Since joining this site several months ago I have made a few friends. I almost used the word acquaintances but then I realized that it sounded too casual. Here we share ideas and opinions that we don’t even share with our families. That makes us more than just acquaintances.
I have written stories for a number of these new friends but strangely enough I realized that I hadn’t written a story for the one person that I correspond with most often. He has shared his passion for this site and others like it with me on numerous occasions. As a thank you I have conceived a trilogy that I hope will appeal to one of his greatest loves. This is the first story in the series.
Sun & Moon & Stars
Getting into politics is not as easy as it might seem. Education and enthusiasm are a good start. Experience might take you a little further but in the end it is not who you are but what you are that counts. In spite of getting top marks in university and having a resume full of positive recommendations what it all came down to was the fact that she was a woman; a black woman.
Analysts and advisors knew that her qualifications looked good on paper but would the people accept her in person. Even in these supposedly “enlightened” modern times politics in the USA is dominated by white males. The current president, George W. Bush, was just the latest example of a long line of “good old boys” to hold the highest office in the land.
She was smart enough to know that a good job wasn’t just going to fall into her lap. She knew that many politicians got their first break when they were given a shitty job. To get her start she was going to have to take whatever they threw at her and do her best; she just had to wait until they called.
Heavy rains in the Black Hills of North Dakota were causing devastating flooding in the lower foothills region. Several remote villages of the Lakota Sioux tribe were in danger of being damaged and possibly even washing away if it were to get worse. The secret government assessment of the crisis was that there were not enough voters in danger to make a serious effort economically worthwhile.
The problem was that it had become a “media issue”. That meant that the floods were getting enough television and newspaper coverage to make any government inaction a publicity nightmare. The people in power had to be seen to be making an effort. That’s where she came in.
Established politicians could not offer assistance in case it would cost too much, they couldn’t offer their support for fear of showing favoritism and they couldn’t even visit the disaster areas because a misinformed comment or a verbal blunder could ruin their image. What was needed was to appear to be showing an interest and use someone who was expendable to do it. That’s when she got the call.
She would be flown to the area on a “fact finding mission”. This is government double talk for “take a look around and let us know what you see”. She would head up a team of six support staff and a local interpreter. The support workers would make notes, take pictures, run errands and do whatever else it took to put on an impressive show. The interpreter was necessary because the villages were remote and few if any of the inhabitants spoke English.
She traded her business suit for a rain suit and replaced her high heels with rubber boots. She tied her hair back and jammed an old baseball cap over it.
After a rough flight through thunder storms the plane touched down at the airport in the capitol of Bismarck. The team transferred to a smaller plane and took off again. After two more flights to progressively smaller airports in progressively smaller planes they landed in what basically amounted to nowhere. On the outskirts of a town that they didn’t know the name of was a landing strip that looked more like a farmer’s field.
Two battered old taxis whisked them off to their crisis headquarters while the little plane struggled back into the dark skies and disappeared. Crisis headquarters was a rundown motel which also served as the only bar and the only restaurant in the small community. They each had a room which resulted in the flickering neon “NO VACANCY” sign to be turned on for the first time since it was installed many years ago. Several tables in the dining room had been pushed together to serve as the office for the “Lady from the Government” which seemed to have become her official title.
It was getting late and after a meal of less than impressive burgers and fries they all turned in to get some sleep and start fresh in the morning.
The spectacular sunrises that North Dakota is famous for had been replaced by clouds that were even darker and more menacing than those the day before. The team assembled in the office and drew up a plan. The interpreter went off to confirm their travel arrangements for the first visit to a village.
The same taxis picked them up and bounced down the dirt road to the airstrip. The first set back of the mission was awaiting them. It turned out that the small plane that was to fly them in seated only four passengers; two would have to stay behind. Then a truck arrived with much needed relief supplies for the village and once they were loaded only two seats remained.
The heavily laden plane rumbled down the grassy field and labored into the air. It was over capacity with supplies, two native pilots who were both residents of the village, the interpreter and the Government Lady as she had come to be known.
For half an hour they flew along barely fifty feet from the ground. The pilot explained that they would be much more likely to survive a crash from that altitude should the overloaded plane decide to drop from the sky. His comments did not inspire confidence in the Government Lady.
There was no landing strip here and the plane touched down with a bump or two on the shoreline of the flooded river that raged past the village. The dirty rolling waters were only ten feet away on one side and the wings were closer than that to the trees on the other. They taxied the plane to the edge of the village where about thirty residents waited for them.
The pilots shut down the engine and opened the doors while the Government Lady surveyed the site from her window. Along the river several docks had been destroyed by the high water. The boats had been pulled up to higher ground but they would be swept away if the level were to rise any higher. Eight or nine small homes stood in a ring with a larger building in the center. This was the tribal lodge which was the center of life for the people.
The pilots assisted her in getting out of the narrow doorway and once her feet touched the soggy ground things went strange. They each took an arm and hustled her towards the lodge; her feet barely touched the ground. She had to duck to get through the low doorway. In the center of the lodge was a fire pit; the smoke curled up to the ceiling and some of it escaped through a hole in the roof. The rest of the smoke drifted around inside and her eyes began to burn.
The villagers filed in and stood in two lines on either side of the lodge. A woman who had been tending the fire turned to face the Government Lady. She was the tribe’s shaman; a powerful medicine woman and spiritual guide. In her hand she was swinging a small medicine bag at the end of its leather drawstrings.
The abrupt greeting had taken her by surprise with its roughness but the Government Lady had expected some sort of native ritual to be performed and stood quietly watching events unfold.
The shaman shuffled along the line of people on one side swinging the bag at each of them and then did the same on the other side. She stood in front of the Government Lady and swung the bag at her. She walked around the Government Lady circling her twice before stopping behind her.
The Government Lady could feel the grip of her captors tighten on her arms and then the shaman reached around her head with the medicine bag held in one hand. The shaman pulled sharply on the Ladies hair with the other hand and as a scream of pain began it was quickly stifled when the bag was shoved into the Ladies mouth. With a forceful push it was stuffed completely in and then the drawstrings were tied tightly at the back of her neck to hold it in.
The shaman danced back to the fire pit and turned to face the tribe; all eyes were on her. She raised her arms as a signal and the women, young and old, converged on the lady. They began to strip her.
When the rubber boots were pulled off a murmur went through the people. They pointed at her white socks and whispered to each other. They gasped when the rain suit was removed. The Ladies white bra and panties stood out vividly against her ebony skin in the harsh glare of the fire light. The suit was neatly folded and placed beside the fire pit. The boots were stood alongside. Her cap was placed on top of the rain suit.
The Lady stood exposed in the center of the lodge. Her mouth was silenced; her arms firmly held. Stripped to her underwear she felt vulnerable. The confidence of the “Lady from the Government” was gone; replaced by a fear of the unknown. The villagers stared at her. Most of them had lived all their lives in isolation and had never seen a black woman before.
The shaman called out and a young girl brought her a basket woven of reeds. The shaman reached in and pulled out four long buffalo hide straps. She waved them over the fire to purify them and then held them out. Four men stepped forward and each took one.
The pilots held the Ladies arms horizontally out to her sides. A strap was tied to each wrist and then they were stretched to two of the poles that supported the roof. While the men tied her in this spread posture the other two did the same to her ankles. They tied the straps and pulled on them until her feet were shoulder width apart. Then they tied the other end to the poles. The pilots then stood on either side of the shaman leaving the Lady bound helpless between the poles.
The shaman chanted some sort of incantation. The pilots turned to the pit and picked up a pair of clay pots that had been warming by the fire. One was placed on the ground in front of the Lady, the other behind. As they stood over the pots the people moved to line up behind them.
Each of the pilots dipped a finger into the pot and then drew a symbol onto her bare skin. The contents of the pots were warm and creamy. It was a bright white paint the consistency of toothpaste. They stepped aside and the next person did the same. It continued front and back, as each member of the tribe took their turn.
Soon her body was covered with symbols. The ones she could see were suns, moons and stars; all sources of light. The adults painted her upper body while the children dabbed at her legs. A mother with a toddler barely old enough to walk helped her child to dip her finger. The tiny fingertip tickled as the little girl drew on the inside of her knee.
As the fingers touched her body she couldn’t help but try to pull away. It was useless; the straps held her firmly in place. The taste of the gag was starting to be less offensive but the smoke continued to sting her eyes. Her hands were beginning to get cold as the straps constricted her circulation.
The line behind her was done and only a few more waited their turn in front. The shaman was next and made her mark, a crescent moon, on the Government Ladies forehead. Behind her was the interpreter. He drew a star on each cheek and whispered into her ear ‘don’t worry it’s almost over.’ He stepped aside and the last person was the chief.
The chief stepped up. He was a handsome, intelligent looking man but he seemed to have a look of mischief on his face. He took a small dab of paint on his fingertip and made a tiny dot on the end of her nose. He stepped back and raised his arms. The lodge went silent. As he spoke the interpreter translated for the Government Lady.
‘Every year the clouds come and bring with them the Darkness. The great spirits that protect us have sent us this Dark Woman to take away the Darkness; when she goes so will the black clouds. Once again we will see the sun and moon and stars. We have put our wishes onto the Darkness that is her body and she will take them up to the spirits in the heavens and restore them to our skies.’
The villagers cheered and smiled. Then the children were the first to notice. A feeble shaft of sunlight illuminated the column of smoke rising up towards the hole in the roof. They pointed and whispered to each other. The adults then saw it too. The room was in awe of the magic that the Dark Lady had done.
‘Now it is time for the Dark Lady to go’ shouted the chief ‘and take with her the evil that has troubled us.’
The women gathered her clothes while the men un-tied her. She remained gagged and they continued to hold her arms as she was dressed. The suit felt good having been warmed and dried out by the fire. Once her jacket was on her hands were tied in front of her and the other end of the strap was handed to the interpreter and he used as a leash to lead her from the lodge.
She blinked as she emerged from the gloomy dwelling. The sky, while still grey, had lightened considerably since she had been taken in. The villagers were lined up again in two rows on either side of the path to the plane. As she was pulled along each of them touched her shoulder and gave her a gentle push as they did their part to help her return to the heavens.
The pilots helped her into the plane. The engine was started and they sped down the river bank and lifted into the sky. Once the plane leveled off the interpreter held a finger up to his lips and motioned with his other hand towards the pilots indicating to her to speak softly. He reached over and removed the gag.
‘What the hell was that all about’ she hissed at him. She managed to keep her voice low and yet still sound really pissed off.
‘Every year when the Darkness descends on the land of the Lakota Sioux it is a desperate time. We can’t hunt, we can’t fish and our lives are hell for weeks. When I saw that the government had sent us a Dark Lady I knew that there would be at least an illusion of hope for us this year.’
‘Are you telling me that you set that up? That I was only here to be a pawn is some ancient ritual.’
The interpreter smiled. It was the same mischievous smile that she had seen on the chief. ‘Actually the ritual is not as ancient as you might think’ he told her. ‘The chief is my father and the shaman is my wife. When I saw you for the first time the other day I called them on the phone, the village is not as remote as it may seem, and I told them about my idea. They created the ritual.’
‘What was the big deal about my socks and underwear?’
‘You are lucky that you wore white or they would have stripped you naked. The white was seen as your attempt to use light to contain the dark within you.’
‘I can’t believe you did that to me. You took advantage of my being black. After all that has happened to the “redskins” in this country I wouldn’t have thought that you would be capable of such deceit.’
He reached over and stuffed the medicine bag back into the mouth. ‘This wasn’t about the color of our skins’ he snapped at her ‘it was about giving desperate people a reason to believe that their lives are going to get better.’
She tried to reach up to pull out the gag. Her hands wouldn’t move. She looked down and he had his foot on the end of the strap holding it to the floor. ‘You have to stay like that until the pilots are gone’ he told her ‘they aren’t in on this. They think that your magic is real. They have to see that I have delivered you, bound like this, to the Great Spirits.’
The taxi was waiting at the landing strip. The Government Lady was helped from the plane and led to the car. The interpreter sat in back with her holding the leash. Once the plane was bumping along the grassy strip to leave and the taxi was turning towards town he removed the gag and the strap.
The taxi driver said nothing. He wasn’t paid to ask questions, just to drive.
At the motel the interpreter walked her to her room and left her with a promise to return with a hot meal.
She went in and ran the shower. As the water heated up she stripped off the rain suit. In the mirror she looked at the symbols of light that covered her black body. Some were simple, some were quite complicated but they were all beautiful. She looked down at her knee where the toddler had painted her. Was it just the primitive efforts of a child or was it intentional? The skinny finger that tickled her had left a happy face.
When the food arrived she sat in a warm thick robe and fuzzy slippers and ate. The burger and fries didn’t taste so bad today. She went to bed without showering; it could wait until morning. In the morning it would be a shame to wash away the dreams of an entire village but she had to wipe the canvas clean. She had three more villages to visit.
A few weeks later there was more media hype. Several articles mentioned the unknown Government Lady that had braved the elements to visit the remote settlements and offer her support. Word of her efforts reached the attention of several important people. She started to receive job offers.
After waiting for several hours she was finally escorted by a secretary to her first interview. The secretary opened the door to the office and announced ‘Your next interviewee, Miss Condoleezza Rice, is here to see you Mister President.’
George looked up from the paperwork he was doing and said ‘Who?’