God's Country

Miranda made it inside the house unseen. She dove straight into the shower, scrubbing away the smells of dried creek slime, replacing them with an apple-scented scrub that Karina had made her buy during her recent shopping trip.

She braided her hair, still wet, and restlessly cleaned up the house, noticing for once how shabby the furniture was, how worn the carpet, how unstylish the whole place was. She contrasted it to Boo Radley’s shiny new home, with a built-in microwave and rented furniture. The whole house was rented, on the construction company’s dime – one of the perks of being the foreman on this job. But still, everything was brand new, and nice. What would he think of her home?

She swept the front porch and pulled a few random weeds, but the size of the job of cleaning up the yard discouraged her. It would be dark when he got here anyway. He’d never see a thing. She went back inside, rattling around the place like a nomadic ghost.

Her mother was out, she’d left a note on the fridge saying she’d gone to see her friend Thelma, who lived on the other side of Vallejo. She’d be gone most of the afternoon. Miranda hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Sunday dinner.

It looked like she was going to have to go grocery shopping, she thought, opening and closing every cabinet in the kitchen. At least it would be something to do. She drove to town. There was one grocery store, Val’s, in the tiny main strip that made up downtown Vallejo. It was a private store, not a chain, and the prices were accordingly higher, but it was sure a lot more convenient than going all the way down the grade. Plus it had a feed store attached, so she could pick up some feed for the chickens right there. There were only two of them, but it was plenty to keep them in eggs.

Oh crud. I’m going to have to go all the way down to pick up Grandma Lupe for dinner. Then she brightened. Maybe she’ll bring tamales.

She’d roast a chicken, she decided, wheeling her cart up and down the narrow aisles. Not too hard to pull off, guaranteed to be enough for everyone. A nice salad, some steamed vegetables, maybe some rice, and, with any luck, Grandma Lupe’s famous tamales.

She made it back home, unloaded the food, sat down on the couch. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Got up. Walked outside. Nadine had fed the hens before she left, so she just hung on the fence and watched them. The last cat had disappeared a couple of months ago and Miranda hadn’t had the heart to get another one yet. The coyotes out here were aggressive, pets didn’t last too long. They’d had a peacock for a year or two, which survived by roosting in the trees, until a bobcat had snuck down out of the mountains and made a successful grab for it. Miranda still had some of the tailfeathers in a vase in her room. The duck pond had dried up and its denizens moved on. She wandered the extensive land, peering into the disused outbuildings. The place had had a lot more life once. What had happened?

She grabbed a bag. At least she could gather some fruit or something. She filled two plastic bags with oranges and another with dark green Haas avocados, her favorite. So buttery they just melted away in your mouth. They were nearly $1.00 apiece in the supermarket. Free by the bagful up here. She snagged a couple of random limes and lemons and stared longingly at the macadamia nut tree. She had planted it five years ago, after a friend who had gone to Hawaii on vacation brought her back some macadamia nut chocolates. She’d had a yen for them ever since. But what she didn’t know when she planted the tree was that macadamias take approximately seven years to begin producing, and even then, the first yield was likely to be only 5-10 nuts on the entire tree. So she watched the tree and waited.

She left the bags of produce in the kitchen. Maybe she should go see a movie or something. But she wasn’t ready to call Sherry yet, not until after this crazy dinner anyway. And she hated going to movies alone. So she got back in the car and drove down the grade to her grandmother’s apartment.

Lupe Gonzalez lived in an assisted living complex, like the one Claire Munton lived in, but not so upscale. It was clean, though, and the staff had very little turnover. She’d been there more than 10 years and liked it fine. A housekeeping service came in once a week, even taking care of her laundry. She had an enormous, lazy cat, Mrs. Purr, and her own kitchen, where she still fixed nearly all her own meals. It was mostly paid for by her teacher’s disability pension. Good benefits for teachers. Helped to make up for the pathetic paycheck.

Miranda knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Unworried, she made her way to the sunny common room, where Lupe could often be found gossiping and knitting, or playing cards. Indeed, there she was, in a circle with three of her cohorts and a young girl who was struggling with some tangled yarn and a pair of thick knitting needles. Miranda hid a smile. Lupe had tried to teach her how to knit at that age. She was able to start a project, but had never gotten the hang of attaching one row to the next. But it looked like Lupe was still trying with the next generation.

"Hi Grandma," she said, bending over to kiss Lupe’s soft, wrinkled cheek.

"Miranda, mija! This is a nice surprise!" Lupe grinned up at her, mischief obvious in her gaze.

"Just missed you, Grandma," she said. "Wanted to make sure you weren’t causing trouble. Hello, ladies," she greeted the circle.

Lacey Green nodded at her, Parkinson’s disease shaking her hands, but somehow she still managed to turn out lovely knitted scarves and blankets that she gave away every year for Christmas. Miranda had one of Lacey’s blankets folded at the bottom of her bed. Marlena Perkins, nearly blind now, smiled sweetly. She no longer knitted, due to her fading eyesight, but she had an uncanny nose for celebrity gossip, and was able to repeat back what she heard on the radio and TV practically word for word, so she still came to the knitting circle to keep her fellows entertained. Yolanda Gomez, Lupe’s closest friend here, laid her hand on the little girl's head.

"Miranda, this is my great-granddaughter, also named Yolanda," she said proudly. Miranda smiled down at her.

"Knitting’s hard, isn’t it?" she said. The girl nodded solemnly.

"Miranda! Don’t discourage her, it isn’t hard at all, it’s easy as pie," said Lupe. Miranda winked at the girl, who giggled behind her hand, dropping her yarn ball to the floor.

"Can I steal Lupe away for you for a few minutes?"

"Of course," said the other ladies, waving them on their way.

Miranda tucked Lupe’s arm under hers and they walked down the pretty garden path. In Miranda’s opinion, the garden is what really made the place. Maintained by the residents, there were tall shady trees, seasonal flower beds, a Zen rock garden, a fish pool, even a vegetable garden full of tomatos, onions, cucumbers, and all sorts of delicious fresh foods. It wasn’t that much land, but was artfully laid out, with convenient sitting nooks for rest and contemplation. Miranda led Lupe to one of them, near a fountain surrounded by bird-of-paradise plants.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news?" Miranda said.

"Your mother called me this morning," Lupe said, sounding suddenly weary. "So I think I know the bad news, unless, God help us, there’s worse."

"No, Grandma. That’s the worst." She gripped her grandmother’s fragile hand, watching the spray from the fountain dissipate into the warm afternoon air. Lupe took a long, deep breath.

"So then tell me the good news."

"A guy I’m sort of dating invited himself over for dinner at our house tomorrow and I want you to come and meet him." Lupe’s dark eyes regained their normal sparkle. "I was hoping you would bring some tamales," Miranda wheedled.

Lupe laughed. "I’ll make some this afternoon. About time you had a man, mija. Is he good in bed?"

"Grandma!" protested Miranda, laughing despite herself.

"I think that means yes. Just don’t you get pregnant, yet, Miranda," she said, waving a small dark finger up in Miranda’s face.

"You just mind your own business," said Miranda firmly.

"So what’s his name, this fellow?" asked Lupe.

Oh no, not again. "Boo Radley." She said rapidly. "From Louisiana."

"Bradley?" said Lupe, wrinkling her forehead.

"Um, close enough," said Miranda, smiling to herself. Bradley. That was better. She might even be able to say that out loud without cringing.

"Sounds white," she said.

"Yes, Grandma, he’s white." Miranda paused. "Grandma, are you really an Indian?"

"Of course!" said Lupe, offended. "Why would I lie about that?"

"I don’t know. I just…I know Granddad was born and raised in Guadalajara, so how did you meet?"

"I was raised in the Navajo nation, mija, in Arizona. Some friends and I snuck across the border to a bar when we just 19. I met Jose there. He was visiting family, having a beer in the bar with his cousin Rico." She frowned. "Didn’t I ever tell you this story?"

"I don’t think so. I know you lived down in Mexico for a long time."

"Yes, that’s true. I got pregnant with your mother, and we got married and I moved in with him and his family until we got too poor and migrated up here. But it was easy for us because I was an American citizen."

"So why didn’t you go back to Arizona? Why move to California?"

"The work was better here, for your father." She stroked Miranda’s hand, her fingers tickling like a ladybug. "Why all the questions? You’ve never seemed interested before."

"I have a patient now, Rick, out on the Paco Ano reservation. I was just wondering."

"A Paquito, eh?" She shook her head. "Very different from us. Very sad."

"What do you mean? Isn’t that a little elitist?"

Lupe gazed up at her granddaughter, her black eyes bright, her mouth held tight. "You don’t know what you’re saying. The Navajo are one of the few tribes that managed to survive in the new world. It hasn’t been easy – it still isn’t. But we have a huge land grant, we have been organized enough to interact with the white man, but above all, we have maintained our language and our culture, which gives us the strength to carry on. Most tribes were not so strong, not so lucky. The Paquitos…most of the California tribes…were nearly wiped out, their cultures smashed to bits. They have nothing, almost nothing, to cling to." She shook her head. "I am surprised the tribes here continue at all."

Lupe got to her feet and shuffled on down the path. Miranda caught up to her, holding on to steady her.

"Yeah, it’s pretty bad out there. They’re so poor, so proud, and hopeless at the same time. It’s…grim."

"You should visit your people, Miranda."

"They’re not my people, Grandma."

Lupe stopped and gripped Miranda by the arm, hard. "They are your people. I am full-blooded Navajo, and you are one quarter, and that is enough. Both your mother and I are registered with the Navajo Nation. Nadine has your certificate – the one that says that you are a member of the Navajo tribe. I insisted she apply for it when you were born. You ask her for it, mija, for that and a copy of your birth certificate. That’s all you need."

"All right, Grandma, I will."

"And you’ll visit them someday?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Lupe took another deep breath, seeming relieved. "Then tell me more about this Bradley."