—Andre Malraux
Mohawk Warrior Flag
Jay awoke to the sound of drums. He staggered to his window and looked out to see a group of Indians gathered, protecting the burial mound—the blood red Mohawk Warrior flag fluttered in the breeze.
Damn!
He was on the phone to Walter, his lawyer, right away and next order of business, commanded Melody to drop her plans for the Talbot Murder Mysteries Campaign and head right over to hold his hand—Well, okay, not exactly hold his hand, but support him—the way good agents should.
Tum, tum, tum, tum…tum, tum, tum, tum.
The bloody drums were driving him crazy. He saw some of the braves had commandeered an empty oil cistern and were filling it with wood to make a fire.
“This is going too far!” He shouted to no one in particular—although, Marley, his Goldie poo, cocked his head and gave a listen—but then again, he may have been hearing the drums.
He hastily dressed and stumbled out into the chill March air. A shout went up from the warriors—he could imagine flaming arrows hissing in upon him
He wisely retreated to the house and put on the coffee. His next move would be to call the police—the OPP didn’t take kindly to trespass on private property.
He paced the kitchen floor—one eye on the band of interlopers and the other on the drive where Melody and Walter would come to provide support.
It was a long wait—and he had to endure it without coffee—ye olde coffee maker took an eternity to brew.
Melody showed up first, so he complained to her.
She just shrugged and regarded him as manic. “Hyper down Jay—you’re acting like a hysterical woman. Besides, it helps if you turn on the coffee maker.”
“I know that,” he pouted, “I was just upset.”
A cry went up from the warriors outside when Walter’s Cadillac appeared. Jay watched as Walter and Eric got out.
“Good, Walter’s here—he can read those guys their rights—maybe threaten to revoke their status cards or something.”
Melody rolled her eyes and handed him a steaming mug. “Drink this and stay in bed,” she advised.
“Nice try, but I’m going to see those guys pay. Who do they think they are? I own this land.”
“I think they have squatter’s rights,” she smiled sweetly, “going back at least two thousand years.”
He threw up his hands just as Walter entered.
“Ah, the cavalry has arrived.”
“It didn’t help, Custer,” Walter deadpanned.
Melody stifled a giggle and handed him a mug.
“Can’t you do anything—get an injunction—offer them wampum?”
“Oh really, James—how infantile!” Melody looked darkly upon him.
“Look, I’m the offended party here—there’s a war party out there!”
Melody parted the drape. “Yeah, and they’ve got reinforcements.”
Walter and Jay crowded around her and stared outside—there was Eric, the elder Sutton, standing in the gap and brandishing the Mohawk war flag.
“Oh, Dad!” Walter groaned.
“I didn’t know I was harbouring an asp in my bosom,” Jay sputtered.
“The only asp here, is you,” Melody spat and stormed out the door. She joined Eric on the line and gave him a big hug.
Jay’s knees turned watery, but fortunately Walter was beside him and able to help him to a chair.
Jay shook his head in disbelief. “What’s happening Walter? Has all the world gone crazy?”
The attorney shrugged.
“Maybe we should call the Provincial Police,” Jay offered.
“No, Jay—that wouldn’t be a good idea. They’ve had standoffs with the Indians before in Caledonia and this is one battle you don’t want to fight.”
Then what should I do?”
“Relocate the windmills—you don’t need the bad press with your new book due out.”
Jay caved and the tribe went home—leaving him to put out their fire—Make that his fire.
Eric made his point to Walter—He was also disseized—like the indigenous people, he said.
Melody was vindicated—she told Jay he was being an asp, or something similar—and she was right.
Jay went out later in the evening when the sun was in the west—a somber purple and gold. He looked at the burial mound and heard whispering. It was only the wind in the trees, he told himself—although there weren’t any leaves, and there wasn’t a breeze.
Whatever...
But it’s kind of peaceful near a grove of oaks. The whole tract’s a remnant of a Carolinian forest Jay now wants to preserve—maybe he wants to preserve other remains as well.
There’s a feeling of sacredness there—he now knows it, but can’t explain it. Still, it’s real.
As St. Exupery said, it’s a secret place, the land of tears.
And we all know no one owns the rights to that.