The Pieces of My Self

70 - Monsters

ZEKE

The Wild, 7 May 2175, Sunday Afternoon

The 4-seat powered canoe threaded through curtains of Spanish moss and bald cypress trees, churning up clouds of bugs as it chugged across smooth green water.

Zeke admired the way Grady handled the boat. He was now eleven years old, going on 30. The boy still had emotional scars, but he hid them below a surface of sarcasm, like his mother. He preferred the Wild to city life and seemed to enjoy the family Zeke and his new wife tried to create.

Grady cut the engine, lassoed a tree. Amara, sitting beside him on the stern seat, helped fix the line to keep from drifting.

Sylvie, in the bow, broke out sandwiches from a thermal pack and handed them to Amara, MawMaw, Zeke, and Grady.

Everyone ate quietly, listening to the birds. Then, MawMaw broke the silence.

"My boy Philip died right over there," she said, pointing. "It was so many years ago. He was about your age, Grady. I like to come here to remember him. His big smile. The way he laughed. His stupid jokes. Thank you, Zeke, for bringing me here." Her shoulders slumped below a wide-brimmed straw hat ringed with rainbow bands of red, blue, and yellow. She wore Sunday dress-up clothes—long sleeves and a long skirt to keep the bugs at bay.

Zeke nodded. "It's a lovely spot. My pleasure."

"How did he die?" Grady said.

MawMaw's eyes drifted across the scene, as if searching for some detail she might latch onto, some memory. "He was foolin' around, showin' off, splashin' in the water. A gator got him. Henri was with him but couldn't get him out of the jaws. Then it rolled under the water, and that was that."

Her sandwich lay on the seat, uneaten. She took out her smoking paraphernalia from a bag and eventually lit her glass pipe, sending a puff of smoke in the direction she had pointed.

"Why are there monsters?" Amara said.

MawMaw winked at her. "There's a Houma story. Zeke tells it better 'n me when he puts on his Cajun."

Grady looked at Zeke, who fretted his eyebrows, and nodded.

"I only know this by heart because MawMaw used to tell it all the time when I was growing up." He cleared his throat. "It does sound better, down de bayou."

Grady and Amara stopped eating their sandwiches and leaned toward Zeke. Sylvie covered her mouth to hide a smile. MawMaw continued puffing on the pipe and staring at The Spot. When only the buzzing of insects and the occasional splash of fish could be heard, Zeke began.

"Long time ago, a great Houma warrior named Chachachi fought many battles and was revered by the people. They make him chief. He was very proud. But he decided more people had to be strong like him so the nation could be strong. Pretty soon, he send them out of the tribe if they were weak. Many people who make poetry and blankets and moccasins—things that don't make you strong—must leave. Some were women; some were men.

"Then he decided people must all look like him—same hair, same clothes, same paint. And if they don't change, he throw them out. One of them was a shaman who refused to change.

"Chachachi liked what he did. Now the nation was strong. But he still wasn't happy. He decided to make war on people who were weak and different.

"He called a great council. There were drums and flutes and rattles. People danced, ready for war. They wrap themselves with Houma symbols made on blankets. They sing songs made by people the tribe threw out. Everyone promised to follow Chachachi to battle. They bring in a alligator, since he is very strong.

"But, when the drums and rattles stopped, and the flutes made a sound like wild wind, and the war dance ended, the alligator turned into the shaman. Seems the shaman was really part man, part alligator."

Zeke glanced at Amara and saw her shiver.

"He says: 'You throw me out because I am different, but you let in the alligator. You throw out the weak, who make blankets and jewelry, but you dress in the tribal jewelry and sing their songs. Your spirit is vile, so now I make you into a monster.'

"And Chachachi is now become 'Chukapa'—The One Who is Reviled.

"And the shaman shakes his rock rattle and they all turn into monsters, with faces that scare even snakes.

"But then, something happened. The Great Spirit thinks the shaman is also evil for what he did. So, he turns the shaman into a Shadow Being, eater of souls. The being then ate the souls of monsters, which is why to this day monsters have no souls, and why some people who don't look like monsters also don't have souls."

The two children looked mesmerized. Zeke broke the spell with a loud laugh and a slap on his thigh.

"That's the end of the story. As MawMaw used to say, it tells us what happens when a chief becomes a monster. He pulls the souls of his followers into a dark corner, wraps them in tribal symbols, and makes them into monsters."

"And what happened to the monster's victims?" Grady asked.

It was MawMaw who answered. "If they stay true to who they are, the Great Spirit helps them. But if they return evil for evil, they become monsters, too."

The old woman blew another cloud of smoke toward the spot in the swamp. What looked like a log began to move, gliding slowly toward the boat.

Zeke felt in his pocket for the oddly shaped piece of metal—the fragment of the Blackbird logo. He had carried it around for nearly a year, and it had weighed on his mind. Now, in the Wild, away from civilization, away from politics, away from the past, he knew what he must finally do.

He pitched the logo in a high arc, aiming for the animal. It came down on the gator's back, then bounced off its side and slipped into the water.

The monster opened its mouth and hissed.