“Does it work?” I ask as thoughts of treasure again float across my mind.
“I tried it once, and it didn’t work,” Mom confesses. “But, of course, I’m not a medicine man and not all of the items inside the bag are the original, authentic articles. The leather pouch is authentic, however. It once belonged to a medicine man. At least that is what my mother told me. So just think of it as a symbol of our heritage. Something you can pass on to one of your kids some day.”
“So this was handed down from Grandma Cottle?” I ask in astonishment.
“Yes,” Mom smiles.
Then it really is an heirloom, I thought. And coming from my own grandmother makes it a treasure. A strange sort of treasure, I admit, but it is awesome. A kind of lump swells up in my throat as I think about the gift and I have to swallow hard.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say quietly.
I gather up the items and drop them carefully one by one into the bag. I walk to my room and set the pouch onto my dresser, then roll onto my bed. What if it really worked? What if you could ask for anything … righteous, of course?
“Jared. Did you forget about refreshments?” Mom calls from the kitchen. All thoughts of the spirit pouch flee, at least for the moment.
Tuesday
Tuesday morning English Literature class is okay considering the fact that it is English Literature taught by Old Mrs. Harris. We take turns reading passages from Romeo and Juliet and every now and then we pause to discuss symbolism or metaphors. I have a difficult time concentrating on the impending tragedy that Romeo will face when I have an impending tragedy of my own. My first geometry test is less than two weeks away. I am going to need some help to keep from failing math. What I need is a tutor.
The passing bell rings and Mrs. Harris says, “Don’t forget your homework assignment on the board.”
I grab my notebook and slide Shakespeare under my arm as I stand up. Jeff stands up, too, but looks straight past me at Ty.
“Nice earrings,” Jeff taunts sarcastically. “They definitely make you look … ah … more pretty.” Jeff chuckles and walks away.
“When did you get your ears pierced?” I ask as I walk with Ty out of Old Mrs. Harris’ room and we head for the seminary building. I decide not to say that I agree with Jeff, that the blue studs do make him appear more feminine and, I guess you could say, more pretty.
“Why? Are you writing a book or something?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just curious, that’s all,” I say. My attempt to start a conversation certainly does not begin well.
“If you must know, I got them pierced last night, after school at the mall,” Ty finally admits after we have walked in silence for a short distance.
“Ty,” I say looking at him seriously. “Would you consider tutoring me in geometry? We have an exam in ten days and I need some help.”
“You’re not smart enough,” he answers bluntly. “I don’t want to waste my time.”
“Smart kids don’t need tutoring,” I say, letting a little bit of anger and disgust slip into my voice. I know I am not as smart as most kids in my grade, or at least I know that I do not grasp mathematical concepts easily, but to be bluntly told by a fellow student that I am dumb is extremely insulting. If I weren’t such a humble guy, I laugh at myself, I would tell Ty Smith off right here. I would tell him that I wouldn’t take his help even if he begs.
“I’ll think about it,” Ty answers as we reach the door to the seminary building.
“Thanks,” I say, kind of shocked. “Don’t take too long. I’ve only got ten days!”
Saturday
I feel pretty smug as I enter the front door to the stake center Saturday night. I am wearing my dark green Sunday slacks and a white T-shirt with a short sleeve, unbuttoned green checkered shirt over the top. My black shoes are freshly polished to a mirror-like luster, and my hair is perfect, not a single strand out of place. And a wisp of my mother’s unscented hair spray will keep it there.
I hand Sister McClair my dance card.
She smiles, “Sign in right here and have a good time tonight.”
“I will.” I have no problem promising that. Tonight is going to be great.
The lights are dim in the dance hall, but I spot Matt and Chris right away. Jeff is just coming off the dance floor as the next song starts. It is a swing and I can feel the beat practically lift my feet.
As I swing my way toward Matt and Chris, I spot Lyn. She isn’t hard to spot, being the prettiest girl in the building. She has curled her hair and is wearing a light green dress, which makes her eyes sparkle even in the dim light.
I say hello to Matt and Chris, then scoot over and ask Lyn to dance. We are just getting into a new twirl where Lyn will spin right up into my arms, when the swing song ends.
I walk with her off the main dance floor.
“Thanks for asking me to dance,” she smiles.
“You’re welcome. It was fun.” At that moment my eyes focus on a young man seated along the wall. He has a patch of bright fire engine red hair on one side of otherwise solid black. It takes me a moment to recognize him.
“Hey, is that Ty Smith?” I ask a little perplexed.
“With red in his hair?” Lyn replies.
“Yeah!”
“That’s him,” Lyn says without turning to look.
“Come on. I need to go say hi.”
“Go ahead without me,” she says quietly. “I’m going over by Sarah.”
She starts to leave, but then adds, “Ask me to dance again on the next swing. That was fun.”
“Okay.”
I turn and find a seat next to Ty. “Hi,” I say loud enough to be heard above the new song that is starting.
“Hi, Jet,” he replies without even looking at me.
A Mia Maid that I recognize from the Ajo Ward walks up to Ty. “Would you like to dance?” Brittany asks.
“I guess,” he replies standing up unenthusiastically. “But don’t get too close. I don’t want all that lipstick on my shirt.”
Brittany stares at Ty with a disgusted look. “Never mind,” she says backing off. “I won’t be getting anywhere near your immaculate shirt.” She turns sharply, flipping her brown hair defiantly off her shoulders and walks away.
Ty sits back down.
“Hey, what happened to those … ah …” I want to say ‘cute’, but I restrain myself, “earrings?”
“In my pocket,” he sounds irritated. “They wouldn’t let me in wearing them.”
“No, I guess not. But they let you in with red dye in your hair?”
“Bleached and then dyed,” he corrects, still not looking at me.
I follow his gaze, but I can guess to where it will lead without even looking. Sarah Hansen is walking off the dance floor giggling and laughing. Even I will admit that she would make a fine catch someday for a lucky young man.
“Just go ask her to dance,” I say nonchalantly.
“I did!”
“Did you tell her you didn’t want lipstick on your shirt, too.”
“No, I didn’t get a chance. She turned me down flat.”
“Oh!” I say a little surprised. “You’re probably not smart enough to get Sarah Hansen to like you.” I guess I am still bruised from being called stupid when I asked Ty for tutoring four days ago. It doesn’t feel like a bruise, though. It feels more like an open gash from the razor sharp edge of a Nadessioux knife. I get up and without turning to look back, I walk straight over to Sarah Hansen.
“Would you dance with me?” I ask with a forced smile.
“Sure.”
She lifts her hand and I take it, guiding her gracefully onto the dance floor. We spin smoothly around the dance floor, rocking left and right to the gentle beat of the slow music.
“Ty wanted to dance with you,” I say as the music comes to a stop and we walk off the dance floor.
“I know,” she says with a fleeting painful expression.
I don’t say more, but she volunteers. �
�He has changed since that first day in seminary, I mean with earrings, and now with dyed hair. I guess I want to be friends with someone who will go on a mission, and who will hold the Melchizedek Priesthood and who will take me to the temple. Ty looks like he joined a gang!” She winces again, “So I turned him down.”
“I understand,” I say smiling. “Thanks for the dance.”
I turn to look at Ty but he is gone and I do not see him the rest of the evening.
Chapter Three
Earrings And The Geometry Tutor
I only live four blocks from the church, and that has advantages. I do not have to depend on Mom for a ride. On Mutual nights I walk, and then if the guys are playing basketball afterward, I can stay for a little while. On Sundays Mom stays after church for choir practice. I walk home.
Today is a beautiful Sunday morning. It is relatively cool in the mornings, but I do not mind much. It is always a quiet walk. Not many people are up yet. I can hear a dove cooing and an occasional dog bark its recognition that I am on the street. The sun feels warm on my back and I have a few minutes to think. The sprit pouch. It still sits on my dresser where I left it last Monday. I puzzle over its contents. What was it Mom said? The medicine man expressed his desire and it was granted? But it had to be righteous. And he had to be holding the spirit pouch. She said she tried it. It did not work. I wonder why? I wonder …
“Jet.” A voice pulls me back from the world of Indian lore to the present, and I freeze with my hand on the handle to the church front door, confused to see Ty standing there with a smile.
“I heard that you came to church early,” Ty greets me, “but I’m usually still asleep at 9:15 on Sundays!”
“Yeah, I would too, except I have quorum presidency meeting right now.” I look at Ty’s eyes. Last night at the dance he looked stressed. This morning he looks happy and his eyes actually sparkle. His earrings reflect the morning sun and he seems eager about something. Usually I can figure a person out by the time they say hello, but no discernment is coming to me this morning, so I resort to asking.
“So, what gets you out of bed so early?” I ask.
“I have a proposition,” Ty replies.
“A what?”
“I want to make a mutually beneficial deal,” he says.
I am going to be late for presidency meeting, but my curiosity keeps me standing there. “What kind of deal?” I ask hesitantly.
“I tutor you in math …” he starts slowly.
It sounds good so far and I nod my head for him to go on.
“… And you teach me how to get Sarah to like me,” he finishes.
His face is totally serious. This is no gag. This is sincere, and he is not simply asking. Deep in his heart he is begging, and I can feel it.
“I don’t think you can do it,” I say shaking my head. I start to pull the door open and he stops it with his hand.
“Why?” he says angrily. He actually looks like he might hit me. Raising his voice he continues, “Because I’m not Mormon? Because I’m not cool, like you?”
“No,” I say a little ruffled by his abrupt change in attitude. “Because I’m not smart, like you. And I’ve only got four days left before our first geometry exam! That’s why.”
“If you can do the impossible, I can,” he smiles again. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
I can not believe it. I am going to pass geometry after all. All I have to do is figure out a way to get Sarah to like Ty Smith. That has to be easier than learning geometry!
“It’s a deal,” I say holding out my hand.
We shake on it, and I leave him smiling as I pull the door open and enter the church building.
Church is about the same as any other Sunday. Brother and Sister Radcliff speak on the atonement of Jesus Christ. I have heard most of what they say before, but what strikes me most is a passage from the book of Mosiah,
[2] chapter three, verse twelve. Christ’s blood atones for those who die not knowing the will of God concerning them. But wo, wo unto him who knoweth that he rebelleth against God! For salvation cometh to none such except it be through repentance … They say that doing something that you know is wrong is rebelling against God.
After church I go home-teaching with Brother Donaldson. Mom is home when Brother Donaldson drops me off an hour later, but she is talking on the phone, so I proceed to my room and change out of my Sunday clothes into jeans and a T-shirt. I jump onto my bed and plan to close my eyes, but images of a medicine man holding the spirit pouch float to the front of my consciousness until they seem to push my eyelids wide open.
Sitting up, I reach over to my dresser and pick up the leather pouch. Closing my eyes, I hold the bag at arms length with two hands.
“I wish … no, no, no. I desire to … to instantly know how to do geometry.” I open my eyes and then smile at my own foolishness. I know that it never would be that easy. I know that it would take lots of study and hard work to learn any kind of math.
Retracting the leather drawstring, I pour the contents of the spirit pouch out onto the bed. I pick up the white stone. It is mostly white, but it has a dark brown streak on the end which partially penetrates one side. I set the stone down and inspect the tiny glass bottle. The cork twists out easily. I lift the bottle to my nose, sniffing gently. Nothing, I think. Maybe a little musky, like our basement in Salt Lake City. Mom says it was damp from all the snow outside. I re-cork the tiny glass vial and slide the slender gray feather through my fingers. Plastic? I hold it close. Yep. Plastic. And not a good replica of an Eagle’s feather, either!
I hear Mom’s footsteps in the hall, then she opens the door.
“I’m just checking out this spirit pouch,” I say. “Did you know that the feather is fake? It’s plastic.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember my mother saying some of the contents were missing, but she replaced them.”
“Maybe that’s why it doesn’t work?”
“You think so?”
“Who knows!”
“Listen, come help me fix lunch while you think about it.”
“Oh all right,” I say grumbling. I feel more like taking that nap.
Monday
“You ever heard of a spirit pouch?” I ask Ty as we walk toward the seminary building for our Monday morning second-hour class.
“Does this have to do with the Mormon religion? You know, with the temple, or something?” Ty gives me a disgusted look that translates to mean ‘Don’t try to convert me!’
“No,” I say, a little bit offended. “It has to do with the Sioux Indians, I think.”
“Ahh, yes,” Ty smiles as his face lights up with interest. “Do you think it was used by the medicine man in the Rite of Purification
[3] or in the Vision Quest?”
“Maybe. At least my mom said something about a medicine man.” I pull the old leather bag out of my pocket and show it to Ty. “My mom gave this to me last week. She said it was authentic. At least it used to belong to a Sioux medicine man.”
“Wow!” Ty stops to look at the leather pouch. “What’s inside?”
“A white stone, a feather, a glass vial, a bean, and an old necklace made of small beads,” I answer with a little skepticism in my voice.
“That is really awesome!” Ty says pulling the leather drawstring and looking inside. “Totally awesome!”
“What?” I think it is a cool gift, and I like it because it is tradition and heritage and family stuff, but I wouldn’t have said awesome.
“Don’t you see the relationship?” Ty says shaking his head at me. “It’s just like Brother Franklin’s seminary lesson last Friday.”
Now it is my turn to shake my head. “You’re nuts!” I say. “How can even your genius brain see any relationship between a silly bag of Indian lore and last week’s seminary lesson on …” It only takes a second to recall what the lesson was about. Brother Franklin’s lessons are always well prepared and thought provoking. He had taught us about John the Bapt
ist and then about the waters of Mormon. “… on baptism?” I finish saying.
“My genius mind, as you call it, is good at analyzing relationships,” he says. “Just not relationships with girls, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Think about it,” he concludes as he opens the door to the seminary building. Sarah is standing by the classroom door and I can see my chances for further discussion of spirit pouches dissolving into a tempest of tertiary twitterpation.
“What does the seed symbolize?” he says as he pulls up his baggy pants and adjusts his new pocket chain that hangs from his belt.
I watch while Sarah glances over at Ty as he enters the door. Without even smiling, she turns her back, says something quickly to another girl at the door, then moves to her seat toward the front of the class.
Ty looks wistfully after her, then sits hard in his chair at the back of the classroom.
“We’ll talk tonight,” I whisper, just touching Ty’s shoulder so he knows I am talking to him. He nods his head.
After the opening prayer Brother Franklin teaches about Elijah, and we talk about turning the hearts of the fathers to their children, and turning the hearts of the children to their fathers. I wonder if that scripture will ever be fulfilled in my life. It is a hopeless thought, since my father died when I was seven. But still, as we read Malachi, chapter four verse six, I can not help wishing for that luxury in my life.
At the end of class, Brother Franklin gives us a homework assignment. We are to complete a four-generation pedigree chart and bring it to class on Thursday. Then he calls on me to offer the closing prayer. I pray that we might all strive to fulfill scripture by turning our hearts to our fathers and that we might be blessed to have the hearts of our fathers turn to us.
After the prayer, I feel that Malachi’s promise will be fulfilled. I do not know how, but it will be fulfilled if I do my part.
As I pick up my books, Ty turns toward me. “I know we were going to study tonight,” he says without enthusiasm, “but there are some things I need to do. Can we make it Tuesday, for sure?”
Spirit Pouch Page 3
