Savage Dawn (4 page)

Those roaming the streets of the reservation’s main
town eyed his car suspiciously as he drove by them, many of them sallow faced
and hollow-eyed as if a virus had smothered the area like a blanket, turning
them into sickly zombies. Here and there, he occasionally saw signs of his
people’s culture, buildings adorned with Indian beads and dream-catchers,
blowing gently in the wind. Few still wore clothes that faintly represented
their heritage and those that did, tended to be congregated in the same areas,
as though segregated from the rest.

Chris was saddened by the changes he was seeing in
the reservation.

Pulling into a parking lot outside the monstrous
casino that swallowed up the other buildings in its shadow, Chris prepared
himself mentally for the apathy that he would no doubt encounter from many as
he attempted to locate his grandfather. Before exiting his beaten up vehicle,
he glanced in the mirror and flinched, as though struck. His face resembled
that of many of the reservation townspeople, eyes dark and unnaturally wide as
if he’d been pumping the same poison into his system that had taken his mother.

He reminded himself that when it was all over, ‘if’
he wasn’t in handcuffs, he would have to get some sleep.

Expecting the same treatment he had received all
those years before, during his Uncle’s funeral, Chris stepped out of the car
and headed across the half-empty parking lot.
 
His eyes watched for the tell-tale signs that confirmed
he was entering unfriendly territory. Around the entrance to the casino, a few
shady looking characters loitered in the shadows, eyeing him as he made his way
towards the doors and he wondered what they were doing until one called out to
him, “Hey, kid. What you looking for?”

The voice had an unfriendly quality to it and Chris
turned towards the sound, expecting to be berated for being different or
encroaching upon land that he didn’t belong on, but instead the figure, wearing
jeans and a baggy shirt waved him over.

Chris stood where he was, unmoving.

“
You looking
for some
ice?” 

The man, who looked just as pale and goggle-eyed as
many of the other residents he had seen, smiled.  Chris saw he was missing
his front teeth, making him appear much older than he must have been.

Chris shook his head, shocked at what he had just
heard, “No, I don’t do that shit!” He turned and walked off, pushing through
the double doors into the casino, feeling anger boiling up through his veins.
It seemed everywhere he went; his people were willingly filling their bodies
with poison. He didn’t see the attraction himself, but somehow he knew why many
of his brethren had chosen to immerse themselves in drugs and alcohol. The pain
and anguish they still felt at their humiliation and eradication from their
lands by the white man still burned as brightly as it always had and with
unemployment figures in the reservation soaring, there was no hope for the
Whayani
tribe.

Little by little, they were destroying what remained
of their heritage. He gritted his teeth as he heard the beeping and buzzing of the
gambling machines and the raucous cheers of the casino denizens. This is what
they had been reduced to.

Talking to several members of the casino’s staff,
all of them white, Chris learned that his grandfather would more than likely be
in the center of the reservation where a tightly knit community of tribe
members still followed the old-ways. His grandfather, a chief, had to be
there.  Chris made his way back to the car, his body aching with
tiredness, and started the engine; sure he had found what he was looking for.
He looked back towards where his mother lay in the trunk of the car and nodded
to himself.

Almost there…

It didn’t take Chris long to locate his grandfather.
He was in a meeting with several elders, and when Chris appeared in the doorway
to the hall, all eyes fell upon the outsider.

Chris experienced the familiar feeling of being
unwelcome once more.  His grandfather, seated at the head of the long
meeting table, met his eyes and Chris knew he had recognized him because he saw
a faint glimmer of emotion.  It was fleeting though, and after a brief
moment of uncomfortable silence, his grandfather – Chief Thunder Bear – turned
to the others seated with him and continued the meeting in native tongue.

Chris couldn’t speak their language and for a few
moments he stood in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed while they ignored
him.

Trying to get their attention once more, Chris
walked over to the table and began to tell the story of his mother’s drug
addiction and subsequent death, and that he had brought her so that her spirit
could be sent off in the traditional way.

The Chief winced briefly when he learned of his
daughter’s death, but stifled any real emotional reaction. 

What the hell is wrong with this man?

When they still didn’t respond, there was only one
thing Chris could think of that would get their attention. He returned to his
car outside, gently picked up his mother’s body and returned to the meeting
hall with her cradled in his arms, wrapped in the decorative blankets she had
once used to keep her warm at night while she lay unconscious on the sofa.
Chris didn’t understand their refusal to acknowledge him or the fact that one
of their own was dead. His grandfather had lost his daughter, but he still
barely batted an eyelid at the news. What he was about to do would get their
attention, he was sure of that.

Striding up to the table once more, he placed the
body on the table top, the smell of decay now palpable, causing several of the
elders to gasp and cover their faces at the stench rising from the wrapped
body.

“There you are, grandfather.
Your
daughter
!”

He looked at his grandfather once more, and he at
last saw a reaction worthy of a father. His old face became grim and he rose
immediately up from his seat, speaking to the other elders. It sounded like he
was giving orders and at once the other elders began to file out of the hall,
followed by their leader who looked into Chris’ eyes as he passed him, grief
clearly visible in his strong brown eyes. 

Outside, they began gathering wood and it seemed
they were preparing a fire. That only meant one thing; they were going to give
his mother the funeral she deserved. Chris smiled, triumphant. He didn’t care
that they shunned him. All that mattered to him was that his mother be put to rest.

Chris
watched as the tribal elders, assisted by several younger men, collected wood
and other materials which they began carrying to an old run down shack 100
meters away on the edge of town, by a small hill

He
guessed this was yet another traditional burial ceremony of which there were
several. This must have been the express version, he thought. Still, it didn’t
matter. Express or not, he had achieved what he come here to do.

As
they worked like ants, quietly efficient, Chris carried his mother’s body back
to the car and placed it gently onto the back seat, before returning to the
clearing where they continued to gather wood and other materials. Despite their
refusal to acknowledge him, Chris walked over to the clearing and began
gathering wood, which he then placed inside the ramshackle hut with the other
materials.

Several
times, he tried to catch the eye of his grandfather as he worked; hoping time
might soften him but with every attempt it seemed as if his grandfather didn’t
even know he was there. He shrugged, they were still so proud after everything
that had happened to them. In a way, it was comforting to him to know that
there were at least some tribe members left who still valued the old ways and
would until they died. He wondered what would become of his people once his
grandfather and the other elders were gone. Would they be completely lost?

Night
was beginning to fall and the air was growing colder by the minute, causing
Chris to shiver as he stood by the doorway of the hut, watching as his
grandfather tossed some photos of his mother as a young woman onto the pile,
before turning and walking off to stand a few meters away. The activity around
the hut was dying down now and Chris realized they were almost ready to begin.
As he passed the hut on his way to his grandfather he saw clothing laid out
around the pile of wood and other artifacts. It was a child’s clothing, and he
guessed it was his mother’s from long. It must have been painful for his
grandfather to burn the traces of her away like this.

He
approached his grandfather with the intention of asking him to take his
mother’s body and set it atop the wood within the hut so they could begin but
before he could utter a word, the hut was lit and began to burn brightly, the
flames traveling high up the sides of the walls of the hut already, in the
windless night that had fallen while they worked.

“Aren’t
you going to put her body in there?” Chris asked his grandfather, trying to
meet his eyes. 

His
grandfather simply stared at the fire as it grew more intense, as did the other
elders and tribesmen gathered around. No one moved. Only the crackle of the steadily
growing fire could be heard and Chris began to panic.

“Please,
someone, help me with the body?” Chris pleaded but they ignored him.

He
turned and saw that the hut was engulfed in flames now, the wood creaking and
popping as the fire devoured it hungrily. Anger coursing through his veins, he
ran to his car and heaved his mother up onto his shoulder before turning and
running with her to the hut, his aching body protesting under the strain.

The
doorway to the hut was still relatively untouched by fire and Chris leapt
through the flames beginning to lick around the door frame. Once inside the
quickly growing inferno, he said goodbye to his mother, tears suddenly
beginning to fall at once as he released her body and let it fall onto the
burning wood with a shower of glowing orange sparks.

The
hut groaned loudly and a sudden loud pitched noise began as the structure began
to give way around him. If he didn’t act quickly he would be burned along with
his mother. It wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready to die; there was still so much to
do.

Chris
covered his face with his arms and leapt through the burning doorway with
seconds to spare. As he ran from the structure, the roof caved in and the walls
began to fall inwards, no longer able to stand the heat.   He paused,
watching the hypnotic flames and the smoke rising up into the night sky.

Still
furious, now with tears streaming down his face, he strode past the watching
elders and his grandfather.  They were stone faced and as implacable as
ever.  He glared at them, unable to believe the way they refused to mourn
his mother.

There
was no use hanging around any longer.  He couldn’t stay a second longer
with this sorry excuse for a tribe.

As
he walked by them, Chris found that he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer,

“Is
this what you wanted?  She was sick… not lost, not gone,
not
forgotten!  Trust me on that.  I can never
forget..."

He
waved his hands at the old men in anger and walked away into the night, heading
for his car. Tears continued to stream from his eyes as he, at last, would
allow
himself
to experience the horror and bottomless
pit of regret that he had felt at his mother’s passing.

His
body smoldering in the cool air, still hot from his jump into the fire, Chris
disappeared into the night.

STAY TUNED…

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The
Savage Series continues with
Episode Two: Savage Heart,
scheduled for
release in April of 2013.

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