"Well, if I see him today, I'll ask him."
"He has a cell phone. He gave me the number in case I ever needed him."
Holly was having difficulty with Daisy's braids. For some reason she couldn't remember whether it was right over left or left over right. She had managed to plait only about two or three inches and she simply couldn't do more. It was like seeing a familiar face and completely forgetting the person's name.
She tried again, but all she succeeded in doing was tying Daisy's hair into a knot. She pulled it free and Daisy squealed and said,"Ow!That hurt!"
"I'm sorry . I think you'll just have to go to school with ribbons in your hair."
"I don't want ribbons! I don't like ribbons: They're babyish!"
"Listen, I don't have time to do your braids. I have to be in court at eight-thirty."
"I'm not having ribbons!"
"All right, then, don't have ribbons! If you didn't have your hair so long, you wouldn't have to tie it up at all!"
"Barbie has long hair! Barbie always has long hair!"
Holly tossed the comb onto the kitchen table.Screw Barbie,she thought. She felt so strange, so disoriented, that she had to go through to the living room and stand by the window and take deep, steadying breaths.
Object of Desire
The court buildings were crowded and noisy, with people rushing in all directions like an episode ofHill Street Blues. A senior official in Portland's planning department had been accused of accepting a 5-series BMW and a three-week vacation on Oahu from a wealthy local developer, and the marble hallways echoed with desperate questions from reporters and the clattering of feet.
Doug was waiting for Holly outside the juvenile division, along with a bespectacled young attorney with a Multnomah Bar Association necktie and a raging red zit on his nose.
"You know Ron Williams, don't you?" said Doug.
"Sure. How are you doing, Ron?"
"Fine, thanks. I don't think you're going to have any problems at all with this one. Dr. Sokol sent over all the necessary medical files and X-rays first thing this morning. And Judge Yelland is presiding. She doesn't believe that parents should evenfrownat their children, let alone jump on them."
"What time are we scheduled for?"
"There's only two more applications before ours. The Thompson case could go on a while; kid had his head squeezed in a workshop vise, but the father says it was a party game that went wrong. You know the game: You crush some kid's head flat and then everybody else has to guess who they are." He sniffed and checked his watch. "Say, forty-five minutes."
"Okay, I think I'll go find myself a coffee."
As she was going back down to the lobby, she met George Greyeyes coming up. "George I didn't know you were going to be here."
George was wearing a smart navy blazer and smelled of Tommy Hilfiger. "I want to keep an eye on this one, that's all. I don't want National Indian Child Welfare Association looking negligent in any respect nor the Children's Welfare Department, either."
"George, this is only going to be a formality."
"Sure. But you know me: I don't like surprises. The last time the Indians took the white men at their word, they lost ninety percent of Oregon."
They went downstairs to the coffee shop and took a table in the corner. On the other side of the room, four young lawyers and a woman paralegal were huddled over a heap of papers, obviously trying to hammer out a divorce settlement before their case came up in front of a judge.
"-maybe we can cut you some slack on the marital home. Maybe sixty-five, thirty-five. But that's as far as we can go."
"What about the cabin?"
"Same deal."
"My client won't accept that. She wants the cabin one hundred percent. What does he think he's going to do,time-share?"
George said, "We need to learn some lessons from this Daniel business. Maybe we need to set up a regular interface between your people and my people, so that we can share any kind of suspicion about a child at risk, any kind of gut feeling, whether it's medical or cultural, whether it's substantiated by prima facie evidence or not. I mean, let's get in therebeforeit happens, not after."
Holly said, "Sure." She was interested in what George had to say, but she knew that it would do very little good. All the interfaces in the world would never stop a parent from staggering home, drunk or high or simply angry, and thrashing a defenseless child. For some reason she couldn't take her attention away from the conversation on the other side of the coffee shop.
One of the lawyers was saying, "It's seriously going to disorient the kids, isn't it, if they spend the first week in August with mom and her partner and then the second week in August with dad and whatever bit of fancy goods dad has decided to bring along with him, both in the same vacation environment? I mean, we're not just talking moral values here; we're talking bedroom farce."
"Then maybe they should sell the cabin and split the proceeds."
"No way. That cabin is an integral part of the children's recreational life. My client thinks that they've lost enough already, losing their father. She doesn't want to stunt their emotional development too."
"Jesus. I didn't even have a treehouse when I was a kid, and do I look stunted?"
Two of the lawyers and the paralegal stood up and left the coffee shop, obviously off to consult with their client. The two remaining lawyers sprawled at their table, one of them breaking the corners off cookies and nibbling them like a chipmunk.
George said, "It isn't easy for me to explain how important the spirits still are to most Native Americans. Spirits of water, spirits of wind, spirits of rocks and trees. In some ways they're more important than they ever were, because they're the only link we have left with the people we once used to be, and the country that once used to be ours."
One of the lawyers nudged his friend. "That Indian guy, do you know him?"
"I've seen him a couple of times. Big Chief In-Tray, from the Native American Children's Society, or something like that. Looks like a noble savage, but he's ani-dotter and at-crosser."
"How about the tail?"
"Yeah I was checking her out. I think she works for Children's Welfare. Great gazongas. That really lights my fire, you know: a tailored suit and great gazongas. Nice legs too. Seriously nice legs."
"Hey what do you think? She'd be great for one of the old man's parties, wouldn't she? I mean, take a look at those lips. She looks like she's permanently puckering up to give you a blow job."
"Her?Are you shitting me?"
"No, it'd be a real challenge, wouldn't it, someone like that?"
The second lawyer grinned in disbelief and shook his head.
"No, I mean it. What a challenge. I'll tell you what I'm going to do: I'm going to find out who she is. I mean, that would be a gas, wouldn't it? A Children's Welfare officer for one of the old man's parties?"
George touched her arm. "Holly Holly, you're not listening to me."
"Sorry, George. Guess I got a little distracted."
"Lipreading again? Remember it's a gift, Holly. Not a right."
"I know, George. Sorry. What were you saying about this interface?"