“Maiyanyi!” someone muttered. “Spirits!”

Talk of demons, whispers of bad magic, anguished exclamations of doubt and fear crisscrossed the plaza. Charley saw two of his maternal uncles rush toward the tall round windowless kiva, the ceremonial house, and clamber quickly down the ladder to take refuge within. He saw his sister Rosita pull forth the crucifix that hung between her breasts and clasp it against her cheek like some sort of amulet. He saw his father’s brother Juan make the sign of the cross, and three more men rush into the kiva. They were all talking of evil spirits, now. The pueblo bristled with television aerials, and shiny automobiles stood outside the adobe houses, but it took nothing more than a shooting star to send everybody wild with superstitious awe. Charley kicked at the dusty ground. His sister Lupe flashed past him, looking terrified. He reached out and caught her thin wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“Into the house. Devils are in the sky!”

“Sure. The kachinas are coming. They’re going to do the Fire Society dance because we don’t do it right anymore,” Charley said. He laughed.

Lupe was in no mood for Charley’s brand of sarcasm. She twisted at his grip. “Let go! Let go! She was twelve, and only a girl, but she was much stronger than he was. She planted her hand in the middle of his shallow chest and pushed hard, yanking her arm from his grasp at the same time. Charley went over on his back and lay in the dust, looking up at a sky that now had returned to normal. Lupe fled, sobbing. Charley shook his head. Crazy, all of them. Crazy with fear, crazy with religion. Why couldn’t they think? Why did they have to be Indians all the time? Look at them, running around madly, scattering cornmeal, blurting out prayers whose words were only empty sound to them, diving into the kiva, sprinting toward the church!