Whale Bone Graveyard (Part two to the story "The Midnight Sun")
Whale Bone Graveyard
(Haunting of the Bones)
I must at this time, add this little brief to my previous story called “The Midnight Sun,” done some three-years ago; not that I am proud to do so, for I have never mentioned it in any of my former writings, but perhaps I should now. You know kind of wipe the slate clean.
When I returned to Barrow, Alaska, from Point Lay, where I had spent six-weeks, I was quite happy with my experience, perchance too happy, I walked around the town like a peacock, and pride comes before destruction, so they say—: remember this is back in June and July, of 1996, and I walked to a café down along the beach area, well there is a sea, to be exact, so it would be more like the banks of the sea I walked. Matter-of-fact, I walked it a few days in a row, and discovered there was a cemetery of sorts there. It is an open kind of cemetery, in that it is not guarded by anything, nor is there a fence. And large whale bones, perhaps a few hundred years old, were sticking out and above ground, from their entrenched environment, out above the ground four to five feet some, others a few feet, and still others just barely. It is where—in years past, folks lived, there was no wood, so they used whale bones to construct the insides of their abodes, like dugouts, which were used along the Mississippi river a hundred and twenty-five years ago.
I walked among this whalebone, graveyard, looked about, it haunted me, I wanted a piece of a whale bone, a reminder, souvenir, something along those lines, and I did not ask the ancestors for permission, as I had done on Easter Island, and in the Killing Fields, in Cambodia, and other such places, I just took a small, very small piece off the top of a bone, it was loose, and I help it become looser you might say, and I do not mean this fancily, I am sorry I did it (and apologize to the ancestors for doing it, and to the people of Barrow for having done it): anyhow, I took it, went back to the hotel, and went to sleep, I had three more days in Barrow before I’d leave, and for two of them, the ancestors haunted me, like white on rice: “Bring it back, bring it back….” It was almost a nightly hum for hours on end, in my ears, in my bones, in my stomach.
Thus, I returned the little piece of bone to its original spot, placed it where I took it off, wish I could have glued it back on, but that was not possible—and I’m not kidding.
In any event, while at the site I had asked the ancestors to forgive me, aloud, and let me say, I do believe they know if a person is serious or not. It was a humbling experience, but once back at the hotel, I got a very good Midnight Sun, sleep, and that was appreciated.
The story, “Whale Bone Graveyard,” was written, 1-10-2009, as part two, to the short story, written May 8, 2006 called, “The Midnight Sun.”
(Haunting of the Bones)
I must at this time, add this little brief to my previous story called “The Midnight Sun,” done some three-years ago; not that I am proud to do so, for I have never mentioned it in any of my former writings, but perhaps I should now. You know kind of wipe the slate clean.
When I returned to Barrow, Alaska, from Point Lay, where I had spent six-weeks, I was quite happy with my experience, perchance too happy, I walked around the town like a peacock, and pride comes before destruction, so they say—: remember this is back in June and July, of 1996, and I walked to a café down along the beach area, well there is a sea, to be exact, so it would be more like the banks of the sea I walked. Matter-of-fact, I walked it a few days in a row, and discovered there was a cemetery of sorts there. It is an open kind of cemetery, in that it is not guarded by anything, nor is there a fence. And large whale bones, perhaps a few hundred years old, were sticking out and above ground, from their entrenched environment, out above the ground four to five feet some, others a few feet, and still others just barely. It is where—in years past, folks lived, there was no wood, so they used whale bones to construct the insides of their abodes, like dugouts, which were used along the Mississippi river a hundred and twenty-five years ago.
I walked among this whalebone, graveyard, looked about, it haunted me, I wanted a piece of a whale bone, a reminder, souvenir, something along those lines, and I did not ask the ancestors for permission, as I had done on Easter Island, and in the Killing Fields, in Cambodia, and other such places, I just took a small, very small piece off the top of a bone, it was loose, and I help it become looser you might say, and I do not mean this fancily, I am sorry I did it (and apologize to the ancestors for doing it, and to the people of Barrow for having done it): anyhow, I took it, went back to the hotel, and went to sleep, I had three more days in Barrow before I’d leave, and for two of them, the ancestors haunted me, like white on rice: “Bring it back, bring it back….” It was almost a nightly hum for hours on end, in my ears, in my bones, in my stomach.
Thus, I returned the little piece of bone to its original spot, placed it where I took it off, wish I could have glued it back on, but that was not possible—and I’m not kidding.
In any event, while at the site I had asked the ancestors to forgive me, aloud, and let me say, I do believe they know if a person is serious or not. It was a humbling experience, but once back at the hotel, I got a very good Midnight Sun, sleep, and that was appreciated.
The story, “Whale Bone Graveyard,” was written, 1-10-2009, as part two, to the short story, written May 8, 2006 called, “The Midnight Sun.”
Labels: of Huancayo, Poet and writer of the Year for the Mandaro Valley of Peru, The Council of Continental Univrsity
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:25 AM
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