Here is where you return to the introduction

 

I have not written in a while because I am in love. I haven't done anything wrong, but I am in love. I never thought it would happen to me and I am in love. Love is not convenient. Love has a will of its own.

 

The boy I love is not a Moslem. I am both a Moslem and a Punjabi American. I am eighteen years old and a graduate of Hunter College High School. I remember my grandmother and mother so proudly attending the party at the Mossman's triplex apartment on Fifth Avenue only four months ago.

 

Conscription makes that a world away. Unlike with Alise who has special talents (I am loathe to use the word magic because the magic part doesn't matter. It is what you do with the magic if it makes sense.) and is in Langley, the draft sent me to Vermillion, South Dakota. I remember I had to look it up on a map after I got there. I am on a small airforce base. I drive a bus. I have a Class 2 Driver's License from New York which makes me able to drive school buses, but what I drive is the transport van. I pick up new airmen at the airport in Omaha or Lincoln, Nebraska. I pick up orphans or foster children for various counties' departments of social services and the Federal Bureau of Indian affairs and we sail for miles over the prairies and bad lands. I travel to Indian reservations and sleepy small towns and farm towns.

 

I've met Americans who do not know what a Punjabi is and react to my long skirt and Easy-on Head Cover (an elasticized head scarf that fastens with Velcro) as if it were a burkah. I could not drive a bus wearing a burkah and besides, what would these ignoramuses prefer, belly rings and hip huggers. I can wear my own clothes, and my own clothes are modest. They talk about prayers and Bibles. I pray five times a day and read my Koran in translation. No, my three languages are Urdu, French, and English, not Arabic and I don't believe in memorizing that which I do not understand. Most of my five times a day prayers are in English and Urdu if you are curious.

 

The Indians make me feel sad and angry. I know there are people who consider them the victims of genocide, but so too were the Jews and the blacks. The blacks were subjected to cultural genocide when brought to the United States as slaves. The Jews...well we all know that story, but there were hundreds of years of persecution before that. Both have either built a new culture (in the case of black people) or retained a modified version of their culture, in the case of Jews. The Indians are another story. Maybe it is the lack of a written tradition. Maybe it is chracter, but the little Indian kids I pick up and even the sullen teens do not speak their own language or know translations of their own stories. They may sell Indian culture to the tourists but these kids don't know thing one. They also don't know American culture. I have two cultures, Punjabi Moslem and American.

 

Since I don't know Indian (It's Lakota or Blackfoot mainly in this part of the world though there are a few other tribes) culture, I do know American culture and have bought several CD's of children's songs and nursery rhymes and fairy tales. If my young charges do not have their own CD's and about half the time they don't (I have collected the occasional orphan with an I-pod. Orphans see good days and bad and fortune's wheel can turn a well cared for kid in to a foster child.) we play the educational CD's mixed with gahzals. Sometimes it's all educational CD's and when we get tired of the CD's if the kids are amenable we practice the rhymes chanting them as the van sails over the grass down county roads that uwnind like snakes of asphalt through the prairie. "Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn't know where to find them. Leave them alone and they'll come home, wagging their tails behind them."

 

It can take four to eight hours to get from RoseBud to Yankton or Vermillion. I have been as far as Missoula. The kids when they arrive have a head full of rhymes known by English speaking school children for hundreds of years. It is a start. If my kids were enthusiastic I send them copies of the CDs we played at their address.

 

Sometimes Clay goes in to town with me if he can get leave. I buy blank writeable CD's at the Walmart. I buy jams and preserves at the Farmer's Market and look for good bread, frozen vegetables, canned fish and fresh eggs. Clay is taller than I am. I stand six feet even in my stocking feet. Clay has red hair and blue eyes. His read hair is cut like the sparse grass of a crew cut and his pale skin has the sweetest freckeled blotches. His nose is long. He does not blush easily and would tell dirty stories in front of me but they bore me. I only find my own love interesting.

 

Square dancing embarasses him but he does it with me because I beg him to. He loves football and I play touch football with the guys from his barracks. He is amazed how fast I can run in a skirt. Once I accidentally got tackled and felt a guy's weight on me. I did not want to fight against the guy on top of me. I just lay there feeling warm and weird.

 

Clay likes to watch DVD's that he rents in town. I wish I had the patience for movies. I found out that Clay does not know half the nursery rhymes or fairy tales on my childrens' CD's. We listened to them together one night while the other men in the barracks pulled faces. Clay only had two years of Spanish in high school and remembers none of it. Clay never took calculus or physics. His chemistry was not Regents chemistry. Please do not call Clay dumb. Do not call him ignorant. I love him.

 

That is the scarey part, the love which has a mind of its own and that fact that there are no chaperones to keep us doing the right thing out here in South Dakota. Without chaperones there is no telling what we could do. We are after all adults. If we go too far phsyically and we don't know what too far is, or at least I don't (I just know there is a too far.) we will regret it and beautiful love will turn in to something very sordid, not to mention sinful. It is the sordid part that makes my insides cringe with fear. I wish love did not have to come with such fear. I wish I knew if it was OK to kiss Clay on the mouth or press my chest tightly to his chest. Can we "go just some of the way?" and still keep our love pure?

 

You notice I haven't said anything about marrying Clay, my love? Well, I am only eighteen and won't be beginning college for two years. That makes me too young and in a way that is a relief. I don't have to worry about getting parental approval which I might get since Clay is a decent young man though limited. My parents, though, would detest his lack of culture and education more than the fact that he is not a Moslem. He comes from Nampa, Idaho after all. It's just not a place where there are Moslems. As for his parents, they probably want a very American girl for their son.

 

We have more immediate concerns. Before the snow flies, Clay will be gone, deployed. He is on Combat assignment. He has a two year hitch and his first tour of duty will last twelve months. I am going to lose my love before I can ever decide what more we can do? Love is not convenient. Love is sad. That is why this is called Sad Love times Three.

 

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Grade 12C

Vermillion Air Force Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

They sent me south to Wichita, Kansas this morning. This time my load was teachers who were going to some kind of seminar. The base must have subcontracted out to the school system and I got drafted to drive four old ladies and one pinkish dessicated Midwestern gentleman.

 

They laughed when they found out my father owned a taxi cab company. They talked about family and grandchildren and occasionally about some kind of on the job politics. There was not one thing educated about them. I finally asked what they taught. Two taught middle school. One taught girls' gym and the other three taught high school English and all the high school sciences. I told them about my educational experience. They were surprised I had five years of French and asked if I still remembered it. I told them:

 

Je lis la langue meilleure que je le parle.

 

They made embarassed giggles and the old male teacher said he had German in high school instead of Spanish and that he remembered none of it. They didn't have any CD's so they listened to my gahazals until it drove them crazy and I put on the radio which kept fading in and out. We stopped at a truck stop and I had an egg salad sandwich.

 

Clay now has a date for his deployment, November 15th. That is pretty much before the snow flies. I remembered Clay telling me his mother taught or still teaches second grade. I hope she is not like my teachers in the van. I won't be seeing her before Clay leaves. Clay has an older sister studying early childhood education at Idaho State University. I wonder why any one would do that. I mean little kids are fine, but there are so many bigger and more elegant academic things one can study.

 

At lunch I had to look at the teachers' photographs of their grand children. I am glad no one has talked about my making babies or even my getting married much any more except I have short hair and that is not considered beautiful. Clay has never seen my hair. I think I want him to see it before he leaves for wherever they will send him, Kuwait, Iran, Iraq, Haiti, Venezuela.

You can ask where things will go next and what put such a crazy idea in my head of wanting to be bare headed in front of my love. After this crazy idea come far more sordid ones. Love must not be lust. Love must stay pure for it to be fine. Where it will go is that Clay will go away and I may never seen him again. What if he should die while he is gone? I'm just barely his girlfriend. They won't even tell me if Clay gets killed. Isn't that awful?

Since this is an eight hour trip, I have to spend the night in a motel and get to spend most of the day at loose ends in Wichita. At 4pm tomorrow, I get to take my teachers back to Vermillion. I will miss two days of seeing Clay who gets one hour, precisely one hour, of liberty every night. Sometimes he gets more leave but that's extra. Sometimes I wonder if he will go home to his family before they send him away. These nights are two nights Clay and I won't have together. I wonder if there is anything I can bring him back from Wichita that he would like. Wichita will be the first big city I have seen in weeks and the stores are open until 9pm. I really have to think of this.

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Class 12C

at a rest stop on the interstate in Kansas

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

There is still snow on the ground in Vermillion, though it is just a dirty crust of hoarfrost mostly and tufts of white stuff clinging to tufts of dead weeds. Long ago, farmers ploughed up all the prairie grass. Sometimes I think this regiion was raped. I remember reading about the Dust Bowl in the 1930's when I was in eighth grade. This was an area that has and still suffers from drought except along the river banks. It is winter now. Snow can blow in off the mountains, but it is too early for most storms to stick.

 

About Noon on Thursday when I was still down in Wichita, the air turned cold and a light freezing rain fell, the kind that turns to tiny diamond droplets on your ski jacket. The teachers have relatives in the service and they told me what to buy for a young man who is to be deployed to the Middle East. I bought prepaid phone cards and tube socks. I bought brown ones and green ones as well as white ones. It is boring to wear the same color all the time. I bought lip balm and sun screen and cheese crackers with peanut butter inside them and candy bars with milk chocolate and almonds and whole bags of Snickers. I also bought pretty wrapping to cover the care packages. These will be my parting gifts to Clay in a couple of weeks.

 

By the time we left Wichita, the precipitation was coming down in tiny white pellets. I knew the van was not yet winterized though I did have two beat up snow brushes and several scrapers in the emergency box along with an itchy wooly army blanket which I won't use with the foster children (Who knows when any one last washed that thing. It smells like an old basement!) and crackers someone stole from a bomb shelter. We used to have these things when every one was afraid we'd blow the world to smithereens with a nuclear war instead of having a conventional war without end.

 

The weather got worse and worse the further north we went the harder the sleet and freezing rain fell. The gahzals kept me brave for a time. Then I turned off the music so I could concentrate. I cursed the higher ups for not having put either chains or snow tires on our motor pool. Half an hour in to Nebraska, the freezing rain became snow, fat wet heavy early snow. My visual field became a white blur. Visibility shrank to near zero. The windshield wipers were useless. I pulled over and brushed off the windshield several times. I drove in the cautiion lane with flashers. The male teacher asked if I knew how to drive in snow. I did not tell him "no." I just knew the van wasn't equipped and we shouldn't be where we were.

 

I pulled us off at Omaha and found a large shopping mall. It would be open for another hour. I suggested we all buy movie tickets. "We're staying here," I announced "until they clear the roads and this storm blows over."

 

"They're closing the mall," protested one of the female teachers.

 

Another had a friend watching her grandchildren of whom she has custody. I gave her my cell phone. I also called in dispatch about the delay. The lady on the other end was glad to know I was all right. I suggested we all see a movie. That would give us two hours to get better roads. I slept my way through some dumb show about war in the middle east. I'm not Arab. I'm South Asian but those were my Moslem brothers and sisters being depicted as evil on the screen. Before we left the theater, I got out my prayer mat and did my night prayers. People gawked. One of the female teachers asked me what I prayed. I explained the liturgical prayers and the dua and then we got to work scraping all the ice off the van and brushing several inches of thick snow off the roof and even digging it out.

 

The roads were salted and sanded. We arrived in Vermillion four hours late. I dropped the unhappy but relieved teachers at their homes and took the van back to the motor pool. I had to call base security to get the garage unlocked. There the head of the motor pool who is airforce greeted me. He was not angry. He said safety came first. I asked when we would get the vans winterized. He said probably in a week or two when the chains arrived.

 

Friday morning at 0500 I headed for Yankton to get two little Indian orphans or foster kids and take them out to RoseBud. I held myself together on iced tea, gahzals, and nursery rhymes. One of the orphans was only three years old and she cried until I taught her Baa Baa Blacksheep. Then she chanted it for half the ride. I gave her one of my children's CD copies. The roads are tan with cinders and sand but according to the locals snow in October is uncommon and I'll probably be OK until the chains arrive.

 

Friday night I finally got to see Clay. I told him about my adventures. He said I behaved just like a girl, as in a cautious female. Then again, what else do you want in a driver on the snowy plains. We were in the living room/lounge area of Clay's barracks. I sat near him on the couch. He looked so tan and strong from a week of strenuous physical training. Then I said, "We're both doing dangerous work..."

 

"Yeah...."

 

"If something happens to one of us, the other won't hear about it because we're just friends.

 

Clay shook his head and made a sad noise. "Our families have to know we have a relationship," I announced.

 

That was how I got to speak to Clay's mother and sister on the cell phone Saturday night. Then I had Clay speak to my parents. We all have each other's addresses now. My father is concerned because Clay is NOT a Moslem but since he is not asking me to leave my faith, he is OK with that. He also worried that Clay has no college ambitions. I told my parents that Clay and I were not planning marriage just yet or even courting. I guess that just makes us boyfriend and girlfriend which is a scarey thought since having a boyfriend is not something good Moslem girls do even when their relationships are pure. What I wanted was that if something happened to me on the road that Clay would know and what I wanted from Clay's family was to hear the worst if it should happen.

 

Clay and I also have gotten in contact with the USO to see if they will help us with the situation so we can stay informed about each other. I guess taking care of business makes me feel better. No, I don't dream I am in jail but I dream about snow a lot now. I hope the snow dreams go away soon. They are getting old.

 

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Grade 12C

Rose Bud Indian Reservation

Rose Bud, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Love takes work. Say that three times fast. Love takes work. I spent most of this weekend helping out at the USO and going out with Clay in the evening. The USO supports the families of service people who have been deployed which is the fancy word for sent to the Middle East. What the USO does is support the war effort by sending the troops supplies the government does not bother to give them but which they still need. The USO does other things to: for example throwing parties and kids days out for the families left behind. Many of the soldiers in the war in Iraq are reservists which means they are married men with children.

 

We also have entertainment for the airmen (Vermillion is an airforce not an army town) who have returned or who have yet to deploy. There is a lounge with popcorn and hot cider. We have a twenty-one year old drinking age so many of the young conscripts can not buy or be served alcohol. That they go out and get in any way and drive home drunk is an endless source of worry. It is one thing to give your life for your country. It is quite another to have it end in a useless drunk driving accident.

 

Anyway, I like to go out with Clay at night when he is free so I work with the USO during the day on the weekends. I was at a woman named Ms. Tininan's house and spent most of Saturday afternoon packing boxes. There are many arimen's wives and girlfriends (there could be boyfriends because we have some female airmen but there just aren't that many) working with teh USO. A few had questions about my faith and my head scarf. Mostly though they were surprised at my expertise in packing stuff to be shipped. I told them I was used to helping to pack barrels for my father's colleagues and employees. I guess they thought the stereotype about South Asian cab drivers was true but never really thought of what it is like to be second generaiton American.

 

I had to tell my whole family story and how my mother's family immigrated because it is hard for women to have good jobs in Pakistan and my mother's family produces only daughters. There are three, four, five, six daughters and I have tons of female cousins. All are tall as I am and all have difficulty giving birth, though none as bad as my mom.

 

I had to explain about the head scarf and the desire to keep some of our culture while still being American. I said: "Suppose someone took you to New York and you discovered people don't form lines, drink herbal tea, and like their Italian dressing not creamy. How would you feel? How would you feel when no one says 'hi' to you on the street because we like our anonymity. OK, no one expects you to become New Yorkers. Why should you expect me to totally give up my culture?" Two cultures are better than one. One is better than none. That much I have learned.

 

Here is some of what we packed on Saturday: tube socks, hand knitted helmet liners, prepaid long distance phone cards, deoderant and antipersperant. Who wants stinky airmen? We also packed batteries, snack foods (those orange cheese crackers filled with peanut butter), bags of filled petzels, and Little Debbie snack cakes in big cardboard boxes. An air force flies on its junk food filled stomach.

 

It is weird that this letter sounds so upbeat. I'm trying to make the most of the days I have left with Clay. He deploys to the Middle East (probably Iraq) November 13th. That is Monday. This will be our last weekend together. I pray to Allah the All Merciful that my Clay does not get killed or maimed, that he doesn't get involved in any stupid accidents, and that he comes back in one piece. I want him not to forget me. He is going to be gone a whole twelve months. Then he gets one month off and goes back for a second ten month tour of duty. My poor Clay. Why did he ever volunteer to risk his life in this pointless war. And yes, we did elect a congress from the minority party, but I fear the most they will do is keep this war from spreading to Iran. We are in this war up to our eyeballs.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Grade 11C

Yankton County Department of Social Services

Yankton, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

I dropped my three fosters/orphans with their new guardians in Grand Forks, North Dakota around 6pm last night and was on my own for the second time. I had a room in an American Inn (brand name). I had food from the supermarket. I bought another yogurt and had pretzels and combos on the side. I could not find hot water but heated some in the hotpot that came with the sad little single room.

 

I slept badly. I did not dream of "Ratty Eagle" as the girls from RoseBud call old Thomas who can't keep his hands to himself. Instead I dreamed of a city of onyx. How is that for a poetic description? Black marble is the stone of the tomb so onyx is just right. Onyx is a color that is good for eyes and the city in the prairie amid the stark white winter snows that blew in gusts watched like a great malevolent but very much living eye. That was all I saw. The city was far away and I was on foot. I kept wondering where the van was. Did it have a flat tire? Had one of the chains snapped? Was it mired in a snow drift? Why wasn't I afraid of freezing to death? Was I too afraid of something else? I awoke soaked in sweat. I tried to think of whether I was expecting my period. It is six days away but I am not regular and my breasts were not tender.

 

I took a long hot shower, brewed more tea. I am nearly out of tea bags and that stuff they sweep off the warehouse floor and cell in supermarkets here in the Dakotas doesn't cut it. I'll have to order more tea over the internet. It is two weeks until pay day. I hope I am not totally broke. Ask me where my money goes. It goes to a hundred little things that make life liveable. I drank tea and ate pretzels. My stomach is still not right. Eggs are too rich for me this early in the morning. Pickles or spicey food make me feel nauseous. I drove downtown with the window part way open and my coat zipped up tight. Fresh air helped a bit. The sun rises fairly late here unlike in Montana. The further west you are in a time zone, the later your day begins and ends. Winter daylight in Vermillion ends far later than it does in New York City, but our sunrises happen later too. Grand Forks is almost due north of Vermillion.

 

I had to pick up my five riders at a military recruiting station in a shopping mall at 0700 hours CST. They were all female. I should have felt relieved but something about them made me wary. They were in uniform, some kind of arctic or northwoods camouflage. They had been training in subarctic Canada and were being shipped as far as Lincoln, Nebraska and then flown back east. They were Combat Option but there was something about them.... They were polite enough though they exchanged looks when they saw me. I introduced myself. I explained that I was from New York City. No, I don't speak Arabic. I'm Punjabi-American. I'm an American citizen. There are some very conservative people who would call me an "anchor baby."

 

We were off heading south.... I began thinking about those men and women left for dead on a space station in an alternate future way out in the far end of the solar system. According to Naama, Luchi-Xara, and Vanessa Falassi, my world does not end up out among the stars. We end up fighting over oil and water and genetic modification a few hundred years from now. These women were hard like space station officers. They had been training in the arctic. They would not even state their branch of the service. I thought: "black ops." At Fargo I got out my prayer rug which is a yoga mat I ordered over the internet. You want to know where my money goes. I lay it down and started my morning prayers. I realized the women were watching me and whispering among themselves. I realized they would need another ten dollar lecture.

 

Instead the tallest one who is two inches taller than I am and built more broadly across the shoulders asked: "Why do you pray with your buttocks in the air?" Welcome back to middle school.

 

"When you treat Islam with respect, I'll answer your questions about it," I replied. "Surely you have seen people get down on t their knees and people prostrate themselves before. I am not the first."

 

"Do you have any idea of the evils in this world caused by organized religion?" asked a woman with a blond crew cut. I was not ready for that one even if it is a cliche so standard it sounded as if she were reading it from a book.

 

"If you want to make trouble you can always find a doctrine to wield as a cudgel," I replied. "Religion just happens to be handy. I take comfort and strength from Allah the All Merciful and the faith of my family."

 

"How would you like to live under Sha'ria?" asked a short woman with freckels.

 

"I wouldn't. I enjoy living in the United States where I can practice my faith freely. Islam has coexisted with other faiths. Think of Medieval Spain and some parts of the Ottoman Empire," I fired back. Global Studies is good for so many things.

 

The conversation drifted in to what I would do when I returned to college. They were surprised to find me wanting to study architecture. I got out my sketch book and showed them. They asked if my parents were afraid I'd dishonor myself. I thought of Thomas and then of Clay. Like the dishonest and power hungry politicians who use religion as a cudgel, Thomas had used sexual touching not for sex but to hurt and enjoy the pain and then say it was all in good fun when caught. "There are men and women risking their lives half way around the world for this country," I snapped back. "If they can do that, I can risk my life and honor here on the roads in the Dakotas." Apparently this remark ended the conversation. Despite my fleecey patterned Easy-On head scarf from Fantastik Fashions of the Bronx (Thanks mom! I think of you every day!) and my five times a day prayers, the black ops ladies and I play on the same team. Still I will be glad to be rid of them when I hit Vermillion around 1600 hours. I also wonder what that strange dream last night meant.

 

Vijaya Lisa Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Fargo, North Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

I have spent most of the last two days with Clay's family. They are beautiful people. I only wish I could bring the women home to New York and have them sit in my grandmother's kitchen in Brooklyn among the women. The men sit in the living room or go out to a club a few blocks away. Clay's father could go there. Clay doesn't have any brothers. We could have tea and endless food, rice, egg dishes, lamb dishes, and all manner of vegetables, pastries, and sweets, all washed down with good black tea mixed with milk and sugar.

 

Alas this is not to be. Saturday was the Veteran's Day Parade and the new airmen marched. I stood behind the priority barrier with the families and friends of service personnel and clapped. Clay's mother cried. I thought: "Save your tears for later. It is going to get worse! You don't know how bad this will get!"

 

Clay had liberty for the rest of the day. That was excellent. Clay's family took him out to eat for lunch and invited me to go along. They had turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes with a piece of white bread underneath the perfectly round slice of bird and a small blotch of cranberry sauce. I ordered a tomato and green pepper omelette and a side of green peas and buttered wheat toast. I also asked for a pot of tea and milk and sugar. I showed Clay's family how to drink tea. "It used to bother me terribly as a child that they never gave us tea at school," I told them. "They said it was bad for us even though the Asian kids darnk it at home. Their mothers would not have minded one bit. That is beaurocracy for you."

 

Clay's parents talked about their farm. Clay's mom still has to work part time in town to make a go of it, but they don't understand how I could adjust to city living. I told them of the spiffy green mosque near Central Park which is my favorite mosque in the world. It has women's lessons and lessons for girls in high school. No we do not memorize the Qu'ran. We read it and understand it like the Bible. I said that some Moslems in other parts of the world do that, but not in New York.

 

I told them about Hunter and the entrance exam. They told me about raising horses and goats and even baby beef for 4-H. They do not eat goat meat. I told them it tastes like lamb only more so. They made faces. They told me what they grew and about orchards and National and State parks and camping and hunting. Clay talked about how he was going to work as a mechanic when the war was over and he got discharged. Clay's sister talked about studying to teach little kids. I told them about helping at my dad's cab company and taking things apart and putting them back together.

 

"My parents wanted me to be an engineer, but I wanted to be an architect. I imsisted and I got in to Cornell." I've spent my whole life getting in to things until now when I am pulled out of things and here in South Dakota and in love which I did not get in to. It found me. I found Clay. We found each other and now...

 

We had church services Sunday morning. They held them in a big hangar. They were mildly Christian. These kind of services are supposed to be interfaith. Clay's mother and sister wept. After services, I had an unpleasant surprise on the sidewalk, a reporter from the Vermillion Star. She wanted to interview me. I let her. Clay and I are after all both Americans serving our country. That I am from a different part of the country and my relatives from a different part of the world and that I practice a different faith, does not matter.

 

Clay's family and I went back to the hotel where they were staying after this. We sat and talked more and eventually just watched DVD's which made me sleepy and bored. At 10pm Clay had to return to barracks and sign-in. Clay's family leaves at 0430 tomorrow for the drive back to Nampa, Idaho. I leave at 0600 for a very long drive to Missoula. I will pick up two orphans and one government official in Rosebud and then make a return trip via Grand Forks, North Dakota. There is snow north of here and in Montana. My van has chains. They make a horrible sound on the cindered and salted roads.

 

Clay kissed me on the lips when we parted. He put his tongue in my mouth. I might not ever taste him again so may Allah the All Merciful forgive me. I know there was nothign sordid in our one physical moment. I can still taste Clay. He tastes sweet. I hope I can taste him for the next twelve months.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Grade 11C

Vermillion Airforce Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

If any one laughs at me and disrespects me for what I am about to tell too bad. The first four hours of the drive were monotonous and peaceful. I played all my gahzals and my nursery rhymes. Yes, I go back to my childhood when I drive. I now know that New York City kids have their own versions of nursery rhynmes. The ones I know are the New York rhymes. I wish I could just write about nursery rhymes. It would be so much easier.

 

My orphans are a fifteen year old female who is really a foster child, going from a foster home to kinship care with a grandmother in Missoula and a five year old male. My government employee was an old man in a plaid shirt. He was a retiree going to a BIA hospital outside Missoula. Another driver would pick him up in Missoula. I'll be staying in a motel during this trip and continuing on the next day and doing the same on the return trip. This is a four day odyssey. That is very important.

You will know why. We left Rosebud at 1230. The children were in the back of the van and the retired government employee who had been part of the reservation beaurocarcy was in the front. He was half blind from diabetes and getting treated for a bad foot he said. He said his name was Thomas. Thomas did not care for either gahzals or nursery rhymes and had no CD's of his own. Radio reception in the wester third of the Dakotas is what you would imagine it would be like so there was nothing but talk and silence.

 

Thomas started asking questions. He asked if I went out with boys. He asked if I dated nonMoslems. Is any of this starting to feel rude and intrusive yet? It did after a while. It did not matter that Clay was probably winging his way over one ocean or the other on his plane trip half way around the world to fight in the Middle East. The questions which were all about my PRIVATE LIFE felt, for want of a better word, sordid. I finally told Thomas his questions were none of his business.

 

He said he was just trying to be nice. He next asked me if I liked to party. I told him that Islam forbids alcohol. He asked if I really prayed five times a day. I gave him my ten dollar lecture on Islamic prayers. I've gotten good at this since I've been living in the Dakotas where there are no Asians or Arabs. My lecture shut up the boor.

 

Then I felt something warm on my chest. I looked down and Thomas had brazenly placed his hands on my breasts. I reached from the steering wheel and plucked the offending hand free and gave Thomas the mother of all dirty looks. A short while later, Thomas' hand again found its way to my chest. Again I removed it. The third time, Thomas hand was in my lap and it was trying to find its way through my skirt, slip, long johns, and panties to what was not meant to belong to any one except my future husband and me.

 

"Hang on," I called out to the orphans. I pulled the van on to the shoulder of the road and stopped abruptly. We were heading in to where there were patches of snow amid the prairie grass and scrub. The sky was the color of slate portending an even bigger storm. I did not care. I grabbed my purse which has the van keys and climbed down. I let out the kids too. They were welcome to a bit of air. Thomas stayed put. I opened his door.

 

"OK, Thomas and Kelli are going to switch seats," I announced. Kelli was the fifteen year old female orphan who came complete with an Ipod. I told you we sometimes get orphans with Ipods. Kelli blinked. She hadn't really been paying attention to the drama in the front seat. Rodney, the five year old boy orphan had mostly slept through the last hour and a half. Rodney stomped about in a winter coat that wasn't warm enough. Thomas did nothing.

 

"He won't move," said Kelli.

 

"He's going to move or he can stay in this van and freeze to death," I replied. I held up the car keys. "We aren't going anywhere until you're out of the front seat and yes, I am going up the chain of command. The government employs female drivers, and you need to keep your disgusting hands to yourself."

 

It took half an hour of me just dangling the car keys and walking with the children about half a mile before Thomas got the message. We only walked far enough to find a boulder behind which Rodney could pee but I did not tell Thomas that. I got him in the back of the van where his wandering hands could not reach me and Kelli sat up front with me. I explained to her that Thomas had tried to feel me up. That makes complete light of the sordid thing he did. I wondered how many other drivers before me put up with Thomas.

 

I tried not to think about it. In about an hour and a half to two hours, I'll reach Rapid City which is the end of this day's drive. I have vouchers for two motel rooms, one for Thomas and Rodney and one for Kelli and I at a Roadway Inn (That's a brand name folks). I have all ready been on the cell phone with the chain of command starting with the head of the motor pool and then with the military police back at the base in Vermillion. They in turn phoned the civil authorities which means the Sherriff's Patrol and State Police. These will both be waiting for me in Rapid City. This means lots of paper work to fill out and I'll have to tell this whole ugly tale again.

 

Clay feels very far away now. He'll probably wonder why I didn't beat the excrement out of Thomas. I'm two inches taller than he is and in much better shape. I don't beat up people who are weaker than I am. Besides I'd be in trouble for assault. Forcing Thomas to sit in the back and meeting with the authorities at Rapid City will do more good as if any good can come from this sordid mess. Tonight I take a very long shower and thank Allah the All Merciful that this happened in the late fall when I was wearing two and three layers of clothes that kept Thomas from really touching me. Please pray for me. It is going to take strength to face the authorities beause Thomas will make a "he said" "she said" out of it.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Grade 11C

Oelrichs, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear Alise and the rest of the list,

 

Here is the Bronx, New York 1993 version of BaaBaa Blacksheep.

 

In unions: BaaBaa Blacksheep, have you any wool?

Bags, and bags, and bags all full.

One for my master.

One for my dame.

One for the little boy who lives down the lane.

 

Alise: One for my father.

One for my mother.

Two for my sisters, I don't have any brothers.

 

Vijaya: Three for my cousins

On Brooklyn by the shore.

And one for my grandma.

Yes, I need one bag more.

 

Alise: Four for my teachers.

Down at the school.

One for the cafeteria lady,

Because she's kind of cool.

 

Vijaya: Eight for my dad's friends

Who drive taxi cabs.

And four for the Lumpkins.

They're really not so bad.

 

In Unison: Bags and bags and bags of wool.

It just keeps getting better.

Imagine when that nice black wool

Gets knitted in to sweaters.

 

Black wooly sweaters are

Are pretty to behold.

With all those black wool sweaters.

We never will be cold.

 

Vijaya Naipul (Who will probably add more verses by days end. Thankyou Alise!)

Driver Rank 11C

Rapid City, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

When I reached Rapid City last night, there was a three ring circus. There were not only sheriff's deputies including one female one, and state troopers (no female ones), there were also two forest rangers and one federal marshall. Everyone was coureous as I told my tale of Thomas and his wandering hands. I wish it didn't sound so trivial. It was so sordid. The retelling is even more sordid. I can see why some women would not tell their boyfriends or families about such awful things. Thomas then said that I had been flirting with him and that he had rejected my advances. Kelli spoke up on my behalf. She related Thomas' rude remarks. She even said Thomas smelled bad. He smelled like an old coat, but Kelli thought he had been drinking. With the front seat between she and Thomas, she hadn't seen him grope me, but she had heard enough to make her own skin crawl. She said she was glad I made her sit up front and put Thomas in the back with Rodney.

 

The troopers and other cops then conferred with one another. They finally decided that since my chain of command had called them and since they had faith in me, that I was not lying. They took Thomas in to custody and he will be arraigned in an hour or two. They do things quickly in smaller towns. I will have to return to Rapid City to testify against Thomas in two to four weeks if the county prosecutor chooses to charge him.

 

I know Enceldus is tiny, but to give some idea of how few people there are in this part of the world. There are 60,000 people in Rapid City. That is a good thing because there are relatively decent supermarkets. I asked the very cooperative woman at the desk in my motel where the biggest one was and we stocked up on snacks and fruit for the long trek to Missoula, Montana. Beyond the city limits though (and 60,000 is not a big city), the county has a population density of fewer than ten people per square mile, (Think three people per square kilometer). You carry a repair kit in the van and extra blankets, nice clean ones that smell good, in case something happens to your van. We always have water, soda, and/or tea. We stop at every rest stop , every two hours. The landscape is more than 4,500 feet above sea level and rising. We will cross through the northern part of the Rockie Mountains at over 5,000feet some time today. There is a thin blanket of snow on the ground. Ther will be more at higher elevations. It is below freezing outside but not too cold except when the wind kicks up. Then the wind moans.

 

I am very glad Thomas is not with me. I intend to email Clay at lunch and tell him everything that happened. We need to stay truthful to each other because if we hold things back, there will be no communication with us and the relationship will be over. If something bad happens in the war, Clay needs to know he can tell me. If something bad happens to me on the road, I need to be able to tell Clay. All we can do for each other on opposite sides of the planet is listen.

 

Oh well it's back on the road for me....

 

Vijaya L, Naipul

Diver Grade 11C

Gillette, Wyoming

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

The drive from Rapid City to Missoula was good. It was really good. Kelli's Ipod had died some time yesterday afternoon and she had no extra batteries. I offered to buy her a package of batteries. Yes, I'm always broke. I'd be broke if I made as much money as Alise. Some of you will notice that her Rank is a 3 while mine is an 11. The lower your number the higher your rank. Alise is an officer. I am roughly a lance corporal or a third class airman. Clay, by contrast, is an airman or a private if he were in the army. Alise is most probably a second lieutenant if you want to translate civilian to military rankings. I outrank Clay due to my bus driver's license. My training gives me my rank. You can see how Alise gets hers. The higher your rank the more you get paid, but I never hold on to my money.

 

Kelli refused my offer. Kelli is fifteen. She has jet black hair and black eyes and coarse somewhat Asiatic features with skin that tans a bit reddish. I have black hair which you're not going to see and black eyes and my skin is light brown. My features are more Caucasian. I am also tall and string bean shaped. Kelli is round like a lot of Indian women. Kelli is part BlackFoot, part Cheyenne, and yes part European American. Since Kelli could not stand my gahzals we talked.

 

We talked about school. She was shocked to find out how different our high school experiences are. Taking that exam and getting in to Hunter changed everything. "So it's all smart kids?" she asked. "Yes," I answered. I also told her it was smart kids who worked very hard. "We were an ambitious lot." Kelli stared out the window. She did not care that her education was disrupted. I asked her how much school she had missed. I learned a bit about this from Tareisia of all people who was sensitive about missing school. Kelli shrugged.

 

"You need to learn algebra," I told her. Kelli snorted. "That's my advice. I'm being honest. There's no chemistry, physics, or further mathematics without algebra. I don't know about a lot of things, but I know about school and academics."

 

Kelli continued to stare in to blankness. I could see that she had bleached her black hair to a strange reddish brown that had grown out and left blotches of faded color in the thin light that shown through our van windows. It was starting to snow. "You want to go to University of Montana at Bozeman some day don't you?" I asked. Kelli laughed. "Someone laid it all out for you," she snarled. I told her that my teachers had done that and my parents and family went along. Everyone was in the business of turning out successful daughters. I'll admit that.

 

"You know," said Kelli. "After you drop me at my grandma's you're gone," answered Kelli.

 

"Not as gone as you think," I told her.

 

"It's not like standing up to old Ratty Eagle," Kelli said. "You live in Vermillion. You told me that at breakfast."

 

"I can get you a tutor for the math if you're willing to work with her." I meant everything I said. Of all the people on this planet, it was Kelli who was with me last night after the police left. I am not used to sleeping in a room by myself and hearing Kelli breathing in the next bed comforted me. I was dreading the trip home though I'd probably have some other kid with me. Kelli aslo hugged me after the police left and she said I'd been brave to tell and stand up for myself. That was the way she said it. Apparently she'd seen Thomas do stuff before. A lot of the girls had. Some had probably even been his victims. I needed to hear all that last night in the worst way. I owed Kelli.

 

"I'll need to spend some time at your grandmother's house," I told Kelli. I stared at the road. I haven't messed with magic since I was in ninth grade. I knew what the consequences had been then. One of the nice things about being out west is that there are almost no littles. They are an Eastern and New York State thing. I'm the one responsible for the littles and probably a lot else, but it would be different this time. Teleportation is basic. It does not make me sick as it makes Naama...well Alise is a world unto herself. If I stay on this plane and in this version of my world all will be well. I knew what I'd have to do that evening. I keep a sketch diary in my things. I draw. Remember, I'm learning to be an architect or will be some day. Last night I talked with Kelli and her grandmother and drank coffee that made my stomach hurt and left an awful taste in my stomach and ate horrible cheap supermarket cookies that made me long for my grandmother's sweets. I drew indoor and outdoor scenes. I'll meditate on these and memorize them. I have Saturday afternoons free and can come some evenings. Vermillion is one hour ahead of Missoula. I've just gotten through with BC calculus so math is fresh with me. I've got the time. Everyone should give from their strengths and mine are more than riding a bus. Please, Alise and Naama, don't disuade me from using what powers I have and remember. Those powers are a gift from Allah the All Merciful to use in the right way and this way is right.

 

I was sad to see Kelli go at 7pm last night and return to my motel which is a Comfort Inn (that's a brand name). I hit the supermarkets for yogurt, pretzels, more snacks etc... I've been warned by drivers who have made the northern run, that this is some of the most deserted country. There is a county seat called Medora in North Dakota with a population of 96. These are counties with four figure populations. That is more than Enceledus but it is tiny and sparse and for someone with dietary restrictions and a need for good food, I need treats. All I can stomach is yogurt and tea and sometimes eggs or egg salad. I dreamed I was sitting in my grandmother's kitchen last night. I told her all about Ratty Eagle Thomas of the wandering hands. I also told her how all the other female drivers have stopped bidding on the routes west of Rosebud. I am the only one who did this. It got my my promotion from a Rank 12 to a Rank 11.

 

I awoke shaking. I fixed hot tea in the lobby begging the woman in charge to give me some hot water so I could make a thermous full. She is used to coffee and ice tea drinkers. She watched me mix sugar and milk for the cold cereal in to my cup. She did not ask about the head scarf. I had all ready prayed in my room.

 

At 0700 MST (Mountain Standard Time), I picked up my passengers whose foster mothers and a local driver had delivered to the Missoula County Department of Social Services. I had a pair of nine year old twin girls and a four year old twin female. The nine year olds who are named Madison and Brittany are heading for an aunt in Great Forks. They are going out of foster and in to kinship care. This is good. The four year old is also being sent to relatives, in this case an older sister who is just past her twentieth year and who has not been drafted. Kinship care in New York State means a hop skip and a jump. Here it means a journey through a thousand miles of emptiness. I prayed to Allah the All Mericiful that my four year old whose name is Eloise is toilet trained. I am not supposed to get any children in diapers. I turn down runs transporting infants. Some women and even some men will take them, but not me. I don't mind overnights with kids. I mind cleaning their excrement.

 

Our first stop was the supermarket. I had a ten dollar government voucher. We were going to stock the van. I checked winter coats. Eloise' coat was leaking stuffing (We usually wear quilted coats and jackets) but it would survive the trip. The older girls had nice coats. All the children had hats and mittens as well. Still they begged me to crank up the heat. I started with the nursery rhymes as we made our way beyond past the Flat Head Indian Reservation on to I-90. All three of my charges are Flat Heads. We started with Bye Bye Bunting.

 

Bye Bye Bunting

Daddy's gone a hunting

To catch a little rabbit skin

To put the baby bunting in.

 

This soon became baby Eloise, baby Brittany, and baby Madison and then the names of assorted younger cousins, brothers, and sisters and friends kids. Every kid we knew got a little rabbit skin to put the baby bunting in. Nursery rhymes are simply the best.

 

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Rank 11C and proud of it!

Butte, Montana

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

Here I am and wide awake at 0522 MST. What am I doing? I'm writing you. Yesterday was rougher than I thought. By the time we hit Bozeman for lunch after a morning of what was getting to be tougher and tougher going through yesterday's big snow, Eloise, the four year old singleton girl was in sorry shape. I decided to see if I could stomach Quiznos. You can get curry here, but I don't trust it in this part of the universe. The twins wanted McDonalds. Eloise wanted nothing. Eloise was wretched. I tried reason: "Look this is the last decent place to get food. Bozeman is a college town with plenty of good restaurants. If there's something you want, I'll get it for you, but once we hit the road there's going to be nothing for miles." I could feel my own fear, well not fear, concern. You are a fool if you do not fear a bit when driving the northern route.

 

Eloise refused all food. She even turned down a cold drink or hot tea. Then she started crying. People use the expression having a melt down. Now, foster kids have full plates, even when they are going to live with siblings. I wondered if Eloise had ever been out of Montana before. I realized she probably hadn't. Now she was traveling a thousand miles to stay with close family that wanted her but which given the age difference and whenever the older sister left home, were more strangers than kin. I trundled Eloise back in to the van. I got the booster seat from the back. Eloise at age four has a booster seat. I put it in the front so the twins could have a social space in the back. For a thousand mile journey you want a peaceful van.

 

We were off. Eloise cried but so loud. I told her when she was calm and hungry she'd eat snacks. If she needed to pee she had to tell me If it meant going behind a boulder or a tree, I'd do my best to find one. There are rest stops every two hours and I recommended that all of us do our peeing there. We did the ladybug poem.

 

Ladybug Ladybug

Fly away home.

Your house is on fire

Your children have gone.

 

Naama Roth says this is not the way she learned the poem. Her grandmother taught her:

 

Ladybug Ladybug

Fly away home.

Your house is on fire

Your children will BURN!

 

This is how immigrant kids of an earlier generation changed the poem. Once ladybug lived in a crowded tenemant, fires became lethal.

 

Eloise did not sleep. My nine year olds had CD's. We played them. We played nursery rhymes. We played gahzals. We had no radio reception to speak of. The roads improved. Eloise told the story of her mommy beating up on her daddy and the both of them getting arrested. She just told it while the van cruised. The twins hummphed and giggled. They weren't telling their story. I was kind of glad. Eloise ate pretzels and drank tea and peed at all the rest stops and behind one bush. We had a long enlightening conversation on keeping pants and longjohns dry.

 

Finally, we reached our stop point. Medora, North Dakota, population 96. There is an American Inn there and I had the voucher for one room. I gave the manager dirty looks until we got a roll away for Eloise. She was old enough for her own bed. There was no where decent to eat though the twins wanted McDonalds. Eloise hates restaurants so she had pretzels and yogurt with me. I offered her dried fruit but she refused.

 

These kids are keeping me sane. The twins wanted to watch TV, but there were only two channels if we did not want to pay extra for satellite. I have a speaker for a walkman so we listened to CD's and then got some sleep after everyone who wanted a shower had one. I made Eloise shower. She hated it until she got under the nice warm water. Her black hair is in her eyes. Yes, I notice how much Indians look like me. I hope someone gives Eloise a hair cut. The first town I come to of some size (probably Dickinson), I'm buying a package of barettes for Eolise to pin her hair back. She is a lot cleaner and more presentable now. She is up and wants to eat pretzels. I hope her older sister takes good care of her.

 

Oh well, once the twins are dressed it's on the road. Grand Forks, North Dakota here we come. By the way, I received an email back from Clay. He is worried about me. His assignment is also Diego Garcia, NOT Iraq. Allah be praised.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Medora, North Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

It is late Friday night. I am listening to sermons on CD that my parents and friends from New York send me. Being the only Moslem for miles around has its disadvantages. I am drinking tea and eating pretzels. I do not have the energy or strength to eat dinner. After I handed off the anti-religious women who had done arcitc training, I got a real attack of homesickness. I guess it comes from bieng on the road so much. I sat in my bedroom which was empty because my roommate was at the Elisted Personnel Recreation Center and listened to the sermon, drank tea, and ate pretzels.

 

That was when there was a knock on the door. In came the Chaplain. "You've got a consult, Vijaya," he said with a big smile on his face. His name is Rev. Davidson and his Protestant denomination is United Church of Christ. This is a liberal mainline Protestant denomination. He sat on my desk chair. I was sitting on the bed. He listened to the sermon with me and told me that he thought the imam was an excellent speaker.

 

"It's a spiffy mosque," I replied.

 

"Do you want to go back to New York?" he asked.

 

"I miss it, but my duty is here," I replied. It would be unfair to the other drivers if I went home on a medical leave. I meant what I said Friday morning about others risking their lives half way around the world.

 

"You know you've been through a lot," said the chaplain.

 

I shrugged. "We're not connecting."

 

"We're connecting fine," I said. "There is nothing more that can be done," I told him. "My chain of command supported me. My boyfriend knows and is worried but he supports me. With everyone on my side, what cause have I to complain. This could be much worse. I know that."

 

"OK, I see...." answered the chaplain, "but one of the other female rivers in the pool got a trasnfer to Ohio. It's shorter trips and less lonely. The other was refusing to bid on anything west of Rose Bud."

 

"More for me," I said.

 

"She knew about Thomas."

 

"Then she should have gone up the chain of command," I felt my face flush hot with anger.

 

"You are going to have to testify against him."

 

"So be it."

 

"What about your parents?"

 

The chaplain had to ask. I ended up calling them on a speaker phone in hs office. They were eating dinner after Friday religious services. I interrupted their meal as I explained what had happened. I stressed that Thomas had not actually touched my skin due to the layers of clothing I wore. I said that I had gone to law enforcement. I also explained that my chain of command backed me up. The chaplain stood behind me on the phone and told my parents that my chain of command was on my side and the courts were likely to be gentle with me. I was still on good terms with Clay and with everyone with whom I worked. With Thomas punished the trips west of Rosebud would be safer and I was doing the right thing.

 

I thanked the chaplain. He asked if he could take me out to eat. I told him that I had all ready eaten. "You can't live on pretzels and tea," he told me. "You'll get malnourished. "He asked me what I liked to eat...." I told him my stomach has had butterlfies taking up permanent residence since the trip to Missoula. The chaplain suggested I see a mental health doctor. We went to Denny's and I had a tomato omelette and buttered toast. Somehow I held it down.

 

Tonight we draw for our trips this week. There is a big one beyond Rosebud. I'm drawing for it. I won't let my fear get the better of me, and Alise you rock. Keep it up. Don't let those bastards keep you prisoner.

 

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Rank 11C (and proud of it!)

Vermillion Air Force Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear Alise and everyone else,

 

This is just to let all of you know that you, Alise are not the only one who goes on medical leave. I was on medical leave all of Monday. The chaplain wanted me to see the base psychiatrist. I refused. He said it could be just like any other doctor's appointment. I told him I was not crazy, just a bit shaken and with time and faith this too would pass. He wasn't buying it. He said I could go voluntarily or he would speak to my chain of command.

 

I went. The doctor was a nice blong woman with a huge long braid. I told her I was fine except for my stomach. She believed me. She said that I'd been violated even though there were several layers of clothing between Tom's hands and my body. It is scarey to be miles from any one and anything in those bad lands with a guy with wandering hands in your van. This makes sense. She said my stomach was probably upset due to fear but they needed to rule anything out. That was how I ended up with a three dimmensional x-ray called an MRI. The physical doctor, a man this time, also palpated my stomach and asked me about pain and nausea and appetite.

 

He sent me back to the psychiatrist who gave me a food diary. I'm to keep track of what I can and can't eat and how I feel when I eat. This, she thinks will get me eating decently again. I can't live on tea and pretzels. I also learned today that one week from Monday, the DA is going to charge Thomas and the remaining female driver and I are both to testify. They subpoenaed her and they are subpoenaing the other female driver who got transferred to Ohio. They'll fly her back. It looks like I drive the three of us to Rapid City for the trial. I guess I am still thankful to the chain of command.

 

I wish I could make overnight trips again, but my physical doctor and my psychiatrist (I guess she is my psychiatrist now) have me under orders for short trips only. They can't very well put me on medical leave but it is strange to see so many sunsets and nights in Vermillion during the week. I guess a piece of me liked the open prairies. I haven't told my psychiatrist.

 

I also haven't told her about the dreams of the onyx city. Sometimes in the dream there is a horse. It is a big white Arabian or maybe a work horse. I know nothing about horses. The horse is scaird of the humans in big boots and tunics who surround it trying to calm it down. The horse bucks and stamps and all I can feel is the fear, the humans' fear and the horse's fear. This dream does not feel like anything to do with being groped.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Yankton, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Here is a span.