Tommy Cheis
Rules for Life and Death
Deep in the remotest part of the Gila Wilderness of New Mexico, two Chiricahua men lay prone on a granite outcrop. Even with the sun down, the rock beneath their bodies held on to the high heat of the day, keeping them comfortable. They rested on the northern rim of Dzilnalin, an extinct caldera which sloped sharply down through two thousand feet of dense boulder scatters and tree cover to a valley bisected by bone-dry Chiricahua Creek. A granite mesa, dusted with pine stands—some charred from a recent fire—connected the Creek to Bursum Road four miles north.
The mesa ranged from 50 to 1000 feet above the surrounding terrain. The formation resembled a horseshoe crab, the body of which, twelve thousand feet in diameter, fanned into three rock fingers separated by old growth forest. The whole of the mesa had flattened, save for two prominent mounds center and east, by great unseen forces long before the men had arrived. Longer ago even, than their people had arrived. A tail of eroding rock ran seven thousand feet west, brushing the Creek at twelve hundred feet above the water.
The night was cool and still. “Used to be a volcano, jefe?” said a big long-haired dark-skinned Chiricahua in jeans and a flannel, scanning the mesa below them through a pair of binoculars. Tooahyaysay, whose name, translated into English, means He Swims After His Horses. A name that resulted from an unfortunate incident crossing a stream. He did government contracting work to pay the bills. He didn’t talk much about the work—it was hush-hush anyway—and it was hard to make friends after Afghanistan.
He wasn’t lonely—he had his brother—but he had a hard time making anything last with the women who pursued him. The handful of women who lasted beyond a week quickly found out that he’d cordoned himself off, that they wouldn’t get much from him beyond a good time. He’d quit drinking six months ago, and every day was still a struggle not to roll to his rifle and blow out his brains.
The other Chiricahua, an outfitter, old enough to show gray at the temples, but the brother to the first, nodded. “Taller than Dzilnalin until it blew, accordin’ to elders,” said Mbatsu, whose name, written in the language of the last in a long line of invaders of Nde benah, or Chiricahua Land, means Wolf Horse. What he’d seen in Iraq had mostly closed his mouth, but he was a good listener, and an even better pathfinder and did most of his talking to his horses. He had stumbled upon what lay below on a solo trip yesterday and, still reeling from the shock, needed his brother’s opinion. Two heads were better than one. And given the situation, no mistakes were allowed.
Tooahyaysay pointed with his lips. “Does this place have a name?”
“Nothin’ official.” Vic lip-pointed to the extreme northeast, where the most distal aspect of the northernmost finger was open and rose gradually above the surrounding terrain, forming a natural funnel fifty feet wide allowing entry onto the mesa. A rudimentary road snaked eight thousand feet from the northeast through the funnel as far as the base of the fingers. It was still unfit for the mining vehicles belonging to the Alliant Rare Earth Metals Company, headquartered in London and Sydney, but they would be rolling along it soon.
So testified the legion of invasive contrivances—enormous roaring machines belching greasy smoke, painted in alpine Gila camouflage to match rocks, sky, and soil. A giant dump truck filled with sand and gravel. Gleaming graders. Massive steamrollers. Smoking pavers.
Just south of the mesa’s center, hard against the base of a conical prominence rising three hundred feet to nine thousand feet of altitude, two great drilling rigs bored into the ground.
Mbatsu whispered to his brother. “What you see, shikisn?”
“Stupidity on stilts. Mining’s prohibited in the Wilderness. The feds will swoop in and break up their party any minute now.”
“You would think so, but this company’s been working this spot for weeks now from the look of it. Unmolested, hey.”
Tooahyaysay surveyed the scene again. “So, you think Alliant’s covert op has been secretly blessed by the White House? And they’re so far deep in the middle of nowhere that no one will notice until they’ve pulled up enough rare earth ore to make this worthwhile?”
“Could be, hey.”
Tooahyaysay gritted his teeth. “Then what are we going to do about it?”
“Hard to say.”
“To hell with that, bro. This place is sacred.”
“True. But do you know why?”
“I thought I did, but go ahead, big brother, and tell me your version of the Moccasin Story. I know you’ll burst if you don’t.”
Mbatsu chuckled a bit. “You ready?”
“Itching,” said Tooahyaysay.
“This is how I heard it,” Mbatsu explained. The wind picks up. “A long time ago, before Yusen gave us fire, Coyote beat him to the punch.”
“Naughty beast,” Tooahyaysay added, “altering the natural order of things.”
Mbatsu nodded. “When Yusen saw Coyote’s trick, he took back Day, plungin’ the world into eternal Night.”
“Such is the punishment for defying Creator,” Tooahyaysay said.
“This pleased the Night Animals, who did their huntin’ and prowlin’ in the dark.”
“As is the wont of nocturnal beasts.”
“But it upset the Day Animals who needed light to hunt and gather, like us Chiricahua.”
“Diurnal creatures,” Tooahyaysay noted. “The balance, disrupted, had to be righted.”
“Wasn’t no love lost. They was badmouthin’ each other since time began.”
“As the White Eyes demonize us and our lifeways, so we resist them and theirs in parallel.”
“You’re always complicatin’ shit,” Mbatsu grumbled. “Too much education. Anyways. Day Animals challenged Night Animals to a duel. Deal was if Days won, Day’d return.”
“Whereas, if Night Animals prevailed, Night would reign eternal,” Tooahyaysay said, highlighting the stakes. “A Manichaean struggle. We Chiricahua, weaker than both camps, were caught in the middle.”
“Shit. You heard this dang story before, hey?”
“Once or twice,” Tooahyaysay admitted. “Mom told it better than you.”
Mbatsu couldn’t help but smile.
“But carry on,” Tooahyaysay. “I like the way you tell it.”
“Day Animals was led by Crow,” said Mbatsu. “Night Animals by Bear. That how you heard it?”
“Close,” said Tooahyaysay. “In the version I learned, the identities of both tribes’ champions are lost to history.”
Mbatsu nodded. “I can hear Mom saying that. Anyways, when Coyote got word of a battle brewin’, both sides recruited him. But Coyote bein’ Coyote said he’d switch back-and-forth to the side winnin’ in the given moment.”
Tooahyaysay smiled at the thought. “Coyote’s mercenaryism was self-serving. It’s a pure strategy when survival’s at risk.”
“Yep. So, they got to fightin’. Battle line ran down this valley and across that Mesa. Dzilnalin was to Night Animal’s backs. Day Animals faced it.”
“That jibes with my knowledge,” Tooahyaysay said, letting sand sift between his fingers. “How did the battle unspool, Mbatsu?”
“Day Animals went first. Then Night Animals. Battle raged back-and-forth so long time can’t measure it.”
“But Days finally got the upper hand when they took the battle to its third dimension. Sky.”
Mbatsu looked peeved. “You tellin’ the story, or am I?”
Tooahyaysay bit his lip. “Sorry.”
“Listen,” Mbatsu said. “At the climax, Woodpecker punched a hole through Dzilnalin. Sun washed this valley.”
“With that,” Tooahyaysay jumped in, “battle over. Night Animals lost. Day Animals won. For such were the rules antebellum.”
“An the survivin’ Night Animals took off runnin’ for their lives.”
“Pursued by the Day Animals’ champions—the avian chevaliers high in the Sky.”
“Hawk, Buzzard, and Roadrunner,” Mbatsu said, ticking them off on his long gnarled fingers. “Armed with bows and spear, they set to killin’.’”
“And lo! A regular Cannae,” Tooahyaysay added, acting out the drama with his hands and body. “Blood-soaked ground. The vanquished annihilated in place. Victorious standards unfurled.”
“Yep.” Mbatsu scanned the valley below, watching for movement and finding none. “Anyways, the most dangerous Night Animals was wiped out forever. Others got banished. Snake dove into a crevice in the Black Range. Owl hid in Ponderosas just north. Bear slid into a willow thicket Deming way. Descendants are around, still angry after twelve thousand lifetimes.”
“Vengeful, therefore dangerous. Right, Mbatsu? Just like us?”
He nodded. “Guess so. Since then, this mountain’s been holy. It teaches our four commandments.”
Tooahyaysay summarized. “Respect Creator. Don’t steal. Maintain balance. And fight like hell to restore it.”
“Damn right.”
“Rules to live by.”
“Or die by. There’s always that chance.”
Tooahyaysay nodded. “Fucking coyote. I thought we were done with all this.”
“So did I. But it’s our obligation.”
“You know how this ends, right? Not that it matters.”
Mbatsu nodded.
“I don’t mean all the legal stuff. I’m talking about what comes after.”
“When we lose in court, as we damn sure will. Mines got all the money in New Mexico, an’ all the politicians an’ judges.”
“You could have just ridden on and ignored it,” Tooahyaysay pointed out.
“Yeah,” Mbatsu said. “Guess so.”
“But then we wouldn’t be Chiricahua.”
“Nope.”
“Shima and Shita taught us well.”
“Yep.”
“Our parents are watching over us. We can’t let them down. Still.”
“You got somethin’ to say, say it.”
“Fucking coyotes,” Tooahyaysay grumbled. “Got to teach them another lesson.”
“Always,” said Mbatsu. “Until the end of the world.”
“I wrote ‘Rules for Life and Death’ to illustrate how my Chiricahua Apache people’s sacred duty to steward our lands/Ndebenah collides with ongoing U.S. and foreign colonialism in Arizona and New Mexico. I also wanted to illuminate how difficult it can be for Native vets to maintain an allegiance to the government for which we fought abroad when that same government keeps fighting us at home as it has for centuries, even if by different means and methods. Finally, I wanted to explain why, if pushed too far, our ultimate obligation, including our duty to die if necessary, is to the Creator rather than any secular power.” —Tommy Cheis
Tommy Cheis is a Chiricahua Apache guide, medicine leader, and Cochise descendant. After traveling extensively through distant lands and meeting interesting people, he lives with his horses in the Cochise Stronghold of Arizona. His stories (will) appear in Yellow Medicine Review, After Dinner Conversation, Another Chicago Magazine, Invisible City, Line Literary Review, Collateral, Puerto del Sol, and more than thirty other publications. A 2x Pushcart nominee and COL Darren L. Wright Memorial awardee, his work appears on the CLMP Reading List for Native American Month November 2024.