Nirvana Effect

23



Nockwe sat behind the closed door of his hut, staring into the fire pit. The chief’s hut was one of the few dwellings with its own cooking fire. His wife stood behind him, also watching writhing of the flames. He had her stand behind him so she could be there and yet not distract him from his meditations. His three children were sleeping in the bedroom, which was only divided off by some bamboo hanging from the ceiling of the house. His second children and second wives lived elsewhere. He was responsible for the three families of the men he’d slain.

The chanting of his people played over and over in his mind. Manassa! Manassa! Manassa! He did not yet know what to think of it. It was something new, something he was ill-prepared for.

In all his time as chieftain, he’d operated on the rule that if something was surviving, only change could destroy it. Only change could improve it, this was true, but all too often one was disappointed.

This boy is change.

Nockwe had not yet made a judgment on what that change meant.

This boy fulfilled the prophecies of our forefathers. He is a leader, and inspires the people. These things are good.

Nockwe had never seen his people so spirited. They were so proud.

But to where does he lead us?

In all things the chieftain serves the tribe. It was a line from their oral history he often repeated to himself. It said tribe, not god. No matter what religious significance Mahanta assumed, Nockwe would always serve the tribe first.

Nockwe did not like to think about such things. He wished he could do as everyone else and simply follow Manassa.

The white man had been right. It had been a drug.

Nockwe’s mind drifted to other things…to the white man who had saved his life, whom Nockwe had tipped off against his own better judgment. Nockwe was certain that Mahanta would not let the white man live a season. As soon as the white man was no longer useful, he would be sent to death to rejoin the Earth. Such was the way of the Onge in times as these.

It feels like war times. Is war upon us?

Nockwe stood up and rubbed his head with his hands. He wiped these matters out of his mind. It was too late at night to be dwelling on such things.

Nockwe felt fortunate that his cough had left him Saturday morning. He had fallen asleep while in the lightness after supervising a training session, and when he awoke he felt like he had never been ill. Disease had always left him quickly once he broke it. All that was left was some tiredness.

His young wife came to him, rubbing his back and his shoulders. He felt her warm skin against his. It was a different, richer sort of warm than the fire. She pressed against his bare back and held him. He sighed. His muscles relaxed along the exhale of his breath.

I will be ever watchful. But I must stop thinking. I am a chieftain, not a medicine man nor a philosopher.

“Is something wrong, Nockwe?” asked his wife.

“No, my guardian. There are only thoughts, shadows. There is nothing wrong.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on her skin. “Bri,” he said, turning around to face her. He kissed her forehead. He said her name again. “Bri’ley’na.” It meant literally “Bright Sky.”

She took his face in her hands and looked up at him. Her rich chocolate eyes conveyed her concern. “I worry about this Manassa. You may kill me for saying it, but still I worry.”

He kissed her forehead in an effort to soothe her but said nothing. He did not want to betray his own doubts. She would be able to hear it in his voice.

She pulled back again slightly, more agitated. “You have always lived for the tribe,” she said. “I don’t know if this is Manassa’s way, too. Something else may be driving him.”

He told her what he had told himself. “I’ll be watchful, Bri.” He stroked the long, flowing hair along the side of her face. “I will be careful. I will always serve the tribe.”

“And I will be careful for you. And I will always serve you,” she said. He smiled.

She pulled him to her gently and kissed his mouth.