Sunday, August 23, 2009

Just an Old Fence Post


I digress.

The night of the fire, we were able to get the fence down around the pens and salvage most of it. Wood is so precious here, that these fence posts have traveled many a pasang with us, and hopefully for many more. There is one in particular that I keep my eye on.


In my memory, I cannot think of a time when I was not fascinated by the kaiila. That they didn't call to me in a way. Some of my haziest first memories are following my Father around the pens like a little shadow. I have this one memory that is so fixed in my mind, that when I think of it I not only see it but I smell it, I hear it as if it were happening right now.


I could not have been more than about four or five. Father had set me on the bottom rail of the fence and told me not to move. Who tells a child that young not to move? I think had he stayed within my line of vision what happened next, might not have taken place. But, when he disappeared among the herd, hidden from me, I moved. I was not afraid because I could not see him, I was irritated! He was doing something that had to be fascinating and wonderful, but I was not able to see it! Off of that rail I came and went to look for him.


Did I trip over my own feet, did I slip in kailla dung and fall, or did the Sky nudge me as punishment, or maybe to my future? I have no idea. All I know is that I fell, rolled and tumbled and finally gained my feet again, dirty, covered with mud and dung and lost in a forest of legs. Until that moment, I had never seen them from quite that vantage point. It was much different than being carried through the herd on my Father's shoulders or hip, or seeing them from that special spot that I had on his saddle.


I can still remember that very first taste of fear. Fear taste metallic, it makes those glands that lay beside your tongue, right by your jawbone, tingle and burn and a bitterness to coat the tongue, then slide down your throat, only to be met somewhere by the bile that is rising from your stomach that has dropped off into infinity. If you can manage to swallow, then your body tenses and you can feel every hair tingle and call your name as if it is the only one, demanding your attention and your skin crawls, freezes then a flush runs across it and you are on fire. And, all of this happens within the blink of an eye. Or the beat of a heart, that is fluttering like the wings of a baby herlit.


I had that first taste of fear and I remember opening my mouth to scream, then something happened. One of the beast dipped its' massive head down towards me, nostrils flaring, the tri-lidded eyes staring at me, I think trying to figure out just exactly what I was, and if I was its' next meal, then it snorted and nudged my tiny chest. Not hard enough to make me fall, just enough to make contact. I can still see that small hand attached to the end of my arm moving to reach out and stroke the long face, feeling the velvety softness of the hair, the firmness of the bone beneath it, and feel and smell the hot breath on it, that made this sort of calm come over me and the fear was only a memory. That is the defining moment in my life where I knew where my work would be, that I knew there was some sort of connection between me and these regal beasts. And that feeling has never left me, and I hope it never does.


The next thing I knew, my Father was pushing the animals away and scooped me up into his arms, and I am pretty sure he had that taste of fear in his mouth, because I think the look in his eyes told me that. After realizing that I was not harmed, and that I wasn’t afraid, I think it was a flash of anger that flared in his gaze, maybe at himself for leaving me alone, or at me for moving off that rail, but it was only brief. When he asked what I was doing, I told him quite simply that I was talking to the kaiila. Most men would have laughed at someone as small as I was, making such a statement, but my Father didn't. The next thing I remember in his eyes, I did not understand at the time, but I know what it was now, upon hindsight. It was pride, and a knowing of sorts.


He took me to where they were dismantling the fence for the move and sat me up inside the wagon where they were being stacked and tied down. Pulling out his quiva, he calmly talked to me about the kaiila, as he carved a picture into the post. A fairly good likeness of me. He then told me that was my post, and that every time the fence was taken down, it would be my duty to make sure it was pulled from the ground and loaded, and that every time we set up the pens, it would again be my duty to see that it was unloaded and to remember where it was in the long line of fence.


Maybe it is instinct, maybe I saw exactly what wagon they put that post in, all I know, is that today when we were putting the fence up for the pens, I knew exactly where my post was at. I helped to unload it, I set it into the hole that had been dug for it and held it upright as the mud was packed into the hole to stabilize it. My fingers caressed over that carved image that seems to fade over time, but it is still there.


I look down the line of fence and realize that I am like this post. Just as it stands with other posts to make the fence stronger, I stand with others to make my people stronger, and quite honestly that is not a bad feeling.

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