Counting Coup, page 23
part #1 of The Benediction of Paul Series
Katie stopped and paused every few steps.
“The wise ones are talking,” Katie said, cocking her head from side to side. “Can you hear them, Até?”
Karl smiled. At five, Katie’s beliefs about the world sometimes frightened him. Three years ago, she spoke her first word and since then she was a constant buzz in his ear. He wondered if her guide was a fly.
“Can you sense the wisdom?”
Katie drew in a deep breath. She wrinkled her nose. “Smells like old leather, like in Grandma Tiama’s teepee.”
Karl laughed. “After this, I will take you to the church where you can smell holiness. Maybe we should go there now.”
Katie put her hands on her hips. She looked like a miniature Faith. “Iná said we go, and the hall is telling us to come. After that, you can show me.” Iná was the Lakota word for mother. Katie used Lakota words for her parents. Elias mixed the languages to suit his moods.
Several students lugging backpacks heavy with texts passed them. Their excited chatter faded as they went down the staircase.
Karl approached an office door that loomed tall and was open slightly. He stopped.
Katie tugged his sleeve. Her thick black hair had fallen out of the tight braids. He adjusted Elias, still asleep, drool slipping out of his open mouth, leaving a big wet spot on Karl’s right shoulder.
“Katie, this is a mistake,” Karl said.
Katie stomped her foot, grabbed his hand, and with an enormous step, headed through the door. Karl shook her hand off, but she marched forward. She pushed the door open, and three heads turned in her direction. Karl followed his brave warrior and adjusted the diaper bag onto his left shoulder. He could not leave his daughter to the wolves.
“Hello. Who are you?” the man asked.
“I’m Katie, that is Até and Elias,” Katie said. “We come to...” She paused. “To treaty.”
The men wore black Benedictine robes. One of them snorted. Ginger-blond hair turning snow white, blue eyes. Karl’s stomach clenched. He recognized this monk, Brother Mellitus, the curmudgeon who almost decked him years ago. This was now a doomed mission. He needed to get out as quickly as possible.
“I’m Father Hilary and that’s Father Gordon and Brother Mellitus,” Hilary said, grinning widely.
Katie had already charmed one.
One of them was the head of the theology department. Hopefully, it wasn’t Brother Mellitus.
The cuckoo clock on the wall swirled, and the door opened. The tiny bird peeped and then sang a tinny song. Katie stopped and stared at the little box.
One o’clock. Karl fished out the paperwork and handed the application and essay to Hilary.
“Até wants to go to school. He likes school. This school smells funny, but it will do. The halls talked to me,” Katie said, climbing into the empty chair next to Gordon.
“But he is late,” Mellitus said, leaning back as if Katie’s presence demanded more space.
Katie looked at the clock again. “By your time, not our time.”
She crossed her arms and looked at Hilary. Her dark eyes waited with anticipation.
The steam radiator in the corner hissed.
“Yes, I agree,” Katie said to the radiator.
Father Gordon gave her a strange look.
“Well, what do you think? Does he get to come? So far all have agreed, it’s fine.”
“Are you asking about a scholarship?” Gordon asked, looking at the crumpled application.
“It’s not based solely on need, and it’s given to a man who’s interested in the priesthood,” Father Gordon said. “You’re not single.”
Hilary continued in silence, reading the papers before him. Karl took a step backward toward the exit.
Katie had grown roots, sitting still and seeing. Karl glanced around the organized office. He spied a book by C. S. Lewis he wanted to read on the bookshelf.
“What would your major be?” Hilary asked.
“Breeding,” Mellitus mumbled under his breath. Gordon and Hilary drew in a gasp.
Karl shook his head. So, this is how it is going to be, spiritless one.
“I was planning on a double major in theology and philosophy,” Karl said, sending a scathing sneer to Mellitus.
“That won’t open many career choices,” Gordon said, smoothing his scapular on his lap.
Did it matter what he said? Clearly, only one monk was considering his application.
“You got me,” Karl said, leaning against the door frame. “I was hoping to open a lemonade stand at the entrance to the college. Offer prophetic wisdom, healing, and palm readings as an alternative to the guilt on the hill.”
Father Hilary laughed. Gordon’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then he folded his arms and harrumphed. “That’s not what we do here.”
Mellitus snickered. “I see you haven’t changed, Crow.”
“You either, Paleface.” Karl stepped in closer to Mellitus, a pointed index finger in his direction. Mellitus slapped his hand away. Temptation taunted him to ask about Lucian, but he decided he didn’t want a scholarship because of favoritism.
Hilary looked up from the papers.
“You two know each other?”
“No,” Karl said.
“Yes. He’s the thorn in Lucian’s side. He caused Lucian to come home. Now that addled brain Alcuin is pastor, and the parish has gone to hell.”
“Brother, a person didn’t cause Lucian’s blindness,” Gordon said. “You’re just mad because you have no place to hide when one of your practical jokes goes haywire.”
“Perhaps. One can’t live his entire life behind the walls of a monastery,” Mellitus quipped.
A sprinkling of guilt touched Karl as he reflected on this news of Lucian. He should stop in and talk to him.
Hilary turned over the pages of Karl’s essay.
“Oh, that isn’t part of Até’s work,” Katie said, springing up from her seat and coming to stand by Hilary. “I was drawing, sorry.”
“Até? Is that Crow?” Hilary asked.
“No, it’s ‘Father’ in Lakota. If I were to call him Papa, I would be calling him dried buffalo meat. That is what papa means in Lakota.”
Mellitus laughed. Katie smiled at him.
“What were you drawing?” Hilary asked.
“I was drawing the great flood. The Creator made land for Kangi, the only survivor of the flood. He sent four animals, a dove, ptan, capa, and keya.”
“A dove, otter, beaver, and a turtle,” Karl said.
“Turtle brought the mud, and the Creator made us all,” Katie explained.
“What are you teaching these children? That’s not biblical,” Gordon said. “Creation after the great flood.”
“All nations have a creation story. We all come from earth. That is the Lakota version,” Karl said. “All creation has the same elements, earth, and breath. Maybe the Creator made us at various times and in separate places. I am certain he was into experimenting. Hence, possibly another Eden.”
Hilary shoved papers toward Gordon, whose face was rapidly changing to a ruddy hue. This was not going well.
“Father Gordon, all the papers are in order. He has references from the nuns who worked at Saint George’s parish. Also, an impressive GPA.”
Gordon moved the papers closer but did not read them. The hall groaned. Katie cocked her head, looking at the doorway where a shadow appeared, but nobody entered.
Elias whimpered, and Karl shifted the backpack off his shoulders. The boy’s hair was damp from drool and sleep. Karl lifted him out of the carrier and held him over his dry shoulder.
Gordon rubbed his chin. “I don’t see how this will help you. You need a solid career, in something like accounting, or a trade perhaps.”
Karl breathed deeply. “I think I know what I want.”
“Son, you have a family and you’re Indian,” Gordon said. “This program is for men seeking priesthood.”
“And you are white. I have an interest in theology, God Creator, praise, ritual, and belief. These men will be more than priests.” Church puppets, thought Karl.
Gordon bristled. “They will be pastors and teachers.”
“We are all teachers and leaders of our people. I believe I can use the knowledge I gain in this program to understand humankind better. A person’s religion is the deepest thing in him.”
“Still trying to have both sacraments—Marriage and Holy Orders,” Mellitus said.
Brother Mellitus was nothing like Lucian, and yet he was Lucian’s friend. Karl recalled that day in Lucian’s office when they argued about religion. They were both wiser now.
“Are you considering him?” Gordon turned to Mellitus.
The man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, assessing Karl. It felt like he could see into his soul, grab his spirit, like a medicine man. Katie moved to stand next to Karl. She felt it, too. The man was dangerous, like a hidden wasp’s nest in a decaying log.
“Do you believe in God?” Mellitus asked, his voice smooth and oily.
Elias moved away from the men toward Katie, who grabbed Karl’s hand and squeezed.
“Could you define that for me?”
Hilary grinned. Gordon shifted in his chair.
“I am not being rude. God has many names, many faces.”
“We call our God Wakan Tanka,” Katie said. “Great Spirit.”
“Not Old Man Coyote?” Mellitus chirped.
“Old Man is the Apsáalooke Creator,” Katie said. “I’m part Apsáalooke and part Lakota.”
“Why are you encouraging this discussion? There is one God,” Gordon said, gripping the arms of the chair.
Karl stood tall and raised his chin as pride surged within him. His children knew their origins. He felt Gordon judging all but his desire. He didn’t look the part of a college student, for he was Indian and married.
Karl glanced at the clock on the wall. He needed to feed his kids. This had been a pointless trip.
“We want candidates with questions, ones who want to learn and explore,” Hilary said, tapping the stack of papers on his desk.
“How’s your spirit, Buffalo Meat? Still split?” Mellitus asked.
“Blended. How is your soul? Still lingering above the flames?” Karl asked.
Mellitus grinned. “I’m old. It is cold in Montana in the winter. Virtuous living is boring.”
Gordon stood. “This is a Catholic Benedictine school. You’re applying for a theology scholarship. Yet you can’t define God.”
“I figured that is what theology was all about, defining the faces of God. Appearances are not clear sometimes,” Karl said, smoothing his braid with his hand.
“They are to me,” Father Gordon said, trembling slightly. “I’m a Benedictine monk and a priest.”
“Your name is Gordon. I have not heard of a Benedictine saint named Gordon,” Karl said, thinking he could judge too.
The vein on Gordon’s forehead pulsed.
“Touché,” Mellitus said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You best parry, Gordon.”
“I will not,” Gordon said, his voice reverberating to the high ceiling. “We had narrowed our choice to two men.”
“Now we have an additional consideration,” Hilary said, placing three applications on the desk.
“You can’t be serious. You know my vote,” Gordon said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black habit. “This doesn’t change my mind. Besides, he was late.”
“Depends on your definition of late,” Mellitus said. “Be culturally sensitive. He’s on Indian time.”
“We should all agree,” Hilary said.
“The dean has the final say,” Gordon hissed, shaking out his scapular before marching by Karl. The air chilled at his passing.
“Temper, temper, temper. One-meter penalty for the saint-less one,” Mellitus said with glee.
Hilary shook his head. “Honestly, Brother Mellitus, do you ever stop with the pokes at a man’s soul?”
Karl stood riveted.
“Growth doesn’t come unless the soil is tilled.” Mellitus turned to Karl. “Don’t mind him. He wanted Boniface, the Abbot didn’t want to waste a good Benedictine name on him.”
“Do you have any objections to preaching at Mass?” Hilary asked.
“No, but I cannot guarantee they will return after I speak,” Karl said with a slight grin.
Hilary laughed, turning to Mellitus, giving him an anticipatory look.
Mellitus placed a finger to his lips.
Karl knew what that meant. The interview was over. Karl motioned for Katie to come with him.
“Thank you for your consideration,” Karl said.
“Don’t be so hasty,” Mellitus croaked.
He wasn’t counting coup today and he didn’t want them to choose him and regret it later.
Karl wondered what Lucian had told Mellitus. How much did he know? Mellitus leaned forward, and Katie pulled Elias to her. Karl put a calming hand on Katie’s shoulder, hoping to reassure her that Mellitus was not a dangerous enemy.
“I have made my decision. I agree with Father Hilary. The scholarship is yours.”
Karl stooped to pick up Elias. He blinked. Had he heard right? White men gave nothing for free, religion did not color their whiteness. The history of church and Natives proved that, just ask any Elder. What was the catch?
Two monks seemed content, only Gordon was unhappy. That was not his problem. The scholarship was his. Education, he would take it.
Katie gave a yip and danced a circle around Karl and Elias.
“Why?” Karl asked, sounding like Elias, as his blue eyes focused on Mellitus.
“I like a challenge,” the monk said. “And so do you.”
A person appeared at the open door.
“Iná,” Katie shouted.
Karl turned and saw his wife, Faith. Elias squealed and squirmed his way out of Karl’s arms and waddled on his chubby legs to her.
“Até is going to school,” Katie announced.
Faith stepped into the office and held out her hand as an introduction to Hilary and Mellitus.
“I’m Faith, Karl’s wife. Thank you for giving him a chance. He won’t disappoint.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. This day gets better and better. You married Faith. Gordon didn’t think you had faith, and I was worried about what you would do with faith.”
“Mellitus, enough,” Hilary said, his voice apologetic.
“Are you sure you aren’t Standing Holy?” Mellitus said, turning to Faith.
Foolish monk testing the pride of this woman. She was not of Sitting Bull’s lineage.
The games had begun. He smiled ruefully at Mellitus. He was ready.
They headed out the door. Katie pushed her way back in and ran up to Mellitus, touching his sleeve before darting back to Karl. If Karl wasn’t counting coup, Katie was.
The curmudgeon monk’s laughter filled the room and followed them down the hall.
Chapter 25
The Rule of St. Benedict
Brother, you say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit.
If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it?
Why not all agreed, as you can all read the Book?
Sogoyewapha (Red Jacket). 1750-1830. Great Seneca Orator speaking for the rights of his people, and a negotiator.
Karl was grateful that winter was over, and the season was marching into spring. All winter long, Faith and the kids drove him to school because a motorcycle didn’t drive well on the icy roads. Now, it was spring, and he could ride his banged-up Harley to college and back. At least some of the family was now getting sleep. He figured he was averaging four hours a night, between school, commuting, homework, and parental duties, which started the second he walked in as Faith headed out to work. He finished his studies in the early morning hours to the songs of frogs and calls of owls and felt like the moon chasing the sun.
He stuffed his papers and books into his backpack and stepped out into the morning air, which was still chilly, for the sun had not kissed the horizon.
“Até,” Katie called, as she ran outside barefooted and in her nightgown. “Hugs.”
Karl wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead.
“Excellent way to start the day. Go back to sleep now.”
She smiled and darted back inside.
Karl rode his motorcycle to St. Alberic’s. He stopped at the farm, checking for lights. If on, it meant the farmer was busy inside. He didn’t need to be caught stealing from the hand that fed him. He worried about nibbling off the monks. Still, he pulled a few carrots.
Karl hummed to himself as he parked his motorcycle and climbed the moaning steps to the bathroom on the second floor and washed the carrots. They had reminded him of Susan, a girl from a lit class with orangey hair. She had two classes with him, and he enjoyed her cheerful outlook on life. Through the bleak, sleep-deprived months she was a ray of sunshine and he looked forward to seeing her and sitting next to her in class. She always saved him a seat.
He had not seen her in these last few days. They often reviewed material in the same study group. Perhaps he would see her there.
The morning progressed as every morning did. Classes filled with dorm dwellers, where the men in black stood out in a sea of jeans and tie-dyed tee shirts. Then his theology and philosophy classes, where he and a few others were outcasts. The men who attended those classes believed in their vocation to the priesthood. He and the women sat apart from the sea of men, some in black robes. The curly-haired monk often arrived a few seconds late. Curly Hair sat next to the door, far away from Karl and the women. Sometimes a monk would move to sit next to him as if the lone monk were a danger to himself or others. If the professor noticed the divide, he never commented on it, but it rankled Karl that some felt superior. Classes were for all.
His next class was Study of the Rule of St. Benedict. Since the beginning of the term, he was the only one in the classroom. After spending a couple of days alone, he checked to see if they had canceled the class. The student worker in the registrar’s office handed Karl a syllabus and assured him the class was still active. They didn’t want him in this class. He was determined to pass this ghost class. Dutifully, he showed up in room 305 and studied on his own, reading a chapter and trying to guess what sort of discussion and insights Father Gordon might share on what he’d read.
