Posted on 04 January 2012 by Osorio
Place of the Split Rock – 1676
Squash Blossom raced towards the Twin Oaks. Setting the small bundle down, she began hurriedly digging with both hands. When she was satisfied that the hole was large enough she placed the bundle inside, lifting the deerskin to behold the treasure within. But for the blood on the side of his head, Grasshopper could have been sleeping. Her falling tears wash away the blood.
As the village of the People of the First Light burns in the distance, Squash Blossom rises unsteadily to her feet. She awaits the coat men.
Middlesex, Ma – 1678
Sarah Townsend watched Betsy’s short steps as she carried the last load of firewood into the farmhouse. She would urge Hugh to remove the leg chain from the girl. It was really quite silly to imagine her running away. Where would she go? The village had been gone for years, it’s men working in the West Indies and the women and children helping throughout New England.
Sarah had made a personal project out of Betsy, reading to her from the Bible on a nightly basis. It was what any loyal servant of God and the Crown would do. She would one day take Betsy to services in Cambridge. The quiet girl would learn to believe in God, and the Afterlife.
Hugh Townsend sweated profusely as he finished sawing thru the link. Deed done, he nodded at his wife and returned to his field. Seeing Betsy’s tears, Sarah knew she’d done a good thing.
Squash Blossom moves silently thru the farmhouse, emerging from the storeroom with a small hatchet. Two swings and it is over, the young woman running from the house, the full moon reflected in the blood soaking her arms and cloak. The young woman runs in the direction of the Long Tidal river.
Place of the Split Rock – 1678
Holding her head alongside an old log, she gathers her hair and pulls it tight, using the hatchet to hack it off. She then scoops up black clay and begins painting her face with it. Her mourning ritual accomplished, Squash Blossom takes a last handful of clay and rises to her feet, this time slowly approaching the Twin Oaks and the nearby Long Tidal river.
She slowly works her fingers into the soil, not wishing to disturb Grasshopper as he rests. Reaching the small head, she lovingly paints the face with black clay and begins singing his death songs. Setting the hatchet next to the child’s body, she replaces the soil and begins to sing her own death song.
Conscious of the ancestral love surrounding her, she thanks the Creator for the gift of life, and for her son. She thanks Him for the chance to live again.
The water is not as cold as she’d expected it would be.
Turner Falls, Ma – 2011
The admirer sets his cup down and smiles at his host. “I can see why you spend so much time here. It’s beautiful“.
“Native oak, 100%. Had two enormous oak trees right there by the river we used to build the place. More coffee? ”
The admirer shakes his head no. “What’s that above the mantle. Deer skull?”
Pouring himself a cup, the host chuckles. “Funny thing, that was. After we felled the trees, we had to hand dig around the stumps, cause of them being set so close together. Randy hit something hard, antique hatchet of some kind. Then he found that thing. Black shit all over it. Scraped it off and found that underneath“.
Please support the Indigenous Day of Resistance. We will be marching in San Francisco on January 27, 2012.
Thank you.
