A Day in the Life of Santa
Christmas is the season when everyone, or at least the young at heart and those magically inclined, wants the answer to the question. “Is there a Santa?” And for once, I know the answer. It all started when Susie, a local businesswoman who carries my book said, “Would you be the town’s Santa this year?” At first I was somewhat thrown back by the question. For yes, while I do have a white beard, and yes, I have white hair, and yes, I am somewhat horizontally challenged, the image that I was trying to display that morning while signing books was of Papa Hemingway. It was somewhat disconcerting to find that I overshot my mark and somehow entered the fourth stage of Santa life.
You see, I have passed through the great stages of life: (1) You believe in Santa, (2) You do not believe in Santa, (3) You are Santa, (4) and finally, You look like Santa. It’s the ‘You look like Santa’ stage that allows me to come to you now and reveal the answer to the question that all inquiring minds really want to know. I am going to report, as they say, from the front line.
Unfortunately for me, I was not alone in the store the morning Susie made the request, for at my elbow was my wife Marilyn. Before I could get to the “Gee, Susie, I would love to, but that is the day (fill in the blank with any important, and non postponable event),” Marilyn whispered, “You’d be so cute.” Now consider that after forty-five years of marriage, being cute to your life companion is no small thing. Gone are the days when she sees me as handsome or heroic, so cute is even better than OK. But, while I might in fact be available, I was not going to be easy. I gave Susie the all-purpose, postponement fallback line: “Let me check my calendar and get back to you.” It was sort of an “I’ll have my people, call your people” gambit.
Needless to say, given that “my people” thought I’d make a cute Santa, the gambit failed. The day finally arrived, and there I was in full regalia. The suit the town provided fit nicely and without padding. I was somewhat put off by the fact that the belt was a tiny bit short, a matter which Marilyn readily fixed. I really must do something about the horizontally challenged issue. Perhaps a New Year’s Resolution is in order.
Regardless, I was resplendent! You just have to love a man in uniform. The mirror returned a figure, if not handsome, surely cute. After a few practiced “HO HO HOs,” I was off to city hall (no, no reindeer, I took my car). There I was met by two small girls dressed in green tights and pointy hats, who were cold, but excited to perform the elfin duties that day. Thankfully, within minutes, our conveyance arrived, a small train pulled by a John Deere lawn tractor. Did I mention that we live in a small rural town?
During the ride down mainstreet, the sidewalks were empty. I wondered whether anyone would be out to see Santa on such a day. As Santa’s Workshop came into view, there they were, parents, grandparents, toddlers and tweens, lined up all the way around the square, smiling, and waving, warmed by heavy coats and mittens, and the Christmas spirit. A few Ho Ho Ho’s later, and we were set.
One by one, the elves presented every child to Santa Claus. Well, almost every child - some only peeked from behind Mom’s legs. But, most hopped onto my lap with eyes wide in anticipation and aspiration in their hearts. Clearly and boldly they stated their dreams and wishes: “I want a Hanna Montana Bean Bag Chair…” “I want a pony…” “I want a doll that pees…” “I want a combine…” “I want a robot…” One young boy patiently worked his way to the head of the line, only to run screaming for the door, as if chased by demons. He and his Dad returned to the back of the line to try again later. I saw him several times that morning, or at least the back of him as he headed for the door. Finally, success. He wants a Transformer mask, preferably Optimus Prime. A few times, I saw parents wince, as they heard their child’s requests. These are hard times for small town
Hour after hour they came, the large, the small, the young, and the not so young. The smallest was a five week old, her proud young mother standing by – dad, camera in hand, recording the event. A family legacy in the making, this was their first picture of many to be taken over the years with Santa. I suppose the oldest to sit on my lap were the two cheerleaders, each whispering to Santa their gift desires. The girls giggled as they posed for the picture. Perhaps they came in jest, or maybe to recapture memories of Christmas past. I shall refrain from revealing the desires of these two young women. Let me just summarize their lists in the immortal words of Jan Barrett, "Veni, vidi, Visa.” (We came, we saw, we went shopping.)
Our little farming community has a good crop of kids this year. I know this because in all of my questioning, “ Were you good or bad this year,” all confirmed their goodness. Well, there was a question about one child. He climbed onto my lap and immediately pulled my beard. He was shocked to find that it was real. No faux Santa here. As he left, I heard him say to his grandfather, “He’s the real Santa, PawPaw, he has white nose hair.”
How quickly did the day pass? In a heartbeat. A blink of an eye, a wrinkle of the nose, and it was done. Such beautiful children, loving parents, and a great tradition. Each child promised to provide chocolate chip cookies (Santa’s favorite) and to be really, really good to their mothers, and to be asleep, and not peek when I arrived on Christmas Eve. Several wanted me to know that I should not try the chimney, that maybe the door was better.
It was a good day, a day of great traditions, a cold day made warm by the love of family and friends. Why did the parents bundle up and bring their kids into the cold morning? It is because Santa and the Spirit of Christmas are built on the love of children and hope for the future. Like the season, the day the day was quickly gone. I think I’ll go and hang out at Susie’s, not that I want to be asked again for next year, but just in case.
Much of the Flight of the Piasa deals with ancient
This was to be an unusual adventure, twenty educators whose teaching area is Asia, off for a three week foundation funded tour of the
The minority cultures professor also was attempting to carry some rather heavy political water for the State. While reviewing the minority Mongol people and their expansion into the West during the 12-1300s that gained the Mongols claim to Tibet, the Western Region, parts of Russia and Central Europe, he wanted us to understand that we needn't worry about modern Chinese expansion, as that early aggression was really Mongol minority people, not the Han. On the other hand, he used the same Mongol expansionism to assert a very strong current claim by the People’s Republic to the Uigur and Tibetan autonomous regions. Using this logic, there are large parts of
Calligraphy was my favorite class in the program. This is a very ancient art form extending back 3,000 years to the Shang pictographs scratched onto oracle bones. For the Chinese, calligraphy serves both the function of practical communication and the individual expression of art. According to the professor, calligraphy is an art form appreciated on at least two levels. The first and most basic level deals with how the work appeals to the viewer, did you like it? The second and more subtle level was an appreciation of what the calligrapher was bringing to the characters. What was the calligrapher feeling?
Professor Yang Xin demonstrated the various styles of the art form. Early clerical with its square thick lines gives an impression of strength and vigor. Cursive script from the Tang dynasty connects the characters making it somewhat difficult to read but gives an impression of freedom, vitality, and movement. It is believed that the most famous of the Tang calligraphers would do their best work after drinking to excess. When asked how they had managed such beauty, they often could not remember. One woke up in the morning with one of his hair braids soaked with ink, but sometime during the night he had completed a masterpiece. During the Song dynasty, a semi-cursive form was developed, which when viewed provides an almost immediate sense of relaxation. Finally professor Yang demonstrated the standard script form, which follows a set of very prescriptive rules, and gives an impression of calm and balance.
When done well the art of calligraphy brings the mentality of the calligrapher onto the page. What emotions were shaping the characters? Our professor was a very sprightly eighty-year-old, who looked to be about sixty-five. One of his demonstration characters was spring. The lines were light, the curves gentle, like a young woman at dance. The positive nature of the season, and perhaps more importantly the positive nature of the professor, appeared on the page. When asked if he could show the emotion anger in his calligraphy, he smiled and said that it would be difficult, as that was not an emotion he had felt for over a decade. Professor Yang attributes his longevity and ability to postpone aging to calligraphy, which he described as practicing tai chi on a piece of paper. It was a great lesson, not only a presentation on paper but a glimpse into the soul of the man.
If I am giving the impression that our stay in
One funny result of our program at
Tomorrow we are off to
Our first destination was the capital city of the Xingjian Autonomous Region. This is a dry land, about 60% mountainous, 30% desert, and 10% pasture and oasis. If you divided the land into the designation of livable and non-livable, you would quickly see how precious the small areas of pasture and oasis truly are, which partially explains why these have been fought over for thousands of years.
For the capital city
That evening we walked across the street from the hotel to a public square. The place was filled with throngs of people dancing, playing games, and doing crafts, while others sat watching a movie being projected on a large theater-sized video screen. A good time was being had by all, lots of people enjoying a warm night with friends and family. One glance around the square would tell you that you are no longer in Han (Chinese) country. The people look more like Turks or Afghans, prominent features, beautiful brown skin. One of the women of our group was asked to dance and found herself ballroom dancing with a very gifted partner. It was interesting to note, that as he asked her to dance, he made the point of telling her he was Han nationality. Anyway, it was lovely, the night was clear, the people friendly, and the children seemed free to run and play as they pleased. The tenseness that is often felt in American parks, where parents watch over their children for fear of strangers, was absent in the square. On this night, the children were free to run and play and to be innocent children. How lucky for them, how sad and crazy for us.
The next morning I awoke and went for an early morning walk to watch
The museum is worth the visit and houses many artifacts from the Xingjian region but the recently discovered Caucasian mummies are the main attractions. In the slightly darkened room they were like sleepers waiting the morning light. The mummies had been buried lying on their backs, with legs slightly bent, and heads positioned on a pillow. The hot dry alkaline dessert soil had preserved them in this posture for thousands of years. The mummies come from a culture associated with the ancient city of
In another section of the museum, one display showed artifacts which our guide described as coming from an area apparently dominated by females. Most of the artifacts were commonplace, bows, arrows, pottery pieces. One however, was unusual enough for mention, a wooden phallus, but I will allow someone else to explain its historical significance.
The mummies were literally astounding with their beautifully preserved angular faces and related artifacts. In that no pictures were allowed to be taken in the museum, I thought that I might buy some postcards or perhaps a book showing pictures of the mummies from the museum gift shop. However, I was surprised to find that no postcards were available, and the only book showing pictures of the mummies was being offered at over 700 Yuan, which is a bit over $80.00 USD. This would be a very high price for such a book, even if you were in
Tomorrow we are off to the oasis city of
Dun Huang, Xingjian Autonomous Region
Two thousand years ago Dun Huang was a strategically important city and a hub of international trade and cultural diffusion. Some scholars believe that there are four influential cultural systems in the world: Chinese, Indian, Greek, and Islam. All of these played their part in shaping the city of
On our first morning, we visited a nearby ancient Buddhist center. According to tradition, work on the Mogao Grotto was begun by the monk Yuezun who in 366 BCE saw a halo of lights along a desert cliff face near Dun Huang. Feeling that these lights represented 1,000 Buddhist spirits, the monk began to dig a cave for meditation on the spot. This humble beginning was to become a grotto of literally hundreds of caves containing a vast collection of Buddhist art. Although earthquakes have closed many caves, five hundred are still open and contain thousands of Buddhist artifacts (statues, frescoes, stupas), treasures from a dozen dynasties. One of the caves (no. 17) contained a hidden library of documents (about 40,000), Jewish, Nestorian, Manichaean, Persian, Chinese, Roman, Arabic, and Tibetan - many of these were scooped up by turn of the last century archaeologists and found their way to the West. The word "theft" is used often in the guide’s presentation.
Museums in the
I was somewhat disturbed by this as he was one of my boyhood heroes, and some believe that Warner is the inspiration for the character “Indiana Jones.” So is he villain or boy scout? As with many questions, the answer depends on the reference point. For the citizens of
In one citation he writes of White Russian deserters who had fled across the mountains only to be interned in the caves for six months. In their boredom and ignorance they had scratched their names on the walls and built fires in the caves. “It was with shock that I traced, on the oval faces and calm mouths, the foul scratches of Slavic obscenity and the regimental numbers which Ivan and his folk had left there.” Warner concluded that “Obviously some specimens of these paintings must be secured for study at home and more important still, for safe-keeping against further vandalism.
So at one level Warner is the protector of the artworks. Yet, before we give him full credit, we should note that he had brought the chemicals for removing the frescoes with him on the expedition, prior to any knowledge of the vandalism. But, the argument can still be made that at the turn of the last century
That afternoon we did a complete change of pace and toured a dune area known as
That evening we went to the night market in Dun Huang. We walked among tables of dried fruits, local crafts, and food stalls. The air was warm, the people friendly and the companionship convivial. Somewhere during the night sitting at a picnic table watching the crowds go by, each of us were able to put our Chinese language skills to use. "Pijou, xie, xie, bing da." If my memory serves that can be very loosely translated into “cold beer please.” In the desert, one must always avoid dehydration.
The next morning we are off again, this time to the far western remains of the
Once we arrived at that section of the Great Wall the trip across the desert was quickly forgotten, it was wonderful. The wall itself has shrunken down to ruins about five foot high and two to three foot across extending out into the desert. The outer facade of the wall had been worn off and you can see the mud wall still bound together by reeds taken from a nearby river. Off in the distance was a large structure known as the Jade Gate. Two thousand years ago this served as a customs entry point at the very edge of
along which technology, goods and culture moved back and forth across the frontier. Looking at the remains of the Great Wall and the Jade Gate it occurred to me that in order to protect the frontier the early Chinese would have had to maintain a large garrison force in the area. Yet, today that appears to be impossible. Perhaps the climate has changed, for today the land is barren, the nearby river valley small, and looking out over the desert; you had to be impressed by the vast aloneness that is the Gobi desert. .
Dun Huang was perhaps my favorite stop in northwest
Turpan - Xingjian Autonomous Region – People’s Republic of
This morning we are off by bus to the small oasis town of
The current city of
- Lowest place
- Sweetest place – think of the horse nipple grapes
- Hottest place – up to 50 degrees centigrade – ground temperature can cook eggs
- Driest place
The harsh climate has created a culture where the people arise at about 4:00am, work until 10:00 go home for a midday break, and then return to work after 3:00pm and work into the night. It is common for the homes to contain underground rooms. The city itself is made possible by a wonderful but ancient underground water system known as the Karez. Locals tell me that
The area is known for its raisins, which are picked and dried in beautiful brick buildings, where bricks are alternately left out of the walls to allow for airflow during drying. The raisins are sold as two grades, those dried for fifteen days in the buildings, and those soaked in chemicals to speed up the process. Given our recent adventures with the Chinese Food and Drug Administration, if given the choice go for the natural process.
This is Uyghur country (Muslim) so you would not anticipate wine making, but it is also the People’s Republic.
Our lunch made it very obvious that we were not in Han country. The sign above the restaurant gave its name in Uyghur, Chinese, and English. Some establishments actually had an additional line in Cyrillic. The dishes were mostly mutton, and very spicy, while the entertainment seemed almost Middle Eastern. It was at lunch that I had an interesting conversation about whether Muslims and non Muslims could marry. Our Uyghur guide assured me that of course they can. Well he did note that there were a few details that needed to be concluded before the marriage could be consummated, such as having the non Muslim partner go to the hospital to have his or her stomach pumped (cleansed) and then becoming a Muslim. Outside of that, the process is easy. OK, our Muslim guide tells me that these marriages really never work out, but it is allowable, just not recommended.
In the evening we went to a small local musical theater near the hotel. It was fun and colorful with traditional music and dancing. The troupe seemed almost like a family, perhaps something you might find at Branson, MO. Somewhere after the intermission it occurred to me (based on my Branson MO experience) that we were about to get to the part of the program where members of the audience are brought on stage to dance with the performers. Given that this is not a part of the program I enjoy, and being a man with white hair, and full white beard, who always seems to stick out in an audience, and is a natural for selection, I decided to leave early. So it was back to the hotel for a cool shower, and a long night sleep. I had barely gotten into bed when there was a knock on the door. Cracking the door, I found a beautiful young Chinese woman offering a massage. The phrase, “old enough to know better,” comes to mind, and in actual fact given my white hair and beard, my Father Christmas physique, and wedding ring which was at least twice as old as the young woman at the door, it was not a difficult decision. I thanked her for the offer, declined, and was off to bed.
The next morning breakfasting with the group, I found that after last night’s show they had gone together to a local massage parlor for a foot massage. Funny how the services offered to the men and women were so different. According to the breakfast buzz around the table, the women were taken to another room and received a foot massage, while the men were offered a service known as “f..kee” which if unfamiliar was repeated several times and accompanied by the explanatory sign language of the fingers of one hand forming a circle, while a finger of the other was pushed through the circle. Again, and all of this is hearsay only, the men refused the services explaining that they really did want a foot massage. One of the guys said that he explained his refusal with the phrase, “Big toe, not big Joe.” Now that is a neat phrase, in fact it sounds like one that I might have thought up, but generally long after the actual event had occurred, as something I said, I said, but really hadn’t. If he really did say that, I wonder how it was translated. Remember that the Kentucky Fried Chicken slogan of “Finger Licking Good,” somehow translates to “You’ll eat your fingers off,” in Chinese. Anyway, listening to the conversation that morning, I wondered if there was a group of young women gathered at another breakfast table in town, discussing what service the da bie zhi (big nose) had requested last night. I could only imagine their horror, and disgust, as they speculated about what he wanted, something with a guy named Joe, that involved using his toes. But, I am letting my imagination get away from me, the situation made for memorable breakfast conversation, and many colorful jokes during the day. Travel does broaden one.
We are now off to Kasgar and the Great Central Asia Market Kasgar and the Great
We arrived in the late afternoon, a bit grubby and tired. The hotel was modern and comfortable and offered that treasure of oriental courtesy, a hot, damp towel upon your arrival to clean your face and hands. For myself, I wanted nothing more exciting than a bath, fresh clothes, an early dinner and a long sleep. By five the next morning, I was out of the hotel refreshed and eager to walk streets that had once been traversed by Marco Polo. This was Kasgar, a crown jewel of the
However, as I walked that morning it became clear that the glories of the past were in the past. The “Great Game” has been played, and now the city is but a backwater site on the outer fringes of
One thing became very clear as I walked in the
That morning we were off to visit several mosques and the family tomb of the Moslem saint Abakh Hoja. We visited several Moslem sites, some small and precious, some large and magnificent. The architecture of Islam ranks among the most beautiful in the world. One large mosque was empty and barren. During the Cultural Revolution the mosque had been visited by the Red Guard and trashed beyond use. It still stands and is part of the tour, I suppose it is providing a constant reminder to the Uyghurs that the government of the People’s Republic of
The last building we visited that morning was beautiful but in dire need of upkeep. At the end of the visit the guide told us that the site was not really considered a holy Moslem site because the scholar for whom it had been built was from the Sufi sect. Given that the majority Muslim population in
We passed the afternoon visiting historical sites, and as the day ended we were allowed to join a family in their courtyard, which was very nice on their part and interesting to me. Although plain and somewhat humble by outside standards, the courtyard was comfortable, the kids bright, and the family friendly. These are a beautiful proud people, and our guide Iman was like a Uyghur prince among them.
The next morning we were scheduled to see the Great Central Asia Market. I awoke early and took a cab to the site as I wanted to see the place set up. As the sun came up herds of goats, sheep, cattle, people on donkey carts piled high with just about every imaginable goods you could think of began to arrive. You want a whip, second row, third vender. How about a side of sheep, the meat markets are on the first row, you can’t miss them. Stones used for healing, there is a guy carrying those about and is eager to sell you some. Tibetan Saffron, I do remember seeing that somewhere and very inexpensive. In the early morning light as the animals are being tied to lines, it periodically felt like I was about to participate in an Asian version of running with the bulls, but it finally settled down and there you were, The Great Central Asian Market. This is an absolute must see, almost beyond words. I am sure that Marco Polo himself would be dazzled by the assortment of goods and people who come to this place every Sunday morning. There are actually two parts to the market, the one I visited in the morning which as wildly wonderful, and the second later in the day with large areas of venders selling everything from Head and Shoulder Shampoo, to you name it. In the spaces between the regular stores are hundreds of hawkers who carry about all sorts of neat things. After haggling with one for a healing stone, he told me incredible news. “You are my brother.” As my good brother, he was going to give me a special price. If you can’t trust relatives, who can you trust?
This is to be our last day along the
New Work Draft - Sample Chapters
Working Title - Queens of Cahokia
Chapter 1 – She Who Remembers
The strain of placing the limestone slabs into the wall pulled at her muscles. Snow Pine rubbed her back, relaxed in the half darkness, and surveyed her work with satisfaction. Cooled by the perspiration of her efforts, she watched as the boy played, moving back and forth between the light and darkness marking the cave entrance. She picked up another broken slab of limestone, heavy and cold to the touch. With each placement the opening into the shallow alcove became smaller. Soon my love, you will be safe she thought, and placed the next stone in the wall erected to protect the body of Sun Kai from discovery by anyone or anything that might seek shelter in the cave. “My love, what shall I do without you?” she asked aloud, knowing that only stillness would answer. At first she had planned to block the outer entrance to the cave as a way of protecting the body, but the idea that this would mean that she herself could never again visit this place pushed that from her mind.
The opening had shrunken to the size of a single stone, which she picked from the pile, then hesitated in the placement. Two worlds, two lives, she thought, one which began long ago in an ancient land and belonged to the man who now lay hidden behind the stone barrier. How far they had come, how many leagues from home, and now his body lay in this cave beyond any map. She smiled as bittersweet thoughts of him filled her mind: his smell, the sound of his voice, his dreams, the way his body felt. Even as she entered this second life beyond the cave entrance, she knew that her love for Sun Kai would never change. Not while I breathe, she thought. His last words again came to mind, a final request that she “watch, wait, and remember.” He was right. One day his people would come, and she must be ready so that his body could be taken and buried in his homeland. He deserves that, she thought, to be buried with his ancestors, not here, not lost and alone. Steeling her resolve for the task she placed the last stone.
The alcove sealed, she stretched and pushed her fingers into the muscles of her back, massaging away the strain. Her attention was brought to the cave entrance as the playing boy bounced a rock off the wall and yelled in pleasure. She called to him, “Be careful out there, Little Sun.” The boy was a miniature copy of his father, tall and thin, dark of eye and hair. Feeling the knots in her back release, she moved toward the light, scooped up the child, and stepped into the day. The boy wriggled in her arms, and she tossed him into the air. The next life had begun, “I will watch, wait and remember” she sang to the boy, “I am she who remembers.”
The light of the day lit her hair and warmed her body as she moved down the trail. The path was little more than an animal trail and she noted with approval the trees, bushes, vines, flowers, and grasses that filled this wild and verdant place. Looking back to the cave’s entrance located high on the hillside overlooking the trail, she was satisfied that the opening was hidden among the bushes and vines. It will do, she thought, it will do.
Her stride was strong and sure, and her eyes warmed in delight at the gurgling of the little boy balanced on her shoulders. Although she had been the wife of Sun Kai and had made the trip with him from Chin’in, Snow Pine’s full body, face with strong nose and chin, spoke more of Mediterranean Europe than
Returning to the trail, Snow Pine turned her attention to the horizon and the small notch that indicated the pass that led to the village of the Trading People, and moved toward it. Moving toward the pass her mind went back to the morning she and Sun Kai had arrived in this new land. The day had been warm, the beach white, and as they came ashore it had seemed as if the gods and all the ancestors were smiling. Snow Pine shook her head in remembrance and disbelief. Three years ago, she thought, so long ago. It had all seemed so good, she; Sun Kai, and the others, a new life, in a new land.
She reached up and touched the scar that ran from her hairline down to her left eye. Our first months here were sweet, she thought, but it did not last. Her mind recalled the night when the barbarians had overwhelmed the group and tears glistened at the edge of her eyes. Snow Pine shook her head ruefully, how quickly happiness fades. Her last memory of that terrible night was the Shaman’s evil face laughing as he swung the bludgeon.
For a period following the attack, she lived in a shadow-land of senses but no clarity of time and place. She remembered voices, beatings, being shoved along, stumbling until her legs folded beneath her and then being pulled along the ground, but none of this reached her as her mind refused reality. Her first real memory was awakening in the bottom of a canoe. Her head ached with each paddle thrust that propelled the vessel forward. She lay there, arms and legs bound, at the bottom of the canoe. Stacked around her were blankets, shells, furs, and the moss that hung from the trees along the coast which inland tribes used for bedding. Snow Pine remembered her arrival up-river, as she was dumped onto the sandbar, pulled to her feet, and paraded back and forth, a captured slave, a thing for sale.
How terrible a time that had been, and her heart ached at her feelings of overwhelming loss. If it had not been for the boy growing in her body, she knew she would not have had the will to live. The overwhelming loss was like a dark blanket shutting out all feelings and desire for the future. Yet the one thing that kept her moving forward was the child swelling inside her belly, Sun Kai’s child. He might be dead, but his child would live. Turning her head she kissed his leg. “You saved my life, little man” she yelled, bouncing him until he laughed and grabbed her hair.
Chapter 2 - A New Home
It was not long after her arrival to the village of the Trading People that the sickness came. The disease had been especially hard on the children and nothing the Council of Elders or village Shaman recommended lowered the temperature or eased the pain. Her first thoughts were to gather herbs to protect herself and the baby within, but after seeing the suffering of the families, she dug extra roots and began offering them to the afflicted. The villagers had at first been reluctant to place their sick ones in the care of the foreign woman, but, one by one, the desperate families took her offerings. Snow Pine remembered how being needed had slowly built a bond between them. How often it is the crisis of others that bring us to life and provides the way forward, she thought.
Beaver Lodge, the village chief for harvest and trade, had been quick to see the advantage of having a healing woman in his lodge and sought to purchase her. His request to the Council of Elders had been approved, as a woman alone with a child needed the support of a man, and her reputation as a healer gave her value. After several months, following the birth of the boy, he had called upon her to become a sister wife. Snow Pine closed her eyes in remembrance, with Sun Kai dead; anyplace was as good as another. The needs of the boy sealed the decision and she had agreed.
Beaver Lodge was darker and taller than Sun Kai. His color was more like the soil of this new land, less yellow, and his eyes were not almond shaped in the manner of the people of Chin’in. When they had lain together his body weight, hair texture, and smell had at first been startling, not unpleasant, just terribly different. She remembered the nights following their coming together when he had turned his back to her and gone to sleep. It was at these times, lying awake in the darkness that she became overwhelmed by loss and cried for Sun Kai. Yet, for all the differences between the two men, there were similarities. Both were loyal to friends and family, both sought to live in harmony with the land, and both had an insatiable curiosity in regard to understanding the patterns of life that surrounded them. She remembered how excited Sun Kai had been with his plans for bringing water to their regional capital in Chin’in. No, she thought to herself; Do not spend your time remembering the past. Remember the now. Her thoughts refocused on Beaver Lodge and his appreciation and interest in the healing practices of her people and the many nights they had been spent around the fire discussing herbs she used for medicine. He had even allowed her to go on several trading trips with him to broaden her access to the flora of this new place.
What she felt for him was not the same as what she had with Sun Kai; he would never be the man of her heart, but Sun Kai was dead and Beaver Lodge was her future. He was a good man, and if she did not exactly love him, she at least respected him and perhaps that would be enough for this new life. Beaver Lodge was the civil chief among the trading people who plied the great river. Beaver Lodge is a good man, she thought. Her mind drifted back to her homeland, the Chin’in were a cultured people with many skills and technologies unknown to these people. Perhaps she could help, Beaver Lodge was a good man, and with her knowledge, perhaps she could assist him in becoming a great one.
Beaver Lodge and his family had been kind, and she quickly resigned herself to live among them alongside the great river. She had even set up a small booth to trade herbs with travelers along the river and was able to add to the family’s wealth. It was then that her life changed forever as suddenly in the night a great bird had been painted on the cliff above the village. At first it had only seemed interesting, but as the tales grew about the creature and how it ate children and threatened the village, she decided to view the thing for herself. Arriving at the foot of the cliff, she saw the painting and was overwhelmed with emotion. Someone has survived, she thought. One of her party had survived. It was too much to hope that it was Sun Kai, but someone had survived. She looked at the small hole high on the cliff wall from which the warriors said the thing came and went during the night, and she knew that there must be a second entrance. My people are advanced, she thought, but we do not fly.
That night Snow Pine made her way back to the village and a thousand questions filled her mind, but only one mattered: “Who?” That night she barely closed her eyes and in the early morning she gathered the boy, found the pouch for collecting herbs, and went to the cliff painting overlooking the village. The cliff wall was too steep and the painting too high to be reached from where she stood. There must be a second entrance, she thought, perhaps in the valley on the other side of the cliff. She placed the boy on her shoulders and moved toward the trail leading to the valley, she would go there in search of the second entrance. By the end of the first day of searching, Snow Pine again sunk into despair. Perhaps, it is not them, she thought. No, I cannot loose them again. Besides, who else would paint a Chin’in dragon.
The next morning at daylight she was up and feeding the child. “Today is the day, Little One. Today is the day!” Gathering the child, she again made her way back to the valley beyond the cliff-side painting. The second opening must be here, she thought. It must be.
And then he was there, standing in the trail before them. Snow Pines heart cried out as she looked at him. It was not the Sun Kai of her past, the man who stood tall and strong, whose very presence provided security, but rather a hurt thing, bent and dirty, who shuffled as he walked. Snow Pine’s mind raced as she ran forward; bent, dirty, or hurt, nothing could hide her recognition, it was Sun Kai. “Ancestors be blessed. It is you.” Sun Kai practically collapsed as her strong embrace pushed against his injuries. He fell back and then struggled to stand. She could see fresh blood staining his side. “Where is the cave?” she cried,” You must lay down.” He pointed upward toward a clump of bushes. Putting her arms under his and trying to avoid the injured area, Snow Pine provided support and partially carried him back to the cave. How light he now seemed almost like a child.
Sun Kai had slipped into unconsciousness, and she laid him down on her cape. Her senses rebelled at the smell of contagion that filled the space, and bile filled her mouth. This will not do, she thought as she undressed him and threw his belongings beyond the cave entrance. “Little Sun, Momma needs you to wait at the cave entrance; I will be with you soon.” The boy moved away, but she could feel that he was afraid of this place with the evil smells, and the hairy, dirty man. She looked down on the man who lay unconscious. Tears filled her eyes, and pain took her breath. I cannot lose you again, she thought, and began to take ointments and herbs from her bag.
It was the next day before Sun Kai again opened his eyes. During that time, she brought cedar boughs and sage to burn, which refreshed the cave air. Tears wet her chin and chest as she rubbed healing ointments into his wounds. She surveyed his body, there were many cuts, bruises, and breaks that had not healed properly. Yet these were things she could in time heal, what caused her most concern was a dark swelling, hot to the touch on his left abdomen. When she pushed on the place, he grunted in pain. “Ancestors, please, help,” she said, knowing that not even they could reach such a deep internal wound. She placed the boy next to his father so that the first thing he would see upon awakening was Little Sun. “Your father is a great man,” she said, “a mighty warrior”. When his eyes opened and came into focus, she smiled, and held out the boy. “Welcome back, my love, our paths have ever been one. I shall never doubt.” She then placed the boys in his arms and lay beside him careful not to push against his injuries.
Snow Pine moved along the path reliving the weeks she had spent tending Sun Kai in the cave. There had been joy in being together, but each day he had grown weaker. It was as she feared, while she could heal the cuts and bruises, her medicines could not reach his internal injuries. On the last morning, she had placed the boy in Sun Kai’s arms and lain down beside him. “Wait, watch, remember,” he said. “They will come.” His eyes then closed as if asleep, and he was gone. As she walked along, his words echoed in her mind, “They will come.. They will come,”
“But when?” she cried aloud, surprising the child who almost fell from her shoulder. Catching him, she held him close. “Look Little Sun.” She pointed to a small meadow filled with garlic and alfalfa. She gathered the roots of the garlic and alfalfa for her medicine bag, split a clove to chew, and offered the remainder to the boy. The strong fresh taste of garlic filled her mouth and nose. I will need to collect a supply of fresh mint, she thought.
“Momma, we home.” Little Sun yelled, wiggling and pointing at the village below. Looking up, Snow Pine found that her feet had carried her to the heights above the village of the Trading People and she paused. The village lay above the waterline along the banks of a lazy turn in the great river. At the waters edge canoes in great number were pulled up on the beach, indicating that traders were gathered for market. She could see clusters of people moving among the trading stalls, which formed the village market. Each merchant had built a shelter to keep out the sun and afternoon rains and displayed their goods on blankets. Noting the stacks of smoked fish, corn, cloth, obsidian and shells for knives, along with furs for the winter all piled and awaiting the trade, Snow Pine smiled. It will be a good year, she thought.
Chapter 3 - The Find
Daniel French stood looking up at the painting of the Piasa Bird. Across the parking lot he could see his wife Lauren, and the two kids, Cassie and Frederick, making their way toward the picnic area. It was going to be a great morning he thought, a bit of breakfast here, and then off to check out some artifacts that had been found by a state road crew widening the highway just a few miles outside of town. It would be good to spend the day in the field rather than the office. The university archeology department was often called upon to investigate unusual artifacts found during construction. Given that
Although wild and garish looking with its long teeth, demonic face, wings and antlers, the Piasa painting stirred no unease in Daniel. In fact, it seemed to him that he had spent some of his best moments of his childhood standing in this place. He could almost smell the aromatic pipe tobacco his grandfather used and hear his stories of the ancient petroglyph, the Piasa, bird that devours men. Whatever the thing was, creature or creation, it had been there a long time. The old man had told him that the original painting had once been located further upriver and that the first white explorers to the region had mentioned it in their diaries. People said that the one currently on the cliff face was much like the original, but who knew; it also looked like the label used on a turn of the century local beer that had been a popular brew before prohibition. Perhaps his favorite memories were those with his wife, Lauren. As graduate students they had explored the caves along the bluff. This was the time when they had found the skeleton and artifacts, a mystery so astounding, so unbelievable, and so crazy, that it cemented their desire to study archeology, and bonded them together in the personal and professional partnership that they shared today. How time has flown, he thought. Seems like yesterday. He was roused by Lauren’s call from below. He turned and saw her waving to him from the picnic table, it was time. He walked back toward the parking lot, looking into the caves that had been cut into the cliff face below the painting for storage and cooling of the local beer, and saw all the old signatures scrawled on the walls. Several generations of
As he walked across the parking lot, he watched Lauren spread out breakfast. How right she looked, almost classically Turkish, strong nosed, olive complexioned, tall, strong, broad shouldered, wide hipped, and surrounded by two kids, Cassie, a miniature of her mother, and Frederick, more like Daniel, thin, freckled, scruffy haired and blue eyed. “Mmm, smells good!” he said catching the aroma of coffee.
“Daddy, can we go climbing”,
Daniel looked at Lauren, remembering when they had done the same thing and climbed above the large cave openings and along the bluff overlooking the river. It was during that trip he had shown her the shallow cave with the skeleton and small strange coin that she still wore around her neck as a lucky piece. “Nope, too dangerous, kiddo. Stay in the parking lot. We’ll be going as soon as we finish eating.”
Lauren smiled her ‘do as I say, not as I do’ look. “What did they find at the highway site? Anything fun?”
“Dunno really, Fred only said that they called saying they had found some unusual Indian artifacts and could we send a team over. I’m sure they want a quick ‘all clear’ so they can get on with their road widening business without being accused of asphalting over cultural history.” Daniel knew that tribes had lived in the area for thousands of years, but there were few significant local sites, outside of the mound builders, and they were several miles away. Weighing the possibilities, he said, “Probably, just some isolated relics, nothing big enough to stop ‘progress.” We should be able to finish the investigation, sign off on their paperwork, and give them the ‘go ahead’ by this afternoon.”
They finished breakfast as the kids played. Lauren reached over and placed her hand over his. “Do you suppose we will ever go back to the cave?” Daniel did not need a clarification as to the identity of ‘the cave.’ “It’s been such a long time,” he said. When he had first discovered the skeleton, it had seemed to be all they could think about. The find was fantastic, a great mystery: a skeleton, and coin. The stuff of mythology. He thought again of the strange set of coincidences that had brought an ancient manuscript to him that tied the skeleton to ancient travelers, 2,200 years before, who had made their way to the new world. When they had taken the story to their professor and now colleague, Dr. Fred Eldredge, had warned them against wasting time on a career killing fantasy. He argued that the whole thing was too fantastic to be anything but a hoax and that graduation was their time to put away the things of childhood and get on with the business of adult life. It had been a good career choice, both he and Lauren had graduated and Eldredge as promised had taken them under his wing and brought them into the department, nurturing and mentoring their advancement. He smiled remembering Eldredge warned him to never attach the department or his name to such a fantastic story, which led to him anonymously publishing the find as fiction. He smiled, How strange if it had been published as an academic article, from a grad student, it would have been forgotten years ago, but as the novel Flight of the Piasa it was still selling in the local bookstores, and was required reading at the high school. When Eldredge had found out what he had done, it was touch and go for awhile, but finally the older scholar had seen the humor in it, and given he had used a nom de plume, in some sense he had not attached his name or department to the work, they had become friends. Now ten years later, he and Lauren had two children, and successful academic careers. Daniel was second only to Eldrege in the department. He squeezed Lauren’s hand, remembering their time in the cave. “One of these days we should visit the skeleton. One of these days, but not today.”
They cleaned up the trash, gathered the kids, and drove toward the construction site, which was located in a small valley inland from the floodplain of the river. When they arrived they found all work had been suspended and the crew stood waiting for the go ahead to continue. Getting out of the car, Lauren touched his arm. “Daniel, do you know what’s over that ridge, pointing toward the river?”
“Yep, skeleton man. I was just thinking about him. But he is not today’s problem, our contact here is a man named John Cavanaugh.” Daniel walked toward a man in a Carhart coat who appeared to be in charge. “Mr. Cavanaugh, John Cavanaugh? My name is Daniel French, from SIU. Dr. Eldrege said you called.”
Cavanaugh smiled and reached out his hand. He was a middle sized man, with sandy brown hair, gray-blue eyes, and an open Irish face, lined from years in the sun. “Thanks for coming. Not wanting to hurry things along, but …” His smile faded, turning into a grimace. Leaving his statement incomplete he waved at the number of men standing idle at the work site. He looked at Lauren and the children standing by the car. “Your missus?” he asked.
“Well, yes, actually we live nearby, but she is also a member of the SIU Archeology department, and will assist with the inspection. Honey, come meet Mr. Cavanaugh.”
Introductions complete, Lauren asked about the artifacts. Cavanaugh pointed to a small trailer, set off to the side of the construction zone. “Gathered them up and placed them in there. It’s just a few Indian arrow heads, small decorative pieces, and bowl shards,” he offered hopefully. “Probably not enough to make this a protected site,”
“Lauren, why don’t you take the first look. Your eye is better than mine in categorizing isolated artifacts. I’ll watch after the kids.” Daniel then turned, “John is it alright for the kids and me to walk around the site and look at the heavy equipment.”Promise, we won’t touch.”
Cavanaugh nodded his assent, pointing to a stack of yellow helmets on a side table “Be sure to use those. I think we have a couple of smalls.” Stepping to the trailer, he opened the door. Lauren preceded him up the metal steps and entered the small room. In the center of the area was a round table a crooked neck lamp, and papers and drawings strewn across the top. A small section on one end had been cleared for about twenty artifacts. Lauren pulled up a chair, adjusted the light, and began to examine each piece.
Even with a cursory examination, Lauren could tell that the objects were common pieces, much like artifacts that any farmer in the area might find after spring plowing. The bowl shards had the distinctive incising, and stamping marks commonly used for decoration during the Middle Woodland Period (500 BCE – A.D. 400) when trading villages were spread over much of the
Cavanaugh smiled and blew air from between his lips in relief; he hadn’t relished the idea of delaying construction for an extended archeology dig. Had it been his decision he would have just looked the other way as his men reburied the stuff. However, he had been in the business too long to believe in secrets, once you found artifacts, it was best to report them and get the official clearance. “Well, I appreciate this,” he said.
The door banged open, and Daniel with kids in tow came into the trailer. “You will not believe this,” he said, “we found a skeleton, or at least Cassie did.”
Cavanaugh’s face lost its smile, and became grim.