Vegetables - The Forbidden Fruit

 There was a time when parents knew how to get their children to not only eat lots of fresh vegetables, but like them too. Where has all that wisdom gone? Now nutritionists, dieticians, educators and all that educated riff-raff are tearing their collective hair out to solve the dilemma. Oh for heavens sake, get a grip you people. There's nothing to it. Listen up!

Vegetables – The Forbidden Fruit

By Victor Epp

 I was thinking about vegetables the other day. Well, that's what it’s come down to. I guess when you retire you get time to think about things other than how early you got to get up and how many things you got to do and how little time there is to do them in - things like that. Once you get over the habit of looking over your shoulder for somebody else wanting something from you, different thoughts drift over and settle in your mind. Oh, at first there's all the important, heady stuff like world affairs, and can they really do without you at the shop, and what will you do to keep busy? Then one day you're just sitting there minding your own business, being careful not to be a nuisance to the wife and - boom! There it is in your head - Vegetables! Whoa, where did that come from? Well, once its there, its there. The question is - why?

Oh yeah, now I remember. We had been talking about kids and the state of their health. There was a big debate about that around our table one night and what it came down to as the root of the problem was - you guessed it - vegetables. What a dilemma! In the wealthy countries, we can't get the kids to eat their vegetables. And in the poor countries we can't get the vegetables for the kids to eat. Now with all the high priced help that's around working on this conundrum, you'd think they'd come up with a solution. Oh sure, that's right likely isn't it?

I thought I'd do the responsible thing and put in a little research into the subject myself before I went overboard on my facts. The first two searches I did on the Internet had about a hundred thousand sites each. Well, that was enough for me! You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what that game is all about. There's a huge - I mean HUGE industry out there of physicians, researchers, consultants, drug and chemical companies and who knows what all else, hoping that kids will never start eating proper vegetables. Can you imagine what it would do to the economy if our children suddenly all got healthy?

Oh, don't get me wrong. We've got vegetables coming out of our yin yang. Kids eat them too. They eat potatoes - if they're fried in some melted lard. They call them French fries. Trouble is; they get to eat the lard too! For variety, you can get your hands on what's known as potato chips, you know, those dried up skinny wafers that come in any flavor but potato. And then there's the tomato - if you count ketchup as tomatoes. Now that's something they eat lots of. They put it on everything. They'd even put it on Jell-O if you’d let them. Well it's no wonder. That stuff comes in about every color of the rainbow these days. It looks great but I really wonder how many actual tomatoes go into a bottle of ketchup. Oh, and don't let me forget corn. The way corn looks these days it could be a potato chip, only it’s a little fatter and they claim it’s made from corn. What they do as far as I can figure is to grind the corn up beyond recognition and throw in a bunch of other stuff to glue it all together. Then they force it through a molded orifice at high pressure - and out comes a corn chip. The technical name for that sort of product is 'extruded' snack food. Holy Hanna! What will they think up next? The last thing I remember about extruding is making aluminum window frames, or steel beams, or pre-stressed concrete. It has to do with taking a bunch of material of some sort or another and the forcing it through some predetermined orifice until it comes out the other end in that exact shape. Ugh! When it comes to food, there's a certain mentality about extruding though that I find disgusting. I don’t want to talk about it and I guess that's why you'll never find a package on my shelf that says 'Extruded Snack'.

If you were to make an assessment of how vegetables came to this, you would have to put pretty well the whole burden on the moms. Well now, don't get all in a huff about it. Facts are facts. You moms out there - you know who you are. You boil the living tar out of vegetables until all they're fit for is extrusion. You leave out the globs of sugar and salt for health reasons and then expect the kids to eat them.

Did you really think gardeners would stop growing vegetables or the snack makers pass up a market opportunity just because you don't know how to prepare them? Oh yeah, right. They know that by the time you're done there isn't a vitamin or mineral that could possibly survive that kind of torture, and kids just won't put up with it. They also figured out that the kids have to fill up on something, so if they can get their little mouths unglued from the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the snacks are right there handy. In Canada, there's one point one billion dollars worth of snacks consumed every year. Can you get your mind around that? It's staggering, and half of that are potato chips alone.

Well now, to be fair to the present modern day moms, it isn't entirely their fault either. Somewhere in our evolution a tradition has sneaked in to annihilate any goodness in our veggies through relentless boiling. Since then, it’s been passed down from generation to generation. So there you have it. The growers have found a market for their crops in the giant food processing plants for what is laughingly called 'value added' product, which in turn has fuelled the market for all those consultants I was talking about.

Well, there you have the whole sorry state of affairs with vegetables. Now there's a tug of war going on as to what to do about it. The snack makers don't want anything to change. They just want to keep pumping out their MSG and sugar and artificial flavor in this cash and carry business. The growers on the other hand don't care one way or the other, just so long as they can keep selling their crops. The moms are the only ones with frazzled nerves, wondering what to do, wringing their hands with worry, to the point they're not thinking straight. The only guidance available to them is on the bookstore shelves starting at $24.95 US. And the only reason for those books is to sell books.

Well actually there's more help out there than you might imagine, and it's right there under your very nose. Doesn’t cost $24.95 U.S. either. Getting kids to eat fresh vegetables is not only easy, but it’s also a lot of fun so long as you don’t tell them it is. The best part is, you don't have to do anything but keep a sharp eye out, but you do that anyway. The kids do all the rest themselves unless you catch them red handed or let them know you're on to them. It's based on a principle called 'Forbidden Fruit'.

The 'Forbidden Fruit' principle has been around forever. Jeez, even Adam and Eve knew about that one. Well, I don't want to mix apples and potatoes, but the principle is right there. That's how long that law has been around. Mind you, it's evolved somewhat since then to a little more civilized activity. In fact, for all you bible readers out there, I can quote you chapter and verse in the book of Ruth about the self-same thing. Go ahead - look it up for yourself. It’s in chapter two verses two to eighteen.

See, the idea is if you tell a kid to eat the veggies because they're good for him or her, you lose. That's just normal behavior. On the other hand, if you hog them all for yourself and tell the kid he or she is not allowed to have any - well that might have worked if you hadn't gone and boiled the life right out of them. No, no, you have to think a little farther ahead than that. You've got to do things different. You've got to start with the basics - and that's the garden. It won't be the Garden of Eden I know, but a garden none the less, and it’s jam-packed full of forbidden fruit. The young peas, the carrots, radishes, rhubarb are the most delicious when a kid has to swipe them.

Well now, before you start up about stealing and vandalism and all that, let me just point out that swiping veggies out of garden you're not supposed to be in is technically not stealing if the swipe -ee (that’s you) knows what's going on. It just has to look like swiping. You don't want to appear to catch the little buggers at it either. That'd be downright shameful and cause them not to do it. You see, it's not about the vegetables, or about taking them when they don't belong to you. No, proper or successful garden raids aren't worth it for kids unless they can get in there with big pockets, get what they want and get out without anyone being the wiser. That's the mark of a good garden raid. It takes a lot of skill and self control from a bunch of noisy brats who can't usually shut up if their life depends on it. What makes it trickier is that it usually needs to be done after dark. Otherwise, somebody's bound to be watching and you can't just say you were digging for worms to go fishing in the morning when you're right there in the potato patch with your pockets full.

Any gardener worth his salt is going to take these things into account when planning his garden. That is to say, ten percent is for the birds and rabbits that raid his garden regularly, ten percent for the kids who raid it occasionally, and eighty percent is what he planned to keep all along. Then he puts up a scarecrow for the birds and rabbits, and a no trespassing sign for the kids. The gardeners you can trust and respect are the ones that tack on a note to their no trespassing sign that says 'And don't step on the plants Harold'.

You see where this is going yet? This is no criminal activity. This is a finely choreographed dance of life and best of all; everyone is in on it - a full cast of characters. From the kids’ point of view, the play follows, going something like this.

It's important to recognize that any garden raid of consequence must have a purpose, even if it's only to celebrate a successful raid. Some preparation is mandatory. Keep in mind that if your mom catches you with most of the things needed for the celebration, that's a dead giveaway, so any supplies acquired should be pocket sized. Fortunately, most of them are. For example; silver paper - a.k.a. aluminum foil can be folded up neatly enough so you can get an ample supply without anyone noticing the bulge in your pocket. This is a very important thing to have, as you'll see later. Of course there's always the chance that you'll be found out when raiding mom's supply. This is where resourcefulness comes in. If you don't want to risk pinching the foil from the pantry, you can always keep an eye out for every cigarette package dad throws out, or even any empty ones you find in the back alley. These are the best because you never know if you might find a few smokes in them. Look at it this way; you'll be doing the neighborhood a service by cleaning up the trash. Well, to get on with it, you simply take the foil liners out of the package and fold them up neatly, then like a Good Samaritan; you put the box nicely in somebody's garbage bin. You'll have to burn the paper off the liner before it's of any use, but I'm coming to that.

When it comes to matches, you have to be extra careful. I know the wooden ones burn better than the paper book matches, and they even come in little pocket-sized boxes which makes them tempting. But watch out! They're dangerous. If you happen to have them in your front pants pocket when you get hit with a baseball or slide into first base on your belly, those things will rub together and light. What you'll end up with is third degree burns very close to where you never want to get any kind of a burn. Go for the book matches every time. Trust me, any aggravation you might encounter trying to light those suckers is offset by the potential of anything from skin burns to the licking you'll get from setting your pants on fire.

Salt and pepper isn't too hard to squirrel away. All you need to do when nobody is looking is to shake some out onto a little bit of wax paper, then fold it up and stick it in your pocket. That's easy. Butter is a little harder to come by, so you’ll probably have to have everybody bring some. The important thing is to make sure it's in a glass container with a good lid on it. If you don't take care here, it could squeeze out in your pocket and cause a whole different kind of trouble.

Well all right then, the trickiest part of the operation is done now. From here on in its smooth sailing until you get to the actual garden raid. All you need now is some firewood and some newspaper. There's always a heap of wood around somewhere - you know, twigs, broken hockey sticks or the scrap wood from your dad's shed. Newspaper is everywhere. That's a no-brainer.

Oh yeah, you also need a railway trestle, preferably one that goes over a drainage ditch or a little creek. Well that's the ideal, but young people are known to be flexible when it comes right down to location. A big culvert or any other sheltered place will do, so long as it's outside. Outside is the main ingredient, because you don't want to go building a fire anywhere inside. Well of course you're going to build a fire! You saw that coming didn't you? Now don't let me get ahead of myself here. I was just going to mention that wherever your site is going to be, that's where you want to empty you're pockets, because now you're going to need every last pocket you can muster.

So finally you head for the gardens you’ve targeted. You’re suddenly transformed into a shadow - a ghost in the twilight. The hunt is on. First the peas go in your pocket. Radishes go on top of them in the same pocket, then some carrots in another pocket. Make sure to save enough room for potatoes. They take more room than the other veggies, being round and all. If you're wearing a jacket, which you should be, you ought to have just about enough room for a few cobs of corn. Save this for last because you can stand upright to pick it. That way the other stuff won't fall out of your bulging pockets. If you get a chance though, a few sticks of broccoli will come in handy. I'll tell you what for later. Somebody in the group must still have some empty pockets, so you swing by wherever there might be some crab apples. You'll need desert to round out the feast, you know.

All right then, everything’s ready. It's been a big project, but your blood is just pumping. What with all that cloak and dagger sneaking around its got you all fired up for the big celebration. So you head down to your hideout where all the supplies are stashed and take inventory of the food supply. It's handy to have some of those young peas in the shell to chew on, on the way down. Counting up what you’ve managed to cobble together is just a formality because you can't go back for more anyway. Hopefully there's enough matches and firewood because to tell the truth, I haven't seen anybody yet who claims to be able to make a fire that can actually do it. Oh, I almost forgot. Some rocks about the size of a baseball should be thrown into the fire once it gets going good. That helps to hold the heat.

Now is the time to wrap the potatoes in that silver paper and just throw them right into the fire. You have to burn off the liners from the cigarette foils you gathered up, don’t forget. That's kind of a fun project in itself because if you hold the whole thing down to the fire, the paper slowly curls and burns off without singing your fingers.

Potatoes take a while to cook so you can use the time to clean off the carrots and radishes with the tops. Carrots can also go into the fire in silver paper wrapping, by the way. The radishes are just for munching with some salt while you wait for the potatoes to roast. After about fifteen minutes or so, you can throw the corn in. It just goes in husk and all without any wrapping. When the husk turns all charred black and start to smoke, they’re ready. Make sure to get it out of the fire before it bursts into flame, because if it does, it's ruined.

By now you've got the idea that I've been talking about a corn and potato roast all along. What an exciting adventure this always is! The energy that goes into such a project is high end to say the least. There is a spirit of co-operation in getting everything together and making it work, and camaraderie in its execution.

Now all you worried moms, just sit back and think about this a minute. What just happened here? Everybody ate all the veggies. That's what happened! There were no complaints, no bellyaching, and no finicky fussing. Go figure. Oh sure, there was a little bit of dirt left on the carrots and radishes when you wiped them with the greens, and maybe somebody got a mouthful of charred potato peel, but what the heck, you've got to eat a peck of dirt before you die anyway; well that's how the old saying goes. That reminds me - when I was doing my research I came across a reference to Lithium as a treatment for 'Bipolar disorder' or manic depression. It turns out that Lithium is a 'salt found in the earth'. It turns out that there is a good dose of that medicine in every corn and potato roast you don't even need a prescription for. Bonus.

The other thing I want to mention before I forget is the purpose of broccoli in this diet. It's really not for eating, but for protection. You see, in spite of all the teamwork and all that, there's always somebody in the crowd given to a lot of tittering and giggling. It's just downright annoying to say the least. Well, broccoli is a sure cure for that. What you do is offer a piece to the titterer. Some people can be a bit standoffish about broccoli and you might have to dare them, or tell them it's an aphrodisiac - whatever it takes. It's eaten raw, by the way. After he or she has crunched down a good piece, make sure you accidentally drop another piece into a dish of water where everybody can see it. Then you just happen to notice the invisible little green broccoli worms float to the top. That usually cures the giggles. You have to be careful whom you do that to though. One time Shirley Wilson got so grossed out that she threw up right in the fire and we had to roast everything to just about overdone just to burn off the puke.

Now when you're done with this magnificent vegetarian feast, there are a couple of things you've got to take care of. First, you’ve got to burn up all the greens and leftovers to - you know - get rid of the evidence. Then you dowse the fire and camouflage it so nobody knows you've been there. Well, you know you're going to do it again next week and you don't want anyone taking your spot. The silver paper can be a bit of a problem, but you can always dump it in somebody's garbage bin; that, or hide it in a good spot for next time. Also, try to clean your own self off as good as possible. It's easy to get sloppy at these roasts and you don't want to leave too many tell tale signs. As long as you don't overdo it, you can come home smelling like smoke and nobody will say a word - as long as it's wood smoke. One whiff of cigarette smoke though, and you're dead meat. I don't know how moms can tell the difference so easy, but trust me; they all got a smeller on them that can find you out a mile away.

Well now all you worried moms out there, I don't know what all the fuss is about in getting kids to eat their vegetables. This little illustration here is ample proof that not only is it easy to do, but once it's started, it's hard to stop. That's because there's ritual involved, almost like a rite of passage. It puts a certain importance on such matters. Well hello - kids are important too, in case you hadn't noticed! They're the ones going to be pushing your wheelchairs around sooner or later and spoon feeding you in your dotage. Isn't it about time we showed them a little respect? Insurance, I call it. If we insist on deceiving them, isn't it much better to do it by letting them think they're putting one over on us in these kinds of adventures than to be extruding a bunch of stuff through disgusting orifices and telling them it's vegetables? Mind, you have to be sharp about it so they don't hurt themselves or get into too much mischief, but the whole business is kind of exciting even for the adults - lets them kind of relive their youth too, so to speak. And the end result is; the kids get good wholesome, garden grown vegetables in the bargain. Let's see those smarty-pants consultants top that one!

Did you like this story??? Check out these great ebooks! Stories by Karl May & Victor Epp 

http://worldwidesunshine.com/eMerchantPro/pc/Karl-May-Ebooks-c240.htm

Appendicitis and Original Sin

          Well, you might not think that this title makes any sense, since one thing hasn't got anything to do with the other. But you might be surprised at the chain of events that can lead from a small prairie town nobody knows anything about all the way to Ethiopia. Have a read and you'll find out differently.

Appendicitis and Original Sin

By Victor Epp

          If you thought the Williamsburg Address was a tall tale, you’re going to have real trouble believing this one - but I swear, this one could be true (well, mostly true as best as I can tell). I never imagined it as anything different. It’s about the time I learned about the Garden of Eden and the Original Sin. No, I didn’t learn about it in Sunday school or the bible. No Sir! I learned this lesson right there in the Hunter Hospital in downtown Teulon, Manitoba - back in ’38 when I was just about seven years old, and I’ve never forgotten it. That’s why I’m telling you about it now, before I get any older and start losing my marbles.
          You’d never think a sleepy little prairie town in the middle of nowhere would have such an earth-shaking revelation to make. Heck, they never even realized it themselves! No, they just muddled along like they did before and since, without so much as a how-do-you-do.
          The only time before 1942 I ever remember Teulon’s population being anything other than 412 was back in ’37 when it went up to 415. Before that it was always 412 - never more - never less. A baby could be born in the Hunter Hospital one day, and before it got home, somebody'd left town. (I could never figure out why that happened). But whatever the cause, the town population was always 412 - exactly. Mind you, the numbers only counted for the town proper. Folks and goings on the other side of number 7 highway had other ways and other concerns, but that’s another story.
          We didn’t live in Teulon either, so our presence had no effect on the town population, one way or the other. No, we lived north and east, by about ten miles - off highway 8. Some say we lived so far off any known highway that if the neighbors hadn’t got together to build up the old animal trail into a passable road, our house would have been about a mile off the end of the earth. Now for somebody living that far away from anything civilized, Teulon was a pretty impressive place. It had (as I said before) a hospital - the Hunter Hospital. Mind you, there wasn’t much left of old Doc. Hunter except the hospital. He’d long passed on by then, but his name was still on the building just the same. It’s still there by the way, right there on Main Street, if you’re ever passing through.
          Of course, Teulon had other things in it besides the hospital. There was a general store, blacksmith shop, farm implement dealer and harness shop all rolled into one. It even had a school, which was pretty good for a small prairie town.
          But to Teuloners, none of that seemed to matter a great deal. They were used to all this by now. In early ’38 though, there was an earth-shaking event that got the attention of all the townsfolk for years to come. Yep - early in ’38, right there on Main Street, right next to the bank, a wealthy Texas cattleman opened his office. The sign in the window said; ‘T. L. Biguous - Black Angus Breeder’. Now that was something to brag about - a real honest-to-God Texas cattleman with an office in downtown Teulon! There wasn’t a farmer or rancher anywhere in these parts that even so much as thought of having an office, let alone having it in town. Heck, the cows were in the pasture except at milking time so you didn’t need an office to keep track of that. If you were buying or selling livestock the only office you needed was right there in your billfold. Paying out good money for an office was just not smart', that’s all.
          Rumor had it that Texans are different from most other folks. Everything in Texas is bigger - and better - and costs more money. Well, there was the proof! Now it has to be said that the Biguous land was not in the town itself. Matter of fact, it was the four sections just west of our place. That’s right - FOUR sections - 2,560 acres. Shoot, any of the local folks owning a measly quarter section those days were considered to be big time farmers. The odd one had even two quarters, but nothing like four sections all together in one place!
          That was why the Teulon town folk put so much stock in T. L. Biguous and his missus and the kid. Nosiree, they weren’t going to let all that out of their bragging rights - not a Texas cattleman with four sections of land all in one place and an office in town to boot! He was theirs by gum, and so they counted the three Biguouses into their census: - four hundred thirteen, four hundred fourteen, and four hundred fifteen. That is to say - T. L., his wife Mary Lou, and five-year-old A. M. Sounds funny, I know - the names I mean. Seems Texans do that a lot with their boys and men folk. I don’t know whether they think it makes them sound important - or they just can’t be bothered to think up any real names. I never did find out either.
          Well, what brought me together with the Biguous family - at least with A. M., was appendicitis - funny how you remember things like that. I was no more than seven years old, but the cold November day they took me to the Hunter Hospital is burned in my memory - my first time in a real automobile car! I guess I must have been pretty sick to cause my father to go ask old John Judd to drive us there. Turned out later to be true because somewhere between home and the hospital my appendix burst. Actually, I guess it more like blew to smithereens because Doc Goodwin couldn’t find it - only puss and poison. The last thing I remember is the ether mask going over my face.
          Now, for a seven-year-old city kid this might be something you would take in stride - at least be able to understand. But for a seven-year-old hayseed who had just barely begun to master the English language: who had hardly ever been to town before let alone sick in the hospital, all this hubbub and turmoil was way beyond my grasp. On top of that, I’d never really been sick before so it was all the more confusing.
          At the time I wouldn’t have known how long it took for me to wake up. Even if I did, the gravity of the situation never sunk in, which is a good thing because as it was there were already enough oddities in this place to scare the wits right out of me. The first thing was the spider web of tubes going in and coming out of different parts of my body. Now that wasn’t natural, I knew that much! There was a big one going into my belly under the bandages that was very uncomfortable, so I tried to get rid of it but the nurse caught me and gave me a stern lecture about not touching anything. I didn’t like that much. I didn’t like it much either that every morning Doc Goodwin came in and told me that if I could tell him my name, he’d give me a penny. Even if he’d explained that he was trying to monitor my delirious state of affairs, I’d have been nonplussed. I just figured he was a dumb old guy who couldn’t even remember my name from one day to the next. The fact that I was collecting a little bundle of pennies didn’t even register in my mind.
          Another thing I didn’t much like was that my mother only came to visit once a week. The fact that she was busy milking cows, feeding chickens, collecting eggs, churning butter for sale, even being home for my dad and my sister was no concern of mine. She was at the hospital all too little for my liking. In fact, there was nothing much about this whole experience I had any use for.
          Well, no, that’s not entirely true either. The kid in the bed next to me was a real puzzle. To start with, he talked funny - hard for me to understand. The only annoying thing about him was he talked all the time. He wouldn’t ever shut up. But between trying to figure out what he was saying half the time, and trying to learn how anybody could talk that way, he was quite tolerable. In fact, he kind of grew on me after a bit.
          "Name’s A.M.," he said, "What’s yours?"
          "Huh?"
          "Ah sayed, mah name’s A.M. - Biguous - A.M. Biguous. What’s yours?"
          Well I might be a dumb kid from the sticks, but I knew when somebody was putting on the dog, so I said, "Victor Emanuel" (after the King of Italy), and as an afterthought, "Epp." Heck, if he could put on airs, so could I. There was of course no connection between me and the King of Italy except first names, but it was always a matter of amusement to my uncles to make me sound famous, especially with a silly name like Victor, so I just threw that in. Of course, A.M. didn’t know any more about the king of Italy than I did but then, that wasn’t the point. The point was to sound important.
          "You talk funny," we both said at the same time and started to laugh at the coincidence. Only I stopped right away because laughing made my stomach hurt. A.M. must have figured that out when he saw me holding it in agony because he never said anything about it.
          "That really your name?" he asked, screwing up his face.
          "Yep," I said, and as an afterthought, "but no Emanuel." I was starting to copy his accent.
          "How come you got no name?" I wanted to know.
          "Ah’ve got a name - ah told you. It’s A.M. Don’t you git it - A. M. Biguous! That’s it!"
          "That’s only the first letters of your first names," I insisted. "You must have the whole ones." It didn’t make any sense to me - no sense at all.
          A. M. was philosophical. "Well, that’s how we do it in Texas, leastwise for the men folk. Heck, ah don’t even know whut the A. M. stands for."
          Stubborn old me. "This is Teulon, not Texas," I said glumly.
          "Where you live boy?" was his next question. I told him.

          "Shoot!" Actually he said ‘shee-ute’. "We’s neighbors! Hey, that’ll be some fun when we git home. We kin visit ‘n play ‘n all."
          "I guess." Playing wasn’t uppermost in my mind at the moment. My stomach was hurting so bad I wanted to puke. That big tough nurse who always scared the pants off me must have seen my situation because she was right there with her white porcelain bowl. While she was at it she hauled out her big rectal thermometer and took my temperature. I didn’t dare grumble in case she might think of some other kind of torture to inflict on me. A. M. watched the whole procedure with interest, making a running commentary the whole time.
          "Ah guess you’re pretty sick compared to me," he said after I was all put back into place and the nurse had left. "Ah only got a busted leg. It don’t even hurt now that ah got a cast on it."
          Then it happened! Old Doc Goodwin came through the door and - right behind him was this giant. He was huge - I mean - huge! He was so big I was sure if he stood up straight, he could look right in the loft door of our barn, and that was fourteen feet off the ground according to my dad. And that wasn’t the scariest part. He was black - all over! I mean black! His face was black, his hands were black, his hair, even his eyes - except for the whites. Why I’d have bet anything he was even black underneath all his clothes! Whoa man, I’d never ever seen anything like that before! And he was coming straight at me, right behind Doc Goodwin!
          "What’s your name son?" asked Doc Goodwin, peering over his glasses.
          Oh no - not again! "Victor Epp."
          This time it wasn’t a penny he put on the table beside me. It was a nickel. Hmm.
          "This is Doctor Collins, come all the way from Chicago. I asked him to have a look at you so we can make you better sooner."

          'Oh Gawd!' My mouth was frozen open and I couldn’t get my eyes back in my head. A voice inside me was saying, ‘He’s the grim reaper and I’m going to die,’ but no words would pass my lips. Even A. M. shut up just when I needed a friend. Paralyzed with outright terror, my heart sank as Doc Goodwin marched calmly from the room, leaving me alone with ‘The Angel of Death’. I think I wet myself as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He was even bigger and blacker than when he was standing. His huge hand came down softly on my forehead. When I realized I was still alive, I finally found my voice.
          "H - h - how come you’re all black?" I stammered.
          "Am I really black?" He acted surprised. His voice was like a soft, deep roll of thunder. I nodded numbly.
          "That’s a relief," he answered. "I was afraid I’d been caught."
          "Huh?"
          "You sure I’m still black?" he almost whispered leaning his big face over mine. I lost my voice again and could only nod.
          His broad grin and sparkling white teeth restored my confidence somewhat and of course, my curiosity. What did he mean- was he still black? I was totally confused. "You mean you’re not always black?" I wanted to know.
          "Nobody’s ever seen me not be black." Doctor Collins told me sternly. I glanced over to A. M.’s bed to see that he was as wide-eyed as I was.
          A thought struck me. "Are you black all over?" I wanted to know.
          "I’m not sure," was the answer.
          Now I was even more befuddled. "I can’t see under my clothes any more than you can. I only know I can’t be caught or I’ll turn the same color as you."
          Whoa! He could change color? "How do you do that?"
          "What?"
          "Change color."
          "You’re too young to understand about such things," he said mysteriously.
          "Please tell me," I begged. "Oh c'mon, please, please, please."
          "Yeah, c’mon mister, tell us!" A. M. had finally found his voice.
          "Well, I shouldn’t really but, oh well alright.”
          “ Let's start with what you know,” he said, addressing both of us. "What do you boys know about how God created heaven and earth, and Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden."
          Well that was one thing I knew about. Every Saturday afternoon after chores we would have to sit down at the big kitchen table and do our German lessons from a book that mother had brought with her from the old country. Then we'd have to study a passage or two from the bible so she could hold her own little private ‘Sunday school’ at home on Sunday morning. With everyone spread out so far from each other in the country, it wasn’t often that neighbors got together for Sunday service. The only time that happened was when a preacher from Winnipeg would show up maybe once every three months or so. They usually showed up more often at harvest time or pig killing time, and never left empty handed. Well the point is, one way or another you learned those things. There wasn’t much else to do - no radio other than crystal sets. Heck, there wasn’t even any electricity on the farm. So I knew about those things, and said so. Even A. M. knew about them, which kind of pleased me because now we had something else in common.
          "Then you know how God created Adam from dust and blew into his nostrils and gave him life." Both of us nodded enthusiastically.
          "What you didn’t know," Dr. Collins looked about as serious as he could get, "was that he made two Adams."
          He looked at both of us, back and forth for effect, waiting for one of us to comment.
          Now this was starting to get way out of hand, even for us boys. A. M. finally found his tongue.
          "Thet ain’t right," he offered. "You mean first he made Adam and then he made Eve. Thet’s whut the Bible says."
          Dr. Collins furrowed his brow. He seemed to frown more over one eye, looking at each one of us in turn. "Do either of you boys know where the Garden of Eden is?" he questioned. Both us shook our heads.
          "Egyptland?" A. M. ventured questioningly.
          "Ethiopia," Dr. Collins announced, giving us the once over again with that eye of his. "In the heart of darkest Africa." His booming voice was the stamp of authority.
          "But," stammered A. M., "Thet’s where N - N - black people come from."
          By this time I had forgotten all about my appendix, the bandages, the tubes, and the fact that my mom wasn’t there. Maybe this towering grim reaper was just plain scaring me, or maybe I was finally going to hear something I wasn’t supposed to. That was probably it. Seven-year-old boys are attracted to things they’re not supposed to hear. Excited - that’s what I was.
          "That’s where black people come from and that’s where they live to this very day,” said Dr. Collins, "and now they live all over Africa. In fact, they live all over the world."
          "Well then,' A. M. wanted to know, “where do white people come from?"
          "From black people," Dr. Collins replied crisply. You could see a shudder go through A. M. as though he’d been dowsed with a pail of cold water.
          "Thet cain’t be!" he exclaimed defiantly. "Thet jest cain’t be!"
          With that he turned his attention to me, pulling my eyelids apart and peering into them, prodding at my throat and other parts of my body, totally ignoring A. M.’s complaints. He took a spatula that felt more like a grain scoop and stuck it in my mouth. To this day I gag when I think about it. There was a series of ‘Hmms’ and ‘Aaahs’ and then a booming ‘Aha!’ With that, Dr. Collins pulled out a notepad and began scribbling things.           When he had done, he leaned his giant frowning face over mine and asked, "And what do you think young man?"
          "I don’t know!" I blurted out.
          What was I supposed to say? First of all I was still gagging from the spatula, and now my throat hurt too, and as if that wasn’t enough, I didn’t even know what the question was!
          "Then I think I’m going to tell you the whole story, and then you’ll know." He glanced sideways at A. M. before continuing. "You do know that God created Adam from dust, right?"
          I nodded. "And what color is dust?"
          That I could answer. "Black," I said.
          From the next bed A. M. piped up. "Then how’d we git to be white, I’d like to know." He was sure pushy with this big black giant.
          "I’m coming to that. Now you boys see how complicated the human body is - being sick as you are. Well, it takes a lot of skill to make a human being that complicated you know. It takes practice, even for God." Dr. Collins emphasized the point by looking at each one of us before he continued.
"The first Adam he made, he wasn’t altogether satisfied with - hair was too curly. When he blew life into his nostrils and watched him move he just knew he had to make another one, so he did.
          "Then he made Eve from Adam’s rib and, you know the story about what happened to them when they committed the original sin. Well maybe you don’t know the whole story. People have never liked to talk about it. That’s why it isn’t written down in the bible, but truth be told, when Adam and Eve were put out of the garden of Eden and made to work and toil in order to survive, he suddenly remembered the first Adam he had made.
          “Now he had a real problem with an extra Adam on his hands, so God thought and thought what he might do. Finally he came up with the idea that he would whitewash the second Adam and Eve so as not to mix them up."
          At this point Dr. Collins stopped talking. He looked at each one of us in turn with such finality that we were sure that the story was done. Suddenly A. M. piped up.
          "Whut happened to the black Adam?" he wanted to know. He would have to ask!
          "God couldn’t leave the black Adam by himself forever so he needed to make another Eve for him," Dr. Collins continued. "But he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. After all, it was the first Eve who took the apple from the snake and gave it to Adam and got them both into an eternity of trouble. No sir! He would have none of that! Instead, he made another Eve right from scratch same as he had made Adam - out of dust."
          "Thet jest cain’t be," lamented A. M., "else it would be in the bible!"
          "Of course it’s not in the bible", frowned Dr. Collins. "Weren’t you paying attention young man? I said, people didn’t like to talk about such things - ever."
          All of this was way over my head. I had never heard anything like that before - not from my mother, not from my aunties, not from the preacher from Winnipeg, - nobody. But the importance all these adults seemed to place on such matters made me want to pay attention.
          “What happened to the black Adam," I wanted to know.
          "Oh, not much for a while," was Dr. Collins remark. His big face saddened a bit. "With the white Adam and Eve kicked out of the Garden of Eden, somebody had to look after things so God gave that job to the black ones. They did very well too, but wouldn’t you know it that the white Adam and Eve would still be getting into trouble. It got so bad when their son Cain slew his brother Abel - you boys know about that part don’t you?" Dr. Collins cocked his head at each of us until we nodded.
          "Well, God just plain got fed up with the white folks sinning and sinning - seems they just couldn’t be trusted on their own. So God, seeing what good caretakers the black folks were, made them a deal. He said that as long as they took care of the white sinners and didn’t mess with the likes of the first Eve, no one would ever see them to be any color other than black. He would cause them to have many children and multiply all over Africa, because looking after all the white sinners on top of their gardening duties would take a lot of manpower. If they did it well, they would always be welcome in the Garden of Eden and have God’s love."
          He was just about to tell us what might happen if black folks started sinnin' like white folks when Doc Goodwin came back into the room and to my bed. He was almost as tall standing up as Dr. Collins was sitting down. The worried look on his face was lost on us, but obviously not on Dr. Collins.
          "I was just telling the boys here about how black people are chosen to take care of you white sinners," he said and broke into a broad grin.
          Suspiciously, Doc Goodwin offered, "I hope that means you’ve found something I missed."
Dr. Collins pulled out his notebook and handed it to Doc Goodwin who glanced over it quickly and as his expression changed, he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, spun on his heel and marched back out.
          "You see boys, we even have to look after the best of them." He heaved his giant body upwards and followed Doc Goodwin.
          Well, all this looking after wasn’t just glitz and glamour as it turned out. It involved going under that sickening ether mask again and having my tonsils and adenoids cut out. That just gave me another place to hurt at, and now I could even hardly talk! Promises of vanilla flavored ice cream would have been a treat had I known what ice cream was. I found out later it was cold and made the sore throat go away. In a few days that seemed like an eternity, I started to feel considerably better and said so to Doc Goodwin, asking for more ice cream.
          In a rare moment of true conversation Doc Goodwin told me that it was his friend Dr. Collins who had come up to Canada on a hunting expedition who had probably saved my life with his eagle eye and that I should be thankful to him for that. Now if you say something like that to an adult, he can appreciate the enormity of such a gift, but to a seven-year-old who only understands chickens and pigs and gophers, such a statement borders on magic. Even A. M. thought so.
          Now everybody knows that young boys all have heroes. It could be Robin Hood, could be Charlemagne, even David who slew Goliath in the bible, but not for us two. Our real live hero who had saved my life was none other than the flesh and blood Doctor Collins. We wanted to be just like him.
          In the several years that followed, A. M. and I thought up every possible trick our little minds could conjure up to make ourselves be black. From mud in the garden to chimney soot to casting magic spells, nothing worked permanently. All it accomplished was to get us more lectures from our mothers even though we told them the reason it was so important. We sure didn’t want to be white sinners if we could help it. Once we even stood out in the mid day sun on the road leading to Teulon and grunted and strained and groaned until we turned from red to purple to being light-headed and dizzy. That caused a change in color all right, but it had more to do with our underwear than skin tone, and it made us bigger sinners than ever, so we gave it up.
          By the beginning of 1942, what with the Americans being drawn into a war with Japan, the Biguouses pulled up stakes in Teulon and headed back to Texas. The town of Teulon went quietly back to its population of 412, and the memory of my friend A. M. more or less faded into the background. Every once in a while though, he would pop into my head and I wondered whatever became of him. He was such a determined person, given to latch on to something and hang on like a bulldog. I shouldn’t have been surprised when, after nearly sixty years, a registered letter came to my door with a postmark from Ethiopia, but I was. You could have knocked me over with a feather. It was from Dr. A. M. Biguous, (Ph d. Arch. and a whole lot of other letters behind his name.) How he tracked me down after all that time I’ll never know, but he did.
          It seems that day in ’38 in the Teulon hospital, Dr. Collins had sealed old A. M.’s fate and given him his calling. He had ended up in Ethiopia to find the Garden of Eden and to try and capture somebody there not being black and by God if he could help it, stop being one of those white sinners himself. He hadn’t succeeded yet, but was on to some good leads. He wanted to know how I was doing and had I found out anything? They way he put it you’d think we were still neighbors.
          Well, I wrote him back and told him how good it was to hear from him and no, I hadn’t found out anything, but then I wasn’t much trying. I was much more interested in remembering old friends. By the way, I said, you write funny - no Texas accent.

Did you like this story??? Check out these great ebooks! Stories by Karl May & Victor Epp 

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The Woman Who Could Not Speak

There was nothing more exciting for Youngchild than to ask a question of Oldman and listen to his never ending tales and parables to illustrate an issue. She learned so much more from this ancient friend than anyone else. Where he came up with these stories was a mystery, but they always hit the mark and gave Youngchild a lot to think about.

The Woman Who Could Not Speak

By Victor Epp

            "What is that awful smell?" exclaimed Oldman as he entered the kitchen and seeing Youngchild at the stove.

            "Oh, these are only some cakes I am making."

            "Whew," he said, " makes my eyes water. Are you sure you are doing it right?"

            "Oh yes," said Youngchild. "I know the recipe exactly. It's just the way great, great granny taught me."

            "Hmm. Are you missing her?" asked Oldman. He knew the great old lady had passed away a few months ago.

            "Well maybe," answered Youngchild. "I just had this awful urge to bake these cakes today, and now that I'm doing it, I feel better. I don't know why."

            "Perhaps your granny's spirit has come to visit you. Did you ever think of that?"

            "That can't be right," said Youngchild. "She's dead."

            "That's true, she is, but I wonder what made you start baking those cakes today. Was it because you were remembering your granny and you wanted to do something that reminded you of her? Or," he continued, "did the cakes come into your mind for some unknown reason and when you started baking you couldn't help but think of her?"           

            Youngchild looked puzzled. "How did you know that?" was the question.

            "I didn't," replied Oldman, "I was just asking."

            "Okay then," said Youngchild, "that's what I'll ask. That will be my question to you."

            "Let me see, I think I remember a story about this very thing," said Oldman.

            "Wait, I'll just finish the cakes and then we can go outside among the spirits so that you can tell it to me."

            "Oh," laughed Oldman, "I think there are enough spirits right in this room to guide me. I can feel them. I think they're coming out of your smelly cakes."

###

            ‘The story I know about was not so long ago in the scheme of things, but it might have been going on for a long time before. It is said that every seventh generation things are renewed and come again. That is where the saying comes from that before you decide what to do about important things, you should look back seven generations and look ahead seven generations. For all I know, it has been happening as long as people have been on the earth.

            This took place about two hundred years ago. Just at the outskirts of a village somewhere east of here, there was a family who was very much upset by their youngest daughter. She was already three years old and still hadn't uttered a sound. Try as they might, the father and mother could not teach her to speak. At first they thought it was a game with her to get their attention. She certainly understood what they said, since she did everything asked of her, but she just would not speak. They consulted one of the Elders for advice about the girl. The Elder, a respected woman of the community could not find a solution, but urged the parents to be patient. She asked them many questions, thinking that someone had perhaps stolen the girl's voice, but no answers came. Even the shaman could not call up the voice of the girl. The whole village got to know about it and all were very concerned about the meaning of this. They had never seen or heard about any such thing before and took it as a bad omen. Everyone avoided the girl, thinking that something bad might happen to them if they associated with her.

            Her parents worried that the other people might avoid them also in the presence of the girl, so they took to keeping her out of sight. As she grew into a young woman, people began to forget about her because she was rarely to be seen. Her mother kept her indoors to help with chores and the cooking and cleaning. If the family wanted to invite somebody to their home, they made sure that their daughter was not there. Often they sent her on errands to bring water from the stream that flowed from a waterfall about an hour's walk away through the forest. At first, it was very frightening for the girl to walk by herself through the trees.

            Every noise, every movement filled her with terror, but when she got to the stream, it's rushing whisper seemed to take away her fears and give her the courage she needed to return home with her water bags. Before long she began to explore the stream up and down it's bed ever further. It was fascinating. Here and there were little pools that had formed in depressions in the rock. They were crystal clear and showed her reflection perfectly against the dark stone beneath. At first the girl was startled to see another person looking back at her from the water. But it wasn't long before she figured out that it was her own reflection, and soon she was moving this way and that, watching the reflection move with her. She sat down at the edge of the pool, leaning over so that she could see her face. She studied it carefully, moving her lips as if to speak. The reflection moved it's lips, but no sound came from it. It was just like her - it was her! She was so fascinated that she had forgotten the time and only when she noticed the sun sinking did she fill her water bags and return home.

            The parents had been busy with honored guests at their home that day and didn't notice the daughter's long absence until after the visitors had left. They were still feeling good about the visit when she returned home and did not scold her for being away so long. The girl, happy with the discovery of her new friend in the water, went immediately to bed.

            She rose early the next morning and taking a little food along with her water bags, left eagerly for the stream. In her anticipation, she began to notice other things along the forest path. There were plants growing that she recognized from her mother's supplies. And there were still others that she had remembered from the time of the healing ceremonies of the shaman. She also saw here and there, pieces of wood that might be brought home for the fire. All of these things were kept in her mind as she went to the stream.

The sun was bright that morning and when she bent over the pool, her reflection sparkled in the water as if to greet her. This time she studied herself more carefully, noticing how her eyes looked, her nose her chin, and her mouth. Slowly she began to move her lips. She tried to make them look like those of others when they were saying words. But she had great difficulty because she had never done this before. After a long time, her mouth got too tired to do it anymore. She decided to leave her water bags and explore further upstream toward the waterfall. The closer she got to it, the more beautiful the forest grew around her, and the faster the stream. In a sunny little clearing, she stopped to rest and eat the food she had brought with her. Here in the warmth of the sun, she felt the earth beneath her and felt welcome to be here among the trees near the water and close to the earth. She offered a silent prayer to the forest and the stream and all the things in them, giving thanks for their acceptance of her.

On the way back to the pool that contained her image, the girl gathered as much firewood as she could hold and set it down beside her water bags. Looking once more at her image, she found it smiling at her. It was a reward she had not expected, but gave her a good feeling about herself.

            The parents were pleased with the things their daughter brought back and gave her a hide rope with which she might carry more wood on her next trip, showing her how to tie it so her load would be held securely. While listening intently to the instructions, the girl mainly focused on watching how her mother's mouth looked with each word she spoke, memorizing the shape of each word. She gave no hint of what she was doing, and her attention was taken as interest in the instructions.

            Soon the girl was bringing home large bundles of firewood along with her water, and also a variety of herbs for her mother's cooking. The parents were pleased. She was a good help to the family and her time away allowed them to take up their lives as almost normal. They had become accustomed to her silent obedience.

            It was not so with the young people of the village. As children they had taunted her and called her names. They thought of her as strange and not as good as they were. Since she could not defend herself, the girl avoided them as much as possible. Then, as she spent more and more time in the forest, she was seldom seen by the others, and as such, she became a mysterious curiosity for them. Yet they were not brave enough to follow her into the woods. Rumors began to circulate about her and her strange ways. Talk was that she went to meet evil spirits and if they followed her and were found out, something very bad would happen to them. 

            There was one young man though, who was bolder than the rest. He was of an age where he was looking to take a wife, and he had watched the girl who could not speak when she came home with her heavy load of wood. She was certainly strong enough to keep a good house, and she was not unpleasant to look at. True, she could not speak, but he could always take another to help him entertain guests. It was a time when a man could have more than one wife if he could support and keep each in a good way. With someone like this, he could spend more important time with the other men, for he was ambitious and it was a serious time for the people dealing with the strangers from across the great sea.

            He was interested enough to follow her one of her trips. He didn't know where she would lead him or how long it would take, but he made up his mind to do it. He was after all, a good hunter and not afraid of what dangers the forest might hold. He felt confident enough that he could follow her without being discovered. 

            It took several weeks before he discovered how early he had to rise in order to see her leave. And she did not always come home on the same day. Sometimes she was gone four or five days at a time. But determined as he was, he finally found her early one morning, leaving on her now familiar path. Giving enough time to enable him to follow at a distance, the young man tracked the girl as she made her way. It was quite easy since she made no effort to hide her trail. When she had reached the pool where she drew her water, she left her water bags and moved on.

            Suddenly he stopped. There she was, sitting on a small log, making animated gestures to whatever was before her. She stood up, waved her arms around her, turning completely around and seemed to be reaching for the sky. Then she bent down and picked some things, putting them in her bag and continued her journey.  Strange, thought the young man as he kept following her.

            Along the path, there was an outcropping of stone where the girl stopped again and knelt close to it, touching and rubbing the stone. This was some sort of ceremony he thought, wondering what would come next. She stayed there a long time and he was getting uncomfortable hiding in silence. It was almost dark when she finally arose to take up her journey once more. The young man dared not follow in the dim light for fear that he might stumble in the dark and be discovered, so he waited until she had gone some distance before he settled himself for the night.

            At the first light, he roused himself and started up the path he knew the girl had taken. It was strange to him. He had not been here before, although he knew it was leading to the waterfall. He could hear it's sound in the distance as he approached. Mid day found him finally at the fall, it's waters rushing over the ancient stones and cascading in layers over the various formations and outcroppings until it finally dropped into the bed of the stream they had been following. There was the girl, almost at the bottom of the fall. Quickly, he hid himself so that he could observe her without being seen. She was preparing something and he was curious to see what would happen.

            Taking two long, stout branches, which were almost twice as tall as she was, the girl walked toward a place near the bottom of the fall where the water had carved out a large cavern in the stones. There the water lay mirror still before it's final fall into the streambed. At the water's edge she removed her clothing and picking up her branches, waded into water toward the cavern. Once there the girl climbed onto the rim of the cavern, balancing herself on the edge. She took the leather thong in her hand to tie one of the branches to the front of her ankle, and spreading her legs as far apart as she could, tied her other ankle to it. Then, taking the other branch in her hands, she placed it over the rim and slowly began to inch forward until she was spread-eagled over the cavern, supported only by her hands and her ankles on the branches. She lay flat like this for a very long time before she finally climbed down. Such a ritual puzzled the young man. He didn't know what to make of it, but whatever it was, it took a great deal of strength to perform. It was almost like the strengthening games he had heard about from the people in the north to help them hunt on the ice.

            The young man hadn't noticed before, but the girl had a small fire burning at the place where she had probably slept. Now she was preparing something to eat, and suddenly he remembered that he hadn't eaten himself since two days before. His stomach growled its need. The pungent smell that came from the fire was something he hadn't smelled before and it filled his nostrils. 

The girl, having eaten the small cakes she had made for herself, took down her small camp and started her journey back home. The young man waited until he was sure she was not coming back and went to examine what he had seen. Getting to the cavern in the waterfall was more difficult than he had imagined. The footing was slippery and the water like ice, it was so cold. Climbing up the stones that formed the rounded cavern was even more strenuous. He nearly lost his balance when he reached the top. He looked down into it and saw the most wondrous sight. Through the opening at the bottom where the water slipped into the streambed, the light from the sun's reflection on the other side filtered up to the surface of the very still pool at the top. It was like a lighted mirror showing him his own image in reflection. Finally he drew himself away from the hypnotizing pool and made his way to the girl's campsite. There on a large leaf lay one of the cakes she had made. It was still warm. Had she forgotten it, or had she known of his presence and made it for him? The odor coming from it was the same sharp smell he had noticed as he had watched her cook it over her fire. The taste was as sharp as the smell. It burned in his stomach, but he was so hungry he ate it all and when he had finished, he was satisfied.

            Surprised as they were, the girl's parents were overjoyed at the young man's proposal to take the girl as wife. They praised her for her good work and obedience, and while she could not speak, she understood everything and would make a good mate for him. Arrangements were made and the two built their own lodge. The girl, now woman bore two sons and a daughter and life settled in as best that it could. The woman still went into the forest as she had always done to bring water and wood, and when she went, she took her children with her, teaching them her ways and the ways of the forest. She kept a good house for her husband.

            It was a time of change for the people of the community. White traders were moving ever closer and demanding furs to be traded for their own goods. The young man, enterprising as he was looked at this as an opportunity to better himself and willingly dealt with them. But his wife scorned the things he brought home for her. She would have nothing to do with them, preferring the things she was used to. He just shrugged and continued in his dealings with the traders. He would soon be able to buy another wife who would appreciate his gifts a little more than this one. He was growing tired of her silence and would find someone to keep better company with him. With these thoughts, he spent more and more time with the traders, trying to increase his holdings. He was changing too, taking on their ways.

            Late one night he came stumbling home, very drunk from the liquor he had taken with his new friends. He made a great noise coming in, calling for his wife to make him something to eat for he was very hungry. In his drunken state he clamored so loudly that he woke the children as well. They had never seen their father like this before and they were afraid, clinging to their mother who silently began to prepare some food for him.

            He was standing in the middle of the lodge, loudly demanding to be served immediately, for he had been negotiating long and hard, and deserved to be looked after better than this. Suddenly his wife spun around and in an instant, hurled the black iron pot he had brought her from the traders with such a speed past his head that all he saw was a blurred black streak.

            He started to lunge at her, but she was pointing her hand behind him. In his self-indulgence, he had forgotten to close the entrance, and there, just inside, lay a large black wolf dead on the floor beside the iron pot that had just crushed his skull. Its mouth was covered in the foam of a rabid animal. The drunken stupor drained from the man as he realized his wife had just saved his life. Turning back to her, he saw her holding her children closely to her, the complexion on her face as dark as the pot she had used as a weapon, and her eyes seemed ablaze with the fire of anger. Her husband stood motionless, facing her. When he found his voice to start to speak, she motioned silence with her finger over her lips. Then she pointed for him to sit in a way to face the dead wolf. He did not hesitate for he knew what his wife had just done for him. She then brought the children to sit by him, one on each side. She brought them a tea concoction she had made from some of the herbs she gathered in the forest and went back to her cooking while they drank it in silence.

            A strange, sharp smell filled their nostrils as they drank their tea in silence in front of the wolf's carcass, but they dared not turn or move to see what it was. Before long, the wife brought forward the small cakes bearing the strange odor and offered it for them to eat. The taste was as sharp as the smell, but they were delicious and filling.

            The wife seated herself before the husband and children, her back to the animal. She motioned at her husband's eyes and then pointed to her mouth so that he could watch. Then, without sound, she formed words.

            "If you listen with your eyes," she said silently, " you will notice that I can speak as well as you." She did this slowly to give him a chance to understand.

            The husband was so dumbfounded he could not believe his eyes. He could understand what she was saying, even though she made no sound. He had known the girl who could not speak all her life, but had never dreamed he could communicate with her. His only thoughts had been that she could keep a good house for him and look after his needs while he did what was important to him. Now it was as if he had found an entirely new person whom he had not known before, and he wanted to know everything about her. How had she learned to do this with no voice? Why did she not let him know before?

            The wife's expression softened. She could see that maybe she had been wrong in not telling him before, but for so long she had been shut away out of the minds of all the people, she had just accepted that she was no more than a servant with no standing. Her husband seemed eager to learn more and his eyes showed a newfound respect for her, so she mouthed the words, “Many answers are in the forest. I will show you if you come with me again.”

            Surprised again, he had not realized she had known about his presence long ago when he had followed her. This woman who was his wife, had many untold qualities he had yet to discover. He made a great ceremony of disposing of the dead animal, ensuring that everything was clean of any disease. He paid public honor and respect to his wife for her courage in killing the attacking animal, much to the surprise of all the people who didn't know what to make of this. He did not however let them know about her ability to speak without a voice. She had made him promise this.

            When the man, his wife, and the children left on their journey into the forest, they took no food with them, only some cooking utensils. It would be a long time before they returned, and the husband worried about how they would survive.  He need not to have been concerned because his wife found what they needed from the bounty the forest held, making her teas from various herbs and her strong cakes. Most of their time was spent near the waterfall, which held a special attraction for the woman. There she finally showed her husband how she had learned to speak without a voice. Wading into the water with her branches, she climbed up on the stone rim of the cavern, inviting him to follow and look into it. There she spread herself over the cavern and he could see her perfect reflection in the mirror still water with the sunlight streaming upward from the opening underneath. It was a magical picture for him as he watched her moving lips saying words he could not hear. He understood all her words. What he didn't understand was where she got the strength to hold herself up over the cavern for such a long period of time without falling in. She seemed to be poised over it for a long, long time, perfectly flat above the pool in it. Finally when she did climb down, he asked her about it.

            She was very calm . . . peaceful, as she explained in her silent language. The pool was a sacred place. It had given her the gift of her own spirit. The light in it was just right to show her reflection perfectly so that she could practice how to make the shapes of words with her mouth just as she had seen people do. When she could understand what her mirror image said back to her, she knew what the pool was giving her. It was very hard to be able to balance in that position without falling.  A great deal of strength was needed but she made the effort willingly in gratitude for the great gift she received in return. Whenever she was scorned or made fun of, she would return here to take comfort from the pool. It gave her the courage she needed to go back to the village. Another gift she received from her perseverance was the physical strength to carry the great loads of wood. The pool had given her more than had any of the people she had known in her life. She had the inner strength of her spirit, and the physical strength needed to do her work with dignity and ease.

            The husband was barely able to grasp what his wife practiced with such determination, even though he understood her words easily. Even so, he asked if he might try this exercise so he could experience what she had described. She warned that it was not as easy as it looked, and he must be careful not to spread himself out too far until he was sure he had the strength. The pool was sacred to her and it must not be disturbed lest it become angry and steal his spirit away. He did as she instructed and indeed it was very hard. Each day he spread himself out a little further until he was fully extended. He could not stay this way very long, but long enough to see the strange light in the pool. When he returned to the bank, he was struck by the peaceful feeling of his own inner strength and at last he understood.

            The wife cautioned though, that the feeling would go away when they returned to the village among the other people, and especially the traders. It would only remain with him after long years of seeking and embracing it. Now that he knew where it was, he could come to this place to strengthen himself whenever he felt the need. The husband gave grateful thanks to his wife for her gift to him, and he practiced what she taught him for many days until he felt a serene power coming from inside himself.

            The little family packed their few belongings and began the long journey back to their village. Along the way they stopped where the wife could gather a mighty load of firewood to take back with them. Her husband said, "Let me also take a load. I want to share the burden with you."

            The wife shook her head. "No," she said soundlessly, "there are some things that are woman's work. Those things should be left to women to do. Men should do men's things, and women should do women's things."

            Her husband prevailed though, saying, "If we are seen coming into the village, each carrying as big a load as we can carry, it will show the bond between us, and the pride we take in sharing all things. It will show that we are a strong family and we will be respected for it."

            The wife considered for sometime. Finally she agreed that this would be a good thing and so they started back, laden with the tremendous weight to carry. "And another thing," said the husband under the strain of his load, "if any man wants to laugh at me for doing woman's work, let him try carrying this weight for a while."   His wife smiled.

            The whole village turned out to see the family return. They had been gone so long that the people suspected the worst. It was quite a sight to see them under the weight of their load of firewood, even the children. Something was different, they could tell. Just what it was, they were not sure. In honor of the occasion, a big feast was held. The husband, while he seemed changed, was full of magnetic energy. His natural gift of attracting people around him was enhanced by his new vigor and soon he had a majority following of the people in the village. The traders on the other hand, didn't know what to make of this new man. He was the same as he had been before, but there was a new light in his eye. He no longer visited them at their camps but instead invited them to his. At first, they were delighted and came eagerly. They brought much liquor, but the husband declined, saying that it was no longer strong enough for him. He offered them instead, some of his wife's pungent tea. They took a smell and declined, shuddering.

            "Very strong," the husband boasted, winking privately at his wife.  "A toast," he said imitating the traders' custom. He sipped his tea while they sipped their whiskey. Soon their tongues loosened and their brains slowed, and the husband noticed that it was he who had the advantage with his clear head - another gift from his wife who could not speak.

            The husband grew to gain great respect of his people. They made him their leader and began to follow his example and heed his advice. As his popularity grew, so did his responsibility, for these were not good times for his people, with more and more traders coming with ever increasing demands. When the weight of his burden became too great, he and his wife and children would leave the village and be gone for some time. No one knew where they went, but on their return, he . . .they would be renewed in their spirits and be able to wisely lead their people for many years.

            After the husband died in his old age, the woman who could not speak took to helping in the community. She was much loved and respected for her devotion to giving to others. Many things had changed over the years, but she kept steadfastly to her old ways. Even her great grandchildren who were now grown tried to bring her the things that would make life more comfortable. She would refuse, preferring instead the practices she had known all her life that had served her so well.

            One day the woman who could not speak, summoned her whole family to her; her son and daughter and their families who were now also in their old age, her grandchildren, her great grandchildren, and even her great, great, granddaughter who was then just a young girl. Each of them came because the old matriarch who was now well over a hundred years old would not call everyone together unless it was important. She did not believe in idle things. She told them in her silent way that she must make one more journey to the sacred place and it was necessary for all of them to join her. They tried to convince her that it would be too difficult for her, but she would have none of it. Frail as she was, she went with them slowly and with their help, made stops in the places that were important to her. Even though they all knew about these things that she had taught them many times over, they paid careful attention to her silent words. She insisted on making her strong tea and the pungent cakes, and serving it to them to her large family. She would accept no help even though it took great effort.

            Finally they reached the waterfall and there at the bank of the stream, she gathered them all around her. It was the last light of day and the air was still and warm. The woman who could not speak sat facing the sun so the others could see her lips move in order to understand her.

            "This is the sacred place," she said silently as the others watched closely, "from which first I, and then my husband have been given the gift of our spirits. We have come here faithfully as often as we needed and paid our respect and given thanks. It has never failed us. Even when we could not come, we have remembered it as though we were here and still received it's gifts. I want you to remember this place, and to come here as often as you can, but if you cannot, you must hold it in your minds and your hearts always. It is the source of your strength."

            She paused now, seeming tired, but all eyes were upon her. She continued. "I go now to be with the grandfathers. My journey is over, but my spirit is in you with all I have tried to teach. You must not be sad over my passing because my spirit will return to the grand daughter of my great, great granddaughter, which will be the seventh generation, the same as my spirit is of the seventh generation. Thus we will keep our inner strength and preserve the richness of our true spirit for all time to come as we have from the beginning of time. No matter what changes or troubles come to our people, if we always remember this place and respect and honor it, we will possess the richest gifts of all that no one can take from us."

            That night the spirit of the woman who could not speak left her to be with the grandfathers.’

     Oldman fell silent as if he himself was transported into the past. He seemed to have forgotten all about Youngchild for the moment.

     "The grand daughter of the great, great grand daughter he speaks of is none other than your great, great grandmother," said Oldman finally.

            "Oh wow!" exclaimed Youngchild, wide eyed. "You mean that story is from my own family?"

            "That's what I hear," answered Oldman, "and I suspect that the spirits of these powerful grandmothers are in you too. I think you bake these smelly cakes to remind you of your great, great grandmother because you miss her. I think you do it too, to remember the sacred place which is the source of your spirit, even though you don't know it yet."

            "Wow!" Youngchild said again. It seemed incredible. "Where is this place of the waterfall?" she wanted to know.

Oldman replied, "I don't rightly know where the place is. Even if it is changed or bulldozed over, the most important place for it to be is in your heart. As long as it is there, it will never be lost."

            "Wow!" Youngchild repeated a third time. "That means if I have a grand daughter, she will be that same spirit."

            "According to my count, that's exactly true," replied Oldman.

            "Would you like one of my smelly cakes?" offered Youngchild.

            Oldman smiled, " I do believe I would.  Do you know what's the best part of this story?"

            "What?" asked Youngchild? She brought a cake to her old friend.

            "The husband in the story went on to become a very famous chief. The traders especially revered him in his wise leadership, but you don't know anything about him - well, you do, but only what you read in the history books, even though he is your direct ancestor. Yet his wife, the quiet one, and her descendant, your great, great grandmother are the ones you remember and honor every time you bake your cakes. They live forever through the little things you do every day, while the great heroic deeds of your male ancestors are forgotten in a generation."

            "Well then," Youngchild wanted to know,  "Who was this great chief?"

            Oldman chucked softly. "I have no idea. I guess you'll have to look it up."

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