Chapter 6 – Welcome to Camp
Warnings and Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
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As the pink early morning light flitted though the sky, a breeze whipped around the occupation site. It kicked up some garbage and blew it at the four. Glasses crinkled his nose as he brushed the offending litter away and then took the time to try and rescue the rest of his dusty clothing. The other two journalists followed suit. Jones had yet to move.
Then the door of the building banged open behind them.
Light spilled out from the open entryway temporarily blinding the four who had strained their eyes all night long. A woman's voice cut thought the silence, "Eff water!" The men were recovering quickly but anything they could have said was cut off with a sharp, "Who the eff are you?"
Seeing the perfect opportunity to start on his scoop Brown-suit piped up, "Why hello there! My friends and I are journalists and we want to talk to you about – "
"Ann, who the heck are you talking to?" Another woman, much older then the first had come to the doorway without much notice to investigate the delay. She cocked an eyebrow at the odd quartet on the ground.
"Never mind. I don't care," she said. "Just take them three with the extra buckets to cut down on the breakfast work." Thrusting more buckets at the journalists the new woman brushed them off the entryway and made to pull Alfred inside. "Hurry back," she croaked as an afterthought. "We've got lots of hungry folks to feed."
As the door slammed the old woman leveled her undivided attention at Alfred. As she eyed him up and down she fired off questions. "Why 'ya here?"
"To learn about this side of the fence," said Alfred.
"How'd ya get here?"
"I snuck in with three journalists." His answers were open and honest but the old woman frowned at his last statement. She narrowed her eyes at this dusty young man with his too bright eyes and his sincere face.
"You work for the government?"
"Yes. Alfred F. Jones at your service."
"I don't really like the government."
"Honestly, m'am, neither do I sometimes." That seemed to appease her enough as her icy exterior shifted slightly. With a quintessential motherly smile on her face she drew Alfred more into the area.
"Welcome to the mess, Alfred. We're short handed so you're going to help me with the food."
Her gesture prompted Alfred to draw back and actually take in the room. It was small. Way too small to produce food for the 200 people he'd been told were held up here. If anything it was more of a break room then an actual kitchen. Already all available counter space was cluttered with stacks of an eclectic assortment of plates and bowls and towers of canned beans and bags of macaroni.
The little window over the sink was too grimy to properly look out of. But Alfred being Alfred would guess that the sun was about half way up. The old woman had bustled out the door on the other side of the small rectangle room so Alfred approached the sink to wash his hands.
In the three steps it took for him to get to the sink he scoped out the cook top. It was an oven/stove combination that had seen better days but he'd worked with much worse in the past. Still, there was a size limitation present that could cause problems.
The sink itself looked better then the other appliances – it was big in the way that was frustrating when you need the counter space. Alfred turned the faucet on, the water gurgled but none came out. He shut it off and tried again only to have the old woman back in the room and laughing at him.
"That sink doesn't work. It's why Ann is getting water from the well with your friends. They keep trying to shut the water supply off to end us faster but they haven't quite managed all the way yet. That along with the well should last us … although if we stay here too long they might try and poison us or something."
Alfred looked as if he'd just swallowed a lemon and the old woman laughed again. It was a good kind of laugh but also a bad kind of laugh, one that made Alfred feel like he didn't know the half of it even though in reality he did and had been on both the giving and receiving end of such a tactic – both in the distant past and uncomfortably close to the future as well.
Before he could respond the three reporters and the young girl from before barged in with buckets brimming with water. Alfred didn't get a chance to talk to any of them – the reporters were babbling about plans and who to talk to and where to go and what to see and soon enough the old woman was ushering them all out of the door again so the two of them could cook.
Silence reigned.
"We'll be cooking the last bit of the eggs today," the old woman said. "Ran out of coffee last night so we'll use the powdered orange juice and hope we don't get our heads chewed off. Now, do you want to scramble or start on the macaroni?"
Alfred took a brief moment to size her up, the quirked eyebrow, the smiling face and he couldn't help but feel that despite so much wrong with the situation she seemed normal and was getting along just fine despite it all.
"Macaroni?" he says. "For breakfast?"
"No silly, we've got to start on that now so it will be ready by lunch."
"I'll do the eggs."
"Sure thing. Nothing fancy now. I've got a village to feed."
The pair fell into a comfortable silence as Alfred clicked on the stovetop and the old woman prepped the water pots for noodles and beans ("For dinner" was the only explanation).
For once Alfred didn't mind the silence, he was still getting used to being home and standing in some small sort-of-kitchen with the kindly old lady was just the right amount of too much that made him feel all warm. He was reconnecting, slowly, little bits at a time, by breathing familiar air and performing familiar tasks.
As the eggs came to perfection he felt at home for once in a long time. More batches of eggs piled up and soon the job was done as well. A watery, cold sun had risen and the breakfast hour approached.
He felt a presence at the open door way before the old woman did. He didn't acknowledge it, instead choosing to concentrate on the last little bit of egg left to cook. He was in the company of his people and has little to worry about so he zoned out on the task.
When he came back to himself the eggs were done and the two occupiers were staring at him – the new comer, a young man with eyes too old and a jean jacket looked at him expectantly.
"Say what now?" said Alfred and all three had a small laugh, each knowing the first had no idea what's going on.
"Come on," the young man said. "We're going to deliver the rest of the food to those on our front lines before Auntie can rope you into lunch duty as well." It took a minute for Alfred to realize that most of the food he'd cooked had already fed the camp save for this last little (in comparison) bit. It was still early but the morning was well underway.
"No problem!" Alfred said. "I'll be happy to help."
They passed through the door carrying the eggs and a pitcher of orange juice. In the main interior of the building Alfred noticed the makeshift sleeping quarters off to the sides. Clearly the area they're passing through doubled both as a dormitory of sorts and as a central meeting place. The floor had been cleared for now and there were some tables and chairs scattered about. Underneath all of the building's stress from having to function as the living space for too many people, Alfred was reminded of small store perhaps, in another life.
It reminded him a lot of the communal living some of his boys talked about back when the war first started, the reverent belief in one love, happy people, and licking the stamp, but the edges here were too hard to be that whispered reality. They were through the front door and into the main cluster of buildings before he could spare it another though.
"Hey, what did you say your name was?" Alfred asked. The silence with this person was not so comfortable.
"My name is not important," came the reply and they were back to saying nothing.
Alfred was left only to stare at the young man's back – at the patch that proclaimed Trail of Broken Treaties – and wondered just what the hell he'd missed all these years anyway.
They passed a few buildings; there were a lot of people about, some armed, most not. None paused to spare them a glance and Alfred opted not to comment on all the garbage on the ground and the occasional bit of graffiti on buildings. He caught snatches of frustration; talk of Crazy Horse and how it was a good day to die. The atmosphere was tense but relatively slow. Alfred wished he could stop to take his shoes off but he was carrying a large bowl full of eggs and it was a bit too cold out for that to be normal.
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The young man and Alfred neared what looked to be crude trenches and bunkers. The gruffness of the men and women inside lifted quickly at the offering of food and drink. Though the embattlements Alfred could see the federal blockade looming in the distance. A few shrubs populated the no man's land between them and Alfred was surprised that they had not been burned yet for a clearer line of sight at the opposing forces.
The young man and Alfred made their way around similar holdings where folks were grateful for the food and did not take too much for themselves.
As they circumnavigate the hilltop Alfred spied his journalists talking to what appeared to be a sentry by the church on the hill. His rifle was clearly held together with tape and Alfred heard the sentry say he only had one bullet so if the feds came he could shoot himself or something. The journalists were talking notes and Alfred could see the headlines; "Wounded Knee Is a Tiny Armed Camp" – except without much in terms of arms.
There was an Indian flag on the church fluttering in the breeze and only enough eggs left for one person. The juice was gone. Suddenly the young man whipped around to stare at Alfred.
"Go give the rest of the eggs to the medicine man in the church, then bring the bowl back to Auntie – I've got fortifications to help with," the young man said. "Mind the elderly and mind the bosses and everything will be ok." The man stormed off before Alfred could even reply, leaving him looking a bit lost and a bit alone.
The reporters had moved off by now but the sentry at the door smiled a bit at him – the cold sunlight caught his eye and he noticed the armed man up in the bell tower staring off into the distance, holding their breath for a change to come. Alfred quickly made his way into the church and shut the doors quietly behind him.
Once again the building had been repurposed. The pews had been pushed to the side and tuned into beds. The altar was covered with religious artifact but not of the Christian faith. Alfred suspected the church was doubling as a field hospital as well if the smell of ancient medicines were anything to go by.
Unsure of who to give the eggs to Alfred stood awkwardly in the doorway. The scene before him was not a comfortable one but he did not feel deeply troubled by the mash up. Nothing had been destroyed, merely shuffled around. For a moment he envisioned an elderly priest aghast at the sight but his thoughts quickly reorganized at the feeling of soul-gazing eyes upon him.
A man who appeared to be every part the stereotype as his name suggested drew near from a secluded corner full of elders and those that held themselves with authority. They stared at this new stranger in equal parts distrust and curiosity. On the whole it was intimidating and unexpected but if it was this man's gaze that made Alfred truly feel small.
"Have you come to tell us that they'll be cutting the power again?" the man said. Well that couldn't be good, Alfred mused. Never to be one on the wrong foot for long Alfred smiled and thrust the bowl toward the medicine man. (Because now that Alfred took a good look, this man could be nothing but a medicine man.)
"Nope. I brought you breakfast!" Alfred said. The medicine man's gaze did not falter and he made no move to respond so after a pregnant pause Alfred barreled along. "'Cause you know breakfast is the meal of champions and I was told this last bit is for you so you should eat up, yeah?" Still nothing. "Unless you already ate breakfast which would be really awkwardly and everything and they can't go to waste so just tell me who to bring it to next before it gets any colder and honestly you should really eat up because I don't think there will be any more eggs for a while because we used the last of them up this morning and all so saver what you can because everyone else said they were good for just eggs and I'm not just saying that 'cause I made 'em and everything because that would be totally shallow of me and even though we don't have anything else to go with them like the awesomest pancakes in the world or bacon because everyone loves bacon but honesty eggs for breakfast isn't so bad and least it's not just toast although I would switch out the eggs for coffee if I could – we're outta that too by the way but I think you might've already known that too – so between you and me you should really go for the eggs 'cause there're the best we got and they'll fill you up because lunch and dinner were looking pretty sucky which is a downer but take it one meal at a time I always say and yeah."
Confusion briefly streaked across Alfred's face when he saw his rambling had unmoved the man before him. Almost every other person he knew would have cut him off ages ago.
"So," he said again. "The eggs?" Once again he thrust the bowl out, the eggs inside sloshed against the rim.
"The eggs are yours," the man replied with a thin hint of a smile. It was barely there but Alfred had lived with Arthur enough to call it like he saw it. It still didn't stop the ungraceful "Waa?" from coming out of his mouth.
"The eggs are yours. Come sit down." He gestured to the circle behind him and moved to guide Alfred along.
"I will not be your Black Fox," Alfred snarled with a bit more fire then he intended to show while shrugging out of the embrace. His temporary upset fizzled to guilt as the other pulled away in a placating gesture, the small smile still on his face.
"Come. Sit so that you can eat your eggs in company." The medicine man was more openly smiling now but made no move to corral Alfred again, keeping both the path forward and the path behind open to him. Shame licked deep in Alfred's gut and he could feel the blush on his neck and ears.
"Are you sure you don't want them? I'm not hungry," said Alfred. His voice drifted off at the end, refusing to meet the other's eyes, all too aware that there was a large group also watching the engagement.
"Please. You've worked hard in the kitchen all morning. Enjoy your meal on a chair with company. Please."
After shuffling his feet a bit and trying to rub down the blush on his neck, Alfred slowly began to move toward the circle of chairs. They walked in step together. The chair creaked as Alfred sat and a spoon was handed over. He wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't hungry but he moved to choke down the cold eggs.
In the circle he was not quite sure who was in charge of everything. There were a lot of big names floating around but people seemed open and agreeable. The medicine man, Crow Dog, as he found out was a steady, cautionary voice full of wary hope and promise. There were many others too but Alfred couldn't help but note that between the AIM leaders, the Oglala Sioux tribal elders and OSCRO folks, Russell Means could easily to be the poster child for getting folks to work together. Alfred though Means' voice helped with that. Means sounded like the modern reincarnation of something out of the past. Alfred liked it.
He didn't look up much but forced himself to take his time. The conversation flowed easily almost the members of the group. They talked of things Alfred had heard snatches of: problems of food, heating, electricity, water, ammunition. The tone was serious but there was very little finger pointing and Alfred began to relax.
Without thinking much of it he toed off his shoes and runs his foot along the old wooden floorboards. The action went largely unnoticed despite his feet being visible to all. The conversation lulled as he finished breakfast. One by one the individuals disbanded to further aid and direct the camp. As they said, it was a good day to die. But not on this day. The group's determination to hold strong in the face of such resounding adversity was palpable. But it came as no surprise either. History had never been easy and this group, despite every effort, they had yet to be beaten down completely.
Without so much as a preamble Alfred rose and headed to exit the building. He paused at the entryway and stripped off his socks instead of putting his shoes back on. He could feel the medicine man's eyes boring into him worse then any scientist ever studied an exotic animal. Alfred thought and felt and knew that this man knew. He knew but did not say and respected enough to not stop or question. Alfred let the burning, knowing gaze linger and then stepped out into the world. His feet were freezing but it could be no worse then the many folks without adequate jackets and he'd managed worse before anyways.
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He spent the rest of the day clutching the serving bowl walking around the camp, occasionally trading small talk with others. His feet were still freezing but he could tell he was getting better and becoming more like himself as the time passed. He didn't stop for lunch or dinner. Despite his appetite returning he did not dare to drag on the camp's supplies anymore then he already had.
He spotted the medicine man a few times throughout the day and was granted with a large smile for one so stoic. This always seemed to happen after he'd spent a bit too long standing alone with his eyes closed, just feeling everyone.
Alfred didn't see the journalists until darkness fell. He could tell they were flushed from the success of a good day. They were brimming with ideas and stories and the desire to spread the word. And who was he to deny them this right? Soundlessly, the quartet set off with Alfred in the lead for the return trip. No one question Alfred's shoes tied around his belt loop at his side. He was not sure if in their heady musing they didn't notice or just didn't care that he's a bit cracked.
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Author's Notes: Lots of people showed up to help the occupiers out. It was literally show up and get put to work with very little questions asked. If Alfred seems out of sorts for jumping right in and taking directions please remember he's been ordered around for a long time and is still not use to not being so and to be honest following directions is better then being shot at or turned over to the opposing side.
Please note that despite both the government and the papers going A.I.M. this and A.I.M. that, the occupiers were more of a coalition of groups then anything else. A.I.M. was more of a roving band of many different tribes that had numerous fingers in places, the Oglala Sioux tribal elders were from the area and felt the need to put their foot down in response to a variety of local grievances, OSCRO was a bit farther flung but still a mix of folks from the area and likewise felt the same. They all championed themselves as protectors of the people and basic human rights. The media usually only focused on A.I.M. and the governments nearly exclusively lambasted A.I.M. and ignored all of the other groups of the occupation treating them as one big entity.
Also, to keep this author's note shorter then a mini-essay look up Trail of Broken Treaties and the Andrew Jackson-era problem of Black Fox. "The Native American Issue" in America has been a long and ongoing one. Lastly, pardon one small portion of my headcanon on the classic Hetalia issue of who's in on the nation secret and who can tell without needing to be told.