Moonlight Water Read Online Free

He deliberately left his mind a blank. There were some comings and goings inside there, faces, remembered bits of talk, and wisps of music, some of it his own, some that belonged to other people, some he’d never heard before. But he let it all come and go.
    When the sun went down, he went inside and wandered around the single, open octagonal room of the cabin. Funny, he’d never realized how many beautiful objects Gianni had gathered here. He had Navajo rugs, probably because his hometown was mostly Navajo, right on the border of the rez. The rugs were large and, now that Robbie looked, extraordinarily beautiful. There were baskets, woven with motifs similar to the rugs. There were wood carvings of dancing figures that must be mythological. For whatever reason, all of it pleased Robbie. He felt no need to know what it was, who made it, or what the various designs might symbolize. He stretched out on an eight-foot leather sofa and let his mind roam.
    In good time Gianni arrived with the Thai.
    Over full plates, Gianni went right to it. “Give. What’s going on?”
    Robbie told him. First, and in full, about Georgia losing the baby. Then, bluntly and briefly, about Georgia and Nora kicking him out.
    He let the information sit between them, no comment. He didn’t know any more about what it meant for his future than his buddy did.
    Gianni got up and brought them snifters of an Armagnac that probably cost a hundred bucks a bottle. “Where now?”
    â€œGianni, I have no idea.” He wanted company but wasn’t ready to bat ideas around. He turned away from Gianni and pretended to study the room. “Would you tell me something about this collection of art? I’ve never really paid attention. Extraordinary stuff.”
    Gianni led him from piece to piece. Later Robbie half-remembered terms like eye-dazzler and Two Gray Hills for the rugs and ceremonial for the baskets, but not much more. He fingered a basket woven of sumac and sealed with pine pitch so it would hold water. Robbie listened as Gianni explained that he tried to support young artists doing traditional Navajo art in new materials, letting the art change with the times while paying tribute to the past.
    Making conversation, Robbie asked about Hopi art.
    â€œI love the Navajo people, because I grew up among them. I don’t do other Native art, not Pueblo, not Anasazi, nothing.”
    Robbie suppressed a yawn.
    â€œFriend, you need some sleep.”
    â€œGianni, I see a bit of the way ahead. Tomorrow I go to the house, get my clothes and a few instruments. Then I need to hide out here until I can see things clearer, figure out what I want to do.”
    â€œWhat do you need to do in this world, except play music, make a little art?”
    Robbie held his friend’s eyes. “I don’t know. Everything. Something. I’m in the dark here, Gianni. That’s why I need time. Time to be alone long enough to figure it out.”
    In other words, I need to take over your private space. It was a lot to ask.
    â€œAnything I have, anything I can do, it’s yours.” Gianni walked to the door and turned back. “Meanwhile, I’m still protecting your ass. Georgia and Nora can get half your money, but not the house. It was bought with your money before you met Georgia, payments came out of your money, so it’s yours.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk to them.”
    â€œThat’s what you have me for.”
    *   *   *
    Robbie made two last trips to the house that was now a stranger to him, carefully avoiding Georgia and Nora. He slipped away with his favorite instruments—the Fender Stratocaster, an old Martin D-28, his accordion, and two harmonicas. His collection was a lot bigger, but these he wouldn’t do without. Then he got his keyboard. Final thought, urgent, he remembered both laptops. His music-writing programs, the digital versions of all his lead sheets.