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changed on this trip. You're so . . . real now." |
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She took his hand and led him to the dance floor, where she allowed Cyrus to amaze himself by making it through two songs without once stepping on her feet. They returned to the table and ordered hand-rolled enchiladas and chicken tacos smothered in a tart cheese sauce. For dessert Kyna had flan and Cyrus chose Navaho fry bread sprinkled with cinnamon and smothered with honey. Later, they wandered through Old Town with its Spanish town square, bandstand and Churrigueresque cathedral. Holding hands and occasionally walking single file, they explored the cramped streets. It was an unseasonably warm night and most of the shops were still open, the smiling entrepreneurs standing in the doorways smoking their illegal rolled Havanas and keeping an eye peeled for the stray tourist dollar. Kyna remained pensive. She paused at several jewelry stores but couldn't work up enough enthusiasm to buy. When she came out of the last shop, she found Cyrus talking to a wrinkled old Navaho woman pushing a street cart full of kachina dolls. Between spitting gobs of tobacco juice into the gutter, the old woman was trying to press one of her dolls into Cyrus's hand. The doll had a wolf's head and a chest covered with a rainbow-colored bead vest. Cyrus kept glancing from the doll to the old woman and shaking his head. |
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"Ten dolla'," the old peddler said. Cyrus shook his head. She spat. "Five dolla' . . . three dolla'." |
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"Cheapskate!" The old woman sent a blob of juice to the ground next to Cyrus's foot and then went on her way up the street toward a young couple trying to ride herd on three chocolate-covered little girls. |
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"You sure do attract the women," Kyna whispered. |
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"What is it about me? Do I smell like a wolf? Is my tail showing? What?" |
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