An elderly man in a cream-colored cowboy hat sat on a wooden bench outside the house. A small flock of sheep watched from the corral as Bernie got out of her car, taking a couple of bottles of water with her.
On a calm day, the view of Ship Rock from this spot would be spectacular; today, the Rock with Wings rose against an ugly brown haze. The man was sheltered from the wind, but Bernie struggled to keep her hair out of her eyes as she walked toward him. She introduced herself, and the man, Mr. Tso, reciprocated, inviting her to sit down in a chair next to him. She offered him one of the bottles of water. He accepted and placed it on the porch beneath the bench.
Mr. Tso looked out toward the horizon. “You are the daughter of the one who weaves in Toadlena.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“My sister, she knows your mother. Your mother helped her string the loom for one of the big rugs.” Mr. Tso described his sister’s weaving in detail.
They sat, watching a raven plane down, struggling against the wind to examine something on the side of the road, then soar again. After a while Bernie said, “Someone called about that burned car. That’s why I am here.”
“That’s what I thought. My daughter made the call. I have coffee from breakfast, it could still be warm. Would you like some?”
It would be rude to refuse, even though the heat of the day made coffee less appealing.
“Do you want sugar in it? I like mine sweet.”
“No, sir. Just the coffee would be fine. No sugar for me.”
He hobbled in, leaving her to enjoy the view of Ship Rock. Even in the harsh afternoon light, Tsé Bit’ a’ í held majesty. Bernie knew the story of the winged monsters who once lived on Ship Rock and how the Hero Twins killed them but spared their children, transforming them into eagle and owl.
When Mr. Tso came back with the coffee, Bernie noticed that he used a rope to hold up his pants. He handed her a blue enamel cup that reminded her of the ones she’d seen at Paul’s house. She tried a sip. It tasted worse than she’d imagined; stale, sharply acidic, and about the same temperature as the day. To make it worse, he had added so much sugar that it could have been coffee syrup.
She listened to Mr. Tso’s stories about serving in the marines in Korea. He made her laugh, but she knew he must have darker memories of that time, things left unspoken. He finished his coffee and the story at the same time. “My grandson was going to sign up for the marines, too, after high school, but then he never did. He says he’s looking for a job, but he’s not looking in the right places.”
“Speaking of jobs, I need to ask you questions about the car that burned. It could happen that whoever did this will do it again. People will suffer.”
Mr. Tso frowned. “It’s dangerous to talk about these things. I am an old man, but you, you need to stay safe to help your mother.”
“My job is to help keep other people stay safe, too. People like you, my mother, and your daughter and your grandson.” She paused to give him time to consider what she’d said. “Did you see the fire?”
He leaned back, resting his thin shoulders against the wall. With some difficulty, he twisted the lid to open the bottle of water that Bernie brought. “Yesterday afternoon, I had a pain in my hip, so I was resting in bed when I smelled something.” He took a sip. Screwed the cap back on. “I opened my eyes and still smelled something strange. Then I came out here to the porch and that’s when I saw the flames over that way.”
He moved his chin toward the site of the burned car. “After a long time, the flames got so low I didn’t see them, just the glow and the smoke. My daughter saw that car when she came for me so we could go to Gallup to the clinic. When we got to town, we went out to eat at a big restaurant, you know, one of those places where you get your own food? They have Jell-O with those little marshmallows. Red Jell-O is the best.”
Mr. Tso stopped talking.
Bernie turned the conversation back to the car. “Did you see any people out there? Anyone driving by or driving away?”
“Not people. Only the thing we don’t talk about.”
The area had a reputation for skinwalkers, shape-shifters who could outrun a car, who changed from human to animal and back again. Evil creatures. She shared the Lieutenant’s view on this, more skeptical than Chee when it came to supernatural malevolence. But she did not doubt that evil existed and that some of it defied ordinary explanation. Traditionals like Mr. Tso believed that to talk about shape-shifters invited their attention, gave them power to trouble you.
Bernie sat with Mr. Tso for a while, watching the light change on the Rock with Wings. The gray volcanic core looked massive, sharp-edged, beautiful.
“Tell the police that car should stay there,” Mr. Tso said. “It can remind people to keep away from that place.”
In the background, Bernie heard the sheep bleating in their pen. She remembered spending summers traveling with her mother’s flock to the greener pastures in the mountains, enjoying the outdoors, the freedom, and even the work.
“Your mother might like that restaurant my daughter knows about. The Big Corral, or some name like that. You should take her there next time you go to Gallup.” He finished the bottle of water and put it down beside him. “I would like you to come back to see me. But we will not talk about that fire.”
She walked to her unit, feeling the push of the hot wind against her pants and shirt, narrowing her eyes to slits to keep the dust out. She felt worn out from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, and Mr. Tso’s old coffee sat in her stomach like an acid bath. She had hoped for a clue from the old gentleman, not skinwalker rumors.
She drove back to the burned vehicle to look again for tracks, for an empty gas can, for some sign of how the fire started other than a theory of supernatural evil. She was more thorough this time, examining debris the wind had anchored to the shrubs and rocks and hiking up a hill above the vehicle, hoping the overview might give her a better perspective on the crime. Pausing when she reached the ridgeline and turning out of the wind, she glanced down toward the blackened car. It looked like a carapace, the discarded outgrown body of a giant insect, even darker than the lava that formed Ship Rock and its dikes.