He jumped out of his government car. Rushed into the building and yelled, “We got it. We got it.” Pats on the back and congratulations made his heart swell. Claude had decided that he would not talk about the construction of reservation homes because he did not want to overwhelm the trainees. First things first, and the training was first. He went straight to the office of his Tribal Relations Representative, Chesly Goseyun, who was Inde and fluent in both Inde and English. Of even greater significance, was that he was a member of the chieftain clan, and the current chief was his uncle. Claude had tried to learn the Inde language from Chesly who was very patient, but the Inde language was beyond daunting. Being indigenous to what was called America, the Inde language, like all American Indian languages, had absolutely no Greek or Latin derivates to hang your hat on, much less give you any clue to even begin to recognize a single word. Chesly said, “This money will help many families. I will go now to my uncle and tell him you request to meet with him. He is busy so you may need to wait.” Claude responded, “Please tell the chief I will be honored to meet him when he can.” Chesly put on his black cowboy hat, and walked out wearing his blue jeans and signature leather knee high moccasins. He had no choice, but to be patient. His being the superintendent meant very little to the Inde. This was their land. They were a sovereign Nation with their own self-determined government, laws, courts, and police--all characteristic of a sovereign nation. The Dzil Ligia Si’ were citizens of two nations: their own and the United States of America. They, like other members of American Indian tribes, had served with distinction in every war of the modern era. In World Wars I and World war II they were segregated into American Indian only divisions; the same as African Americans. Actually, this was just fine with most American Indians because they preferred to have a fellow Indian warrior by their side. The difference between them and other soldiers was that they were not fighting for the U.S. government; they were fighting to protect their own tribal lands. If the U.S. fell, their tribes fell.
After two weeks, Chesly told Claude that Chief Manza would meet with him. Claude traveled deep into the reservation to the Chief’s home. They had met but a handful of times at Tribal functions. Claude gently knocked on the weathered wooden door. Chief Manza opened the door and motioned for Claude to come in. Claude said, “yaa' ta' sai' an Inde greeting that Chesly had taught him. The chief motioned for Claude to come in and sit in an antique oak chair. The Chief sat in another wooden chair of a different design. Claude was a bit surprised because he had fantasized sitting cross legged on the floor. Adjusting to the reality of the sitting arrangement, Claude spoke about the weather, and the many elk that the Inde were harvesting—his words—not theirs. Chesley had explained that it was rude to immediately talk about business. After twenty minutes of pleasantries, Claude asked if he could talk about the construction training program. Chief Manza nodded. So Claude explained how this training would pay in construction skills for 25 Inde men. Claude stuck to his plan to reveal the whole project in stages with home building as the last stage to be revealed. The Chief approved the training and thanked Claude for providing jobs for Inde men.
As soon as Claude got back to his office, he called a meeting of his staff and ordered them all, except for administrative staff to drop all they were doing and spread out over assigned heads of families in every nook and cranny of the reservation, spreading the word of the paid construction training jobs. He gave two months for the word to spread and men to come in and apply. One hundred men applied for the training positions. Claude narrowed down the applicants with the criteria of selecting those with the highest level of education because there were manuals to be read. This dropped the list to 35. Claude interviewed all 35, and selected the25, promising the other 10 that they would be on the top of the list if he got another project approved. Much more difficult was finding a trainer who was experienced in all of the skills of construction, and had the potential to be able to teach those skills in a manner appropriate for the Inde men. The proposal had anticipated that long commutes would be a serious impediment to hiring, so the proposal provided for a generous sized trailer that would be situated next to the BIA building providing for plumbing, heat, and cooling. But there was still the isolation in a community where you were in the minority of an unfamiliar culture; it was a lot to ask. And the salary was nothing to brag about. The position was advertised in the Show Low and Parker community newspapers. Only two men applied. Both had the required broad construction experience, but one of the men was a man about 60 years old, and the other 40. Claude found the 40 year old very gung-ho; he had been a sergeant in the Marines, and had served in Viet Nam. He had the great likelihood of offending and alienating the trainees with his military authority attitude. Inde warriors were not going to take orders from a Whiteman—no different than their warrior ancestors. The older man had much in his favor. He had forty years of construction experience and was very easy going. He spoke calmly and knowledgeably in common terms about teaching construction skills. Plus, just the fact that he was an elder, non-Indian or not, the Inde respected the elderly. Claude gladly hired the older man, Michael O’Brien, who went by Mike. He was asked if he could start in two weeks, and he said he could. Actually, commuting was going to be the hardship of the trainees. Not only were they from all areas of the huge Dzil Lagia Si’an Nde reservation, but only three of them had vehicles. Few Inde had vehicles—a luxury few Inde could afford. The vehicle owners, all pickup trucks, could give rides to the trainees close to them or on the way to the training site. Mileage reimbursement was built into the proposal. The remaining eleven were picked up by a BIA van operated by a paid Inde driver who knew the dirt vast stretch of the reservations dirt roads.
The van started picking up trainees at 4:00 in the morning to arrive at the training site at 8:00 a.m. There was no complaining about the commute by a single one of the trainees; they were used to long drives to get just about everywhere. Still, the trainees were paid the same minimum wage for their travel time. Claude had thought of everything to be fair to all of the trainees; he just could not do anything about the travel time.
The one year of training was kept on schedule, thanks to the excellent organizational skills of Mike. Plus, the trainees proved to be eager and quick learners which should not have been a surprise to Claude. He felt a bit ashamed that he had at first had lingering a lingering concern as to how timely the Inde men would take to the training. The training got off to very successful start. He thought, happily, that he had been very wrong. These Inde men were going to make this project a smashing success, and it was his revolutionary idea. He would raise the reservations standing in the housing statistics.
Claude was amazed how fast the training had gone. Not a single Inde did not finish the training. A testament to their dedication and high level of aptitude. Now it was time to introduce the next step of the project to the trainees, the first construction of one of the trainee’s home. Claude organized an awards ceremony for the Inde trainees, their families, and the reservation community. Each Inde of the project received a certificate and the gift of an Inde woven burden basket. All of the awards given, Claude was now ready to announce the next phase of the project—the building of the first Inde trainees home. Claude explained it all in great detail, especially how their pay would be greatly increased to maximum HUD wages. And to make it fair, there would be a lottery to decide which family would win the first home. Since this was a Friday, construction on the first home would start on the following Monday. Mike would now become construction foreman. Speech finished. Claude asked if there were any questions. Not only were there no questions, there was a pervasive silence. Claude puzzled over the silence, but since there were no questions, he closed the ceremony, once again praising the Inde men. Walking back to his office the silence nagged at him, but he concluded that the likely feeling of being overwhelmed had occurred anyway even with his doing it step by step. He relieved his discomfort with his trust in Mike and the excellent training
the Inde men had received and to which they had excelled. Once the Inde construction workers adjusted to applying their skill, they would be just fine. Claude decided he would ask Mike to go especially slow at first, insuring a successful adjustment.
Claude had a hard time sleeping over the weekend, because of his great excitement about Monday's momentous event. His excitement had a head start a week before when the cement pad for the home was poured and prepared with the plumbing pipes sticking out. Claude thought: we are ready to roll. Monday arrived none too soon for Claude. The start of construction time was 8:00 a.m. Both Claude and Mike were there at 7:00 a.m. They were pleased to see that Inde women were already there with a fire close to coals for cooking breakfast for their men. Claude admired the community participation. He kept checking his watch until it ticked away 7:30. Claude was getting more and more excited; he couldn't even say a word to Mike. His excitement left him speechless. He kept checking his watch until the hands were straight up at 8:00 a.m. Soon it was 8:30 a.m., with no sign of the Inde construction workers. Claude was becoming more and more worried. He wondered if there had been an accident. But he quickly ruled that out, because they were coming in more than one vehicle. When 9:00 a.m. rolled around, Claude turned to Mike and asked, "Did they know that today was the day?" "Sure boss. I couldn't have made it any clearer," Mike answered. At 9:30 a.m., Claude was beside himself. He feared his prized project was going right down the toilet. He looked over at the Inde women who were now eating breakfast with no care in the world. Claude did not know what else to do, so he walked over to the women and out of respect asked the elder Inde woman, "Where are your men? They were supposed to be here at 8:00 a.m. What happened?" The elder was quiet for a few minutes and then said, "Don't you know? Inde men never build the home, it is woman's work. An Inde man would be shamed to do women's work."
Father's Day A Story by Simon Dolcy
“Red or blue?”
He asked himself while staring into the bathroom mirror. A simple enough decision but he finds that he cannot make it. Not alone at least. Celia was in the next room. She would gladly have been willing to make the choice for him but no, this is his decision, he thinks. It has always been his choice. So he stands in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection, as he runs the options through his head. He stares at himself. He does not see a thirty five year old man, with slight traces of gray in his hair and age lines beginning to etch themselves, like words in a book, across his face. Instead he sees the image of his father. That alone makes him want to turn away from his reflection but he remains, steadfast, trying to make up his mind - to make a choice.
“Red or Blue?”
Finally, he settles on the blue. His father would have liked the blue tie. As a matter of fact; his father would have liked to have seen him in any tie at all - period. He still remembers the arguments they had had. About his future, his choices, his direction in life. His father had been so angry at him, so disappointed. Even though he had made up his mind that college was not where he wanted to be, he still felt something akin to embarrassment and shame when his father’s eyes ever met his.
“Jamal, you look nice”
Celia had walked into the bathroom without him noticing and his stray thoughts jumbled back on to the vivid reality of this moment. She was leaning on the door jam with her arms folded. Her hazel eyes looked up at him with those usual orbs of appreciation that he had fallen in love with; one of the two good things in his life that he appreciated above all others. Her eyes were mixed with a slight twinge of concern.
“Here let me help…” she offered. She moved towards him and adjusts his tie. She glances tentatively up at him as she undoes, realigns and finally ties it for him.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” she asks.
Not the first time she had asked this question but even though she knew the answer had not changed she still pushed the query anyway. That’s what wives do. Say things that a man knows and carries within himself but doesn’t have the strength to say.
“No, I will be ok alone but…thanks.” Jamal responds with a smile
She accepts the lie that he provides without a fuss, smiles and heads back into the kitchen. If he was truly honest with himself, he would have wanted her by his side, each step of the way. He finishes dressing himself, heads towards the door, passing the living room where his beautiful three year old daughter was playing. She was playing with her favorite doll and barely noticed him standing there, watching her. She looks up at him and flashes a broad pearly white smile. He glances at his watch. He knows he has to go but he stoops down in front of her and asks her what she is doing. “I am playing “house” with Marley” she says as she continues to enjoy her favorite doll. This was the second thing that he was proud of- his daughter, Neasha. His pride was staring up at him with the brightest smile he had ever seen. His precious angel that had both his wife’s eyes and her radiant smile; a smile that was so open and warm, he couldn’t help but return it in kind. He kisses her on her forehead, instructs her to be good and heads out the door.
He walks into the warm sun. It is a beautiful day with clear, blue skies that stretched on as far as your imagination. It was indeed a great day but strangely it brought his mind back to the last time he had seen his father. It had been around ten years ago. He was still living at his parents’ house instead of his three bedroom home in West Terrace with his wife and child. Living with his parents had been difficult. From the time he was aware of himself he wanted to write. His father had not, to say the least, been pleased with his choice while his mother on the other hand did not openly condone or oppose his decision. She was the Switzerland in this constant tug of war that seemed to define his relationship with his dad.
“So you are going to a camp for three years...?” There was a tone of disbelief in his father’s voice as he said that. As if he could not believe that this is what anyone that sprang from his loins would even be capable of stating this to him much less they having an opinion beyond what he placed down as law.
“No Dad, it is a three year overseas creative writing residency, I have told you this about 100 times.” Jamal replied, trying not to allow himself to sound frustrated but he had mentioned what he had wanted to do several times to his father in the last month or so. Now that he had received his letter of acceptance it was all but confirmed - he was going.
“So this how you plan to waste your life?!?! By becoming some dead beat….artist?!?!” He spat out that last word like it was something dirty that he did not want to have remain on his tongue a second more than necessary.
“Why can’t’ you be more like you sister? At least she is not trying to make me go to meh grave before muh time.” His father prided himself on how well he spoke but whenever he got extremely angry, you could always hear his tell tale bajan accent come pouring out in his speech. His father was referring to the fact that his younger sister, Monet, (younger by about two years), had decided to pursue her career in business studies which had made his father nearly beam with joy. She was already on her third year, pursuing her bachelor degree and had full intentions to continue on to do her masters.
“Everyone is not cut from the same clothe as you, dad. I am not interested in running your business after you have relinquished your throne. It’s not my intention or my dream. I want to be a writer, is that so bad??” Jamal replied.
His father had started his garment factory from virtually nothing and it had grown to be one of the biggest suppliers of uniforms and clothing materials in the island. It is this that had insured his children had the best that he could offer – from the impressive roof that they were now arguing under to the best in education possible. He loved to state to anyone who was willing to listen, that he planned to pass on his empire to his children. It was a shame that all his children did not share that same sentiment.
“So you want to become a bum?!? Some kind of dead beat vagabond that will amount to nothing?!?! I will not stand for i
t!!! Not while you live under my roof!!!” His father roared.
And that was the end of that. His father was no longer interested in hearing anything but his own voice and it was a waste of both time and energy to even attempt to continue this one sided argument but Jamal’s mind had been made up. He was going to go in spite of how his father felt. He just didn’t know how he was going to do it quite yet. The tuition fee alone was fifteen thousand dollars so the hopes of ever pursuing his dream without the financial support of his father were now slim to near impossible. A couple days later his mother had approached him alone in his room and given him a check with the much needed funds of twenty thousand dollars etched across the dotted line. She never told him how she had acquired the money but had simply winked at him with a mischievous smile on her lips, told him to ignore his bull headed father and go follow where his heart leads. So, on a clouded Tuesday afternoon, two weeks later he was accompanied to the airport by his mother and his sister. His father had not spoken to him since their explosive argument. They passed each other like ghosts in the hallways of the house he had called home for the last twenty five years. They did not even maintain eye contact if it could be avoided. His father had chosen not to see him off at the airport even though his mother had pleaded with him in vain to do so but as a man with pride he would remain adamant in his mindset.
Jamal’s mind flashed back to the present and to the reason why he wanted to see his father today. He jumped into his car and drove off into the radiant calm of a nice sunny Sunday afternoon. A copy of his book entitled “Life and other Mishaps” neatly wrapped in brown paper and banded by white flailed string, tucked in the passenger’s seat next to him. The drive to his father would take about forty five minutes, so he allowed his mind to ramble again just to allow some time to pass. His thoughts wandered to the time when he had heard the news.
St. Somewhere Journal, July 2013 Page 10