Brindle’s Oddysey
by
Nicholas Antinozzi
PUBLISHED BY:
Nicholas Antinozzi
Copyright (c) 2010 by Nicholas Antinozzi
Edited by Coleta Wright
Cover Design by Steve Peterson
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Prologue
There were three members of the Grand Medicine Society, known in the Ojibwe language as the Midewiwin, standing outside the Mide lodge. The lodge had taken days to build and it had been abweson anokiwin, sweat work, for three old men. Still, they did not complain because each of these men knew that the completed lodge would protect them from evil, and that an evil spirit was definitely headed their way. The lodge was constructed of poles made from birch saplings. Three tall poles stood in the middle of the lodge, one for each man at the ceremony. The men lashed the frame together and then set about cutting the many pine boughs that needed to be placed carefully around the structure. There was no sign of rain, so no roof had been needed. Three dead dogs stood guard outside the door and the men had to step over these before entering the lodge. The old ways needed to be followed to the letter, just as they had always been.
The afternoon was warm, but an occasional gust of wind helped keep them cool. The Mide lodge sat in the middle of a small clearing deep inside the Fond Du Lac Indian Reservation in northern Minnesota. Odemini Gissis, or the month of June, had been cool and wet, but with the new sunshine the surrounding forests had come to life. The sounds of life came from all around them and it helped lift their spirits.
Odd Whitefeather would be first as he was the youngest of the group. Barely into his mid-nineties; leather-faced and solemn, Whitefeather entered the lodge in his everyday clothes, faded blue jeans and a tired denim shirt. Much to the relief of the others, he took off the straw hat and left it outside the door. He was tall and lean with long white hair that hung to the middle of his back. He remained standing until the other two men entered the Mide lodge.
The next man to enter was Wawanishkam, known as Crooked Walker, (one who covers much territory.) Crooked Walker was said to be at least one hundred and five years old. He also had long white hair, which he had tied back over misshapen ears the size of saucers. He was dressed in his summer outfit; a fringed buckskin shirt, buckskin leggings, and a pair of fine moccasins that never seemed to age. Like Odd Whitefeather, Crooked Walker stood tall and erect for a man of such considerable age. He stood next to the younger man and waited for the last of their group.
Dog Breath carried the sacred piece of birch bark, known as the Mide roll. The roll had been engraved many years ago with a bone stylus and the lines had been carefully filled with vermillion, to protect it against the ravages of time and the elements. The time had come to complete their number and the Mide roll needed to be shared with the newcomer, whoever that person might be. This needed to be smoked over and discussed among the three. Some people said that Dog Breath was one hundred and fifteen, but no one knew for sure. He was a fierce looking man, still lean and muscular despite his great age. He wore a simple breech cloth and walked on his bare feet. Like the others, his wrinkled face was painted green on the top half and red on the bottom. Like the others, his Mide bag, Medicine bag, was tied to his side and filled with things he would need.
They sat down on the floor of the Mide lodge and smoked for a long time. Crooked Walker nodded in appreciation at the flavor of the tobacco. Odd Whitefeather had visited many tobacco shops looking for something that would remind the others of the old blend. The shopkeeper had sold him the pipe tobacco, which he had called the Fragrant Vagrant, for twenty dollars. He had hoped they would like it. They hadn’t smoked in many years. They used Crooked Walker’s pipe which had been carved out of the antler of a whitetail deer.
Dog Breath began to speak after they had finished smoking and he had set the long, ornately carved pipe, aside. “Tell me about your grandson,” he asked Odd Whitefeather. “We should know about him and his character. You say he is a good man?”
Odd Whitefeather nodded and began to speak, but he was cut off before uttering a single syllable. He had grown used to this over the years, just as he had the unmistakable smell of the breath of the man across from him. He sat and listened as Dog Breath asked him yes or no questions, answering each of these with a nod or a slight shake of his head. Dog Breath had a deep voice that sounded like a bear’s growl. He spoke in the old words, using sign language to accentuate their meanings. A beneshi, little bird, sat above them on top of the middle pole, which they all took to be a good sign.
Crooked Walker took over from there, asking serious questions about a serious matter. The Midewiwin had very strict rules and it was no small matter that they were about to initiate another into their fold. Crooked Walker spoke in a dry voice that floated up and down like the tones of a well-played flute. He asked many questions, none of which required Odd Whitefeather to even open his mouth.
When Crooked Walker was satisfied, he turned to Dog Breath and the two of them spoke as if they were alone. They nodded in agreement and they turned to face the youngest of their group. Odd Whitefeather stood and stretched and scratched his bottom, which had fallen asleep. He peered over the walls of the Mide lodge and was happy to see no one. The beneshi watched him from its perch on top of the pole.
“It is true, he has no idea of who he really is and it will take time for us to teach him the old ways. He was raised by white men, but somehow he managed to live a good life. There is no time to waste. The end of time will surely arrive if we do nothing to stop it. The white men are very close to making that happen. We need to complete the circle if we have any chance of stopping them. I will go now and bring him to you. Prepare for our return.”
Dog Breath and Crooked Walker stood and stretched their old bones, which signified that the meeting was over. When Odd Whitefeather walked out the door he was followed by two sandhill cranes; his grandfather, and his grandfather’s grandfather. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath then flew to the sky, flapping their great wings in the crane’s mysterious way that defies logic. They had lived to be old men and had come back from the dead, disguised as the strange birds.
Odd Whitefeather stood and watched them fly over the trees until they disappeared in the distance. He was hungry and wanted a cheeseburger and fries. He checked his wallet and found a crumpled twenty dollar bill inside. He would go have a cheeseburger before going out to see his grandson, Huckleberry Brindle. Maybe he would work out an explanation as he ate. He hoped so. This was going to be tricky.
He walked down the trail, the hunger pangs were sharper now as he slowly began to run out of energy. The Polaris ATV was parked just where he had left it. He shed the straw hat, storing the hat in the large trunk behind the machine. He climbed aboard and thumbed the engine to life. The tuned exhaust rapped and he shifted the Polaris into gear. Odd Whitefeather loved his machine and he rode like he was in his mid-twenties. Mud flew in chunks and his eyes watered as he wound out the ATV on the old logging road.
The other people in the little restaurant stared at him as he entered. He had grown used to this over the years and he walked right by them, heading to the men’s room to wash his hands before ordering his food and eating.
He moaned when he saw his painted face staring back at him in the mirror. He washed the paint off and cleaned the sink with some paper towels. He then walked back out to the counter. His young waitress, Judy, nodded in approval. He ordered a chocolate shake to go with his cheeseburger and fries. He thought about what to say to his grandson, who had no idea they were even related. Nothing came to him. The food was goo
d and he tipped Judy five bucks. Knowing what he needed to do, Odd Whitefeather straddled his machine and began to ride out to see Huckleberry Brindle.
Chapter One