The First Culling

by Michael Eicherly

  As the Spaniards attack at close range with their harquebuses and Toledo swords. The wounded males scramble to grab any weapons they see fit to destroy the invaders. Many males are shot down close range in the head or chest. Some are violently butchered to death with the dull Toledo swords.

  A Tongva male manages to wrestle a conquistador off his horse. The conquistador gets up quickly, grabs his sword, and attacks the young warrior. The conquistador swings overhead at the warrior. The warrior blocks the attack with his spear; he swipes the legs of the Conquistador with his own. The attacker hits the ground. The Tongva warrior attacks the conquistador and tries removing the Toledo from his hands. The Tongva warrior is quickly surrounding by three Spaniards. They shoot the Tongva man, then strike their swords over this body. Bones can be heard cracking and crushing with each blow. One of the Conquistadors’ finish the kill by jabbing a Toledo in the Tongva’s stomach. Blood squirts up over the Tongva’s face, as he yells to the blacken sky.

  The young conquistador grabs a knife off the Tongva warrior’s hip. He sees a Tongva riding at him on a conquistador’s horse. The injured man on the horse tries throwing a hand axe but fails. The horse turns and rides at the young Spaniard full force. The young Tongva warrior jumps off the horse and tackles the conquistador to the ground. The Tongva warrior breaks his neck during the fall. The Spaniard warrior stabs the Spaniard in the heart several times.

  Eventually, the young Tongva warriors finds themselves out-numbered by Spanish. They try to fight them off, all to exhausted. They are taunted and ridiculed, played with by now larger conquistador’s on foot. The Tongva warriors try fighting them off, however are surrounded by a larger mite. A young Tongva warrior is struck to the ground.

  One of the conquistadors hails a victory yell and begins to chop at the Tongva’s neck. The conquistador eventually beheads the Tongva warrior, then holds its head to the sky yelling in victory.

  The Tongva woman looks out of her kiche. The screams of bloody murder begin to slowly fade around her. She speaks to both of her sons, grabs her infant, and begins to run. One of the boys fall; she grabs him by the arm and begins to drag him through the wet marsh full stride. The other son stops, then yells at his mother. She slowly returns to the corpse lying on the earth.

  The young Tongva son looks over his father for the last time. He kneels, grabs the arrow, and yanks it from his hand. The young boy looks to the black sky and curses. The mother grabs the boy by the arm and continues to run full stride. They run hundreds of feet. She looks back and sees large flames and now fainter screams coming from her village.

  Conquistadors now begin lighting the village on fire. Another conquistador places the remaining tribe members on their knees and begins hacking at their necks with their swords.

  The Tongva woman tries to run faster but is unsuccessful. The marshy thick grass becomes heavier and harder to move in. She begins to cry as her legs become heavy and unstable. She turns around and looks at the village one last time. There are no more horrible screams. Only orange, red fire fills the sky. She continues to run as far away from the blood orange sky quickly as possible. She finds herself moaning and panting as her muscles cramp up Her stomach aches and her lungs hurt. She begins to feel faint. The mother falls to the ground with her two sons and infant. She now suffers from total exhaustion. Her feet can no longer move. She knows the enemy will soon hunt for her, and for this; she curses her birth. She wonders what her people have done to be slayed this way. Did they violate laws of the Earth? Did they bare false witness, and put an innocent tribesman to death?

  In her last attempt to save her infant, she finds the thickest grassy marsh area she can find. She places a root in the infant’s mouth, then prays for her. She cries as she kisses her infant on its forehead. She makes a bed for the infant in the marsh and covers her child with every blanket she carried. She takes the clothes off her body and wraps the infant for extra warmth and comfort.

  Now naked with only sandals on her feet, she runs on for about five hundred yards until she finally falls to the earth with both her sons. She tells them to rest as she lays next to them. She holds them both, tears in her eyes. All she can do is ask the god’s for forgiveness, as the cold night air and ocean air begin to pierce her naked flesh.

  Sleep overcomes the three now. As the mother sleeps, she has a dream. The dream was beautiful and peaceful. She dreamed she was a bride again. All the members of the tribe were in attendance. She was in front of the chief with her husband. The sun was golden, as gifts lay at their feet. She smiles at her husband, as he touches her gentle face. A horse gently grunts in the background as they kiss each other. Then the grunt becomes louder, then even louder. Her heart begins beating frantically. Her husband looks at her smiles and walks away. She tries to follow but cannot. The anxiety she feels along with her heart rate pains her. Her heart, her body burns. Her husband vanishes in the sunset. Her feet will not follow him. She is now awake.

  In front of her is a conquistador atop his white horse. The grunting from the horse now sounds like a demon. The demon heckles them, as the conquistador gets off the horse. The Tongva woman grabs her two boys and holds them close. She speaks to the evil invader, and he laughs aloud. She speaks to him again in the threating tone as she holds up a knife. The enemy laughs louder.

  “You’re no match for me, you beast,” says the conquistador.

  The woman, with all her might, attacks the man. She lets out a cry, as she is thrown to the ground forcefully. The conquistador throws her aside. She tumbles through the wet marsh and cries. She tries getting up as the Conquistador throws a right hook. She falls to the earth again. The invader quickly walks to his horse and grabs his Toledo sword.

  “Watch this!” says the conquistador.

  He looks over the two Tongva boys.

  “Are you both a match for me, uh, uh? You’re weak. Weak like animals.”

  The conquistador quickly walks to the young boys. They both try attacking him. The evil man strikes both boys down. One of the boy’s limbs fall to the earth as the man laughs. He then butchers both boys without delay. Their screams turn faint as the mother passes out in the marsh.

  “Wake up, dog,” the conquistador says. His eyes are now fully dilated, black with no color. He grabs the Tongva woman and places her on her knees. She looks over at her two butchered sons and cries aloud. The cries spawn a reaction from coyotes throughout the area. It spooks the conquistador for a moment. He loses consciousness for a moment, then regains as he sees his prize before him. The conquistador looks over the woman and lashes an evil smile. She stops crying. She begins breathing heavy as anger now settles in. The thought of her sons dying unnatural deaths, turns her heart black. She feels hate for the first time. Hate for god’s creation, the tribe and most of all the evil white invaders.

  She curses their future offspring, then curses their livestock, their sea; she prays that the invaders will become poison across the lands. She prays that they will suffer. That thee land will not harvest. That the fish in the sea will become ill. That the sun will be black eternal. All of them, for all eternity. She curses these people for all eternity.

  The conquistador laughs as he stands behind her. The Tongva woman lowers her head in silence. The woman raises her hands upwards towards the black sky. The conquistador yells as he swipes downward on the Tongva woman’s neck. “All now is silent says the conquistador. All now is good.”

  Chapter Two

  It is early morning. Fog rolls over the once Tongva village. Smoke still raises from the ashes. The boot of a conquistador walks through the marsh. As he walks, his hand carries the heads of the two young Tongva boys. He walks towards a wooden spike erect from the earth, takes one of the heads and forcefully places it on the spike. The tearing of flesh can be heard as the conquistador grunts with every push. The conquistador takes the other boy’s head and shoves it downward on another spike. The Spanish conquistador stands back for a moment and admires his work. He looks it over without
any emotion. He reaches in his jacket and takes out a half-smoked cigar. Hands trembling, he lights the cigar, inhales then, exhales with a look of satisfaction about him. He nods his head and takes another hit, then blows the smoke upward towards the gray morning sky. He looks at a seagull then hears wildlife in the background. The conquistador now feels as if someone is watching him. He looks around and sees that most of his comrades have fallen. He unsure how this could happen. When he left the village. They were superior in numbers. A few lay barely alive, begging God to kill them. The conquistador steps back for a moment and looks around. The stench of death, raw flesh, and sounds of dead ghosts now haunt him. He walks backward nervously looking around in every direction. He hears the voices of lost souls running around him. They come from every direction. They speak louder and louder, then suddenly stop. His eyes are dilated, face dripping in sweat.

  The conquistador sees the sun rise over the field. As the sun rises, rows of Tongva heads sit upon several spikes. The man places his hands over his head, drops to his knees and screams atop his lungs. Birds fly away in all directions as the man sobs, hands in his face. The conquistador takes his harquebus and places to his forehead. He places the handles of the gun in his left palm, and with his right-hand places his finger over the trigger. He looks up to the sky.

  “My God, forgive me.”

  A single shot is fired as it echoes throughout the village and valley. The sky turns dark grey, and clouds form. The remaining conquistador’s holler in pain as they die alone, un-sung and without Honor…

  Chapter Three

  It is now 1952. A farmhouse sits alone in a field in Southeast Orange County. Aside the farmhouse sits an old barn. The barn is red and white and Dutch constructed. The farmhouse is also Dutch style. With white paint, and green plantation shutters. The property is owed by the Harris family. The Harris moved from Europe in the early 1900s. It is rumored that they purchased the home under dual titleship. Other Dutch and Germans bought over 500 acres. All for $250 U.S. dollars, and bottles of German and Dutch alcohol.

  Don Harris inherited the property with his wife. They first lived in Wyoming, then moved to Orange County in 1938. Don invested in oil and some stocks. Not much, but enough to keep the farm, and stay abreast the new competition; called corporations. Don Harris inherited the land and farmhouse from his wife’s father. They have raised livestock, oranges, strawberries, avocados, and plum ever since.

  Lately, Don’s been feeling old. To stay afloat, he has sold parcels of land to a large Orange County Corporations. He has also received request to move and sell is remaining acres. He been harassed sometimes threatened by young gangs in the area. So has his wife.

  Don fired his workers and works alone now. He has too. The rising cost of public utilities, water, feed and raw materials are taking tole older farmer and his wife. Don prides himself in using a push plow. He is a large and bulky man, about six foot seven, three-hundred pounds. He is the non-threatening type, fifty-five years old. Most people who know of him refer to him as “Big Don, the Teddy Bear.” Dons been married for thirty years and has three children. His oldest and him do not get along well.

  It is now the Fall Season. ‘The Harvest Moon’. Don is finding it hard to make ends meet this year. For reasons unknown, the land seems to produce more rocks and stones, rather than produce.

  It is now 4:00 pm. Wind is blowing onshore, and the sun is golden yellow. Don wears a long sleeve undershirt under his customary flannel, keeping him warm.

  Don’s horse gets spooked for some reason and suddenly stops. The large impatient farmer looks over his old horse.

  “Damn it, Todd, what’s the problem now? Are you tired already? Tired, lazy and old, just like me?” The farmer laughs aloud. Don pats his horse on the neck and looks him over. “Maybe it’s time we both retire. What do you say, old man?”

  The horse is suddenly spooked again. Don tries to calm him. He sees his best horse feels threatened.

  “What’s the matter, big guy?” Don sees a sharp piece of metal sticking out of the ground. He bends down and looks at each of the horseshoes. Noticing the shoes are ok, he mumbles to himself about the horse being hungry and lazy all the time. The horse gets spooked again, kicking its legs this time. The motion of the horse throws Big Don right to the ground.

  “Gosh darn you, Todd! Calm down their big fella, or I’ll knock you out.”

  Don catches his breath for a moment. He takes his handkerchief, wipes his brow then looks down for a moment, breathing heavy. He places his right hand down in the dirt, giving him leverage to stand. As the big farmer catches his balance, he notices a necklace. The farmer observes it closely and takes a deep breathe. He wipes his brow with his dirty sleeve.

  A sharp gust of wind runs through the farmer. He feels uneasy and looks in all directions. The feeling of someone or something watching takes over. He looks upward to the sky. The peaceful golden afternoon turns funeral grey. It is a necklace with an old Indian symbol. Farmer Don removes his glasses, scratches his head, and looks upward towards the sky. His horse backs up a few steps, letting out a disturbing grunting noise.

  “Shut up, Todd,” grunts the farmer. “Well, what do you know, Todd, looks like some sort of ancient Chinese or Indian symbol.” The horse gets agitated again. “Well, sweet tarnation, what do you say old man?” The farmer shows the necklace to his horse.

  The larger farmer looks up again. An eerie wind blows, and he feels uneasy again. The sky has turned awfully dark now, and fast he thinks. He places the necklace in his pockets, brushes off his pants, then looks at Todd.

  “Well, old man. Looks like a storm’s coming. Better get back, get some grub in us. Whatta you say?”

  The farmer removes the push-plow from the horse. They continue their walk side by side back towards the barn.

  The farmhouse is in perfect condition, and very well kept. It was hand-made by the original settlers. Solid redwood frame, three-foot foundation, and solid oak floors. The farmhouse has a large wood covered porch with an old wooden rocking chair and love swing. The porch is well illuminated, just like the house interior.

  After Don places his horse in the barn, he walks through the front door, passing the living room and rock fireplace to his right. The house is clean and spotless. His wife has been doing painting and waxing the floors. Don smells lemon, with hints of vinegar, bleach and fresh paint. Don has always liked these smells. He says it relaxes him. His wife chose eggshell white, with greyish-light blue accents. She also hung white wallpaper, displaying small blue-green flowers. The wallpaper hangs around the large brick fireplace. The walls are concrete plaster with wood lattice ceilings. The fireplace displays pictures of the family. There is also a large crucifix that displays in the formal dining room. It sits above a 16th Century Credenza and old glass display. The cupboards display old beer glasses and mugs from Europe. Also, fine china from Germany dating back to the 17th Century.

  The farmer’s wife is named Donna. She is 40 years old, with dark hair, pulled back in a bun. She has gray streaks in her hair and looks about ten years older than Donald. She is not unattractive, just a bit worn from the farming life. She dreams of moving back to New York with her Cousins. Donna sometime daydreams about Class A society, evening gowns, laced with pearls, white gloves, and politicians hungry for her hand in marriage. She misses tea parties, and grand dinner parties, with Chamber Music and Mendelssohn on violin. Not that she loves Don. The stories of a woman’s heart are not to be read by men. Donna married out of arrangement and a sick family bet. Now that the Farm is failing. She wonders if that bet, became a curse. Don will have no part of New York. ‘It’s a farmer I was born, it’s a farmer I will die’ He always says. For now, as the days grow longer, and the kids finally gone; she will convince him otherwise.

  Donna wears a white dress with red flowers, black stockings, and big bulky black shoes. She stands in front of her kitchen sink, staring out the kitchen window. As she stares, she becomes dazed for a moment. She looks lifeless
. Almost dead and emotionless.

  “Hey there, honey.” The large farmer grabs his wife from behind.

  “Aaaaaaahhh!” she screams out.

  “Darn you, hun, I almost hit the floor.” The farmer laughs as he pinches his wife’s waist.

  “How was your day?” She looks over her, husband drying her hands with a towel.

  “Well, I don’t think the harvest will produce much this year. The earth’s much harder than before for some reason.”

  “Maybe it’s the unusual cold weather.” The wife walks to the stove and continues preparing dinner.

  “I don’t think it’s the weather, hun. I’m old, the horse is old, this house is getting old, you’re getting old.” The farmer reaches over and squeezes his wife’s buttock.

  “Stop it, Donald. Kids are upstairs.” She slaps his hands away.

  The large, dominating farmer grabs his wife, turns her around, and kisses her neck.

  “Stop, Don, not now.” The wife places her head back for a moment and moans in pleasure. “Wait, hun, wait. The kids.”

  “The kids what”?

  “Upstairs.” Her voice muffles with his lips. “Kids upstairs, stop it now.” Donna pushes her husband’s hands away. “They’re doing homework. And besides, you smell like horseshit.”

  “Never stopped you before.” The farmer laughs aloud then tries to move in on her again.

  “Don, I said stop.”

  “Alright, then I’ll get a beer.”

  “By the way, what there are you cooking?” Asks Don.

  “Lasagna.” His wife says proudly.

  “Well holy sister of Christ. You better make me my own pan. I’m diving in, and not coming back until it’s gone. Sweet holy god, I love Lasagna.” The wife laughs aloud, walks to the refrigerator and grabs some butter-garlic and cream.