CHAPTER III
Giants' Rest
Following a ridiculously tortuous curve in the suddenly steeply climbing road Ed caught teasing glimpses of an enormous mountain ahead; perhaps Giants' Rest Mountain at last? The peak was soon lost to sight behind interceding cliffs and foliage, as often was the case with mountains when you got closer to them. A few miles later however, the road opened into a surprisingly extensive and flat valley populated by several nearby wooden buildings sheltered behind a high barbed-wire fence. It was the first significant sign of civilization encountered since Mary woke him several torturous hours ago!
Trees and the buildings themselves obscured whatever else was in the town but a few miles beyond them a great granite dome towered above everything. Unlike the other Adirondack Mountains that Ed had seen, this one appeared to be made of solid light-colored rock that was nearly devoid of trees or other vegetation. It reminded him of famous El Capitan in California's Yosemite Park. Immediately in front of the truck, the road ended at a low but massive gate constructed of heavy wood timbers. The gate was closed, and there were no friendly 'Welcome to Giants' Rest' signs to be seen. Instead there were dozens of signs ardently warning trespassers to go away.
"I think we're there," Ed announced loud enough to wake Mary, as he pulled up close to the gate, put the truck into park, set the parking brake, and wound his side-window open. Refreshingly cool outside air rushed in.
"I know for sure that we're there," he amended, as a half-dozen heavily armed men carrying automatic rifles hopped nimbly over the still closed gate and surrounded the truck, guns pointed towards the truck cab. They moved quickly, confidently, and silently, as though they had done this sort of thing hundreds of times before. Ed would have thought that they were an ordinary well-trained army, police, or nut-case survivalist death squad, except for their distinctive Native American appearance.
They all wore what appeared to be colorfully dyed, loose, home-spun clothing, with leather moccasins tied on with leather straps. They had baggy cotton trousers at least, and not the leather breach-cloths and leggings of their ancestors, but other than that and the modern rifles their Native American appearance looked authentic to Ed, though he admittedly didn't know very much about anything Native American except what he had gleaned from old Hollywood movies and TV westerns.
Most tellingly their grim faces were dark and reddish, and they each sported the Mohawk hair style for which the Mohawks were famous: a vertical crest of black hair that ran from fore-head to the backs of their heads, while the rest of their heads were shaved hairless. The crest of hair spiked straight up unnaturally, defying gravity and gusts of cold wind with the likely aid of bear grease or its modern equivalent hair gel. As a final touch their cheeks, foreheads and shaved heads sported darkly painted jagged shapes and runes. War paint, Ed figured. Good grief!
One of them approached Ed's side of the truck, rifle pointed at Ed. "State your names and business here, trespassers!" he demanded menacingly.
Ed found that he didn't have a voice. At the moment he was thinking of the nice friendly New York gate guards encountered early that morning and how much more pleasant encountering them had been.
"We're Ed and Mary Rumsfeld, school teacher and wife," Mary answered loudly for them. "We are expected."
"And we have PIDs," Ed added lamely, though they didn't seem to be the sort of border guards that would care much about PIDs.
"Yes, you are expected," the guard replied, though he didn't lower his rifle and his fierce grim expression remained.
"Drive the truck through the gate and park it where I show you to park it," the guard commanded.
The heavy wooden gate swung open ponderously, and the guard walked through it, motioning with his rifle for Ed to follow him with the truck. Ed did so cautiously, taking care not to drive over the fellow, which probably would have been a serious mistake. The other guards followed, still surrounding the truck with their weapons aimed at their expected guests. Ed tried not to imagine how they would welcome unexpected guests!
Ed soon parked the truck in front of one of several house-sized log buildings as instructed. A large sign on the building declared it to be the Giants' Rest Mohawk Reservation Administration Building. Ed was surprised to notice that its roof was covered in solar panels. Like the automatic rifles that the guards carried, solar panels seemed to be distinctly out of place in this otherwise primitive looking setting.
A United States flag hung to one side of its front door, and a flag unfamiliar to Ed adorned the other side. Ed didn't get a good look at it, but he recognized several animal symbols on it, including a turtle, bear, and wolf. "That's the flag of The Six Nations of the Iroquois," Mary informed him. "That's the Tree of Peace in the middle, and clan symbols arranged around it. I'm going to have a closer look." Heedless of the armed men that still surrounded them, Mary climbed out of the truck and approached the Iroquois flag.
Ed was too utterly exhausted to care about flags or what Mary was doing with them. After looking in a side mirror to confirm one last time that the Ford was still safely being towed, Ed at last turned the truck off. Engine noise and vibration stopped and the silence was heavenly. With a deep sigh Ed slouched over the trunk's steering wheel. His driving ordeal was complete and he could rest at last!
He was comfortably drifting off into a well-earned nap when Mary opened his door and after some nagging and poking helped him down from the truck cab and put on his jacket to protect him from the cold air. Only with her help could he stand up steadily. "You should have woken me if you were this tired!" she admonished. "What were you thinking?"
"Foolish manly pride, I suspect," cackled a strange, squeaky female voice. "We use two or three drivers when we travel the full length of the entrance road. Using fewer is dangerously foolish."
Beside them stood a tiny woman shrouded in a gray home-spun hooded robe-like coat, crooked and wrinkled with age. She stood by aid of an absurdly crooked walking stick that looked like it was even older than she was. "Old Mother here is a tribal leader and a member of the School Board that hired you," Mary explained to Ed.
"My proper name is Tsino:wen," the old woman announced, as she smiled and extended her hand to grasp his.
"Glad to meet you!" Ed managed to mumble. The wrinkled little old woman could have been seventy years old or several hundred years old; Ed couldn't tell, but her bony grip was firm and warm, and she didn't immediately release his hand. "Mouse?" he asked. "Your name is Mouse?" The name fit well her diminutive size and high pitched, squeaky voice.
"You know the Mohawk language?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Not at all," Ed replied. "I READ YOUR THOUGHTS AS YOU SPEAK," he added telepathically. Indeed, Ed was himself surprised to 'hear' this woman's thoughts in his own mind very clearly when she spoke. Other than Jerry and his jants, before this he had not encountered anyone that was strongly telepathic.
"MOST INTERESTING," the woman replied in kind. Ed couldn't tell if she was thinking English words or Mohawk words; in either case it seemed to be English to him. "THE TURTLE MAN AND I WILL WANT TO SPEAK OF THIS WITH YOU AFTER YOU HAVE BEEN FORMALLY ADMITTED AND HAVE RESTED. WE WILL ALSO NEED TO DISCUS THE STRANGE SPIRIT FORCE THAT YOU CARRY IN YOUR TRUCK. IT IS A SOULLESS SPIRIT OF MANY TINY MINDS, THINKING TOGETHER AS ONE. JANTS YOU CALL THEM?"
"OF COURSE!" he replied, startled that the jants had been detected by her so readily, and that his own thoughts were so transparent to her.
"For now the Bear Clan welcomes you, Ed Rumsfeld," she pronounced aloud, as she released Ed's hand. "Nice meeting you both," she directed to Mary, then turned and hobbled away with surprising speed, using her crooked walking stick. She paused and waved one tiny wrinkled hand and the half dozen fierce looking warrior guards that had been closely watching them also dispersed and disappeared from sight in the general direction of the gate.
"Mary! Ed!" a familiar voice redirected their attention. Jack O'Brian erupted from the log Administration Building, grinning in d
elight. He and Mary ran to each other and hugged warmly. He looked much as he did when last they met, Ed thought, as the two of them shook hands vigorously after he and Mary finally broke their embrace.
Jack was a small thin man in his mid-fifties, hardly larger in stature than Mary, but he exuded limitless energy and friendly charm. He was dressed head to toe in khakis with dozens of bulging pockets, and was laden with satchels, cameras, and binoculars strapped over his small shoulders. His head and face were covered with curly hair that framed dancing blue eyes that sparkled brightly behind thick brass-rimmed glasses. Altogether he looked every inch the geeky naturalist and anthropologist that he was. However Ed detected a few grey tinges in his otherwise light-brown hair; grey that hadn't been there three years earlier when they had last met in Virginia.
"Welcome to Giants' Rest!" Jack told them. "I have astounding things to tell you both, once you pass muster with the tribal elders!"
"Tribal elders?" Ed asked. "Do you mean the Giant's Rest School Board?"
"That is one of their functions. I watched you already charm old Tsino:wen, and she is the leader that you most had to impress, aside from old A'no:wara Ronkwe himself."
"Does A'no:wara Ronkwe mean Turtle Man?" Ed guessed. He hadn't been able to read Jack's thoughts.
"Wow!" Jack marveled. "You are simply amazing, Ed. No wonder she was impressed. It took two years before she would talk to me at all, and it was two more before I could speak directly with A'no:wara Ronkwe."
"I'm befuddled," Mary said. "What the hell just happened?"
"Just what you suspected, Mary," Jack explained. "Ed has apparently shown that he is indeed a mind-reader of some sort. He can communicate telepathically with Tsino:wen and probably with ants, and he can apparently translate foreign language effortlessly. Astounding!"
Ed was indeed also astounded by his wife. "You knew about my mental telepathy and the jants?"
"At first I suspected you were going crazy, Ed," she admitted. "What was I to think of your talking to ants and their strange behavior? Several times over the last year I saw dozens of huge ants line up in neat rows as you spoke to them. I had to talk with someone about my worries and suspicions, so naturally I confided in Jack. Jack knows a lot about strange things."
"Why didn't you simply talk with me about it!" Ed protested.
"And why didn't you talk with me?" Mary retorted.
She had him there, Ed had to admit.
"Your newfound talents are wasted on ant control, my boy," Jack remarked. "The Mohawk here have a tremendous interest in talents such as yours, as do I. I have plans for your talents that will knock your socks off, Ed."
Ed had no control whatsoever over jants, but he didn't bother to explain that. "I came here to teach history, Jack. That's my profession: I'm a history teacher. Middle-school, preferably."
"Of course you are. The Tribe reviewed your resume and they are suitably impressed. They do genuinely need teachers here on the Reservation and were glad to consider my recommendation that you be added to their teaching staff. But you shouldn't limit yourself, my boy! You should take full advantage of your talents. Besides, there are more things going on here than meet the eye. Monumental things."
"I'm rather hoping that there is much less going on here than meets the eye," Ed remarked.
The door of the Administration Building swung open again, and a stout, mid-sized, middle aged, smiling man emerged. "Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Rumsfeld!" he declared as he advanced towards them. His dark, reddish skin suggested that he was a Native American, but unlike the gate guards he wore standard American blue jeans and flannel shirt, and sported a full head of wavy black hair. "I am Mike Talking Bear, the Reservation T-G-O and Tribal Chief," he noted as he shook Ed's hand and then Mary's.
"T-G-O stands for Tribal Government Officer," Jack translated.
"Yes," added Talking Bear. "I am your federal tax dollars at work. I am elected by and work for the Tribe but I am paid by the IA. It is one means of obtaining cash for the Tribe. Additionally the USA Government was nice enough pay off all of my student loans."
"That sounds very handy," Ed remarked. "Who is the IA?"
"The US Department of the Interior Bureau of Indian Affairs," Jack again translated.
"That's right," Talking Bear confirmed, as he escorted Ed and Mary towards the Administration Building entrance. "My small staff and I are US Civil Servants. Come with me inside, Ed and Mary, and we'll sit and talk. You must be exhausted from your trip. Jack, why don't you help get their belongings to your longhouse? It will be dark in less than an hour and much colder."
"Yes sir, Chief," Jack replied, as he saluted before departing.
Talking Bear led Ed and Mary down a short hallway past several modest offices. Except for log walls they appeared to be normal business offices, including computer terminals and shelves and cabinets crammed with books and paperwork. Sadly government bureaucracy and red tape had evidently found the Mohawk, even hidden here on their remote reservation deep in the Adirondacks.
"My staff has gone home for the day; I'll have to introduce them to you at some other time," Talking Bear explained, as they entered a large office at the end of the hallway and were seated in front of a large wooden desk that featured a new looking computer terminal. "Welcome to my fortress of solitude," he exclaimed.
"It's much more modern than I expected," Mary remarked.
"By necessity," Talking Bear explained. "This is the side of our Tribe that visitors from the outside world see. Most of my staff is made up of Tribe members that have college degrees from the State University of New York, and occupy standard IA and other US Government positions. I have a staff assistant and forest, agriculture, education, and social services experts here, all conveniently paid for by the US Government. We interface with the IA in DC, with the Adirondack Park Agency, the State of New York, and other government and non-government agencies and groups, and at the same time we bring in much needed US dollars."
"That sounds like a pretty good deal for you," Ed noted. "What about teachers?"
"Our school principle has an office both here and at the IA Bureau of Indian Education school building located next door. If you survive your trial phase and become a teacher here you will become a BIE US Civil Servant and be paid as well as any teacher in New York. Salary, pension, the works! That's the good news part."
"That indeed sounds good," Ed responded.
"What's the bad news part?" Mary had to ask.
"It's not so much bad news as perhaps surprising news. We have Tribe members already that can teach history, Ed. Frankly your appointment as a teacher here serves two much more important purposes. First, the BIE has been pressuring us to hire teachers from outside the Tribe. You will become our token white teacher."
"A proud post, surely," Ed noted.
"Second, your Uncle Jack had persuaded certain Tribe leaders that you may have special abilities urgently sought by the Tribe in these troubled times."
"Tribe leaders Mouse and Turtle Man?" Ed conjectured.
"Yes. They realize that the Tribe will face a growing crisis over the coming decades. Colder climate may ruin our agriculture, and we currently provide 99% of our own food. We can't move the Tribe; for religious reasons we simply can't abandon the Mountain. But state and federal funding is declining. We are becoming more dependent on outside influences exactly at a time when outside institutions may also fail us. Plus there are other deepening troubles that Mouse and Turtle Man may in time choose to discuss with you."
"Frankly I don't see how I fit into any of that." Ed admitted.
"Frankly neither do I, but I'm only the Tribe Chief. To the outside world I lead the Tribe but Mouse and Turtle Man are clan aligned leaders and internal to the Tribe wield most true power. Mouse has already seen something in you that interests her, or she would have already had you expelled from the Reservation by our border guards."
"Those big buff guys with the Mohawk hair-cuts?" Mary asked.
"Ye
s. Actually those are essentially Pawnee hair-cuts, by the way, meant to help frighten and deter unwanted visitors. The war-paint is similarly Hollywood inspired. Traditionally the Mohawk favor tattoos but nowadays we prefer not to permanently mar our bodies. However they are competent fighting men. Some members of our warrior guard force are ex-Army Rangers, and others are tough iron workers that in warmer weather weld steel for New York City buildings."
"Pawnee hair-cuts?" Mary had to ask. "But everyone calls that hair style a Mohawk!"
"A Hollywood bred misconception that we don't discourage. Our Oneida brothers claim Lacrosse and a casino as part of their fame, and we Mohawk have iron workers and a popular hair style mistakenly named after us. That seems fair enough."
"The term 'Mohawk haircut' does have a niftier ring to it than 'Pawnee haircut' does," noted Ed. "But as interesting as all that is, Talking Bear, I'd just like to know when I will start teaching, who I should report to, and when and where."
"All very good questions," Talking Bear admitted. "From an administrative standpoint, given Mouse's interest in you I will immediately start the wheels of Government turning. Tomorrow I will send your Virginia teaching credentials to the New York Department of Education for their certification. That should only take a few weeks. Then we will submit your Federal Government work application to the IA BIE along with my personal letter of recommendation. The whole process should take only four or five months. With any luck we'll have you officially hired and teaching by early next spring."
"The wheels of Government don't turn very fast, do they?" Ed quipped.
"As long as you live with us I advise that you dismiss your fast paced ways."
"A slow pace of life suits us just fine, but how will we get by for the next four or five months? What will I do if I'm not teaching?"
"Two things," explained Talking Bear, "for which you will receive room, board, and a very modest salary. First you will need to become acclimated to Tribe life. Jack O'Brien can help with that, as he is several years along in that process. Second, you will do whatever the school board wants you to do. "
'Whatever' sounded a bit open ended to Ed. "By the 'school board' you mean Mouse and Turtle Man?"
"Essentially," agreed Talking Bear, "THOUGH YOU WILL FIND THAT THINGS ARE FAR MORE COMPLICATED THAN THAT."
"SWELL," remarked Ed in kind. Were all of these people telepathic? "Sounds like a plan."
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