Rite of Passage

John B Badd

Published by Badd Words LLC

Copyright © 2010 by John B Badd

This work may not be reproduced in any way shape or form without the written consent of the

copyright holder and above publisher.

This is a work of fiction and no characters herein represent any known person either living or

deceased.

Thanks to,

My mother and grandmother for instilling a love of written word into me before I could read.

All my friends and family who continue to show me support and accept my insanity.

All my teachers who tolerated my being insufferable.

You can find me here:

www.baddwords.com

www.johnbbadd.com

Enjoy

A cool dry October-breeze brings a faint odor of wood fire and autumn leaves as it rustles

over Mato Kitala's 1 windbreaker, gently blowing his long black hair. As he observes his

environment he dispassionately notices the evening sun turning the western horizon red; he is

aware of the ancient river splashing around the crumbling supports of the old bridge he has

chosen for their meeting. A hawk circling low causes a nuance of paranoia in the young man.

He casually scans the landscape for intruders, but sees only his friends; Ronald on point at the

1 Mato: Lakota for Bear. Kitala: Lakota for Little. Translated to English the name would read Little Bear.

forward base of the bridge, hidden behind a cluster of brush; Darnell leaning on the rotten,

wooden rail opposite of Mato. You can not discern the cars on the one-lane highway from this

vantage. A few shrubs and the dilapidated forgotten crossing offer the only cover out here,

which is why he picked this location; it gives them a strategic advantage from the authorities and

any enemies with the intention of disrupting their plans.

Darnell, with his fully-automatic Tech-Nine Millimeter, is their weapons front man.

Mato has been friends with Darnell since elementary school. Darnell used to steal Mato's lunch,

until Mato gave him a black eye in second grade. They have been close friends ever since.

Ronald, hidden in the bushes, holding his Russian S.K.S. with a banana clip, is their ace-in-the-

hole in case of a double-cross. Mato and Ronald have only been friends for the past two years.

Even though they attended the same middle school together Ronald always hung around the bad

crowd whom Mato steered clear of until he got himself mixed up in the game. However over the

past two years the two have become great friends. It does not hurt that the kid is a crack-shot

with a rifle, hence his covert positioning.

Mato smiles while considering his own cunning, his paranoia flowing away like the river

below. He knows he is a great man even if his father still thinks of him as a child. A child

would not be standing here with fifty-thousand dollars and a Colt Forty-Five handgun. A child

would not be preparing to make a deal that will not only pay back the fifty he borrowed with

interest, but make another fifty-thousand profit in just a few months. His old man is lucky to

make that in two years. And he thinks Mato Kitala is a child.

---

Mato is no child. He has been earning his keep since he was fourteen, almost two whole

years now. He remembers when his cousin James came to visit from New Mexico two years

ago. His cousin was a young man of nineteen at the time. He was driving a brand new silver

Ford F-150 with leather seats and a moon-roof. Mato and his father were very impressed. At

first he told them a tale of how he was working construction and saved nearly all his weekly pay

to buy the truck. But later, when he and his little cousin were alone and a few drinks had loosed

his tongue, the truth came out. Mato being the young entrepreneur he was asked all the right

questions. He learned the ins and outs of the game as he shadowed his new mentor during his

two week visit.

Mato knew the players in his school, those trouble makers he stayed clear of. Once he

began to see the business side of things he realized they were just entrepreneurs like he and his

cousin, operating just a little outside the law. He began hanging out with them, helping them

move their product around the local youth. It did not take long for Mato to position himself as

the major shaker in his school.

When this happened certain members of the community took notice. A man called Quid

bumped into Mato one day at Green Sharks, the local pool hall. He said, "I've heard you are a

good earner. You're going to work for me now." Well he said more than that, but that was the

gist of it. And so it was Mato began working for Quid. The relationship was mutually

beneficial, even though Quid kept most of the earnings.

Mato stayed in contact with his cousin James through emails and occasionally by phone.

He had learned to use code words to communicate, to keep the authorities off his back. The

deeper Mato got in the life the more interested his cousin became. Last March, James decided it

was time to pay Mato another visit. This time he brought Mato a gift. It was some of the harder

stuff shipped in from overseas. He told Mato that partner Quid was a small fish and it was time

to stop swimming behind him. They both knew Quid would not be happy about loosing his main

earner, and that it might riffle the feathers of the people Quid himself.

They decided the best plan of action was to talk to Quid, give him a chance to work along

side them. They would even cut his suppliers in to keep them happy. So it was Mato introduced

James and Quid. They explained the situation, Quid did not like it; Quid's pride was not the only

thing to get hurt. During the whole sorted affair James was able to coax the name of Quid's

employer out of him. Quid left town the next day. They both were certain he would not be back.

The man Quid, and therefore Mato, had worked for was Bobby McCalister, but most

people called him Mr. McCalister or Boss. Mato and James paid a visit to Mr. McCalister and

informed him of the situation. As was expected he was not happy about Quid's parting. He

informed the two cousins that Mato would have to pick up Quid's business or their would be hell

to pay. Mato was happy to expand his horizons and Mr. McCalister was happy about the new

product. He would get half of the profits and the young man could move it in his territory with

no fear of repercussion. This was more than Mato was making under Quid, and it seemed like a

perfectly reasonable offer.

Mato thought about how far he had come and how much farther he was going to go after

this deal went down.

---

"What you smiling' at Bear," Ronald asks from his hideaway? "You see 'em, or you just

thinkin' about tappin' Sue?"

Mato chuckles, "No they ain't coming yet and I'm not thinking about Sue. You keep your

mind off her to or I'll have to climb down their and kick your ass."

All three young men laugh, carefree as their afternoons spent playing baseball.

---

Mato Kitala does start thinking of Sueanna then. He remembers how she smelled of wild

flowers when he slipped through the window in to her dark bedroom last evening. Her soft

delicate hands met his and guided him to her bed. Her skin was warm and smooth as she took

him into her embrace. He slid out the way he came in, before first light.

Mato and Sueanna had been dating exclusively for a little over a year now, but they

talked for months before making it official. They were passionately in love with each other and

Mato knew she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Sue had already

begun planning their wedding, which was going to take place as soon as they graduated high

school.

Their parents were unaware of this development in their relationship. Sue's mother and

father told her not to get too serious over Mato; she would probably find someone more like her

when she went to college. Mato was angry when she told him what they said, but she had ways

of cheering him up like no one else could. Mato's father was very fond of Sue, she was one of

the only things in his life his father approved of. But even he told Mato not to get too serious

with her. He once said, "The fire of young hearts burn hot but they also burn out quickly." Mato

knew their parents were wrong though. He and Sue will last forever.

Mato tells himself he is doing this deal for her, to give her a better life with him. Sure

Sue told him to stay away from the drugs, to get a real job. She claims she does not care about

the money, all she needs is him. But he knows how much she likes the clothes - she spends

hours trying them on at the mall. Not to mention the diamond necklace he bought her, the one

she keeps hidden from her parents so they will not ask any questions. She never tells him to get

out of the game when he is giving her gifts, only when it takes his attention away from her.

Mato's trailer is only a quarter of a mile from Sueanna's home. That morning he got

home from their as the first light was breaking over the eastern hills. He began tiptoeing past the

porch to head for his bedroom window on the side when he was startled by his father, Ceta

Luta's 2, deep voice.

"Use the front door Mato Kitala; it is more comfortable," said the older man in a hushed

tone.

Mato stumbled and felt the blood rush to his face at the embarrassment of being caught.

"I...uh...I didn't want to wake you ate 3," the young man replied.

"Hurm," his father grumbled in response. "I am not asleep so you can not wake me."

Mato turned back to the porch, his pulse returning to something close to normal. When

he reached the top stair his father spoke again.

"It is good to see you up before noon on a Saturday," Ceta Luta acknowledged with a

half-smile. "Sit down son, I want to speak of man business with you."

Mato Kitala took a seat in the tattered, steal-frame lawn chair nearest to his father. He

was not use to his father talking much since the pneumonia had taken his wife, Mato's mother,

away from them three years earlier. That might have been the most his father had spoken to him

all month. A sudden dread came over the young man. "Man business" did not mean a lecture

about staying out all night, (he knew his father did not believe he got up early). He hoped it was

not the sex talk again. Did he smell like Sue? God it was bad enough the first time he had the

talk. He did not want to have to sit through that again.

2 Ceta: Lakota for Hawk. Luta: Lakota for Red. Translated to English the name would read Red Hawk.3 Ate: Lakota for Father.

The older man stared silently into the distance. Mato Kitala did not speak. After a few

minutes passed Ceta Luta inhaled deeply and began talking, "You will be sixteen years old next

month Mato Kitala. You will be a man soon, and with that you will gain responsibility."

Mato Kitala cringed, this was even worse than the sex talk. He just knew his father was

going to start in with that spirit mumbo jumbo again. Ceta Luta was a firm believer in the old

ways of the Lakota people. He believed the Great Spirit created all life; all creatures were

connected. It was considered a rite of passage for young Lakota men to fast for four days, alone

in the wilderness. They would gain access to the spirit world this way. Their totem, or animal

spirit, would come to them and guide them to their destiny. At least this was how Mato

understood it having never paid enough attention to learn the finer details. He was certain it was

all a hallucination caused by starvation and sleep deprivation. He could not fathom how his

father, a normally rational man, would buy into any of it.

"Do not take this lightly son," Ceta Luta responded to Mato Kitala's obvious discomfort.

"Your grandfathers were men of great power. Some of them were medicine men who healed

their tribes; others were warriors, like me, who protected their tribes. Regardless of what path

they took, it was their visions that set them on their path. It is time for you to seek your vision.

You need to go on your quest and find our ancestors. They will give you your man name. They

will set you on your journey."

When Mato was a child his father began teaching him the ways of the Lakota, the old

ways. He would bring Mato and his mother to the festivals on the reservation. His father was a

drummer, and they would dance for hours. When Mato turned ten his father let him accompany

the men at the sweat lodges. Although he was too young to go into the lodge Ceta Luta taught

him how to choose the rocks they heated to make steam, and the proper way to build the fire to

heat them. He would also let him collect the water that was poured on the rocks to create the

steam which was critical to the sweat lodge. The whole time they worked his father would tell

him the stories of their people. His father still attended the sweat lodges, but Mato choose to no

longer accompany him. Things had changed after his mother died. They were no longer as close

as they once were.

Ceta Luta looked intently into his sons eyes. Mato Kitala had made it clear to him in the

past that he no longer believed in "the old ways". He did not believe in any "way" for that

matter. It was all just a bunch of hocus-pocus, mumbo-jumbo that the people in power used to

keep the herd in line and he told his father as much. Well he was not a herd animal, and he was

not falling for any of it. Not the Lakota's Wakan Tanka 4, not the white man's Jesus, none of it.

After what seemed like hours of silent eye contact, (it was more like twenty seconds),

Mato Kitala looked down. Not that he was ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And he

was not weak either, so his father better not think that. He just did not want to have this "man

business" speech; not now, not ever.

He began to get angry at his father; the man had no right to force this on him. The man

had no respect for his ancestors. He fought in the same white mans army that killed his people

and scattered them to the winds. He never moved back to the reservation to be with his own

people after his enlistment was up. He still called himself a Indian by god. Even after Mato

Kitala told him Native American was the right thing to say.

"I have been a Indian my whole life. For four hundred years my people were Indian.

Now you expect me to give that up," was Ceta Luta's reply. "You are the new season Mato

Kitala, you learn the new language," he went on. "I already am what I am."

4 Wakan Tanka: Lakota for Great Mystery. Also translated as The Great Spirit.

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean anyway? It was a bunch of bull shit and he

was not going to sit here and take it. Just when he was about the tell the old man what he

thought about him and his ways, Ceta Luta stood up.

"Think about it son," he said quietly, turned and walked inside.

That old man was lucky he went inside when he did. Mato was going to let him have it.

He had no respect for his son. He had no right to wait on the porch for him to come home. He

even went through Mato's room when he was not home. He had no respect for his privacy what

so ever.

One Sunday morning, in the middle of the summer, Ceta Luta had the nerve to enter

Mato's room without permission and wake him just to interrogate him. He said he thought Mato

was involved with some bad people. He asked him if he was using drugs. It was like he did not

trust him. The old man had no respect.

Mato Kitala sat on the porch for a while longer. When his temper left him he felt empty

and alone before the rising sun. His eyes began to water. It must have been from the bright light

rising in the east. Ya, that was defiantly it. He went to his room and slept until noon.

---

Mato is brought back to the present by the distant rumble from the motor of an

approaching vehicle. Then he sees headlights appear on the road.

"Get ready," Mato says to his friends, "I think they are coming."

The headlights get nearer and Mato is relived to see they belong to only one vehicle. It is

not James Ford F-150, nor does he really expect it to be. It is a large, dark, sport-utility-vehicle.

As it comes nearer Mato can make out the Toyota emblem on the front. Next he sees the truck is

a sandy-brown. It slows as it approaches the bridge; Mato's hand tightens on the grip of the

pistol that is tucked into the front of his jeans.

Now Mato can make out James in the passenger seat of the vehicle. He does not look

right, something is wrong. The driver appears to be an older Hispanic man, probably in his

thirties. They stop the vehicle twenty yards before the bridge. He can tell there are at least two

more people in the back seat, but can not make out any details because of the sinking sun and the

trucks tinted windows. Mato draws his weapon, like a bear flexing its claws, but keeps it at his

side, with his finger straight and off of the trigger so as not to appear hostile.

Both passenger doors open; James gets out, with the man behind him immediately

following. The man, who holds an A.K. Forty-Seven Assault Rifle diagonally across his chest,

as if in a military marching position, stays behind James. Less than a second later the drivers

side rear door opens and a middle aged white man, who Mato is sure he recognizes from

somewhere, exits the vehicle, with his identical rifle held in an identical way. Both gunmen have

serious, stern expressions on their sun-worn faces. They are obviously professionals. Mato

looks back to his cousin, searching for some clue as to the situation; he finds it in the swollen

eyes that are just beginning to change color, and the rusty trace of dried blood under his not-

quite-straight nose. This is not good, not good at all.

"Hey cousin," Mato says with a smile and enthusiasm that are both forced, " we were

starting to think you got lost. How was the trip? You all must be pretty tired."

"It was very long." James replies in a nasally voice. "We took a surprising detour," he

continues. He then signals Mato with three tight blinks, followed by three upward movements of

his eyes in the direction of the truck.

Mato catches the undertone of his words as well as the silent signals. The plan has

changed and there is a further threat from inside the vehicle. Is it from the driver that remains

behind the wheel, or are their more people in the back? He searches the unknown men for some

clue but they are rigid in their positions. He gazes into the back seat of the truck attempting to

penetrate the darkness, and after a moment is sure he sees movement.

James speaks again, "You brought the money with you didn't you Little Bear? We need

to get this thing over with."

Mato Kitala is assessing the situation even as his cousin speaks. It is at least four against

three, James has no weapon so he will not be much help. He is also a human-shield for one of

the gunmen. Mato has the advantage of knowing the location of the enemy, plus Ronald is

hidden in the bushes. If the shooting starts at least Ronald has a good chance of surviving. He

was glad Darnell scored the carbon-plated, kevlar vests for them a few days before. Too bad he

did not score some grenades. The thought makes Mato smile, adding some reality to the cheerful

facade he wears.

"Ya, I got the money. You got the product," Mato asks? "I want to see it. And I'm not

likin' the way this feels." He raises his voice so everyone can hear him. "Tell your man in the

back seat to come join the party," he finishes with a hint of anger, his true emotions beginning to

come to the surface.

The gunman behind James moves to the side allowing room for their unknown ally to get

out of the truck. Mato Kitala's stomach drops as he immediately recognizes the man. Quid, his

former partner, has a sinister smile as he plants his pistol at the back of James skull.

At the same instant Mato brings his Colt up and trains it on Quid's ugly smirk. Mato

knows he does not have a clear shot from this distance. On a good day he sometimes hits a Coke

can from thirty feet. At twice that distance, and with his cousin's life standing in the balance, he

will not test his luck. Besides, even if he manages to blow Quid's head off, they still have to take

out the other two shooters. Now the driver is getting out of the vehicle with another A.K. Forty-

Seven. Make that three additional shooters. Mato feels his stomach tighten as if it is trying to

force his dinner up. He fights it back, breathing deeply, letting his muscles relax, like his father

taught him to do before a kill in their early days of hunting together.

"Walk," Quid says, and reiterates by pushing the gun into the nape of James's neck.

Both men move forward slowly. When they are five yards away Quid barks another

order, "Stop!" James eyes meet Mato's and his fear is evident. This both enrages and frightens

Mato, who has never seen fear in his cousin before. He has his sights set on Quid now. He

knows he can make the shot, but James is still in danger. He has to think about what action to

take. He has to make sure his friends do not start firing first, or they all might die.

Thankfully Ronald is still hidden. Mato can not speak directly to him or he may give his

position away. "Darnell we have to stay cool," he utters to his friend, knowing Ronald can also

hear him. "Don't start shooting or we will all die. If it happens like that though take those two

on the right out first." Ronald will know to take out the man on the left first. Quid was Mato's.

Quid speaks, "You punk mother fuckers thought you could take my kingdom from me.

This is my town, and that is my money you have. Darnell my beef isn't with you. You can walk

away from this now, but these two are go'na have to pay." The whole time Quid spoke, with that

twisted grin on his face, he never broke eye contact with Mato. He was enjoying every minute of

this, and Mato hated him for it.

"Little Bear," Quid addresses his former partner stressing the word little, "You thought

your were a big man, but now you have to pay your dues. Give me the money. Don't give me

any trouble. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you and your bitch ass cousin walk out of here

alive." The smile turns to a glare; his smooth voice turns to a deep growl, "If you don't," he let

the treat linger for a second, "your wrinkly ass old man is go'na die, slowly and painfully. And

that sweet little piece you keep down the street from you, Sueanna," the evil smile came back

followed by laughter, "she is go'na earn the money for you." His laughter continues in short

breaths.

Mato's anger grows at the mention of Sueanna and his father. He never thought about

them being in danger. If anything happens to them it will be his fault. The silence lingers for

less that five seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.

James breaks it, "He isn't go'na let any of us live Mato. Kill this mother fucker." With

that he raises his arm and spins on Quid. He is going to disarm him, just like in the movies.

Time slows.

Mato watches in horror as James's head explodes. The sound of the gun firing reaches

him before the blood and fragments of skull. Mato, having never removed the sights from Quid's

head, pulls the trigger. He fires three shots before the sound of gunfire erupts around him like

The Fourth of July. Quid is dead after Mato's first shot.

Mato turns his attention to the three men by the truck. The driver is already falling to the

ground, the white man is firing in Darnell's direction. The other passenger, the Hispanic man, is

firing at Mato. He starts to aim his pistol, but before his arm can move he feels the wind go

from his lungs. It is like a sledge hammer hitting him in the chest, knocking him to the railing of

the bridge, then another, and another. His head jerks sideways and there is a burning sensation,

then he is falling.

Why is he looking at the sky? It is fading, now there is white. Funny he always thought

when he died it would be dark, like closing his eyes. He never thought death would be so bright.

He thinks of how he is not having a flashback of his life. He can feel himself falling. Then their

is something wet enveloping him, he is cold. It is pulling at him. Ahh, the river; it is a good

thing he can not breath or he might drown. He feels another jerking motion; something else is

pulling him. He is not in the water anymore, but he is still cold.

---

Mato Kitala notices the rocky earth pressing against his body through wet clothes. He

can hear the river flowing by, muffling the hiss of the wind. Although he lay their cold and wet

he feels the warmth of the sun slowly drying his skin. The blinding whiteness he had moments

before taken for his death begins to fade as the world around him comes into focus. The blue of

the sky, with the sun at its zenith, appears above him. The sun is blinding; he closes his eyes,

turning his head to avoid its brightness. His first rational thought is to wonder how long he was

unconscious? It was dusk last he remembers.

Mato rolls over and pushes himself up, surprised by how easy and painless it is to move.

Even his breathing is calm, and the air smells clean and crisp. He slowly opens his eyes,

examining his surroundings. The river is behind him, there is no slope going down to it, which

their should be if he is near the bridge. He wonders how far he floated. The flat land is offset in

the distance by rolling hills, there is long grass and wild flowers that have begun yellowing with

the season. The sky is clear and blue. The sun is above him indicating it is close to noon. Mato

turns and is startled by a quiet old man just a few feet in front of him, leaning on a walking stick.

"Welcome back Mato Kitala," the man speaks cheerfully as Mato steps cautiously away

from him. "I was worried about you."

Mato sees the speaker is a very old Native American. He is shirtless, his wrinkles and

loose flesh hang over his bare chest and arms. He wears a pair of faded blue jeans that are held

up with a frayed rope as a belt. His feet are covered with a pair of tan moccasins that reach

somewhere into his pant legs. Long braids tie back his hair, making his face visible. Mato feels

as if he knows the man, but can not remember having met him.

"Who are you?" Mato asks. "And where am I? I was on a bridge. It was almost night.

What days is this?" He becomes nervous as a thousand questions flood his confused mind.

Where were his friends? What happened to his cousin's body? Was Sue ok? Was she worried?

Was his father worried? The money; what happened to the money?

The old man speaks, "I am the person who pulled you out of that river. It is today, just

like everyday is," he responds to the questions spoken to him, and then laughs as if he has just

been told a great joke. "Your friends and loved ones are in trouble because of you. Your

cousin's body no longer moves of its own accord, but that is his own fault as much as yours. I do

not give a rat's tail what happened to your green-frog-skins, " he finishes, again laughing, now

lightly to himself.

Mato is taken aback at having his unspoken questions answered. This old man can read

his mind. He knows he is either dreaming, or this is a powerful medicine man. But he does not

believe in magic. He must be dreaming-it is the only explanation. He tries to force himself to

wake up, like he has done from past dreams when he realizes he is sleeping, it does not work.

Maybe he is unconscious. He remembers being shot, maybe he is in a coma, maybe he is dead;

panic overtakes him.

Mato rushed towards the old man. "Tell me where I am," he shouts. Mato raises his

hands, he will force the answers out of him if he has to.

In a blur of motion the old native raises his sun-bleached walking stick before him and

brings it down with a thud on the side of Mato Kitala's thick head. Mato drops backwards to the

ground, the pain of impact reverberating through his whole body.

"You are lost." The man replies solemnly. "And you are on the ground," he adds, again

breaking in to laughter.

Mato cautiously eyes the old man as he rises to his feet, the pain from the blow already

subsiding. "Am I dreaming," he asks?

"No Mato Kitala," the old man replies. He has no hint of humor in his voice now, but his

smile is still their. He continues, "You are more awake now than ever."

The stranger's words, they remind Mato of his father's speeches when he tries to teach

him the old ways. He phrases his next questions carefully, trying to avoid the clever responses

he has been receiving. "Is this the spirit world? Are you Wakan Tanka?"

The old man stares at Mato for a few seconds before answering, "All worlds are spirit

worlds. And I am as much Wakan Tanka as you are; as the trees and grass; as the wolf and

buffalo; as the water and rocks. If you need to call me something call me Tunkasila 5."

Mato hears Tunkasila's words but they only further confuse him. This man is standing

here speaking in riddles, while Mato's friends are who knows where. He does not even know

where he is. The all too familiar anger starts to well up inside him again.

"Listen grandfather, or whoever you are, I'm tired of this bullshit. Why don't you just tell

me where I am so I can get the fuck out of here," Mato Kitala says.

Tunkasila merely smiles at this and shakes his head. In a blur of movement he brings his

staff upside Mato Kitala's head again. The young man sees flashes of light as he falls sideways

5 Tunkasila: Lakota for Grandfather. It is used not only in the sense of a relative but can refer to any respected male elder.

to the ground. This time he can feel warm blood trickling down his face. He looks up and the

old man is standing over him.

Tunkasila speaks, "You need to learn the true meaning of respect, Mato Kitala. You

speak when you should listen, and act when you should speak." The old man holds out his hand

to Mato, "Get up out of your delusions and self pity. I will lead you back home."

Mato's fury fades as the staff collides with his skull, but the impact leaves him dazed. He

is scarred and alone with this crazy man who will beat him to death with a stick if he is not

careful. He decides he will be respectful, maybe that will save his skull. After all, stick man

said he would take him home. He receives Tunkasila's hand and returns to his feet with a,

"Thank you Tunkasila," while a stream of blood slowly drips down his face.

"Follow me," Tunkasila orders.

Mato complies. They begin walking away from the river; after about twenty yards they

come to a faded pathway and begin following it. They travel down the dusty, overgrown walk

for a few minutes before coming to a fork in the road. The right trail is covered in dirt and

smooth river pebbles. Mato gazes down the straight path and thinks he sees teepees in the

distance. A slight breeze begins to blow in his direction and he is certain he hears drumming

and smells campfires with meat cooking. He turns to the left route and notices that it is made of

glossy red bricks, cobble stones he thinks he remembers them being called. The stones look to

new to be out here in the middle of nowhere. He peers down this path and can make out a single

large mansion. Mato is sure he is dreaming now, this is all just too strange. He knows he can

not wake himself up so he commits to following the dream through.

Tunkasila starts walking down the stone path. He turns his smile upon Mato Kitala and

speaks, "This is the path you were on when I found you, so it is here that I will return you."

Tunkasila's expression turns serious, "This path may bring you many green-frog-skins and

expensive possessions, but you will loose your true wealth on the way. It is not too late to turn

back, the decision has always been yours."

Mato thinks of the teepees down the dirt road, then the mansion down the road he is on.

He turns to Tunkasila, this time it is Mato who smiles and laughs, "I am sorry grandfather, but I

think I like where this path is heading." With that he begins walking past the old man, towards

his mansion and unknown riches.

As Mato moves by Tunkasila the ground beneath him becomes slick. The curves of the

stones cause him to loose his footing and fall to the cobbles. The stones are not only wet and

slick, but also sticky. He examines his hands and they are covered in red paint. Who would

paint stones in the middle of nowhere? Then Mato notices the metallic smell, and the crimson of

the stones becomes very familiar. His hands remind him of his first time field dressing a dear. It

is not paint, it is blood.

Mato scurries to his feet, slipping and falling on his backside once in the process. His

stomach begins turning, he is sure he will vomit. The smell of blood fills his nostrils, adding to

the queasiness. His hands are stiff with the gore that is becoming sticky as it quickly dries. He

looks to Tunkasila for help, or reassurance. But he just returns Mato's stare with a grim

expression on his face, and tears in his eyes.

When Tunkasila speaks his voice is as low as a whisper, but the words resonate through

Mato, "The path you are on will be paved with blood. Fortunately for you, most of it will not be

yours." The old man takes a deep breath and continues, "It is not too late to turn back, but the

decision must be yours."

Mato shakes his head in disbelief. This is like a nightmare but he is more lucid than he

has ever been in any dream. For the first time since his mother's death he is truly terrified. He

does not know how to respond. He feels something else under the terror. It is a feeling he is not

familiar with. It may be shame, if it is he does not recognize it. He just stands their, staring at

Tunkasila.

The old man speaks again, "You are no longer the child, Mato Kitala." He pauses letting

his words sink in. When he speaks again his voice is elevated and it holds an authority the young

man has not herd before, "From this day forward you will be known as Mato Tazaniyake 6."

With Tunkasila's final words his large smile returns. He bursts into a steady laughter. It

seems menacing to Mato Tazaniyake, threatening in some way. Before Mato knows what is

happening Tunkasila's staff is over his right shoulder, he brings it down like a pick axe. Mato

tries to raise his hands to block the blow but is too slow. The stick smashes into the his skull

with incredible force. Lights explode in his head, then their is darkness.

---

Mato's head is filled with pain. He can feel his pulse throbbing through it with every beat

of his heart. He feels rocks and mud under his body. What happened to the stone path? He can

hear and smell the river, as if it is right beside him. He is drenched with water; it runs off his

skin. He is cold, so cold, he shivers as a breeze rolls over him. He forces his eyes open. His

vision is blurred but he can tell he is lying on the river bank at the bottom of a hill. His

surroundings begin coming into focus. He is next to the bridge supports.

Mato pushes himself up, first to his knees, then too his feet. He almost falls back down

as the blood rushes from his throbbing head into the rest of his aching body. He hurts, he can not

6 Mato: Lakota for Bear. Tazaniyake: Lakota for Damaged. In English they would read Damaged Bear or Wounded Bear.

think clearly. Where is he? He remembers the old man. He knew it was a dream. He was

unconscious, that is why he could not wake himself. He looks around, it is still dusk. The sun

has not completely set. He must not have been out long.

Mato begins climbing the small incline to the base of the bridge. It is only fifteen feet

above the river, so even in his condition he is able to traverse the hill without much difficulty.

When he gets to the top he realizes he is in the same brush where Ronald was hiding. He notices

a loosely scattered pile of shell casings that must have been from Ronald's weapon. He peers

through the brush and sees the Toyota SUV with bodies lying around it. Closer to the bridge,

Quid is lying their lifeless. Just in front of his body Mato's cousin James is sprawled out, half his

head gone. Mato's heart sinks.

He carefully climbs out of the cover of bushes, allowing himself to see the bridge. He

sees a figure crouching on the other side and immediately recognizes it as Ronald, his spirits lift

a little with the knowledge his friend survived. His celebration is short lived as he sees that

Ronald is crouching over the lifeless, bullet ridden body of their friend Darnell.

"Ronald," Mato says in a wavering voice.

Ronald turns quickly, eyes wide with startled surprise, pointing his rifle at Mato. When

he realizes who called his name he lowers his weapon and a weak smile crosses his face. "I

thought you were dead bro," he exclaims, rushing over to Mato. He puts his right hand on his

friends shoulder and looks him up and down. "It looks like you got nicked in the head. It's

bleeding pretty good. We need to get it wrapped up." With that he takes a pocket knife from its

holder on his belt, and cuts several strips from his shirt. He secures them around Mato's head

without a word from either of them.

After his wound is bound, Mato makes his way over to where Darnell lay. "I can't

believe it went down like this," he says, as much to himself as to Ronald. "This is bad." As a

after thought he inquires, "Did we get all of them?"

"Ya," Ronald replies, "I don't know how, but their all dead." He shakes his head in

disbelief. "I don't think they ever knew I was here. The last man was looking around all

confused just before I took him down." Ronald has a glazed look as he stares off into the

distance. "What are we going to do bro? Someone might of called the police after all those

shots. We have bodies everywhere. We could do some hard time for this shit."

Mato thinks about their situation for a few seconds. They have to destroy the evidence

and get out of their before anyone shows up. "Go to the other side of the bridge and get the car,"

he orders. They had hidden the car, with the money, on the island side of the bridge; just in case

something like this happened.

Ronald nods and starts moving. He pauses and looks back to Mato, "What are you going

to do?"

"I'm go'na start puttin' the bodies in the truck," he answers solemnly. "When you get

back we will burn it. That will get rid of most of the evidence."

"What about Darnell and James," Ronald asks with a quivering voice? "We can't just

burn them, they have families. They are family."

"We don’t have a choice," Mato replies, anger creeping into his voice. "I don't like this

shit either, but they wouldn't want us to go to jail."

Ronald shakes his head in acceptance. Mato knows he is right, if they leave too much

evidence they will spend the rest of their lives in prison. He will figure out some way to make it

right with their families.

By the time Ronald gets back with the car Mato has all the bodies in the SUV. He finds a

duffel bag in the back filled with the heroin and cocaine they were supposed to be buying. He

thinks about burning it with the truck, but decides they might need it to renegotiate their deal

with Mr. McCalister. They collect all the weapons, and all the shell casings they can find, and

put them with the bodies. Mato drives the bullet ridden Toyota farther from the main road, in

hopes anyone near by will mistake the arson for a bonfire. Camp fires are not uncommon this

time of year. Mato uses Ronald's knife to poke a hole in the gas tank, and the steady flow fills up

a two-gallon plastic gas canister Ronald kept in his trunk. He then pours the contents throughout

the vehicle covering everything. He throws the canister into the truck, lights a rag and tosses that

in as well. Mato and Ronald watch in silence as the truck instantly flares up.

"Lets get out of here before this fucker explodes," Ronald pleads with a sense of urgency.

Mato turns to his friend after a few seconds, his face void of expression. "OK Ronald,

take me home. We will go see McCalister tomorrow and straighten this out."

---

Mato has more time than he would like on their silent drive home to worry about the

repercussions of the evenings events. Could Quid have acted alone? Would he have dared? Did

he have McCalister's blessing when he hijacked the shipment? It would have been hard to get

the Mexicans cooperation without being backed by The Boss. Then Mato remembers where he

knew the white guy in the Toyota from. He was one of McCalister's drivers. That did not mean

McCalister was involved in the situation, but it did not help ease his mind any. If that was the

case Sueanna and his father may still be in danger. He wants to call Sueanna, just to hear her

voice, but his cell phone was ruined by the river. He will go see her after he cleans up. She

would just freak out if he showed up in this condition.

Mato's thoughts go back to the evenings events. He wonders how he got out of the river.

Was it a lucky current, or was their more to his dream than he realized? The memory of

Tunkasila was still vivid; more vivid than any dream he could recall. The old man's words kept

echoing through Mato's head. "The path you are on will be paved with blood. Fortunately for

you, most of it will not be yours."

Mato thinks of James, his own cousin, burning in the wilderness. His mother will be

devastated when she realizes James is missing. But how can he tell her? His thoughts turn to

Darnell. He was using the money he made to help his parents make ends meet. His little sister

was always sick, and they did not have good insurance. He would find a way to get James' and

Darnell's share of the money to their families. He might even give them his cut also.

Mato did not even realize he was home when Ronald stopped in front of his house.

"Were here Bear," he speaks softly. It sounds as if he has been crying, but Mato can see his eyes

are dry.

"Thanks Bro," Mato replies, firmly punching his friends shoulder. "I will call you in the

morning, we can sort the rest of this shit out."

Ronald only nods in response.

The light is on in the living room and his father's car is parked in the driveway. Mato

was hoping he was doing another double. He did not want to see him like this. The thought of

sneaking through his bedroom window does not enter his mind. He just walks up the steps,

opens the front door, and walks inside.

Ceta Luta is sitting in his recliner, watching The Tonight Show. When he sees the state

Mato is in he immediately sits up, then pushes the power button on the remote that was already

in his hand. He looks his son up and down. Mato's clothes are still wet, although no longer

dripping. There are bullet holes in his windbreaker, but no blood around them. Tattered, blood

stained rags are tied around his head, with crust of blood pasted down the side of his face.

Ceta Luta rises from his chair and goes to his son, gripping both of his arms with care,

looking over him to make sure he does not need immediate medical attention. When Ceta Luta

speaks Mato can hear the concern, "Mato Kitala, what has happened to you? Are you alright?"

Mato looks his father in the eyes and a confidence overtakes him as he replies, "Mato

Kitala is no more, ate." He raises his head high. "My name is Mato Tazaniyake."

The fear on Ceta Luta's face shifts to sorrow. Then Mato thinks he sees pride.

Ceta Luta speaks, "You see Mato Tazaniyake, sometimes our visions find us."