by Gudrun Mouw
“I don’t understand what you mean. I’m sorry. I just feel so bad right now.”
“I should know better than to try to talk to you.” I hear my father climbing into bed. He complains, “Why do you turn away?” I hear more movement, then my father again, “Where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“You came to bed way too early, and now that I want you here…”
My mother must have returned to bed. “I had to turn off that light at least.” After a while she says, “Please don’t play with my hair. It hurts.”
“Your hair is too long. I shall trim it tomorrow.”
“In November?”
“Why not? You have your new woolen hood.”
As I lie still, I hear other noises I don’t want to hear. I put my pillow over my head and try to will myself to go to sleep, rather than read the book I had wanted to study earlier.
Inside the darkness of night, I see shadowy shapes like people gathering in sacred ceremony. Where do such words come from? Still, the shadow people feel sympathetic, not scary like those nightmares my father accuses me of having. Nightmares, which I suspect are something else, something much worse.
Friede
Before going to bed, I decide to tie a long string I had found in my mother’s sewing basket to the doorknob in my room. I remember my father’s words, “Believe what you see with your own eyes.” I want make sure I will be awake. I tie the other end of the string to my wrist. “But the door opens to the inside,” I whisper, “what good will that do?” I must find another way.
I tilt my desk chair against the door so that it will fall and make a noise if disturbed. Then I will remain perfectly still, watch, and listen, and there won’t be any excuses about nightmares or fantasies. I am consumed with the need to sort out the facts of my life.
When I wake up during the night I see that the door is ajar. The chair no longer leans but stands upright on its four legs.
A hand creeps under my blanket. I kick my feet, then peer down just in time to see my father slip to the floor. I am awake and finally I know for sure that my father has been creating these so-called nightmares. I am angrier than I thought possible.
“Get out!” I project my voice, not only with anger, but also with determination. “I know who you are and don’t pretend I’m having bad dreams.” My father’s sickness rises up from the rug as he slinks away. I am relieved. A burden lifts. The truth comforts me.
* * *
The following day I return home from school. My parents are still at work. I unlock the garage door to greet Jasper. The dog is gone, his dishes gone, his cedar bed gone, every dog toy gone. I sit on the garage floor, askew like a rag doll with nothing to lean against. I do not cry. I sit in disbelief, motionless for a long while before going to the house.
I don’t call my school friends on the phone or listen to the radio. I sweep the kitchen as if I could destroy the floor with my harsh movements. Tears come. Sobs arrive, finally, and I think of running away, but I am only thirteen. When my parents arrive later than usual, I cannot look at my father.
* * *
Winter months create ice blocks along the lake shoreline, and these blocks stand like huge boulders, leaning against each other as though they will never melt. I barely notice how a gradually rising temperature eventually shrinks the ice boulders, how May arrives, green and colorful, and how summer burns with heat.
Saqapaya / The Phoenix
I am glad that Ku’n has a good mix of ambitious tenacity and visionary potential. He could be a great help to our people and I am happy to ignore my previous misgivings. I enjoy his company; his tendency to be brash and disrespectful seems to have disappeared. “Do not stare. Look,” I say, “from behind your eyes, relax at the center of your forehead. What do you see?” We stand inside, facing the cave mouth.
“I see light along the edge of the cave brighter than the dusk outside.”
“Good. Our hunt for food will be successful tonight.”
“The rocks also glow.”
“How does that look?”
“Steady.” Ku’n takes a big breath into his chest and raises his shoulders higher. He smiles slightly, as if he is trying not to show just how pleased he is with himself.
This youth is not tall, but he is thick in his bones, hardy, and when he turns to look at me to see if I have anything else to say, I also turn towards him, but I say nothing. His large, dark eyes flash. Yes, he is sometimes proud, inconsistent, and rash like others his age, but he is also capable in unusual ways. I must not praise him too much. Our work requires humility and clarity.
We have asked Grandfather Fire for help with the hunt. We must eat what we can, when we can. Too many soldiers scour the forest below, and they also hunt our people who will not convert.
Finally I speak to Ku’n, who has been unusually patient. “We will look for food after you get some water.” He goes without a word down to the creek, with the wooden bowl he and I recently made together.
I am thirsty. Something burns inside me from the night before, when the Phoenix flew over the ridge. I can see him more and more easily these days. At times we merge, and yesterday he gave me a vision of a campfire over on the other side of the mountains. We must check on this tomorrow. We must be extra careful.
It is dark under the trees. Here and there stars awaken the night, and I see, on top of the ridge, moonlight hushing up from behind the mountain. Coyote howls.
After Ku’n returns, we both drink and begin our search for food, walking out to a ledge without speaking. It is brighter here and there is just a hint of warmth remaining on the sandstone. Out from the coastline below, I have seen with Phoenix eyes the boulders that shape the land into a point, revealing the sacred Kumqaq, where souls leave.
I hear a faint scuttling in the shrub behind us. I signal to Hew’s son to come around. We circle the area and see a rabbit freshly caught in one of the snares we had set the day before. Good. We need the nourishment. We are going to the highest peak tomorrow to look for medicines and search the land for potential danger, any soldier movement or areas we may use for food.
Ku’n retrieves the game and snare. We are fortunate to find food not far from the cave. It has not always been easy with the two of us to feed. I nod, more pleased with him than I could have predicted. It feels good not to be alone. We hurry back. It is getting colder and days are shorter.
At the cave, embers are still hot enough to start a cooking fire. For now, the soldiers seem to be far enough away according to my vision. With the fog rolling up from the ocean, we feel safe.
We shall spend one more night here. There will be nothing to teach tonight. We will eat, sleep, and enjoy the pause. I am tired, and though I sense the Phoenix is nearby, I do not see or hear anything.
* * *
I am glad to see how Saqapaya’s heart has softened. This friendship with Ku’n reminds me of the relationship with his beloved uncle. His capacity for love is refreshed. And even though this special student-teacher journey will only be a brief respite, I am relieved to see the youth’s enthusiasm has done Saqapaya such good.
Things will change quickly, I know. But as I watch Ku’n sleeping and Saqapaya almost asleep, I know this unity of love and respect will not be lost.
Saqapaya / The Phoenix
I run along the mountain ridge on huge, flat boulders overlooking the ocean. I am alone again.
I had recently ventured to visit the Mission under the cover of darkness. I left Ku’n to stay hidden near the cave. Hew warned me through the barred window of the prison in which he had been placed for practicing our ways. “The soldiers are after you, Saqapaya,” he whispered. “Still, I am glad you came. I had been waiting for an opportunity to come up the mountain to find you and Ku’n, but that opportunity did not come. The soldiers say you cause trouble. The padres tell our people you sneak down from the mountains to make bad medicine and they hate you, even though their medicine doesn’t help our people, who die fa
ster than they can be buried. Go back, quickly. Send Ku’n to his mother. He knows the way. I had told everyone she needed to attend the burial of a close relative. My wife’s village is too small and far away and has not been found by the invaders yet. She needs him with her now. She is heartbroken with the three of us separated like this.”
I had agreed with Hew it would be best for Ku’n to join his mother and not to be near me. I knew it would be better to deal with this current danger on my own.
Now I have taken this chance I might be seen by my pursuers, because the soldiers behind me are slow, weighed down with clothing, guns, provisions, heavy boots, and ignorance. I don’t have far to go on the flat stone surface. A good hiding place is close by.
I jump over a crevice between two boulders, run down the face of a huge rock longer and larger than the village where I once lived. After crawling on my belly into a narrow cave opening, with an exit at the other side of the boulder, I lift myself to a small, secret ledge on the right of the entrance.
The first soldier arrives, the one the others call Comandante. He calls for his fellows, slower than he, then notices the tiny cave opening. Inside on the ledge, which is invisible from the entrance, I am stone. The mountain is my friend.
The soldier sets down his rifle, drops to his knees, leaning forward to see how steeply the floor of the cave drops down. He does not seem eager to come after me. He waits, perhaps to command someone else. He sticks his head through the hole and shakes his head. A second soldier comes up behind him, breathing heavily. The first soldier says words in their foreign language, “Puedo ver hasta la salida, y a dónde fue? Hernandez, búscalo.”
I hear the second soldier walking around the boulder, slowly. He calls out, “No podemos registrar cada agujero de la Montaña. Necesito agua, comida.” He moves away.
Through a tiny crack I see the third soldier arriving. He blows air out with a loud sigh, opens his leather vest, unplugs the spout of his water flask, swishes the contents around, and swallows the last mouthful. He makes a loud, disgusted sound. “Es un inferno. Tengo hambre, y no he visto nigun conejo.”
“Sí, pues, Vámanos,” says Comandante.
The soldiers stomp off. Their boots squeak. Clanging things hang from their belts, and when they jump between boulders, they land on the other side with loud thumping noises and more clanging. One of them yells. I am relieved to hear the sounds getting dimmer and give thanks for their clumsiness.
I wait inside the mountain, resting against the inner wall of the boulder, waiting for the noises to disappear completely. Finally I feel safe enough to step off the ledge and slide on my back down the length of the cave to the lower opening. I hardly make a sound, even as I land on the bottom. Crawling outside, I emerge on my hands and knees, look, then run, quietly over fields of stone to a special spot nearby, on the other side of the mountain.
A barely noticeable opening between two cliffs doesn’t look big enough, but I slip through and follow a practically nonexistent trail down to a small hidden valley. There caves, water, toyon, oaks, and other plants will provide nearly everything I need. It will be my new home, I have already explored it, a refuge maybe not even Maxiwo knew about. I am thankful this place found me in my need.
Walking on a narrow dirt path under a sandstone overhang I greet my boulder friends along the way. There is Turtle Back far to the left. High on the overlook is Hawk-Standing-And-Watching. There is Frog-Between-Two-Stones. I recognize the boulders with a love that is like the love I have for Hew’s boy.
This land we care for with great heart will care for us, if we know how to receive what it has to offer. I see the stones as my companions and also my protectors; these ancient ones will be here long after me.
Later in the evening I have a vision of a foreigner woman who will visit this place with her daughter, her hands empty, many generations from now. I understand the vision has been given to me by Phoenix, who helps me know such things. Phoenix, with a flap of his wings, shows me the woman’s name means peace, Friede. I whisper, “You will like this place. I am glad you will come, all grown up with a child of your own and remember me.” There is something more I do not grasp, but I am too tired. It has been a tense day.
* * *
Dear Saqapaya, you are right. You do not yet know Ku’n has been killed in a fight with soldiers. I followed him on your behalf, but I could not stop it. He was not able to hear my warnings. He was too angry about what is happening to his family and his people. He forgot that sometimes it is better not to fight in order to fulfill a larger mission.
See me, Saqapaya, sitting here on this boulder and almost blending into the orange and red sunset you love so much. Be glad you have loved well and have been loved in return. Do not regret. Your wisdom has been given freely. Some people alter themselves for the good. Some will learn a little. Some will not learn at all. And most sadly, some are taken before they have time to fulfill their potential.
Friede
Flying Over New York
The plane flies towards the outer ring of a city permeated with fantasy, a leader in the world of art and communication, a powerful commercial city interlaced by bridges, tunnels, and ferry lines between the Hudson and East Rivers, with a great harbor on the Atlantic Ocean; a city frequently pictured with the Statue of Liberty holding her arm up over the harbor, the horizon overflowing with skyscrapers.
I have been collecting and studying brochures and look forward to our landing. To me, New York symbolizes the beginning of our adventure on the way to Switzerland. My mother rests with her eyes closed next to me, and I am aware of sitting on a chair bolted to the metal floor with nothing solid underneath for thousands of feet. We plan to stay with my mother’s family, the Pulvers, along Germany’s southern border. Not all the Pulvers; I understand some of them have not been able to leave East Germany. Father has recently become manager of the bakery where he works and will join us later.
Fights between my parents had reached a peak before we left. At fifteen I am eager for new experiences and the trip brings a welcome change. At the same time, the motion of the plane makes me anxious, as though something terrible will happen at the end of the journey. In a dream recently I saw a cattle train, people standing for a long time, hunger, pressing, singing.
I take a deep breath. Looking out the window, the constant play of clouds and sun are a lovely distraction. A hawk soars far below. Riding upwind currents, he makes a wide turn and follows a river that looks like a silver ribbon on the land. How graceful he is, I think, and seem to recall how air feels heavy, like water, underneath a soaring bird body. White clouds drift near the plane’s wing and this perspective is not new to me, though it is my first airplane trip.
My mother’s head lies on her pillow facing me; her face is round and serene. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time. She smiles at me, leans closer, reaches towards my hair sleepily, and softly lifts a strand of hair that hangs over my brow. I am moved by this so intensely that I realize I have been missing my mother’s loving hand. She falls asleep and I turn my attention to the book lying in my lap.
I begin to read. I have come to love reading, once I learned the English language. It is my favorite thing to do. However, I am still a bit anxious inside this machine and am not able to concentrate.
Through the small window next to me, large, green spaces below are outlined by barely perceptible fence lines, or by roads with tiny moving objects on them. Minuscule houses huddle beneath forests that rise up from the earth, appearing no bigger than shrubs.
I experience the sensation of empty space all around the plane. It seems as if wind moves my body, or am I moving through the wind, outside my window, in a moment of unexpected exuberance?
I glide, without knowing how it happens, into a presence that buoys me. The city I am about to visit triggers a fast heartbeat and I experience an uplifting sensation as the plane descends.
Friede
Bodensee, West Germany
My mother a
nd I are scheduled to leave the southern border town of Friedrichshafen, across the lake from Switzerland, for the city of Munich, where a private school has accepted me as a student. Father’s trip had been delayed and the decision was made that we could stay in Germany, but I would need to continue my education. I am delighted.
After weeks of life along the warm, fresh water of the Bodensee, I sit in my maternal grandmother’s living room knowing, that in spite of new adventures ahead, I will miss everything about this place, including the statue rising out of the lake’s harbor. That lion, I think, has been there a long time.
“Friede!” Grandmother Pulver calls from the bathroom, “are you ready?”
“Yes, Omi.”
Mrs. Pulver stands by the door holding her purse. Her hair is tied back in its usual bun at the nape of her neck. “Your mother is helping Emma with the baby, so it’s just the two of us.” We climb four stories down to the front steps of the apartment building and head in the direction of the hospital.
I take my grandmother’s hand and place it inside the crook of my elbow. I wish I knew how to tell her how much I love her, but my mother promised we will visit often on weekends. Otherwise, I would be too sad to leave. My aunt lives next door to grandma and grandpa and it feels just as it should. Family. We walk arm in arm. Matching my grandmother’s steps, I tell myself, never forget how delightful it is to be with Omi. I remember my grandmother’s hot tears when Ursula died and I stroke Omi’s hand.
“You are just as sweet,” Omi says, “as when you were little. You remind me of Ursula, but you are healthy and stronger than you think. Try to understand, your mother is doing the best she can. She went through a lot during the war years and afterwards.”
