There Will Be Beauty Again

The black book felt incredibly heavy for such a tiny thing. I drummed my fingers on the smooth leather binding. It was originally supposed to be journal; it was a gift from my uncle that went unused when I went away to university. Now it had a new purpose.

“Did you hear me?” my mother asked from her seat, drawing me away from my thoughts. I looked up from the book that I’ve come to despise.

“What was that, ma?” I sat up, focusing on my mother.

“Can you go out to the car and get me the newspaper and some crackers? I’m feeling a little hungry.” Her smile was tight. I know she’s not hungry and there are plenty reading materials laying around for her to peruse.

“Ok.” I smile back at her, both grateful and ashamed for using the excuse to step out of the treatment room of the hospital. Standing up I placed the vile, black book onto my now vacant seat and pat my mother’s hand before heading out the room.

It took a few minutes to navigate my way through the hospital to the main exit. Stepping through the automated glass doors I felt the tiniest bit of relief. The heat of the summer sun felt nice after sitting in the cold and sterile hospital room for the past two hours. I hated being here, but it was necessary. My mother was in her second round of chemotherapy. I think we both know that the treatment isn’t going to work but the doctors are optimistic. They were optimistic about my uncle as well but he’s no longer with us. Pushing the thought away I made my way through the parking lot to our car.

Locating the crackers and newspaper was an easy task but I wasn’t in any hurry to return to my mother’s side. Instead, I sat in the driver seat and pulled out my phone, switching it back on. As soon the phone booted up, I was bombarded with a flurry of alerts. Checking through the phone log I saw that all the calls came from the same number that left several voice mails. My social media accounts had various messages from friends that I made at school. Their messages were all along the same lines.

‘We’ll keep you in our thoughts and prayers,’ and ‘let me know if you need anything or if you want to talk about it,’ we’re the most common. A few simply said, ‘I’m sorry. I hope you’re ok.’ I laughed just a bit. I was far from ok. A new alert popped up just then.

‘A deposit has been made to your account.’ The text message read. Opening my banking app, I saw that $150,000.00 had been added to my account. I sighed and sagged into my seat. The running total of my account now was well over $6 million. Switching my phone back to off I gathered the crackers and the newspaper and headed backing into that infernal hospital.

When I made back to my mother, I saw that my seat was now occupied by an older woman in scrubs. She was vaguely familiar; I was sure I had seen her before. They spoke in hushed Navajo and when I approached, I could tell by the hitch in the woman’s voice that she didn’t have good news. Coming to stand by my mother side I handed her the paper then crackers and turned to face the woman.

“I just thought you should know.” She said in English and turned to me with a watery smile. “You’re all grown up now. I wish we could talk more but I got to get back to rounds. It was good seeing you again.”

She stood and placed a hand on my shoulder before turning and leaving the room. I reclaimed my seat and took the black book that my mother held out to me.

“That was my friend Anna. We went to boarding school together. I didn’t know that she worked her.” I vaguely I remembered my mother introducing us when we came to city as a child. I doubted her visit was strictly social if she worked at the hospital. News traveled fast; she must have come as soon as she heard about… everything that was happening with us. Instead of prying, I nodded at my mother and waited for her to continue.

“Louisa is no longer with us.” She said as if she was discussing the weather. A moment later she locked eyes with me and in the same even tone said, “She passed this morning.”

She looked away after a minute with only a hint of sorrow flickering her stoic mask before she picked the paper and began to read. I nodded dumbly and after a moment of hesitation I cracked open the loathsome journal and scanned through the names.

Louisa Whitecap’s name was at the top of the third page. She was my great aunt until this morning. Below Louisa’s name were even more names, all crossed through in red ink. I was about to ask my mother to hand me the red pen that I had placed in her purse this morning but I saw her hand already extended with it in her grasp. Taking it, I crossed out Louisa’s name and with that, the last of the Whitecaps were gone.

“I don’t know why you keep that awful thing.” My mother said without looking away from the paper. And in complete honesty, neither did I.

It was at least another hour or so before we left the hospital and headed back to our hotel room. My mother napped the entire ride and only woke up briefly for me to help her into our room before laying down and going back to sleep. While she slept, I turned on my phone and responded to several posts and messages I had received through out the day.

I was about to take a quick nap myself when my phone loudly rang, and I hurried to answer it.

“Good afternoon, may I speak with Jackson Nez please?” the chipper voice of a woman drifter through the speakers.

“Speaking.” I whispered as I exited the hotel room. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Cherise Campbell with…”

“I know who you work for.” I cut her off before she finished. “What do you want?” I quickened my pace, heading to the nearest exit.

“Well… there’s been some concern that several of our clients have changed their beneficiary information to you Mr. Nez. Or listed you as a contingent beneficiary recently. As you can imagine this is highly irregular…”

“And you want to know why?” Hurriedly, I was to exit through a side door of the hotel. Without any really reason to, I headed to the car. “I assume your familiar with the settlement agreement that was reached with the EPA?”

“Of course, I am Mr. Nez.” Her tone was uncomfortable. “Which is exactly why we’re concerned that a large number of claimants in the case have listed you as their beneficiary. Over 35 to be exact.”

“48. 48 people have me listed as their beneficiary.” Leaning against the car I sighed. “47 of those individuals have…” Died. I wanted to say they died. Instead, I went with something less direct. “…they’re… no longer with us.”

There was silence on both ends of the line for a moment before Cherise clear her throat.

“Well… we find it strange that 7 families and several individuals have you listed as the recipient of their settlements.”

“1 family.” I correct her. “The entire family has me listed as their beneficiary.” I sighed again as I push off the car and begin to stroll around the parking lot. Over 40 of us gone. I hated thinking about it. In three short years our family nearly died out.

“I’m sorry Mr. Nez but there are clearly 7 families listed that….”

“Do you know anything about the Navajo people Ms. Campbell?” I cut her off again. It was considerably less out of anger and more out of the desperation to have the call come to a close.

“No… not really.” Ms. Campbell said.

“We are a matrilineal tribe Ms. Campbell.” I pause trying to think of the best way to explain the situation to her. “We… didn’t have Surname until the early or mid-20th century and most families… continued the western tradition of taking the surname of the father’s family.”

Another long pause on the line as she mulled over the information, I just gave her.

“That’s interesting but it doesn’t really explain why they’re leaving you all their money.” I could hear her shuffle papers over the line. I wondered briefly every member of my family had their own sheet or if we were just listed as a case number in piles of documents.

“We’re just one family Ms. Campbell, the 7 Surnames listed all belong to the same family. Our grandmother was our matriarch. And when my aunts and sisters got married their husbands came to live with us. They became part of our family. Which is why they are leaving everything to me. I’m…” This is the part I hate. This is what I never wanted to say out loud. Not even to myself. “They’re expecting me to be the only survivor.”

It was hard to breath suddenly. Like the air had solidified and every breath I took was like trying to swallow a brick. My eyes stung as I concentrated on keep composure.

“Ms. Campbell, my family is leaving me everything because I was away at college when the uranium mines contaminated the aquifers and wells in our area. We were promised that none of the metal were radio active and we only needed a filter. That wasn’t the case. We were told the exposure was minimal and that we were going to be fine. That wasn’t the case either.”

My voice cracked under the strain from attempting to keep any semblance of self-control. I caved under the weight of all the emotions that I had suppressed over the last few years. Wiping tears from my cheeks I went on.

“I honestly don’t care about the money Ms. Campbell, I really don’t. In fact, I’d trade every dollar to have every one back. So, I don’t know what else you need to know about me or my family but if it’s necessary you can reverse the deposits. You can freeze my accounts. You can stop all future deposits. Right now, I’m taking care of my mother because she’s going through chemotherapy. My aunt and her three daughters are in chemo. Her ex-husband and his family is taking care of them right now so I really don’t have the time or energy to deal with any of this.”

Pulling the phone away I angrily mashed my finger on the end call button and stood there in the parking lot of hotel and cried. I cried until my eyes hurt and I was out of tears.

Eventually I made my way back to the room. My mother sat on the bed with pillows propped behind munching on some crackers and watching a western movie. Tiredly I sat beside her and, like I did a thousand times as a child, I rested my head on her shoulders and closed my eyes. I felt her wrap an arm around me and began rubbing my shoulders.

“There will be beauty again.” She says in Navajo. So confidently, like she can guarantee it. “Some day everything will be better again. I don’t know when or how. Even then, there will be beauty again.”