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Re: Katchina Makawee - Katchina Makawee - 08-13-2016
Katchina Makawee considered herself and her two older brothers privileged among her peers. Her father wasn't a gambler and he didn't drink. Those things alone put her family head and shoulders above most of the others on the Isabella Indian Reservation, especially in the harsh reality of 21st century postindustrial Michigan. On a winter's morning one could look across the flattened plain and see undisturbed snow like a pure, pressed blanket of white silk. No one was trying to get to work because no one had any work to get to.
Mount Pleasant was hardly any better off. The BIA took care of people on the reservation for the most part, well enough at least – kept them in food and water, gave them all the necessities for living, enough to skirt basic personal responsibilities in lieu of gambling and drinking – at least until the austerity cuts came and it didn't anymore. The casino did well enough afterward. Subsidized hopelessness, her father called it. Okimantu Makawee, ceremonial chief of the Saginaw Chippewa, preached personal responsibility tempered with compasison and education. He believed the Saginaw Chippewa were not done yet as a people. “There is an arrogance in ignorance, Katchina,” he told her. “And hopelessness is a sickness. But for every disease there is a cure.”
By the time Katchina reached high school and learned something of biology she would argue that last point. There were many diseases that had no known cure. But she understood what her father meant. He was a good man, gentle and confident. Slow to anger. Quick to encourage his children to show compassion. “There, but by the grace of God go I and you,” he would say when approached at the store or the gas station by a fallen away tribal member asking for money, who more often than not reeked of sour mash and cigarettes. He would never give away any money, but would always be sure to touch the person, and offer other aid as he could, a ride, the use of a mobile phone, or just a good word. "Whatever we give will be taken and multiplied," he would say. "Even if it's just a minute of time. And what people need most is hope. The feeling that they are still worth something."
Also, her father would take her out into the most remote parts of the reservation, too far away from civilization for her mother to tolerate. Far enough away where on a winter's day there would be only the sound of silence. Not even wind, or a creature stirring. “Do you hear that, Katchina?” he would say. “That is the sound of Gitche Manidoo, the great Spirit that is in everything. The great Spirit flows through mother Earth. It gives us life and the earth gives us substance. It connects all things together, from the sun and the stars down to the worms in the dirt. See, we are all connected. When one gets sick we all feel it, and when one recovers we all become brighter. We live and die as one.” This lesson stuck with her for some time.
When Katchina was 15 – and now calling herself Kat, since Katchina seemed a little pretentious to her – her school shut down, the local district having run out of funds. Kat's brothers had long since graduated and left for other studies, but her future was still uncertain. Her mother and father decided to complete the family's schooling at home. This actually turned out to be much more efficient, and at 16 Kat was accepted into dual undergraduate programs of education and biology at Michigan State University. When asked why she chose this undergraduate degree, she said with a straight face and matter-of-fact tone, “I intend to find a cure for hopelessness.”
That earned more than a few stares, and even the occasional guffaw. But why should Kat care whether anyone thought it was silly? These were her goals, not anyone else's. She didn't need permission.
Her studies progressed well, and she made friends at school, and even made waves on the basketball court. Interest from boys, not so much. If a young man wasn't respectful enough to at least introduce himself to her father before trying to take her out on a date, it just wasn't going to happen. And so she acquired a bit of a reputation for being prudish. It didn't bother her much. Being two years younger than the other girls, Kat wasn't really interested in getting pressured into dating or plied with alcohol or any of the heartbreaking drama. So it left her more time to advance her studies or be helpful to others.
Then she turned seventeen and everything fell apart.
* * *
It was Michigan State vs. University of Connecticut, and in the late second half Michigan State was up by 3. Kat was sitting on the bench awaiting the order to go back in. So far she'd scored 12 points this game, not a bad run.
“Kat, are you nervous?” said her friend and teammate, forward Michelle Harmond, who was sitting next to her.
Kat shook her head. Nervous, no. Uncomfortable, a little. She should have un-stitched the tag on her sports bra instead of cutting it off, the remainder of the tag was causing her back to itch right where she couldn't reach. It'd been annoying her the whole game. “Why should I be nervous?”
Michelle blinked. “Well, if we win, we're going to North Carolina and we're going to play Duke for a Final Four spot!”
“I know,”
she replied. She checked her laces to ensure they hadn't slipped. “Does that make you nervous?”
“Well, yeah,” Michelle replied. “We'll be like on national TV and people are going to see us. Like, what if we look stupid?”
“Can people see you now? It isn't really any different, right? And we've all done stupid things and we got over it when people saw us. Right?”
Michelle bit a fingernail in thought. “Huh. I never thought of it that way. Cool.”
Duke sunk a three-pointer. It was a tie game. The coach called a timeout and sent Kat and Michelle in, Kat to guard and Michelle to forward. “Get in there Spartans! Whip em Huskies good!”
Kat gave the thumb's up, and play resumed. Immediately she found herself between two maneuvering opponents and having to cover them both as they passed the ball around her. The back one took the shot – and it bounced off the backboard. Kat stretched out an arm over her opponent and tipped the rebound into her arms, and passed it down the court. The Huskies darted back down court to intercept.
Michelle pivoted and reached out to receive the pass – and an overzealous Husky fouled her hard, running head on into her, moving too fast to stop. She reeled and turned, catching herself on an ankle that went sideways. Kat heard something go snap as she watched her friend collapse.
She ran to her friend's side and reached for her hand, heart thumping. Michelle looked pale and her foot was swollen and purple. She was having trouble breathing from the shock. No, no no.
Just a glance she could piece together what was going on beneath the skin. The sudden pressure caused by the inward rolling had fractured her distal fibula and maybe torn a ligament too. It was six to twelve weeks in a cast, and she'd be struggling with swelling for years to come. Her college basketball career was over. Basketball had been her ticket to an education, and Michelle would have been the first to admit she hadn't the academics to get by without her athletic appeal. All because of some carelessness. The Huskie who had run into Michelle was sobbing, tears running down her face as she blurted out apologies. A sports medic reached Michelle's side and told Kat she needed to move. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could hope for.
At that moment Kat would give anything in the world to see her friend stand on her own, but there wasn't a thing she could hope to change. So she let go of Michelle's hand.
The sports medic felt Michelle's ankle. “Can you move it?” Surprisingly, Michelle found that she could.
“You're fine,” he said. “Let's get you up.”
What a relief. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as Kat had thought.
* * *
Durham, North Carolina. Everyone was talking about the 2041 Spartans and their UConn upset. If they got past Duke they were angling to take on Number 1 ranked Kentucky. There were two minutes left on the clock and Kat was having the game of her life. What a thrill to be alive and at the top of one's game! She was already at 26 points this game and counting. Her father had come with the team and was glowing with pride over on the sidelines.
The coach called a time-out. “Kat, if you can keep this up, you just keep on playing. You are on fire, girl. All we need to do is hold onto a narrow lead and not give up more than three points without getting two back.”
There was some back and forth. Duke scored twice unanswered. They were still up by one, though. With thirty seconds left, Kat stole the ball and took it down the court. She whipped her head back, tight brown braids trailing behind – she'd outraced the opponents, it was just her and the net. All she needed to do was take the shot and that coffin would be nailed.
And things started to look kind of weird. Suddenly the basket seemed far away, and her arms were like jelly. She couldn't focus. She stood with two feet planted on the court floor, the ball in two hands, wavering back and forth.
The shot clock ran out and the ball dropped from her numb hands. The Duke players ran back past her. There was cotton in her ears or something, why was there all this muffled cheering all a sudden? And then she was feeling the hardwood floor against her cheek.
Next thing she knew, she was being pulled to her feet by her father. He threw a jacket around her bare shoulders. “Did we win?”
she asked.
“Don't worry about that,” he said. He was already on his Wallet, making phone calls, having brought Kat back to the sidelines. She thought she picked out a whisper of something like “sickness” from the stands. The Sickness?
She reasoned that she must be ill, possibly with the Sickness that was afflicting so many youth without explanation and which seemed to have no treatment. She wasn't afraid, though. There wasn't anything that could be done by being frightened.
“...never see her again if I do that...” her father was saying over the phone. “All right. That sounds like the best option.” He led Kat out of the stadium by way of the locker rooms and to their car. “Lie down in the back, Katchina.” She obliged him.
“Where are we going?”
she asked.“Am I going to a hospital?”
Her father shook his head. “No, Katchina. I don't think a hospital can help. I'm taking you to a reservation." His thick forehead wrinkled and his jaw was clenched. He's afraid.
"There is a theory that the hospitals aren't doing us any good that's being seriously studied by a man around these parts. I won't let anything happen to you. Are you comfortable?”
Kat nodded. She had never seen her father frightened by anything before. And if he was frightened, should she be? She looked out the window at the passing trees. In short time she saw a sign that said “Cherokee, N.C. Home of the Oconaluftee” and saw a cluster of teepees. That was out of place. Teepees were used by the nomadic plains tribes and not agrarian cultures on the east coast. Kat thought everyone knew that.
The car pulled to a stop. Kat's father helped her get out. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and her limbs were like jelly, not wanting to move where she wanted them to. They were next to a simple house with brown clapboard covering. A man came out to meet them, moving with the mild aid of a wooden staff. The skin of his face was parched with age but his eyes were sharp, and his bleach-white hair lay in a braid to his waist.
The man stopped and leaned on his staff, eyes regarding Kat. “So you have the Sickness, Katchina Makawee. Come inside. I am Noah Crow's Eye.”
Re: Katchina Makawee - Katchina Makawee - 08-13-2016
Chapter 2
Eyes Wide Open
As she was instructed, Katchina lay down on the simple brown leather couch and looked up at the ceiling. Her father took a seat in an armchair by her foot and wrung his hands but stayed silent. The old man, Noah, spread a lit smudging stick over her body, trailing smoke in the air. She caught the scents of sweetgrass and cedar.
Whatever it was that had struck her had passed as if nothing had happened. She felt fine, really, and said as much. “Hm.” That was all the man had said. He put the incense aside and walked over to a desk. There were all sorts of bottles and bags, dried plants, bones, books and crystals with no apparent method of organization to them. He picked up a small leather pouch and retrieved some flat, black stones worn smooth and about the size of a quarter apiece. “Remove your jersey.”
Her father scowled. “Is that necessary?”
Noah cackled. “Necessary? No, of course it isn't necessary. It isn't necessary for me to treat your daughter at all.” He chuckled. “You can drive yourself to Charlotte and check her into a hospital, and take your chances with the doctors there. That's where I sent the first two who came to me. Maybe you should ask them how they are doing.” He trailed off. “Necessary...”
Her father folded his arms, flexing large biceps. He was not a small man. “Go ahead, Katchina.”
It wasn't like it was a thing of consequence to Kat. The man was clearly trying to treat her like a patient, and in anyway she was wearing a sports bra underneath. But as soon as she removed her jersey and felt the cool air on her taut stomach, a sense of unease crept over her, and she prickled with goosebumps.
“Lie very still,” Noah said. He placed one stone in the center of her head. It was almost warm, having been cradled in the man's hand. “Relax and close your eyes. Allow the stone to draw your awareness. Don't force your attention. Draw your attention. Feel as if there is another eye at that spot, and as though you were able to look through it.” Kat, lulled by his voice, drifted into relaxation. Noah placed a second stone on her navel and a third upon her breastbone midway between the base of her neck and her cleavage, all in one line.
“Are you relaxed?” he asked. She nodded. “Through relaxation our bodies can find the balance between the spiritual and the physical. The medicine of the White man, though it has accomplished much through technology, is still dependent on the treatment of observable symptoms that arise when something has upset the balance within the body in a physical way.” He opened a small jar of cream and dabbed a finger in it, using the finger to trace a line from one stone to another, down her face, to her chest and down to her stomach. “The healing medicine of our peoples, handed down through the ages, focuses on the balance in itself.” The cold scent of aloe washed over her and she tensed at the roughness of his finger. It was creepy. Far too intimate for her comfort. She was very glad her father was present. She made a conscious effort to relax and not think about his finger tracing a line down her cleavage. From the stone on her chest he drew two lines that ran perpendicular across the top of her breasts and down to the joint of her armpit.
“So,” Noah continued, “if a disease has no observable cause, what is a modern doctor to do about it?” He drew a second set of lines from her stomach to her kidney, and finally a third across the top of her forehead. “Do you understand, Katchina?”
She was adrift, her thoughts separated from her head, as if they escaping through her head, her chest and her belly like steam rising from a tea kettle. She snatched a wisp and pulled it back to her, and gave voice to that thought. “The Sickness doesn't have a physical cause.”
“Clever girl,” Noah replied. “This at least appears to be the case. You will stay with me and we shall endeavor to strike a spiritual and physical harmony within you in the hope that achieve mastery of balance.”
He clapped his hands. Kat jerked in surprise, and the stones fell off. “Sit up and put your shirt on. Your room will be down the hall. You may go and take a look at it. I will send your father the details on billing later.”
She blinked. “Wait a minute. Stay here? What about my studies? I don't even know you.”
Noah laughed. “Studies? Why, you will study with me, of course. I happen to possess several graduate degrees. It will be a mutually beneficial arrangement as well, for it will give me a chance to study the Sickness further.”
Her father frowned. “Just hold on. You expect me to leave my daughter in your care to live with you? Just how many people with the Sickness have you done this with?”
“Why, your daughter will be the first.” He put up a hand. Kat noticed for the first time the brown leather vambraces that covered his forearms. What an odd choice of accessories. “As I explained on the phone, those whom have been sent away have not fared any better for it. I can promise that nothing I do will cause lasting harm to her.”
“So this is the only way.”
Noah cackled again, that grating laugh that cut through her skull. Like the chill of a dark cloud across the sun. “You and necessary again. Things will be as they are destined. You are free to leave. But I promise you that she will not live to see her eighteenth birthday if you do.” He shook his head. “If that's an acceptable outcome, you may leave today and never see me again.”
Her father frowned. “Katchina, dear. Please give me a few minutes of privacy.”
She left the room, all semblance of balance shattered. And for perhaps the first time ever, she was afraid. Her father had always been her stability, her immovable foundation for strength, and she was going to have to leave him to stay alive? She sat on the front porch and listened to the warblers in the nearby trees. During that treatment though...she had felt something. As if there had been a mirror echo of energy. As her mind opened up like a blossoming rosebud and she sank into relaxation, it came closer and closer. Yet as the doorway opened and she tried to reach through – to whatever was over there – it would snap closed.
Noah and her father came to the threshold. “Daughter,” he said. “Let us speak for a few minutes. I have decided you will remain.” His tone brooked no argument. Firm. As if she would imagine to protest his decision. “Let us walk.” He beckoned her to follow into the wood, where nearby a stream ran and the songbirds continued their chatter.
Noah beckoned a hand out. “Quick, child. Go with him. Take this time to say whatever needs to be said to him.”
Kat ran to catch up, and grabbed hold of his hand.
They walked for a few miles in silence. Kat was nearly her father's height, yet as she clung to his arm she felt like a little child again. There was comfort that she would always know, holding onto her father's hand. They reached a clearing by the bank of a stream. A fallen log lay beside the bank, and they sat and watched the water run in the midday sun.
“Do you remember when you were little, and I spoke about how all things are connected? Death, and life, and the mightiest tree and the sunlight, and the worms in the ground? About how when we take something from the world, we all feel the loss and the hurt, but when something is healed, we all are healed?”
“Of course I do,”
Kat replied softly. “I remember everything you've tried to teach me. Every word. You are everything to me.”
He smiled, and a tear fell from his cheek. “You, my little Katchina, must be yourself. And I know you are and will be okay, and I'm so proud of you and who you have become.” He paused. “I Sometimes...sometimes a thing can hurt and heal. Sometimes a loss can be for the best. The only difference is whether we take despair, or give hope, to all things. Two sides of the same coin. What is it that you tell everyone? That you intend to find a cure for hopelessness. Promise me that you'll never stop looking, will you?”
“Of course, father,”
Kat replied. Now she was crying. “I promise. I will miss you.”
He cupped her head to his chest. “I know. And I trust one day you will see this is for the best.”
* * *
Noah didn't have the heart to cut short the goodbyes, and as Katchina hugged her father one last time, and watched him climb into his car and drive off in the distance, Noah didn't intend to. It would be some time before she understood why this was for the best, but she would eventually. Perhaps. All things were as they would be.
Sometimes there were no good choices. Only the choices that were offered. Okimantu Makawee would never reach home, and because Katchina would not be there to heal him he would not survive the accident. His family would be devastated and the Saginaw Chippewa would fall apart for lack of leadership. But, had Katchina saved her father, she would have remained by his side until the Sickness took her instead.
Perhaps it was not fair to have kept this from her. But Katchina was still a child, wise as she was for her age, and still thought as a child, unable to see why this was the best way. It was not her choice to make. Neither had it been Noah's. Okimantu had made his choice with his eyes wide open.
What was and what will be, is, today. He could feel the tattooed Oroborus beneath his vambrace. “Come inside, Katrina,” he called out. “I have some things to show you.”
Re: Katchina Makawee - Katchina Makawee - 08-13-2016
Chapter 3
Opening the Door
Just like that, he was gone. Kat was not even able to go to his funeral. The sickness had taken her again, chills and cramping and fever. It was too dangerous for her to travel. At least, that's what Noah told her. He said that people her age were getting quarantined by the CDC, and that some of them hadn't ever been seen again. It would have been worth the risk to her, just to see him again. The world had become much lonelier without him.
Not that living with Noah was the worst thing, of course. The old man had so much knowledge to impart. He knew about old stories that went back to the First People, or even before. His craft with medicine was top notch. Noah hadn't been exaggerating about his degrees. Doctor, historian, he'd been around for some time. It was an amazing time of growth for her.
There was so much to do on the reservation that Kat hardly had time to feel sorry for herself. She wondered if Noah was purposeful in that regard. There was wood to haul, gardens to weed, planting to be done. He was also an expert tracker and hunter. That fall she took a trophy elk with Noah's help.
She improved her meditation practices, and with breathing learned to utterly relax herself and try to open the third eye that she imagined to exist in the middle of her forehead. At times she began to become aware of a shimmering source of energy, smooth and tranquil, placid like the surface of a pond on the morning. If she was just a little closer, it seemed, she could just reach out and touch it. Quickly she learned that trying to snatch it was futile. At best she'd come up empty handed, and at worst something would snap back on her, leaving her with a stinging headache. She tried to talk to Noah about it, but he was very little help. “I do not know how to describe this thing. I don't even know what it is. Just perhaps let it happen to you.”
And so Kat found herself sitting cross-legged in her room staring at a handkerchief on her bed. Let it happen.
That was a bitter pill to swallow. Although...when there was no ability to control a thing, one had to give up the illusion of control being a choice. Only then could hope find its way in.
Father, I miss you and that's okay. I accept it and I give in as if you were here.
The focal point shifted from her head to her breast. She began to look at the handkerchief as though seeing it from insider herself. And it rose from the bed of its own accord, pulling itself taut three times before dropping, as Kat in her shock lost control. That was the first time.
Sometimes people would come by to be treated by one thing or another. Noah was the only doctor on the reservation, and although he was largely retired he still saw anyone who needed treatment. Fall gave way into winter and Kat was permitted to assist Noah in their treatment. Kat found an almost constant awareness of the power. It really was everywhere, and must have been Gitche Manidoo as described in the ancient stories, the Great Spirit. Sometimes she would embrace the power and – sift through – the different elements. Sometimes while the power entered her she could touch someone and know what was the matter with them. Fluid in the lungs, an infected cut, even a tumor. She became very keen at those. They almost had a smell to them. Noah would send them to the appropriate place for care. He wouldn't entertain discussion about Kat trying to fix it herself. From the looks of it, he didn't really seem to believe she could.
One time a person showed up who wasn't. The man, just a nondescript camper of few words and rugged clothing, was limping on a broken leg. He seemed normal when Kat answered the door, and she had him lie down on the couch. She left the room. Then she realized she'd forgotten something, and turned around to see Noah with his back turned, and the man standing on his leg again with a knife in his hand.
“Noah!”
she yelled, and did the only thing she could think of, which was lash out with all the power she could. A clap of wind threw the man against the far wall and over turned the couch, sending the knife flying. Something was wrong with the man's face. It was … animated. Like a puppet made of skin and bones. And it was faster than it seemed. The creature swept down and grabbed the knife again, jumping this time at Kat, but Noah had regained his bearings by then as well as his .44 magnum revolver. One shot was all it took.
Afterward, when they were cleaning up, Noah remarked that he had recognized the face and it had been some transient who from time to time slept out in the woods on the border of the reservation. They buried the body in the woods. Kat had never seen anyone die before. She had nightmares for weeks of people being possessed by animated things.
Spring came again. Kat had been living on the Cherokee reservation for nearly a year now. She hadn't had any symptoms for at least a month. And that's when Jerome showed up. The young Seminole had made his way here as a part of the referral. The 22-year-old had gotten into some trouble with the law but was trying to straighten himself out in order to be a better father to his newborn daughter. But then he caused a minor earthquake somehow a week ago. He'd been advised to come see Noah. Two days after arriving, he had a violent attack. Screaming fits and shrieking about monsters, and convulsions. Noah gave him some laudanum just to calm the young man down. But even after the attacks subsided, Jerome was antsy and anxious, and lacked focus, as if constantly gripped by panic.
Noah and Kat did what they could. Noah had worked out a ritual with drums and peyote when an attack came on, and that helped him through the worst of it. During more lucid times, Kat tried breathing exercies and meditation.
“Can you feel the resonance? Relax. Just let it come. Watch what I am doing,”
she would guide him. But Jerome said it wasn't like that. “It's like I'm fighting and wrestling with it,”
he said. “If I relax and let it take me – I'll get swept away. It'll destroy me.”
It became quickly apparent that there was nothing she could do to help Jerome. Indeed, his experience seemed so alien to hers as to be potentially an entirely different power.
Jerome headed downhill fast. His mental state decayed as his fits became more frequent and more violent. One night he set fire to the woods. He quickly became addicted to the morphine laced liquor, and would for days at a time before showing up screaming fits of rage at the heavens while lightning struck down from a clear sky. Times of lucidity became fewer and farther between.
Until Flag Day. That night was hotter than most. Jerome had been gone for three days and three nights. Kat was washing the dishes from the evening meal, when a gust of wind threw the front door off the hinges. Jerome. Screaming for Noah. “I see you, Noah! I can see everything! I see your lies!”
He made for the bedroom. Kat turned and reached out for the power, and threw ropes of Air around his limbs. Something invisible struck out against them, and she hissed as she felt them lash back at her like a recoiling whip. Then she was forced aside, and a wall of flame rushed her way. She threw up a quick wall of Air but was still singed.
Jerome was strong, much stronger than her. Thoughts of being able to help him fled. There was no way to help this craziness. He was out of control. Jerome forced his way past her into Noah's bedroom. She couldn't see around the corner, but heard three shots fired. Heart in her throat, she rushed around – and found Jerome holding Noah by the throat, revolver having been thrown across the bedroom.
“You did this to me old man,”
Jerome whispered. “How can I ever be normal again?”
Kat was sure, in that instant, that they were both going to die at Jerome's hands if she failed to act. Bonds of air wasn't going to work, and she just wasn't strong enough in the use of fire. The gun was too far away and she had no other weapons. Maybe there was a way to get him away from his control of the power. She grabbed the power, and Jerome swung his head around. How could he tell?
Quickly, almost reflexively, she made a knife of the essence of Spirit and rammed it right between that space in between, where he could tap into the Great Spirit.
Jerome dropped Noah and cried out. He looked at her with sad eyes, suddenly full of awareness. “You...it's not there...what did you do?”
Kat wasn't sure how to answer that.
Jerome wasted away. The craziness was gone, and he wasn't dangerous anymore. In fact he seemed more self-aware than ever. But he was a shadow of his former self. It seemed like he had given up the will to live. He stopped eating and one day just lay down, never to get up again.
Noah and Kat buried Jerome behind the house, where the summer flowers and wild grass formed a ring beneath the shade tree.
Afterward Kat felt for the first time a temptation to give into despair and let go of hope. So that was her cue that she needed to leave. “I made a promise to my father,”
she told Noah. “I'm not sure where I'll go. Somewhere where I can learn more, though.”
The old man wished her the best. “There will be another coming soon who will survive like you. Now is not the time for you to meet.”
So she struck out southward. Toward Atlanta. To find out what she could learn.
Kat had opened the door to a new world. Now she just needed to step through.