The Shaman Sings by James D. Doss

Author:James D. Doss [Doss, James D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Mysteries, Ute Indians
ISBN: 0380724960
Google: GAG-nljo8PIC
Amazon: 0312947739
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 1994-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

14

Parris was reading an outraged citizen's complaint about Patrolman E. C. Slocum. Piggy, as the elderly woman wrote in a precise hand, was observed “urinating on my gooseberry bush at half past four this morning.” She doubted the bush would survive this insult; its fruit would certainly never grace another gooseberry pie. Slocum didn't try to evade such issues, because he never understood what all the hubbub was about. He had explained the reason for this latest outrage with disarming directness: “It hit me kinda sudden. Felt like I'd split wide open. Where would you take a quick piss when you're out on patrol an hour before daylight? In your hat?”

The intercom buzzed. Parris pressed the button and spoke to the machine. “Yes, Clara. What is it?”

“Are you busy? I have someone … a visitor.”

“I can spare a minute.”

Clara, who entered alone, was subdued. “It's my Aunt Daisy. She wants to talk to you.”

Sooner or later, everyone wanted to consult the police. “Sure. Bring her in.”

Clara was nervously pulling at her braided hair. “My aunt is … an old-fashioned Indian.” Clara hesitated, then blurted it out. “She is a piikati, a person with power.”

Parris raised his eyebrows. “What sort of power?”

“A piikati is a kind of a … what some people call a shaman. Mostly, they heal the sick. They're connected to animal spirits with power, like the bear or buffalo. A particular animal gives them the power to heal a certain type of sickness. A woodpecker gives the power to stop bleeding; a badger, the power to heal problems with the feet. I wanted you to understand this before you met my aunt.”

Parris resisted the temptation to ask what animal Aunt Daisy was connected with. “Bring her in.”

Clara left, then returned immediately with a woman who walked with the short, measured steps of an arthritic. “This,” she said as she ushered her relative to a seat, “is my aunt, Daisy Perika. She lives on the Southern Ute reservation. Aunt Daisy has a message for you.” She smiled with honest affection and patted the elderly woman on the shoulder.

Daisy peered through a heavy pair of spectacles that magnified her eyes in a fashion that would have appeared comic on one with less dignity. He got up from his chair and smiled in a manner that was intended to be reassuring. “Good morning, Miss … uh … Mrs. Perika. What can I do for you?”

Daisy Perika blinked, and the effect was owl-like. “I had this vision,” she said simply. She had no intention of telling this white man about the pitukupfi he would neither believe nor understand and it would embarrass her niece. “I have come to you with a message. Three nights ago, I left my body.” She made this pronouncement with no pretense, like someone else would say, “Yesterday, I went to Farmington.” Daisy stared at the white man, waiting patiently for a response.

If he didn't handle this just right, Clara Tavishuts would be impossible to work with. Parris sat down on the edge of his desk and pretended that this was a normal conversation.

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