Jack appeared, smiling, two bowls in his hands. “Here,” he said, squatting beside her Apache fashion.
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I hate that stuff!”
He looked at her in amazement. “Really?” He raised the rim of the bowl to his mouth and began to eat the thick gruel.
She watched. He is just like them, she thought, staring, as he hungrily devoured the bland souplike food. It was as if he had eaten like this a hundred times, had never needed utensils. He was squatting, thighs bulging in the buckskin pants. He had shed his shirt, and his chest was bronzed almost to the color of oak bark, gleaming with perspiration. The muscles in his forearms rippled with each shifting movement, and his biceps seemed to be in a permanent state of straining, popping thickly beneath his skin. He finished, setting the bowl down, looking at her.
“You need to eat,” he said, his tone pleasant. “You need your strength.”
“What is it?”
“It’s made from acorns,” he told her, smiling slightly at the face she made.
She picked up the bowl—she was hungry—and awkwardly drank, or tried to.
“Good girl,” Jack said.
“If you pat me on the head I’ll bite you,” Candice flirted daringly.
He laughed. “I like it better when you wag your tail, ish’tia’nay.” He stood. “Watch carefully.”
“What does that mean,ish’tia’nay?”
He grinned. “Woman.”
“Oh.”
He used a tool, like a spear, made of mesquite with a pointed, narrow end, to dig six deep, narrow holes in a circle. Then he took a green sapling and inserted one end in one hole. He put another sapling in another hole. He bent them toward each other in an arch, and tied them together with strips of yucca.
“By the way, this is women’s work. Braves never buildgohwahs. So watch carefully, because you’re going to finish this by yourself.”
“By myself?”
“I’m losing face,” he told her cheerfully. “Hand me thatsohi.”
“That’s silly. Hand you what?”
“That sapling.”
She did, watching him insert it into another hole.
“Candice, put a sapling in that hole.”
“Which hole?”
“That one.” He pointed.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked, doing as she was told. “Why don’t we just sleep under the stars?”
“Candie,ti-tonjuda!Wrong end! The other end—the thicker end—goes in first!”
“How am I supposed to know?” She reversed the sapling. “Whyarewe doing this? It seems like a lot of trouble for a few days.”
He tied the saplings together, and now the gohwahwas almost completely framed. “This is the worst I’ve ever seen,” he said disgustedly. Then he answered her question, “Because,ish’tia’nay, it is not appropriate for us to sleep outside tonight.”
Candice sighed. “Another Apache custom, I suppose?”
He glanced at her sharply, then away, staring at the frame. “Yes, you might say that.” Jack added another arch of saplings and surveyed the frame. “Okay. It will have to do. Now, pay attention. Brush next, then bear grass.”
