by Len Levinson
Wise old warriors nodded their heads in agreement, while younger fighters would do anything Victorio recommended, for he was the one they admired most.
“It appears,” said Mangas Coloradas, “that Victorio's plan has found favor among us. Now we must decide who will lead the resistance.”
“Victorio,” said old Cuchillo Negro.
“Victorio,” added Chatto.
Victorio's name echoed across the sweat lodge. He had been selected once again, although war planning caused him worry and sleepless nights, and took him away from his family.
“Do you accept the honor?” asked Mangas Coloradas.
Victorio bowed solemnly before them. “I shall never deny the wishes of the People.”
A cougar examined the valley through slitted eyes, so no one could see sun reflecting on its eyeballs. Weighing 150 pounds, it lay on a rock overhang, hoping for something, anything, to move among cactus and hackberry vines, but there was nothing except lizards and birds. The land had become ill, fresh meat scarce, and even plants were dying, while streams tasted of decay.
Something slapped the cougar's head. In shock and fright, it leapt to its feet. A dark hairy creature stood behind him, knife in hand and grin on his face. No one had ever snuck up on the cougar before, and awareness of its vulnerability terrified it. With a mighty yelp it dived off the ledge, landed on grama grass below, and proceeded to speed across the valley, yowling at the top of its lungs.
Nathanial had stalked the cougar three days just to see the expression on its face. The blond Apache couldn't help laughing at his little joke as he sat cross-legged on the ledge.
He realized that West Point had been boring compared to the college of the wilderness. His mind immeasurably clear, his sensitive ears heard a bird land on a branch behind him, while the fragrance of spring flowers filled the air. He felt liberated, with no concern about paychecks, bills, and whiskey.
A rattlesnake slithered onto the ridge, but Nathanial didn't flee. Instead, he tossed a pebble at the rattlesnake, who became curious. Cocking its head from side to side, flicking its tongue, it approached the blond Apache. You'd better not trifle with me, the snake seemed to say. I am not afraid of you.
“Nor I, you,” replied Nathanial, leaning forward and peering into the rattler's eyes.
Oh no? The snake coiled, wagging its head from side to side. How about now? The snake shook his rattles ominously.
“I dare you,” replied Nathanial.
The snake sprang so fast it was a blur, but Nathanial's hand snatched its throat in midair. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you,” asked Nathanial.
“I will be your friend,” said the wriggling reptile.
“Who can trust the promise of a snake?” asked Nathanial, who then flung the creature into the air. It landed on a patch of rock below with a loud plop, was unconscious for a few moments, then weakly crawled beneath a hedge of desert poppies. Laughter filled the valley as Nathanial exulted in his new power. Rising to his feet, he extended his arms to the heavens. I fear nothing!
Cadet Buck Barrington returned home at Easter and dined with his mother and brother. The boys discussed school and politics, while their mother was silent, dressed in black, perfectly groomed, except for a few gray hairs hanging from the bun in back of her head.
During dessert, Buck turned to her and said, “I have something important to tell you. May I now?”
“I hope you haven't lost a large sum gambling with your friends, who never fail to fleece you.”
“No, and I haven't made a nice girl pregnant, I'm sorry to say. I've reached a decision, although I change my mind so often, I suppose it doesn't matter. But I've decided to stay at West Point. I hope you don't mind.”
Startled, she asked, “What is your reasoning?”
“I don't know if you can describe it as ‘reasoning,’ but I intend to complete my education, then transfer to New Mexico Territory, because I owe it to Nathanial.”
Tobey raised an eyebrow. “I've never heard anything so silly in my life. What good will it do if you remain in the army?”
“It is my duty,” replied Buck, who then turned to his mother. “I hope you won't oppose my decision.”
“If you want to endanger your life for the sake of your brother, don't expect me to stand in your way. I disapprove, of course, but must confess in all honesty"—she took a deep breath—"if I were a man, I'd do the same damned thing.”
A spring thunderstorm whipped the Tularosa Mountains, while jagged spears of lightning filled the sky. Water rushed to lower elevations in swollen rivers over land bone dry yesterday. All creatures hid from the punishing thunderbolts, and even the bear sought refuge in a cave, but at the top of one remote summit, dancing wildly above the abyss, appeared a strange figure wearing breechclout and moccasin boots, with a blond beard.
Nathanial had been drinking cactus juice, eating a variety of vegetative substances and raw meat for the past several days. He felt at the beginning of new birth as he leapt about wildly, rain pouring upon his head, distant lightning casting grotesque shadows into endless caverns. I dance, therefore I am, he thought as he vaulted into the air, as if he could fly like an eagle, all disabilities vanished. His muscles and sinews felt packed with coyote power as he performed a somersault, and to his amazement, landed on his feet.
Supernatural power can be ours, he realized, as he pirouetted gracefully. We can be light as a zephyr or heavy as a mountain. Nothing is beyond us. It appeared so simple, and he couldn't understand why people made everything complex.
Nathanial finally had broken loose from West Point and Washington Square, his mind rocketing across centuries. He saw himself as an Egyptian charioteer, brandishing his bow and arrow as he rode to meet his Babylonian foe, or a Grecian warrior, perhaps Leonidas himself, or Alexander the Macedonian, wielding his gore-bedecked sword in the battle for Guagamela, or a Saracen knight in pointed silver helmet, carrying a scimitar, riding a caparisoned charger.
“I am the eternal warrior!” he shrieked into the roaring storm, then laughed madly, to think he'd spent epochs in uniform. He held out his Apache knife, a bolt of lightning passed overhead, and the knife became a Venetian dirk, a Napoleonic sword, a flintlock pistol, and a length of sharpened flint bound to a wood handle. How many weapons have I employed? he wondered. What stark hideous carnage have I witnessed? Am I the reincarnation of Richard the Lion-Hearted?
Sheets of water fell over him, his body glistening in the light of twisted bolts snaking across the sky. He danced away the poisons of many lifetimes, washed clean by heaven's nectar. I have conquered death, because a warrior never truly dies, he simply continues his duties. I will always be here, fighting somebody's damned war.
Black clouds surrounded him as he capered atop the mountain. When I die, my flesh will nourish grass that feeds mice who then will be eaten by coyotes. Nathanial barked, as his nose, ears, teeth, and claws elongated, fur covering his body. He hopped about on four legs, doing backflips, licking his long tongue through the air. I am an exceedingly clever creature, and no one will ever trick me again.
But the coyote was clasped by the talons of an eagle, carried high into the sky, then dropped. Nathanial crashed against the ground, his broken form eaten by the eagle, and then he soared again through the storm, stretching his mighty wings, his sharp beak slicing peals of thunder.
A lightning bolt struck the eagle, and Nathanial fell once more, and this time was eaten by black beetles. He saw himself with eight legs and a mouth like two claws, digging oozing flesh. There is nothing to fear, he realized. It felt as if an oil lamp had been lit within his skull. He stopped dancing, his jaw hung open, and he stared at the great stormy heavens. I understand everything.
He burst into tears of joy, for it seemed impossible that great mysteries were essentially simple and pain a passing fancy. Then he noticed a figure at the edge of the clearing. “Nana?” he asked. “I knew you were out there someplace, watching me.”
But it
wasn't Nana. The figure was a women dressed in white, with a white dot on each cheek. She wore a white shawl, but bore a strong resemblance to his wife, Clarissa. She reached toward him, tenderness in her eyes, and as he touched her hand, she melted away, to be replaced by Jocita the warrior woman.
He reached toward Jocita, but she transmogrified into Maria Dolores, and then Maria Dolores became all the women he'd ever known, from prostitutes in houses of ill fame to girls from good families. And then he saw his children looking at him, their eyes filled with need and love.
Nathanial sat heavily on the ground, wondering what had happened. He'd stood at the apex, had seen Truth in all its varied hues, but now the vision vanished; he wanted desperately to bring it back. He danced with renewed effort, whereas before he'd soared like an eagle. He struggled to hear celestial drums, but the music had stopped. He tried a somersault, but lost his balance and fell on his rear end. I was a god, now I'm a man, and tomorrow I'll be a beetle. What does it matter?
It doesn't, he realized, and then one final bolt of lightning rent the heavens. Nathanial stared at it in morbid fascination, his eyes noting it was headed straight for him. He tried to dodge, but the bolt rammed into a nearby nut pine tree, which exploded like an artillery shell. Bits of wood flew at Nathanial; he went flying backward, and collapsed unconscious on the uneven black rock surface of the mountaintop. The heavens opened wide, sending torrents of rain upon him, baptizing his unconscious body in water and fire.
***
Despite downpours in New Mexico Territory, a full moon shone upon a peaceful hamlet called Willisville in the backwoods of southwest Illinois. Such remote regions usually didn't offer entertainment after sun-down, and most folks generally went to bed early to save the candle's cost, but an antislavery rally was scheduled at the local Methodist church, and folks had come from miles around for the auspicious event.
Willisville was similar to many towns and cities in America during the spring of ‘57, for antislavery rallies had sprouted profusely in the wake of the notorious Dred Scott decision. Famous politicians and ministers made stirring speeches in the larger halls, but an insignificant village like Willisville merited only the usual batch of local clergy and schoolmarms, and their featured speaker was an obscure one-term ex-congressman from Sangamon County named Abraham Lincoln. The crowd didn't expect wonders from such an undistinguished failed politician, but there was nothing else to do that night in Willisville.
Farmers, businessmen, and the local sheriff gathered in the whitewashed Methodist church and cheered as warm-up orators railed against the “slaveocracy,” or called for the impeachment of President Buchanan, or suggested that the South be expelled from the Union. Finally, after many declamations, it was time for the ex-congressman from Sangamon County to mount the podium, a tall, gangly, clean-shaven lawyer in his forties with a large nose and something that looked like a wart on his right cheek.
Abe Lincoln looked at scattered notes, and they blurred before his eyes, for sometimes he felt bone exhausted. It wasn't easy, fighting for clients in court during the day and making antislavery speeches in remote areas after the sun went down. Not a rabble-rouser or dinner-table extremist, he gripped both sides of the podium, uttered one last silent prayer, then spoke in calm measured tones.
“The repeal of the Missouri Compromise, and the propriety of its restoration, constitute the subject of what I am about to say. I wish to add that I don't question the patriotism or assail the motives of any man, but rather shall confine myself strictly to the naked merits of the question.”
Like a seasoned country lawyer, Abe Lincoln strolled back and forth across the stage, wielding the weapons of logic and clarity in words common people understood. He explained the genesis of the Missouri Compromise, and how it had protected half the nation from the blasphemy of slavery since 1821.
Abe Lincoln did not hesitate to employ the world “blasphemy” or any other biblical flourish. Raised on Protestant Christianity, he considered slavery an evil blot upon the land. Like the born storyteller that he was, he described the events of the late 1840s, when Congress fought over extending slavery to territories won from Mexico, their efforts producing the Compromise of 1850, the final effort of Senator Henry Clay, one of Abe Lincoln's idols.
Honest Abe then verbally assaulted the notorious Kansas legislation sponsored by Senator Stephen Douglas of Illinois, which had nullified the Compromise of 1850 and produced open warfare in Kansas Territory. “Senator Douglas pretends to be indifferent about slavery when he says that territories should decide their own destinies,” Abe Lincoln told the audience. “But I say to you that his pretended indifference is a mask for his covert real zeal for the spread of slavery in this land!” Abe Lincoln paused, raised his finger in the air, and stated: “This zeal for the spread of slavery I cannot but hate—because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself, because it deprives our republican example of its just influence on the world, and causes the real friends of freedom to doubt the sincerity of the American people!”
Then Abe Lincoln excoriated the Dred Scott decision, as he gesticulated, cajoled, appealed, and dissected fine points of law with the skill of a master surgeon. His voice thundered when he said, “The Missouri Compromise must be restored! For the sake of the Union, we should elect a House of Representatives which will vote for its immediate restoration!" He pounded the podium for emphasis, his tall, lean body electrified by the power of Jesus Christ, and then Lincoln launched into his grand finale.
“Fellow countrymen—shall we make no effort to arrest the direction where the Supreme Court and Senator Douglas have led us? Our republican robe is soiled and trailed in the dust by them. Let us repurify it—yea—let us wash it white in the spirit, if not the blood of our Revolutionary heroes. And let North, South and all Americans—let all lovers of liberty everywhere join in this great and good work. For if we do this, we shall not only have saved the Union—we shall have saved it as to make and keep it forever worthy of saving. Indeed my brothers and sisters, we shall have so saved it that succeeding millions of free people shall rise all over the land, and call us blessed unto the last generations!”
Abe Lincoln stood silently, head bowed before them, and the audience was silent for several moments. Even the Democratic Party sheriff's cigar dangled out the corner of his mouth, for a dangerous new opposition candidate was loose in the backwaters of Illinois.
Then the church filled with tumultuous applause, the audience rose to its feet, and for the first time many middle-of-the-road Americans had heard their deepest feelings articulated. Honest Abe raised his head, covered with perspiration, and it appeared that rays shone upon him from the upper reaches of the steeple, perhaps emitted by an oil lamp strategically placed by an overzealous antislavery campaign worker.
Abe Lincoln left the altar, to have his hand shaken by men he'd never met, and even women and little children called his name, plus the Democratic sheriff slapped his back, because he knew a good speech when he heard one. Antislavery activists, former Whigs, and disaffected Democrats crowded around the ex-woodsman and flatboatman who had risen from the log cabin in which he had been born. Together in determination they departed the church, leaving the old rugged cross nailed to the altar wall, and the words spelled out beneath:
HE IS RISEN.
Eight
For three suns the young bear had followed the scent; now his reward lay ahead. Breathing heavily, half starved, he peered through spotted langloisia leaves at a lady bear bent over a stream, thrusting her paw at the water, hoping to catch fish.
The young bear gazed at her hindquarters as hot blood gushed through his arteries. Food forgotten, he murmured desire, then arose and walked on all fours toward the lady bear. She turned to him and appeared not uninterested, for he was a handsome young bear, despite youth and inexperience.
He grunted and growled, to prove himself capable of protecting her and her cubs. She appeared mildly amused as she turned toward the opposite side of the stre
am.
Out of cottonwoods emerged a big bull bear, waving his thick arms and grumbling ominously. The young bear, confident of irrepressible vigor, thought he could eliminate the bull bear in the way of the lady bear's buttocks. It did not occur to him that he was risking all for a few fleeting moments of romance.
Meanwhile, the bull bear charged, colliding with the young bear. They whacked each other solidly with paws and long claws, but the bull bear had the thicker hide, not to mention considerable fighting experience. It wasn't long before the young bear's nose bled, plus gashes in his hide.
The young bear barely felt them as he swung at his opponent, but he permitted too many openings, and the bull bear knocked him unconscious, then fastened his jaws around his throat. The young bear struggled to breathe, but the bull bear hung on, tightening his jaws. Youth possesses the stuff of miracles, and the junior bear managed to shove a claw into the bull bear's left eye.
The bull bear howled painfully, his jaw loosened, and the new suitor came at him from his bund side, clamping his jaws on the bull bear's shoulder. The elder lost his footing, fell into the stream, his head dropped beneath the surface, and the young bear held him down.
But the bull bear wasn't ready to die and threw the younger bear off him. Dazed, his lungs half filled with water, the old bull coughed as he rose from the muck, but the young bear was on him instantaneously, raking claws across his head, biting his chest, leg, and snout.
