The Dinner Party Chapter 5

Dinner Party Chapter 5 Stuber 5.1

Running Bear, having split the tribe into two equal parts, was the object of much scorn. He stalked the outskirts of the ganohsot at night. Walking over land and twigs, he didn’t make a sound. Cool air came off the lake, sending a shiver his way. He was always in thought. Was he doing the right thing? Would the sacrifices of war help his way survive, or hasten its demise? The tribe saw a firm man, confident in his will to fight. The tradition of his position determined his public personality. The traditions of his tribe made a decision to fight.
“But am I this man, or is it just show? Am I man enough to stare down the younger men who dance for war, or am I a flea-bitten adulterer?” Running Bear thought. The dichotomy of his loyalty to the peace under the Great White tree, as personified by Bobbing Tail and Fawn, and his new-found love of Catherine, and her warring desires, was tearing him apart.
He walked to the lake and squatted. His feet flat, arms around his knees, carefully balanced. This is not a proven thought-provoking position, (See hunkering down as a Georgia Bulldog [no thought there] or Popeye’s hunker in uncle Bill’s “Sanctuary.”) but, without the benefit of comparison, merely a comfortable way to ponder fate in the wake of the moon’s reflection on Ganandauguay.
He could skip rocks from this position, And he did. He could see the bounces on the lighted lake. He could count a four-skipper, now a seven. He could feel the arrows in the air before they arrived. He jumped to the left and heard humans running away,
The average man would run in chase, or run away, or scream, or wet his pants, or at least tell people of the incident the next day.
Running Bear returned to shore after checking to see if the assassins would try again. When he found that they had left, he assumed they were from the peacenik whites. Members of his tribe would never run away from what sounded like a three against one. He assumed it was three runners. But, considering how much noise these apparitions make, he rethought that it could have easily been one or two of his uninvited guests.

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Two-inch waves lapped up to his feet. He imagined large carp sleeping with clear eyelids, barely moving between the weeds. He thought the fishes god had given them a peaceful life. he wondered if they ever had to ponder decisions with such grave consequences.

* * * * *

Catherine felt free to hang on his arm the next morning before the meeting about war.
“Don’t be sorry about how you feel,” Catherine said. “Doing that will just allow their foolish arguments to seep in!”
“I am torn between what has been my way for years, and your new ideas. I should rightfully back a peaceful track but you have stirred an ancient warrior,” Running Bear said.
“If you let your people fend for themselves, history proves out that your way of life will capitulate to the white men that are coming. If you wait to fight the whites here you won’t have enough force to win the war. You will have to retreat, your people will die of unknown diseases,” Catherine said. “These white people are my people, and compared to you, we live unnaturally. You must defend the world’s natural course!”
Running Bear shuffled his feet, kicking a pebble from one foot to the other as he pondered the fate of his tribe. He wondered whether he would be able to convince longtime enemies that they had to fight together to stop the invading whites. According to these aliens, whites had already arrived in the lands to the east. In those lands, he was told, the whites would have starved if the native humans hadn’t helped them. It was hard for him to believe that these people would be so greedy as to kill their protectors.
“I am going to ask the men to join me in this fight. Whoever wants to try to convince other humans to war with us will be in the party when we head east, but I will not require that everyone come. Cowards are free to stay here and wait for their fate.”
Catherine felt an inner glow. She knew that in her lifetime, fighting idiots in

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control no only gained her power, but felt good during the battle as well. The was prepared to go fight the English invaders. Why settle for an enlightened court in Russia, when she could start a whole new culture with her new friends here, then return to her real life in Russia later! It would be good practice, she thought Calvinistically, and might help her prevent the downfall of enlightenment in Russia that was apparent before her death. She did not ponder whether setting an entire country’s worth of natives to war would impale her on a bigger badder petard in some level of hell even Dante hadn’t pondered.
The fire from the night before was smoldering. Running Bear could not remember such a wild time of sending arguments over the fire. The women and men seemed split on this one. But it was possible that the majority would not go his way. Tradition meant no decision until the idea was unanimous.
He continued to kick a pebble when Jeanne Larsen and Duane Allman happened by and offered a hacky-sack instead.
“Here man, try kicking this around,” Allman said. Duane had become a little better in just a couple days, as, by his standards, there wasn’t much to do other than smoke hemp and goof around. He wasn’t happy without an amp, a Les Paul, and a screaming crowd or a recording engineer prodding him along. Yet, this dream he fell into was making him more creative than ever. he had already kicked the sack with the bottom of his foot back over his shoulder and into play in a move Jack and Larsen had never seen before.
It had happened about two hours of playing-time into his career. Corcoran sent a shot, more like the bona fide toe-job you see in junior high school fullbacks, clear over Allman’s head. Instead of turning to pick up the sack or make a Pele-style turning back kick out of it, he backpedaled, planted his left foot and kicked, kind of like a reverse mule, his right foot while quickly bending his knee upwards.
The resulting shot line-drive past his bent back to the upper thigh of a surprised Jeanne Larsen who did two thigh reverses down to a balance job on her left foot followed by a perfect inner foot pass to an amused native. It was Allman’s play, however, that endeared both the whites to their playful new friends. From then on they had varying size crowds of all ages trying to understand their games, and the stories of the century they came from.

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Allman, Larsen and Running Bear started a game while members of various clans started eating their morning meals. The Heron clan was the most vociferous the night before, and the most creative around the morning fire. Their food was more than cornmeal. They made a morning mixture of cooked duck eggs and beans, and had a sweet substance to put on their cornbread.
As leader of the Turtle clan, Running Bear’s curiosity about the visiting clan’s food caused him to abruptly quit the hack sack game.
Jeanne plaintively attributed his leaving their three-way circle to embarrassment. She understood that a leader wouldn’t want to be exposed to the ridicule of fellow tribesman, even if they couldn’t play the game either. What she didn’t understand was Running Bear’s hunger.
“It’s too bad he didn’t stay long enough to learn,” Jeanne said.
“Well, it’s not that easy,” Duane said, increasing his legend while securing a fullback position in case his game fell off a little bit. It had a real chance of falling off after smoking the brand a hemp the natives in these parts grew too.
Running Bear sat down in the middle of the Heron clan and asked if he could sample their food. The move was more political than he had originally intended. The clan knew he was trying to go against their wishes because a leg-weary Bobbing Tail came off the hill about four am and had talked all night with Flying Owl, a loyal cousin who was a blast to stay up with. Flying Owl, one of the behind-the scenes leaders of the women of the Heron clan, was much more interested in the tongue play of Woolf, Bobbing Tail and Jessica, but Bobbing Tail was firm in her telling of the split Catherine had caused by first seducing Running Bear, then seducing war.
The Heron clan was leery. Was Running Bear at their breakfast to invade their circle and sway them to war, or could they use this chance to impress peace upon him?
“You are welcome to sit with us. Here is our morning meal, enjoy it,” Big Deer said in a curt tone.
Running Bear was happy to taste the bean-egg mix, but, as soon as he was done, he wanted to try the syrup on cornbread he had seen others eating. His breakfast group was more interested in feeling out the upcoming day.
“It seems you are insistent on going to fight these white people. Are you going to

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split off and go no matter what we say?” Big Deer asked, expressing the feelings of the whole clan.
“I think there will be enough smart men who want to save their communities. I don’t think we can save our people by waiting to be attacked,” Running Bear said.
“To make a decision without unanimity will break the sacred laws we have lived by for centuries. Why would you do this at the insistence of a woman who is herself white?” Big Deer asked.
Running Bear fumed that everyone knew of his affair with Catherine. It wasn’t just that Bobbing Tail had made a big stink among the women of the Heron clan, but that Catherine went around parading their new love.
“She is from the future. he friends and their gadgets, and what they know prove that they are more than gods. If they know that our way of life will be threatened unless we fight, why are you having such a hard time dealing with the realities we face?” Running Bear retorted.
“Our reality has been a good one because of peace. If you take half our men or more and create a new war, you are spitting on all the ancestors that strived to keep this a peaceful place.”
“You will never convince me that waiting for our fate to be dealt to us is better than taking our fate into our own hands and protecting our lifestyle by keeping the marauders away. You are free to stay here and wait for our triumphant return, but it will be our bravery that saves this way of life, not your cowardice.”
So much for Running Bear getting any of the sweet desert he had hoped for.
“Your arrogance is to be expected. I am amazed that you are Onondowagan, but the Turtle clan always has felt superior. We will see how you fare against the beliefs of the Mohawks and Cayugas when we are all gathered later today,” Big Deer said. His clan had been mumbling about their conversation. Running Bear excused himself before getting too many force lined up against him. He had to have his own tribe with him when he spoke later that morning, and, without the Heron clan, that was going to be hard to do.
One stand of trees away, Bobbing Tail was crashed out with Flying Owl. Flying Owl stirred, and quietly got up and meandered away from the small clearing in the

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woods and into the light of the larger meadow that ran from the water’s edge all the way up Bare Hill.
That left Bobbing Tail to dream of the encounter the night before. It is hard to shape dreams, that is what makes them so much fun. For all her trying, Bobbing Tail could not bring back Jessica from the previous night’s encounter. Maybe Jessica only watched. Maybe she couldn’t make the jump into homosexuality, and thus was left to satisfy herself as the others went on.
It was the vision of Jessica masturbating that finally broke through and hit Bobbing Tails dream. Jessica was perched on a large rock, maybe eight feet wide and almost flat on top. While Bobbing Tail and Stephanie were teasing Kandinsky, Woolf had snuck up behind Jessica to get a better view of what she was doing to herself on the rock.
Suddenly a rush of adrenaline surged through Bobbing Tail’s body. She was approaching orgasm. Flying Owl shook her shoulder and woke her up.
“You just ruined my wet dream. Your sense of timing is hideous.”
“After all you did last night you’re still having sex in your dreams?”
“Sex, hemp and lacrosse, isn’t that what summer’s all about?”
“Not once you have children,” Flying Owl said with a smile.
The two of them howled with laughter. They were part of a tribe that had forgone some of the old ways in order to have more fun. With many years of peace between them and having to work for a living, the two were free to remain playful for their entire lives. The laughter wasn’t all humorous though. The jitter of war snuck in, and both knew the chuckles would soon be replaced with tears.
In the meadow, Jeanne and Duane had picked up Bob Marley and a couple of natives in a widening circle. Running Bear returned to try his foot at it.
“This game requires some skill, but it is not as instructive as lacrosse. Lacrosse teaches out young men much more about life. How to win wars. how to survive,“ Running Bear said.
“Yeah, but this game was invented long after war was necessary,” Marley replied.
“Long after it was necessary, but not long after it was abolished.” Larsen pointed out.

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“We had wars in our century just so that people could make huge profits, and keep the rich rich and the poor poor,” Allman interjected.
“In each tribe there is a level of richness that is shared. Is that not true where you come from?” Running Bear inquired.
The hackys had been started by the whites until then, but now the natives didn’t mind starting a kick. One picked up the sack and kicked it with the inside of his feet three times before passing it to Jeanne.
“Good play,” she said.
Marley couldn’t resist more socio-banter. “In our century everyone was out for themselves. There were some tribes who helped each other out and shared the wealth they had gained, but most people were only helped by their families in terms of survival.”
“That’s what I mean,” Running Bear said. “My family is the Turtle clan, but my larger family is the Onondowagas, and that family belongs to the Haudenosaunee. If any of our family members are in trouble, we are there to back them up. Likewise, if there are riches to share due to a good corn crop, we all get together and share them. I still don’t understand how your century worked.”
“Look,” Duane said, “each man had a wife and their children made up the family. In terms of helping people out, you might go so far as to help out the children of your brother or sister, and you might help your grandchildren, but blood families were as far as the economic or emotional help usually went where I lived.”
“We had some people who lend a hand on my island,” Marley said, “but Duane is right, this area became famous for people just hogging their wealth and ignoring the needs of their fellow humans.”
“This is a terrible fate,” Running Bear said. “This place should never be inhabited by greedy people. It is too cold in the winter here for people to be selfish.”
“That is why we are here, I think,” Jeanne said, “to make sure your way of life is not just saved, but passed to all people.”
“The problem is, my people are divided as to how to do this.”
“So are the invites to this strange party we’re having here.”
Half think we should learn to negotiate on your terms, the way you think, the

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other half agree with Catherine and myself that the best way to save our niche is to hold the white people from coming here at all,” Running Bear said.
“We are ready to fight,” one of the native hack players said between volleys.
“He’s about fifteen right?” Jeanne asks.
“High in hormones and ready to let it all hang out in war.”
“He is a good example of how we are divided. It is a male-female split. It is bad enough that we have a war brewing, but that we are split male against female will be hard to resolve.”
The hack game continues. The young native hates to be talked about in the third person even though he is there.
“Why don’t you ask directly, to all the people. I am sure you will have a majority,” the youngster boldly suggested.
“I don’t know why you are dreaming of war. I have been influenced by these spiritual guests. I have hard dreams to follow too,” Running Bear replied.
“I died before I could see any of my dreams realized,” Marley said. “But the world was getting to the point where people either had to share everything, or all humanity would be lost. Greed was making many people starve while the rich continued to use up the resources. Technology could have saved humanity, but it was used to make the rich richer instead. If you go to war to save your way of life and lose, there won’t be any ancestors left to try to revive your traditions in time to save humanity. If you learn from us the best ways to negotiate, maybe more of your ideas will be incorporated into this part of the planet. That way humans may have a longer stay around here. The greedy way gives humans only a fraction of the time they would have had if they had adopted your way.”
Maybe you have a good point Marley, but I still have a difficult decision to make. I have already ruined my marriage, I would hate to make another hasty change of plans that would ruin everything we know as well,” Running Bear said.
There were still a few hours before he had to make the opening speech, so Running Bear excused himself from the game and headed toward his favorite point on

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the lake. It was about a two mile hike, so he quickly realized he would not be able to take refuge there, think for a while and make it back in time for his speech. It no longer mattered that he would open the argument. The lines were drawn. he headed for the rocky shore below the gathering. His steps were in one line. He had noticed that the whites walked “east and west” with their feet wide apart. Naturally, his steps were one foot in front of the other. it was a gait developed while deer hunting. A much quieter approach to walking.
Running Bear decided to walk and swim the two miles. There were flat paths a few hundred yards past the hill, but he enjoyed the contours of the shore, the shale and fossils strewn in his path, and the opportunity to swim.
“I hope you didn’t confuse the man, “ Duane said.
“Confuse him? That was my last chance to get his head on straight about how to deal with your European ancestors. I had to deal with the realities of oppression, so don’t talk to me about confusing anybody.”
“Uh, excuse me Bob, you got a good point there.”
It seems to me that we’re going to have some people going to fight a war, and others staying behind to survive in peace,” Jeanne said. “If we are to do our best, we should strategize about how to each them.”
“We should get Nostradamus, Tolkien and Kandinsky in on this,” Duane said.
“Jessica and Katherine B. should be able to help too,” Jeanne said.
A lot of whites weren’t taking sides because they were having too much fun with their new friends. We will have to see whether Jeanne and company will ever find Nostradamus and his native girlfriend. As they ponder a day of warm-up peace talks, a lone native stands by the shore of the lake that gives his tribe meaning. Their home spot, the chosen place, Ganandauguay.
A large round rock splashes into the water, entering with a Ch-thud of a sound. The hurler is disappointed, hoping for more of a “Schunk.” The type of throw that, no matter how big the rock, enters the water at such a perfect angle as to defy physics. The throw that causes the splash to fold over itself, with the rock, he imagines, moving ten feet under the water all at one time before slowing down in its drift to the bottom.

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Running Bear has played these games before. Usually without so much on his mind. Usually in the summers of his youth. Usually without having to worry about
who might have followed him away from the circle of ganohsots this time.
This time the moon serves no warning. This time Running Bear expires. This “time,” the Onondowagas mark forever as the last time their tribe knew the peace under the great white tree.

* * * *

No one knew about his death.
The average conference attendee was being summoned to more demonstrations of gadgetry, some sport-playing for the youngsters, and heated debates in three circles, the crowds around which fully seventy five percent women.
Circle One: Kandinsky, Larsen, Allman, Tolkien and Woolf – in . Out – mostly younger, fifty folks, few young men.
Circle Two: Marley, Corcoran, Nostradamus (more on how Corcoran found him later) Jessica, Stephanie and Jack – in. Out – Two of the most important elders of the Mohawk tribe, their children, relatives and clan members, few young men.
Circle Three: Katherine B., Catherine the Great, Big Deer, Tad and Flying Owl – in. Out – The largest crowd of all. Hundreds of people, few young men.
The young men that were visible were mostly swimming, chasing after each other, or playing catch with lacrosse sticks carefully crafted of bent woods that took days to bend, steam, bend into shape. The sticks, now (‘95) all but gone except for a few women’s teams, had leather thongs woven to form deep pockets, walled with tied cat gut. The boys made their own if they were lucky enough to have an in with the crafts women. You had to get “in” otherwise suffer the humility of playing with an old uncle’s stick, or, worst of all, some toss off stick nobody used anymore.
The boys quickly learned to tie their own knots, improve sticks, and disfigure the stolen sticks of enemy players so they couldn’t be recognized in a future game. Getting caught with an opponent’s stick could lead to the outbreak of knife fights, tomahawk

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battles and blood loss. Far better to fend off the snickers of the young women and brave the stick demands of the crafts ladies. This assured you a good stick, and taught you more crafty tricks than the young girls knew. Thus the crafts ladies served the dual-instructional role.
Tad: Frankly lady, I can’t abide your ugly warring ways. Where the hell is Running Bear? He’s going to come here, address the crowd and blow your ass out of the water.
C. the G.: I don’t remember how you got here, or why you’re here, but I led the world’s greatest country. When I first heard your music from that machine I was slightly amused, but your change of heart from the sensible defense of this land, to the peacenik soft, suicidal side of the argument is short-sighted.
Tad winced, but struck back: “We have the brains to teach these people well. We are young enough to negotiate the same type of arrangement the Maoris hammered out in 19th and 20th Century New Zealand. And I’m here as a friend of the author.”
“I don’t know what your talking about, but. . .”
“I do,” Katherine B. chirped up. “The Maori make up 35 percent of the population, and they have 35 percent of the seats in Parliament. If the elections are anywhere near close between labor and conservatives, they have an automatic swing vote. This way the natives at least kept control of a good hunk of the land in a very small country, with very little to spare of fertile land.”
“I have already rounded up the troops.”
“Look here you cootie-ridden slut, you stole my best friend’s husband, I have no idea who the hell you think you are, but I doubt the men will go without Running Bear, and I doubt Running Bear will ignore his entire tribe to risk war with you as a leader!” Flying Owl yelped.
The outbreak started to spread to the crowd. People started taking sides. Flying Owl pulled Tad aside and asked why he had had a change of heart.
“In just two days I have learned a lot about your reverence for nature, and your spiritual awareness. I could no longer back violence,” Tad said.
“No one would tell you our thanksgiving prayers or let you into our secrets, so I assume your change of heart was of your own doing,” Flying Owl replied.
“I sat with five youngsters who talked and danced one night. The next morning

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I was woken up by a man in a wooden mask. He took my hand and led me to a raspberry patch. We sat there eating raspberries when he started to talk from behind the mask.”
“He wouldn’t let you see his face?” she asked.
“No, he talked clearly though. There must have been great acoustics coming from the mask because it appeared to be thick solid wood, but he sounded as clear as a bell. Anyway, he was explaining to me how lucky I had been to live so long during my first life. That if I hadn’t been charged with spiritual “friends” in my first life I never would have survived.”
“Well, there is no way he could have known it, but I had severe heart and lung problems that caused complications throughout my life. At least three times medical advancements came along just in time, or I would not have survived. All I’m saying is that he was right, he knew all about me.
“Our spiritual elders are very perceptive that way,” Flying Owl said.
“This guy wasn’t old, or if he was he sure was in great shape.”
“You will find very few of our men out of shape.”
“He said it would be boring for him to run down the list of things he knew about me, but said that my belief in the gods was the reason I was here. He was hinting around that he wanted me to become the spiritual leader of the guests who are here.”
“That might be a great idea. Your type is a long way from nature, thus further away from the gods. See what you can do to bring them back,” Flying Owl said as a tussle broke out between three women fighting over whether to send their sons to war. “Look you smelly old lady, my son died playing those stupid war games. When we gave up war,” said the lady from the Oneida tribe, “we should have given up those games too. Youngsters are influenced by the violence around them, it is your insane tribe that kept the games alive!”
“Games have nothing to do with this white serpent who is dragging our men off to war,” the Mohawk lady insisted.
“The Mohawks never have to be dragged to war,” the Onondowagan women clarified.

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“What are you going to do about this Catherine female?” an onlooker implored.
“There isn’t much we can do, short of talking directly to the men who are swayable. I see Big Deer has been hard on the charge for peace,” Flying Owl said.
“True enough,” Katherine B. said, “this circle all agrees. Maybe we should join the circle with Jack in it to get him to come around to our side.”
“It won’t do any good. I have award-winning arguments being presented in every crowd. And fired up warriors wait in three locations for our command. As soon as Running Bear gets back from his swim, we will order the men east. The key to any war is logistics. I don’t mean to bore you, but we have the runners, scouts, women helpers and spies already lined up. The more who want to join the better. You can’t do anything to stop us now,” Catherine said.
“Yeah, but we can sway over half the people into staying here!” Tad said.
All but Catherine meandered toward the circle that found Jack and Jessica taking a tongue lashing from the crowd. Jessica was starting to fade, but Jack was gung-ho for a little fun. He figured his superior knowledge from the 20th Century would make a simple ground war against the feeble Puritans more of a month-long romp than a disheartening bloodbath. Maybe he forgot how long a walk it was from Victor New York to Plymouth Mass.
Marley and Nostradamus formed a philosophical core that quickly engulfed Corcoran and Stephanie by sheer magnetic force.
“I feel sorry for you Jack. Your going to bust your hump trying to change history, knowing that you really can’t, and for what? Do you think your likeness will show up on some 20th Century painting, thus proving to Shirley MacLaine and her group that you’re really a reincarnated Onondowagan warrior? As you will recall, most of the paintings of Indians were done much later than this, and out west. The only recordings of the goings on between the French and Indians around here were done by that goofy catholic cleric. His line drawings weren’t worth a poo,” Stephanie said.
“What do you know about art?,” Corcoran (of Corcoran Gallery fame) asked.
“If you count a model’s perspective I know plenty,” Stephanie blasted back.
“Yeah, you’ve hung out with some true artists in your day.”
“Look missy – “

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(Nostradamus snuck one in edge-wise.)
“It’s unbelievable how poorly women treat each other don’t you think?” Marley asked Nostradamus.
“I wouldn’t call it my strong suit, but if you think women treat each other badly, how would you rate men killing each other in war?”
“Almost worse than being enslaved into a lifestyle you can’t afford,” Marley replied, with the full force of sarcasm you might expect from a Jamaican Islander.
“You have the nerve to speak up on that subject. You guys just hung around smoking marijuana, never contributing a thing to society,” Jack said.
“If your movies are your only contribution, I’m afraid my songs are a better one. At least I wrote songs that helped my people see life as it really is, fight against our oppressors and gain an inner peace. What did your movies ever do for anybody shy of pure escapism.”
“I had a few social comments to make. Just because I was a star, doesn’t mean I wasn’t concerned about humanity. You think you got a patent on that?”
“I think I’ve got a better stance going into this war than you do!”
“Look, I’ve got an extra life here, I’m a hedonist by nature. If these men are going to go to war anyway won’t they need all the help they can get.”
“From you Mr. Macho?” Jessica interjected.
“Sure, why not. They’ve never seen guns. Don’t you think our first play will be to scout and steal ammunition and guns so it’s an even playing field. Those liberal New Englanders have probably sat down at a Thanksgiving feast with those tribes by now. And we both know it was the tribes who helped them survive. If we first safely intermingle with the eastern tribes, then gain their confidence, we’ll be able to grab up a huge store of weapons and blow them back into the bay before word gets out on how huge this continent is!”
“Nice theory Jack. I hope it holds up better than your lovemaking at those bashes we used to attend,” Jessica said.
“Make love not war,” Corcoran said.
“I’m serious you pinko Neo-Haight-Asbury dropouts,” Jack scowled,

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“think of how much fun we can have if we can save this place for our new ancestors!”
Katherine B. seemed to scowl an approval. Her face was hard to analyze in her early years. Remember the quizzical but demanding “facials” she could throw at people in her early films? Those were tempered by playing a Shenandoah Valley “regular.”
“There is more than one way to skin a cat Mr. Jack,” Katherine B. said. “You may have something in keeping them off for now, but do you realize how quickly you’re going to have build treaties with all the tribes on the east coast!?”
“Yeah, but we have historians here. We can figure out the names of the leaders of all the tribes, what their dire needs are, and what to offer to make a peace work,” Stephanie pointed out.
“If the gods had placed ‘Handsome Lake,’ 5 or some type of apparition like these time travelers in 1622 instead of the 1900s, maybe there would have been a different peaceful conclusion. Can’t say the gods messed up because we had it made in the 20th Century. Some of us never realized the luxury of our situation. Others were abandoned, and felt so left-out, they retaliated by spoiling the party for themselves and lots of people around them. It is completely fair to expect all human beings to reach out and encourage people to know that their life matters, that they help the whole of humanity define itself, and that with simple understanding, condolence and love, humanity can experience a Renaissance as has never before been imagined. A Renaissance that is tripled in length by the emerging Americas, led into the 1700s by the ancestors of our ugly bones,” Tad said.
“Imagine a hawk like you coming around. Too bad Catherine isn’t here to witness the conversion of her followers,” Flying Owl said, with a knowing smile.
Actually, it was lucky for the circle that she was off rounding up the leaders of her war troops. While war was brewing on the horizon, the core of a wider alliance was sparked.
Nostradamus spoke:
“I am addressing the natives here. Please give me some leeway as I am here to speak on the side of peace. For all you know we could be lying about an invasion of white skins. We could be sending your men east so we can take over here.”

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“Don’t even start that way!” Flying Owl insisted.
“Look, we might be the only white skins that ever existed. Would you go to war knot knowing whether there is an opponent?”
“”Our people live by there dreams. You are the embodiment of a lot of dreams our people have been having. The women have been dreaming about this war for some time. We haven’t gone over the fire with it because we didn’t want to get the boiled up. If the war was headed our way, we were going to wait until the invaders came closer in our dreams before screaming our dreams and having scouts sent out.”
“Good point, smart idea, but, Flying Owl, if your dreams lead your life, who has dreamed of the conglomeration of more tribes into the Haudenosaunee?”
“I don’t know what your mean.”
“I know what he means,” Big Deer said. There have been insistent scenes in my brain about tribes to the south becoming a part of our family.”
“Good, then you know how important it is going to be to form larger and larger peace groups,” Nostradamus said. “I have strong feelings about the fate of mankind. I follow the stars, and meditate for days. You have been at peace in this area for longer than any warring tribes on the history of this planet. Your peace needs to be an example, not a historical one, of how to keep this planet habitable for humans. The best a war is going to do is hold back the Europeans a year or two if you lose the war.”
“We don’t lose wars,” Big Deer pointed out.
“Fine, let’s say you win. That gives you maybe ten year, 20 tops to keep the Europeans at bay. In that time if you don’t form an alliance with enough other tribes on this continent, they will come and destroy you.”
“But can we develop the negotiating skills of hundreds of thousands of people in order to create the type of arrangement seen in New Zealand in the 20th Century?” Tad asked.
“I don’t know what you are referring to, but large negotiating groups will help.” Nostradamus suggested.
“We need to warn the Haudenosaunee about the ways of the white men. The history as it is known 400 years from know shows that all the treaties signed with the natives of this land were either broken, ignored, renegotiated or warred out of

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existence. Almost all the land ends up in the hands of the whites. I’m not one to be a racist, and I am white, but the tribe of whites that end up here are the worst type of fascists,” Tad interjected.
{Author’s definition of fascist: 1) any government that encourages or licenses the profit of some from the toils of others.5}
“Very soon the peace and land-use of this continent will be inter linked among the natives and those who are coming. None of the whites, especially their leaders, will be easy to sway. Europe is already becoming industrialized in its own little way. You won’t be able to stop human resources form inventing technology. You will have to form a group big enough to make sure the land remains foremost. This war may only buy you two years. Failure will decide the fate of humans on earth. Failure means small but determined species will take over on the human remains,” Nostradamus warned.
“I am starting to believe in the dreams, and living by them,” Marley said. “If some have a dream of war, and others have a peaceful solution, maybe both can work.”
The two circles were lucky to have Nostradamus there to referee. Corcoran had enlisted the help of two young scout-looking lacrosse players to track Nostradamus, who had gone on a walkabout, as only a monk could: apparently he had run off with two teenage girls. Both were members of the Turtle Clan, and if it hadn’t been for the uproar of war, the search would have been completed much faster, and with possible deadly results.
The women of the Onodowaga tribe liked to torture men that ran off with their daughters. The torture was particularly effective as the men would be carefully castrated, in order to remain alive. After the castration, and full recovery of the victim, the women would play catch with his balls. They also might pound on them, or cut them up with axes or laugh at their puniness.
Instead, the disappearance was kept under raps by the women, and Corcoran was allowed to go looking for them with the two trusted young Snipe clan men. Darting Swallow and Charging Buck easily followed the movements of the threesome as the younger women were not adept at covering their tracks. Actually, that’s a bad way of putting it. They were very good at covering their tracks, just not so good by

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Haudenosaunee standards. Nostradamus had no idea why they should be covering their tracks, or lighting no fires.
“You are both so beautiful, it does not seem fair to have to decide,” Nostradamus said as they made a camp their first night out.
“You must decide. One of us is a virgin, so you can not have both of us. If neither of us was a virgin, there may have been room for compromise, but the law says that a virgin shall not be part of an orgy until she is rightfully married for a year. If you choose the one of us that is a virgin, you will have to marry her. If you choose the one who isn’t you won’t be compelled to marry her, but it may extend your visit to our tribe if you do. Choose wisely,” Gull Feather said.
“It’s not an easy decision, but-”
“Hold it right there,” Corcoran interrupted from a nearby bush. “You’re not going to jeopardize our stay here, fall down on your duty and break your monastic vows all at the same time are you!?”
“I was thinking about it, but I don’t see how sex ruins our stay here or means I’m not living up to my part of this cosmic time ride,” he retorted.
“The men will not take this lightly,” Darting Swallow warned.
“The men need not know. And if we’re smart, we won’t be the ones who add this drama to an already increasing flame,” Charging Buck suggested.
“Are you a coward?”
“No, and I’m smart enough to recognize an incident when I see one. Brother, this isn’t it.”
“Look,” Nostradamus pleaded, “I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’ll make it up to the group by leading a seminar in the art of negotiating, how about that?”
He was smart enough to catch on to the wave of hostility burning through Darting Swallow, but had no idea how nasty the results of a public airing of these offenses could be. It might be just a little teasing, a severe tickling, a semi-drowning, or full castration.
The Haudenosaunee men gladly created moments of sadistic merriment for their women, but amusement was not the purpose. Having avoided major wars with their corn customers to the west, and, although at peace with their immediate

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neighbors for centuries, still, the Haudenosaunee were always prepared to fight. This preparation included how to run a jail, how to torture prisoners and get them back to their camp so the enemy can see why it’s not smart to mess with them, and the art of running supplies.
It was assumed that men could scout, hunt, run and hide better than any neighboring tribesmen. What the Haudenosaunee had recently learned was how to market, transport and thrive with a corn crop that dominated the east coast of north “america.”
It wasn’t long before the free time earned by the peace under the great white tree evolved into a system of runners, salesmen, craftsmen and entertainers that was able to profit by their successes without taking advantage of anyone. Neither the workers nor the clients suffered in a system that promoted each clan becoming experts at their favorite enterprise, and trading those talents for the necessary tools for survival. There were no “lawyers” as all matters of importance were discussed with the whole clan. If matters became more important, a meeting of the whole tribe, or even the entire confederacy took place.
Such firm believers in dreams and apparitions had no problem convening the entire alliance when the white ghosts first showed up.
The sun gods were playing adolescent tricks by bringing the visitors to this situation with gadgets from their centuries. But such fun and games were only a way to drive home the point about the upcoming battles with the marauding Europeans.
“I have severe worries about going to war with people who have better weapons,” Darting Swallow said.
“I doubt they have better weapons. Such talk is just to get us more fired up to do a good job in the war, “ Charging Buck said.
“I’m not going to war. I’m going to stay here and learn to negotiate, and make the tribe strong, in case there is an onslaught.”
“If you do that, you will be condemning yourself to die,” Charging Buck said.
Corcoran: “No he won’t. The worst thing that would happen is having to move off this land, is that not so?”
“Yes it is,” Darting Swallow said.

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“If that’s the case, the only way you will be able to save Ganandauguay for your future generations is by learning how to negotiate,” Corcoran said.
“Saving the land of your dreams, even a town or two will not be easy,” Nostradamus said. “Let us help.”
“You seem real to me,” Darting Swallow said. “I will help any way I can.”
“You’re quick to jump to the wants of any new visitor, one who does not even have color!” Charging Buck rebuked. “These white skins must spend all day inside. They don’t know how to hunt, only a few have any talent for crafts, and the women are bossy. Especially Catherine the Great. Who does she think she is!”
“You’re the one who is threatening to join up with her devised clan of warriors!”
“Yes, but she should not be a warrior herself.”
“Why not?” Corcoran asked.
“It is not right. Women already have the rights in selecting the leaders. Only the women vote, only the men are leaders, especially in war,” Charging Buck said.
“Only the women vote?” Corcoran asked.
“Yes,” Sunshine said.
(Sunshine was the other young Turtle Clan woman who had run off with Nostradamus and Gull Feather.)
“It is a law my grandmother taught me about,” Gull Feather said. “The rule was set up because in a room full of men, deals can be cut. One man can stand in front of a crowd, and, while smiling, know that he has the votes because of deals set up with other men in the room. If that same man is trying to be chief, and only the women vote, no deals can be made. Have you ever tried to make some side arrangements in a room full of women Nostradamus?” “I’ve never been in a room full of women.”
“Well, take it from me, women instantly break up all treaties amongst men. Women are too untrusting of each other. Anyone making deals in groups bigger than one-at-a-time is instantly found out by all. Hence, when only women vote, as I said before, the best man is elected. Sure, specific men do the job, but we get to decide who will do the job.

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“That’s the best system I’ve ever heard of! It must work great,” Corcoran said.
“It has its moments,” Charging Bull conceded, “but I think women can and do form alliances with special deals and back scratchings.”
“You wouldn’t want my mother hearing you talk like that,” Sunshine said.
“Plus, if our alliances are formed it is always with the interests of electing the best man. If you don’t believe that, how did Running Bear rise above Big Deer?”
“She’s got you on that one,” Darting Swallow jabbed.
“If Running Bear is such a great man, why is he allowing this Catherine to lead him around by his balls?”
“If she wasn’t in control of his life, you wouldn’t have a war to go off to, Gull Feather suggested, as she stormed away from the group.
“What’s wrong?” Corcoran asked, catching up to her.
“I’m mad that these two so-called men are arguing, but neither can gain a firm footing for his side of the argument. I don’t want to see war, but Darting Swallow will fall flat on his face among his peers if he stays behind. Plus I’ve got to go pee.”
“Oh. Let me go with you”
“Why you gross pig.
“No, I mean so we can talk away from this crowd,” Corcoran assured her.
“I wouldn’t normally walk away from an argument with a cohort. It looks bad, but it may not be recorded since you’re a god.”
“I need help in convincing Nostradamus to live up to his word about the negotiation seminar. I think he’d rather run off with you or Sunshine.”
“Just before you got here we were telling him that one of us was a virgin and the other wasn’t. We also said that he would have to choose between us, since a virgin isn’t allowed in an orgy. Well, truth is, neither of us are virgins, but he needed to be grounded in our clan. We were encouraged to get him married into our group by our aunts and mothers,” Gull Feather explained.
“What the hell would you do that for, this guy’s a maniac.”
“We have no problem marrying a man to add his lines to our clan.”
“Don’t you people believe in free love, and being able to choose your partners?”
“Sure, but a marriage is only the beginning of a family. Our family is the whole

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clan. If we can secure the one god who appears like a man, who knows more about the universe than you other gods, and who wants to further peace, we will take our chances with his abilities as a father and lover.”
“But doesn’t that go against your policy of following your dreams?” “Not if having Nostradamus in our clan is somebody’s dream.”
With that, Gull Feather took a leak and the two headed back to the crowd. The six of them soon noticed that there were three women and three men. This human six-pack was located not one hundred yards from a spring-fed creek that sported crawdads and skimming water spiders. The water spiders were like skaters.
They would move over the top of the water, leaving a microscopic four-trailed wake behind them. They flowed easily over smooth pools of water and the running stream alike.
“I’ve never seen anything like those water spiders,” Corcoran said.
“It’s as if you people didn’t live in nature at all,” Darting Swallow said.
He sat down on a rock just next to her. He looked at her amazement about nature and thought she has a lot to learn for someone her age.
“How old are you Monica?”
“I’m 20, how old are you?”
“I’m sixteen, and I am bold enough to say that you need to learn a lot more about nature before you are worshipped in my house.”
“I’ve tried to explain that I am not a god. I am just a human being from a different time. We didn’t have to interact with nature in my time. We had all our necessities taken care of by money.”
“You can’t eat a wampum belt,” Darting Swallow insisted.
“No, but we had groups of people who specialized in making products, or fixing things that people couldn’t fix themselves.”
“Why would you have something you didn’t know how to fix?”
“Boy that’s a complicated one. You know Duane’s motorcycle?
“Well everyone in this area had some type of vehicle to get from one place to another. If your job was to plant corn, you would use vehicles to help till, sew, harvest

Stuber 5.23

and transport your corn to the market where it is sold. If you are busy with your crops, you might not know how to fix a tractor.”
“If my job was to grow corn, I would have plenty of time to fix a tractor, or whatever else my clan had.”
“Never mind, why don’t you teach me about nature.”
“I have this strange problem that you might have seen before,” Darting Swallow said as he cleverly exposed his penis.
“Holy cow, that is a problem,” Corcoran thought as what appeared to be just the head of penis poked an inch or two away from his pubic hair.
“You see,” Darting Swallow continued, I am teased unmercifully by a crowd of men that believes my manhood to be less than perfect. When I was young no one noticed, but as I grew in height but not in size, if you know what I mean, my friends would laugh at me. It is how I became one of the strongest members of my clan. I had to fight my way through all the teasing.”
“That’s a shame, but if you don’t mind, could you put yourself back behind your leather?”
As he pulled the leather over his crotch, a tear flowed from Monica’s left eye. He was to the right side of her, so he didn’t see it.
“You are shy Monica, may I kiss you?”
“Not now. We have to get Nostradamus back to the meeting.”
As the two turned from the creek they were greeted by loud jostlings in the bushes. They realized they were going to have to wait before interrupting the groping that was going on nearby. They heard the noises, but never went to check on the other four.
Monica reached over and took Darting Swallow’s hand, kissed and licked his neck then bit his nipple, gently, then hard. Before you knew it they were immersed in each other. Darting Swallow loved the cold water, so he led her there. The creek was only a foot or so deep. He laid down naked in the water, then asked Monica to join him.
She was in the process of disrobing when he sprung from the water and tackled her. She was plenty pissed.

Stuber 5.24

“What the heck, this isn’t football.”
“No, we call it love play,” Darting Swallow corrected.
Still pissed, she relented to his earnest kissing, and soft fondling of her buttocks. He was nibbling her ear lobes from behind when she turned around and stuck her tongue down his throat. He was a little startled, but then the tongue-play became alternately furious and teasing.
She would lick his lips, and the bridge of his nose, then just hang her mouth there for him to play with. In turn, he was madly stroking her neck with his tongue, biting her chin and slowly rubbing his way up and down her sides.
Her clitoris twitched with the ache of need.
His penis started to swell with the blood of excitement.
She reached down and found nothing to cry about, as Darting Swallow had risen to a full seven inches. She hadn’t experienced anything like this before. Sure a man becomes enlarged in the stiffening, but this was like Chrysanthemum swelling into a Burning Bush — a two week old asparagus into a fully ripened cucumber!
Speaking of burning Bush. . . (should have thought of that earlier) Corcoran slid down to get a better angle on him. He groaned as she stroked and sucked. He sat in the water and pulled her on top of him. Then he rolled over, put Monica on her back facing upstream, and lapped her to orgasm with a current of white water flowing over his head, over her stomach, past her breast and by her shoulders.
Her hands slipped as they pushed on some rocks. Her left elbow buckled as she heaved her back in anticipation. Her pubic mound nearly crushed Darting Swallow’s nose in the motion. He used his chin to push her back into the water, and she screamed in both delight and surprise. She was astounded at his abilities, and they hadn’t even started yet. She was also surprised to see Nostradamus and Sunshine sneaking a peek. That didn’t slow her down, however, as she was used to trying to make love in a dorm room, where, instead of her own room, she had a tapestry-walled corner of a living room to try to entertain men in, whether her roommates were watching tv, or whatever. It was one of those “suite” set-ups, with two bedrooms and a very nice living room and kitchen, etc. There were supposed to be two people in each bedroom, but Monica had run into a power-bitch for a roommate, and was forced to eke

Stuber 5.25

out an existence in the common room.
After trying to be discreet for years, she wasn’t going to miss out on this fun just because some kinky monk (not the only one of those in history) and his new native neophyte nymph. In her days, she probably had guys snuck into her little corner, and making love without her roommates knowing it, but when you’re in a wild dream anyway, what’s there to lose?
She pulled Darting Swallow’s head tight to her crotch. That was the only prodding he needed. She let her head sink into the water. It was deep enough so that she had to hold her breath, but she wasn’t about to keep her hand and arm muscles tightened. She relaxed and let the water flow (even into her nostrils) occasionally lifting her head up to get air. Maybe that’s what Hunter/Weir meant by “I knew she’d have to come up soon for air.” Maybe not.
Either way, Monica was starting to let loose. She was the type who could continue receiving head even after five or six orgasms. After two or three, Darting Swallow stopped.
“No matter what I do you are having these little tiny orgasms, over and over. What do I have to do to get you all the way off?” Darting Swallow asked.
“I always just have the little ones. Lots of little ones. You can keep going if you like, but maybe you’re wanting to assert yourself, I mean insert yourself somewhere?” “I’m no longer in the mood. We have watchers, plus, I don’t understand how you can keep having those mini-orgasms without satisfying your soul.”
“Those little ones do satisfy my soul. I thought myself at an early age how to come as quickly as possible. Men don’t usually hang around long enough for women to achieve that monster orgasm, so, through masturbation, I thought myself how to achieve one quickly.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you denying yourself the pleasure of the big ones?” he said as he pulled his wet leather out of the water.
“Only when I’m with other people.”
“Well, you’re with a man who will take the time to give you the big one. The next time we love-play, you just tell me what you need, and we’ll do it. Hopefully without ass-hole voyeurs watching us,” he said, directing the comment to the

Stuber 5.26

approaching couple.
“Nice love-play, but rather brief,” Sunshine said.
“You’re awfully young to be fully involved in voyeurism,” Darting Swallow said.
“You’re awfully old to have the penis of a ten-year-old, Darting Swallow.”
“OK kids break it up,” Nostradamus interdicted. {How about that for a new usage of interdicted?}
The four of them then set off in search of Gull Feather and Charging Buck. Once they found them they kept teasing them until they finally stopped playing. Their play had Gull Feather’s calves resting on Charging Bulls shoulders. With her back on the ground, and butt pumping in-time with his, full penetration was achieved on each stroke.
“OK, enough is enough, she’s not going to be able to walk all the way back to the meeting if you don’t quit,” Sunshine suggested.
Nostradamus laughed.
And off they trekked, back toward Ganandauguay.
That is how Nostradamus was able to rejoin the group, add to circle number two, and, with circle number three, join up with circle number one. The three came together just in time to hear Larsen explaining:
Larsen: It’s going to take a lot to hold off the Europeans diplomatically. I’m not sure we can do it, but, as has been suggested, the formation of an ever-increasing alliance is essential.
Nostradamus couldn’t help but smile at the synchronicity of thought.
Woolf: The only way is through war. They will keep coming until they have what they want. It may be simple to keep the Puritans at bay, but how are you going to reestablish a foothold in the southern part of the hemisphere with the Spanish already firmly entrenched without a war?
Larsen: By forming a bigger alliance of every nation that hasn’t been overtaken, and creating an equitable system.
Tolkien: Are you out of your mind? People came and took what they wanted, no matter how bad the wars were.
Allman: The Haudenosaunee deserve to be saved. I know how it turns out. The

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system found a way to snuff us out because they couldn’t find a way to profit on us. The idea of communes with great gobs of people not participating in the economy, living off the land, and most importantly not enslaving themselves to the almighty dollar, did not appeal to the powers that be. They managed to snub every popular movement that even questioned authority.
Larsen: You’re not kidding. By the time the 1990s rolled around, once having belonged to groups as positive as Amnesty International or the American Civil Liberties Union would lock you out of the job market in entire cities!
Allman: Well, I guess it was around ‘70 when I realized the fun had a limited lifespan. Very few of the hangouts ever worked out for us, but we sure had fun. If you have a band or one or two people who can sustain a house financially, then the rest of the hang-arounds can develop into the humans they want to be without the time constraints of regular work. Most jobs were so dead-end, at least when I was around, that people would much rather be poor and hanging out on a farm than enslave themselves. Working for the profit-driven companies can be dangerous for your health: especially work that has nothing to do with your god-given skills and desires.
Woolf: Good luck getting rid of the profit motive.
Larsen: There is no profit motive here. All we’d have to do is instill the Haudenosaunee beliefs in nature on the arriving Europeans.
Tad: An effective barter system would still allow people to thrive, but it would also close the gap between the richest and the poorest. Everyone could enjoy the beautiful country this area is. What ends up happening here is a huge group of underclass are enslaved into poverty and violence, another big hunk has to work so hard, they have no time to have fun, while those who profit off of the labor of others are stuck building walls around their estates for fear the have-nots will attack the haves. Somehow human beings got so far away from loving each other and helping each other out that the gap threatened to implode the country. It was a genocidal war of attrition, in which, unlike most civil wars, the rich blew away the poor with the middle classes help. Usually the middle class tries to get the poor to kill the rich, so they can become the rich. In the US in 1995, anyone who didn’t pass corporate muster was relegated to a living of 80-hour work weeks or impoverishment.
Big Deer: No man needs to hunt forever. How could it be that all your waking hours were spent in pursuits other than following your dreams?

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Tad: Following your dreams was acceptable if you were already rich, or if you didn’t mind living like an animal.
Flying Owl: But we are animals, and everyone is rich, so I don’t understand you.
Tad: Look, we had a money system that caused people to owe large obligations. To meet those obligations they worked most of their waking hours. Even mothers with children left their homes and worked away from their families!”
Big Deer: You are exaggerating I am sure,
Larsen: No he’s not. We had almost no free time.
Big Deer: No wonder you are so quick to go to war. For many men going to war would be the only way out of such an intolerable situation.
Tad: Bingo.
Big Deer: This conversation is important, but I suggest we continue once Running Bear shows up.

The day was starting out with a bang. Just as it was breaking up, more young men were lured to the scene, as the crowd became large enough to attract interest on its own. Just as natives were starting to listen more, a few of the invitees were getting bored, and pealed off for exploratory hikes.
Jessica and Stephanie were eyeing each other, and asked a few natives where the best part of the lake was for swimming.
“The lake is pretty everywhere but the south end. That is a two-hour hike, so I don’t see how you’d end up there. “I like the other side of the lake at “First Bend.”
The native was referring to what was later called Tichner’s point. It was about a mile swim across the lake and maybe five miles north of their present location. The ladies decided head down to the shore and take it from there.
A soft southern wind came up. Three bass circled a few yards into the water. Jessica and Stephanie waded in.






  • Before You Speak

    Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates. At the first gate, ask yourself, ‘Is it true?’ At the second ask, ‘Is it necessary?’ At the third gate ask ‘Is it kind? Rumi  Translated by Coleman Barks



“The Dinner Party,” a novella in 11 chapters plus endnotes, copyright, Doug Stuber, 1992.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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