My husband Alex is Navajo. His mother is married to a member of the Mojave Tribe named Robert, but called the Snake. The Snake is not Alex’s father, but his step-father ... The Snake works at Indian Hospital in Phoenix and travels around quite a bit because he is a “Singer” and a kind of medicine man. He is hired for ceremonies frequently, and he volunteers his time to help people in need. In other words, the Snake is one of the good guys.
Alex’s real father, Fred, and his mother got divorced when Alex was quite young. Fred remained an important part of Alex’s life until his death several years ago. Fred died of cancer and was sick for a very long time. We were fortunate to be able to spend a lot of time with him while he was still with us. Alex’s mom had remained fairly close to Fred even after the divorce.
When Fred’s illness progressed to the point that he was terminal, we flew or drove down to Phoenix about three times a month and stayed with Alex’s mom and the Snake. It was during this time that I realized there was something a little peculiar about my husband (and his mother for that matter). Alex and/or his Mom would get a phone call. There would be a lot of, “Oh no!” comments going on. When they hung up, I would ask, “Is everything all right?” Oh yes, fine, I was told. A minute later, Alex and his mother would go into a huddle and grab the car kesy, calling out, “We’ll be back,” and they would take off.
I’d go in the kitchen where the Snake was having his pot of coffee and just pass time with him which was no hardship. After this had occurred several times, I finally asked him, “Do you know what that was all about?” (meaning, the phone calls, the abrupt departure, etc.). The Snake smiled patiently and told me, “It’s because they are Navajos.” Say what? “Well,” he explained, “Navajo’s are very secretive people and they only really trust other Navajos.” Now this made no sense to me at all. But the Snake said he had been experiencing it for twenty years, so I really didn’t know what to think.
When Alex gets a call from his mom, his side of the conversation goes something like this:
Hi Mom! You’re kidding! You’re kidding! Oh No! Is he all right? Oh no! What are they going to do? Oh my God! Oh no! Really? That’s terrible! Oh that’s very bad! Oh no! Did the police come? Oh no! Oh no! How awful! Okay, bye Mom.
I ask him “What’s up with your Mom?” and he replies, “Nothing really. She’s fine.”
