Bottom Feeders
I have seen that in any great undertaking
it is not enough for [one] to depend simply upon [one’s] self.
— Lone Man (Isna-la-wica), Teton Sioux
NO ONE APPRECIATES TURKEY BUZZARDS. As matter of course, we are feared,
loathed, and despised. Animals, especially human ones, see us circling overhead and run the other
way, as if we have any interest in killing living prey -- not that we couldn’t, you know, we can, it’s just
too much work. We do have our standards, though. Carrion’s got to be fresh. We leave putrefied
flesh to lower species, like, maggots, flies, and bacteria.
As if it isn’t enough that we are saddled with a descriptive moniker associated with the
dumbest animal on wings, turkey buzzards are constantly maligned by slurs, like ‘ nature’s garbage
collectors’, ‘bottom feeders’ – cavalierly lumping us in with our underwater counterparts – ‘flying
rats’, ‘inferior hawks’ – inferior, as if our bloodthirsty, narcissistic cousins are so superior. Worst
name of all is simply ‘nasty old buzzard’, as though defecating on our own feet to cool ourselves
down, or heaving crop vomit on potential enemies to survive, is a choice we would have made in our
ecology and behavior. That one hurts, truth often does.
Buzzard bigotry doesn’t stop at name calling. We are regular victims of scorn for our
physical features. Does anybody glam us for our keen sense of sight and smell, impressive wing
span, or graceful soaring techniques in flight? Not hardly. Instead, we are routinely symbolized
through caricature, showing a neck that is anatomically impossible, or a featherless Beetlejuice pin of
a head, the shape and color of which calls to mind a certain state of uncircumcised male genitalia in
heat.
On the plus side, we mate for life, but does anyone give a hoot about that? Nope, not even
we do. Oh yeh, that’s because we don’t have a voice box like all the other tweety birds out there.
And here’s a kick in the cloaca. Thanks to modern taxonomy, it has recently been revealed that we
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are not close relatives of hawks after all. Turns out that we are really kissing cousins with storks.
Storks, for Creation’s sake! Birds whose impotent talons are fashioned in the manner of webbed chicken
feet, flat, long toes, the better to peck around on the ground with, making it damn near impossible
to hold a beak high among dessert raptors. It’s humiliating.
Out here in the wilderness, it’s turkey buzzards who provide sanitation services for every
human chamber of commerce within a day’s drive of the Rio Grande, eliminating evidence of road
kill from the panorama, cleaning up arteries throughout the great, wild, West, allowing essential Life
forces to flow unblocked through her arteries – people, drugs, money.
In balance, it is a good life. Warm air currents rising off baking land can keep us floating for
hours, giving us a bird’s eye view, naturally, of a wide range of space. We pay particular attention to
wolves or coyotes on the chase, which frequently means good leftovers. Though we often travel
alone, if one of us spots a large animal kill, neighbors soon spy the scout orbiting the victim in a
holding pattern, joining in to ‘kettle’ above the carrion until the predator ambles off with a full
stomach, leaving the remaining smorgasbord to us.
Road kill is less predictable as a food source, but it has its advantages. Humans, tucked into
rolling metal boxes, run up and down dedicated trails, never changing direction, chasing only each
other, it would seem -- or no one at all. Go figure. On occasion, a misguided creature steps off his
path and onto a human one, then WHUMP-THUNK! That’s all she wrote. Fresh buffet.
You can imagine, then, the good fortune I felt one afternoon when, to my surprise, a human
box slowed down on the trail and, opening a mouth, spit out fresh meat. I dove straight to the
plunder, hoping no one else had spotted the delivery. Mmmm, the thought of fresh, juicy eyes made
my beak water! Unfortunately, no sooner did I land than my mate comes flapping in, all in a dither
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for me to get back to the nest, it being my turn to incubate the eggs. (This is one of those times
when the lack of a voice box has its advantages.)
I flapped sand in her face, making motions to spit. She backed off, grunting and slipping in
the final hiss, nearly laying an egg when movement and sound came from beneath the wrapping on
the human package. We simultaneously readied our crops, ready to double team this enemy when
another human box, this one topless and noisy, flew by us, so to speak, screeched to a halt, then did
something I have never seen before. It rolled backwards, four sets of eyes staring straight at us,
daring us to hold our claim. Ashamed as I am to admit this, I left the human victor -- and my mate
-- in my dust, and headed back to the nest, hoping that leftovers were still to be had from a nearby
coyote kill of a late in the season doe.
WANDA RING MOON slammed her 1964 turquoise Chevy Impala Convertible Coupe
into park, exiting the car before the dust had settled. Three other passengers followed her lead.
“Holy moley, it’s a body!” said her twelve-year-old cousin, Max.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Frank Two Crows mocked.
Wanda smacked him on the head. “Shut up. Don’t talk that way to the kid.”
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the base of his skull.
Leonard LeRoux, consummate observer, words never wasted, was kneeling by the body.
“She’s dead,” he said.
“Yeh, but this one’s not,” Wanda said, un-bonding child from mother, raising him to her
breast, taking an inventory of his parts. “Right, little man?” she said, peaking into his diaper. The
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baby gurgled and smiled. “You’re a charmer, you are.” An involuntary smile formed on Wanda’s
lips.
“What are we gonna do with the body?” Two Crows asked.
“We,” Wanda said, “aren’t going to do anything with the body. That’s the Sheriff’s job. Leo,
hold Sam the Man while we book it out of here, OK?” She smiled again and air-kissed the handoff.
Leo nodded, cradling the baby in one arm, securing himself and his parcel with the other.
From the road, Wanda called her Aunt Reason, who acted as both Post Mistress and
Manager at the res’s general store, asking her to contact the authorities, giving her the location.
“What’s next?” Two Crows asked.
“I’m thinking,” Wanda replied.
Wanda Ring Moon was used to taking charge. Unfortunately, most of her existence had
been a bad cliché of growing up on a reservation – abuse, sexual promiscuity, supporting a small
herd of younger siblings and cousins, truancy, and tattooed body parts depicting metaphors of her
life, including two around her nipples that represented the full moon’s halo of ice crystal’s on the eve
of her birth and the storm clouds that followed the morning after.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Wanda dropped Two Crows off at his truck, told
him to pick up supplies at the res store for the baby -- Tell my aunt the stuff’s for your nephew -then meet back at the cave of the Weeping Woman, pronto. Wanda looked at Sam, sound asleep in
Leo’s arms. Another involuntary smile rippled to the surface, this time with an audible sigh.
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“Max,” she said, addressing the rear view image of her cousin in the back seat. “You’ve got
to promise that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Can you do that?”
“Sure, Wanda.”
“Good boy.” She smiled. The reflection smiled back, proud to be in his elder cousin’s
confidence.
“We’re going to need help,” Wanda said more to herself than to the remaining passengers,
“and I know just where to get it.” She did a U-turn and drove off the res to town, just catching the
last bell of the day at the high school, easing into the stream of migrating students making Friday
night plans, turning south five blocks from the stadium to wait. Once she sighted her target, she
idled up to it, easing her foot off the brake pedal to keep pace.
“Hey, Hannah, want a ride?” Wanda slung her arm across the back of Leonard’s seat, trying
to act casual.
A confused looking sixteen year old, short brown hair, hazel eyes, not a single tattoo, book
bag trailing behind her on wheels, looked behind her.
“Are you talking to me?” Hannah asked.
“Yeh, Hannah, it’s me Wanda. You know, I’m in your homeroom?”
“Still?” Hannah looked puzzled. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“Well, yeh,” Wanda shrugged. “I’m kind of working now -- at the garage.”
“That’s nice.”
“So, you want that ride?”
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“That’s OK, I just have a few blocks to go.”
“It’s no problem, hop in.”
Hannah looked at Leo for confirmation. He gave her no encouragement one way or
another, appearing to be preoccupied with a bundle in his lap. She knew Leo from chemistry class
last year. Brilliant mind. The younger kid she might have seen before at the library, trying to surf
the web for porn sites, most of which were blocked -- most. What could it hurt? she thought.
Hannah put a muzzle on her Little Voice and got in.
“Thanks,” Hannah said.
“No problem,” Wanda said, then patched out from the curb into the mostly empty street.
“Hi, Leonard,” Hannah said. There was no response from her classmate in the front seat.
No surprise there. She turned to the boy next to her. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Max.”
Hannah briefly switched her attention to the Wanda. She leaned forward to say, “My house
is four blocks up, third on the right, painted mural on the courtyard wall,” then she sat back in her
seat. “My mother’s an artist.” She shrugged, turning to her seatmate, “Nice to meet you, Max.”
Four blocks and seven houses later, Hannah tapped on Wanda’s shoulder. “Hey, you missed
my house. It’s back there,” she said using her thumb to gesture behind her.
I am in so much trouble if they abduct me, she thought, watching her neighborhood slide by. God,
what am I going to do?
Told you so, Little Voice mocked.
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“Excuse me, uh, Wanda?” Hannah leaned forward again and tapped the driver on her
shoulder, in the event that Wanda could not hear her above the road noises from the convertible.
“You can let me off here. I’ll walk.”
“We have a few errands to do,” Wanda called back over her shoulder. “Thought you might
enjoy coming along for the ride.”
“I really have to get home…” Now you’re gonna die, Little Voice glummed. “…my mom’s
expecting me.”
“Truth is, Hannah, there’s been kind of an accident and I need your help.”
“What kind of an accident?” Hannah watched Leo for cues. Nada.
“We’ll tell you all about it when we get where we’re going. You might want to call your
mother, tell her a classmate needs help with homework. We’ll have you home by 8:00, promise.”
“We eat Shabbat dinner at 6:30, then go to services. It’s a Jewish thing.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Wanda said.
Hannah made the call, sitting back in her seat, awaiting Fate, wishing she had a mute button
for Little Voice. Twenty minutes later, the Impala pulled off the highway, wound through saguaro
and tumbleweed dotted canyon country, eventually pulling up next to a rusty pickup parked beside a
dirt mound about the size of a Dairy Queen. Leo and Max exited the vehicle without a word,
disappearing around the other side of the knoll.
“You can leave your book bag in the car,” Wanda said. “You won’t need it.”
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“Look, Wanda, I don’t know what you want with me,” Hannah said, sweat forming on her
brow despite the cool spring air, “but…”
“Don’t worry, Hannah. We’re not here to hurt you. Honest. We just need your help.”
Wanda waved her on, trailing in the path of the boys, until she walked out of sight. Hannah chased
Wanda’s tracks, Little Voice nudging her as she followed the leader, crossing the threshold of the
mound’s mouth without so much as a Mother-may-I.
“Look,” Wanda pointed to the infant lying on a child’s nylon sleeping bag as if it was an
every day image, then looked at Two Crows. “Buzz Lightyear?”
“Hey, I keep it in my truck, comes in handy for certain activities.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Oh, my God!” Hannah said. “Where did that baby come from?”
“Long story,” Wanda said, “What do we do with him?”
“You get him to his mother and she feeds him, for starters!” Hannah’s own voice was in
control now.
“Yeh, well,” Wanda said, lighting a cigarette, “his mother’s not available at the moment.”
“PUT THAT OUT!” Hannah commanded. “Don’t you know second hand smoke is bad
for the baby? You want to start him on lung cancer before he can walk?”
“OK, OK,” Wanda said, backing away from the mother-bear standing between her and the
cub, throwing the Marlboro out the cave entrance.
Hannah eased toward the baby, squatting by his side. “How you doing, Sweetie?”
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“His name’s Sam, Sam the Man,” Wanda corrected.
“OK, then, how you doing, Sam?” Hannah checked his diaper, looking around for a
replacement.
“Two Crows, where’s the stuff you were supposed to pick up?” Wanda asked.
“Uhhh, it’s in my truck,” he said. “I’ll get it.”
Two Crows came back with diapers – two sizes too big, baby wipes, and a six pack of
bottled formula.
“Oh,” he said, pulling a bubble-wrapped package from his pocket, one that was not listed on
the register receipt, “and I got this. Look, it’s got a digital readout and takes the baby’s temperature
while he sucks on it.” Two Crows opened the package and emptied it of its contents, clipping the
cord to Sam’s shirt, plugging the pacifier into the baby’s mouth. “Cool, huh?”
Hannah changed Sam’s diaper while Leo watched her from above, then she got up, standing
with her back to the wall of the cave to address Wanda. “This baby needs water,” she began. “His
poop looks like dried rabbit scat. If he doesn’t rehydrate soon, we’ll need to get him something to
help him move his bowels.” Leo looked at Hannah with interest. He couldn’t help but admire a girl
who knew her animal droppings. It turned him on.
“See, fellas?” Wanda said, waving her hand in Hannah’s direction. “I told you she would
know what to do.” Then, in what appeared to be an emotional one-eighty, Wanda grabbed Hannah
by the collar and threw her to the ground, inches from Sam. With a flash of steel arcing over her
head and down, Wanda sliced the head off a lone rattler, then scooped Sam up into her arms.
Hannah paled. Leo offered her a hand. She took it.
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“You all right?” Wanda asked. “Sorry about that. Don’t usually see snakes in here until the
weather warms up.”
“Great,” Hannah said, dusting herself off with the hand that was not being held by Leo,
“just great! And exactly what do you plan to do with Sam tonight?” she demanded, reclaiming her
Leo hand to point to their surroundings. “Keep him here, in this,” Hannah choked on her
interrogatory, “cave?”
“Sure.” Wanda shrugged.
“Who’s going to diaper him and feed him and get up with him in the middle of the night and
I would say change his clothes, but it appears he has only one outfit?” Hannah was working herself
into a frenzy. “How are you going to keep him warm? Protect him from snakes? Where are you
going to get water for him to drink?!” She was near the point of hysteria.
“Water we got,” Wanda said defensively, in the face of the Maternal Inquisitor. “There’s a
well outside. Good water, we drink it all the time. And we’re Indians, we can light a fire. Can’t we,
Sammy? Yes, we can.” She looked at the bouncing baby in her arms for confirmation. “That ought
to help with the snakes. The rest of the stuff, I’ll send Leo and Two Crows into town to get.”
“Look,” Hannah said, straining to calm herself down. She checked the time, “I’ve got to get
home. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Your word?”
“I promise.”
“You need a ride in the morning?”
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“No, I’ll borrow my brother’s car. He owes me one -- or a dozen. How do I find my way
back here?”
“We’ll teach you how to track your way like a skin. You know, look for stellar signs, follow
animal tracks, check wind direction. Right, Sammy?” Wanda gave him a squeeze.
Hannah gave her a you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
“Lighten up, Pale Face! It was a joke.” Wanda slapped Hannah on the back. “You can use
my Garmin.”
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?” Wanda demanded, trying to calm a
screaming Sam in her arms.
“At Hebrew School,” Hannah said, noting that the inventory of baby supplies had
burgeoned to include a diaper bag, some blankets and towels, a knit baby cap, footy pajamas, more
formula, some water bottles, and a teddy bear.
“Hebrew School!” Wanda echoed. “What the hell is that?”
“I help kids get ready for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs,” Hannah said.
“It’s Saturday, for Christ’s sake. What kind of school is open on Saturday?”
“Hebrew School,” Hannah said, trading a drug store bag for the baby. “I got what you
needed for Sam,” she said, laying him in the crook of her arm, face-side down, bouncing him gently,
her pulsating fingers massaging his belly. “Your little tummy hurts doesn’t it, Sammy Wammy.
Poor baby, we’re going to fix you right up and you’ll be aaaall better.”
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Wanda’s eyes formed a question that had difficulty escaping her gaping mouth. “How do
you do that?”
“What?”
“That…” Wanda waved her hand in the air, “thing you do with the baby.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, between coos, “I’ve been helping my mother with my little brother,
Benjamin, since he was born. He had a terrible case of colic. He’s two now-- an ‘oops’ baby, you
know – and just fine.”
Wanda shook her head, then pulled the contents out of the bag, tossing it on the ground as
she read the label. “For fast, gentle relief of constipation in infants…” She opened the box and
pulled out the foil-backed contents. “Whoah! These pills are huge! How are we going to get Sam
the Man to swallow one?”
“You don’t,” Hannah said, pointing to the product name, Smooth Move Suppositories.
“You mean we gotta stick that up Sam’s poor little heini?”
“Not we,” Hannah said, “You.”
“No, no, no, no way!” Wanda said, putting further space between her and the baby. “You
do it. You’re the one with all the experience.”
“Exactly,” Hannah said, “and I am the one who is going to teach you how to do this for
little Sammy in the event that he needs more relief during the school week and I’m not here.”
“You are shitting me,” Wanda protested.
“That’s the idea,” Hanna said. “Come on, let’s do this.”
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AN HOUR LATER, WANDA PARKED HER IMPALA in the automotive graveyard that
made up the structural landscape of her yard, once again ignoring yet another of Life’s stereotypes
as she climbed the stairs to the front porch of her trailer. Inside, her brother was wired to his
X-box, ignoring her entry. Having left Sam in Hannah’s capable hands, she had returned to her
house for a few necessary supplies – food from the fridge, trash bags, flashlight batteries, and the
bottom drawer from her dresser to use as an ersatz crib, the contents of which she dumped on her
bed.
On her way out, she noticed the red blinky light on her answering machine and pushed the
Play button, “This is the Federal Marshal’s office. We are looking for a Ms. Wanda Ring Moon.
Her car was identified near a homicide scene. Our sources say that an infant may have been with
the victim at the time. Please have Ms. Ring Moon contact us at blah, blah, blah…”
Wanda stopped the recording. “Did you know about this?” she accused her brother,
stopping him mid-kill as she unplugged his game.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Did you know about the Federal Marshals?” she repeated.
“Yeh, well, they came by earlier.”
“And what exactly did you tell them?”
“I might have told them to look for you at the Weeping Woman.”
“You what?!”
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“Well, I couldn’t have them hanging around here, could I? I got two pounds of pot back in
my bedroom, gift-wrapped and ready go.”
“You moron!” she said, picking up her things and smacking him on the back of the head
with a corner of the drawer.
“Ow!” he said, rubbing the base of his skull, her usual target. “What’d you do that for?” he
asked empty space. Wanda was gone.
“HANNAH,” A FAINT ECHO of Wanda’s voice made the satellite connection to
Hannah’s cell phone. “They’re coming for Sam. They are going to take him away from me.” Dead
air.
Forty minutes later, Wanda was tucking Sam into the drawer, warm, fed, and dry. “Hey Sam
the Man,” she said, rubbing the soft baby flesh of the hand that held tight to her finger, tighter to
her heart. “We had good run, didn’t we? Short and sweet, but good, right? Sorry about your mom.
That really sucks. I’d keep you, but the Federal Marshals have other plans for you. Being a white
boy has its drawbacks sometimes.”
Wanda looked around the cave to be sure that no one was in ear shot, “Listen, Sam, they’re
going to put you in deep hiding somewhere, give you a new name, a new home, a set of parents that
will take care of you, love you – like I do. You’ll do all right,” she winced, squeezing a tear back
where it came from, “but, don’t you think for a moment that I’ll ever forget about you.” She kissed
him, then whispered, “Sleep tight for now, little fella. I love you, Sam the Man. You’re the best
thing that ever happened to me.”
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“WHY ME?” HANNAH ASKED, seated at the mouth of the cave with Wanda, breathing
in the fragrance of a late afternoon sky. “Why’d you pick me?”
“Because,” Wanda took a long drag on her cigarette, held it, let it wind slowly out of her
nostrils, “you are about the smartest kid in school; and you don’t treat the rest of us like we are
something that should be scraped off the bottom of your shoe.”
“Really?” Hannah said. “I’m flattered…I think.”
“Well, don’t get a big head over it,” Wanda said brusquely.
“Certainly not,” Hannah said, choking back a scoff that threatened to escape.
Now’s the time, Little Voice egged her on, while she’s in this sober mood. Go ahead and ask her what’s
on your mind. Come on…man up!
Oh, for Pete’s sake, Hannah thought, gender bias from my own Little Voice. But, this time, you’re right.
“Listen,” Hannah began, hesitantly, “while we’re having this Oprah Winfrey moment, can I
ask your candid opinion about something?”
“Shoot.” Wanda gave Hannah a side glance, intimacy alarm on alert.
“Am I pretty?”
Wanda hooted, losing complete control of the smoke rings she had been forming. “Look, I
don’t swing that way.”
“Neither do I!” Hannah said, shaking hands and head in a rapid negative. “No, really, that’s
not what I mean. It’s just that…guys don’t seem to notice me. For that matter, neither do girls.”
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“Look,” Wanda said, “Your problem is that you scare them, see them for who they are,
warts and all, it makes them uncomfortable. And, yeh, for the record you are… pretty, really pretty.
Don’t worry about the rest of the insecure teenagers at the high school. Some day you’ll meet
Prince Awkward Dork who will go after a prize that the rest of the mokes in school will wish they
had strapped on a set for when they come back for their twenty-fifth year reunion. You’ll kiss him
and, over time, your frog will turn into a prince, because that’s the kind of person you are – pretty
inside and out.”
Wanda threw her cigarette into the dirt, pushing a foot off the ground. Hannah reached for
her arm, held her back.
“What?” Wanda asked.
“Thanks,” Hannah said. “For being my friend, a real friend…and surprisingly sage for a
sixteen year old truant.”
“Oh, shit,” Wanda said, “don’t get all mushy on me. Besides, I’m almost eighteen. I’ve
earned my feathers.” She spotted a posse of black SUV’s in the distance. “Come on, we got a date
with the Marshals.”
The pair walked in tandem to the drawer. Sam the Man was sleeping, snoring a cute baby
snore that lends itself to spectator sport.
“Some day, he’s going to want to know who he is,” Hannah said.
“Yeh,” Wanda agreed, tucking the digital pacifier back into the baby’s mouth, “but not
today.”
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Wanda picked Sam up, touched his soft baby cheek, inhaled his sweet baby scent. She
kissed him, whispered something in his ear and said, “Let’s get this over with.”
TWO MARSHALS FROM THE LEAD SUV met them half-way between the mouth of the
cave and their vehicles. They took Sam, the diaper bag, and the teddy bear, leaving four other
Marshals to linger behind, asking questions. When all was said and done, the Marshals left the four
teenagers, copious contact information in hand, convinced that they had no real part in the murder
of, or exposure to, the actual suspects.
Wanda and Hannah watched the last of the posse speed back toward the highway until it was
out of sight. The pair stood there, allowing Silence to join them, now three musketeers, all for one
and one for all.
“Well,” Hannah broke first, “I guess I’ll head home. Come by and visit, will you?”
“Yeh, sure,” Wanda said.
Hannah started to pull her brother’s car away from the cave, then shifted into neutral, rolling
down the window. “Almost forgot,” she said. “Your Garmin. Lost the signal, somehow.” Hannah
held it out to Wanda. “I don’t know what happened. It was working fine when I pulled in.”
“Yeh, well,” Wanda said, “cheap shit from China. What do ya do?”
“What did you whisper to Sam the Man?” Hannah asked.
“’See you soon’,” Wanda repeated.
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“Hmm. You know of course that the whole point of Witness Security is to keep people
from ever seeing each other again, right?”
“Yeh, well, those aren’t my rules.”
“How will you find him?”
“Me red woman, good tracker.”
“Do not tell me you put the Garmin’s GPS chip in that teddy bear!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wanda said. “The Marshals will toss the teddy and the diaper bag as
soon as they get back to town. Can’t keep anything from the old life.”
“Where, then?”
“Well, Miss Smarty,” Wanda said, resting her arm on the door, touching her finger to her
nose, “If I tell ya, I gotta skin ya.”
“Thanks for the courtesy” Hannah said dryly, then smiled.
“What are friends for?” Wanda said with a wink.
“CAN’T YOU SHUT THAT KID UP?” the driver called to his colleague in the back seat.
“I haven’t the vaguest idea what to do!” she said.
“You’re a disgrace to your gender,” he said reaching back, pulling on the chord pinched to
the jammies, pacifier on the other end.
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“I had five brothers. Hey, watch out!” she yelled, pointing to an armadillo crossing the road,
trying to prove to the chicken that it could be done.
WHUMP-THUNK!
Two minutes later, a pair of oversized flat cock feet landed nearby.
Mmmmm… Dinner!
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