Chapter Seventeen

"Anyhow," said Judy, "we've gotten piggish and live in our own filth and dead people.  No wonder the Navajos are so pissed off at us.  It's gross." 

June asked - "Now why do think the Navajos are pissed off?"

"Well, we went on a little expedition down to Farmington, to see how they were doing on the South flank, and they're not too thrilled with yet another screwing from the bilga'ana.  We're staying in touch through a checkpoint down by Alamosa.  If we go west of sight of Shell Mountain, we're marked for death.  And we're on the guest list.  They've been telling us about witches and superstition and bad luck, and all the time we've been making them miserable, and now they're sick of talking with us."

Ben noticed that when the twins talked for a while together, their conversation sped up a little bit, started dropping out little its and bits.  They talked more with their hands, and interrupted and ran over each other's conversations.  Must be a twin thing, thought Ben.  I've heard of twins even having their own language.  These two didn't exactly have their own language.  More at it, they were two brilliant people with their own, sort of mathematical language.

You know like how you can spin mathematics out into a word problem, a paragraph, this train and that train, leaving this station, going here and there, but you can put it all into an equation or a set of mathematical symbols, much shorter?

"Do you notice that you two kinda start - condensing - your language when you talk?"  They both laughed.  Judy said, "Yep.  We just leave out all the extras, and only talk..." "roundaround, we call it - talk with other people, it's 'roundaround' we've called it, because it goes around....and around... and around.  Gets boring." said June.  "They thought we had ADD because we couldn't listen to roundaround for very long without going nuts from boredom." said June.  "No offense intended." said Judy.

 Ben cocked his head back a little, looking at them penetratingly.  These were some highly intelligent people, these two girls.  It was a blessing that they survived and got back together.  They were probably the best hope for rebuilding a sane world that he'd seen.

But they didn't seem weird or special or anything frizzy-haired Los Alamos genius Nutty Professor Jerry Lewis tweaky or such.  Underneath, they were just - girls, familiar one,s like Ben's nieces and cousins and some such.  You didn't have to put on airs or ask them about string theory or phenotypes or anything.  Just young women, caught in this blight that dried up their world and went bang all of a sudden, and they were coping, just like everyone else.

They started into it a little bit.  "Went to Farmington.  Shiprock Chapter House.  They burned our clothes." "Naturally."  "They called the Walking One a witch."  "Gave me the name Sue Dill."  "Obviously an English pronunciation of a Navajo phrase."  "Sudill."  "Wonder what the University has on languages."  "Let's check."  "I made them a deal."  They both glanced at Mr. Sandoval. "Later." "What do they think this Walking One is?" "Not like a real witch - just a whirlwind of chindi that takes form, in a sense."  "Millions of dead."  "Yup."  "They've got our border to the south sealed.  Even we're not welcome without Sudill - me - and the Talisman."  "Let's see."

Judy went over to the bedroom and came back with the turquoise pendant.  "Gold.  They don't use much."  "Wonder why gold on this piece."  "Beautiful turquoise."  June turned it over.  "Mountain lion.  Sudill?"  "No, they said we were watched by something, apparently a mountain lion, as we came down through Aztec.  Didn't sound like Sudill, can't remember."

 They looked at Mr. Sandoval, smiled.  "I feel grubby," said June.  "I've been on the road for a long time.  Do you mind if I go take a bath?"

He smiled, kindly.  "Of course.  I have things to do with the bearings on my pickup.  I've been meaning to get to it already.  I should like to take my leave."  They protested, as etiquette would demand; he insisted.  It was nice to use manners for a change.  Demeanor and etiquette seem to hold us together through bad times, and we've been blown to flinders for weeks.