The Beat - Chapter 10
Mrs. Birchtree said this was the place for it. Perhaps my visions were only imagined, not dreamed. I don't know, but perhaps I could dream again the same way I could tolerate the morning sun. It was temporary; I knew that.
In my vision, I glimpsed the scene outside the longhouse window. It was a hot summer day. The well-paved road was black beside the green grass. Inside, air conditioning bathed the room with refreshing coolness.
I saw Sam in the future, no longer 25 but about 40. His wife stood at his side, there were five children, and everyone looked content. It was a possible future for him and his decision to make, his choice. Although I had never wanted to create another Vampire, Sam would have been different. Humans on Vampire blood usually get high on the sensations. Controlling himself is the first thing a shaman learns. Sam knew he could handle it. If he asked, I would have been proud to sire him.
A knock on the door startled me into wakefulness. My watch read 9:30. It was a cool, cloudy day in January. Nothing had changed. Three men came inside the longhouse. "Mrs. Birchtree said you would be here. Sorry to disturb you," said one as respectfully as he might speak to an elder. "We came for the cots and to put out the fire. The ceremony will begin soon."
"I'll wait outside then," I said. Clouds still covered the sky. The brief appearance of the morning sun had not lasted long. I saw that Pete and Walter had been taken down and brought away to recover. I wondered what their families would do to them. Next, I saw people walking up the hill to the longhouse. There must have been well over 500 people. They couldn't all fit. Fewer than two-dozen of them wore regalia. I supposed those were the principal players and the others would wait in the back or outside for their decision to be announced. I had no place on the inside, except that Sam wanted me there.
The principals filed in. I was looking for Sam, but did not see him in his familiar jeans and jacket. "Mick?" I turned at the voice behind me and smiled at the surprise. Sam wore a breechclout over leggings and knee-high moccasins. He wore a long-sleeved hide shirt with an open vest over it. Both had fringes and quillwork decorations. Strands of beads hung down his chest. A carved ivory bear descended from one of the necklaces. "Bear Clan," he said when he saw where I stared. "The Birchtrees are Bear Clan."
He could have walked out of a painting. His long hair was shining and brushed forward just enough to cover the twin marks on his throat below his left ear. "What?" I asked. "No war paint? No Mohawk scalp-lock?"
"I never claimed to be a warrior," he said. I just battle for truth, justice, and the Mohawk way. He did not say that out loud, but I heard it as easily as if he had. I pressed my lips to keep my serious expression. "Shamans don't shave their heads," he said in response to my spoken question. He gestured to his clothing and grinned. "I dressed the part for my grandmother and for Matthew. I'm not the lead performer today, just backup. Come on in."
The younger men and woman permitted inside took chairs in the back or lined the walls standing while the elders took benches. When all was still, three elderly women came in. Each was holding a metal pail by its handle. I smelled the burning coals on the inside. Younger women had laid out the logs in a pyramid shape, with tinder at the sides and shreds of paper. The older women, including Mrs. Birchtree, shoveled their hot coals into strategic places around the logs. They fanned the fire with their decorative fans, chanting in unison while it caught. Based on the respectful way everyone stood, I assumed they offered a prayer for guidance. It's what I would have asked for.
I was already standing on one side, glad just to be there. I didn't understand the words, but that was all right. When they were done, Matthew and Jacques walked up to the open door together. Matthew stood aside to let Jacques walk in first. Respect for age again. Matthew seemed surer of himself. I wondered what Sam or Mrs. Birchtree had said to prepare him. They each took a seat in the center of the semi-circle of elders in the front of the room.
Sam left his place to get me. "Come." He walked me to his chair and motioned for me to sit. I was his guest and his elder, although by how much, no one beside Mrs. Birchtree and possibly Matthew knew. He stood behind me resting his hands on my shoulders. At the contact, I felt like we were two currents of electricity joined into one. Increased individually, our powers had joined together and were amplified.
Pete and Walter were led inside and seated to Jacques' right. The elders took turns asking them questions similar to the ones asked yesterday. They insisted they had thought of the dynamite themselves. Jacques had not influenced them. They said they accepted their punishment, repented, and would try to made amends by rebuilding Mrs. Birchtree's house better than ever.
"Jacques," said an old man. "You wanted to become head shaman here after Mrs. Birchtree retires. Please tell us why you think you would be best for the position. It's a post of honor. You would be asked for advice and guidance. How would you guide us if you were chosen? What do you see for us?"
Jacques rose to his feet. "I've lived here a long while. I'm mature and I know the nature of people. The youth and inexperience of young Matthew are not his fault. He's barely 14. He'll still need Sam and his great-grandmother to advise him. Does a chief advisor need an advisor? With Sam being practically an outsider absorbing the worst the outside world has to offer, the changes to our reservation will be dramatic. Do we want to retain our identity, or do we want to become any other Canadian town?" He sat down.
Matthew was invited to stand and speak. Sam gripped my shoulders more tightly. "Let me ask you a question, Jacques," he said. "You say you put no influence on Pete and Walter. You're their cousin and you live near them. You see them every day. Why didn't you know what they planned?" He waited a moment, but Jacques did not reply.
"If you can hear and interpret the speech of animals, why couldn't you hear your cousins? If it was their idea completely to bomb my great-grandmother's house and kill Sam, why weren't you aware of it? You say you know the nature of people. Why didn't you see into their souls and try to stop them?"
Jacques looked down, not answering the question. Sam rested his chin on my head. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was looking directly at Matthew. Together, we were projecting confidence to the younger man. He hadn't spoken before a council of elders before, but the thoughts and the words he was speaking were all his own. In spite of his youth, he might make a very good chief shaman.
"The few changes Sam recommended are not dramatic. They are superficial. When we first started using iron pots and rifles in the 1600s, no one thought these innovations were going to change our essential natures. Today, we use telephones, refrigerators, plumbing and electricity. Paving the roads or putting air conditioning in here won't need the approval of the high shaman of the community. Let the elders discuss the issue, listen to the opinions of those for or against it, and decide.
"It's not for my own honor or the honor of my family that I seek this position. I'm not afraid to seek the counsel of my elders. I didn't ask to be made high shaman for myself. My grandmother asked me to try since Sam didn't want it. He still doesn't, but I'll always value his opinion whenever he's good enough to visit us. I will continue to learn from my elders, even while I use my gifts to see into souls and interpret dreams. If I'm elected high shaman over all the families, maybe Jacques would agree to being one of my teachers. I'll abide by your decision."
"Jacques?" asked Mrs. Turtle. "Have you anything to add?"
"The boy has become a man," he said. "I think we should all support him. I'll abide by your decision as well."
Mrs. Turtle, Jacques own mother, looked at Jacques in surprise. "My son is growing up as well," she whispered. No human but her neighbor would have heard her. I heard it, of course, and relayed it wordlessly to Sam. He nodded.
The elders spoke amongst themselves, and then voted with a casting of stones into a basket, light and dark. Matthew was elected high shaman by all votes. The decision was announced by the counter in the longhouse and then outside. "It went well," Sam said. "Much better I would have imagined."
Matthew accepted the congratulations of his family members and the others. His mother and father hugged him. He came over to Mrs. Birchtree and kissed her wrinkled cheek. Then he walked over to Sam and me. "You gave me the courage to speak," he said to Sam. He turned to me. "Your help made it possible."
"They were your words," I said.
"You'll always be welcome here." I thanked him for that. It was good to have friends in high places.
The longhouse people went out onto the path and down to the square between the houses. Someone brought Sam a drum and drumsticks. He sat on an Adirondack chair with the drum held between his knees. "It's a water drum," he told me. A few men brought turtle shell rattles, and one brought a wide mouthed flute. "This beat will be different from the one I played this morning," he said.
He was the lead musician this time and his beat sent the message of reconciliation and peace. The flautist caught the music and tone, and wove a melody through it. The rattles provided background. The combined sound spread over the community like a blanket. Some people danced. As the sun crested and began to descend, I stepped into the lengthening shadows. It was nearly three in the afternoon. The influence of my blood sharing with Sam was ending.
When I looked again, Sam was handing over the drumsticks to another and coming for me. "It's nearly time to go to the airport," he said. "I made your reservations. Grandmother?" She was expecting his call and walked up to us.
"Follow me if you would, Mick," she said. She led us to Matthew's house back in the Birchtree neighborhood and brought us inside, to the kitchen. She found the jelly glass in the refrigerator. It had been covered well with plastic wrap to keep its contents liquid and safe as possible. "While you slept yesterday, I brought deer blood to my daughter's refrigerator. I think you can use this." She handed me the jar.
How incredible it was to be drinking blood in the presence of friends out of a jelly jar like this. Mrs. Birchtree averted her eyes. Maybe she thought a Protector's needs should be taken care of in private. Sam gave me a faint smile. I sighed and put down the empty jar in the sink. "Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome." Mrs. Birchtree took a last look at both of us, and let herself out. Sam disappeared for a moment. He returned carrying an overnight bag.
"What is this?" I asked. Mine had been destroyed.
"Clean clothing, a comb and a toothbrush to replace what you lost in the fire. I thought you might like to refresh yourself and shower before we left for the airport. We'll leave in half an hour so you'll have plenty of time for security."
The shower felt great. So much had occurred since my last one. I loved the feel of clean socks on my feet. When I came back, Sam had not changed. "They're used to seeing us like this in Montreal," he said. "Here's your boarding pass. I printed it off on Matthew's pc. You're flying first – class. Our treat."
He'd been busy. "And your people are afraid of paved roads?" I looked at him again. Something was missing. "Where is your bear necklace?"
"It's yours now." He pulled it from a inside pocket in his vest. He held it out with both hands. I lowered my head so he could put it on for me. He centered the ivory bear on my shirt. "A going away gift," he said.
"But I have nothing to give you," I said with a touch of sadness.
"You gave us this day and a better future than we would have had. Who could ask for more from a Protector? Besides, you have a Mohawk blood brother now. Are you ready to go?"
We shared a hug before I went through security to the gates. I had my own world in Los Angeles to return to. There would be two deaths soon. I guessed Coraline's would be one, but it would be just her mortal shell that died. She'd be back. She always came back. I could not guess who else must die, but I already knew I would avenge that death. There would be sadness, but there would also be happiness again. I believed in Mrs. Birchtree's dreams for me. I looked once more into Sam's honest face, gripped his shoulder, and then turned to walk down the ramp to airport security.