As Joe lay upon a heap of blankets, along with seven others who slept in the single, small room of the shack, he thought of Nihanio and his history. The old man had been delighted to tell his stories to Joe. He reminded Joe of Old Man Bianco! What a father figure Night Warrior was: Proud yet humble; Old and weak yet strong in his youthful memory! Nihanio had committed himself to more than story telling, he had delivered a strong message to the young boy whom had seen so much yet knew so little: "The past was so important to the future; With out memory one has no dreams; With out dreams one does not move forword; With out knowledge of the beginnings, one cannot determine the endings; With out truth, one is prone to repeating fallacies."
Nihanio also told Joe of Dream Catchers: "Dream Catchers were once more than the intricate works of feathers, twisted saplings, beads, and animal fur of the plains tribes. Dream Catchers came in human form: Men whom had the ability to perceive and interpret dreams; men who once roamed the lands, coming and going in their eternal quest to discover man in his many modes. Dream Catchers were medicine men, great healers of the mind, spirit, and body, religous men, philosophers and scientists, astronomers, all packed into one. Dream Catchers were usually excepted in any tribe or peoples they came upon on their often long journeys."
Nihanio said that a dream was nothing more than the mind gathering, digesting, inquiring; and formatting all thoughts, ideas, and happenings that men pushed aside into their subconscious minds. The mind sorted them just like Mr. Bianco sorted the rumors and facts of the neighborhood before analyzing them and willing the benefits! He said that the mind was Powered By The Great Spirit, but that man, limited by his consciousness, could not understand their dreams... "only in the subconscious can they truly gather the entire power of their mind to assimulate their buried thoughts!" The Dream Catcher, with his vast experience, was the only one whom could decipher the information! Joe then knew that Mr. Bianco was in fact a natural Dream Catcher!!!
When Joe asked whom of the tribe was the Dream Catcher, Nihanio's face went sad before he began, once again, to educate Joe... "...in 1870, when the tribes had been allowed to return to a small portion of their original and vast ancestral lands, every portion of their way of life returned except two: The Warrior Spirit and the raids ceased; the "Navaho" became a peaceful peoples..... and why is this fact so important? You see, the Navaho economy had always been in the hands of a few wealthy families. The Navaho did not have a communal system. Their long history of success and wealth had delivered a system of stability. With this stability, a central governing core was not needed. No great chief ruled, just individual families of individual clans. The only way a warrior could break into this circle was by either securing riches through raids and becoming wealthy himself, or by marrying into a wealthy family. But in order to marry into a wealthy family, one would have to secure a dowry... and in order to secure a dowry, one would have to raid! Thus peace brought poverty to many; the poor remained poor, while the wealthy got wealthier... and the Warrior Way ceased.. and with this cessation.. the Way of the Dream Catcher also ceased...."
As Joe lay thinking of dreams and Dream Catchers, he was suddenly aroused to the thought that he himself had so much buried in that file deep in his mind. That must be the reason for all his weird day dreams! His mind was trying to analyze all those thoughts and questions! "Boy, if only a Dream Catcher was here; alive! I could get the answers I have struggled with for six years and running"... And then, another wave of sorrow, another thought to be filed into that file marked Accident:Personal, hovered in his mind:. the thought of the look on Nihanio's face when Joe asked whom was the Dream Catcher of the Tribe....
Two weeks had passed since Night Warrior first spoke those seven hours of greatness. Joe felt he had been treated with so much respect and honor, he decided to level with Lost Cloud, Night Warrior, and the entire clan. He soon told them his stories and his truths. He informed them of his quest and his dreams. In fact, as Joe delivered his own historical heritage, the old warrior sat as amazed and entranced as Joe had listening to him. The Oath of Alphonso had mesmerized the entire clan. At one point, when Joe got to the part where Joe had decided to avenge his father, everyone sitting crossed legged upon the floor, including Nihanio, bent towards Joe so far, he thought they were going to topple over in their determination to hear and memorize every word of this youthful Warrior; a Warrior whom had so much Respect for his ancestors, he decided to wage war. Joe felt pride in Nihanio's respect. 'Yes, what a father figure Nihanio was! He stood straight and lived his life for his people.'
After Joe honored the clan with his-story, he was treated to four weeks of experiences in Diné tradition. He hand worked siver and stone into earrings and other pieces of traditional jewlry; he learned traditional ways to prepare and cook foods of the Diné; he rode a horse, bare-back, into the desert and camped for five days with several, specially chosen, modern day Warriors--in the way of the old! He felt the pride of the young "Warriors" as they demonstrated and taught him the keys to many of the mysteries of life and survival in the place of the Painted Lands. Later, he took the time to play with excited children; whom ran around just as half-naked as the Puerto Ricans of NY--except in the place of the fire hydrant, a muddy hole of several feet wide and two foot deep became their oasis. Joe had one of the most memorable experiences of his entire life. And then, Joe went to Old Nihanio:
"Great Father Nihanio, Night Warrior of the Painted Lands, I feel as though I have known you all my life. I, in fact, wish that I had known you all my life... but then, I wonder if I would have truly appreciated all of the welcome I have recieved by your truth. I have never spoken like this before, Nihanio, so you can be assured that you have become a part of my mind. Therefore, I make the promise of the Earth, Sky, and Waters, I shall remember you and your peoples; I shall hold as a part of me, like you have taught me, all your thoughts of words so that I may tell them to others long after you have joined your ancestors in the land of the Great Spirit Of The Sky..." and with much regret, he informed his adopted people that he would have to leave...
"Your words are truth, spoken like a true Diné." Night Warrior replied, "I shall call you Warrior Whom Travels. Yes, Whom Travels, you are welcome as long as the Great Spirit warms the Earth and the Moon rises to caste the Shadow of the Warrior"
Lost Cloud and Joe sat talking on a bluff overlooking the encampment under a sky splashed in blush and golden clarity. Lost Cloud had sold the car for two thousand dollars. Neither of the two felt any regret nor crime--they had endured much. When Lost Cloud--as Joe preferred to call Davis--handed Joe one thousand dollars in cash, Joe refused all but one hundred dollars. He informed Lost Cloud to give the rest to Night Warrior and his people after he left as a gift. Then they talked of their plans. When Lost Cloud said he was going to resume his journey, Joe spoke with much determination. Joe had met Lost Clouds father; an influential member of the council who was hoping that Lost Cloud would stay. Joe had seen such a change in Lost Cloud since his return he knew he belonged with his people. He began to tell him of his own needs; of his own dreams and wishes. He told him he had such a gift in his father--and his peoples--he would be foolish to leave and chance another Popa Joe and Pigny. Joe was not sure if Lost Cloud would heed his advice, but he could tell a great impact had been etched upon his mind by Joe's story; he hoped it would remain so. Joe had already told everyone he was leaving and one of Lost Clouds friends was waiting to drive Joe to the main highway. Joe felt that he would have a better chance of catching a ride at night when most of the truckers would be hauling butt down the roads. So, with much regret, Lost Cloud walked with Joe to the car. As they hugged in Diné tradition, a hawk, screeching loudly, flew in circles high above as if to say, "I also am leaving in the night. I sing my song for all those whom sacrificed their dreams so we might have ours. Have no fear, for our strength is in our friendship; bonded through memories to be passed down as leaves falling to a ground of eternity."
Joe sat in the car as it made it's way back down the road. Before entering the highway, Joe asked the driver to stop a moment and rolled down the window to view the village one last time. Turning in his seat, he was struck with a vision he had been unaware of when he first saw what he viewed as a group of dusty, run down shacks; he now could see the real beauty of the village: bathed in the brilliant, receding light of the clean desert air, the village was transformed into cubicles of gold, crimson, and rich amber, a place of elegance in nature--populated by a great people whose legacy swept the very breadth of history. Neither of the great ancients Homer, Virgil, Horace, nor even the venerable Shakespeare, could have put to words the feelings that pounded in the heart of Joe as he rode his memory down that long, long, lonely highway on his return to his great quest...
Chapter Twenty Three - The Princess's County, in Virginia Beach...
"Ask and thy shall recieve!"
"Oh, Mr. God I need a han', lik' ta raise family by some fertile lan'. Black an' rich, deep loam place, Oh Mr. God, I'm ina race: Short of coin, none a dime, this I pray: be so kin'."
"There, Mr. Farmer, short of race, rests a narrow, farmers place. Crystal waters, briny marsh, cool the summers, never harsh.
"Oh, Mr. God will you listen to me? Worsen piece of lan' I ever did see! Plain simple clay of the red'n kind, won't grow a thing for me an' mine.
"Listen Mr. Farmer" said Almighty God, "got the best recipe for this type of sod.... ...for clumps an clods near a Carolina Lake, prescribes a shovel, a hoe and a rake. Best the swamp, the bog an' pine, states the recipe, must drain the brine! Begin with a season, add a portion of toil, toss an' turn in a mixture of soil. A splash of rainfall, a pinch ye take, of summer's sunshine and then ye bake... ...Follow to the letter and thy will see, why man keeps his faith in me!"
Mr. Farmer began by the Carolina lake; had a shovel, borrowed a hoe and rake.
Cleared the swamp, the bog an' pine. Followed the recipe to the very line.
Began with a season, added a portion of toil, tossed and turned in a mixture of soil ,
A splash of rainfall, a pinch he took, of summer's sunshine and then he cooked...
Blowed the squall that broke an' breaked the land, tumble the crops, swept clean the pockets of farmer man...
"Oh! Mr. God what have thy done! I'll have not with which to giv' my son!. No grain, no corn, no staples: Where? Oh! Mr. God can you hear?"
"Well Mr. Farmer do have faith, give thy measure before thy take! Bundle thy patience I gifted thee, an walk rut furrows and thy will see, adequate grain and corn in husk, enough for a winter's chilled dark dusk. When spring arrives upon the beak, squawked the jay for seeds it seeks, you'll plant and plant and sow you will, and birth my soil upon thy till..."
Soon prospered he and on the land there grew, huge bumper crops, some old, some new...
Now he sits the rocker his golden years, watching them grow, them apples an pears;
as drafts of air, cooled circulation, of century planted oaks and evaporation, swirl 'round mint juleps, tall the glasses iced, that quench his longing and the flies entice. And the tingling, tangling, occasional dong, copper clad wind chimes sing their Creators song; their boastful caress soothes musty ears, as he looks to the land he humbled dear
Across expansive wide the verandah sweeps, the stately home so tall an' deep;
on the edge of the lake of granite stone, beamed an' braced, notched an' honed,
An' creatures smother a brackish glade, lush the sanctuary--hand dug made:
leather the gators frozen still, as June bugs in November's steady chill; an' soak the sun, bellies deep, lumped with catfish swiftly reaped, when dived the lake fresh they caught, rest an' wonder with out a thought, an' view the graceful gaggled geese, soft upon the water as new shorn fleece, an' flowers wild the butterflies swarm, prancing, dancing, flutter in storm, of color, energy, beauty keen, mirrored the waters glistening sheen, An' cows blare calves an' farm dogs yap, gleeful merriment as the roosters nap,
an' crisp vast fields teem shades of green, corn an' fodder an' snap pole beans,
an' the red of barnyard tractors race, to do-dads, homemade, halyard braced,
smoke sheds, pig pokes, wooded stalls, an' windmills twisting winds up tall...
Oh Mr. GOD of me and mine! I followed your recipe to the very line!
Though ole' the knees so hard they bend, sore the muscles I shant pretend
though callused the hands wrought with pain, joy my heart I won't refrain
My love, My faith, My dignity, For thy whom banished my poverty...
J
oe traveled to Georgia to deliver a shipment of fertilizer, then headed to North Carolina were he helped hand load a couple tons (?) Of tobaky, and finally, a short run of the leaf to a large processing house in Virginia--Princess Ann County to be exact. After unloading, they were to pick up a load of processed and packaged tobacco products and make the final run to New York! And Home!
The temperature was hot; steaming with humidity that draped all in blankets of sweat. After hand loading the semi with tobacco leaf--from curing flue to barn, from barn to packing crates-where the tobacco was compressed in a farm built do-dad--from do-dad and barn to semi.... and all over again--he was beat--and then the shoot up to Virginia, all in one day! When Fred, the driver that hired/picked him up, began to roll a home made with straight tobacco, the once sweet smell of tobacco soured his thoughts--smelling the stuff made him want to regurgitate the home made, roast beef and smoked cheese sandwich he had just consumed.
The sandwich was complements of Carolina Farms, they grew and processed most of their own staples: roast beef and cheese included. What a magnificent house! Resting smack in the middle of an ancient grove of oak by a beautiful lake: White massive colonnades; Huge verandah; Crisp white fountains with statues spewing cool water in streams of musical tones upon Lilly pads and burping frogs. The owner had told him it had been built after the civil war, around 1870. The renovations had been extensive and many--so had the photographs: Historians; Tourists; The curious; Magazines...
When he said magazine, Joe's first thought was the story Mr. Bianco recited of his Great, Grand Father Antonio. He immediately became depressed with the thought of all the men of his family whom believed in This Thing Of Ours--until it included them in a way they never recovered from. They never worked the land, rather they would work the people to get what they desired. By planting the symbols of success rather than the seeds, they assumed they had received the legacy which went with those symbols-- minus the hardships. But, working the fields, barns, flues, and tractors convinced him the owners of Carolina Farms deserved what they and their predecessors had worked for.
At 7 P.M. Fred and Joe pulled into the depot, unloaded the tobacco, and readied the truck with it's new cargo. By the time they were through it was nine P.M.. Fred asked if he would mind waiting until morning to rejoin the road. He did not care, in fact, he thought it was a great idea. He could walk the city and see the sights, then, after a night in a comfortable motel, begin anew... Refreshed!
He's seated upon a rock jutting the waters, day dreaming of Pirates and Ships of gold; viewing lights reflecting off the rolling surf; feeling the warm, salty breeze that puffed the air in tides of it's own when....
"Excuse me sonny, you live around here?"
Experience had delivered the message long before he looked up: he knew whom asked the fatal question...
"But, officer, that is me... I'm Mike, just riding through with my uncle whom is staying at the Bayside Motel..."
"What's his name?"
"Freddy."
"Freddy what?"
"Well, he's not really my uncle. I'm just helping him deli.."
"Look, if you do not tell him whom you are, I'm going to have to take you to the youth detention center until they can find out who you are!"
When the police officer said "Youth Detention" his stomach tossed and turned...
They arrived at the detention center and Joe soon realized he was not in New York. The place was located next to a swampy marsh and cypress area. It was clean, well disciplined, and both male and female children mixed in the day and were segregated at night. The center had individual cells housing one detainee each. Though smoking was permitted, there were no card nor pool tables--or any other form of gambling. Proper attention and capable, educated individuals ran the center with energy. The food was pretty good. A "Dorm Mother and Father"--a couple whom ran things during the day--were in charge and were pretty nice folks. During the first five days he got to know some of the guys. They were totally amazed at his travels. As Joe recited his travels, the authorities were making all attempts at identification, they were getting no where. He thought they would have to let him go sooner or later; well, they had other ideas.
His sixth day, he was called out and taken to a court house downtown...
"We, the State of Virginia, cannot allow a minor to roam the country side... you have to understand that neither can we hold you here, in the youth center. So, even though we would rather send you home, we must send you to the boys home up state until such time we can release you or such time you notify us of your true identity... you'll be transported in four days!"
Back at the center, the guys gathered round to find out what happened. After he informed them of what had transpired, they immediately began telling him stories of the terrible place it was: The Boys Home. After the experience he had endured, he began to formulate a plan...
He had few choices and few cards, if any, to play. Either he told them his true name and suffered the fate of return to New York...and more than likely a return to Spotford, or "he got out"! But how?
Among the fifty or so kids whom were detained, five of them seemed the leaders and most mature. Gathering these "leaders" around him, he set out to devise, plan, and execute their escape to the N. Carolina State line! From there, they would be free! Ultimately, the five of them huddled and decided to prepare to make their break in two days, on Friday night...
2 A.M. and, except for the sound of large keys jangling on the waste band of the night watchman, whom was making rounds of the prescribed bed check, the center was dead quiet...
...Samuel Stromberg, the only black inmate, arose from his bed and looked through the small wire reinforced window mounted in his door. Judging the distance of the watchman with care, he waited, and just as he approached his room, he let out a cry and fell against the door...
The night watchman reached Samuel's room to be startled by a shout of help and a subsequent loud thump against the door. Grabbing his keys -- while asking if Samuel was all right: "Sonny, Hey! You OK... HEY! Are you all right? Talk to me.... Oh my!.."-- he jammed the key into the lock, turned it and, with out removing the key, opened the door!...
Only the weekend watchman made this critical error each time some one asked to be released to use the bathroom! A fact noticed by Jimmy, another of the infamous escape artists five!
...Just as the watchman entered the cell and bent over the recumbent Samuel, Samuel jumped up, pushed the watchman to the side and, as the watchman lost his balance and tumbled over, rushed out the door... and locked him in!
"Pandomania", reminiscent of The Beast, ruled the floor: Every one was released... by Samuel!
Instead of just quietly slipping out, and against their prescribed plans, Samuel had made a critical error: they had supposed the watchman's large key ring contained his car keys and therefore, they would slip out with out any one the wiser, "borrow" his car, and drive the few miles to the border; instead, with everyone whooping it up, a window was shattered setting of an alarm! In their haste to leave, the keys were left inside!