The Family at Serpiente

by Raymond Tolman

  Corey’s Fall

  When Corey looked at his watch, he was surprised to learn that he had spent three hours in the museum. He hurried back to the hotel hoping that Penny had cooled down and given up the idea of going to play Bingo. After all, he reasoned, she would come to her senses. He was sure of it.

  When he got to the motel, no one was there. There was a note on the dresser of his room. It said, “Grandma and I have gone shopping and Nick has gone to look for places where he could explore information about gems. We are planning to meet for dinner in the restaurant adjoining the hotel and then I am going to treat my grandparents to a visit to the Bingo Parlor. We would like for you to join us, but if you do not choose to go, we will see you at the motel after we finish playing bingo. I am not sure when that will be.”

  Immediately Corey was angry again, mostly because of his own foolishness. He knew that if he went to join us, we would have another fight and he did not want that to happen. “I need some time to think,” he thought to himself.

  In exploring Cherokee, a very small town nestled in the Smokey Mountains, Corey had noticed several hiking trails that led out of town and into the local mountains. He decided to take a small hiking pack which was in the trunk of the car. Being summer time, with no rain expected, he figured on a leisurely walk through the woods might help him think more clearly and he thought that it might even do me and him a lot of good. He even thought about spending the night in the woods somewhere. He carefully wrote a note to Penny explaining what he was going to do and locked the door.

  He decided to walk a trail that followed a small creek. As he walked along the trail he was deep in thought trying to ease his conscience about me and the fight that we had. “I don’t believe that I was unfair,” he thought to himself. “We all agreed to be frugal with the money that we got from our adventures besides I don’t believe that Penny’s grandparents were comfortable with going to the bingo parlor.” He of course was lying to himself. He knew he was being a fool about it all, but Penny was acting so utterly strange to him he couldn’t help himself.

  Little did he know that I was feeling the same strange feelings. Corey continued the argument with himself. “Penny’s grandparents went to the bingo games just because Penny wanted them to go. They are just going to waste money. But then, I too have wasted a little money; after all, I wanted to come out here to take a vacation too. Vacations cost money. We both understood that before we left New Mexico. Why should I have the only say as to what we do with our money? It is her money too. I have never tried to tell Penny what to do before. She is a very independent woman, and for me to try to control her would be a big mistake. If we are going to get married, we need to work this out. We need to give and take.”

  As Corey was deep in thought he was not watching the trail. This is a big mistake but in the mountains of Western North Carolina at dusk it can be a fatal one. Unlike the forests that he was used to in the dry southwest, here the forest floor is covered with moist, decaying leaves covering up decaying vegetation and small vines. This makes the forest floor slippery in places. Added to the upgrade caused by the rise of the mountains, a hiker must pay attention to where he is walking, especially one who is not a native of the area.

  All of a sudden, Corey stepped into a small hole and caught his toe under a vine. He lurched forward expecting his foot to come loose but it didn’t. Instead he stepped sidewise in order to avoid falling down. Unfortunately that step was off the trail.

  For a second, he thought he could rescue himself but the rock he grabbed to stop his fall rolled off the edge of the trail and before he knew what was happening, he was falling headfirst down the side of the mountain.

  It was a sheer drop down into a dense tangle of brush and small trees. Unfortunately, on the way down he managed to almost impale himself, on a small stump. He immediately felt a sharp pain in his side but his inertia carried him though the tree branches. When he hit a large enough tree to break his fall, he was hurting in a number of places. He couldn’t untangle himself; it seemed as if he was caught in a spider web of enormous proportions made out of branches covered with ivy vines. Extrication from the branches proved to be impossible for the moment.

  He instantly realized that his chest was really hurt. “Probably a broken rib,” he thought to himself. “Not too bad, but it is going to make it a pain to get back up to the trail without help.” He then worked at righting himself but when he put weight on his foot that he had stepped into the hole with, he felt a searing pain going up and down his side. He thought he had broken his ankle. He was in serious trouble and he knew it.

  He laid there for some time assessing his injuries. He heard what he thought was someone or something walking on the trail. The first thought that came to him was about a warning he had received from Penny’s grandfather about bears. Fear gripped him. “Hello,” he yelled, “Is anyone up there?”

  After a long pause a small voice trailed down to him.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes,” Corey answered!

  “What are you doing down there, are you hurt?”

  Corey was so relieved to hear someone else he almost fainted. “I tripped and fell off the trail. Can you help me? I don’t think I can get back up to the trail by myself.”

  Corey finally saw a silhouette of a small man looking down at him. The man sat down on the edge of the trail sliding over the edge producing a small shower of gravel as he pushed off and slid on his butt. As Corey finally was able to see the man he noticed that he was a Native American, probably a Cherokee many years older than himself.

  “What brought you to this situation?” asked the Cherokee.

  “I was just hiking to clear my head,” replied Corey. “When I have some difficult thinking to do, I often get a clearer picture of the problem when I am out in nature. And,” he paused, “and I have some tall thinking to do, possibly the most important thinking of my life.”

  The Cherokee smiled a wry smile. “Sometimes, the ripple of a mountain stream, the sound of the wind in the trees, or the smells of the woodland can help a person figure out the difference between what is right and what is wrong. The closeness of nature is very important to my people. Nature has guided us through life and helped us to get through some very difficult times.”

  As the Cherokee man carefully felt Corey’s ankles, ribs and legs, Corey introduced himself. “I am visiting from New Mexico and am staying with my future in laws in Camp Creek, Tennessee. My girlfriend’s family thought it would be a good idea to come over here to learn about the people who live here.”

  “Yes, they are lazy, crazy people, uncivilized and sometimes dangerous. They are always trying to steal anything they can.”

  What the Cherokee said bothered Corey, but he didn’t feel like arguing with him. It hurt too much. He could hardly hold himself up without hugging at the tree branches that were covered with vines. Slowly, a hop at a time with the Cherokee helping, he managed to reach the floor of the canyon. On the way down he learned a few things, mostly about pain. It turned out that he was only about twenty feet from the floor of the canyon but it was almost straight down. Even with the Cherokee helping him it was almost impossible to get through the thicket of small trees and brush and it was getting dark before they reached the bottom.

  Once settled on a rock, Corey caught his breath enough to finish his conversation. “You know, at Serpiente in New Mexico my best friend is a Navajo who has taught me a lot about his people. I certainly don’t consider his people as lazy, crazy, uncivilized and sometimes dangerous, always trying to steal something.”

  “I was speaking of white people” replied the Indian with a grin on his face. “Spend some time walking in my moccasins and you will understand. When the white man discovered this country Indians were running it, no taxes, no debt, women did all the work, and white man thought he could improve on a system like this?”

  Corey quickly decided it was time to change direction with the conversation. “My name i
s Cory Anderson. My girlfriend and I are visiting her relatives before we get married and we thought it would be a good time to find out about the Native Americans in this part of the country.”

  “That is the first I have ever had someone talk to me about marriage and Indians in the same breath,” the Indian said with a grin. “My name is William Owl and I am a woodcarver. I was looking for cedar stumps when I heard you calling. I have lived around here all my life and I sell my carvings at the Artist’s Colony in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The animals hide in the wood and it is my job to get them out.”

  Owl had finished his examination of Corey’s injuries and he said in a worried voice, “I don’t think any of your injuries are serious, but the sprained ankle and the broken rib will make it extremely difficult for you to get back up to the trail even with my help. It’s getting late and as you can see, the sun has gone down. I think that it is going to be dangerous trying to get back tonight. I believe that we should build a small fire and stay here until daylight; then I will go to Cherokee and get some help.”

  Corey reluctantly agreed, “I also have a tarp and some provisions in my pack. I was wearing it loose when I fell and now it is somewhere down here.” They looked around and spotted the backpack lying in the cold waters of the creek. He was lucky the water hadn’t carried it off. “I left a note for Penny that I might spend the night in the forest to think, so she will not be worried. In fact, no one will look for me until late in the day tomorrow.”

  William Owl rescued Corey’s pack then cleared off a small space so Corey could lie down. Above Corey he rigged the tarp, even though there was no rain called for, it would suffice to keep the dew off of him. He would be much warmer now even without a fire.

  Corey always carried a small first aid kit in his pack. He took out a small cloth and some alcohol swabs. He tried to wipe all the dirt and leaves out of his open scratches and wounds. Every movement caused his rib to send a twinge through his whole body.

  “You need something else; I’ll be right back,” says Owl. He returned after about fifteen minutes with handfuls of jewelweed. Corey was already starting to itch. He had never encountered poison ivy before, but the Indian showed him how to rub the sap all over. Despite the jewelweed, which should be applied immediately after exposure, Cory would be in for a new experience for the next few days.

  The trail is closer to the creek about a hundred yards down the trail. Do you think, with my help, that tomorrow you could make it that far?” queried Owl.

  “It is not going to be easy, but with the trees and you to hold on to, I’m sure I can make it,” said Corey uncertainly. “First thing tomorrow morning, help me stand up and we will see how it goes from there.”

  William Owl

  The following day William Owl awoke just as the sun was coming up. Corey had spent the night in restless fits of scratching the ugly red rash that was taking over his body. Owl put his hands under Corey’s arms and gently lifted. When Corey tried to put some weight on his ankle he got lightheaded and nauseous for a moment and slumped to the ground.

  “I think I had better put a splint on that ankle before you try to put any weight on it. I don’t think it is broken, but a splint will prevent more injury,” said Owl with wrinkles of worry on his forehead. He went to search for some relatively straight sticks to use for splints. Corey meanwhile untied a short section of rope off of the tarp. In a few minutes Owl was back with several sticks that would work for a splint. He tied them tightly around Corey’s ankle and lifted him by the shoulders again. This time the pain was manageable. By holding on to the trees as they climbed down the creek bank the two men managed to get to the place by the creek where they could climb back to the trail. It would be a long day, hopping all the way down the trail that Corey had so easily walked up the day before. He was very grateful that the Cherokee who had found him was an experienced hiker like himself, although Corey’s mistake was a very rookie one.

  Suddenly the busy town of Cherokee was in front of them and another couple volunteered to get under Corey’s arms for a last effort to get to the parking lot where the hike began. Corey was relieved to be able to get the weight off of his ankle. But the more he relaxed, the more he realized that he hurt all over. “Thanks,” he said to Owl “I don’t believe I would have made it even to the creek without your help and spending the night dangling on the side of the mountain is not my idea of a good time.”

  Owl says, “No problem,” he turned around and walked away. Corey thought he would never see him again.

  Corey managed, with the help of a passing policeman who found him sitting on the curb of the parking lot, to take him to the local emergency room. There the doctors dressed his broken rib and wrapped his foot. They also gave him some ointment to relieve the intense itching that had consumed him.

  The Motel Room

  The next few days Corey spent lying on his back on a bed in a motel room nursing both his ankle and ribs but also his ego. He expected sympathy from me but it didn’t happen. I acted like I was a little embarrassed by him. Now his feelings were seriously bruised. When I returned from the Indian bingo games I found the note Corey had left and was consumed with anger. I convinced myself that he was returning to Serpiente without me. We had packed up to return to Camp Creek when I noticed the door to Corey’s room was just slightly open. Thinking the cleaning ladies were working in there I opened it just enough to take one last look in there and to my astonishment I discovered Corey lying in bed.

  “I thought you had left to go home,” I blurted out.

  “No, answered Corey, I left to climb up in the hills so I could get myself into a jackpot!”

  We all stayed another day, just to make sure that Corey would be taken care of, but we had to return to Camp Creek in order to take care of the farm animals that by this time would be sorely neglected. Corey couldn’t move while the rib fracture healed but fortunately Nora, my grandmother took pity on him and made arrangements to have food delivered to him. Corey discussed with them what the Cherokee who had rescued had said to him. Nick and Nora could not offer a clue as to why the Cherokee had such pent up animosity for the white people who lived in his community. I went home with Nora and Nick in order to help on the farm, agreeing to return in a day or two to rescue Corey and with that Corey found himself entirely alone in a motel room.

  After only a day he was tired of the room service food but every time he got out of bed he found himself fighting the pain from his ribs. Although there was a television in the room it hurt too much to mess with it. In only a day he found himself bored with it, preferring to stare out of the window looking at tourist as they passed on the sidewalk in front of the motel. The only people he spoke to was a young Cherokee girl who delivered food and cleaned up the room. He had never been so alone in his life.

  The Trail of Tears

  The following night Corey was having secret thoughts about whether or not I would return at all. That evening he rolled out of bed and dropped down on his knees, which was the only way he could get up, and went to the bathroom. Returning to the bed, doing everything in reverse he looked from the bed and discovered William Owl sitting in the chair next to it.

  For a moment he simply stared at Owl, he looked older and feebler than he had remembered. Finally, working up his courage he asked, “How did you get in here?”

  William Owl grinned and answered his question. “My granddaughter is the one who has been bringing your food to you and cleaning your room. She told me about you and I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Great,” responded Corey who was grateful for any company. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, there are a couple of things I wanted to share with you,” answered Owl. “First of all I wanted to explain to you why I made the comment about the people who live around here. I fear that I gave you the impression that I disliked all white people; that is not true.”

  “You mean the comment that white people are lazy, crazy, uncivilized and sometimes dangerous,
always trying to steal something,” responded Corey.

  “Yes,” replied Owl. “That is of course what your people have said about the Cherokee as well as all people who are different than you.”

  “Well, responded Corey, I’m sure that is true. I am not a historian, my expertise is in geology. My father was a geologist in the petroleum industry back in Texas and New Mexico.”

  William Owl looked at him and said, “There is something special about both you and the young lady you were with, and I’ll try to explain that later, you need to understand that by the time the English actually arrived here,” he pointed with both hands down meaning where they were at the moment, “almost all of our people had died or were dying.”

  “What do you mean,” asked Corey.

  William Owl began an explanation; “Small pox, measles, influenza, bubonic plague, trachoma, diphtheria, malaria, amoebic dysentery, typhoid fever, cholera, chicken pox, yellow fever, scarlet fever, and whooping cough. American Indians were dying from what were childhood ailments in other parts of the world. Only a tiny fraction lived through the epidemics. For example, when Thomas Jefferson made a tally of Virginia’s forty tribes from 1607 after Captain John Smith made contact, to a count made in 1669 by the Virginia assembly, the tribes had been reduced to one-third their former numbers. ”My people began to wonder about their own Gods, they seemed to be no match against the white man’s Gods. My people did not understand how diseases were passed from one person to another. We believed one cannot give a disease to another any more than a wounded man can give his wounds to another.”

  “Lewis and Clark, who were sent out to explore new territory discovered that smallpox had arrived there long before they did. Even as far away as the Columbia River in the far Pacific Northwest in April 1806, Clark came upon a large, ruined village and the few, pox scarred survivors of a terrible epidemic that had roared through three decades earlier. Disease had reached that remote corner of North America long before the Europeans, liquor, war, or land grabs. You see, nearly three centuries earlier, people like Hernando De Soto had brought disease with them.