emmetsburg: Sixty-three

Olive. John settled down upon a patch of green grass beside the Indian. He settled back against the weathered boards of the old barn. They were smooth, worn to the grain from years of unrestrained wind and snow and dust. They bowed slightly as he pressed against them. John pulled at the collar of his soaking wet shirt, drawing in air to cool his chest. Running fingers through his thick brown hair, John felt cool drops of water run down the back of his neck. With a cleansing breath he looked out from the shadows of the barn, past the town, out into that languishing golden plain. The heat that had been his companion all through the day was now a distant country.

The Indian was almost painfully thin. His deeply tanned arms and legs were a bit too long for his clothes. He wore a dusty pair of black leather shoes without stockings or laces. The taunt flesh of his reddish-umber face was deeply cut, as if he was ancient or cut from stone. His hair was cut short and as black as coal, curling at his forehead, but trimmed close at the sides and back.

“Where ya from, stranger?”

“Iowa.”

“Come a long way to get to no place.”

“How’d you come to be here?”

My great grand-pappy fought with Inkpaduta against General Sully back in Sixty-four,” the man said, “when the government threw us out of our own lands. That’s how I come to be sittin’ on this here chair.”

“That so?” John couldn't help a smile.

“Didn't happen here by accident.”

“No?”

“Ain't no accidents in God's great universe.”

“Figure?”

“Think 'cause you can't see the trail that it ain't there?”

“Time comes a man has to make his own path,” said John.

“Ain't likely.”

“I'm listening.”

“Perspective,” he replied, “that's all we got. Like a sack of marbles. Jostle the sack enough and sometimes you come up on top, maybe in the middle mostly. Me, I always seem to wind up on the bottom.”

“Tough luck.”

The Indian smiled. The first time John had seen him move more than flap his jaw. “Less pressure. What's her name.”

“Who?'

“Ain't runnin' from the law?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Naw, your an honest fella. Tell by your voice. Nothing hidden there. Just a little confused and scared, that's all.”

“Tell all that?”

“Better off alone, if it's all the same.”

“Not so sure,” said John.

“Born alone and die alone. All the rest in between is killing time, clingin' to shadows. Love is the biggest shadow of them all.”

“Never been in love?”

“I married this girl once,” said the Indian, after thoughtful pause. “Long time ago. Then she up and run off with this fella. Thought I'd about die. That's how else I come to be sittin' on this chair talkin' to you.”

“Just a couple of lonely hearts, huh?”

“Ain't so bad.”

John thought a long moment. He leaned forward, hugging his knees. He closed his eyes and saw Anna's face there. It tore his heart to pieces. He was mulling a question. John let out a cleansing breath, which did little for his tortured heart. He wasn't at all sure if he wanted to ask the Indian or mull it over himself. His eyes opened to study the overlapping lines of the man's face.

“Ask you a question?”