[...]
One of these nights of early springtime, a light breeze crossed the air. Moonlight and freshness rendered that night so agreeable. And yet, there was something strange about it. Hidden in her shelter, Lentcha believed herself to be in perfect safety. Her feelings were to be but coetaneous…
The French corps had absolute power over the natives. Their jests and jokes proved the manliness of soldiers, their sympathy for men their equal, their pride and awkwardly stressed superiority over women. Their leader mainly insisted on the latter aspect. Believing himself to be a great womanizer, when in fact he only abused of the feminine gender in every imaginable way. The moon shone so starkly that the French commander would not even need a candle to make his path across the camp. Lentcha was very pretty with her dark eyes, her soft and tanned skin, the tone and pitch of her voice. The prettiest side of her beauty was of course the devoutness of her soul, but this had never nor would ever be visible to the man who was approaching her shelter. She was lying under her covers and cloth, incapable to sleep. She savored the night and pictured the stars. She dreamed of this lonesome Indian, Lone Caribou, who had crossed her path once to save her. There was an overture in the roof of her refuge and she could catch a glimpse at the display of the stars in the darkened sky. Her fascination was complete.
A hide was being pushed aside and the cold wind ended her dream. Lentcha turned her head and saw a strange shadow moving forward. It was no native, none of her fellow men or women, the sound of boots and clinging of metal reminded her of a soldier. He moved on towards the covers and groaned and moaned as a bear would. No words had been spoken but in the dead of night her fear was continuously growing. Lentcha believed her case to be hopeless for she was alone with this creeping monster. It was the middle of the night and everyone was sleeping. Fear ran through her veins and she would not even dare to scream. The beast was moving closer and as she eventually decided to raise her voice it was too late. There was but a little sound until his hand doomed her to silence.
She fought and struggled hard to free herself. She could not scream but bit his hand until she saw the glimmer of a blade close to her neck. She had to submit, his power was immense compared to hers, and all of her efforts were vain. After a little while Lentcha had to admit the truth. She realized why all her efforts to set herself free from him had been vain: she definitely could not cope with the mentality of those people coming from beyond the great sea. And still, had she not been in deep mourning and suffering, could she not see there’s a potential beast in each of us? For the time being she believed useless fighting would only weaken her a little more. Already she felt terribly weak ever since that lonesome Indian had disappeared in the wilderness. But where was he now? Would he not suddenly appear just to save her once again? She felt rejected and as lonesome as a soul could be. Her eyes were fixed on that black ceiling; she stared towards that great northern star and no longer resented whatever touch mistreated her body…
Somewhere away, over higher latitudes, there was Lone Caribou, lying on his back, staring into the star-filled sky. He had adopted such a habit ever since weather had become milder at night. The turn of seasons was present more and more. At last he met again with his favorite season: spring. His memories were many and his souvenirs of cheerful moments aroused his mind. Long walks with his father through the grass and woods. His stories. The legends he told him, things that were not always intelligible to him at that time. Now the remembrance of such things returned to him and he taught himself these deep truths each man should know. The little experience he had assembled, the few emotions he had suffered, all of these elements sufficed to savor true moments, as close as he could possibly be to Earth. Mysteries were plenty, everywhere about him, but he could catch up with what he knew. Knowing too many things seemed useless to him, knowing enough just satisfied him. Still there was a big one, a great mystery that struck him as a wonder. He used to ask his father who his mother was and what she did. Never had he been able to find an answer. His father would speak around, find other topics to discuss, the mystery was there to remain. And ignorant would his little one remain, ignorantly he had plunged into the woods. Mother Nature had been there to teach him so many, many new things. He got as far as he could thanks to the love provided by nature and he would always continue in giving his love to Mother Earth. He made up stories, finding answers to imaginary questions, as every young boy would have.
Each night he looked into the glimmering sky and tried to find an answer to his many questions, a clue to his universe, something to lead him back into his world. Undeniably he would somehow have to turn around and draw back to his fellows, should he want to find an answer to whom he was. Still, the past was something far behind and how could he possibly return to things that had long since been made history? Lone Caribou thought it impossible, but he had come to the conclusion that human creatures rely on one another. Such mutual love is what makes them strong, he thought.
“Who is it who’s been on my mind for so long? Who is it that haunts my dreams and sleep? Who is it that steps into my conscience and appears in my every thought?” the Indian told to himself, moving his lips and sometimes even speaking up. No answer, no sound, nothing but the silence of the dead night to accompany his reflections.
“What is it, how come it be that hard?” Lone Caribou turned back and lied down on the muddy ground. His interrogations clearly bound him to Lentcha, she was on his mind all the time and ever since he had stepped away from the camp, she remained way south. It was then - in the midst of night, his eyes fixed upon that same star Lentcha had been searching for – at the start of springtime, that he realized what love was like and the power it exercised upon human beings.
A strange night it was, though. It looked as if stars were set on a black surface, their reflection oriented straight onto the muddy ground of the earth, this small piece of planet in a whole wide universe. So lost as this small ball, so lost felt the Indian, but his fascination grew at the sight of the stars, his wonderment alive, he could hardly close his eyes and get to sleep. He remained like that for hours staring into the universe… Up there were his ancestors, up there history was written…
“Many, many years have passed and my people they’ve filled this sky. Every night they come and peer down on us, the youngsters, see how we deal with our Mother Earth. Their watch is present all time, either we see them, or we see them not. But they are there and watch on us. Ancestors are protectors, and safe we are to remain as long as we honor and respect them,” and each other… Lone Caribou added to the sage paroles of the wizards from his clan. Mutual respect appeared to be the essence of social communion, and love was there to alleviate relations. [...]
© 2016 Matt Oehler
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