To return to the Introduction, please click here.

 

Sad Love 3

 

Last night was my first teleportation since I was in tenth grade. It was successful. I made it to the apartment complex in Missoula where Kelli lives with her grandmother and what I gather are several cousins, and back to Vermillion in one piece. Allah be praised! Perhaps if I use my gift for more than idle curiosity and adventure, I shall remain unhurt.

 

Kelli's grandmother had nothing to give me to eat that I would touch. The apartment is not filthy by any stretch but the food she eats is utterly unappealing. Kelli is the fifteen year old former foster child (She's in a kinship placement and that is considered outside the main foster care system.) who comforted me and who stood by me when Ratty Eagle, aka Thomas, groped me as I was driving the van last week. Thanks to Allah the All Merciful my boyfriend who has been deployed to Diego Garcia, my family, and my chain of command are all standing by me. I don't know where I would be or how I would feel if they did not.

 

I worked with Kelli for nearly an hour. She's a pretty mature kid, but no one has bothered to see to it that she learned her middle school math so I ended up teaching her multiplication tables and fractions. We work with decimals and integers after the feasting on Thanksgiving night. Then we'll work some more on Saturday afternoon. If she survives a crash course of this, she may be able to catch up in algebra.

 

I wish this were all as cut and dried as it seems. Kelli does not seem happy. She says starting out in a new school in a city where she knows no one is hard. She is fresh off the "rez" as it is called in this part of the world. Rez is short for resservation.

 

Her school in Missoula is mixed but it is also segregated because kids of different ethnic groups hang out with each other. I managed to skip a lot of this at Hunter. We hung out by activity and interest. Sometimes that ran along ethnic lines but most of the time it didn't. Here in Missoula they have whites, Mexicans, and Indians. The Indian kids are poor and they are in to self destructive vices which I will not name because even the description of them sickens me. I worked hard to get where I am and when I hear about kids my own age or close to it doing the equivalent of diving in to excrement to drown it makes me ill.

 

Kelli to her credit wants to avoid the garbage. It too depresses her, but she doesn't want to turn in to a red velvet oreo. Ideally she wants to end up a linzer cookie (red on the inside and white on the outside to borrow Alise' cookie analogies). Also out here the white kids may not really be all that much better than the Indians. The schools, ordinary public high schools that are NOT good public high schools don't energize the kids or take good care of them and there's not much to do in these isolated western towns. The white kids have a bit more money but not that much more to offer.

 

I suggested that Kelli read more. There are libraries everywhere and interloan from Bozeman if she can't get what she needs in Missoula. Books will help make Kelli academically sharp outside math and the tutoring will pull the math together. If she produces, than the academically talented clique if there is such a clique (and this is not Hunter out here so I'm nto sure, but I remember hearing about this from kids who went to New Hartford High) will accept her and she won't have to associate with kids who make low lives of themselves. Kelli has sense. She needs to keep listening to that sense.

 

Now, I would not be writing all this just to tell you good news. I'm still having awful dreams. They are awful because they scaird me. I dreamed of Buffalo last night, a great sea of brown smelly ugly beasts. There were hunters among them. They had Indian faces and spoke no English. I don't know what language they spoke, but I did not understand it. They rode in what looked like an open jeep. Their job was to use a net and a tranquilizer gun to capture a white buffalo calf and bring it to the City of Onyx. I always awaken from these dreams very frightened. This one was so bad it made me throw up. I had to put that in my food diary. I'm back on pretzels and tea. Don't worry they make pretzels that are filled with fake cheese or with peanut butter so I get some protein. Where in our food analogies does a filled pretzel fit?

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Selective Service Center

Lincoln, Nebraska

Point Two-Five

 

I'm a filled pretzel, hard and crunchy and maybe a bit salty on the outside, but bite in to my crunchy shell and I'm creamy and sweet on the inside. I guess the cookie analogies make sense. Amyway they amuse me.

 

I made Florentine farfelle salad to take to the Timians for Thanksgiving. I learned the recipe from Naama last summer and I did not think they would serve anything with spinach since they think spinach is punishment food out here. I ate a bit of turkey and some cranberry sauce. My family serves cranberry sauce plus two kinds of chutney (sometimes more) with turkey but no gravy. We don't get stuffing but we do get green peas, pickles, white rice, curried rice, and fresh hot flat bread. Some years we have had goat instead of turkey at Thanksgiving. We get great sweets for dessert, sweetmeats, rice milk flavored with almonds and tea with milk and sugar. I brought my good tea since I was sure the Timians are ignorant of drinking tea.

 

We all brought something, the female noncoms and seviceman's wives whom the Timians entertained at a dinner for twenty-four people. They had a big board over their dining room table and several folding tables set up, all with orange table cloths and centerpieces of crepe paper turkeys in nests of orange and brown paper leaves. There were yellow candles but they were just for decoration. No one lit them.

 

There was Coca-cola and apple cider (sweet and unfermented) to drink and for dessert there were all manner of rich cakes. I have about a third of my salad to take home. I held down all my food and made a safe teleportation. When I reached Missoula tonight, Kelli's grandmother and Kelli who is the oldest (How do you say drudge??) were washing up from their family's Thankgiving feast. I thought of the Timians and waited on the couch.

 

We worked for an hour and then I zapped back to Vermillion. My food has stayed down. I know I'm going to dream of onyx cities and buffalo again. I pray to Allah the All Merciful that some day I don't end up teleporting to that horrible place. There is something about it that makes my very skin crawl.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Garde 11C

Vermillion Air Force Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

Friday I had a short trip to Omaha and back to pick up two women. One was a new driver Karen, from Dacorah, Iowa and the other was to pick up Lise, our driver who transferred out. Now I know why because she has been subpoenaed to testify against Thom, Ratty Eagle, can't keep his no good disgusting hands to himself on Monday. Yes, I was groped last week. Yes, I called my chain of command. Yes, they called the authorities. Yes, they arrested Thom, "a sweet old man," a retired Native American beaurocrat. Now, Lise, Eleanor, and I have to testify against Thom in his trial on Tuesday in Rapid City, South Dakota, eight hours in to the bad lands and one time zone west of here.

 

It was a good ride down. I had just a couple of officers to take. New protocols are that all males over the age of twelve whom a female driver transports have to sit in the back of the van. A male in the back can't do much that is untoward except with his heckling mouth.

 

These males were nice. They talked mostly in military jargon. I think they were going to be deployed but not with the regular troops and they kept their location secret. They just told me to drop them off at the door of Terminal B at the airport. They did not say a peep when I played gahzals except to ask where I was from. I told them "New York City."

 

I then went over to Arrivals and picked up Lise and Karen, and that is when the fun started. Lise hated Vermillion. Well, Vermillion, is not an easy place to love, but I like the kids I transport and even some of the adults. I met Clay here, so my attitude toward the place has softened. Any way a "Vermillion 'expletive deleteds'" party was not something I needed in the back of the van. I put on the gahzals and cranked them up. Lise asked me to play some of her CD's.

 

"If you stop chopping on Vermillion I will," I answered.

 

"You like Vermillion?"

 

"It's what you make of it," I said.

 

"Yeah until you give Ratty Eagle a ride," snorted Lise. "Want to tell the new girl about Ratty Eagle?"

 

"Sure," I answered and I related the whole sordid tale. No doubt I shall make an excellent witness on Tuesday.

 

Caren groaned. "It's going to be better. We can't put any males over twelve in the front seat," I explained. "They can't get at us that way."

 

"Whoopee!" exclaimed Lise.

 

"And Lise, do you have it any better driving where you are?" I asked.

 

"I'm not driving," she confessed. "I've got office duties."

 

"What rank?" I asked.

 

"Not your business," she snorted.

 

"Did you take a cut?" asked Karen.

 

"Yeah, I'm a stinking 13 but no more bullshit driving alone at night on those roads. What happens if we get a flat tire?"

 

"Use a tire iron and battery powered jack to change it," I said.

 

"You were born to do this, Vijaya," sighed Lise.

 

Saturday our housing was noisey. I took Karen to town. We got some pumpkin butter and extra bread for the trip to Rapid City. I boiled eggs. Lise wanted cold roast turkey and Karen wanted ham. I got them their own coolers at Wal-Mart. I don't want swine flesh in my cooler. I'm Moslem in case any one is interested. I wear an elasticized head scarf with a velcro fastener. This is my mom's invention. It's called the Easy-On Head Scarf. My mom runs a store called Fantastik Fashions in the Bronx and every year Fantastik Fashion hosts the Festival of Modest Beauty, a fashion show and extravaganza of modest garb.

 

Karen had caught on to about half of this by this morning when we all went to an interfaith service which was held to give all of us who were to testify strength. I think I am all ready at the point where all this gets easier. Still they say that going to court is scarey. Eleanor is afraid she will cry. I should be afraid people will ask me about my hijab. I'm not afraid any more. I want to see justice be done.

 

Besides, my dreams have turned very strange and much more frightening than what any nasty defense attorney can do. I dreamed of a lost kid about Kelli's age. She could speak no English. She ended up on the streets of downtown Rapid City which was near where the police questioned me. This looked so real I swore I wasn't dreaming. The lost kid spoke no English. I don't know what language she spoke. She spoke at least two of them and both were gibberish to me. She tried desperately to make herself understood. Finally, the police and child protective took her to some kind of hospital. That is where she is now and no one still understands what she is saying. She has written her name down to teach it to people, but because they have never heard a name like it before, they do not know it is a name. The girl is about of average height and a teenager. She has American Indian features and a reddish tan complexion. Her hair is jet black and cut in a kind of curled under bowl bob. She was found wearing a fleecey skirt of a dark red color with black zigzag stripes, a white flannel shirt styled like a blouse and a leather vest tanned a golden color and decorated with beads and rhinestones. On her feet were thick woolen socks and well worn mocassins. Her name is Kokqi. She writes it using the regular English alphabet. I know nothing else, but that my hurt is onlhy a tiny fraction of Kokqi's and I don't have the slightest idea what to do for her.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C and proud of it!

Vermillion Airforce Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

We arrived in Rapid City at 0600 MST and found our motel and there, waiting for me on the counter was a letter and package from Luchi-Xara. The contents of the package was an Attawa to English and English to Attawa dictionary. Attawa is an Outrider language. There is very little that comparies to having your sensations proven right in such a sickening way.

 

I all ready knew what I had to do with the dictionary. The only question was: Where was Kokqi? One part of the answer was obvious. There is one place you put a teen who wanders the streets of Rapid City or any other city and speaks only what sounds like gibberish because her own people's language is nearly extinct on this world. I got out the phone book and after making a discrete or rather fairly direct inquiry of the woman at the front desk learned where the local mental hospital was located.

 

I skipped dinner this evening and walked several miles to Rapid City Regional Hospital and found the adolescent psychiatric ward which was of course locked. I also had no permission to give any patient packages. Worse still, there was no patient named Kokqi. Kokqi was probably admitted as a Jane Doe.

 

I went in the bathroom and tried to focus and remember the door to the adolescent psych ward. Then I remembered a mirror image of it, the other side of the door if you will, went in to a trance, focused on it and... The place looked like a neglected living room. An FM Station played a mix of country and rock. The TV was up on a high shelf and turned on too softly to be understood. There were couches and tables. Four or five kids energentically played monopoly. Kokqi watched. She stood with her arms folded. She looked up at me and gave me an odd sort of smile. Just then a boy let out a menancing laugh. "Easy," I told him. "Christmas just arrived early."

 

I handed Kokqi the book. She glanced at cursorily and then did a very big double take. "Now they'll understand you," I said. With that I found a bathroom, locked the door and reversed teleporting off the ward just in time to meet security. I asked them if they thought it was a lovely night. After all, I was no longer where I wasn't supposed to be and no one had let me through the locked door. I walked out of the psychiatric pavillion at Rapid City Regional the way I walked in.

 

Hopefully, Kokqi could be a bit more understood. If not, Luchi-Xara had both her address and phone number in English and Attawa inside the front cover of the dictionary she sent me. Maybe now I won't have those bad dreams any more.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

American Inn

Rapid City, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

Yesterday we went to trial. Today we learn the verdict. The "we" consists of Lise, Eleanor, and me. Trial was interesting and not as scarey as I'd heard it was, even when it concerned a delicate matter like my being groped (and Lise and Eleanor also being groped.) by Ratty Egale (aka Thom Can't Keep His Hands to Himself).

 

The county prosecutor was a clever woman. So we would not have to touch our breasts or groins in court, she had a large easel over which she had placed several pieces of clear plastic, one for each of us, under the plastic was a sketch of a woman's body. When the prosecutor asked us where Thomas had touched us, we took a red magic marker and marked on the plastic sheets at the appropriate places on the figure.

 

The hardest part was cross examination. The public defender (I'm not sure if Thom could afford to pay for a lawyer and the law said he had to have one.) who was working for Thom asked me if I told Thom "no," when he put a hand on me. I had to answer that I hadn't. I did say that I took Thom's hands off of me and put them back in his lap. I also finally stopped the vehicle and made Thom get in the back seat. That came out on what they call redirect when the prosecutor questioned me again. Court is kind of like ping pong with the two sides (prosecution and defense questioning the witnesses and the judge or sometimes jury making a decision based on the questions and answers).

 

The other women all had to testify too. Eleanor said she had been too scaird to say "no," but she had been unable to eat the whole trip and that she had refused further trips west of Rosebud. Lise said she had transferred to avoid being groped. Apparently, I was the first person to report Thom.

 

Under oath Thom testified that I had flirted with him and asked him all sorts of raunchy questions. He said that I had tried to set up a date to party with him. It turns out the date I set up would be long after I returned to Vermillion. Living on the other side of the state does have its advantages.

 

The prosecution also put Kelli, my fifteen year old passenger, on the stand. She came by Greyhound bus all the way from Missoula. She had traveled overnight and the victims and witness protection program made sure she had a nice clean bath room to change in to clean clothes and wash up so she made a good impression. As she had when I dealt with the police last week, Kelli stood by me and my side of the story.

 

After trial we had dinner. There is a Subway in Rapid City and I got a veggie delight with ranch dressing. We all had subs and chips and soda and the prosecutor ate with us. I guess she felt sorry for young girls put in this awkward situation.

 

I think I may send the prosecutor some flowers as a thankyou gift for having treated us so well. Today we learn the verdict around noon. We also will learn the sentencing since the judge wants things over with quickly in this sordid little bench trial.

 

OK, you know that is only half the news. I dreamed of Kokqi again. She is not Jane Doe any more. She got a chance to go to occupational therapy and painted a picture of a white buffalo. Below it she wrote what must be her last name or the word for white buffalo. She wrote it in two languages, one of which does not use a Roman script and the other, Attawa, which does. I don't know much about Indians but Kelli who got to stay with us overnight in the motel said that the white buffalo is part of sacred legends in a lot of tribes if you believe that stuff. White buffalo of course are rare, being partial or full albinos, and kind of precious. I wondered if Kokqi's white buffalo was an albino.

 

I also dreamed about the white buffalo. It was a calf and I did not get close enough to it to see its eyes. A crowd of Indians caught it in a net and used a tranquilizer dart on it and then carried the netted beast back to the pick up truck with huge tires they had waiting for it. The strangest part of the dream was when the Indians walked through the herd of buffalo that did not even seem to fear them. It was almost as if they were invisible. They carried back the captured calf and then drove toward the City of Onyx. I woke up at that point.

 

I wish I spoke Kokqi's language. Then I could find out the whole story. Of course, Kokqi might find out what we did to the buffalo and her own people on this world. I don't know how happy that will make her.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

American Inn

Rapid City, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

For those of you who are concerned (and I never know who out there is...) Thom, aka Ratty Eagle, aka Can't Keep his No Good Hands to Himself was convicted of sexual harassment and impeding the work of a government officer (All conscript drivers are after all Federal employees) and then given a suspended sentence due to his age and poor health. This is not as awful as it sounds. Part of the suspension is an agreement that Thom MUST ride in the last row of any government van. This means his hands will be far away from any female driver's body. Also if Thom asks ugly questions of any female driver (He does't do this to male drivers so the point is moot.) and she reports him, the judge will not hesitate to throw him in jail.

 

I'm satisfied that justice was done. I got back to Vermillion at 0015 hours Central Standard Time (remember you lose an hour traveling east) and at 0500 hours was up and out of here to take Lise back to the airport in Omaha. One of the male drivers named Frank drew the Rosebud route for today and Karen got a Yankton. The other male drivers are doing local work (wimps!). You only get your 11 rank if you drive overnights. I think most of the male drivers at Vermillion are simply lazy.

 

Yes, I've heard from Clay. He is bored which is a good thing. I'm going to spend this afternoon, getting him a care package. I get to teleport to Missoula tonight and tutor Kelli. I hope she's adjusting better than when I saw her last time. If she stays with her studies, I tell myself she'll be OK.

 

I'm less certain about Kokqi. She gave the note tucked in to her Attawa-English (and English-Attawa) dictionary to one of the nurses. I guess that means that Luchi-Xara is going to take over. The problem is that if Kokqi tells the truth about who she is and what she is doing in Rapid City on Point Two-Five, no one is going to believe her. Meanwhile, I still see the City of Onyx in my dreams. By the way, I'm beginning to wonder if Kelli and Kokqi are not doubles. Lisa Vijaya Napier (Vijaya2) is after all my double. Kelli has enough troubles. She does not have to visit the City of Onyx. Let that be my secret. Let that stay my secret, even though I am telling it all over the Telegraph.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Omaha Regional Airport

Omaha, Nebraska

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

 

I am a driver (Rank 11C -- All ready had my first promotion) and I prefer the long distance routes. Right now I am in transit on a six day trip to Spkane, Washington and back. Yes, I live in the Western United States. Yes, I am going to cross the Bitterroot Mountains at the Gallatin Pass. May it be the will of Allah the All Merciful that they don't close the pass and we have to turn back or get stuck.

 

I have four passengers for the first leg of the trip. They will be riding with me all the way to Rapid City. There is a female anthroplogist, a male philosopher, a linguist who must have come from Africa because he speaks English with what I think is a Nigerian lilt, and a physicist named Dr. Paisan who teaches at DC Metropolitan Community College but who does research any way. He has a ferret face, a pointy chin with a beard like scraggly brown Brillo, and watery green eyes. He stood in the garage th is morning and scrawled away on his tablet computer that he had propped up on an oil can.

 

Well at 0500 hours we were off. My guests in the van spent the night in the guest house. They flew them in and Karen, another driver, picked them up at Omaha which is our nearest airport. Dr. Paisan said he had been driving most of Saturday night from Washington, DC back to Ithaca to drop off a friend named Dr. Karch who lived in a neighborhood called Belle Shermane and then he flew out of Syracuse on Sunday and arrived in Omaha after changing planes in Chicago. Don't ask me what business a physicist has in Rapid City, South Dakota.

 

At least my passengers will listen politely to gahazals. The linguist had CD's as did Dr. Paisan but he had John Valby, and I will NOT play Dr. Dirty in my van. I made that abundantly clear. Yes, I am putting two and two together as regards Rapid City. I just hope I am wrong.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11-C

Yankton, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

May Allah the All Merciful forgive me for being so stinkingly stupid! No, I was not wrong. Dr. Paisan worked for Independent Rainbow as did the whole crew of scientists. Yes, I'm an Independent Rainbow employee or was one before I got drafted. The scientists were heading for Kokqi, my Kokqi!

 

What was I to do when they said they wanted me to drop them at the Rapid City Regional Hospital's adolescent psychiatric ward? I followed them in and asked to see Kokqi. I said she was my friend. They said nothing doing. The guards said that only those with an appointment could see Kokqi so there I was and they were watching me like a hawk.

 

Yes, I went outside and tried to get in through the windows, but the ward is on the third floor and if I tried to teleport, well they were watching for me too and I was sick of teleporting. That was how this whole mess started.

 

I couldn't stand it any longer. I sat on the steps and had a good solid cry. I was still crying when Luchi-Xara came out. Yes, I recognized her, the Outriding Lady. "Vijaya, your passengers are looking for you," she greeted me and told me I had an unexpected change in itinerary. I was going to continue on to Bozeman and spend the night there. It was just a matter of clearing Kokqi's paperwork.

 

"They got her," I stammered.

 

"They have a place for her," Luchi-Xara responded.

 

"But she needs help," I protested.

 

"Can you help her?" asked Luchi-Xara. "Do you speak Blackfoot, Cheyenne, Lakota, Flat Head, or Attaawa?"

 

"I have to do something. This is my fault!"

 

"There is someone else you can help. Go help her," Luchi-Xara advised me.

 

"There's nothing I can do for Kelli," I blurted out. My tutoring was a drop in the bucket and only forestalled her descent in to the unspeakable. And my teleportation had hurt Kokqi and might hurt more people, including me. "Not that will help in the long run. Teleportation, my telporting hurts innocent parties!" I screamed; for I was at my wits end.

 

"I'm glad you finally realized that. Now you'll have to find another way to help Kelli."

 

I wanted to strike Luchi-Xara. I don't know what restrained me.

 

"Vijaya, this is what being a responsible mage is all about."

 

That's pretty much it. I've seen Kokqi awake and with my own eyes now. She is beautiful and self posessed in a way that Kelli can only dream of being, poor Kelli. Kokqi and Luchi-Xara stood saying goodbye to each other as she climbed in to the van with me and my party of scientists.

 

As we rode toward, Bozeman, I got out my nursery rhyme CD's. I sung along with them.

 

"Baa Baa Blacksheep have you any wool?

Yes sir, Yes sir many bags full!

One for my master.

One for my dame!

One for the little boy that lives down the lane.

 

One for governor, one for the Prez

Many for the old people back on the Rez.

 

Three for the children who eat with plastic forks.

One for this driver who hails from New York,

 

Sweaters from black wool will protect us from the storm,

But in the end there's more to life than simply keeping warm...

 

Baa Baa Black Sheep do you even know?

Out here you compete with the white buffalo."

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Collegiate Motel

Bozeman, Montana

Point Two-Five

 

Dear Naama,

 

I just got in to Missoula and I'm hanging out at the Subway. There is nothing like other people's troubles to get your mind off your own. That means I can eat again so I guess I'm healed from being groped a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, congratulations on the Chasidic girl. That's what she is anyway? I did not know you could take in foster kids from out of state. If you can, would it be possible to take just one more? I think you know who I mean: Kelli. She is unhappy in school and really has no family here and very little support. She won't make it through three more years of that kind of life. Even at our worst when we were younger, we did not have to live like this. Please let me know that I can give Kelli a grain of hope when I go to tutor her this evening.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Subway Sandwich Shop

411 Custer Parkway

Missoula, Montana

Point Two-Five

 

Dear Alise,

 

Thankyou for the promise of funding. Here is what I am going to tell Kelli tonight:

 

1) I am a responsible mage. That means no more telported visits. This is for Kelli's, Kokqi's, and my own sakes.

 

2) Kelli has a choice. She can see me when I can come through Missoula which is every two weeks to every month, or she can move to Ithaca if her Grandmother permits her to leave.

 

3) Kelli's grandmother must be willing to let her go amicably or there's no deal. I'm not stealing any one's kid and neither is Rose Among Thorns.

 

4) Kelli will not leave Missoula until the term at school is over. That means she will leave on the afternoon of December 23rd and arrive in Ithaca at 1219 hours Eastern Standard Time on Christmas Day. I may be able to meet her in New York if I can arrange leave. I may even be able to arrange to travel with her part of the way if I have leave. After all, the government will pay for my ticket home and back.

 

5) Also, I am putting Kelli on the Telegraph. This way she can keep in touch since this is safer for Kokqi, Kelli, and me than teleportation.

 

Finally, thankyou Luchi-Xara for knocking some sense in to my head last night. Sometimes we all need a good swift kick in the metaphorical posterior.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C and proud of it!

Chesterfield Gardens Apartments

Missoula, Montana

Point Two-Five

 

Dear all,

 

Evelyn, Kelli's grandmother, Kelli, and I sat around the kitchen table while Evelyn waited dinner so we could talk. I explained about the teleportation. I asked if it was giving either of them bad dreams. Evelyn said she could not remember her dreams. Kelli said she dreamed of a white buffalo calf in a pen crying for its mother. The calf was not yet weaned and an Indian in a jumpsuit fed her from a bottle. It is a female calf and not a full albino. In Kelli's dreams the calf's eyes are brown. Kelli said she found the dreams "a break from the monotony."

 

Then I explained what living in Ithaca would be all about and that it was an alternative to Kelli's present unhappy situation. Kelli liked the idea because she'd be able to have French in her own school. At Rosebud, she had French via computer via distance education with a community college professor. Here in Missoula, she traveled to a different school for her French class. There are two high schools in Missoula. French is Kelli's favorite subject.

 

I then talked about the fact that she would still have to contend with kids from Cayuga Heights, Renwick Heights, Forest Home, and Belle Shermane. On the other hand, the social stratification in Ithaca was not as rigid and the place was enough of a meritocracy that a high achieving student from the wrong neighborhood could find acceptance.

 

"It would be better than here wouldn't it?" said Kelli.

 

"You're still you, no matter where you go," said Evelyn.

 

"Yes, but I'm trying to do the right thing here and it's not working!" Kelli was insistent. "Ask my teachers."

 

"I know you're a good girl."

 

"I'm not just a good girl. I'm a good student. That's how mom became a nurse and you learned your trade, but no one here gives a *BLEEP* about academics. No one has any ambitions, and that's the white kids. The Indian kids just want to *BLEEP* each other and sniff glue and get drunk. It's disgusting. I wish I weren't an Indian sometimes, but those dum white kids look at me and all they see is "Indian" fresh off the rez yet."

 

"You can't go back to Browning," said Evelyn.

 

"I have no relatives in Browning," answered Kelli.

 

"Then this is it..." Evelyn wanted this conversation over, "unless you wnat to go Ith-ick-a."

 

"I want to go," said Kelli.

 

"Why?"

 

"I told you all ready. I know you try, but there's nothing here for me. You're family, but that's not enough. There's no place for me in the schools. I want to be in with other students who are doing what I'm doing. I can't be the only Indian girl who doesn't put out and sniff glue. That gets old and then what is there....activities with people who won't talk to you, a job in a drug store or a Subway...They'll be nothing left of me if I do survive and if I don't, I'm just one more poor Indian kid in care even if it's my grandmother who means well and loves me."

 

"Is that really how you feel?" asked Evelyn.

 

"Yes," answered Kelli. "I love you, but I also need to do what's right for me, and this is the best offer I've got."

 

With that, Evelyn gave her consent and we got down to logistics. Kelli does not have a lot of things though we'd ship most of her clothes ahead of her. She has no bedding of her own. Only about a third of foster children own bedding. Kelli does have an I-pod. I've never asked how she got that. I told Kelli her date of depature would be December 23rd and I gave her the address of the Telegraph. You may hear from her soon.

 

I have no idea what she will write.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Missoula County Department of Human Resources

Missoula, Montana

Point Two-Five

 

I had a chaplain's consult on Monday. I don't want to see mental health because I am not crazy. I'd be crazy not to be feeling sad, awful, and guilty. I feel sad, awful, and guilty over both Kelli and Kokqi. Kelli, is going to have to move 2,000 miles plus to help herself and Kokqi...are there any words to describe what I have done to her.

 

I told Rev. Peters the whole story. I left nothing out. I gave him the number of the professor in Bozeman with whom Kokqi lives. He would at least verify that Kokqi speaks no English. He speaks Blackfoot so Kokqi can at least make herself understood, but her people have been decimated in this world. Her culture as she knows it does not exist, and she unlike Kelli has known differently to say the least.

 

Rev. Peters suggested I write a letter to Kokqi, not that I can send it. Kokqi and I do not share even one language in common. I speak English, French, and Urdu but not Blackfoot, Cheyenne, Lakota, Flathead, or Attawa.

 

Here is my letter....

 

Dear Kokqi,

 

We have never spoken, but you and your version of the Earth haunt my dreams. I dream of the white buffalo calf and the Indians sent to collect her with the aid of a migna. I dreamed of you imprisoned in the insane assylum in Rapid City (South Dakota) because you could not make your wishes known.

 

I dreamed of a world where there was no need for European (or Asian languages) because there were enough Indians who spoke their own tongues that they could have their own cities and schools. I dreamed of a world where smallpox, tuberculosis, and measels never ravaged your population and there was no policy of making your people starve by killing off nearly all the Buffalo and ploughing under the natural vegetation of the prairie.

 

You see all this in our world because your world kept the old world alive. I am the one whose selfish teleporting sent you here. I went to help a girl named Kelli by tutoring her. I know, that was good intentions with unintended consequences. I helped Kelli for good reason. Three weeks ago on a long run from a town in South Dakota we call Rosebud to Missoula, Montana (None of these names will be familiar to you.) a man named Thomas groped me. He put his hands on my breasts and tried to fondle my groin. I pulled over and made him get in the back of my van and then I called my chain of command who in turn summoned the local police.

 

Well Kelli was my witness that Thomas had groped me. She was also my witness in court two weeks ago. For that, I owed her. Tutoring was a small favor but it was something I could do. I have a very good high school education. I would like to attend Cornell some day and become an architect, but that is a long way off since I was conscripted.

 

My teleportation brought you in to my world, and in my world horrible things have happened to both your people's. I can't apologize for that. My parents came to the United States from Pakistan (the Indian subcontinent. You'll have to look at a map) long after the genocide happened. I apologize instead for taking you from your home and your school and your language. I apologize for the days you spent locked up in Rapid City. This is my fault and I own up to it. I only wish we could just sit down and talk. I don't have much to say besides what I've said in this letter, but at least I could listen to you. I owe you that much and I will never be able to pay it.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Vermillion Air Force Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

It is 0430hours MST, and I'll be on the road again soon, heading east from Rapid City South Dakota. This trip was only as far as Butte where I picked up two Cheyenne Indian kids to take to Pierre, South Dakota where a foster family they spent two years with now wants them back do they can settle in prior to adoption. An aunt taking care of one of the kids got arrested and I'm not sure what happened to the grandparent taking care of the other one. She, and it is usually a she in these cases got sick. One kid is a seven year old male and the other a five year old female. That means we all have to undress in the toilet, not a pleasant thought. Whoever had these kids before I got them did not look after them properly so I had to make both of them shower. Dirty kids are depressinng. I keep No Tears Shampoo in my box of supplies along with soap on a rope which fascinates kids and a couple of bath toys for the very youngest kid. I've heard there is some kind of body paint soap. This pair came with greasey heads and faces that were growing something on them.

 

I found other clothes for them in their plastic bags (no suitcases or I-pods with this lot) and washed them in the motel washing machine. I didn't trust anything these kids had to be clean.

 

The worst problem I had with the two fosters in my truck was taking them out to dinner last night. These kids don't get to eat in restaurants and if they don't want McDonalds they usually don't want anything. I don't know what they eat on the reservation except if Kelli's grandmother is any judge it is vile packaged stuff. Last night I took them to a Chinese buffet and neither ate him or herself sick. Stuffed and contented, they slept after I made them shower and washed some of their clothes. I bagged the dirties or unwashed separately.

 

This morning, I'll teach these little ones to drink tea with sugar and milk. Then we'll work on nursery rhymes all the way to Pierre where they will arrive in mid-Afternoon. I'll have a sub, take a walk and pick up my next round of fosters and haul them to Yankton. These will be Lakota and I think they are both girls this time.

 

I finally got through to the beaurocracy at Vermillion about my holiday travel arrangements. Yes, I want a Greyhound bus ticket from Fargo,ND to Ithaca, NY. This way Kelli will not have to make the 2,000 mile plus journey alone and I need a one way plane ticket back from Syracuse, New York (the nearest airport to Ithaca) to Omaha, Nebraska when my break is done and that will be before the New Year. I only get a week off. Naama's break is longer. I don't know what Alise is doing since she is really quite ill.

 

I haven't seen Kelli on the Telegraph yet, but I am sure she is reading it. Hello Kelli. We know you are out there or at least I do.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Roadway Inn

Rapid City, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

It is the last big drive before the Christmas Break for me. On a map it looks simple, head to Omaha, then west to Lincoln in Nebraska and then on west towards Wyoming. My goal is Rock Springs, Wyoming where I am picking up four or five combat option people who have been training at high altitude in the Grand Teton mountains. Yes, I spoiled it for you. What looks like a simple two day each way jaunt on I-80 is not as simple as it first appears. A little obstacle called the Rocky Mountains intervenes.

 

This morning I awoke at 0430 hours at 4,000 feet above sea level. Some time today if it be the will of Allah (and I mean that!) my passengers and I will cross the mountains in the pass at Laramie, Wyoming which is 8,000 feet above sea level. This time of year, there is snow in the mountains and sometimes as with the Gallatin Pass, the pass can close, and you have to wait until the roads are cleared.

 

For this run, my passengers are all fellow conscripts (nocombat) returning home for break. They call me "gung ho" instead of "towel head." They are Rank 15's, 14's, 13's and a few 12's. I have my 11 which is why I am not leaving until Saturday morning. I will be back ahead to ferry the like of these slackers home. They have their own CD's which I don't mind playing. I'll play anything except Dr. Dirty.

 

The problem cropped up when I hit Lincoln. Most of my passengers are big boned westerners returning from points east. They flew through Chicago or Milwaukee and then on to Omaha and now they are riding with me for the last leg of the trip. They had tons of baggage. They bought food at all the rest stops, and when I pulled over in Lincoln to get gas, I got a look at the back of the van.

 

Pigs are clean animals. My riders were not. Even the foster children, three and four years old know to throw their trash in the plastic bags I keep on board for garbage. I have to tell them but after I tell them they mind. Adults generally also keep the van neat.

 

I laid down the law. "We're not moving until this van gets clean." I pulled the van up to one of those vacuums. I won't say what was on the floor of the van but it stank. It was old food, a half eaten sandwich with which one of the conscripts had gotten bored. It had sauce on it. I got some cleaner and I then had the conscripts do KP duty. I cleaned the stains and vacuumed out the van.

 

The conscripts complained they would be late. I phoned and made sure they'd hold the motel. I also gave the conscripts a lecture on the use of garbage bags and that what comes in the van goes out of the van either in your stomach or in the garbage bag. They gave me big "yes ma'ams" but they minded and yes they called me gung-ho. They asked if I were gunning for a 10. I'm not sure what it takes to get a 10 but I want one, yes. I want a 9 or an 8 if that's possible.

 

I'm hoping my good record in the service will help me when I return to the civilian world. Also, half way across the planet and down in South America, men and women who are combat option are risking their lives for their country. I have it easy as a driver. Why shouldn't I repay that ease by doing the best job I can?

 

Anyway, it is 0515 hours MST and my passengers are still asleep. One took the roll away last night because she is five foot three. She was the only one who apologized for the mess in the back seat. She is a rank 12 and knows how I feel about the van. She cares about her office work that she does back in New Jersey. I did not ask her how she likes the Northeast.

 

I stopped being homesick when Clay was sent to Diego Garcia where I hope he stays for the duration. I can't be homesick when the man I love is half way around the world. Oh well, duty calls.

 

Vijaya Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Sidney Motel 6

Sidney, Nebraska

Point Two-Five

 

We left Rock Springs, Wyoming an hour and a half late. I did not care. I told my passengers that I hoped there was enough slack in their schedule to be very late for their planes out of Ohmaha. There wasn't and isn't. Fights can be rescheduled. We have one shot at making it over these ountains in one piece.

 

There is one thing everyone who drives in the West dreads, a blizzard. I am riding along on the tail of just such a storm right now. The National Westher Service has said to cancel all nonessential travel. Getting service personnel home for the holidays is NOT nonessential.

 

Still, we had a late start. The "we" for this trip consisted of five combat option fighters, marines this time who had been training at high altitude. Do not ask me for what they were training. They did not tell me. They need showers. They have blankets and sleeping bags because I'd rather not give them the kids' blankets which I see are clean. Our delay was due to an early morning trip to Wal-Mart. I received extra money on my voucher card after I explained that we needed food and drink in case we were stranded. I sent one of my marines to scrounge for boxes.

 

We left Rock Springs with a very full van. The snow has started to fall. The wind howls across this nearly table land which is probably above the treeline or else just too arid for trees even in wet years. I cranked up the stereo to block out the sound of the wind. We have no radio reception. The marines have no CD's. Gahazals do not work. The nursery rhymes did not work well either so we talked.

 

They were curious about me. They laughed when they learned I am Punjabi, from New York City, and a fairly observant Moslem. They got to watch me pray a few minutes ago. It was a long prayer with a big dua to match the big blizzard. I begged the convenience store owner for hot water to make a fresh thermous of good black tea. I have dried figs. The marines laughed at those. I have pretzels and combos and three containers of yogurt and fruit. Others have coldcuts and rolls and crackers. We have sleeping bags, blankets, flares, and most important a full tank of gas.

 

May it be the will of Allah that we are not stranded when we cross the pass at Laramie 8,000 feet above sea level in a raging storm. Alise, good luck at your philanthropists' ball, and Naama tell Basia "want to's" are much better than "have to's." I'll write again after I've made it safely through the pass. Please pray for my passengers and me.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C and still proud of it.

Rawlins, Wyoming

Point Two-Five

 

At 1500 hours MST it happened. We had been in the teeth of the storm for some time as we climbed from Rawlins toward the pass at Laramie. I was glad I saw the mountains yesterday because with the blizzard going I couldn't see much of anything. Apparently the van and I had caught up with the storm. Snow devlis danced around and in the mountains, not all the roads were clear. The chains held us fast on snow and ice as we snaked around one curve after another. I tried not to think about the sheer drop offs on the wrong side of the road. More than once we had to pull over to the shoulder on the oncoming traffic side (the only shoulder in the mountains for cars headnig east) and let a faster more sure motorist pass. In many places there was really only one lane of traffic.

 

All the while visibility was dropping. Somewhere, about twelve miles west of Laramie we lost all visibility. I got the van on to a fairly wide piece of shoulder. "We're stuck until we can see," I announced. I got out the wire extender for the antenna and a big silk head scarf my mother had sent me. I lit our LED flares. Then I cut the engine to spare the battery. I could always restart it. We use high viscosity motor oil and plenty of anti-freeze. I felt we might be stranded a long time. We broke out the food and the marines told tales of winter camping. Those tales helped keep me brave. They laughed and said I had never camped out at all. They asked how I liked the figs. I liked them fine and was glad I had some tea left.

 

Meanwhile, the blizzard continued to pound away. We went out in shifts with one person watching the other digging to make sure the van did not get buried. Snow must have been blowing right at the van. We also dug out our flares and finally put them on the roof. After nearly three hours and long after sundown, a Wyoming State truoper in a four by four came by. He helped us dig out and told us to tailgate him. If we followed his headlights we'd make it safely to Laramie. I don't like tail gating and liked it even less in those mountains, but we made it to the trooper barracks where there was a makeshift gypsy camp of over a dozen vehicles. There were three tractor trailers, one ambulance ferrying a woman who was to give birth. She had all ready done so. I got to visit the baby. It was a girl. I suggested calling her Nivea or Neva for the snow. There were two families and of course at least one truck and one bus full of college students from Utah who also wanted to be home as fast as possible.

 

None of us were going to go anywhere fast. I got more hot water and made tea. We still had to take turns digging out the van, but now it was in the parking lot and no snow polough would accidentally crush it under a snow plough. The troopers explained that we were going to get priority numbers. By the time they did any explaining there were fourteen or fifteen vehicles in the parking lot. Since I was a federal employee on government business, the van got priority one ranking as did the ambulance and the families with small children. Everyone else was priority two, three, or four. What this meant was that as soon as the snow plough went out to clear the roads through the pass, a trooper car would follow it and the rest of us would come down the mountains in a tight single file, guiding one another by our tail lights.

 

This was nerve racking, but of course it worked. Toward Cheyenne it was slow going, ten to twenty miles an hour in spots but at least the roads were partially clear and there was some visibility. I'm taking a safety break now in Cheyenne. The time is nerly 000 hours on Thursday. They are holding our motel room for us in Sidney, Nebraska, still two more hours on a good night. Tonight, however, is not a good night. No I take that back. It is an excellent night. With the grace of Allah the All Merciful we made it out of the mountains. Also no one in my van freaked out. I am glad I had the marines as company instead of a bunch of dumb slacker conscripts. They pitched in and did not show one trace of fear. In this way, we kept each other brave.

 

I have called my chain of command to let them know I am safe. I called them at Laramie as well. It will probably still be snowing at Sidney when we leave at around 0600 to 0700 hours. Some time late in the afternoon, I'll say goodbye to my marines at Omaha and continue on to Vermillion. I'll have a day and a half off the road before Sanders, the head of our motor pool, takes me and some airmen up to Fargo where I'll catch the Greyhound bus and meet Kelli who is heading East.

 

Well it's on toward Sidney. Alise, I hope your having a great time at the Junior League Ball. You deserve it and Naama, I hope Basia enjoys the brown bread and almond cookies. Think of me when you eat them.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11

Big Chief Rest Stop

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Point Two-Five

 

This is to let every one know that thanks to Allah the All Merciful and some very courageous marines, who are still my passengers, we arrived safely at Sidney, Nebraska at 0330 hours MST and left four hours later for the last leg of the trip. It is snowing but they are salting and sanding the roads and things are just enough under control that I can drive. True, nonessential travel is restricted, but hey I'm a Federal employee on government business, priority one as the troopers on Wyoming say. A shout out to all those troopers for last night's rescue and to Sanders, head of the motor pool, who taught me what to do in a winter emergency. That's what they call what happened last night. Yes, I am driving on tea, sugar, figs, and pretzels. I'll eat my yogurt soon. I'm not one bit tired. I feel terrific. Alise, I think this is the start of something great. Naama, let me know how you feel too. There is an email from my boyfriend, Clay, in my inbox. I'm waiting until I get back to Vermillion to read it.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11

Central Rest Stop

Ogalalla, Nebraska

Point Two-Five

 

Do you want to know about Christmas? It is still very far away here. It is not really my holiday. I'm a Moslem not a Christian and we don't celebrate a solstice. Islam originated in the deserts of the Arabian Peninsula and spread across the under belly of Asia. That is not a part of the world with long, cold, dark winters.

 

Anyway, my faith has very little to do with Christmas being far far away. At 1850 hours last night I arrived in Vermillion. I had dropped two of my marines at the airport. They could fly east. The others had to deal with canceled flights or no service out until this morning and Sander and Roy the two permmanent drivers took them to the airport. Sander, Roy, and the head of the MP's was waiting for me, even though I had phoned my chain of command and told them I had additional delays due to bad roads. Slow going is better than no going.

 

I have since learned that there were lots of abandoned cars in Colorado and probably Wyoming. The reason we did not abandon the van was we took turns guarding and digging and there is only so much room on that stretch of I-80 for abandoning vehicles. Where possible and where a vehicle still starts as our van did and where we were partly dug out, the state troopers prefer to lead out the motorists to a safe spot and then lead them down off the mountains if they are heading east.

 

Still, I thought I was in some sort of trouble. I was ready to scream since I had followed procedure and then some. My two stranded marines and I climbed out of the van and Sander's first words were: "Are you all right Naipul?"

 

I am not sure why I felt like crying. Maybe it was just exhaustion and a kind of giddy courage that had kept me going for two days. "Of course!" all but screamed. "What other way would I be?"

 

After that, they found spare rooms for the marines and went back to the dormitory to find my roommate's bed occupied by a strange woman, a chunky blond girl who was trying to get home to Salt Lake City of all places and two mattresses on the floor which each had another stranded conscript. Omahah's airport had become a bottle neck and Vermillion's floor and bed space the best place to stash stranded conscripts.

 

I checked my fridge. There is a sign pasted on the door that says "Halal Meat Products Only! This is Vijaya's Halal Fridge!" I checked the fridge for pork rinds and other offending matter and instead found my yogurt and eggs gone. My bread was down to two heels at either end of the loaf and the jam untouched though for some reason my "guests" liked margarine. I put in the left over trip food and began my nighlty prayers in a quiet corner of the floor. I was just getting done praying when there was a knock on the door.

 

It was the Chaplain, Sanders, and our building supervisor who goes by the name of Kate who is a kind of house mother to all the female noncombat people. They wanted to talk. They asked how I felt. I said I felt great. I wasn't just grateful to be alive. I was juiced. I know it was weird but the marines had made me brave.

 

"Are you bucking for a promotion?" asked Sanders.

 

"Yes," I told him. "I'd like to be a ten some day but I don't know what I need to do other than my job."

 

"Being a ten involves being a lead driver and doing some scheduling. We don't have any tens here. You'd be sent to a smaller installation where you'd do part time scheduling and full time driving. You'd still get to bid on some long routes. Long haul drivers are scarce as you've learned why."

 

I stared at the floor. Talking about the promotion turned my giddiness to a kind of sickness inside. "Naipul," said Sanders. "I'm pulling you off duty. You get a day's compensation anyway due to getting stranded any way. Sleep, get supplies, do your laundry. Roy and I don't need any one for airport runs. At 0600 Saturday we'll take you up to Fargo. I hope you and that little orphan friend of yours do OK in Ithaca."

 

I felt my eyes go misty. I was going to cry. I couldn't help myself. The Chaplain asked if it would help if he prayed with me. We prayed the psalms and did more dua which is free style prayers. I prayed for Kelli and the marines and the conscripts and my boyfriend. We also paced the hall and later went over to the gym and walked around and around the indoor track. We must have gone around that thing a dozen times which meant we walked six miles.

 

I could sleep after that. I just got up at 0700 hours and the sun was rising. I thought I needed to warm up the van, heat water for tea, pray. Then I remembered I had no where to go today. I dressed, made tea, and got out my lap top and checked on Clay.

 

His email said they were asking for volunteers to be deployed from Diego Garcia to a secret location inland. My first thought was Iraq, but I keep in touch with world events via the BBC. Nyazov, the President for Life of Turkmenistan has just died of heart failure at the age of sixty-six. There is a whole great game in Central Asia of which the United States is part. Clay has volunteered for the secret location. His mother and sister are made at him. I'm not one bit mad at him. Clay too is bucking for a promotion. I understand what he is doing, but Clay's mother and sister are civilians. There is no way they can understand.

 

I suppose I will have to call them. I will ask them if they want to have a slacker for a son or someone eager to do his part. I wonder if they will understand. Clay will be back at the airfield working on radar for planes but he will still be in a secret location and the government won't even admit he is there. Ask me if I am afraid for Clay. Well I will tell you that I knew this would happen when he was deployed. You can learn to be brave. I think I've learned.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11

Vermillion Airforce Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five

 

For those who don't know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Vijaya Lisa Naipul and I am a noncombat option National Service conscript. Like Alise Liddell who posted earlier today, or rather yesterday, I was drafted on July 1, 2006 and reported for active duty on August 15, 2006. Because I had a New York State Class 2 Driver's License, the federal government put me to work driving a transit van on the northern prairies. I'm based out of Vermillion, South Dakota, though I'm visiting Ithaca, New York and Naama Roth, my school friend, for Christmas Break. There is a bit more to it then that but hopefully, you've been following along.

 

I am eighteen years old, an American citizen of Punjabi descent, (I'm actually second generation American on both sides). I'm a practicing Moslem and a member of Hunter College High School's 2006

graduating class. I did most of my growing up in the Bronx though I have cousins that live in Brooklyn and a grandmother there as well. In April Cornell University's College of Art Architecture and Planning admitted me to study architecture. That is now on hold since we have no college deferments and I got drafted.

 

I have a boyfriend named Clay whom I met in Vermillion. He is not a Moslem, but I love him anyway and don't pressure him to convert. He was deployed to Diego Garcia as a radar technician (He is combat option with the Air Force), but now he has volunteered to go to Central Asia on a secret mission. His parents and sister are quite upset about this. I am more sanguine. I figure when you volunteer to serve your country, you serve it. That is why I am not afraid to take long haul routes and overnights even in the coldest part of winter.

 

If you are curious about what I look like, I stand six feet even in my stocking feet and weight 135lb which is not a lot. I have medium brown skin and black hair that you aren't going to see because I wear a hijab. I also prefer long skirts. Since I'm noncombat option, I wear my own clothes. I have black eyes, a fairly straight nose, and am in good physical condition but don't like fighting.

 

Well here I am in Ithaca, New York. I fly back to Omaha via Syrcuse and Chicago on New Year's Day and I will miss Rose Among Thorns and Naama. I'll also miss Kelli who is working so hard to catch up to the New York State high school curriculum.

 

Today was Eid Al-Aha, the Moslem feast of the Sacrifice which commemorates the binding of Isaac or the Akedah for those of you who know this event by its Hebrew name. Naama of course tapped me on the shoulder and asked that I do a reading from the Koran for Golden Hour. This is where everyone lounges around on blankets and bolsters and cushions and gets read to from various edifying religious or secular texts. Groups of kids can read plays. People can read poetry or prose. There is also singing both with the choir and just from song sheets. Golden Hour is cheaper than a movie and more fun than watching TV or hanging out on the internet. Also since this has been break, every night has had a Golden Hour except last night which was Shabbos.

 

Basia, the other new foster kid here, volunteered to do a reading for Golden Hour as well. She read the Biblical version of the Akedah so we could all compare and contrast which in a way was rather interesting.

 

Naama thinks the Akedah is a gruesome story. It is the story of Abraham/Ibraim, a great prophet of Allah the All Merciful. Allah asks Abraham to sacrifice his second son, Isaac. Allah has all ready told Ibraim to send away Ishmael at the urgings of his wife, Sarah. Abraham/Ibraim also sent away Hagar, Ishamel's mother. He sent them both in to the desert to die, but Allah the all Merciful created a well and saved them. Meanwhile, Allah told Ibraim to sacrifice his only other son.

 

This son, Isaac, was a grown man by now and he had to know something was up because when Ibraim and his servants and Isaac headed off to Mount Moriah, they had everything for the sacrifice except the sheep.

 

Ibraim takes Isaac up the mountain. It is just the two of them walking. The servants wait at the bottom of the hill. Finally, Isaac gets up the courage to ask about the missing sheep and Ibraim says that of course Allah will provide the sacrifice.

 

Then Ibraim and Isaac reach the top of the mountain. Ibraim ties down Isaac so he won't struggle and mar the sacrifice which must be slaughtered just so. Ibraim carried a knife to slit Isaac's throat. There is wood piled on the altar for burning Isaac's body after he is dead.

 

Ibraim picks up the knife and gets ready to slit Isaac's throat when... an angel calls out to him to STOP. There is a ram waiting in a thicket to be the sacrifice instead. Ibraim has shown his faith by being willing to sacrifice his son.

 

As with most parts of the Bible (or the Koran), most people don't really know this story or have conveniently forgotten it. People have a habit of memorizing the Koran in Arabic and not understanding what they are saying. I read my Koran in English and have never memorized it.

 

When we got done with both versions of the Akedah, we had a discussion. We had to. The adolescents, many of whom were hearing the story for the first or second time, are foster children. Codi asked why Isaac had not run away when he could. Isabella asked if Sarah, Isaac's mother, was in chaoots with Ibraim about Isaac's sacrifice. Basia said that the official party line was that the sacrifice killed Sarah. Isabella didn't buy that explanation. Then the conversation turned to whether Abraham was a good parent and how could such a vile parent be a prophet. There were no good answers on this. Basia quoted how Abraham/Ibraim was a tsaddik but Isabella reminded her that tsaddikim don't murder their children, and Ibraim nearly killed two of his sons.

 

"Are you saying Avraham was crazy?" asked Basia.

 

"I think he was evil," Isabella replied.

 

Basia was not sure what to make of this. Sherman said that he believed there was a lot of Abraham in every parent, a kind of dark side. This was a very psychological explanation.

 

Leonie said that she was prone to agree wtih Isabella. She said that Biblical times are not like times now and that people were just learning to be moral. God did what he could with what he had. Today Abraham would be evil but back then he was as good as it got.

 

"That's Noach," said Basia.

 

"You don't think Abraham is that different. It was only a few generations later," Leonie also known as Lay-Lay replied.

 

"That's not what...." Basia stopped.

 

"Come on..." urged Naama.

 

"That's not what our sages say," she glanced around as if we were all going to bite her.

 

"Did they create that commentary because the original made them feel uncomfortable?" asked Leonie.

 

Basia had no answer. Sherman pondered aloud whether modern and Medieval readers would see different things in the texts. Again none of us had any answers.

 

I wonder if the folks at Sirius Gate will see this post. Tareisia, Naama and Alise' foster daughter, used to believe that everyone on the Telegraph received it in its entirety, but now I suspect that some of us here have a limited subscription. I find that odd, but there is not much I can do about it.

 

And yes, I miss Alise. I know she is stuck in Virginia because she is ill. I hope and pray she recovers soon. After the secular New Year, it is back to work for all of us.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Rose Among Thorns #2

411 Hillview Place

Ithaca, New York 14850

Point Two-Five

 

I did not feel like talking as I rode in the van that Sanders drove back to base in Vermillion. It had been a long flight "home." My travel companions were half airmen (and air women) and half noncombat option types like me. We were coming in from all over. I was coming back from Syracuse where Caufeld, Nama's boyfriend, took me early this morning to catch a plane.

 

Tomorrow, despite the federal holiday due to an exPresident's death, it is back to work as usual. I have a bid in on the Missoula run, only Kelli won't be there. Kelli is back in Ithaca, and that is a good thing. She is ready to try to learn the rigorous New York State high school curriculum and have her shot at success which means a lot to her because she has glimpsed its opposite. I remember growing up in the Bronx, and I think I understand.

 

The dreams have returned. I dream of Kokqi who is in Bozeman with a professor who can speak Blackfoot so she can communicate. Communcation is a blessing and a curse. In my dream the professor played CD's for Kokqi with recordings of Blackfoot shamans and medicine men singing ceremonial songs. Kokqi winced. The professor looked surprised. "What's the matter?" he asked her in Blackfoot. She answered. "Don't you have any recordings of young people singing these songs?" He said that mainly the old people knew them now. Kokqi asked if the old mages and priests did not teach them to the young so the song could continue on... I don't envy the profsesor the job of explaining to Kokqi about the state of her people here on Point Two-Five. The Outriders and Pavel D'Einhorn protected the Indians on Two by Two which is Kokqi's native world, a parallel earth. I brought Kokqi here through careless teleporting so she is in part my problem. Her sorrow feels a good deal like my fault. Kokqi asked who made the recordings, the name of the Shaman. It was in the liner notes. The CD's come from the anthropology department's files. Kokqi said she knew some of the songs on the records though in slightly different version and with a few extra verses added. "People always add new verses to these things," she said.

 

The professor tried to explain about relict cultures. Relict is a word like remmant, remmants and tatters. He said there was some culture left, but much of it had died with those starved when Europeans exterminated the buffalo. This was before the word "genocide" existed but not its meaning. "Cultures often don't survive well without a written tradition. That is why you were taught to use alphabets at the school of many tongues."

 

"No," Kokqi corrected the professor. "I learned the alphabets in school so I cold write in two languages. Maybe the Creators did teach us an alphabet. I never thought it was important. Do they know how much they have forgotten, both my people's?" The professor did not have an answer.

 

In my dreams I saw Kokqi with a road atlas. She looked at a map of Montana. She wants to go to Browning which is the capital of Blackfoot Country. The other place she would like to go is Lame Deer which is the Northern Cheyenne capital. Both of these are small towns on reservations, not unlike Rosebud. I don't know what Kokqi expects to find in those places.

 

She is the daughter of the Rat in the Corn Crib Clan among the Cheyenne who have six clans on her world insted of the two they have on her world and she is the daughter of the Bunch of Grapes, a twentieth century Blackfoot clan on her father's side. She has no clan members on either reservations because in this world those clans never were created. She has no roots on either reservation, but there she was looking at maps. Kokqi can not drive. How can she get to either reservation? I'm not sure she even knows how to hitchhike and her English is rudimentary.

 

I awoke as the plane touched down in Omaha feeling shakey and sick. The stewardess asked me if I was feeling all right. I told her I'd get over it. What choice do I have. I hope to stop in Bozeman to see Kokqi though what I can do for her, I don't know.

 

Vijaya L. Naipul

Driver Rank 11C

Vermillion Air Force Base

Vermillion, South Dakota

Point Two-Five