One Shoe
He never thought to check for the size. The color and shape was the same. The pair he grabbed felt right. Leaving the mosque of Salaam Al Turk in a hurry, as he did every Wednesday, he picked up the worn, brown loafers. Slipping them on quickly and tripping out the door into intense sunlight, he strode on home, arriving just after sunset.
It wasn’t until after dinner that night and a losing round of backgammon that the knock on the door came. It was a knock, like any other. Polite taps. He opened the door and his brothers from the mosque stood, appearing nervous and looking down. The imam moved forward and forced his way inside, frowning at the dusty marble squares. There, in the vestibule, five pairs of shoes, neatly organized (by size), toes pointing to the wall, waited. The imam picked up his shoes and studied them carefully. One of the shoes, the left one, was obviously longer than the other. He spoke plainly. “You have my shoe, sir. I can tell because the pair I have on right now is a mismatched pair.”
Jarfur was humiliated. How could he have been so stupid to mismatch – and with the imam? He bowed severely and apologized deeply. “My teacher, you have been wronged. I do not deserve to wear your shoes. This was an unfortunate mistake,” Jarfur pleaded. The imam raised the one larger shoe above his head and with one sharp blow set Jarfur to the floor. The heel had cut his brow and the floor had collided with his chin in a loud whomp. The gathered men picked him up and threw him into the alley. No one in the houses nearby could hear a thing, as each home was set back from the alley by a deep entryway- well away from the rest of the living space. Jarfur’s family was not aware of the events and continued their nightly routines. The holy men from the mosque departed quickly and Jarfur awoke. The pain on his chin was wincing but fortunately the slice on his brow was already coagulating. He stood quickly and thanked Allah for his mercy.
Walking back to the open front door, he paused, looked down the alley both ways. No one saw him. Quietly closing the door he also looked down. There, at his feet, only one brown shoe.
Kodak P880
Letting the Days Go By
Surrounding me: hi-tech, suburbs, farms, forest corridors, families of many nations and blends, snow capped mountains and lush valleys, just and hour away from the ocean.
Who could ask for more? So, how did I get here? (Yes, I know this is a David Byrne lyric of the Talking Heads – “Letting the Days Go By.”) So, before any more water goes underground…
Here’s the facts…
I am the son (6 generations later) of an 18th century French immigrant. I can’t go back much further than 1710 AD- because the written records from the
In 1759, Colice Boisvert, of the region of Boisvert (meaning Glen or Green Woods), packed for an adventure across the
As an Indian slave (with rights - much different than we think of “slave”), he married an Algonquin girl and was allowed to emigrate. His travels, with his new family lead him to the east coast and then later, by 1773, to the interior of the
Gaps in the record at this point are profound and leave much to the imagination. So, skipping forward to 1833, we find ourselves with two adult brothers- sons of Colice. Hmmm..
This is getting a bit too laborious – or rather – boring…
How about the Lyrics…
LETTING THE DAYS GO BY
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Water dissolving...and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...
Xocolatl
…And when after the monkey had ciphered for the twins, the father presented the sacred pod. The twins had survived the bloody ordeal and their oldest sister remained in captivity no more. By the Olmec ways, she had been set free when she obtained the maize and rendered the sweet cane of its juice. The monkey took the juice and heated it with sacred water at the comal pot as the twins tore into the pod and peeled the seed sacks into the fire below.
The toasted pods, nearly charred black, were pulled from the flames and placed on the grinding stone with the corn kernels. Xocolatl, the spirit bird of the pod tree, presented his boiling mixture to the monkey and the twins opened their mouths to take the odor of the sacrificial elixir past their bloodied tongues and into their noses. The spirit bird was free to join his mate and nest in the Xoco tree.
Obedient to the codes of the monkey and in line with the Star Cave of Sacred Water, the twins knelt beside the comal pot and waited for sister to combine the brown meal with the elixir. She proceeded (with the nod of her father), as monkey busied himself with the task of final rite. Father added his own touch with the little red and green chiles. The heat from the fire was no match for the chiles. Bitter and heat now combined - the father and daughter left the twins behind in the cave mouth with monkey.
Not a sound from voice or strained muscle could be heard over the chanting and drums. She danced in a soft swaying rhythm behind her father, un-noticed. When monkey returned, alone, father and daughter entered the cave depths, noting the empty vessel. The Xocolatl had been consumed. Now it was her turn. She led her father by the hand into the darkness. Up ahead, little flames, paired with the twins, danced and flared in the caves’ wind. She recognized the silhouettes and drew between the twins, head bowed in silence.
Father removed the sacred obsidian from his waist pouch and handed it to the twin known as Pa’ Xal- first born. His movement was swift with direct intent- as though he had familiarity with the tool. Her last look was not in horror. Her brow drew tight and then relaxed in submission to the gravity of death. In crimson reflections, the twins embraced and sighed in relief that their ordeal had ended. The limp body of their sister would be carried off by the cave lice.
Father lingered behind a while but the boys ascended into the jungles’ light. The first words, spoken, were not intended to disrespect. Tok’ Xal simply remarked that he hoped that, someday, his daughter would not have to die in the annual Xocolatl rite. Brother added, “The bitterness of the elixir will always remind me of this day.” Father exited the cave and led the twins back to the canals by the Xoco tree. The birds danced for them as they walked by, un-noticed.
Many colors
Easter, 2006. Along the Kingfisher Trail at Jackson Bottom Wetlands and the Tualatin River.
