The letter- Short story #3

T

he air was cold as I rubbed my hands together to keep warm. My short-sleeved shirt was by no means helpful in keeping back the ferocious frost winds coming from the air-conditioner in my office. Every so often, I would look up from my computer like a freestyle swimmer coming up for air. Work had started to become a burden, and I looked at the clock itchingly to see how close it was for my time to leave here. A thought then hit me like a slap in the face. With haste, I reached into a small plastic bag in my drawer and pulled up a handful of marshmallows, and began eating them one by one in front of my computer screen. No wonder the day seemed so long! I begin to rock my head as the words of Demi Lovato’s “Heart Attack” are mumbled from my lips. When I caught myself, I shook it off because I think I may have come across an article about cardiovascular disease and cardiac arrest, and one thing led to another, I guess.

             I looked at my watch…5 more minutes till freedom. Well, freedom from here, anyway. I was scheduled for an appointment with the dentist an hour and a half from now, and that may mean that I would have to drink soup when I get home, and I was not looking forward to that discomfort either.

Out of pure boredom, I opened the drawer to my office desk and started shuffling through the things that were in it, until I stumbled across an old looking envelope. I pulled it out and noticed that it was addressed to me. It had a stamp on it, on the top right-hand corner of the envelope, and the handwriting on the front was cursive as though written with a fountain pen. I could tell that this was written a very long time ago because the envelope had turned a little brown around the edges. That- and the stamp had a picture of a saloon on it, and cost one cent. This had to have been written a long time ago; I thought to myself, stamps cost nearly a dollar now.  I reached into the stationary cup on my desk and removed the letter opener. I must have just thrown this in the drawer from my inbox folder on my desk…I wonder how long ago this was written. I very slowly began to open this envelope and remove the paper that was on the inside. I began to feel like an archaeologist discovering some old sarcophagus of Tutankhamen, or somebody older. When I unfolded the papers inside, my eyes lit up at what was written in the address section:

Winston McDonald Marshall

Codrington Drive, Downtown Missouri

September 2^nd 1888

I could not believe what I was reading. How could I have allowed the hustle of my day to distract me from seeing this piece of work? Furthermore, the bigger question that was daunting to think about was how on earth did this letter get addressed to me? The name sounded a little familiar. I knew my grandfather was a Marshall, but I do not ever recall him mentioning this guy. Though, if he did, it would probably have been in one of the little stories he would tell me as I sat on his knee. I couldn’t possibly remember any names of the people in those stories, but I always believed in granddad.  I opened the letter and began to read:

          To my son:

I know that it has been a long time since I last saw you and your mother. I also know things are tough despite what little money I could send your way to support you. Now, you know that you have to read this letter to the family because your mother could only afford to send you to school. I trust that whatever you learn, that you come back and teach your brothers. They look up to you, you know. And I know that the Good Lord will one day make a way for you to make good for yourself, my son. I know that the Good Lord had called me to do His work out here in the Indian villages, and you know that I will not rest until Christ be fully formed in them like the Good Book says. Last year was a most interesting experience. I had just arrived off the train. I smiled to myself when I remembered how far we’ve come as a people. I was just a boy when the first train was invented back in 1825. Now, I’m riding one as though they were always around. I got off and walked in the direction of the village with nothing more than my Bible and blankets. I trusted that the Good Lord would provide food and water for me should I need it, so I started believing Him. The air about me was dry, and the sun was beating down on the desert sands. I knew that with this heat I would grow thirsty soon, but I kept on walking westward.

As I walked, I remembered an old friend of mine who I grew up with. We were really close, and we had a lot of plans for our future; to travel the world. When we were yet teenagers, I received the shock of my life when my best friend looked at me and told me that he was moving to Scotland. I had never even heard of the place, but I knew it was far away. We stood there in the dusty road and I held my head down in disappointment. He then put my hand on my shoulder and told me the same thing he always said when we were down. “Winston, remember what Uncle Johnnie used to say?” A tear rolled from my face and was quickly consumed on the earthy cracked road. “Keep walking.” I responded. “right. Now don’t you ever forget it.” And with that, he turned and walked towards his horse and rode away with his father to the docks.

I was just a boy then, but it seems like only yesterday that he left; but that moment never left my mind, and especially now that I was walking across this deserted wasteland and every inch of my body wants me to turn back and take the next train home. But I must remember the message that the Good Lord has for these people in these villages. By evening, I had come to some sort of oasis. There was water there, and I could tell that if I don’t drink it up now, the foxes would get it all. I went over a little slope and set my bag down by the edge of the water. I knelt down by the water and began to scoop it up to wash my face and drink. It was a relief to finally see water, especially now that the sun was setting. I looked around and saw a small cave; more like a hole in the side of the mountain. I decided that I would make camp here, and continue my trek tomorrow at first light. I went into the cave, spread my blankets and tried to fall asleep, but the nights in the desert are as cold as the days are hot. I think to myself that I should have brought more blankets.

I think it would have been an hour or so after sundown that I started to toss and turn in my sleep. There was something going on that I could not explain. In my dream I felt the pain and the suffering felt by a war-struck people. Just after you were born was the Sheepeater Indian war in 1879. There was blood everywhere. I found myself stumbling over the bodies of countless Indians and American soldiers. Arrows and bullets flew around me as I fumbled about as if in a trance. Drums were beating in the distance, and I looked up and saw a horse coming straight at me…I jumped from my sleep with a start; the drumming still ringing in my ears. I looked out of the cave into the night, and realized what caused the drumming. Out in the distance, I saw a fire, and what seemed like people dancing. Where were they before, I did not know. What they were doing, I did not know. What I did know is that I had to go there- wherever there was. I got up from the ground and packed my things.

Making my way down to the village, the beating of the drums got louder. As I approached, I saw two giant men with poles in my path. Looking up at them, I noticed the tents. There were about twenty tents and all in a circle around this one large fire. So large was the fire, that I could almost feel the warmth from where I was at the entrance to the camp. I stared at the two guards before me. They were tall, strapping beings, bareback and with scars and tribal markings on them. They had a very mean looking disposition on their faces, and they seemed ready to tear me limb from limb with their bare hands. They looked down at me and one of them whispered something to the other. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, mainly because of the wild party that was going on, on the inside of the camp. The seconds seemed like minutes as I stood there staring at them. I wanted to know what to do next. I cleared my throat. “*ahem* Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Winston, and I was wondering if I could have a word with your chief about the Lord Jesus.” They looked down at me a second time, and then looked at each other. I wondered if they even understood what it was that I was saying; but then they stepped aside and motioned for me to pass through. I was amazed at how readily they let me in. After about two steps, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder to see a mammoth fist heading for my face.

I woke up to the sound of chatter. I was in some sort of tent. A bead of sweat rolled across my forehead, and I tried to move my arm to wipe my face, when I realized to my horror that my hands were bound and I was sitting on the ground of what seemed like a prison tent. I could not see anything, and wondered if it was because I was in a really dark place, or if my eyes were covered with something. I winced and wriggled my face, and came to the conclusion that my eyes were covered by some manner of cloth. I counted on my sense of hearing to gather my bearings. My heart was racing, but I took some breaths and assured myself that the Lord would never allow me to die without completing his purpose through me first. The chattering outside was definitely not in English, but it grew louder, and it seemed like two people were arguing about something- most likely what to do with their new visitor. I bowed my head. “Father, what is it that you would have me do now?”

Just then, I heard a sudden noise, like if someone were opening the tent and walking in. I turned my head to this noise that was behind me and started trembling. A hand touched my shoulder and my whole body jumped. Then, another hand removed the blindfolds from my eyes. Before me was a face that was strange, yet seemed familiar. The person had the body as one of the tribesmen, but his face was smiling and warm.  “It’s alright, Winston,” he said. My confusion at this point was beyond words. “you know who I am? How on earth-” He stopped me. “not on earth, my friend” he said chuckling. As if my confusion were a game to him, he went on. “do not be afraid!”. I now knew what it was that knelt before me. Those four words I have heard and read so many times before gave away this man’s agenda. “I see you’ve come across the Shoshone tribe. A very savage people, the Shoshone, known for killing people like you on sight. Good thing you were alone. Then again, He is always with you. You’re never alone” The sound of footsteps approached the tent and the man put back on my blindfolds and headed toward the door when something stopped him. It sounded like two other men came in, and from the sound of their tone, I could guess that they were questioning why he was in here with me. Amazingly, he spoke to them in their language, and they both grunted in submission. The next thing I knew, these four hands grabbled me up and dragged me up to my feet, and roughly escorted me out of the tent. As soon as I stepped outside, the drumming beat slowed down to a solemn beat that seemed like the last sound a man hears before being hanged. The smell of smoke wafted through my nostrils and I could hear whispers and murmurs as I was man-handled across the hard, stony ground. I was brought to a stop and it was then that I realized that my shoes and socks were gone.

With a swoosh, my blindfold was ripped from my face, and I squinted because of the brightness of the fire. In front of me, there was a rather large tent, and two guards just like the ones at the entrance. I kept still, but tried to move my eyes to catch a glimpse of my immediate surroundings. Behind me, were people of course, but they were all silent and standing still. Then, the tent opened in front of me, and everyone knelt except the guards that were holding me and the ones by the tent door –well, opening. I was barely able to see the garments on the person I thought was the chief when I felt a sudden lash hit me at the back  of my knees…  

I looked up from my reading and moved the mouse on my computer. The computer screen lit up and I squinted at the brightness of it. I looked outside my office window and noticed that it was dark. Oh shoot. I missed the appointment. What time is it? Drats! Six forty-five? Man, I’ve been here long. I figured that if I had already missed the appointment, I might as well continue reading. I folded the papers and packed them in my bag. I shut down the computer, and made my way out the office, down the road, and into a café which was nearby. I took a look at the menu and it was almost as if the menu itself told me what to order. I saw on the pages under the drinks section a Johnnie Walker red label. I chuckled to myself and ordered a shot of that and a blueberry muffin with a glass of cranberry juice and sat down to read some more. As I sat reading the pages, I could almost see the world through this man’s eyes. I could feel the suspense and anxiety as I read of how he conversed with the tribal chief. I marveled at how he was favored by the townsfolk after weeks of building their trust, from sleeping on the outside to obtaining enough favor with the chief to allow him his own personal tent after the first few months. By the end of the year, he was well acculturated and practically become one of the Shoshone people. He had even learned their language, and had begun teaching them his own, telling them about the love of God in the process, and using his bible as the only textbook. Everyone seemed to love Winston. Everyone that is- except the resident Shaman.

I was sitting around a campfire with about five children. They were still poking my skin and pulling at my hair all this time, as though they still didn’t believe I was real. I motioned for them to settle down, and began telling them the story of Moses. When I got to the part about the plagues, one little boy asked me if Pharaoh’s magicians could make it rain too. As strange as I thought this question was, I said that I believe that it was possible. He went on to tell me that his father, the Shaman was able to make it rain too. “oh really?” I asked.

Then suddenly, there was a scream. Everybody’s head dashed to the source of the noise, and some people got up and ran towards it. I stayed put, and bowed my head. “Father, prepare me for what is about to unfold.” I then got up and walked calmly to the tent where the scream had originated. I gently pushed past the children and some of the adults that were there. When I opened the tent and looked inside, nothing in my life could have prepared me for what I saw. The shaman was on the inside with his staff raised in his right hand and two round objects which he shook in his left hand. He seemed to have been dressed in some manner of ceremonial robe, and there was smoke coming up from the floor by his feet as he danced and chanted. On the table before him lay a young woman, bound hand and foot to the four corners of the stone slab in the middle of the room. She was wriggling and writhing as though there was something inside of her trying to come out. Before long, some muscular hands grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me outside. Two guards came and started to move the people, including myself away from the entrance of the tent. “Ey, what’s going on in there?” I yelled. Yet the guards remained still.

“It is a cleansing,” a little voice behind me said. “once a year, a girl is chosen to take on all the bad kotran from everybody and take it upon herself.” I was confused. “Kotran?” I asked.

“Yes, Kotran. All the bad that we do, and all the bad that happens makes up kotran. The shaman takes all from everyone, and puts it in a virgin girl and she is given to the gods as a sacrifice.”

“but I thought that we spoke about the gods already and how there is only one.” I was beginning to get more confused.

“yes, I know and many other villagers have realized that your God makes more sense, but the shaman still holds fast to the old ways.”

         I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got up and marched over to the guards. “MOVE!” I shouted, and they parted and let me through. A dark, musky voice grunted when I entered, “you’re too late, foreigner. She’s ready to be offered and there’s nothing you can do.” With that, he brought down the knife and it pierced the chest of the young woman and she gasped, and then stopped moving altogether. I dropped to my knees as the scene before me unfolded. Was he cutting out her heart? I wasn’t sure until he held it above his head. My mouth remained open with disbelief and awe, as I watched that human heart give two final beats, before he threw it into the fire. “it is finished” he said. My blood started to boil as I stood to my feet. “that was an innocent girl!” I cried as he walked towards me. “you murdered an innocent child for what?”

“this is a tradition going back generations, foreigner. You have no right to come here and force your God on us.”

I was about to speak when the chief walked in and inquired about the ruckus. The shaman and I both made our cases, and he demanded a trial. We were to both present our ways before him, and if I won, I could stay and the shaman would be put to death. If I lose, then all the villagers who now follow Jesus would be put to death, and I would have to watch, then go back to my family. I thought the terms were a little unfair, but I thought that if God could come through for Elijah with the 450 Baal prophets, then he could come through for me. 

“Excuse me, sir. We’re about to close.” I looked at my watch and gasped to see that it was heading for ten o’clock. “so sorry, ma’am” I said. “I would be out of your hair shortly.” I could not believe so much time had passed; but I was so anxious to see what was going to happen next, that I couldn’t wait to get home first. I had to read the rest there. Just a bit longer, I thought.

At dawn the following day, we were put to the test. We knelt in the middle of the camp on both knees facing the chief’s tent. Everyone else hurried and made their way behind us in rows and sat down. The chief emerged from his tent and the villagers all fell silent while the shaman and I put our right fists over our hearts. After the chief sat, he asked if anyone had anything to say. I lifted my head and spoke in the language of the Shoshone saying “where I am from we have a saying... ‘home drums beat first.’” With that, the chief nodded and motioned for the shaman to rise and present his magic. He remained on his knees, but started to hum loudly in a low tone. The humming was loud, too loud for any human to produce. Then, one child started screaming and covered his ears. Then another…then another. A clay jar broke. The shaman continued humming without stopping to breathe. I was beginning to think that he was getting some “spiritual help” and this just furthered my suspicions. One of the screaming children spoke with the voice of a hundred men in perfect English and said “Winston, you will never win. I rule here; I always have”. The voice sent shivers down my spine and was truly startled by it. I looked back and saw that the villagers were scared stiff by what had just happened. The chief raised his hand and the shaman stopped his humming, and the screaming stopped with it. He then pointed at me and I stood respectfully to my feet and turned to face the people. I lifted my head to the sky, and the next few seconds seemed to be so peaceful that I felt almost as if I was floating. “trust Me, my son. Trust Me like Elijah trusted me.” I nodded my head in submission and then pointed at the shaman’s tent. “by this shall you know who is the real God of this world; the God who calls things which aren’t, as though they are.”

A hush fell over the crowd as a hooded figure emerged from the tent dressed in a brown cloak. Murmurs started to row amid the crowd as people struggled to figure out who was under the cloak. “it’s an angel,” one little boy “like the one that spoke to Mary”. I smiled. The cloaked figure made its way ever so gracefully to the front of the camp to the still bewildered chief.

“what is this nonsense?” the shaman demanded. “clearly this fraud disguised some poor person and rehearsed this whole sho-.”

“Silence, you!” the chief yelled. The hooded figure made a gracious spin and flung the cloak off. It landed right in the face of the shaman. When everyone saw who it was that stood beneath the cloak, they marveled and began to shout and cheer. Some even broke out in singing and dance. The shaman hurriedly tore the cloak from his face and saw the young woman that he had sacrificed the day before standing before him. Before he could say a word, he was dragged off to the chopping block. I was the only one to follow him there, for everyone else was busy rejoicing and giving thanks to God for the return of the young girl. As the shaman was positioned to be beheaded, he looked at me. “ask your God to have mercy on me!” he moaned. “you have to ask him for yourself, but I know that he will. My grandmother would always tell me ‘the vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives.’” I stood and watched as he bowed his head and whispered. When he was finished, I stepped back a few feet and watched as the axe came down and his head rolled from his body. I made the sign of the cross on my chest, and the two guards did the same…

          I hurried through the remainder of the letter and finished what I was eating. They had a huge party after the shaman’s execution and Winston was put as the teacher and priest of the village. I got up and left where I was and was walking home. I couldn’t resist the suspense, and I looked at the final page of the letter, and tried my best to make out what it was that was written every time I passed under a street light on the pavement.

          One day after class, the girl who had been raised came to me and asked if she could talk to me about something. “you’ve come to ask me about your father’s execution, haven’t you?” this question came as a surprise to her because she didn’t think that I knew who she was. “yes, that too.” She said rather shyly. “what else is the matter, my dear?”

“well, you’ve always spoken about your son back home…”

“yes?”

“and I was wondering…if I could meet him one day”

“ of course, child. In fact, he’s turning twenty in a few days’ time, and I was going to surprise him by returning home.”

“yes, you told me that already, but I was wondering if I could be part of the surprise.”

          My heart melted inside of me. I smiled at her as she blushed in front of me. “go pack your things.” I said to her softly. No words could express the joy and glee that came across her face. She ran home to get ready, and the following Friday, we rode to the train station where I got off to start this wonderful journey. If I’m lucky, this letter will get to you just in time for your birthday too.

          You know that I am always praying for you and the others back home. I want you to know that as long as I am able, I will be sending letters to you. I am also sending letters to the mayor of the town so that we could arrange for some peace between these two sets of people, and with God’s help there will be peace.

          I love you, Charlie. Keep walking!

“Charlie!” I exclaimed. That was the name of the guy that granddad was talking about. He was always going about with his Charlie stories, and I just figured that it was just a man that he knew or that he made up. Actually, he was the older brother of my granddad, and that’s why my father used to call him Uncle Charlie. Everything was beginning to tie together in my head now, and everything around me started to spin. Now I know that the calling on my life had been around for generations. God had been using us to do His work for centuries, and here I was thinking that I was unique. I folded the letter and headed up the steps to my apartment. As I unlocked the door, one last thing bothered me… who sent me this letter?