The Sands of Kaibeto

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said “I’d rather be alone.”

“We are alone.”  

Jack wheezed. “We’ve been alone for a long time.” Flecks of blood flew from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He drew in some air. “I thought . . .” He stopped to catch his breath.

“We’ve worked things out.” She assured him.

“Alone.” He shook his head. “When a dog is dying,” he took a deep breath, “he searches out a place to be alone. Maybe it’s an attempt to unburden others with his death. Maybe it’s to find solace, a quiet, peaceful place.  But they always try to be alone when they die. Haven’t you noticed that? Are we so different?”

“We are different.” She said standing over him blocking the Arizona sun from his eyes. “We are not meant to be alone. And I’m not leaving. Especially . . .” Julie’s voice dropped off seeing the jeep slip farther down the slope groaning as the metal crumbled with each twist it made. Plowing down the sandy embankment it came to rest lying on its side buried deep in the ravine. Debris laid scattered behind it like a deck of playing cards flung down a set of stairs. Hot engine oil dripped mixing with radiator fluid forming a rainbow puddle in the red sand. Escaping steam hissed from the broken engine.  

Across the road the morning breeze carried a haunting whimper, a cry that grew softer to Jack and Julie huddled in the bottom of the ravine still shrouded in the early morning shadow.  At first the cry was louder, angrier almost wailing. Now it was sickening and sporadic, mournful and broken. 

No longer lying in shade, speckles of sunlight danced across Jack’s face. With an undistinguishable broken article from their jeep Julie fanned her husband. He coughed. More blood splattered. Jack’s tongue was parched. His skin was sticky. His lips were cracked and bruised and swollen with blood caked in the corners of his mouth. “I’m . . . thirsty.” 

Cradling him in her arms she raised him up. From a plastic water bottle he took a few brief sips before gagging on the water. Exhausted, he laid back down on a blanket a few feet from where he was spit out from their jeep.  His breath was hard and shallow and ragged. 

“On the ridge . . . is that a coyote?” 

“I don’t see it. Isn’t it too light? Aren’t they were nocturnal?” Shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she looked around staring up the embankment from where they fell. She looked toward the road in the hopes that gazing up there will bring someone to them, as if by focusing where they went off the road will bring help to them. “Someone will come by soon. Just hold on.”  Her voice was determined. Her face doubtful.  

“I’m . . . cold.” His voice was rough as if it was rubbed on sandpaper before working its way out of his mouth. “So cold.” If he had the strength to shiver he would.

Julie rummaged through the jeep’s debris with the speed of seasoned scavenger hunter at rummage sale for something to cover him. Grabbing a torn quilt she tucked it over him. His skin was slick and clammy. Then he fell asleep.  

With the sun overhead he stirred and slowly raised himself up on his elbows. “He was up there,” he said with a slight nod to the ridge, now covered in shadows. Then he slid back down with a thump into the blood soaked blanket. “He was up there.” Now he’s gone.” He closed his eyes. “No one’s coming . . .are they? Maybe it’s good to be alone.”  

Her jeans were ripped. Her hair was loose. Brushing it from her face she said,  “It’s not your fault.”  

“Fault?”  His legs bent in grotesque angles. “There was a glare.” Dried blood, the color of the rust colored desert sands merged together on the ground and on the wool blanket his wife placed him on.   

“It was my fault. I should have seen things coming.” She rubbed her hands together as if making a wish.  

Across the road, down the ravine the moose-deer lay with broken hind quarters in the dried gulch now wet from his blood. His belly, ripped open from the collision with the jeep, oozed blood and bowels and entrails littering the reddish sand. The deer, stuck on its side, tried to get up only to collapse with a whimper on the sand.  

“I didn’t know deers make a sound.”

“Everything that dies cries out.” Jack stared up at the first stars that broke the twilight. His voice was a whisper. His moans become quieter.   

A pickup truck heads north on the road to Kaibeto after turning off of state route 160 near Elephant Feet. The ford 150 crests a rise on the dirt road spraying sand and dirt and gravel in every direction after landing with a thud.  Julie heard the engine scream its approach. Speeding as it rounded the wide bend shouldered with steep drop offs roster spray of dust rose behind it.  

Julie raced to the base of the incline. On her hands and knees she strained to scamper up the scarped incline.  Sand and rocks fell behind her as she clawed her way toward the summit and the road. Her feet sunk in the soft sand. With nothing but sand to grab hold of she struggled, crawling her way up. Reaching the crest of the embankment she caught the taillights vanish in the evening sunset. Exhausted, lying in the road she punched, pounding the sand and gravel roadway with her fist until they bled and she was completely spent. Then she slid back down to Jack.  

“Is help coming.” Jack whispered. He stopped to catch his breath.

Julie said nothing. 

“I can’t feel my legs. How bad are they?”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m sure the doctors have seen worse.” Wet blood seeped around the belt tourniquet. “When we get to the hospital they’ll fix you good as new.”

“So, I’ll be dancing soon?”

“You don’t dance now.”

“Well, not now - but I could have.”  

“The last time we danced was at our wedding.”

“But it was a beautiful dance.” He struggled to catch his breath. “It’s starting to get dark.”

“Do you see the moon?” She pointed over the ridge, “It’s just a sliver, like fingernail cresting above the mountains.”

A weight descended on his chest making breathing harder. “Is the coyote back? I think I hear him calling.” 

“No, we’re alone,” she looked down. His face was pale, translucent like the color of morning fog before the sun burns it away to start a new day.  Her knees rested in the sand that was wet and moist and sticky. “But soon someone will stop and get you to the hospital.”  

“I think . . . it might be too late.”  He closed his eyes. A soft sigh, like the sound of air escaping from a pump, seeped from within him.  

Steve Interpreter, a Navajo police officer saw the skid marks.  The high-beams on his bronco caught the black marks, a pair of parallel lines that went off the road and down the ravine. With his spotlight, Interpreter followed the lines searching the gullies and gorges bleached by the moon light that seemed to undulate with the shifting wind.  Shrouded in shadows his light captured the wrecked jeep and Julie kneeling next to her husband holding his hand unaware that she was illuminated in light on the sands of Kaibeto.