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Below is a short story from Navajo
Spaceships
Old
Ned...
by
Johnny Rustywire
He
came to this country from a place no one can remember,
not even him. I spoke with him from time to time, he
was an old man and often times I would see him with
his grandchildren. They would run around at his feet.
He was skinny and tall, though bent with age and his
hair was black with flecks of gray. He had a wistful
smile and liked to laugh. His name in the traditional
way of talking was the Tall Red One. I never heard anyone
say it, maybe because it was in Navajo.
He
moved away from there a long time ago, maybe in the
1920's. His family may have been migrant farmers, or
followed the railroad work with the Union Pacific. He
was a young boy then and found his way up north to another
country and it was in this place of mountain tops, and
high valleys he came to live.
He
met a young woman with a willingness to follow him wherever
he would want to go. It was in the valleys of her land,
her reservation he called home.
Today
I saw 12 great grandchildren, and seven of his own.
His wife passed on a few years ago and it took a little
out of him, he was not as spry as he used to be. I saw
him some time ago at the VA hospital he had lost his
legs to diabetes.
He
spoke to me in Navajo, and though he was an old man
he still had all his own teeth and they glistened when
he talked. I used to call him the Tall Red One and he
laughed to hear his name in English. One time he came
to me maybe fifteen years ago or so and sat down. He
was with some of his grandchildren and he wanted some
help to find out where he was born and where he came
from.
I
looked into his eyes, they were like a deer's eyes,
they hid nothing. He quietly told me he had forgotten
where he came from, who his people were. That in the
many years since he left Navajoland he did not have
any contact with them, nor did they remember him. They
never visited him or sent him a letter.
I
sat there and thought maybe he comes from a past you
want to forget, to walk away from a life down there
for whatever reason, sometimes it is that way. You move
to get away from such things.
It
was my first thought, I forgot that many of our people
had many hardships, being without some things, and needing
to survive we go where we have to. When you need to
eat you go where to where you can survive.
We
survive at any cost it seems, and for him he left, but
the one thing that stayed with him was his language,
the ability to talk in the proper way. Even though he
was far removed from his place of birth, his Navajo
was smooth and eloquent, using old words which I did
not know.
It
was a different time back then, there were many children
born under trees, without a record, or birth certificate.
Their names were given in the Navajo way of speaking
describing the place born, or being the son of Silversmith,
or the family area or clan where they lived. I do not
know where he was born, we tried to find it, but no
one seemed to know.
There
was no record of him, he could have come from Comb Wash
near Montezuma Creek, or White Mesa by Kaibeto, or Round
Top not too far north of Ganado. He may have been born
near Lupton, near Carino Canyon, or Coyote Canyon a
little ways from Gallup. When he was born there was
not one to write it down, and to prove it could not
be done to satisfy the his own people.
Where
do such men go when they can not find themselves, their
family and place of birth? They stay with the their
children, their families and do the things family men
do. They continue on with their lives.
I
knew him for a little while and could see the love he
had for his grandchildren. He had a hard life working
as a laborer. He was not an educated man, but he survived
and so did his children.
Today
he was laid to rest and as I stood there looking at
his family gathered there. I could see him standing
with his father and mother, and his aunts and uncles
and they were saying to him. It has been a long time
since we have seen you, Hosteen Nez.
He
came to them with a young face, a fit body and wept
at the sight of them. They came to him and began to
let him know where he was from, who these people were
and how he got his name.
I
wondered about them, and those children left here to
continue on. A part of them weren't there, those living
now in Navajoland. Maybe there are none, I would rather
like to think that over a winter night, someone talking
in a family gathering might say....
A
long time ago, way over this way, not too far from here
there was this Navajo woman. She had a child and he
was called the Tall Red One. I remember him and he went
with her far from here. He comes from that place just
over there. He is one of us, and we are him.
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