About a week after the buffalo run, Loksee heard whispers that his character would soon come under attack. He had an inkling as to when and why. As he suspected, around the fire, under the full moon of early spring, Isatai, the tribe’s greatest hunter, announced that it was time for Truth Talk of Loksee’s worth. Loksee, fifteen years old, stood tall and announced that he brought the tribe vegetables from his garden to accompany the buffalo they’d all had at supper that very evening. He’d also harvested mushrooms after the recent rain, pounds that would be delicious in a stew. He’d dehydrated them and had been developing a recipe pot with Xama, the medicine woman.
Isatai’s grin was unkind as he asked, Do you plan to run away and pick mushrooms and consort with your plants every time we hunt?
The laughter coming from the fire lit faces was loud and cruel. Isatai reminded everyone that Loksee’s younger brother, Quanah, had just killed a buffalo while Loksee was out picking berries. Again, there was uproarious laughter, but none would look Loksee in the eye. None but Isatai, who sneered, and then flicked his wrist for Loksee to leave, saying, This fire is for hunters and warriors.
Loksee was dizzy as he turned his back on the fire. He was numb, but his eyes blurred with tears after the shock of the rejection wore off. He staggered under the bright moonlight to his garden. Oscillating between hopelessness and frustration, he yanked up his roots and leafy greens. He slapped his face to quell the pain, but his anguish was so great that he thought about throwing himself into the ravine.
But then the self loathing and inward pointing arrows began to turn outward as his bitterness paired with outrage. Isatai had judged him unfairly. As Loksee’s mind steeped in the sense of profound injustice, he thought about the look in Isatai’s eye, the hatred, the accusation of cowardice beneath that cruel smile.
Five years ago, Isatai had promised Loksee’s father to raise Loksee and Quanah like his own boys if he didn’t come back from the battle in the valley. Loksee’s father had fought valiantly, but only Toklia returned to report the massacre. Isatai, trying to do right by his word, had a conversation with the boys, eight and ten.
You boys will be warriors, like your father, said Isatai. I will teach you how to kill buffalo, and you will honor--”
I don’t want to kill buffalo, interrupted the ten-year-old Loksee. He told Isatai that his father’s blood had seeped into the ground like a buffalo’s, and he didn’t want to be part of that cycle of death. He wanted to continue harvesting plants with Xama.
Loksee remembered how Isatai had looked at him, baffled and uncomprehending. Every boy dreams of killing buffalo. Every boy wanted to grow up to be like Isatai.
I would have died next to you father, gladly, but my foot was broken, said Isatai. Blood shed, whether from one’s self in battle or a buffalo’s after a hunt, will bring you closer to Panah.
Loksee nodded, and said, I am not so eager to leave this earth and meet Panah. There is much to learn and many to heal with plant medicine.
From that moment on, Isatai despised Loksee. The animosity turned to a freeze out, and for five years they’d been strangers, passing one another like ghosts. That would have been okay, forever, but Loksee knew that Isatai would call for Truth Talk. But he had never suspected the complete shut out, the unanimity of renunciation. He thought of those laughing faces, the eyes which would not meet his own.
The combination of shame and rage eclipsed the light within Loksee. Within the tornado of blackness, Loksee realized there was a way out. He crept to the outskirts of the forest, where his brother was sleeping, and bashed Quanah’s head in with a rock. It was the only thing that would restore balance. There needed to be bloodshed that resulted in pain, but not for Quanah. It was a big rock, so his brother died instantly.
Let them hate me, but they will also hate Isatai.
Loksee threw the rock down the ravine. He gathered his vegetables and dried mushrooms in buffalo skin and hoped they would sustain him as he fled. Winter was over, so his buffalo-skin cloak and breechcloth would be enough protection against the elements.
As he tied the corners of the buffalo skin closed with a cord of sinew, he thought about how it was fortunate that Quanah slept far away from the others. Quanah was a late riser. Bitkehl wouldn’t discover the body till the sun was at its zenith tomorrow. There was time to formulate a plan. He thought of trails over the mountains. He considered skirting the ravine on the grouse trail. Instead, he chose the most treacherous route along the river. Who would scale the cliffs in the moonlight?
There would be no tracks on the craggy ledges that guided the river to the plains below, but Loksee nearly fell as he navigated a rough stretch quite early on. He’d climbed the cliff before, but never with a bulging skin clenched between his teeth. But, with his mind in contortions, Loksee resigned himself to going down with his vegetables into the waters and dying rather than let go of his worth.
When he’d gone further than ever before, Loksee came to a channel that squeezed the water between two boulders above a ten foot waterfall. The mist rose up and coated everything, and Loksee found morel mushrooms next to a burnt log on the shore. Loksee suspected lighting and thanked Pahah for the bolt. He would have liked to cook these meaty mushrooms, but there was no time for fire, and the scent would give him away. The leathery mushrooms tasted of the earth and mucus but strengthened his body as he pushed through thick bushes on the river’s bank.
When the foliage thinned, the moon sliced at an angle which made the pines cast shadows that pointed at Loksee. He felt exposed. When the face of Quanah arose in his mind, he would pick up his pace. It seemed that everything loomed over him, everything knew what he’d done, and it occurred to Loksee that he could not run from his own mind. Ever.
As Venus rose in the east above the mountains, the going was easier. The gulch had widened, and he could trot along the shore without fear of falling into the water that whispered and gurgled contentedly. In the indigo of predawn, he came to the bridge he’d been warned about since childhood. It spanned the river and connected the shores of a wagon trail that ran parallel to the base of the mountains. He knew to avoid these arteries which connected towns to cities. After the battle in the valley, they were patrolled by men who would kill him on site. So, again thinking to throw Isatai off his scent, Loksee took the wagon trail. Always glancing over his shoulder, he traveled along the base of the mountains without seeing hide nor hair of anyone.
Wishing to preserve his sustenance, that following day, Loksee would pause if he spotted something he could eat. However, just before the second sunset, he decided to dip into his supplies. He rooted through a rotten log and found plump, white grubs, but instead of simply popping the beetle larvae into his mouth, as he found them, he decided to gather all he could in his cloak. Then he pounded them into a paste along with a fat yam from his sack. He mashed it all into a putty on a boulder with a hefty rock. The gelatinous, semi-sweet stuff wasn’t as good as he’d hoped, but protein starved and famished, Loksee ate at least a half pound of the grubby, yam jam. And then satiated, exhausted, his body and mind needed to shut down. He lay under a pine tree, and despite whining mosquitoes, he fell into a deep sleep.
As the trail bent eastward into a wedge between the mountains the next morning, Loksee smelled smoke. Cautious, he proceeded until he spotted the small campfire. The sun had just come over the mountain peaks and shone where Loksee stood on the trail. The four horses, at least two men, and a large, white tent were nestled under a cliff outcropping which was still in the shade. About two stones throw from this camp, Loksee had the sun in his face as he called out the only English he knew.
Hell? Loksee hollered, meaning to say hello.
The two men by the fire scrambled to their feet. One stepped into the sunlight, but with his wide brimmed hat, Loksee couldn’t see his face. He did see a glint of metal as the man raised his hand. Was it a knife?
Hell? Loksee called out again, this time a little louder.
After a cracking bang, a pine branch behind Loksee’s head exploded. He couldn’t help the yelp that came out of him, and he crouched and covered his head. Then he heard a booming voice issuing a reprimand. He peered out from under his hands. An enormous man, wearing all black and a stovepipe hat, had emerged from the tent and was chastising the man with the revolver. He guided the gunslinger back into the shade, and then stepped into the sunlight like an elongated shadow. He said something, in his deep, rich voice, but Loksee didn’t understand the words. Only the reassuring tone.
Loksee, his voice cracking, answered back in his own tongue, asking if his vegetables and dried mushrooms were of any worth.
Everything had fallen out of the buffalo skin that he hadn’t bothered to tie up properly with the sinew after waking up covered in mosquito bites. It had been a rough start to the day, and his vegetables were strewn about the trail. He sighed, indicated the mess, and began to gather them back up in his cloak. Then, after spreading out the skin, he organized his wares in front of himself on the coarse leather. He sat behind his display with his legs crossed and looked at the man in black and explained his situation, succinctly.
Isatai doesn’t care that my vegetables go well with the buffalo because they don’t bleed and die. He convinced, unjustly, the tribe to reject me. To rectify the imbalance, and create a triangle of justice, I killed my brother. You can kill me, to square things up, or you can accept me and my offering.
The man in black, despite objections from his two companions, Earl and Dale, approached the buffalo skin to take a look. He had a strange note in his voice as he greeted Loksee. He pointed to the produce, and Loksee saw that the giant’s finger was thick as a spear and long. The man in black, noticing this, chuckled, and said something which Loksee guessed was a friendly inquiry.
Cain, is it you? Have you wandered to the land of Nod for refuge with your offering of vegetables?
Loksee took these unintelligible questions to mean acceptance when the man in black pulled him to his feet. With an enormous paw, he slapped Loksee’s back and said something to Earl and Dale about shepherds welcoming lost sheep.
Earl said that Loksee looked more like a goat, and said, Ask him why he was hollering out hell.
Loksee didn’t understand the words, only that Earl gave him the evil eye as the man in black coaxed him in to share the warmth of the fire.
A vegetable offering, said the man in black to his cohorts. We now have something with which to garnish our breakfast beans. However, brother Earl, you would have incurred a curse from the Almighty if you’d have harmed this one. Can you not see the mark?
Earl looked Loksee up and down and then to Dale who shrugged.
The man in black erupted in a woofing laughter that made the tent cloth tremble. The horses whinnied. The man in black said, If your mind was not closed, you might see with your eyes, brother Earl.
Is that in Mark or Matthew? Dale asked. He nodded to Loksee with friendly eyes.
Matthew, chapter thirteen, the man in black replied.
The man in black was a preacher who was slowly making his way north along the mountains. Well over seven feet tall, he had a genetic disorder that caused him to grow about a quarter inch a year. He was 24 now, but he looked closer to 40 and would probably be dead in a decade. But Earl and Dale, having experienced the preacher’s gift, had dedicated themselves to protecting his ministry. They knew he was a true apostle because he carried the Holy Spirit in his hands.
Loksee knew nothing of this, only that the preacher was kind and had an undeniable charisma when he spoke. For the first two months, the preacher didn’t hold a Sunday service. He always waited for instructions from on high.
As for Loksee didn’t know a lick of English upon meeting the travelers, but both Dale and the man in black remarked at how quickly he was picking up the language. It seemed he could understand almost everything after only a month.
One summer afternoon, the preacher came back from a walk, smiling. He announced, Loksee is to read and recite for the glory of God. You shall begin at the beginning with Genesis. Do you understand this, Loksee?
Loksee did, and, just as he was unnaturally gifted when it came to comprehending English, he was quick at memorizing and formulating the letters. For two days, he worked his way through the alphabet with Dale. Earl scowled, but Loksee avoided looking at him. After Isatai, Loksee was accustomed to living in close proximity to someone who hated him.
And then from the tent, the following evening, the preacher called out for Loksee to sit next to him on the floor. He thought it best to be grounded when reading from the good book. Loksee examined the first word: only two characters but much smaller than the letters that Dale would draw for him.
When Loksee pronounced the word ‘in’ on his third attempt, the preacher shouted, Hallelujah! But then, when Loksee guessed at the word ‘the’, the preacher articulated it for him. When Loksee tried to repeat it, saying ‘da’ or ‘deh’, the preacher became frustrated. ‘The’ was the second word of Genesis, and the preacher’s vision had revealed immaculate recitation. That night’s lesson ended then and there.
You must practice saying ‘the’ correctly, and we will resume tomorrow evening, said the preacher. Then, as was his custom, he left the camp to commune with Almighty. He didn’t return that night because the Holy Spirit had given him a vision of a tragedy which was to come at redemption’s door. Dale remarked that the preacher’s face was ashen, that he should get some rest. The preacher conceded and ducked into the tent for a nap.
Dale stoked the fire and nodded for Loksee to come over. He explained that he couldn’t help overhearing his problem with pronouncing ‘the’.
Loksee nodded and Dale smiled.
I reckon, if you flick your tongue from between your teeth for the ‘the’ sound, as opposed to the back of the palette, behind the teeth, for a ‘duh’ sound, like this: Dale demonstrated.
But then Earl, twenty feet away by the horses, told Dale to quit bothering the preacher’s pet. He doesn’t understand a word you're saying, just spits back words like a parrot.
Dale shot a warning glance at Earl. They both knew that when the preacher went down after an all-night vigil, only God could wake him up, yet there were certain lines, like besmirching the preacher, that weren’t to be crossed.
He advised Earl, If Preach chose to adopt this Indian boy, you better adapt to this Indian boy. You festering about nothing, with ignorant words falling out of you like horse apples, is not acceptable.
Thanks to Dale, Loksee practiced the ‘the’ technique, and learned to articulate in a way the preacher found acceptable the next evening as they sat on the tent floor, bent over Genesis.
It took two moon cycles for Loksee to make it through the first chapter of Genesis without a hitch. The progress was slow as the preacher would ask him to begin again from the beginning, if, and when, he slipped up.
In the beginning God created…
In late summer, the nights were hot, and Loksee was sweating as he worked through the second chapter with the preacher. His focus on elocution was intense, with the new words, but the first chapter rolled off his tongue with ease. This was because during the day, as Loksee went about harvesting roots and vegetables for the camp, he recited what he knew like a mantra. He could see the world being created, and although he was more than curious about what would happen next, the preacher never left him alone with the Bible. He explained that God had a plan. Then he looked sad and broke eye contact, saying, There’s no hiding from the Almighty, Loksee. You might not be so eager for the harvest when you find that you will reap what you’ve sewn.
One morning in early autumn, after the preacher had spent another sleepless night communing with the Almighty, he returned to camp and announced that he was to preach next Sunday. There was a small town they’d be approaching tomorrow that needed ministering. The town was losing faith and the Almighty had asked the preacher to restore it with his gift.
Earl and Dale clapped their hands and looked absolutely thrilled. The preacher, too tired to reflect their exuberance with anything but a slight smile, looked to Loksee.
And, my dear boy, you are to recite.
Although Loksee could say the first two chapters in his sleep, what the preacher was asking seemed like an impossibility. Dale and Earl had both spoken of the Holy Spirit in the preacher’s hands, his sermons that shook the foundations of the earth, the throngs of people who’d be moved to shout praises. Loksee was being asked to recite the first two chapters of Genesis in this chaos? Impossible, but there was no saying no to the preacher.
That Sunday morning, the preacher told Earl and Dale to usher the faithful into the tent. Because he hadn’t slept again, the preacher’s grim countenance was all-the-more dark and foreboding as he towered behind his pulpit.
The preacher began with the fall of man, and the sacrifice that was made to save us.
Just as Abel sacrificed a lamb, the preacher said, Christ came down to earth as the lamb of God. He was not only sacrificed for our redemption but was crucified! The preacher bellowed. More than a few gasped. Everyone shifted.
After twenty ticks of silence, with the preacher looking from face to face, he resumed in a deep growl. Many of you believe in redemption but fear those who you believe are beyond God’s grace. You’ve certainly heard of the Indians attacking wagon trains. Only five years ago, in what they call the battle in the valley, Comanche not only killed but tortured innocent migrants like yourselves. An earlier train had attacked them, and so they were seeking vengeance. A cycle began, but where will it end?
As the preacher paused, he noted looks of concern.
However, the preacher said, extending his club of an index finger, and wagging it over each word of his question: Are they not our brothers and sisters?
None in the tent answered, all eyes wide, some looking very hard and hurt.
Are they doomed to forever walk in darkness? Can they not be saved?
The preacher’s voice was soft but firm as he insisted, We must begin again to believe that Christ’s blood was shed for all mankind.
That was Loksee’s cue, and there were jostlings and murmurs as he came out from behind a curtain and stood next to the preacher. Although he’d traveled in a western style shirt and dungarees the past several months, he emerged in the breechcloth and buffalo skin cloak that he’d fled his tribe in.
Loksee looked out at the two dozen faces in attendance. He was nervous as he began.
In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth…
Loksee plowed through what he’d committed to memory as the preacher spoke over the top of him about redemption for all. He reminded the congregation of God’s infinite mercy and asked for ‘Amens’. With momentum, the spirit moving through the room, a few present shouted praises. The preacher, already a giant, seemed to grow as he worked up a proper fervor, roaring with hallelujahs that reverberated like thunder. Loksee was midway through the second chapter when the preacher began to clap. Earl and Dale struck up a hymn to the preacher’s rhythm. It was about being washed in the blood of the lamb, and on the third pass, everyone was singing it, clapping, dancing, and the tent was getting hot.
Dale and Earl’s voices harmonized, and Loksee was impressed by the way they’d move from hymn to hymn, looping catchy melodies that everyone could clap and stomp to. But finally, when everyone was dripping with sweat, the preacher mopped his brow and said that perhaps he could bestow unto the faithful a parting gift.
That was Dale’s cue, and he posted himself a few steps in front of the preacher with his hat off. Earl walked up to him and got a coin from his pocket and dropped it into the hat. Dale took the coin out and shook his head and handed it back to Earl. He made a motion for paper, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. The congregation, loose and relaxed, laughed as Earl made an exasperated expression. But then he retrieved a dollar from his wallet and put it in Dale’s hat. A smattering of laughter followed by an air of solemnity which seemed to sweep across the room. The parting gift. Some knew about it, but nobody more than Earl and Dale.
Earl heaved a nervous sigh, readying himself. He shook his hands out.
The congregation was leaning forward and wide-eyed as Earl took a knee in front of the preacher. And then, the preacher’s voice erupted in a blast of unintelligible syllables as his hand encircled Earl’s head.
Standing three feet away, Loksee felt something like electricity in the air come off the preacher. Earl went stiff, and Dale helped him not topple over. As he was lowered to the floor, Loksee became apprehensive. Earl wasn’t breathing. But then, by the smile on Earl’s face, radiant when he came to, and slowly got to his feet, Loksee saw that the preacher had good medicine in his hands.
So it was with the congregation, who, seeing how Earl was so obviously rejuvenated and refreshed, decided to fork over a day’s wage for the preacher’s gift. In the end, after Dale received the gift and motioned to Loksee, the preacher shook his head. He offered no explanation as to why Loksee wasn’t offered the gift other than a sad look which made Loksee’s heart ache.
The next morning, the preacher woke them early and said they needed to make haste. A town in the plains needed him.
A week later, there was a similar sermon, and then they zigzagged around the base of the mountains, as the Almighty saw fit. In early autumn, after a minute of Earl lying prone on the floor of the tent, the congregation looked unsure about lining up. But after Earl recovered and got to his feet, Dale waved at a tentative looking woman in the front. The preacher nodded to her.
She said she only had fifty cents, but a man in the back of the tent said he’d pay for her to receive the preacher’s gift. He was one of the skeptical newspaper men who thought it was all a sham. However, after she went stiff, and rose up stammering blessings, a line formed. Even the non believers understood that this was an opportunity to get the preacher’s giant paw encircling their heads for a buck, if nothing else. Some held back until witnessing Jim Bob, a no-nonsense farmer, go stiff and then rise to his feet with a hoot and a holler and a Glory to God, grinning from ear to ear.
That night the air was cool and crisp. The full moon of the harvest rose up, crimson from all the smoke. Farms in the valley were burning chaff after the harvest. Loksee was happy to serve a dish of squash that everyone found delightful. When he remarked on the moon being beautiful, the preacher seemed withdrawn and distant. He sounded depressed when he led Loksee into the tent to begin the fourth chapter of Genesis.
You won’t be starting over tonight, the preacher told Loksee.
Loksee spent about five minutes on the fourth chapter, glancing up to the preacher as he sounded out the words. Stumbling, and not having to start from the top, was so highly unusual. The preacher looked glum as Loksee pieced together the story of Cain and Abel. And, as he knew would happen, Loksee suddenly stopped.
Loksee flushed. His heart began pounding, and he found that his palms were suddenly slick with sweat. He opened his mouth but faltered.
Yes, Loksee, the preacher said. He reached out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Loksee’s skull, as if it were no larger than an apple.
Loksee trembled and asked, How does this book know what I…” He trailed off. His flesh felt assaulted with pins and pricks.
The preacher, appraising Loksee’s distress with a look of compassion, said, You can not hide from the Almighty, Loksee. Then he leaned his head back and spoke a tangle of syllables, his voice seeming to fill everything. Loksee went stiff. He had no concept of time or space, only that the universe was a vibrating string of love and hope and salvation.
The obsidian blade was so sharp that Loksee didn’t feel it. His first sensation was the hot liquid pouring down the side of his neck. He pressed a palm against the wound and whirled around, but his shock subsided as he recognized the face of Isatai.
I forgive you, said Loksee.
This is for the life you robbed of Quanah, Isatai said, and plunged the blade into the other side of Loksee’s neck.
The preacher lifted the Bible from Loksee’s lap. He began to read where Loksee had left off on the tenth verse: Thy brother’s blood crieth to me from the ground.
You thought I would not find you? Isatai demanded, but Loksee was already gone.
Isatai pulled the body out of the tent. Dale and Earl wrapped the exsanguinated corpse in canvas and secured it on Isatai’s horse.
After finishing the fourth chapter, the preacher emerged from the tent. He informed Isatai that he’d incurred a curse. Loksee bore the mark of Cain.
Uncomprehending, Isatai was expressionless as he looked up at the preacher. He said nothing before turning. They watched him lead his horse into the night. Then they looked at the pile of pelts Isatai had brought in exchange for Loksee.
No one said a word as the preacher stoked the fire and tossed the pelts, one by one, into the flames.
