It took only a couple minutes to roll up the sleeping bags and head down the hill to where the Tracker was parked. Danny still wasn’t sure if he believed in spirits or what, but if they existed they had to be thick around the grove of trees where they’d spent the night. As they walked away he could feel the magic of the place receding, if that’s what it was, and what it was involved a question that he didn’t feel like probing any further at the moment.

Since there had been the possibility of staying overnight from the beginning, he’d left an overnight bag in the Tracker, with a razor and a change of clothes. "I probably ought to shave," he told Debbie. "I’d just as soon make a good first impression."

"Oh, spirits," she smilingly shook her head. "Aren’t you being the mysterious one this morning?"

"Not really," he smiled at her. "If white people can’t figure out everything there is to know about Indians, why do Indians have to think they can figure out everything about white people? Is that the path down to the river?"

"It’s not far down there," she told him. "That’s where the sweat lodge was."

If it had been there, there was no sign of it now, but that had been three years ago, too. Shaving in the cold water without a mirror wasn’t easy and he doubted that he did a very good job, but at least it might look like he’d made the attempt. He hiked back up to the Tracker, used the outside rear view mirror to hack at a couple of spots he’d obviously missed, combed his hair, then changed to a clean pair of pants and a clean shirt, while Debbie did the same.

In a few more minutes, Debbie was driving them back down the two-rut. "It’s still pretty early to be heading to Ellen’s," she commented. "It’s not even six yet, and she and Ruth aren’t as young as they used to be."

"Any place to get some breakfast around here?" he asked. "At least some coffee?"

"Only the casino," she said. "They’re open 24/7, of course, but they have a cheap breakfast. It’s just something to keep people feeding the slots."

It was not the first time he’d been in a casino; he’d been in Nevada, of course, where they were all over the place – but this was the first time he’d been in the Three Pines Casino. As far as casinos went, it was pretty much like any other one – lots of slot machines, row upon row, all chrome and lit with flashing colored lights, and not quiet. The place wasn’t very busy, but even at this early hour of the morning there were people feeding the slot machines, and he pretty well figured that most of them must have been there all night. At that hour of the morning, especially considering the discussions and introspections involving spirituality that had gone on much of the evening, the place seemed especially tawdry, in fact downright offensive.

"Hell," he told Debbie as they sat in the restaurant at the corner of one of the big gaming rooms, with slot machines in view in two directions with yawning people feeding them. "Even the Redlite at this hour was more warm and meaningful. This place is just plastic and chrome without a soul, without a meaning."

"Yes," she nodded, keeping her voice down. "I know what you’re saying, because I feel it even more intensely than you do. While I agree there is no soul here, nothing of the true spirit of the Indian, it is not without meaning. Danny, this place is symbolic of what most Indians have become, at least the ones on this reservation. This is little more than the lowest instincts of the Indians taking advantage of the lowest instincts of the white people, greed involved on both sides of the equation."

"Greed, stupidity, money," he snorted. "Noble goals, indeed. This has got to be really offensive to you."

"It is," she nodded. "But it’s good that you’re seeing it. This is the other way, Danny, the way of the white man, the way of the world. It is the way that most Indians have chosen. I have been trying to tell you about the way of the kataras. Few of The People choose that way, but since this place has opened, it has sickened at least a few of The People enough to wish to turn away and come with us. You are correct, there is no soul here, no good spirits."

"I don’t have to be a mystic or a katara or something to see that," he snorted.

"Danny, I will admit to having not thought about it until I met you," she smiled. "But in talking with you about it, I have come to believe that even the Redlite is more worthwhile than this. Whoring is at least about passion to some degree. This place is about nothing more than theft."

There was one other advantage to having breakfast at the casino to go along with its being cheap and available at this hour – it was fast; quite obviously the management didn’t want to keep the customers away from the slot machines or gaming tables for a minute longer than necessary. At that, it was barely fast enough for Danny and Debbie; they were glad to have the coffee in take-out paper cups so they could go with them. The air seemed clearer and less oppressive than it did inside, and it seemed especially nice to be in the Tracker with the top down to let some of the evil spirits of the place blow away.

"It’s still pretty early," Debbie said. "I’ll tell you what. Let’s head to Ellen and Ruth’s the long way around. There’s something I should show you."

"Fine with me, you’re driving," he said.

They headed back down the highway, past the road they’d turned off on the night before to head back to what Danny thought of as "Debbie’s Hill." Several miles further on, Debbie slowed and turned down another gravel road. The road was rough and bumpy, and she took it easy. Presently, they came to a small village, perhaps a dozen houses, not much more than shacks. It was quiet at this hour; no one was in sight.

Debbie slowed the Tracker to a crawl for a few seconds, and pointed at one shack, no less grubby than the rest, but no more, either. "That’s where I grew up," she said. "It’s been over a decade since I’ve lived here. I try not to come by here very often. I don’t know many people who live here anymore. I don’t particularly like those I know who still do. Many of The People live better than this now thanks to the casino. But for the people who live here now, the casino just gives them a dividend to drink up along with their welfare checks."

"Pretty grubby," he commented.

"I was lucky I didn’t wind up here, or some other place like this," she said, dropping the Tracker down a couple gears and speeding up. "Even some of the bad luck like Kenny proved to be good luck in the end."

"What ever happened to him?" he asked. "Do you know, or even care?"

"I don’t particularly care. I do know he’s in jail." she let out a sigh. "And, I guess he came out about like what I expected. I should have seen it coming, but you can be so damn dumb when you’re eighteen or thereabouts. Hell, you know that; I don’t have to lecture you."

"You got that right," he snorted. "I’ve spent the last dozen years getting out of the trouble that my hormones got me into at that age."

"Right," she said. "You know, I talk about the old ways a lot, and some of them were pretty cruel. But there was a wisdom behind some of that cruelty, and sometimes I think I can see it. I don’t think we’d want to do it the way they used to do it, but sometimes I think that locking a girl in a chastity belt at about the age of thirteen and leaving it on her till she’s twenty-five or so might not be the dumbest idea I ever heard. It’d save a shitload of teenage pregnancies and bad marriages."

"Sure would make life different," he grinned. "How did they used to do it?"

"They’d take a needle and thread and sew up a girl’s vagina until it was time for her to marry. They’d leave it just open a little bit so she could pee and clean herself. It wasn’t as long as I just said, but a few years so she could grow up a little." Debbie explained. "I should add, we think – it’s not real clear – we have no oral traditions of it, but there are a couple of records from French priests three hundred years ago that it was done some. Those accounts are not the most reliable things; they’re full of cultural misunderstandings, and that could have been one of them. It may not have even been The People who did it, but it apparently was at least done somewhere. Not in hundreds of years, though."

Danny shook his head and guffawed, "Debbie, don’t be so sure about that."

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"Pull over," he smiled. "I don’t want to tell you this while we’re moving, I wouldn’t want you to wrap this thing around a tree or something."

She complied with a puzzled look on her face. In a few seconds they were stopped by the side of the road. "You make this sound like a good one," she smiled.

"Different, anyway," he shook his head. "Debbie, you know my sister Tara is a lesbian, don’t you?"

"Well, sorta," Debbie said neutrally. "Your mom hasn’t been real clear about it, but that’s how I read it between the lines."

"It’s no secret in the family, but she’d rather not put an announcement in the Record-Herald," he smiled. "I was over and visited her and her, uh, friend – there’s a word that doesn’t convey what it means – last March. You know she’s got a potload of piercings, don’t you?"

"You’re kidding!" she laughed, eyes wide.

"No, I’m not," he grinned. "I have to say that, since I’m a guy I don’t know for sure, but I’ll bet it had to hurt like a sonofabitch."

"I’m a girl, and I think it would hurt like a sonofabitch," she shook her head. "I can’t understand why people do that. It was bad enough for me to get my ears pierced. Once."

"Be that as it may," he smiled. "Neither Tara nor her friend Sylvia would agree with you. Ah well, different cultures, different strokes, I guess."

"Both of them?" she said, eyes wide.

"Bear in mind I didn’t actually see it," Danny laughed. "But they’re both pretty up-front people, and like me, Tara grew up a nudist, so if it came to put up or shut up, I think she’d put up. Apparently it’s several piercings with rings facing each other. They wanted to do a special something to commit themselves to each other, and that’s what they came up with. From what I understood they lace each other up, sort of like a corset."

"Oh, my spirits!" Debbie laughed, pounding the wheel with her hand, her eyes almost running with tears. "You’re right, I’m glad you made me stop." She laughed for another few seconds. "Does your mother know this?"

"Don’t know," Danny shrugged with a smile on his face. "It’s, uh, not the sort of thing she’d tell me." A broad grin spread across his face as he continued, "Don’t you dare ever even hint that I told you, either. This is another one of those hunt-you-to-the-four-corners-of-the-Earth things."

"My spirits," she shook her head. "They told you this?"

"Oh, yeah," he laughed. "They were trying to get a rise out of me. I, uh, I sort of mentally put myself behind the bar at the Redlite Ranch and started polishing glasses, all ears, neutral expression. Like I said, when it was just the three of us, they’re pretty up front. Let’s just say that it’s exposure to another culture. In that case, well, if they like it, fine, but not for me, and thank God."

"Not for me, either," she shook her head. "Back in the days before Brenda, I occasionally thought I might be a lesbian, since things went so bad with Kenny. It didn’t really reach out to me, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t until last weekend that you proved once and for all that I wasn’t."

"Still happy about that?" he smiled.

"Oh, spirits, yes," she said expansively. "Not only was it a wonderful experience, it was a wonderful teaching. Do you have any more comments that might cause me to wrap this thing around a tree, or can I get going?"

Debbie was still shaking her head, laughing about crazy white people several slow miles farther, when they came to another tiny village. This one was no larger than the one they’d gone through before, but was obviously newer and in better shape. It was largely made up of modular homes, but there were garages and outbuildings. There were no lawns; the soil was sandy, and mostly grew patches of weeds.

"This is what the casino has done for at least some of the people," Debbie said, sobering up considerably. "At least the people who want to work and don’t want to stay drunk all the time, like it was where we were earlier. It’s just that now they have the option, and they didn’t really have it before the casino came. The casino may be bad, Danny, but it’s not all bad. If it is the fate of The People to live more or less like white men, it may have opened the door, so you have to give it that."

As she was talking, she pulled into the driveway of one of the modulars at the edge of the village. "Well, here we are," she said as she got out. "And I don’t think we’re too early."

*   *   *

An older woman came to the door at Debbie’s knock. Danny guessed she must have been around seventy, give or take a little – she was medium height, slim, with a heavily furrowed face and gray hair. The thought instantly came to mind – she sort of reminded him of Shirley, out at the Redlite Ranch. "Good morning, Debbie," she smiled, holding the door open to invite them in. "I take it this is the young man you’ve been raving about all week."

"Yes, it is," Debbie smiled. "Ellen, this is Danny Evachevski. Danny, this is Ellen Standing Bear."

"Pleased to meet you," Danny said genially in Shakahatche, one of the few phrases he’d actually learned by rote from Debbie’s teaching of the weekend before. He switched to English. "Debbie has told me quite a bit about you."

"I doubt if she’s told you as much as she’s told us about you," Ellen smiled. "Please, come in, the two of you. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"We had a light one over at the casino," Debbie reported as she headed inside with Danny following. "We didn’t want to get here too early." She glanced up, and continued, "Good morning, Ruth! How are you today?"

"About the same as ever," an old woman, easily older than Ellen, said from a chair in the living room, in a gentle, relaxing voice. Danny was just a little surprised to see that her face was sort of squinched together, as if her eyes were permanently closed; a white cane and a yellow Labrador retriever wearing a guide dog harness immediately testified that she was blind.

"Danny," Ellen said. "This is my sister Ruth and our dear friend Toby."

"I’m pleased to meet you, Danny," Ruth said warmly. "Debbie has told us much about you."

Danny reflected that he’d heard the names Ellen and Ruth and Toby many times in the past few days, but Debbie had never given him a hint that Ruth was blind – or that Toby was a dog. Well, he remembered her saying that Toby was good at finding certain herbs. No wonder! "I hope some of it has been good," he replied lightly.

"Most of it, I think," Ruth said, turning her head in his direction. "She says you have taken an interest in the ways of The People."

"I know I’ve learned more in the last week than I could have imagined," he said truthfully. "Most of it has been fascinating, and most of it seems to indicate that there’s more to be learned."

"Of course there is," Ellen said. "There always is, for anything. Danny, Debbie, would you like some more breakfast? Or coffee?"

"I could stand coffee," Debbie replied. "We really didn’t have a lot of breakfast, but I’m always dieting."

"Coffee would be fine," Danny said, looking around the living room. It might have been any living room in any small house anywhere. Little was out of the ordinary, except for a work table over in the corner, hardly worthy of comment.

"Danny, I must admit, I’m curious," Ellen said, and fired off a phrase of Shakahatche at him.

"Whoa, slow down," he said in English. "I think I caught a couple words there. Most of what Debbie has taught me has been about five phrases, a few words and a little about the structure. We’ve spent a couple hours on it, at most."

"Interesting," Ruth interjected. "Would you say some of those phrases for us?"

Feeling a little sheepish, Danny reeled off the phrases Debbie had taught him. They included asking how to find the toilet, and if he’d caught any fish for dinner.

"Not bad," Ruth smiled. "I understand that you know little of the language, but your pronunciation is very good, wouldn’t you say, Ellen?"

"Very good," Ellen agreed. "Surprisingly good, in fact. Danny, do you have a talent for languages?"

"A little," he said, and explained that he’d taken a number of language courses in college and had done well with them. "It was fun to learn," he summarized. "But you have to use it or it goes away."

Ellen smiled at him. "Would you be surprised to hear that is what Ruth and I have been trying to teach people much of our adult lives?"

"No," Danny smiled. "Not in the slightest. Something tells me that I’ve walked into one of the centers of the preservation of the Shakahatche language."

"You’re right, you have," Ruth laughed. "However, Danny, you might be surprised to hear that what you just said is as much Shakahatche as I’ve ever heard come from the mouth of a white man."

Danny let out a sigh. "No," he said again. "I really don’t think I’m surprised. Saddened, yes. But surprised, no. I told Debbie the other day that I’m awed by the courage it takes to hang onto it with your fingernails and spit into the wind of change."

"I’ll get some coffee for you," Ellen said. "Danny, Debbie, please have a seat, and welcome to our house. I think we’re going to be honored by your presence."

"Not as much as I’m honored to be here," he said.

"My, and polite, too," Ellen laughed. "I’ll be right back. Debbie, I know about you. Danny, how do you take your coffee?"

"Black," he said. "I don’t like anything getting between me and my caffeine."

"While we’re waiting," Ruth smiled, "you might like to know that as far as we know, only three white men have ever learned enough of the language of The People to be fluent in it. One was Father Maurice, who was a Jesuit missionary back in the early 1700s. There was a French fur trapper and trader, Denis Jourdain, who married a woman of The People about a century later and stayed with us for many years. The last was Reverend Robert Carter, who came to The People as a Presbyterian missionary in 1858 and stayed with us until he died in 1892. There may have been others, we are not sure, but those are the only ones we’ve been able to find evidence of. Reverend Carter was highly regarded by our people, and it’s from his extensive journals that we know much of what has been lost over the last century. He’s the reason that many of us are Presbyterians today. When I was a young woman, I met several old kataras that knew Reverend Carter when he was an old man, and they always spoke of him in awe. Ellen has read to me from his journals many times, and we have discussed them many times."

"They’re very interesting," Debbie said, "even though they’re rather hard to read. He had that old fashioned copperplate handwriting. It looks gorgeous, but it’s hard to make out, so it’s very slow reading."

"Hold it," Danny said. "This isn’t in print? You’re talking the original journals?"

"The church here still has the originals," Debbie said. "It’s never been in print, but there are several Xeroxed copies of it. I have one of them." She laughed and said. "Danny, I’ve told you that the white man’s innovations have done much to destroy our culture, but occasionally it’s gone the other way. One of the major touchstones to our past is known to us mostly through the power and the magic of the copying machine."

"I want to look at that some time," Danny said. "His handwriting can’t have been any harder to read than my great-grandfather’s, and I can read that. Or at least I could at one time, in German, at that."

"Sure, we can do it when we get back to my place," she smiled. "They are very interesting. I’ve heard Ellen and Ruth say that Reverend Carter probably understood our culture more than any other white man."

"And he probably loved it more than any other white man, too," Ellen added as she set a plate of oatmeal cookies down between Danny and Debbie, and gave each of them a large mug of coffee. "You would probably expect his observations to be filtered through the view of a Christian minister, and probably they were to some extent, but in everything we can test, he was a fair and honest observer. In truth, he was probably as close to a katara as a white man and a Christian could be."

"It has to be interesting reading," Danny smiled. "I’ll be looking forward to reading some of it."

"I think you will enjoy it," Ellen smiled, and radically changed the subject. "Since you spent the night on the hill with Debbie, she must have told you what happened there, and you must have had some thoughts about it. I know you’ve probably already talked it over with her a lot, but if you don’t mind, we’d be interested in talking it over with you, too."

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