church. They take in children from any number of tribes.”

“Who runs the orphanage,” Rita had asked, “Indians or Milgahn?”

“Anglos, I’m sure,” Wanda answered with a shrug.

“No,” Rita said, speaking with surprising forcefulness. “That cannot be. She needs to be raised here.”

Wanda was aghast. It would have been rude, of course, to point out that Rita was far too old to adopt the child and raise Clemencia on her own, but Rita had already come to the same conclusion.

“Mrs. Ladd and Mr. Walker can adopt her,” Rita declared. “I’ll be here to see that she learns what she needs to know about her -people.”

“Diana Ladd and Brandon Walker may be great friends of the tribe, but they’re Anglos,” Wanda had objected. “Tribal courts are discouraging Anglo adoptions these days.”

“Why?” Rita had retorted. “Do they think Baptists who run orphanages will do a better job of raising her than these two -people will, especially if they have my help?”

In the end and much to Wanda Ortiz’s amazement, Rita’s wishes had won the day. Brandon Walker and Diana Ladd had become first Clemencia Escalante’s foster parents and eventually her adoptive ones. At Rita Antone’s insistence, they had given their adopted daughter a new name—-Lanita Dolores Walker.

Much later, while Rita and Lani wandered hand in hand along the paths of the Arizona/Sonora Desert Museum, Rita had related the story of how, in a time of terrible drought, a young Tohono O’odham woman named Kulani O’oks had been saved from death by the beating of the wings of the Ali-chu’uchum O’odham, the Little -People—-the bees and wasps, the butterflies and moths. Rita had gone on to explain how, back when Rita herself had been a child, her grandmother, S’Amichuda O’oks—-Understanding Woman—-had predicted that someday Rita would find a girl who would grow up to be a trusted medicine woman, someone just like Kulani O’oks, the Woman Who Was Kissed by the Bees.

“You’re only a little girl now,” Rita had said, “but I hope that you will grow up to be that medicine woman.”

“Kulani O’oks,” Lani had repeated the words several times, letting the strange and yet familiar collection of syllables roll across her tongue. Suddenly she understood. “Is that why -people call me Lani—-because of her, Kulani?”

Rita’s wrinkled brown face had beamed with satisfaction. “Yes, my child,” she had said, “that’s it exactly.”