Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine #6

permission and perhaps with more gusto than necessary stabs his flesh. Sweet Water places her arm on top of Wolf’s and their blood mingles. Wolf looks pale and unsteady; the marriage is official.

Dodd Smith, the best man, turns and runs down the dirt road, not waiting to wish the newlyweds well or accept a ride with us. It’s a good five miles or so to his house, but he runs surprisingly fast in his shiny black shoes.

Charlie Big Eagle wipes the blade clean on a handkerchief. He and Hard Rope turn away without a word and head toward Aunt White Sun and Aunt Fawn. Gentle Bear gives Sweet Water a kiss on the cheek and runs after them. They pile into Aunt White Sun’s car, a big Ford Tudor. Gentle Bear is wedged against the side window. None of them look at us, except for Gentle Bear who nods her head and smiles shyly at me. I wonder if we are now related.

Pa takes Ma’s elbow and pushes her toward our old truck. I look at Sweet Water and Wolf, who stand alone in the middle of the field, deserted by the past and unsure of the future. A dust cloud from the Ford Tudor sweeps over them. Another fork of lightning, this time a few hundred yards away, strikes ground, followed immediately by thunder. Needle pricks of rain begin to fall, driven hard by the wind.

I look skyward and see a fast-moving swirl of hope, fear and wonder coming to ground. Maybe it’s my imagination or perhaps the beginning of a funnel cloud. I close my eyes and dream of being carried away to another place: first there is sand, great dunes that rise and fall, and then I am swept out to sea. Not a hallucination, but a proposal made last night by Pablo. He wants to escape from Oklahoma and try his fortune in California with me by his side. He doesn’t care if I read Shakespeare or even go to college. Of course there are several state lines between here and there. At sixteen years-old this is an exciting proposition for me and a dangerous one for him.

The newlyweds begin to laugh, shake their heads like wet dogs and trot toward the Sports Coupe. Hard Rope has given Sweet Water a house on the reservation. I guess they’ll head there and do whatever married people do.

Pa honks the horn from our old pick-up.

“Get in the truck, Estella,” he says. “It’s tornado weather, we have to get to the farm. Now.” I drink in the rain as I run toward the truck. The wind lifts up my red skirt and whips