Shona came and held my hand, said
‘After, we’ll go somewhere.’
Returned to the women. Fook, there a mountain of food. Crow, who seemed to have
been
designated my mentor, said
‘I will explain the food later, we don’t want you eating raw liver by mistake.’
He nearly smiled, continued
‘Cloud Dancing is buried in the Wichita Mountains, among his ancestors, the caves there
hold our spirits.’
A young Indian approached, offered Crow something, he took it, asked
‘Like some Peyote?’
He explained it was made from cactus, and had powerful halogens. I said
‘Maybe later.’
Crow called to one of the women and she appeared a moment later with a long neck and a
tumbler of Bourbon. I started to get on the other side of that as the feast began, I kid you
not, a steady drumming started and some of the women began to dance.
The sound of
rattles, the drum beating seemed to be monotonous first and I thought, worse than Musak.
Then they added the chanting.
I’d barely
Registered that you know? But it started to sound different, meaningful.
The bourbon helped and shite, if I’d had the peyote, I’d have been out on the floor with
the
dancers, doing a very poor, Irish jig.
Crow had a gourd rattle and was steadily rattling it in time to the drums, almost without
knowing it.
The food was laid out on long wooden tables,
Boiled meat
Corn
Macaroni cheese
The afore mentioned raw liver.
To honor the buffalo said Crow.
Every time I drained my glass, it was instantly replaced by another. No complaints from
me and The Texas Long necks were sliding down real easy.
Crow said, listening to the drum
‘The dance is low energy movement, for the powwow, it will continue for up to twelve
Hours’.
He laughed out loud, at my expression of horror, I didn’t know that at an Indian
ceremony, laughter, crude jokes are not only tolerated but encouraged. A shout of
celebration against death.
Assured me
‘Shona will rescue you before then.’
No wonder I felt at home and I did.
Crow said
‘Our last ceremony was something, we had it in the baseball court, outdoors, where the
spirit belongs but the cops busted us.’
I remembered to pass over the envelope. Crow asked
‘You know about giveaways, to give something to honor a family?’
Nope.
But I got the drift.
He looked in the envelope, back home, that would be regarded as rude but for the
Indians, pure curiosity.
He gasped, said
‘This is a month’s wages, you risked your life for this?’
I said, truthfully
‘I liked the kid, a lot.’
He touched my shoulder, said
‘Ryan, for a white eyes, you have many Indian traits.’
Didn’t elaborate.
‘Come.’
Led me over to a large coal brazier, I wondered about the Fire department. Crow handed
me a plastic bag, said
‘Dried cedar sprigs, sprinkle them on the coals.’
A woman behind him handed him a fan, he put it in my hands, said
‘Eagle wing, wave it over the coals.’
Fook, I did.
Crow spoke some words as I did so. I should have felt like a horse’s arse but it seemed
right. He threw a pair of moccasin’s on the coals, said
‘Cloud Dancer will not be barefoot because you give him those.’
Okay?
A little later, Crow handed me a huge steak sandwich, fries on the side, laughed, said
‘It’s not Buffalo, it’s to soak up the booze.’
I said
‘I’d have eaten Buffalo.’
He gave me a long look, said
‘That I true believe my friend.’
I’ve no idea when Shona came, took my hand, said
‘There is a room below the loft.’
I said, no idea what this meant
‘There is?’
She laughed, those Indians sure laughed a lot, said
‘We need to make love, to celebrate Cloud’s Dancer arrival among his tribe.’
Worked for me.
…………………………FRIENDLY FIRE.
In The Bronx, above a dry cleansers, the hot dog vendor was trying to explain to his
Russian backers, what went down, the encounter with the large man. The most vital
talking he’d ever do. Fail to convince them and he was sauerkraut. A friend had told him
‘Borrow twenty five grand, the vig will be about two hundred a week. But in six months,
you’ll be free and clear, own the business yourself. The Russians will provide the cart,
get the meat etc. cheap. Never ask…………….never what’s in the meat and don’t eat the
things, ever. Oh, do not fuck with those guys, give them their money every week, they
will protect you but screw with them, you’re dead. Nobody, not even Russians fuck with
……The Russians.’
And he’d been right on target, even ahead. Until………….
One Russian stood behind him, Mr. Silent, he never spoke, just looked at you with cold
eyes. The other, in front, classic interrogation technique. He had a scar, like lightning
running all length of his face, on the right side. It looked like it had been high lit by blue
ink. Not re-assuring, such a memorable scar would have made most people in his
business worry about ID. That he knew this would never happen was too frightening to
contemplate. He led the vendor through the events again. Then pushed,
……………………………the man was there
…………………every day?
Why? To what? Stare at the sky. The workers in the sky./
Why?
You don’t
………………………………………….know?
He described the man again and again. Scarface, stepped back, grabbed a bottle of Stoic
from the table, drank from the neck, then handed the bottle across the vendor to Mr.
Silent.
The vendor could have done with a heavy slug of it himself. He wasn’t offered. Sweat
was cascading down his face, though the room was icy. Scarface rattled off a volley of
Russian to the other.
Who grunted.
The vendor didn’t know had a death sentence been passed. Scar face bent down, stared
into his face for over two minutes. The vendor was afraid to speak. He’d learned to only
answer questions, never volunteer them. Amazing how one solid punch to the back of the
head brought you up to speed on the etiquette of torture.
Finally, the deathly stare was over. Scar face stood up. Wrote something on a piece of
paper.
Said
‘You can go.’
The vendor wanted to ask if he was to continue business and realized, of course. They
wanted paying. Scarface pushed the note at him said
‘New place to sell, until we say.’
He got to his feet, his legs literally shaking. He made it to the door. Scar face, said
‘You need drink?’
Tossed the bottle at him and he never knew, how in hell he caught it. He was on the street
in ten seconds, trying to put distance between them. Not that you ever could witht hose
animals. He needed that drink so bad, raised the bottle, it was empty. A sound carried
from the room he’d been in, a low growling, laced with violence, it could almost have
been laughter.