THE RIGHT REGRET

"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regret."

Arthur Miller, playwright.

"If you have no spirits to guide you, I fear you will lose your way…" Kolopak

He had been ill-tempered from the moment his father had dragged him from Dorvan deep into the rainforest of Earth. He hated the damp conditions, the flies, the mosquitos, other insects he had never seen before and which he'd swatted away with exaggerated display of annoyance. Kolopak remained calm despite his son's discontent and boredom.

The entire journey Kolopak's body had trembled with a secret kind of excitement, like a child told of a great and wonderful gift that he had always desired. Chakotay had looked at the older man and shrugged, wondering how childish his father had become lately since he'd begun his ceaseless talk of searching for the old tribe.

It had started in their abode, with his mother indulgently, knowingly nodding her head when Kolopak had first announced his decision to travel to Earth. Hannah had known that as their first born son, Chakotay would accompany his father to the planet's rainforests, using nothing but his instinct. There was no way he could protest against a decision made probably since Chakotay was born, breech and contrary as Kolopak always declared. Chakotay loved his mother. He loved his father with the inherent love he supposed, children had for a parent. So he sighed because he had little option but to go with.

"We must find the Rubber Tree People, Chá-kó-tay, for it is time I took their mark. We are of them and they are of us. It is a thin but unbreakable thread that flows through our blood and binds us and we cannot ignore it."

"I think it is a stupid idea, Father."

Kolopak had given him a pained look, one added to the many he had seen on his father's face ever since Chakotay had challenged him as a ten year old. Always, the indulgent smile that deepened the furrows in his weathered cheeks, the sage little nod which followed, the words, "One day you will feel it too" and his own incensed silent denial. Kolopak remained quiet, thoughtful and that suited Chakotay. He had never imagined that his father's silence could hide deep sorrow.

They continued walking through the thick, damp foliage, wet broad leaves that struck his face then shoved angrily away from him. Chakotay had remained sunk in his own thoughts after that, dismissing Kolopak's feelings, his impertinent outburst, the son ignoring his father's hurt. The brief sense of guilt at his own disrespect towards Kolopak was tucked away until it lay forgotten in his heart. It was easy to bury the guilt.

All he wanted was to tread the other world, to experience the rush of being up there, in a starship, being part of something greater than his simple life on Dorvan, embracing all that Starfleet had to offer that he'd dreamed about since his early days. His people shunned technological innovation, although, Chakotay admitted grudgingly, he liked mother Hannah's cooking on the open hearth.

He was impatient, in a hurry to get away, away from the quaintness of their lives. He looked at his clothing. Even that was so simple and plain and he had come to hate it. He wanted advancement, modernity, a new style of doing things.

Sighing, he followed Kolopak who appeared in a great hurry,

He thought of the day he'd met Lieutenant Thorold Schickerling who served on the USS Osaka, a small colony vessel that orbited Dorvan every six months during their patrols of the Cardassian border. The crew would spend several days on shore leave, mingling with the local inhabitants of the planet. From the time he had seen the ensigns and officers in their red, teal and gold uniforms, he had been fascinated. He wanted to be them, he realised, not just playing dress-up and charade. He wanted to wear those uniforms, wanted to ride in a shuttle, even pilot one; he wanted Starfleet.

And his old, old desire to become like the condor he always watched over the canyon swelled and flourished liked the tomatoes that grew in his mother's garden until he could contain it no longer. Drawn to the men and women of the Osaka, he followed them everywhere until one of them stopped and stared at him with a curious look.

"What is your name, young boy?"

"I am Chakotay, son of Kolopak, grandson of Kohana, great-grand - "

"Hey, okay, I get it, Chakotay. How old are you?"

"I am ten years old. What is your name?"

The officer was human, like him and he had a broad smile, eager eyes and a shock of blond hair.

"I am Lieutenant Thorold Schickerling, first officer of the Osaka. Happy to meet you, Chakotay, son of Kolopak."

And Chakotay had not been shy, for Thorold was friendly, his smile inviting, like someone who would answer a million questions. Chakotay did ask a million questions, about Starfleet, about flying, about replicators and transporters and holodecks and navigational arrays and tricorders and PADDs on which he could store so much information! Thorold had answered with great patience where they'd sat at the edge of the canyon watching the condors.

"One day I want to join the Academy. I want to be in Starfleet!" he'd said with great fervour. "How do I join?"

Thorold had again explained patiently, for they had become firm friends even though Chakotay was only ten and Thorold a young man of twenty five and who was already first officer of a vessel. There were a few rules for entry, but first Chakotay had to do well in school, Thorold told him.

And so he studied harder than he had ever done before, secretly using the PADD Thorold had given him, that he'd said came from "stores" on the Osaka. Captain Sulu had given him permission to gift it temporarily to a very enthusiastic young boy who wanted to fly one day. Oh, yes, Thorold had told his captain about a young Dorvan boy who desired to fly and be something great one day.

That was how he met Captain Sulu of the USS Osaka…

"Chakotay!"

Kolopak's voice rocked him suddenly to the present. Surprised, he found himself in a clearing, the greenery suddenly appearing alive, rustling strangely as the fronds lifted in the breeze. All was quiet around them - his father waiting open-mouthed, the guides standing close to them.

Faces appeared in the foliage, like fruits ripening slowly, so much part of nature around them. Chakotay thought it was a giant portrait that trembled with life. Kolopak was in his element, looking like be belonged. Chakotay's own annoyance and impatience deepened his sense of displacement, of not wanting to belong, of renouncing his heritage.

He tried to blank out his angered denials of earlier, after Kolopak had shown him the chah-moozee, the same healing symbol his grandfather Konana had carved on a river stone for him, after deriding his tribe's backwardness.

"I am leaving the tribe, Father…"

He was in such a hurry to get away from everything that held him back.

Kolopak had looked at him with narrowed eyes. It seemed to Chakotay that his father's words were simply the extension of knowledge that had simmered long in his heart, as if he'd always known that his son would distance himself and embrace a life in a different realm. No matter how insistently the Sky Spirits tugged at Chakotay, he constantly viewed them with the scepticism of his youth - something only the elders of the tribe clung to.

He was going to the Academy. Captain Sulu was his sponsor. He had not asked his father's permission, had gone behind his back to study harder , sitting in the Osaka's boardroom preparing his entrance testing, to be approved with flying colours. Kolopak knew none of that. Thorold Schickerling and Captain Sulu were his closest links to the other life he had dreamed of since he'd stood at the canyon's edge, arms outstretched, imagining he was flying like the condors. They thought his father knew…

The tiny seed of guilt was squashed, stashed away deeply in his being. He watched his father communicate with members of the Rubber Tree people, how the older man had bent down and drawn the chah-moozee in the sand, how Kolopak spoke the language of the tribe. He witnessed the shedding of clothing as the tribe prepared to draw the tattoo against his left brow. He was annoyed when they wanted to remove his clothing too.

And Kolopak stood in the clearing, his eyes raised where Sky Spirits dwelled, his mouth in open, breathless rapture that transformed his face into something Chakotay had not ever seen before. Slowly, the tattoo across his father's brow was born. Like a craftsman patiently etching his creation, the elder's hand moved in unwavering certainty along the delicate lines.

It was surreal and it was real; it was wonderment and doubt; it was surprised joy and buried guilt; it was open admiration and renunciation of rites; it was staying and it was leaving…

Voyager

Stardate 49211.5

It was dark in the mess hall. With no more crew to feed late meals, Neelix had left for his quarters. He'd paused at first near the table where two lone occupants sat in dead silence. He'd wanted to chat, his mouth open and closing before deciding to leave without saying a word. He knew better than to disturb the command team who had not spoken for hours. At least it felt like that to him. A quick 'goodnight' and he was gone.

They hugged the darkness, the muted light serving only to cast them like silhouettes whose figures moved across the bulkhead whenever one of them moved.

Kathryn sat opposite Chakotay, waiting, as she had been for the last few minutes, her eyes never leaving the stark, pained face of her first officer. He'd returned hours ago after his meeting with the inhabitants of the M-class planet, full of melancholy and not the excitement she'd expected whenever away teams returned to the ship.

He was burdened, his thoughts lingering with the people of the Sky Spirits. Later, his mouth moved, his eyes following the restless thrumming of his fingers on the table. Even in the low illumination his pitch black hair gleamed, and the tattoo appeared alive, moving as his face creased. Words such as he'd uttered during the last half hour were torn reluctantly from him. Now he looked ready to speak again.

"You know…" he began slowly, then remaining quiet.

"What?" she asked, leaning forward to still the trembling of his hands.

"I hurt him. I hurt him very badly."

"You father?"

"I was with him when he got his tattoo in the rainforest on Earth. I was so damned impetuous. Being young and unthinking was one thing, Captain, but being disrespectful?"

"Were you?"

"Even now I can still picture the sadness etched on his craggy features, how he apologised for dragging me to Earth, how I challenged him with my thoughtless words, arguing…. All I wanted was to get away from him, from Dorvan, from what I believed was their backward life, denying my culture, my heritage. He - "

Chakotay remained silent for long moments after that, his throat working as if swallowing had become too painful. Earlier in his quarters Chakotay had spoken with bravado and confidence about how he hated going with his father, hated the rainforest, the rain, the insects that seemed to choose him as their victim. Then there had been none of the pain, the sorrow she witnessed in him now. His meeting with the ancients had ruthlessly exposed deeply embedded hurts. His sadness touched her, called up images of her own father, of times that he'd made good with her before he died.

"He let me go, Captain. I was fifteen! That day my father let me go to find my way. Said words that I cannot erase from my memory. They follow me everywhere."

"What did he say?"

"If you have no spirits to guide you, I fear you will lose your way."

Kathryn thought how the man she'd appointed as her first officer was the most spiritual man she had come to know, one who was in touch with his culture and his heritage, whose medicine wheel she'd seen in his quarters, who had a medicine bundle with a river stone on which was carved a chah-moozee, a healing symbol. She thought how incongruous it was with the Maquis renegade who'd stood on her bridge - tough, angry, so removed from what she had come to learn about him.

"What changed, Chakotay?" she asked.

"I lost my way. I never saw him again," Chakotay replied, his voice hoarse with a distant longing.

Earth - In the Rainforest

He had been morose, ill-mannered and impatient as he stared Kolopak down. The older man never changed his expression, never morphed into anger and personal indignation, never launched into the 'all I have done for you' speeches he had heard some of his friends spoke about their fathers. His father maintained his expression of sad acceptance.

"It was a mistake to bring you. I am sorry."

"I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be," Chakotay replied.

"You have gone behind my back to join the Academy. I have never prevented you from learning, son, about other societies. But to leave your tribe? Why?"

"Our tribe is a tribe of old fashioned, backward values, fantasy and myth!" Chakotay responded with heated indignation. "Other tribes have embraced the twenty fourth century, why couldn't we? Why not?"

"Is it your place, my son, to question the ways of your tribe?"

"It's not my tribe! Not anymore! That is why I must leave."

Kolopak's eyes closed. If Chakotay looked hard enough, he might have seen tears seeping from them. It could have been the rain, and he'd preferred to think it was rain. Then Kolopak opened his eyes, placed his hands on Chakotay's shoulders.

"You will never belong to that other life, my son. And if you leave, you will never belong to this one. You will be caught between worlds."

And in that moment Chakotay had a sudden flash of a memory, of a ten year old boy sitting next to his grandfather by the river, who had told him exactly the same thing.

On Voyager

Chakotay's head rested on his hands. He breathed deeply, like one who tried to suppress a flood of weeping. Kathryn resisted the urge to touch him, caress his hair, hoping it would find solace in his heart. When he sat up again, his eyes were bloodshot.

"I had no excuse not to visit him, to go back to Dorvan and see my family again, regular visits. It was always possible. No excuse at all."

"Your father loved you, Chakotay."

"For a thousand times I wished I could take away what I'd said to him, to see the pain leave his eyes, to see him smile like he'd always done with that little indulgence for his first born contrary son. I missed that. I regret that I never really had a great relationship with him. You cannot know how I missed him…"

There was a void in Chakotay, Kathryn realised, an aching void he found it difficult to fill with light, with peace. He looked distraught, absolution seeming very far away.

"What would you wish for right now?" she asked him.

"To see him, I suppose. In the flesh. To speak with him. To ask - "

She sensed his next words, yet she wanted to ask.

"To ask him what?"

"To forgive me - "

"You were young, the impetuosity of youth - "

"I understand that being young could make one say things, do things without ever thinking of consequences, how words can cut a heart. And it could make one forget about the freedom forgiveness brings."

"You regret never going?"

"All I wanted to do was to go on my knees and beg his forgiveness. I was not a good son. I wish I had been."

Chakotay stared vacantly at some point beyond Kathryn vision, deep in thought. Her heart ached for him, for the deep sorrow that wouldn't leave him. In profile he looked bleak, stripped of the usual animation brought by joy, relief, even anger.

"He died, you know," Chakotay said in a low, hoarse voice, "when Dorvan was destroyed." He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. "No time to greet, no time to grieve, no time to seek his pardon for being such a rash, insolent son."

Chakotay paused, a faraway look in his eyes. Kathryn thought how the destruction of his homeworld filled him the Federation and regret that he'd been too late to see his family.

"I wanted to see him smile again," Chakotay continued, "wanted him to say, 'All is forgiven. I love you, son…'"

"Is that your greatest regret?" she asked.

"You know how people claim they have no regrets, that there was nothing that they'd want to relive or do over? Sometimes I wondered whether they weren't lying to themselves. There's always something you had done or that happened to you that you wished had not been said."

"I guess some of those stay with you - "

"Yes."

Kathryn leaned forward a little and briefly touched Chakotay's tattoo, fingers lingering over the lines before she withdrew her hand. She sat back again and folded her arms.

"Commander, you embraced the ways of your people. It was always a part of you. You just had to acknowledge it, however late the hour. Perhaps you'll tell yourself you have regrets about leaving home, about not loving your father enough… He has forgiven you, I'm sure."

For the first time the entire day Chakotay's face lit into a smile, the furrows in his cheeks deepening. Kathryn felt his lightness, the heaviness in her own heart easing because Chakotay was smiling at last.

"In my vision quest he - "

"You saw him?" Kathryn asked.

"The old sadness was gone and his eyes were soft, loving, like I remember from my early childhood days, when a father could do no wrong in a little boy's eyes."

"That is a good sign?"

"Indeed. He has given me hope."

"Then I'll tell you, Chakotay, that your regret is the right regret to have. Not always the best one, for I don't think there are best ones. But the right one is always one we can hope for."

"I shall always remember that, though no longer with the same burn of shame that had tripped me up at the oddest moments. But yes, it was perfect, but it helped me a great deal, seeing him…"

"Well, Commander, I'm quite certain you feel better now."

Chakotay leaned forward to give her hand a grateful squeeze, nodding.

"I am. Thank you, Captain," Chakotay said quietly, "for the friendship."

END