by K. T. Tomb
It was actually nice to be behind the wheel again, Patch thought as he reluctantly approached the powwow.
A spontaneous round of applause welcomed him when he walked inside. Linda’s was the first face he saw. She was smiling broadly.
“Welcome, Morning Star. I have heard from one of your doubters but I wasn’t buying what he was selling. Look around you. You’ve brought a brightness to their eyes that I’ve never seen before.”
Linda’s enthusiasm improved Morning Star’s tentative mood. From the corner of his eye, Patch spotted Pale Fox. The muscle bound Indian scowled and he suspected that was the doubter Linda had mentioned.
When Morning Star arrived, the council was already nominating a new leader. He spoke to several people and mentioned Linda Lightfoot as a worthy choice but his suggestion fell on deaf ears. They chose him unanimously as the next leader; Patch had no choice but to accept the position without arousing suspicion. The scene was jovial but he couldn’t help overhearing as Pale Fox complained to one of the other attendees.
“I thought the Canarsee people had more sense than to elect a crackpot like Morning Star, if that’s even his name.”
Linda dragged him away by the arm.
“People are beginning to take notice of you Pale Fox. You’re coming across like a sore loser.”
“Listen, Linda, I’ve worked hard for the Canarsee and positioned myself to become the chief of this tribe. I deserve it. This guy comes in and takes it all away from me in one wave of the headdress. What the hell?”
“What did he take away, Pale Fox? Your glory? We are talking about Morning Star, he is a dream realized for our people.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Lightfoot, since when have you believed in prophecies? You are not one of us. You use us as specimens, as subjects to write papers about. You scorn us when we wear traditional clothing and use our heritage to get the money to buy your fancy Western suits.”
“That’s not fair, Pale Fox. I am a friend of the people here. I am one of you. I don’t know what’s motivating your anger. Is it jealousy? I have never spent any time alone with Morning Star, if that’s where your mind is going.”
Linda stormed off.
Morning Star was taking in what had been an eventful evening. When the people of New York elected him to serve the city, he’d had a feeling of exhilaration and he was beginning to have the same feeling for the honor the Canarsee had given him. A small girl tugged on his leather tunic, she was about five years old. He could guess the little girl’s age quite accurately because Hillary was seven.
“Hello. What’s your name?” he asked gently.
“My name is Taki. I made this doll for you. It used to be my doll but I made it look like you. I’m sorry it isn’t more fancy.”
He eyes teared up at the kind gesture.
“I think it is the most beautiful doll I have ever received. I would not trade it for any fancy doll. It’s from you and that makes it special. Is your Mom or Dad here?” Morning Star asked.
“I don’t have a dad, but my Mom is over there. She says you can make everything better. Can you?”
“Perhaps we can all work to make things better. Thank you for the doll, Taki.”
Oh my, he thought, this is a hell of a responsibility…and fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.
***
The next day Morning Star became Mayor Vincent Patch again. He hadn’t slept much and was in a bad mood for it. A quick look at his morning schedule and he realized that there wasn’t even any time to hit the gym and get in a few good punches at the bag. He decided on the next best thing, which was his brother Nathan. Patch called his office and heard he was trying a case which meant he was in the municipal building.
Patch stormed into the courtroom. He was wearing his everyday work shoes, which were very different from the comfortable moccasins he had worn the past few nights as Morning Star. He tripped in them, which made his mood worse.
“Hello, Mayor. We were not expecting you,” the stunned judge commented.
“Pardon me your honor. I just need to borrow your counsel for a minute,” he replied cordially.
Patch yanked his brother up and out of courtroom. Since Patch was bigger and in better shape, the task was easy. He sat his confused brother on a bench in the hallway.
“Thanks a lot for the advice, Nathan. They voted me their next chief and I’m not even a fucking Indian.”
“Chief?” Nathan said. “Sounds fantastic.”
“No dice. It’s not fantastic and I’m not going back. I’ve gotten involved with something I can’t handle. I’ve got to remember that my job is being the mayor of New York City. If the public ever knew I was prancing around a campfire dressed as a fake Indian chief complete with war paint; if they knew that I was elected chief of the very people who lay claim to their beloved Manhattan, they would toss me out of office.”
Patch was out of breath from his heated speech.
“Calm down, Brother, and lower your voice or people will take this to Twitter. I can just see the hashtags now, #crazymuch. They need you, Patch,” said Nathan, as he straightened his tie. “The Canarsee have been kicked around and forgotten. They’re just trying to find themselves and reclaim some of their lost, or shall I say stolen, heritage. They need help and they’re asking you for that help. We grew up together. I’ve never known you to turn down anyone in need.”
“There’s always a first time, Nathan,” Patch said, burying his face in his hands.
Nathan looked at his brother with disappointment. Since they were boys, he’d always tried to be like him, despite the fact that Vincent was younger. Now, he had the rare opportunity to tell Patch what to do.
“You have to do the right thing, man.”
“This coming from the lawyer?” he joked. “I can’t let them dig up Central Park, Nate. What if they do find the lease? My gravestone will read ‘The Man Who Lost Manhattan’. Wall Street will start trading in beads, million-dollar condos will be replaced by wigwams and fine dining establishments will start serving caribou and fish on a stick,” Patch lamented.
“If the lease does exist then a deal is a deal. Even I know how tough it is to break a lease. It’s just a chance you have to take.”
Nathan patted his brother on the back. He had to get back into the courtroom and beg the judge for forgiveness. He only hoped the judge was a fan of the mayor.
***
At home that evening, Patch played catch with Spike. It was obvious that the dog preferred him without the ornate headdress. The dog was loyal to Patch and he could tell when he was blue but Patch lacked the energy and the motivation to take his pal for a walk. The windows of the penthouse had a stellar view of the Manhattan skyline as he looked out over the city; he bent down to pick up Spike’s ball but found the doll from the Canarsee girl, Taki, instead.
It was raining outside, causing the water to cascade down his windows. Patch saw the tops of the skyscrapers and the large green park. He looked at the doll again and thought to himself, It’s just a piece of land.
With only days left in the gathering, Patch knew he would make it through; there was going to be some resolution. Linda Lightfoot was like a pit bull or a pissed-off rattlesnake when it came to the Canarsee lease. He found himself repeatedly wishing that she weren’t such a beautiful and intelligent woman. In the recesses of his mind, he knew what mattered. Patch squeezed the doll – the Canarsee people mattered.
Patch noticed a blinking light on his phone. The display read ‘door attendant’. Being mayor meant no knocks on his door. In was a throwback to a bygone era. He called Monroe who was a steel-built man who let no one pass without approval and identification. He took security seriously; he had lost several friends on 9/11.
“Monroe buddy, who you got?” Patch spoke into his phone.
“I have the lovely Hillary and her Mom,” Monroe knew how he felt about his ex.
Patch inhaled deeply. It was never a good time to see Juliet but always a good time to see Hillary; unf
ortunately for him they tended to arrive in the same package.
“Send them up, Monroe.”
Before continuing he considered that he may be on speaker but he knew Monroe to be cautious around Juliet.
“Be sure to frisk Juliet; the bitch may be packing and somehow I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Monroe snickered and let them proceed.
Patch opened the door to find his perfect seven year old daughter; she had soft golden curls and giant blue eyes. Patch knew the days when she would want nothing to do with her parents were on the horizon , so he was trying to enjoy the present. His moments with her were so sporadic that he made the most of it when he got them. He scooped up a squealing Hillary while completely ignoring Juliet.
“Daddy, I missed you. Are you surprised to see me?”
Patch thought for a moment before answering. He was glad to be dressed as himself. It would have taken quick thinking if he were dressed as Morning Star.
“I am surprised, but it’s always a pleasant surprise to see my little angel.”
Hillary went right to the kitchen; she knew her father kept the fridge stocked. She loved grapes, kiwis and cheese, which made her snack generally healthful. She knew where he kept the good stuff like the M&M’s and her preferred brand of chocolate chip cookies. She propped herself on her favorite chair in the kitchen, which had a clear view of the flat-screen television. Patch always had her favorite movies queued.
“You appear well, Juliet. To what do I owe this visit?” They were out of Hillary’s hearing distance. “I see you have Hillary with you as some type of human shield.”
Patch waited for an answer.
“I brought Hillary along because I thought you would want to see your daughter,” Juliet said.
“You know that’s the truth, Juliet. I’m a busy man and I would appreciate a heads-up. I’ll always re-arrange my schedule where our daughter is concerned. By the way, I have the extra money that you requested.”
He pulled the check from his billfold. She looked at it and gave it a disapproving look.
“That will do for now. You are aware that I am due a cost of living increase?”
“Yes, I’m aware that the cost of a day at the spa and heating your five bedroom condominium at Park West costs a lot of money. I am taking care of Hillary’s private school and summer camp fees. I pay a lot considering I live on a mayor’s salary. I don’t come from money, so I am doing the best I can. Have you ever considered working? I know you have the time. Hillary is either in school or childcare five days a week.”
Patch was getting agitated. It was not what he had planned for his late afternoon.
“I am constantly reminded why I am a single parent struggling to do the best I can,” Juliet folded the check and stuffed in her purse.
“Juliet…” Patch stopped just as Hillary came into the living room.
“Daddy, I love the snacks and I’m watching an episode of H2O. It’s about mermaids. I think I’d like to become a mermaid someday. I love your house and I found this little doll. Did you get it for me? It’s beautiful.”
Hillary prattled on about everything. She had a habit of bouncing around between subjects. She was holding the doll tightly. Patch had to think about his answer.
“You know that I meet a lot of people with my job, don’t you Honey? That doll was a gift to me. It came from a little girl a bit younger than you are. Her name is Taki and she doesn’t have a lot. She shared a little of what she does have with me.”
“I think you’re wrong, Daddy. She has a lot, because she has you as a friend,” Hillary said, causing a lump to grow in Patch’s throat.
***
When Patch got up the next morning, he again dressed up as Morning Star and returned to the Hofstra University campus for another day of Canarsee activities. Patch was happy to wear his clothes made of tanned animal hides; the material was soft and flexible. Abernathy had presented him with a great selection. Several people in the Native American History Department at NYU heard that the mayor was interested in traditional attire and had opened their closets to Patch. They did not know what he was up to but they were proud to share their knowledge regardless.
It had finally come down to the fun part of the pow-wow. Business was set aside to exchange cultural traditions and play games. The day felt like a festival day, they had a celebratory vibe going on. Patch, dressed as Morning Star, noticed Linda Lightfoot almost as soon as he arrived. Pale Fox was not far behind her. Patch could not figure out whether they were an actual couple or just friends. If it was the latter, Pale Fox obviously wanted it to be more. Linda approached Morning Star before he could ponder the situation.
“I am so happy you were able to join us. There are booths set up for exchanging crafts and food. No cash is accepted. I am sure you have some beads with you.”
Patch found himself wondering if they took credit cards.
“Of course, they will most likely expect nothing in return from you, seeing as you are the new chief. Do you have a legend to share around the council fire later?”
Patch got nervous – Legend?
Morning Star wandered among the booths and fires. There was a game going on in the lower field. It was like lacrosse and they played on the Hofstra soccer field. There was a distinct difference from the Lacrosse games he had seen played in high school and college. The players were doing a great deal more whooping and hollering for one. They were also very good in that their sticks were like an extension of their arms. They were better than most NCAA Division I players he had seen.
When he turned his attention to the central stage that had been set up in the midst of the fair, there was a circle of drummers playing music such as he had never heard before. It was probably because the drums were unique. Many were crafted out of wood and covered with thin layers of animal skin. Others were fashioned out of dried gourds. Decorations of beads and fringe made each one one-of a-kind.
His favorite booth held a number of women weaving spectacular woolen blankets. The reds were vivid and oranges brilliant. Working on looms made by hand, they took pride in the tightness of the weave and the intricacy of their individual patterns. He had stopped to admire the work when a woman named Cloud Friend spoke to him.
“We have been working on a blanket for you, Morning Star. It is an honor to present it to you as a gift. We had it blessed so that it will protect you from evil spirits at night.”
“I will use it to keep warm at night. It is my honor Cloud Friend,” he replied respectfully.
Patch took the gift and tucked it under his arm. He’d received many baseball caps and free dinners from the people of New York but he found himself holding something at that moment that made four course gala dinners pale in comparison.
As he was finishing his walk around the powwow, Patch realized it had taken him hours because of all the admirers along the way who had stopped him. He came upon a group of men selling pipes and immediately wished he had some beads. One of the men gestured him over, offering him a sample of their pipe.
Oh, no! he thought. Here we go again. Morning Star did not want to be rude, so he inhaled. The experience was euphoric.
“You must take this pipe and smoke it in good health. Share it with others and it will promote harmony. We miss your friend Hunting Bear. We remember that he enjoyed our tacos made of rattlesnake.”
“I should have brought Nath – I mean Hunting Bear. I will be sure to tell him you mentioned the wonderful snake tacos. He noted they tasted like venison.”
Patch smiled to himself as he accepted the pipe, which was packed full with their special blend of tobacco. He would save it for a special occasion.
After the smoke from the pipe, Morning Star walked back to his vehicle. On the walk over, an errant shuttlecock buzzed over his head. There was a group of youngsters hitting one back and forth with a battle board. He swatted it away like a fly and the delay allowed for Linda to catch up with him before he could get to the car and leave.
“I hope you’re coming back this evening, there’s going to be a huge feast. It just wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Linda winked at Morning Star. The gesture was out of character, which she knew immediately and blushed.
“I have some business to attend to this afternoon but I’ll return tonight though I may run a little late.”
Patch was thinking about the time it would take to run home, change for the council meeting, and then recreate his look as Morning Star. “I’ll probably make it by dessert.”
“You won’t be missing much. I prefer a Mediterranean diet. Native American cuisine doesn’t seem to agree with me.” Linda laughed.
“I am so happy to hear you say that, Dr. Lightfoot.”
“That’s odd; I rarely use such formal address around here. How did you pick it up?”
“I must have heard it somewhere.”
Patch had heard it as Mr. Mayor. He was hoping hard that he hadn’t just made a fatal error and hopped into his car. She was steps away from finding out his true identity. First, in the office she thought she’d recognized him and now he’d screwed up again. When he pulled out of the parking lot, he took off his headdress and threw it in the passenger seat. He rushed home and took a quick shower to rinse off the smell from the powwow.
***
Mayor Patch settled into the back seat of the sedan, ensconced in the comfort of the car that the city provided to shuttle him around. In his jacket pocket, he had the pipe from the powwow. The stem extended to his chin but he was the mayor and he could get away with a fashion statement that no one understood.
Patch entered the meeting room in the cavernous bowels of City Hall. Reporters were swarming before the meeting began. Cameras were not allowed in the meetings themselves and only a handful of reporters watched the meeting on closed circuit TV in an adjacent room; the public were welcome by appointment or invitation of the council. It gave the public access without having the meetings get out of control, which at times it still did. When they exited the meetings, there was always a crush of press.
