"Singing Sunrise" by Angela Perry

“Help me to the hill, child.”

Grandmother’s hands shook with palsy as she took mine, pulling herself upright in bed. My mother jumped forward from where she had been dozing in the ratty gold recliner beside Grandmother’s bed.

“Mother,” my mother scolded, placing her hands on Grandmother’s shoulders, “lay back. You do not need to go to the hill today.” Her voice caught as she said this, and she hastily wiped a bit of moisture from her eyes.

“Nonsense, Shining Star, I must go. Unless you would be willing to let little Fawn sing the sunrise today?” She cast her hopeful rheumy gaze on my mother, who dropped her eyes tiredly.

“Mother, honestly…” she sighed, but she moved back and allowed me to help Grandmother stand.

I wrapped a thick blanket around her light housedress, and together Mother and I supported her frail frame to the door. The door to the mobile home creaked open, letting in the cool night air. I flipped on the bare outside bulb and held the door while Mother helped Grandmother down the rickety metal stairs.

The stars had faded with the coming dawn, and the night sky was pitch black. Grandmother never faltered, however, as she stepped along the well-worn path to the Singing Hill. She had walked the same path every day since she had become a Singer of the Sunrise Chant—most of her life. It was her proud duty, she said, as it should be for every woman of the tribe.

Behind me, my boyfriend Mark appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he yawned, running his hands through his dark hair.

“Grandmother is just going to do…this weird religious thing she does every morning,” I answered, a little embarrassed.

“Really?” Mark asked, more awake now. “Is this something we can watch? I’d love to see something of your tribe’s beliefs. It would help me learn more about you.” He wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my head.

I shrugged him off, a little perturbed. “You know I’m not really into all that Indian ‘commune-with-nature’ stuff,” I muttered. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“You should be proud of your heritage, Dancing Fawn,” Mark scolded gently, hands on his hips. “It’s better than being a mutt like me, with ancestry from all over Europe…”

“Don’t call me that,” I growled, interrupting and not caring, “My name is just Fawn.”

Mark shrugged, laid back and accepting as always. “So can we watch?” he asked again, his brown eyes wide and pleading in the garish light from the bulb.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” I said grudgingly, giving in to his pathetic puppy-dog stare. “Come on.”

I took his hand and led him into the darkness. While I didn’t know the way as well as Grandmother, I could still remember the path from the daily predawn treks every day as a child. In daylight, the dirt path wound its way between clumps of sagebrush and grass to a stone outcropping on the hill. In the wee hours of the morning, it was a barely discernable pale snake winding its way through the darkness.

I shivered as we walked, the cool air creeping through my light pajamas, and Mark pulled me against his warm side. I cuddled against him and breathed in his scent, a light musk mixed with sleep, and felt my irritation ebb.

“Thanks for coming here with me,” I whispered into his t-shirt. “Mother says…Grandmother won’t be with us much longer. I’m glad I got to see her one more time.” I swallowed hard, feeling the knot forming in my throat again.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, pulling me closer and stroking my hair, “I know how important family can be. I couldn’t stand to let you take a bus alone for 200 miles. It’s so much better to be with someone. I’m just glad the old car made it here.”

A haunting melody that I had not heard since I’d left for college floated over the desert, stopping us both in our tracks. The song rose, wavering at first in Grandmother’s aged voice, then gaining strength as it drifted toward the east. We stood spellbound as the music wove a wordless tapestry against the silence of the dawn. It started out dark and low, speaking of silence and peace and quiet. It progressed into a warm melody, filled with strange trills that had always reminded me of insects and birds singing. A rim of light appeared on the far horizon. The song quickened, painting bright colors across the sky, reds and oranges and pinks. With a final, bursting crescendo, the sun crested the horizon in all its glory, and the last of the song floated away across the flat prairie.

We stood frozen for a few moments longer, until the movement of Mother and Grandmother toward us broke the spell. Mark let out the breath he had been holding in a gasp.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he whispered. At that moment, I was inclined to agree with him.

By the time we had gotten Grandmother back to the trailer and into bed again, though, the song’s effect had worn off. I felt tired and grumpy, having sat up most of the night with Grandmother, only to be rousted before dawn for the stupid Sunrise Chant. I retreated to the tiny bathroom, coming out only when I smelled frying bacon.

When I came out, I found Mark sitting next to Grandmother, engrossed in the tales she insisted on telling anyone who would listen. After ten seconds, I had pegged this tale as “The Story of How the Spirits Guided Me to Dancing Fawn’s Grandfather.” I went into the kitchen for breakfast, patting my Grandmother on the shoulder as I passed. I loved her, but did it always have to be the same old stories? At least it wasn’t “How Adorable Dancing Fawn Looked at her First Spirit Ceremony.”

I kissed my mother on the cheek as I entered the kitchen, grateful not to be cooking for a change. Grabbing two plates, one for me and one for Mark, I went back into the living room, where Grandmother’s bed was set up against one wall. Luckily, I was just in time to hear the last of the tale.

I handed Mark his breakfast and began munching on a sausage. Grandmother did not eat breakfast any longer, claiming that old people were growing smaller, not larger, and therefore did not need as much food. Mark took his breakfast and turned toward me, his eyes sparkling.

“Now what did she tell you,” I moaned, recognizing his expression. It was the same expression he had when he discovered an interesting tidbit in biology.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you could learn that song?” he asked, his expression reproachful. “What a beautiful, wonderful tradition! And you could be a part of that!”

“I’d really rather not go into this right now,” I sighed with a glance at Grandmother.

“But your grandmother says that she is the last person in the tribe who performs the ceremony,” Mark protested. “You really should learn the song, just so that the tradition won’t d….” he paused, then finished awkwardly, “won’t disappear.”

I squeezed Grandmother’s hand. “I know the song, Mark. She wants me to become a Singer. That’s different. Nice try, Grandmother, but getting Mark on your side is not going to convince me to get up at an ungodly hour for the rest of my life. I love the song, I do, but I’ve moved on to things outside of the old traditions. You know that. We talked about it before I went to college.”

Grandmother met my eyes, and her expression made my conscience twinge just a little.

“Child, your mother has already denied the gift of the Song. But you are still young enough to change your mind. You will be able to become a Singer as long as you choose before your twenty-first birthday.” Her voice quavered. “Please, child, think of the world you inhabit. Without the sun, we are lost. I cannot force you, but I beg you. If you do not do this, who will be here to sing the sunrise?”

“Oh Grandmother.” I gave her a hug, tears starting in my eyes. “I love you. We don’t have very long together. Please don’t make this time difficult.”

I sat back, taking a deep breath. “Remember when I told you how the Earth is a sphere, and how when it spins it appears to make the sun rise? The sun will always rise, whether I sing or you sing or no one sings. One person does not control the sun. It’s science.”

“Our people have the true science, little Fawn,” Grandmother’s voiced rasped, her face puckered with sorrow, “If only you could see.”

I hated when my Grandmother made me feel like this. Couldn’t she see I didn’t want to believe this nonsense any more? Why did she feel like she had to make our last moments so painful? I stood and turned away, wrapping my arms around myself and staring out the window. I struggled to keep back the tears. Why couldn’t she just let me choose my own way?

A strong arm crept around my shoulders. “Sweetheart,” Mark whispered into my ear, “your twenty-first birthday isn’t for another month. Rather than let this thing come between you and your grandmother now, why not make a compromise.”

“What?” I muttered, sniffling, my eyes on the sage brush outside the cracked window.

“Your Grandmother will be gone within the next couple of days. Simply tell her that you will become Singer if, once she has passed on, the need for it arises.”

I snorted softly. “You mean, I’ll be Singer if the sun doesn’t rise?”

“Exactly,” Mark said softly. “It would set her mind at ease.”

I nodded. “You’re right. Maybe then she can let it go”

I turned and walked back to Grandmother’s bedside.

“Mark has come up with a solution,” I told her, sitting beside the bed. “I agree to become a Singer after you pass on if, and only if, it is needed.”

Grandmother’s face lit up beautifully. Her eyes cleared, and for a moment I believed she could see past the cataracts as she looked at me.

“My child, you have no idea how wonderful it is that you have agreed to do this. Are you sure you choose this of your own free will?”

I nodded and smiled, feeling a weight lift from my heart. For so long, this had come between us, and now finally Grandmother and I could be at peace with each other.

Grandmother turned to Mark. “Will you, who are her soul mate, support her in this heavy responsibility?”

Mark, blushing a little at being called a “soul mate,” smiled and agreed. If possible, Grandmother’s smile grew even more radiant.

“At last,” she sighed, “now I can leave this earthly shell and move on to live with those who have gone before.”

Her eyes closed, and she was gone.

The rest of the morning is blurred in my mind. I remember crying a lot. Mark and Mother cried too. Mother called the coroner, who traveled the five-mile long dirt road to the beat-up trailer. I called several distant relatives and the tribal council to tell them the news.

Finally, exhausted from all the grieving and arrangements of the day, I drove into town with Mark to find a hotel. My emotions felt too raw to spend the night in the home where Grandmother had lived most of her adult life. Mark was silent, providing support merely by being next me, stroking my hair as we drove.

We collapsed into bed in the small, run-down motel that was all the town had to offer. As we were drifting off to sleep, I heard Mark whisper, “I’m proud of you, Dancing Fawn. You did the right thing for your grandmother.”

The alarm on the bedside clock jolted me awake at four a.m. Though it was foolish, I was determined to keep my final promise to Grandmother. As I got out of bed, Mark awoke and drowsily insisted on joining me to watch the sunrise. Together we sat in front of the motel, huddled under a borrowed blanket from the room, and faced the east.

Sunrise never came.