Midge Shusta

Brenda froze in the stable where she lay. Strangers with painted clubs crept through

the pueblo, starlight glinting off their silver necklaces, belts and ear loops. Quiet

as fog they entered individual houses. First came the crack as bones were crushed,

then the shrieks of terror.

A screaming woman ran past the stall with a naked infant in her arms. “Navajo!

Navajo!” She cried as if it were as vile a curse as she could utter.

The girls crouched in the far corner of the stall, trying to be still, unnoticed. But their

bodies shook with fright and. Merrilee began to wail.

“Hush, baby, hush!” Brenda charged, shielding her sister between herself and the wall.

“They can’t see us. Everything will be okay. Just be quiet.” She tried to close her eyes and

pretend that they were all having the same nightmare but her eyes wouldn’t stay shut and

she watched the dark, hair-raising spectacle that ran wild in the center of the pueblo.

The invaders lit torches from the live coals in the central fire pit and eerie, nimble

shadows flickered across her vision like a video game. One of the strange men lifted a

woman over his shoulder and raced into the night. Dogs barked; children howled; women

shrieked and in the midst of the din came the sickening sounds of bones cracking beneath

the heavy blows of the clubs. Sarah crept to the stall opening.

“Oh, Jesus,” Brenda breathed, “Lord, Jesus . . . help!”

Sarah crawled back, “They’re cracking people’s skulls out there . . .

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Light for a Vanished Sun: A Mission Deep into Navajo Country

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