by K. T. Tomb
“No, we are ah, uh,” Nathan began before he ran out of words.
“What he meant is that we are fellow Canarsee and we are indeed in the right place,” Patch finished.
“Yeah, we came all the way from Pennsylvania to attend this pow-wow,” Nathan said. He wanted his brother to shut up.
Others within the teepee leaned over to ask one another quietly if they knew the strangers. When Linda asked the big Indian who had insulted them earlier the same question, he shook his head ‘no.’ Patch began to perspire. The air did not circulate well in the teepee and he had just been on fire.
“No one present appears to know who you are. Can I have your names?” Linda asked.
Patch had had just about enough; he was standing in a teepee with smoldering leather pants and he knew that if his brother opened his mouth it would be the last nail in his coffin. Then in went the nail….
“I am He Who Hunts Bear With His Own Hands,” Nathan announced.
Patch elbowed his brother hard and Linda looked at Nathan suspiciously.
Then she asked, “Can we just call you Hunting Bear?”
Nathan smiled, “Yes, that would be fine.”
Through it all, Patch’s phone had been vibrating in his pocket. It was his private line because he’d forwarded everything else to Nadine. He knew it was Hillary; her mother allowed her to call him every night before bed. He was going to have to sneak in a quick call to his little angel.
How was he going to explain this? He wondered, then thought it best to just avoid mentioning anything out of the ordinary when he returned her call.
Linda’s voice brought him back to reality.
“And your name, chief?”
Patch almost said they call me Mr. Mayor but then he recalled a book he’d seen sitting on Abernathy’s desk.
He answered, “I am Morning Star.” Then he remembered it was the name of a vegetarian breakfast sausage and almost burst out laughing. He smiled handsomely instead.
A hush fell over the crowd. Several people gasped and others were slack-jawed.
Nathan mumbled. “Who the hell is Morning Star?”
“I guess that’s me now.”
A woman ran up to Patch and kneeled before him. She took his hands in hers and kissed them. Wide-eyed children who appeared astonished surrounded her. They were not wearing shoes and their clothes were torn. In his tenure as mayor, he had never been treated this way. Then the woman spoke.
“You are our only hope, Morning Star. I stopped believing in the prophecies a long time ago. You are here to answer our prayers.”
People began swarming around him. They touched him and began kissing his cheeks and even his feet.
“You are he who would unite our people once again and now we have hope for the future.”
Linda’s voice cut through the commotion. Everyone fell silent. She looked directly at Patch and the skepticism in her face was evident. A path was cleared for her. Patch grew nauseous as she approached him through the crowd. Nathan was still standing next to him.
“These people think you are some type of god. Do something god-like or we’re gonna be in trouble.”
A cord from the sound system still waved about. Patch brushed it aside but the wire was still live. Bolts of electricity shot throughout his body. As if out of a science fiction movie, he began to emanate a sort of glow. The headdress landed on the floor and his graying hair stood on end. Smoke rose from his hands and Patch suddenly had the full attention of the audience.
He heard one person whisper, “It truly is a miracle.” Oohs and Ahs followed from some of the others.
Nathan gave Patch a shove, releasing him from the shock from the wire. The overhead lights, which dimmed grew bright again. Nathan looked unimpressed. He sniffed, kicked it aside swiftly and looked at his brother.
“You smell Patch; like a fine southern barbecue. I’m getting hungry,” he quipped.
Linda rushed to be next to the still smoking Patch. Despite the chaos, she still looked beautiful. Her face was dubious. Patch swallowed. He was sure his cover was blown, literally. He waited nervously for her reaction and he was surprised when she grinned.
“Chief Morning Star,” she stated reverently “I would not have believed it had I not seen it for myself.”
Shouts of joy erupted from the crowd. Linda led a disheveled Patch forward as the people in the crowd reached out to touch him. A left behind Nathan was unfazed. He rubbed his belly and asked, “Where is the nearest barbecue?”
***
Linda immediately began to lead Patch out to a tribal pow wow which was already in progress.
“Excuse me Linda, it may not be the appropriate time but I need to visit the restroom,” he asked sheepishly.
“You don’t have to explain, Morning Star. Even men of your stature have to answer nature’s call. There are facilities down the hall,” Linda smiled. She had great teeth.
Patch entered the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief. Things had wandered off the path he intended but he positioned himself to obtain information. After all, that was the reason he was there. For a brief moment, he thought of the exotic Linda Lightfoot.
“Stay focused, Patch. You are here to do a job for the people of New York,” he mumbled to himself.
He remembered the reason for his pit stop. Patch grabbed his cell phone from his pocket. Maybe he did have magic powers because it was a miracle the phone still functioned. He dialed his daughter Hillary.
“Hello, Daddy. You called me back!” Hillary answered. Patch swooned.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I was in an important meeting and I couldn’t answer. I was meeting some people regarding Native American culture. They want to have some type of festival in Central Park,” Patch fibbed to his daughter, while trying to include a nugget of truth.
“Cool, Daddy. Will you let them have their party? Will Pocahontas and the other princesses be there?”
Again, Patch thought of Linda. She would surely clock him one if he compared her to Pocahontas.
“I’m not sure, Hillary. The only princess I am thinking of is you. I have to go because the meeting is back in session.”
Patch looked in the mirror. He had put his headdress back on. The war paint under his eyes was beginning to smudge. If only Hillary could see him. If his ex, Juliet saw him, she would accuse him of being mentally unsound. Maybe he was.
“Bye Daddy. I hope I can see you this weekend. I hope Mommy lets me,” Hillary said, causing Patch to wince.
“See you soon, love.”
Patch ended the call and rejoined the crowd.
***
Patch went to the ceremonial fire led by the rest of the Canarsee Tribe and took a seat of honor flanked by Linda and the big Indian whose name was Pale Fox. The latter was beginning to get on his nerves. Members of the council passed around a peace pipe. It was an exquisite object. The bowl was stone and deftly hand-carved with a long wooden stem. Leather fringe decorated with beads made of seeds, jade and onyx hung delicately from the sides. Of course, the pipe had utilitarian purpose too; each person in the circle took a long slow draw on the mouthpiece, and then exhaled the plumes of gray smoke. Patch found the pipe in his hands and took a tentative pull. He instantly had flashbacks to his school days in Greenwich Village. He coughed at first but soon fell into a rhythm as the hallucinogen took effect. His inhibitions floated further away each time he exhaled the lingering smoke creating quite a haze.
Linda Lightfoot and Pale Fox called the meeting to order. They appeared to be moving in some sort of unison. Pale Fox thought he was running the show but without Linda’s sharp intellect, it was not possible for him to pull it off. He knew this and it bothered him. Meanwhile, the pipe continued to make its rounds. Patch was encouraged to keep smoking it, which he did. The patterns made by the smoke started looking more and more interesting. They were more beautiful than stuff he’d seen at the Museum of Modern Art. Linda began discussing the lease. Her voice seemed to slow and he noticed it had a lovely cadence.
/>
He asked the woman beside him who was now holding the pipe, “Do they sell this stuff locally?”
She looked at him and smiled, shaking her head. Another hour passed. Patch was physically present but mentally he had taken a short leave of absence. He eventually focused and caught site of Linda Lightfoot holding a map. It was yellowed, rigid and obviously very ancient. Suddenly, Patch was jolted back to reality, although things were still a bit fuzzy. The caucus had taken on a negative vibe and there seemed to be more bickering than conversation. Linda tried to speak over the chatter holding the document under the flickering lights for the others to see.
“What I have here is a map that could possibly lead us to the lost lease and I’ve asked other scientists to join me in verifying its authenticity. I am not certain how many of you are listening to what I am saying, but with the proper conditions and access to dig in Central Park, we can reclaim what is rightfully ours.”
The council was out of control; the need of a leader was evident. Patch was still feeling the effects of the pipe or more specifically, its contents. He stood up to get the attention of the crowd. Standing up suddenly was not such a great idea but nothing could have compared to lighting himself on fire. Even in his condition, his natural leadership skills came through.
“We are all exhausted from the festivities, maybe even just a little excited, but what we really need is a leader to guide us through this delicate and urgent matter.”
Patch was not nominating himself but the people listened when he spoke. After all, he was Morning Star. He was ready for someone else to be chosen. As he sat back down, the group was still carefully studying him, looking at him with acceptance except for Pale Fox. He stared at Morning Star with indignation. But Patch had only one thing on his mind. Where was that pipe?
Chapter Six
The Next Day
Patch stumbled into work the next morning with the equivalent of a bad hangover. Nadine looked at him and immediately began cancelling his morning meetings. She knew him well enough to tell he was out of sorts. It was how he had appeared while he was going through his divorce with Juliet. Good friends rallied around him back then, and bolstered his spirits with his favorite whisky.
“Rough night, Mr. Mayor?” Nadine used a soft voice because she knew anything louder would be too much.
“Oh, it’s nothing really, Dini. I must have a touch of the flu or something.”
“I see. Any reason why there’s blue paint behind your ear?” Nadine asked.
“Hillary was at my place last night with some friends. You know young girls, always experimenting with make-up,” Patch lied.
Nadine looked at him with suspicion. She was well aware that he rarely had Hillary on a weeknight.
***
The strapping Pale Fox was walking with Linda Lightfoot through the woods. It was a marine forest near Jones Beach. She enjoyed the fresh salt air but the cool sea air did not seem to calm Pale Fox. He was troubled and irritable.
“We have to discuss this Morning Star person. I took my concerns to people who would know and no one has ever heard of him. I even checked with the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the records kept by the Canarsee Tribe; no Morning Star is registered with either. There is an Evening Star, but no Morning Star,” Pale Fox said and waited her response.
It was not as he hoped.
“You have to face reality, Pale Fox; he just might be the real deal,” Linda said.
“Explain what you mean by that, Linda,” Pale Fox was agitated.
“The old Canarsee legends state that he would come to our aid and help us reclaim our homeland. I am surprised too, Pale Fox. He did not come along as I thought he might. He put on quite a show in the teepee and he certainly looks different than I expected. He is younger than the legend led me to believe.”
“You had better not be inferring that you are attracted to him. I believe he is a fraud,” Pale Fox said, “And I intend to prove it.
***
Patch was back in his office going through a barrage of emails. He had become proficient at identifying which ones needed his immediate attention, which ones deserved at least a personal response, which ones to forward to his aids and those to trash. Most of them ended up in his handy desktop recycle bin. He came across a message from Juliet. He had to open it in case she had something to say about Hillary, but even as he did he could feel his blood pressure rising. He was pleasantly surprised to find a photo of his daughter attached. Juliet was describing the soaring cost of childcare and lamenting her life as a single parent. Patch converted the photo to his desktop wallpaper and deleted Juliet’s plea for money. Next, he opened his desk drawer and wrote another check to Juliet.
Patch put his head down on his desk; a few minutes of shut-eye would help him continue with the day. He was having an outlandish dream of a giant teepee, larger than the Empire State Building; it was standing in mid-town. In front of the structure was a barbecue cart from which Nathan was selling freshly roasted marinated game.
Real life intervened quickly. Nadine was shocked when a stranger suddenly rushed past her and straight into Patch’s office, a rare lapse in security for sure. It was Linda Lightfoot. Nadine was about to call guards when Patch waved her off. Linda slammed the door shut and took a seat. Patch was certain she had figured him out and feared she had come to expose him for fraudulently purporting to be Morning Star. His hands began to tremble so he shoved them in his pockets.
“Mr. Mayor,” she started.
The salutation was a good sign that she had not figured him out.
“I wish to reiterate my urgent need to perform an excavation in Central Park.”
“Please make yourself comfortable, Ms.? I’m sorry, I forgot your name. Can I get you some water or something hot to drink? I‘m open to hearing everything you have to say about your proposal since you took the trouble to come all of this way.”
“My name is Linda, Dr. Linda Lightfoot. I am of Canarsee Indian descent. We are proud people and want to recover what it ours, what your ancestors took from us. Central Park was once our cultural epicenter and I have valid evidence that artifacts are buried within the park. Please allow us to look for them.”
Linda’s heartfelt plea was not easy for her. She was not comfortable asking for favors, being such a proud, intelligent woman. Patch was enjoying seeing her grovel, too. Clever as Dr. Lightfoot was, however, she did not mention the lease and what finding it would ultimately mean to the City of New York. She was only delivering half the truth. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor, but I feel like I know you from somewhere. You remind me of someone but I can’t place you. It is frustrating because I’m sure it’s someone I saw recently,” she said.
“I get George Clooney a lot,” Patch offered.
They both laughed at his lighthearted quip. She sensed that perhaps he was softening up to her. Patch knew that he could not allow the excavation; there was just entirely too much at stake for New York; the city that he held dear.
“So, George,” She smiled. “Can I begin plans for excavation?”
“No. I’m sorry, Dr. Lightfoot.”
Furious, she stood up and stormed out of the office. Nadine entered after Linda’s departure and found Patch smiling as he gazed out the window.
“It seems like the woman left unsatisfied, so why do you look so happy boss?”
“I have no idea, Dini.”
***
Patch needed to get some exercise, he always did better when he had spent a couple of hours sweating and working his muscles into an agonizing fury. He called around to set up a friendly hoops game making sure that Nathan was available. He included the cops they usually played with because he knew they were available. They were on strike. Nerves were setting in for them and they would be happy to have a chance to release some stress. Unfortunately for their cause, they were not missed thanks to the National Guard who stepped in to keep New York City safe.
They met at the outdoor courts at Regis High School. It was where many o
f the guys had gotten their start. The turnout was mostly police officers as he had suspected it would and some lawyers Nathan had grabbed. It was like a casting call for ‘Law and Order’, minus the criminals. They would not have to travel far to find some of those. The group had been playing together for years. With the guys he could always count on being treated like Patch, not like Mr. Mayor. There wasn’t an ounce of special treatment to be had. He and Nathan were normally warming the bench after a few rotations. That was exactly where they were sitting when Nathan asked about Patch’s plans.
“Is Morning Star set to make an appearance at the powwow again tonight?”
“No way,” said Patch. “Morning Star doesn’t exist.”
Nathan responded.
“Try telling that to the Canarsee, they seem to really believe that Morning Star exists. You led them to believe he does and built up hope in all those amazing people. You can’t just take that away from them. I’m not the Boy Scout in the family and it’s something that even I wouldn’t have done.
“Are you trying to guilt me into going to the powwow?”
“Yeah.”
***
Patch returned to the penthouse for a shower. He also had to take Spike for a quick walk. As they went down the familiar streets, he spoke to Spike about his options. Of course the dog did not answer but the way things were going he would not have been surprised if he did. He decided to attend the evening’s festivities in Hempstead and soon he stood in front of the mirror as he made the careful transformation into Morning Star. He put on his wig and a little bit of paint. When he placed the headdress atop his head, Spike hid under the bed; all that was visible of the large golden retriever was a wet snout under the dust ruffle. Patch was proud of his look as Morning Star. As he put the final additions on his costume, he actually felt as if an old friend was back.
Morning Star decided to drive himself out to Long Island, which was a rare occurrence. He could hardly summon the driver provided by the taxpayers for the occasion, although the driver’s reaction would be priceless.