The projector ran on and where the pictures once played, a white screen was all there was to see. Everyone watched it for a few minutes. Not a word was spoken among the watchers.
The comings and goings were shown in a time before the massive fish kill scene arrived on the screen. It canceled out all other images they’d seen. It was the end of the film and the end for no one knew how many thousands of dead and dying fish.
Men who were trying to save the earth, as well as the creatures on it, reacted badly to the scene. Never was their task more humbling. Knowing the benzine killed them didn’t give anyone solace.
A lot of poisons were dumped into the environment. Knowing the name of the poison only made the men who cared more angry. Pleading with the people responsible was a fool’s errand. Cleaning up the pollution was expensive. Dumping poisons didn’t cost them a dime.
Companies were there for one reason. Protect the bottom line for the rich men who owned the entities doing the damage.
Who cared about dead fish when there was money to be made?
Every man in Harry’s theater knew that truth.
“Sorry,” Algie’s apologetic voice said.
The projector stopped. The silence pierced the room.
Harry slowly turned his easy chair around to face the rest of the moviegoers. The people gathered had nothing to say. Dylan’s film gave them all something to think about.
“Well, after that, I need a drink. Let’s retire to the library and we’ll get something to drink and... well... well done, Dylan. I’ve rarely been left more drained after watching a film.”
Harry stood and the people in the theater moved to the library.
*****
Harry mixed his own branch water and bourbon. Harrison brought soda for everyone else but Bill, and since he wasn’t driving home, he asked for Chivas Regal over ice.
“I think we need to let that footage settle for tonight,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.
“Mr. Filmmaker, if you’ll allow me, I’ll see to it your film premiers in front of the US Senate. Actually, in front of my environmental committee, but other senators won’t want to miss a free movie. I want to show the last scene of Dylan’s movie, but I’m not sure how we can do that.”
“Yes, sir. I stand with all of you on the environment. I can make arrangement to single out the pieces of Dylan’s film you want to show, and it will be ready before we leave on Monday,” Logan said. “I assume Dylan will go along with your plan.”
“That’s what I want. We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Harry said.
“I knew what I was going to see in Dylan’s film. Seeing it is a different animal,” Harry said, drinking down his drink.
Harry went to the bar to mix himself another drink.
“Clayton, you do have the report on the benzine in the water?”
“Yes, I do,” Clay said.
“Can you make twenty copies? I want to hand them out to the senators present. There will be media there. Make it twenty-five copies. How hard will it be to carry those fish to DC with us?”
“They’re in a plastic container with handles on it. Transporting them won’t be a problem. Keeping the smell down might be.”
“Bill, you told me once that you could get dry ice. Can you get enough to keep fish frozen from Monday when we leave, until Tuesday afternoon when you’ll be in front of my committee? I want them to smell by the time we open the container Tuesday afternoon,” Harry said.
“I can get the dry ice and if we remove the ice an hour before we leave for the Capitol, they’ll be getting ripe in a couple of hours.”
“They’re senators. They’re tough. They can take a foul smell for a few minutes,” Harry said. “I’ll explain what I have in mind later.”
“I doubt the other senators will be as casual about it as you are, Harry,” Bill said.
“It’ll give them something to talk about over drinks.”
“Well, I know Clay and Bill are always ready to talk. I don’t imagine you’ll need to say a lot, Logan. Your film speaks for you,” Harry said. “Why don’t we all go to neutral corners and we’ll meet here tomorrow afternoon, once I return from Orlando.”
*****
The following morning Harry was dressed in a gray suit with a blue tie. Under his right hand was the New York Times and under his left hand was the Washington Post. He drank coffee as he read the front pages of each paper.
Logan hadn’t dressed for breakfast. He had on a Superman tee-shirt and a pair of Goofy pajama bottoms.
“I feel underdressed,” Logan said, after Harrison called him at six. “I plan to go back to bed after we talk.”
Harry looked up. He got a chuckle out of Logan’s sleepwear.
“By all means,” Harry said. “I won’t keep you long, but I’m afraid your breakfast is coming. Twila will fret if you don’t eat something,” Harry said.
“I’m a growing boy. I can eat any time,” Logan said. “You had questions for me that everyone didn’t need to hear? Ask away.”
“Yes, I do,” Harry said. “Indian schools. I want to know everything you know about Indian schools.”
“I went to the Indian school on the reservation my junior and senior years. I don’t think that’s what you are asking me about.”
“Government boarding schools operated by churches, or so I’m told. I understand there were quite a few in the country at one time?”
“Too many,” Logan said. “I have a question for you before I answer your question. It’s been on my mind.”
“Go ahead,” Harry said. “Ask away.”
“Ivan?” “You noticed Ivan, did you?” Harry said with a chuckle in his words. “Quite a guy, isn’t he?”
“He spends a lot of time playing the joker. I must say, I noticed his eyes. It is a thing moviemakers do. Ivan doesn’t miss anything, does he? I’ve never seen more intense eyes,” Logan said. “I’ve been with some fairly intense people.”
“The joker is how Ivan deflects who he is. Once he came home, and he was gone for a long time, he needed to placate people he left behind,” Harry said.
“Clay and Dylan,” Logan assumed.
“Clay,” Harry said. “I don’t think he even knew about Dylan.”
“Dylan told me some of it. Mostly about Ivan’s link to Dylan’s interest in photography,” Logan said.
“Then you know Ivan is Dylan’s natural father? Clay raised Dylan while Ivan was gone. Don’t ask me to explain Dylan. He’s an extraordinary young man and I fully expect him to go after my senate seat one day. That’s if his Aunt Lucy doesn’t beat him to it. If she takes my seat from me, Dylan won’t challenge her. She’s one of the major influences in his life.”
“Lucy?” Logan asked.
“The Olson’s youngest. Clay’s sister. She’s a teacher, and she taught Dylan. She was a state legislator before she ran for my seat in congress that she currently holds,” Harry said. “The woman is a natural politician. She led a walkout at the local high school after Kent State. That was her first activism,” Harry said, thinking Logan would be able to relate to that event. “Quite a family,” Logan said. “Clay’s an amazing man. I’d love to spend more time with him. It was amazing working with Dylan. I’d be in the middle of explaining why I did something, and he’d listen. Then, he’d say, ‘Couldn’t we do it this way?’ Yes, we could, and I started doing it that way, because he was right. He’s so natural and what you see is what you get. He holds nothing back. I learned a lot just listening to him. What he told me about Ivan was selective. I do know Daddy-O is his biologic, according to Dylan.”
Harry laughed.
“I haven’t heard him call Ivan that in years. I don’t think it was an endearing nickname, but Ivan earned his way into Dylan’s life. He has exercised a surprising amount of self-control, considering what he went through in those years he was away.”
“And you’re going to tell me what that was?” Logan asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s not a secret but I don’t know how much he’s told Clay, or Dylan for that matter. I know about it because I was put in the middle of it by the men who held him,” Harry said. “I wasn’t finished picking your brain about Dylan. What did you think of his film? This has some bearing on what we’ll do together next week.”
“I’d like to tell you I’m a great filmmaker and Dylan has possibilities. I made an adequate film about the summer’s research trip. Dylan made a film about Clay doing his thing. He told a better story than I told. It took me an hour and twenty minutes to say what Dylan said in twenty minutes. It might be comparing apples and oranges, Senator, but Dylan is capable of doing anything he decides to do. I wish I had his composure when I was his age,” Logan said.
“I get that same feeling every time I’m around Lucy, too. I can’t explain it, but Dylan has something few people are born with,” Harry explained. “He’s got a brain that harnesses information in a way that makes trial and error unnecessary. He sees what he’s going to film before he films it. No muss. No fuss. I’ve got to consider and reconsider everything, and then I’m still not sure half the time,” Logan said. “He thinks like Ivan. He has Clay’s temperament and Lucy’s curiosity and sensitivity. Then, there’s part of him that’s completely original. Clay told me he refused to film the dead fish,” Harry said. “He was in tears. It’s the part of him that’s still a kid. Clay said for him to give him the camera. He’d film it. Dylan kept the camera and shot the footage we saw it last night. The footage the senators will see.”
“You’ll tell me what parts you want to show Tuesday. If we can look at it one more time, I’ll tell you what I can do,” Logan said.
“I was going to suggest that wait for tomorrow,” Harry said.
“Daddy-O, his biologic?” Logan said. “Well, you have about one half of Ivan’s story. I suppose if I don’t tell you what I know, you’ll go ask him. I’m not telling any secrets,” Harry said. “Ivan was a spy for the CIA.”
“A what?” Logan asked, incredulous.
“You heard me. As reluctant a spy as he was, I’m sure he learned the tricks of the trade. I think he liked what he did, even if the company forced him into that particular role,” Harry said.
“A spy?” Logan said. “That would be my last guess. He plays the joker with a seriousness that makes his intensity show. I believe he’s a joker but it’s wrapped in irony,” Logan said.
“An irony born from spending over five years spying for the CIA,” Harry said. “It’s a life few people walk away from. Fewer yet live to tell the tale.”
“The proof is in his eyes,” Logan said. “He takes everything in while really not paying attention.”
“Doesn’t miss a trick. He’s always with Clay when I see him most of the time. He’s ever-vigilant. I don’t know he relaxes completely even when he sleeps,” Harry said. “Now, if you started off telling me Ivan was a spy, I wouldn’t have accepted it so easily. He’s an unlikely spy in my mind. He seems too smart to get himself tangled in messes other people make.”
“Ah, we’ve arrived at the accidental spy. The short story is, Ivan went to get his brother, Boris. He was an MIA from a battlefield inside of northwestern Vietnam.”
“That’s crazy. What was our military there for?” Logan asked.
“Whatever they said they were doing to locate Boris wasn’t good enough for Ivan Aleksa. He decided he’d go get his brother. That was in 1969. His brother went MIA in 1968.”
“Seems too intelligent to go on a wild goose chase,” Logan said.
“He was only eighteen at the time. I believe he turned twenty-nine about the time he came home in 1979. Five of those years were spent spying in Southeast Asia. Not a job for the faint of heart. I suppose I’m as responsible as anyone for Ivan coming home. He’s been home ever since. He has a lot to live for and a good life he’s made for himself, but I’ve been told, once you’re trained to be a spy, you never completely come home. I see that in Ivan. I’d never tell him that, but you saw it, too. He came in out of the cold but behind those brooding eyes is a man who misses little or nothing. Makes me glad he’s on our side.”
“It’s part of him. He can’t turn it off,” Logan said. “He seems devoted to Clay and Dylan. Because of what he went through, they’re even more important to him than they might have been before. Did they ever find his brother?”
“Ivan brought Boris back with him. I think the CIA knew where he was all the time. Once he did what they asked him to do for them, they told him they’d have him taken to his brother. He didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it, but they did exactly what they told him they’d do. Makes me feel a little like I’ve misjudged those folks, but I know too much to think they did it out of the goodness of their hearts.”
“Spooks,” Logan said.
“Spooks,” Harry said. “I know when I invite Clay to come over for some casual time, Ivan will be with him. Dylan comes if I ask Clay to bring him, but beyond work, Ivan is a natural part of Clay. I’d like Ivan to be my friend, but I know he’s not my friend. We occupy the same space from time to time and that’s as far as it goes.”
“I don’t know Ivan. Last night tells me he’s a buffer for Clay’s intensity. Ivan doesn’t seem like a guy who lets anything get too far out of control,” Logan said. “He went to get his brother, and he got him. That’s impressive. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Me either,” Harry said. “You’re an observant young man. You’ve got to forgive me for not warming up to you sooner. I’m not accustomed to bargaining for someone’s services. I thought you were going to try to get a senator to help you get where you’re going. I’m not a senator who trades favors. In blunt terms, you’re with me or you aren’t. I want to shake things up a bit and I need your help, Logan. I think we can work together.”
“Let’s clear things up once and for all. I am with you, Senator. I’ll do what I can to be of service to you. There are many working parts to my life, and if I didn’t speak up, what’s the point?”
“Your speaking up reminded me of the report I read on Indian schools. While I might have been reading a report generated about a Canadian excavation, I had a difficult time digesting what I was reading,” Harry said. “As I mentioned, I went to a boarding school. No one died the six years I was there. We had a church and beside the church was a fenced in area large enough for a statue of the founder and three graves. The founder was buried there and two beloved teachers asked to be buried beside him. They wanted to spend eternity at the place where they educated thousands of boys over the years. None of those boys died while attending school. At that Indian boarding school, they were up to 72 unmarked graves and counting.”
“You mentioned questions you had for me. I’ll be glad to answer any questions I can,” Logan said.
Twila brought in Harry’s plate with eggs over easy, hash browns, a short stack, four slices of bacon, and two gigantic fluffy biscuits. She left the dining room for only a minute and she returned with an identical plate for Logan.
“Thank you,” Logan said. “It looks wonderful.
“Oh, it is,” Harry said, slathering country butter on his biscuit. “Thank you, Twila, dear.”
“You and Algie have a safe trip, Senator. I got dishes to wash,” Twila said casually and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Harry put one slice of bacon so it fit on the biscuit and he proceeded to dunk it into the egg yolk of one of the eggs. Logan watched and tried the same combination and found it superb.
Logan followed Harry’s lead and sampled each item, using some blackberry jam on his pancakes instead of syrup. There was way too much food, but Logan dug in and was determined to make a dent in it before he stopped.
Twila came back to pour both of them coffee and she brought more jams and jellies she set between the two of them.
“After reading that disturbing report, I did my best to get more information on what were called in the article, ‘The graves of Indian children’. What do you know about the unmarked graves of Indian children, Logan?”
Logan reached for his coffee to wash down the delightful tastes. He didn’t need to give it a lot of thought. Like most things Indian, they were of little consequence to prosperous white men charged with dislodging indigenous people from the land they wanted.
“Senator...”
“Just Harry,” Harry said. “Twila calls me that because she’s Twila, but everyone else call’s me Harry while I’m home.”
“That story concerned graves at a Canadian boarding school for Indian children. I wouldn’t hold my breath if you’re waiting for members of your government to suddenly begin an investigation of the unmarked graves at the Indian boarding schools in this country. They didn’t care anything about those Indian children while they were alive. They certainly aren’t going to open that can of worms by becoming interested in how so many of them died while at a government school operated by their church affiliates,” Logan said.
Harry watched Logan as he spoke. He knew the likelihood that similar graves would be found in this country was good. He had that thought when he first read about the excavation of unmarked graves. When an Indian child died, were his parents advised? Was the tribe the children were taken from advised? If the parents and tribe were advised, why weren’t the remains returned to them? How would anyone know which child was in which grave? Why were children dying at a boarding school?
Logan explained it without needing to think about it.
“Pardon my frankness, but your government is run by rich old men with no interest in what happened to the children of savages who were in the way of western expansion. The children were kidnapped and put into schools that denied them access to their tribes and their culture. After ten or fifteen years, they no longer had a connection to their family or their tribe. You can see the problem that created for children with no past and little future in a lilywhite America.” “If that comment wasn’t loaded for bear, I’ve never heard one that was. I want to know what you know about these Indian schools. I called the interior department and asked them what was being done about excavating unmarked graves at Indian schools in this country. I was assured there were no such graveyards here. I took her to mean, at the interior department. I have found no more information on the original report I read. I asked other politicians about it.”
“I didn’t go to an Indian boarding school, but I can assure you, between 1800 and shortly before the occupation of Wounded Knee, Indian children were taken by the government and put in those schools,” Logan said. “They were assimilated there.”
“AIM has some material on it? You sound certain of your facts and I didn’t believe what I was being told by people at interior.”
“AIM did have information on the schools, where they were, and some information of how many Indians and from what tribe they were taken. I don’t know how accurate that information was, but AIM had something you don’t have access to, Harry.
“And would that something help me to get a better picture of how large a problem this might be?” Harry asked.
“If you want to hear it, I’ll tell you what I was told,” Logan said. “You won’t like it, Harry.”
“I can’t find any information on this. I don’t have the time to go poking around old Indian schools. I wouldn’t know where to find one.”
“Indian men who went to government Indian boarding schools were active members of AIM. I only met one who would talk to me about it. Others who were there at the time, and had been at Indian schools, got up and walked out. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t prepared for the brutality I was told about. If you were a good Indian and didn’t make waves, the only thing you lost was your Indian identity, your family, and a connection to your tribe as a result of going to one of the Indian schools. That was their purpose.
“What happened to you if you weren't a good little Indian?” Logan asked. “What happened is the thing men in power do to a people they regard as savages. I can't do justice to what Flatfoot told me, Senator. It's inconceivable to me that in a civilized world they didn't stop it and the men who did this to other men's children weren't punished. It wasn't stopped. No one was punished for one hundred and fifty years, and what you'll find, if you bother to look at those Indian boarding schools, isn't a hundred graves. There will be thousands of unmarked graves with the bodies of Indian boys. That was Flatfoot's estimate.”
“I'm almost afraid to ask you to tell me more. Tell me the story as it was told to you, Logan. I've had no luck finding anything out. Hearsay has to do.”
“I was asking questions about the Indian schools while I was at Wounded Knee. I went with Dark Cloud and they reluctantly accepted me as one of them. Indians are racist, too. Probably has something to do with being slaughtered by white people, but I can’t be certain. I was sitting in a teepee with several men active in the occupation. I asked what they knew about government run Indian schools. One of the Indians resting there came over and sat beside me. He said, ‘I’m Flat Foot of the Pawnee. What do you want to know about Indian schools? I went to one for ten years.’
“I’d asked for material on the schools and it was known that I was half Indian. All I knew about being an Indian came from my Seneca grandmother and the Seneca, Dark Cloud. I wanted to know what it was like in a boarding school.”
“What did Mr. Flat Foot have to say?” Harry asked.
“Flat Foot told me that he was taken from his tribe when he was very young. He didn’t remember when he was taken. He lived at the school for about ten years. When they were ready to release him, they suggested he go to a nearby city where they’d make sure he got work. He never went to the city. He went back to the Pawnee reservation. He’d been discouraged from doing that because he really wasn’t an Indian any more. He wasn’t convinced of that.
“He told me they weren’t allowed to speak their own language or participate in any Indian ceremonies. If you were caught breaking the rules, you were beaten. As he grew older, if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, the beatings got worse. What he said about that was, when he got beaten as an older boy he knew he might not survive another beating like that. After he recovered from that beating, he was afraid they’d kill him next time.”
“Who was it that beat him?” Harry asked.
“They all belonged to the church. The men who ran the school. He said, ‘One of the elders was in charge of discipline,’” Logan said.
“Don’t tell me, some beatings got out of hand, and they beat some of those Indian children to death,” Harry said with malice. “And the devil made them do it?”
“Some Indians were defiant. They resisted assimilation. The Indian culture was deeply rooted in them. Other boys ran off rather than be taken by government agents who came for them. When one was found, he might be eight or nine. He was taken to an Indian school. Their assimilation was almost complete by then, as was a hatred for white men.”
“And they were beaten into submission,” Harry said.
“They didn’t care if they were beaten or not. They refused to cooperate in their assimilation. White men were the enemy to strong-willed Indians. The purpose of Indian schools was to take the Indian out of them, after removing them from the influence of the tribe. You educated them the way you educated white kids, and in ten or fifteen years, they’d have no memory of their tribe or family. They’d have forgotten what it meant to be an Indian. It’s why Indian schools were built. You assimilate Indian children and you’ve solved the Indian problem.”
“Insidious,” Harry said. “They not only stole Indian children from their people, but they were destroying their culture by denying the children access to their own people. I thought I knew all about men’s cruelty to men. If I’m to believe what you’re telling me, I don’t recall it getting worse than this.”
“How would you know, Harry? These schools have been part of the landscape that is America for nearly two hundred years. You brainwash kids so they become pliable. You send them off to some city to complete the process. They don’t remember where they came from. They don’t know who they are,” Logan said. “Little brown boys in suits acting like they’re white. Were they ever in for a surprise.”
“They took the children when they were little more than babes,” Harry said. “How do you know Flat Foot was telling the truth? He could have been shining you on.”
“He was telling me the truth. He was shamed, because he wasn’t strong-willed enough to defy them and force them to kill him. He’d have died a warrior death. He’d have died a proud Indian. It’s what warriors do.”
“Oh, my God,” Harry said. “He told you that?”
“He did,” Logan said. “What could I say? I felt like crying. I don’t have enough Indian in me to be a pure warrior. Some kids did. Flat Foot was afraid of death. They broke him.”
“Did he tell you where the ones who went to the cities ended up?” Harry asked.
“After school, many joined the military. It was a popular lifestyle. They got a better deal in a well-controlled atmosphere. In a way, they became American warriors. After assimilation, that would have been a good outcome, I imagine, but a lot of Indian boys joined the military.”
“You’ve told me about everything but the unmarked graves, Logan,” Harry said.
“It’s all hearsay, Harry. I believe it, but you’re a senator. You get to believe anything you want.”
Logan reached for his coffee and waited for Harry to speak.
Proofreader for this chapter: Tim