“Who did?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps the Ojibwa. She’s supposed to have lived with them for a while. I know she understands Algonquian. Why are you interested?”
“I ain’t,” Will said. “I just wanted to find out about that sore on her lip. She’s got a sore on her lip.”
“Probably the Spanish disease,” Schwarzenbacher said.
“You think so?” Will said.
“She sleeps with Indians, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s a common whore.”
“Yeah. You see... I was thinkin if I could talk to her, I could ask her about the sore.”
“Well, she understands hands. I’ve seen her conversing with—”
“Cause I sure would like to find out if she’s got anything.”
“I understand.”
“I have some medicine I bought in Texas...”
“I’d suggest you use it,” Schwarzenbacher said.
“Well, it ain’t to be used lightly,” Will said. “Burns like hell, worse’n the disease, you want to know. So I thought if I could talk to her, she’d be able...”
“You’ll find out soon enough anyway, won’t you?” Schwarzenbacher said.
“Well... sure. Sure I will. If... sure.”
“When you begin dripping,” Schwarzenbacher said.
“Sure. I just thought...” Will shrugged.
“Of course, if it would set your mind at ease...”
“Yeah?”
“I do understand the gestures that are common linguistic currency among the various tribes on the plains...
“Yeah?”
“And if you’d like me to...”
“I would,” Will said. “Yes. Yes, I would. Thank you. I would.”
They found her squatting cross-legged outside the tipi. The fat squaw was tossing scraps of meat to half a dozen dogs, who leaped into the air each time another morsel was thrown. The squaw spotted Will first. She called something to Catherine, who looked up immediately and smiled. Looked more like an Indian than the goddamn squaw did. Hair shiny and black, eyes almost as black as the hair. Red paint on her cheeks again; was she going out to war someplace? Black stockings hanging down around her knees; probably hadn’t washed them or herself in months. Jesus, had he really stuck his pecker into that?
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
The squaw put down the empty bucket. Hands on her hips, she watched. All around them, the dogs were eating, growling when another came too close. Flies buzzed about the bucket. Catherine was still smiling the fixed smile. The squaw nodded encouragement to her. Will suddenly wondered how much of that fifty cents Catherine had got to keep last night.
“I want to know about the sore on your lip,” he said. “Is it...?”
She shook her head.
“This man here knows how to read hands. I’d appreciate it if you told him just where you got it and how long it’s been there.”
Catherine nodded. The squaw was still watching, hands on her hips. Catherine’s hands began moving.
“That’s the sign for fire,” Schwarzenbacher said. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “Ah. She says it’s a burn.”
Uninvited, the squaw began explaining to Schwarzenbacher in a language he presumably understood. Catherine’s hands were still moving. Schwarzenbacher kept watching her hands and listening to the squaw at the same time.
“Yes, it seems to be true,” he said. “Hot grease from a kettle. That’s a burn on her lip.”
“Well, that’s good,” Will said. “I’m sure glad to—”
“Of course, the squaw may be lying,” Schwarzenbacher said at once.
“Yeah, but—”
“They lie a great deal.”
“Yeah.”
“But perhaps she’s telling the truth.”
“Yeah,” Will said, and sighed heavily.
“I suppose she’s telling the truth,” Schwarzenbacher said.
Catherine nodded. She nodded at Will, she nodded at Schwarzenbacher. The squaw nodded, too. They were both nodding now. Catherine smiled her whore’s smile. The squaw looked to Will for his approval.
“Ask her what’s her last name,” Will said.
“She can hear perfectly well, you know,” Schwarzenbacher said.
“What’s your last name?”
There was no word for it in her hands. She raised them, and then realized this, and looked at Schwarzenbacher helplessly.
“Where are you from?” Will asked.
Her hands began moving. Fingertips together to form a triangle...
“Tipi,” Schwarzenbacher said.
A circle of her arms...
“No, camp. Ah, village. Yes, village.”
Watching her hands. A village in the north. The squaw said something. Schwarzenbacher turned his head momentarily. “An Ojibwa village in the north,” he said to Will, and nodded, and looked back to Catherine’s hands again. She was making the sign for springtime now, literally “little grass,” hands out with the palms up, right hand moving in front of her body, fingers closing slowly till only the index finger was slightly higher than the others.
“She’s saying she left there in the spring, which I suppose is true enough,” Schwarzenbacher said. “She arrived here sometime in May.” He looked at her hands again. She crossed her arms over her breasts, the sign for love. She clasped her hands in front of her body, the sign for peace. She made the combination of gestures meaning sunshine in the heart.
“She was very happy there,” Schwarzenbacher said.
“Why’d you leave then?” Will asked.
Her hands moved.
“Her husband died,” Schwarzenbacher said.
It was close to midnight when he went down to the camp again. Tiptoed through it like he was in a cemetery. Damn tipis all looked alike in the dark, finally found the one he guessed was Catherine’s. No door to knock on, how in hell did you let anybody know you were standing out here in the cold? He’d had a lot to drink again. Not Orliac’s wine this time, but his father’s good corn liquor. Had to be drunk even to consider fuckin a pig like this one.
“Hey, anybody home?” he yelled.
A dog began barking.
Will pulled his Mexican knife from the sheath at his belt.
Damn dog came out here, he’d slit its throat. Down the line, somebody started yelling in Indian. “Shut up,” Will muttered. The fat squaw poked her head outside, frowning. She saw it was Will then, saw the knife, too. “Come on out here,” he said, and she nodded and came out at once, smiling. She was half naked, wearing only a pair of leather breeches resembled bloomers, had to have once belonged to some fat old Indian brave. That’s all she had on. The breeches and a beaded band around her forehead. Tits hanging clear down to her waist, a true beauty, a prize.
“Where’s Catherine?” he asked.
She nodded and went back inside. He could hear her saying something inside there, could hear her voice getting louder and then a bit irritated. Catherine came out yawning, wrapped in what looked like an army blanket.
“Hey, how you doin?” Will said, and grinned.
She grinned back. Whore’s frozen smile. Paint still on her cheeks. Even slept with the fuckin paint on her cheeks. She held out her hand.
“No more money,” he said. “Uh-uh.”
The squaw came through the flap again. She’d thrown on a robe over the breeches, all dressed up to go next door.
“Tell your friend here,” Will said. “No more money. I’ve got food for you.”
Catherine turned to the squaw, talked to her with her hands. The squaw turned to look at Will. She was frowning again.
“That’s right, Fatty,” Will said. “Here, look.” He reached into a pocket of his coat. “Dried buffalo meat. Very good.” He reached into another pocket. “Turnips. Raw turnips.”