Chapters (41)
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- PART TWO
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is not as wide as you think.”
—ZUNI PROVERB
THIRTY
THIRTY
BLOOD PUDDING
Calliope held the carved wooden spoon in the air and made airplane noises, whirring the bright orange heap toward the corn girl’s mouth. “Here come your mashed sweet potatoes just like Bisabuela used to make. Eat up.” She made yummy noises and pretended to eat the vegetables when the corn girl closed her mouth and refused. “Come on, stubborn girl. Eat. I’ll give you more peaches if you eat the sweet potatoes.” Malia’s home-jarred peaches were the corn girl’s favorite. Calliope took a real bite of the sweet potatoes. They weren’t quite as good as Bisabuela’s, but they were close. She scooped a spoonful of mashed sweet cornmeal, airplaned that toward the corn girl’s mouth. “Corn, mmmmm …”
“Our corn girl still refusing her sweet potato?” Chance put his rifle in a locked case above the long wooden table, moved to the bench Calliope straddled, kissed her temple, then turned toward the corn girl and kissed the top of her head. “Are you trying to frustrate your mama, Miwe e’le?” He called her corn girl in Zuni, the only two names she’d ever received.
“She’s eaten it for weeks but now she’s acting like I’m trying to poison her. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Even cornmeal she’s refusing today. And she loves corn.”
“Miwe e’le, you must eat your namesake. And stop stressing your mother out.” He reached for the spoon. “Here, let me try.”
“Oh, she’ll eat for you, Chance. She does everything perfectly for you.”
“She knows where her loyalties lie.”
Calliope laughed and relinquished the spoon. “Always ganging up against me.”
“Hey, I’m trying to help you.” He didn’t have to airplane at all, just swooped the spoon easily to the corn girl’s mouth, and she opened wide.
“I told you she likes you better.”
“She’s just playing sides.” He finished feeding her without further ado.
“Since you’ve got Miwe e’le under control, I’ll check on Eunjoo.” The little girl was supposed to be helping Wowo łashhi make blood pudding in the kitchen. At the counter, Wowo łashhi held a small pottery jar brimming with fresh blood and a large, half-moon shaped terracotta bowl, the rim partially concaved from wear and stained from prior use, filled with sheep’s liver and stomach, along with ropes and ropes of mustard-yellow intestine. The old woman pushed the sheep’s stomach toward Eunjoo, who didn’t recoil as Calliope would have, but happily took the disturbing bowls in front of her to a wooden stool at the counter and rolled up her sleeves.
She asked, all smiles, “Want to help me empty the food from the sheep’s stomach, Phoenix’s mama?”