Gabriel's Stand Page 9

“We need a big tent,” Cynthia said.

  “You need a teepee?” Snowfeather allowed an ironic twinkle to invade her well-practiced deadpan. Not a flicker, she thought.

  Berker flushed. “I meant we need a new organization, one with a wider scope of appeal, a less narrow audience.”

  “I knew what you meant,” Snowfeather said. Yup. No funny-bone at all.

  “So we have a new office for you,” Louise said. “For the new organization.”

  “Downtown,” Cynthia added, “near Price, Farthwell, and Longworthy.”

  “How did you get space so quickly?”

  “Rex Longworthy arranged the details,” Berker said. “Easy walking distance to his firm, in fact. Maybe your friend, Vincent, could get a summer job as a law clerk.”

  “So you are talking about a new organization…for me?”

  “Yes. With at least one full-time paid staff person. You will head ‘The Planet Restoration Project.’”

  “You will be its spokesperson and Executive Director,” Cynthia said.

  “This is cool,” Snowfeather said.

  “Excellent,” Berker said. “Then it will be done. The office will be ready in three weeks.”

  Snowfeather’s deadpan was gone. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “And about Vincent,” Cynthia added, her tone flat.

  Snowfeather was suddenly guarded. “What about Vincent?”

  “Social friends can be useful in a movement sometimes,” Berker said, “but this one obviously is not Native American.”

  Snowfeather blushed. “You two are experts on Native Americans then? Maybe I should take a course from you.”

  “Sorry,” Berker said, smoothly.

  “Of course not,” Cynthia interjected. “I, we…just—”

  “I have known Vincent Marconi and his family since we were in high school in DC. Why would it matter one way or the other whether he is Native American?”

  “It’s just that not everyone can be on the inside,” Cynthia said. She stared meaningfully at Snowfeather. “Do you understand?”

  Snowfeather was stolidly silent.

  “I’m sure she does,” Berker said. “Right, Helen?”

  “Helen? I prefer Snowfeather.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Of course I get the drift. You are talking about organizational secrets, right?” Berker nodded. “If Vincent doesn’t belong to the organization, there are things he doesn’t get to know.” Berker smiled.

  Wow—She grins like a shark trying to imitate a puppy, Snowfeather thought.

  “You see, Cynthia,” Berker said, “I knew we made the right choice when we recruited Snowfeather.”

  The next ten minutes were spent talking about future meetings, salary and contact lists. When Berker finished, she simply stood. On cue, Cynthia opened the door for Berker. “We are all expecting great things, Snowfeather. Great things.”

  ——

  Gabriel arrived at midnight. He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa and looked across the room. Alice looked up from a book. “She called.”

  “I’m sorry I missed her. What’s going on?”

  “She’s taking a job with this Gaia organization. Starts in about a month. Part time until graduation. Good money. Her own office.”

  Gabriel noted that Alice didn’t look very happy. “Sounds wonderful,” he said. Then he studied Alice’s face. “I’ll bet she’s not coming home for Christmas, is she?”

  “She didn’t say that,” Alice said. She was close to tears. “Oh, Gabriel, did I do this? All that talk about working?”

  Gabriel walked over and hugged her. “No you didn’t. This has been coming a long time. You know what?” Gabriel stepped back and looked Alice in the eyes. “We have a full-fledged adult on our hands.”

  “You don’t look so pleased either.”

  Gabriel shook his head. The gesture was a familiar one. Her husband had captured wry humor, resignation, and sadness in a single look. “Hey. We have some time here. If she cancels Christmas on us, we can always fly to Seattle and visit John Owen.”

  Alice brightened. “You think?”

  “Sure. Not to worry…”

  Chapter 14

  The following weeks passed quickly. Snowfeather spent half of her study time working on demonstrations against the transoceanic shipping of nuclear waste, and mingling with the group of women who ran the Women’s League, or the Earth’s Sisters as they referred to themselves. The other half was spent studying and with Vince. She had received her first paycheck, but the big move-in day to her new office had been postponed…again. Now it would be the week after Christmas.

  For the last several days, Snowfeather had noticed a change in the Sisters. It was one of those intangibles—a new social tension, a sense of distance, a feeling of wary expectancy. She had tried to give Vincent examples, but the problem defied concrete description. On one occasion, she had looked up to find Berker giving her a cool, appraising stare. On another, Cynthia Thomas had taken her aside to discuss the importance of trust.

  “Tell me, Vince,” she later asked. “What makes a house feel haunted? The creepy lighting? Cobwebs? It’s nothing in particular. And it’s everything. And I feel like I am under a microscope.”

  “You know what?” Vince said, taking Snowfeather’s hand.

  “What?”

  “I think I’d like to spend Christmas right here, with you.”

  “Really? You’re not flying back to DC for the break?”

  “I think I’ll stick around here, okay?” Snowfeather hugged him for a long time.

  ——

  Snowfeather still hadn’t called home to tell Alice and Gabriel that she wasn’t coming home for Christmas. Then on a Friday near the end of the term while Vince was in class, Snowfeather decided to drop by the Sisters’ for an unannounced chat.

  But the bookstore was closed.

  Snowfeather mounted the stairs in silence. Near the top, she heard muffled chanting. She hesitated, teetering at the edge of the hallway. The Woman’s League office was a few steps away, but the noise was from the left, from the other end of a long, shabby hall. It was an area of the building she had never explored. Looking again to the right, she saw that the main office was dark.

  She took a few hesitant steps down the unlit, carpeted hallway, until she could see a distant doorway, a dim green light leaking out a transom from somewhere within.

  Snowfeather hesitated again. Then she crept forward on her toes.

  The female voices were chanting in unison, the words barely intelligible. She drew closer, but she could still not make out the sense of it. Then, from inside she heard:

  “Gaia is wounded.”

  “We are her healers.”

  “Gaia is threatened.”

  “We are her protectors.”

  “Gaia is injured.”

  “We are her avengers.”

  “Gaia is infected.”

  “We are her antibodies.”

  The chanting got louder and louder. But Snowfeather had clearly registered the last word. Antibodies? What are the germs? Disturbed by the implications and fatally curious, Snowfeather found herself placing her ear against the door. She momentarily panicked, pulling back as if she had touched a stove. But she tried again, holding her ear in place. She was rooted by her curiosity, horrified, but still listening.

  A faint, repellent odor was leaking under the door. She could make out Berker’s voice among the others. All the words were now clear.

  “Who wounded Gaia?”

  The chorus replied, “Humans did.”

  “Who threatens Gaia?”

  “Humans do.”

  “Who injured Gaia?”

  “Humans have.”

  “Who has infected Gaia?”

  “Humans have. Humans are the ecophage.”

  Snowfeather felt a chill in her heart. She stepped back. Jesus. H. Christ. I’ve signed on with a coven of lunatics. The chorus continued even louder. The words were as clear as they were te
rrifying.

  “We were born of Gaia and to Gaia we will return.”

  Then Berker’s voice rang out again: “Human the despoiler. Human the profligate. Human the malignancy.”

  Someone was singing in the background, a wordless parody of a Native American chant. Snowfeather could hear the music, wordless and disturbing.

  Cynthia’s voice rose, “That Gaia may live…”

  It was followed by a chorus of voices: “Humans must die.”

  Someone was thumping a drum. Snowfeather felt the hairs on her neck rise as the wordless singing continued inside. What the hell are they doing in there?

  Berker’s voice was getting louder, “Human was born of Gaia and to Gaia humans will return.”

  “We are the healers. We are the protectors. We are the avengers. We are the antibodies.”

  Berker called out, “Man must die!”

  A chorus rang, “Wo-man must die.”

  Berker again, “Children must die.”

  “To Gaia…” Berker was almost frantic.

  “All must return!”

  The last was shouted so loudly, that Snowfeather jumped back from the door. As she stepped back her foot caught on a bit of torn carpet, and a metal snap on her jacket scraped against the wall. Oh, crap.

  A harsh, androgynous voice barked, “Who is that?”

  “Who is outside the door?” Berker’s voice.

  “I’ll check.” Cynthia’s voice.

  Snowfeather was rooted in place. Footsteps. Then the door opened a few inches. The pinched face of Cynthia Thomas, now inflated with self-importance, peered around the opening. The woman squinted, then ducked back in as she recognized Snowfeather.

  “It’s okay,” she said to those inside, then, as she poked her head back into the hallway, she stage whispered to Snowfeather, “Wait in the office. I’ll be right there.”

  Snowfeather nodded. The door closed, and the voices, singing and drum thumping all continued, once again muffled, the words just beyond recognition. Snowfeather found her way to the office and unlocked the door.

  She hit the light switch. I should just leave. As the lights came on, she stared at the desk, the papers, the message slips. Same posters on the wall. Same bulletin board. Everything seems normal. So why am I shaking? Snowfeather sat down next to the desk. She tried to breathe slowly, deliberately. She waited.

  A shadow fell across her lap. Snowfeather twitched involuntarily, and looked up. Her expression remained guarded. Never show fear. Cynthia peered down. Snowfeather smiled at the woman dressed in a mushroom-white robe, her face still infused with her cult persona.

  “Are you okay?” Cynthia asked. Her tone reeked of faux-concern.

  “Sure, Cynthia, I’m just fine.” Like hell.

  How much did you overhear?”

  Too much, Snowfeather thought, but she shrugged. “Nothing but muffled voices, really,” she said. “Just some chanting.”

  “It seems to have upset you,” Cynthia said, smiling. “Don’t worry,” she said, stroking Snowfeather on the arm. “It was not what it seems.”

  “Just another Euro-pagan ritual. None of my business.”

  Cynthia chuckled indulgently. “Really. Not to worry, Snowfeather. Every mass movement has a special place where…enthusiasm is generated.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Not everyone can get engaged and committed to our program, uh…intellectually. And a simple love of the environment doesn’t always produce warriors. Not everyone comes from an ancient earth warrior tradition such as yours.”

  “I see.” Dear God, does she really believe this crap?

  “Some people need more.”

  “What were you doing in there?” Snowfeather’s voice cracked with nervous emotion.

  “Really, Snowfeather. No need to be so dramatic! You haven’t seen us run amok in the streets, have you?”

  Snowfeather laughed.

  “This was a symbolic ceremony,” Cynthia said. “Nothing more. By all means keep to your own traditions, there is no need to adopt ours.”

  ——

  Later that night, Snowfeather called her father.

  “Hey. I wondered if you had lost your voice,” Gabriel said.

  “It’s been very, very strange here, Dad.” She still didn’t have the nerve to talk about her Christmas plans. Instead, she decided to vent about the overheard ritual.

  “I just witnessed something very weird and upsetting, Dad.”

  “I’m listening,” Gabriel said. He decided he would just keep his thoughts to himself and just let his daughter talk. And she did. Every word of the overheard ritual, Berker’s link to Fowler, the secrets, the layers, all of it.

  “So, what do you think?” Snowfeather said.

  “I remember our deal. Do I really get to advise you on this?”

  “Dad, I might not take your advice, but I sure am asking for it.”

  “Just so we’re clear. I’ve heard more than enough. I’d quit this outfit in a heartbeat. Let someone else have that fancy office. Stay away from these people, Princess. Far away.”

  “That’s it? That simple?”

  “Yes. That simple. If I can smell something toxic, surely you can. It’s just like I know when I’m being stalked by a cougar. Princess, I’m still an old fashioned Injun at heart, and so are you.”

  “Could you just talk to me like a savvy politician, not a worried father?”

  “I’m both. It’s my curse. I can’t help but show it.” Gabriel sighed. After a few seconds of dead air, he resumed. “Okay. Let me be the politician, then. This is what I know. Popular movements always attract extremists. Sometimes, lunatics can take over a cause. When that happens, they always ruin it, always drag it down. Eventually they break laws. Some of them play dirty. Very dirty. So as a savvy politician, I say get out before you get dirty, too.”

  “That sounds over-zealous.”

  “It’s just the way of politics; it seduces you; it can bite you; it will spit you out…or eat you alive.”

  “Dad, I’m still torn. Yes, it was just a crazy ritual, but it’s not a crazy cause.”

  “But why play this game with crazy people?”

  “Gabriel’s rule. ‘Only the pricks have the big money. So get used to dealing with pricks.’”

  Gabriel laughed heartily. “You are my best political science student. But you’re not supposed to get in over your head, Princess. My rule is for ordinary pricks, not the lunatic pricks.”

  Then Snowfeather laughed. “It’s not about the money, Dad…or the glory. It’s what I can actually do with this new position. Hey, not everyone involved in this is crazy. All kinds of doors are suddenly opening.”

  “Doors will open for you anyway.”

  She paused. “I met with Mr. Fowler. Is he nuts, too?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “Dad, I know I can make a difference.”

  “You’ve ridden a mean horse before, and you think you can ride this one. Is that about it?”

  “Yes. I want to give this one a ride.”

  “Well…” Snowfeather could hear her father’s breathing. After a time he began talking again, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “A stupid ceremony is one thing. What do they say outside, when they are planning stuff with you?”

  “Once, Cynthia talked about people dying as ‘collateral damage.’”

  “Great. She sounds like the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Does this Berker woman talk this way?”

  “Not really.”

  “But she was part of that ritual?”

  “Yes.” Her answer was so quiet, that Gabriel hardly heard it.

  “What do you think they really mean by ‘malignancy’?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I think you do. I think you are in with some very bad people. Fred Loud Owl warned me about them. Surely, part of you must be thinking this is bad business or you wouldn’t have called me. Am I right?”

  “I was worried.”

  “Always go with your g
ut on this sort of thing, Princess. Always. Whenever something bothers you this much, something is always wrong.”

  “But…” Snowfeather paused. Father and daughter had long since learned when not to interrupt a thoughtful pause in a conversation. After a time, Snowfeather said what was really on her mind: “A good cause is truly worth taking some risks for, isn’t it?”

  “Touché. Did I teach you that? Well, I promised not to tell you what to do. That was our deal. If your gut tells you that you must do this, by all means, do it. Work around the nuts and accomplish something. That’s the way it’s done on the Hill. Mom and I will be proud of you whatever you decide. Even when we might disagree.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But I need a favor.”

  “What?”

  “Just one favor. It’s for my piece of mind and Mom’s sanity. I’m going to be meeting with Senator Smith soon.”

  “Who?”

  “You remember Thurston Smith, the Congressman from Utah?”

  “Oh, him. Didn’t you and Mom have him over for one of those boring dinners?”

  “Yes. Now he is Senator Smith. Same boring guy. He has more integrity than good sense. But I have heard that his committee may have some inside information about this group.” Gabriel paused. “Thurston Smith really does keep his secrets. Please let me make a confidential inquiry. Okay?”

  “I feel like such a snitch.”

  “Don’t, Princess. You’re just being prudent. We’ll talk about this when you come home.”

  Chapter 15

  Snowfeather had not booked any travel to come home. Christmas was getting close and Snowfeather was procrastinating; she dreaded telling her mother about her holiday plans with Vince.

  Then one of the Sisters, a large woman in her thirties named Susan Sanchez, insisted on seeing Snowfeather privately in the back of the bookstore. Sanchez was earnest and intense, and the woman talked for twenty minutes about the problems of the Gaia movement in “a hostile societal environment.” Snowfeather listened with half an ear before Sanchez finally came to the point.

  “There is an initiation. Snowfeather, it is a profoundly moving ritual. I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant to me when I first joined.”

  Suddenly irritated, Snowfeather leaned forward in the small, wooden chair, and rubbed her eyes. “Susan, I think it is wonderful that you have found something that moves you. Really.” Then she looked directly at the woman, her gray eyes flashing. “But I am Nez Perce, Sioux, and Shoshone, with an eighth part Swede thrown in. I don’t need some reconstituted Euro-pagan ritual to tell me who I am, or where I came from.”