The Twisted Hairs Boy

I was overseeing my men and slaves when my centurion approached me.

He said, "I have your task under order of Caesar. You are to stay the night here, then take your men and the Twisted Hairs scouts down to Centurion Talamon in Have-Su. An explorer has been assigned to your contubernium who will help guide you there. When the explorer greets you, you are to leave immediately."

I said, "Yes, Centurion" and he walked away.

Then, I tended to my slaves and legionaries to see if they needed anything. Occasionally, tribal children would wander up and speak to me or one of the other legionaries around our encampment. I had no idea what they were saying because of their own tribal language, but suddenly noticed that they all had the same hairstyle. Each one of the tribals in this place; boys, girls, men, women, and elderly had their hair braided into dreadlocks with different beads, feathers, and trinkets woven in. I guessed that was why the people called themselves "Twisted Hairs." After giving the group of children one of my bread rations, they would run away to go play or do some other activity.

I was sitting by our campfire tending to my sore feet. All that marching was taking its toll on me. Looking into my tent, I told my legionaries and slaves to, "Take the night off." After seeing the other legionaries wandering around talking with the tribals or purchasing goods, I assumed they'd take the que.

My particular contubernium had no idea what that even meant, so they all responded in unison with, "Ave Decanus. True to Caesar!" and proceeded to sit there and drink water or sharpen their weapons. I wasn't a mindless servant of Caesar with no ambition other than serving, so I got up to walk around.

Walking around the village, I was just glad I didn't have to wear all that face covering; so, I took in the fresh air. Around the village, I saw children playing, women doing their chores alongside the men, and warriors covered in tattoos training with spears, machetes, and tomahawks. I decided to head down to the river as I found myself more interested in tribal life. At the river, I took in the sights of the mighty Colorado River that I hadn't seen in a while. There were boats on the shore and tribals fishing, people doing laundry, women weaving baskets and such, and kids playing there too. Tribal life seemed completely innocent, and really something else compared to other civilized places I'd been. I thought back to years prior when I crossed the Colorado, leaving California, and landing in Arizona. I never thought in a million years that I would be entangled in a conflict with the Legion, Resistance, and people of Phoenix. Not even two months ago, I was just a nobody drifter who got into some trouble with preppers and still felt that way in some regards. I concluded ignorantly; "I'm still the same old guy… But I just happen to be running missions to prove myself to Caesar while still committed to Swilling's Resistance."

As I looked out over the Colorado and all the people who went about their business, I noticed a boy in tribal garb just standing all alone by the river. Longing for some real human contact and hoping he spoke English, I approached. The kid stood there motionless and staring at the river or cliff beyond with his hair braided the same as everyone else. He looked African American and had a few tattoos on his back. The kid looked dazed and no older than probably 13 or 14ish. I knew He heard my footsteps but remained still regardless.

I stopped, stood right by the kid, and asked, "Speak English?"

Turning to look at me, he said, "Mintu… little."

I asked, "What's your name?"

Confused, the boy said dryly, "I no name."

I responded, "Hmm, that sucks… Trying to fish for your family or something?"

He said, "nech machtanan, I no family. Only Twisted Hairs."

Pausing, I said, "No family huh? That sucks too... Ya know? I can actually relate to that. What you doing out here then?"

The kid looked straight forward but answered my question, "I look at wall."

I was about to acknowledge when he asked, "What past river?"

Looking at the giant cliff on the other end of the Colorado, I said, "I grew up past there, nothing but people killing people, just like here in Arizona."

He turned his head towards me revealing a face of disbelief and said, "You grew anekpa? Why Kaizar man?"

Smiling, I said to the kid, "I did, long time ago. Grew up near a town in California called 'The Hub.' It's nothing but a den of thieves… Probably completely overrun by NCR thuggery and shit now… Don't really know why I'm with the Legion though, Haha! Guess I was dealt a bad hand."

He said randomly, "Twisted Hairs help Kaizar, Kaizar save all desert."

I let out a kind of laugh, "I don't know about that, Haha!… I could be wrong though. Honestly, I'm sorta new to their whole deal." He looked blankly at me.

Then, staring out towards the river and feeling weirdly fatherly, I said, "You have to make your own way in the world, kid. I'm not really sure what's out there, but there has to be something greater than what the Legion has to offer… And better than Phoenix and all of them."

He said, "What there? Who Feenix?"

I said, "I don't know. I'm already too involved in this crap to just be a simple drifter without troubles anymore… I kinda miss just roaming without a purpose, know what I'm saying?... Of course you don't."

I set my pack down and laid there in the warm sands. The kid sat beside me and asked, "Kaizar nice man?"

I laughed, "No, not nice… Strong though. Kinda seems like he had the makings of a good man, but people can do weird things when they get some power."

The kid stared expressionless for a second then asked, "You no family too?"

I put my bandana over my face to block out the sun as I shut my eyes for a minute. I said, "Nah, lost them at around your age. Trying to find a place to call home ever since."

I could tell the kid was looking at me even though I couldn't see him. I felt the warm sun beating down on me and listened to the river current as I said, "I know what it's like to not have a family, but living in a tribe with no ma or pa has gotta be tough in its own way…"

The kid mumbled with a hint of sadness, "Yehs, ilnekwa pinamu home."

Still relaxing with my face covered and the river steady, I said, "My advice, kid: if you don't feel like you belong, there's a whole world out there. Find a place to call home and 'place your flag in it'… Metaphorically speaking, of course… It's really easy to have your 'home ripped from you in the blink of an eye', believe me."

The kid mumbled something seemingly nonsensical, "I born in home, home is tribe."

Not sure if I should acknowledge the kid's rambling, I said absently, "Tribe is a good home, but just because you're born there doesn't really mean it's 'home.' My home was taken from me long ago, but 'home' is more of a place you… I don't know?... 'Breathe life into?'… Yeah!? Home is a place that you make yours..."

I paused, thought for a second, and said aloud, "Sorta like my shack in the desert! Place was a patch of dirt before I built it up and made it a home… Not that any of that matters now."

With that, I passed out for a few minutes exhausted from the past few days. When I opened my eyes, I saw the kid rummaging through my pack and taking out some of the pre-war magazines I kept in there. He noticed me awaken, but focused more on a magazine titled, "US Army Ops"

He asked, "What Amerikah?"

I said, "That's where we live, it's a big mass of land that was bombed to Hell a long time ago."

He flipped the pages and mumble read some of the articles. The kid looked fascinated reading the articles about US soldiers fighting the "Reds." Studying the pages, and with no regard to them being mine; he ripped out little pictures of the old American flag and put them in his little bag. I didn't even care. This little tribal kid had probably never seen pre-war ruins or symbols of an old world that littered the wasteland. I guess it was something scavers like me took for granted.

So, I asked, "You want to keep those magazines?"

Looking at me with a smile, he said, "I have books?"

I laughed, "Sure, Haha! Go ahead, take them."

Completely randomly, he said, "When I stronger. I become Leejun too."

Concerned, I responded with, "Ok? If you want…" Mumbling, I added, "…or if you have to."

It was starting to get dark out and I had to link up with my men for the march out the next morning.

I told the kid who was still looking at the magazines, "Alright… See ya. Good chat, kiddo."

I walked away satisfied and thought about the little morale boosting conversation. It was good talking to someone other than a slave who was scared of me, or my soldiers who mindlessly shouted Legion phrases. I spent the past week in soldier camp getting beaten and battered, then a few days constantly walking to the sound of heavy steps in unison. Finding innocence is hard, and I had another strange "fatherly" feeling that the nameless Tribal Boy would go on to do great things. Plus, it wasn't like any of that idle chit-chat with the nameless kid would stick with him. He barely even spoke English.

*If you couldn't tell, the tribal boy was a young Ulysses. I just thought it'd be funny to make this story's main character the inspiration for Ulysses' eventual outlook on life.*