Wild Sorrow by SANDI AULT Page B

sometime the next one, sometime both boy at same time. Then those Apache boy escape from that school. They call them ‘deserter.’ They ring the church bell, make us get in line, stand outside at night. They say, ‘You tell, you can go back to bed,’ but no one tell where those boy are.” She threw up her hands. “I do not know where those boy are, but I am happy they are not there. The priest call the Apache boy ‘deserter’ many time, and he say we stand all night if we do not tell. We stand out there in the cold, and this time, some those teacher and other one search all the way back to Tanoah Pueblo, maybe even up in the mountain. But they do not find those boy. After sun rise, they make us go to work, no food. The little one cry but we tell them hush and we are hungry, too. Some older boy say the two Apache boy, they find way to climb down into canyon, stay by the river, wait three day until full moon. Then those Apache boy will make their way home by moonlight.
    â€œWe go to bed hungry that night. They give us some little food next day, still make us stand long time, say we must tell where the deserters. Nobody talk, and pretty soon we are back to work. Three day and moon is full. We think Apache boy can see good now, go home. We are happy and whisper good luck at them.
    â€œThat night, I hear lot of noise. Pound on wood and door slam, then I hear lot of people move around. I get up and go to the door—they call where we sleep ‘dom-ee-toy.’ I go to door that dom-ee-toy, look out on school yard. I see man they call headmaster and next other man come out store room—they have room there where they go down under ground and food stay cool, like potato, apple, onion, shelf with jelly, beans. Those two men they try shut door to that store room, they bang with rock, they slam door, it will not shut no more. Then they take rifle and go through gate, head up to canyon rim with those gun.”
    Sica Blue Cloud Gallegos began rubbing the swollen knob on her left leg, and she grew quiet.
    I looked at Momma Anna. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and she was shaking her head no, back and forth, over and over, as she worked the turquoise beads of her rosary in her hand.
    I thought the story had ended, but Sica continued. “That one who die this time, that bad woman. She find me stand in door. She take a broom and hit me. She hit me and hit me, knock me behind my knee and I fall down, and she hit me on my leg and my back until broom break, then she yell at me, go back to bed. But I cannot get up. I cannot walk.” Sica rubbed her leg again where the bulge rose from below the knee. “I am bleed and I cannot stand, but she yell and grab that broom. I drag myself to my cot, hope I not get beat for blood on sheet, but my legs are bleed from that beating and I have to bite sheet to keep from cry out, my leg hurt so bad. I roll top of that old sheet and I bite on it and I can feel my leg wet with blood. We hear two shot fire, gunshot. All the girl in that dom-ee-toy, they wail, but that bad woman come back and say she got a next other broom to use on every one who make sound. We never speak about Apache boy no more, but our hearts are hurt for them, every one cry inside for them.
    â€œI cannot walk, they try tie my leg to a board, but my bone keep break. Maybe three time. I cannot work, they send me home. I am lucky I don’t have to stay there.”
    Like Momma Anna, I found myself shaking my head with disbelief, and I drew my hand to my mouth and bit on the side of my fist, grimacing at the pain of this tale.
    As Sica was finishing the story, the door opened with a creak, and an icy draft of air swept through the opening and across the floor with a breathy, high-pitched wail. A man with a big smile stepped in carrying a folding chair, some cut pieces of thin plywood, and a small hammer. He leaned the chair against the wall and set the other items on the table, then