The very act by which the fine edge of our minds penetrates the absolute is a phenomenon, as it were, of emergence.
– The Phenomenon of Man, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Surt listened to Telemachos chanting the prayers in front of the craggy cairn of the Ones No More. He doubted the words could help spirits rest in honor and comfort in this dry, jagged pile of stone adorned with blood stains and bits of bone. His opinions on the matter would remain closely held.
Ajax stood behind Telemachos, assisting with the ritual. Surt turned and watched for signs of pursuit. The group blended into the dun landscape, camouflaging colors rendering them nearly invisible. They only had a few minutes until the hunters recognized the evasion. The young ones on this exercise were good, some of their best, but sooner or later Paro’stoys would come searching.
Though they still had no part of Caesar to complete the ritual, the blood tainted metal was proof enough, and Abba directed them to begin so that the Laos could render honors. Surt saw the wisdom in Abba’s guidance, maintaining peace and order, especially with Xerxes’ increasingly erratic leadership.
Xerxes stood close by, mastering his grief and anger for the moment. Though the earlier outbursts in response to the news of his brother’s death were contained, Xerxes recent erratic eruptions seemed to grow worse. Was it the decline of Elders, or just the limits of his endurance?
Surt looked at Ajax, head bowed, unmoving. Did Ajax share Telemachos’ beliefs and passion? Sometimes Surt doubted that, as he did almost everything except his goal of running once more in the forests, under the stars, forever free. His loyalty to his brothers and sisters was the only thing holding him back, his duty to help them find the same freedom he craved beyond the fences and gun towers. Ajax also held Surt’s trust, no matter how opaque his plans and motives. His decisions and his handling of Xerxes reassured Surt that Ajax saw a larger goal. But were their goals the same?
His one brief time in the trees off in the far hills, standing in the snow under the stars, that’s what kept him going. He had run far and long, barely making it back over the fence before the return of daylight. The Wasps were angry that night, noisily sweeping through the skies searching everywhere for him. Though that was the last time he was permitted to range that far afield, the experience hardened his determination that freedom was a possibility and within reach.
How many more trips to Golgotha before they could leave it all behind?
Chapter 17
The compromises made during the Compact States crisis only deferred, once again, the conflicts inherent to the States Rights arguments in use since the 1800’s by regional elites defying federal authority. The effort to avoid open conflict by creating yet another legal structure between State legislatures and the Federal government only served to unleash further separatist energies across the political spectrum.
– Can Federalism Survive? Presentation at the 75th anniversary Davos Symposium
Her long cry in the car complete, Michelle tapped the screen on the dash and found a motel a short drive away. She booked a room and moved in, then sat on the bed flipping through a brochure about local attractions. The plan was to return to the school at the end of the day, but that Adam would spend the night, to get the adjustment underway as quickly as possible. His untroubled acceptance of the new classroom was reassuring, but Michelle remained uneasy. This was a lot of change in a short period of time.
She spent a few minutes checking in with Tinkerbell, read her messages, sent a few to work, and scanned the news. Remembering Jonah’s interest in Article 7, she did a quick dive into the recent events around that. As usual, she was impressed with Jonah’s expansive knowledge of history and current events.
She selected a video file of news coverage from several years before.
“The Inland Northwest continues to follow the trial of three white supremacists for the murders of seven Indigenous women as part of macabre initiation rituals that may be a much wider problem than originally suspected. Our reporter has more at the courthouse…”
The outrage and convictions empowered tribal government lawyers to petition the Feds for more protections, using a novel legal argument invoking Article 7 of the 1855 treaty forming the reservations of the Salish Confederacy. These articles were more legal, and she’d turn Tink loose on parsing the arguments for her. This part received much less national attention, dragging out through multiple court cases and appeals. The tribes ultimately prevailed, resulting in controversial funding supplements for police, security, and most controversial, weapons.
Coverage of this back in Chicago had mostly focused on sympathy for the tribal groups standing up for themselves against persecution, something Michelle shared given her experiences with Adam.
She recalled something Jonah once said regarding the events back then: “The Indians are the only group had it worse than Black people, only, instead of whips and chains and lynching, they got smallpox, bullets, and treaties.”
Sickened, she put the tablet down, hoping she could find something else for distraction. She picked up the brochure again, picked a few local attractions, collected her purse, and went out to the car.
She visited the BYU-Idaho campus, then drove to another park at the edge of downtown and walked along the river section of the Teton Trail, enjoying the tree-lined tranquility away from the flat concrete and asphalt. After an unremarkable fast-food lunch, she found the Museum of Rexburg a few blocks from campus and immersed herself in the Teton Flood exhibit.
In the mid 1970’s a recently constructed earthen dam upstream from town collapsed suddenly, sending a wall of water hurtling toward town. The little communities upstream were wiped out, and Rexburg was completely inundated except for the high ground around Ricks College, what was now the university campus for BYU-Idaho. The whole town evacuated to the campus, huddling there watching the destruction of their homes and businesses.
The eyewitness accounts filled Michelle with fascination and dread: a wall of water up to thirty feet high, sweeping down the canyon with a roar, carrying trees, cars, houses and livestock in its roiling brown waters, people running to get out of the way, some not making it, the frantic warnings to those downstream. An object lesson in sudden, unexpected catastrophe and the struggle to survive.
The testimony of the survivors, how everyone came together and cleaned up, then rebuilt, gave Michelle a good feeling about this community, challenging some of her assumptions and prejudices. The pictures of the devastation were heartbreaking, and the backstory of the dam’s planning and construction tickled her journalist’s instinct for the possibility of a bigger story about arrogance, malfeasance, and the resulting unintended disaster from bad decisions.
The distraction of the museum made the afternoon fly by, then she made her way back to the school to check on Adam. The receptionist looked up with a big smile when she entered.
“How was your day?”
“Fine. Did a little sightseeing.”
The girl rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Well, that couldn’t have taken very long,” she said. Michelle relaxed at the joke and reciprocated her smile. The receptionist continued.
“Want to catch up with Adam? I think they’re getting dinner ready.” She looked down at one of her monitors and nodded. “Yep, they’re lining up right now. Just go down this hallway and take the first right. Here, don’t forget the visitor badge.”
Michelle clipped the plastic rectangle to her blouse and followed the directions. She found the cafeteria and watched the kids filing in to places at long tables with benches. One of the aides waved to her and gestured for her to join them.
She surveyed the tables and at first could not find Adam. She suppressed a wave of panic and continued searching. Finally she spotted Adam in line, calm and relaxed with a neat new haircut. Miriam, the teacher from this morning, saw her and approached.
“Hey there. Here for dinner?” Michelle nodded, still amazed at Adam’s new look.
Miriam gestured to the table. “Have a seat. The food’s okay. Just go through the line with the kids.”
Michelle watched Adam collect his food items and walk to a table. She sat down next to Adam and put her arms around him and kissed his neck then ran her hands over his head, assessing the cut.
“Hey, bud, how’s it going? Nice ‘do. You like your new school?” He tolerated her touching and leaned into her hug without resistance but made no response. The others at the table ignored her, except for one younger girl with brown hair and eyes, who Michelle caught staring at her several times, but the little girl looked away.
The cafeteria bustled, a low murmur punctuated by the clatter of dishware. A few aides assisted some of the more physically disabled students, positioned at tables in wheelchairs or with walkers next to their tables. Michelle knew not to be deceived by spastic limbs and contorted features. In her years with Adam, she’d encountered many physically disabled individuals with astonishing skills. Her time at the Jane Addams school instilled a cautious respect for the hidden potential of any child, no matter what form their challenges.
Adam sat calmly next to her and ate without fuss. The food, as promised, wasn’t awful, and the kids all seemed content. After dinner, all the students filed into the largest activity room for singing. Michelle watched for a while then said good-bye, hugging Adam while concealing tears.
Back in the motel, she pulled herself together and texted Connie. Seeing she was unoccupied, she called her on her tablet. Her friend’s smiling face filled the screen.
“So? Good day?” Connie asked. Michelle nodded, wiping her eyes. “So then why are you crying, goofball?”
Michelle laughed and shook her head. “They cut his hair! He let them cut his hair!” She shook her head again. “It’s just so much, Con. I don’t know. Am I doing the right thing?”
Connie scowled. “Look at Adam. How is he doing? Is he happy?”
“So far. He seems, well, just like you said. Content. Definitely not upset. They haven’t told me about any meltdowns or biting. But then, maybe they wouldn’t. The staff are all very nice.” Michelle hesitated. “You don’t think they are medicating him, y’know, with sedatives?”
Connie shook her head. “I never saw that. But wouldn’t you know? Does he seem snowed?”
Michelle shook her head, frowning.
“No, you’re right. It’s actually the opposite. He seems, they all seem, so alert, active, but calm. I just get the sense, he’s…happy. But there’s more.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe he let them cut his hair. And now he looks just like my dad! It’s freaky.”
Connie nodded vigorously. “I told you! Mish, this is a good thing. Don’t fight it. It’s a big change, but it’s a good one. You had to do it.”
“Yeah, well, change is scary.”
“Relax. You’ll get used to it.”
Robert Wack 