Dark Frontier 2
The beady black eyes gave no hint to the reptile’s feelings but the tail did a fine job of telling America it was angry at him. For his part, America decided the smart thing would be not to make any sudden movements. Partly hidden in the grass and concealed in the darkness the Rattlesnake only let its head be revealed as it focused on America. He tried to resist the urge to blink as the snake slithered closer to him, rattling all the way. A foot away now and the creature of his Dream slowly lifted itself higher to better see into his eyes…
Another time and place, America hammered down a spike before wiping the sweat off his brow. The desert was not a friendly place but the railroads had to go somewhere. It was the end of the week; pay day. He walked up to the boss along with his fellow workers, many of them Chinese who like him worked all day for the train companies setting rails and cutting down trees. A week’s labor and wages only a half of America’s they received. They didn’t protest so America kept his mouth shut. If they didn’t think it was unfair who was he to say anything?
The Rattlesnake struck. America leapt back, narrowly avoiding the creature’s fangs and lost his balance. He hit the ground, dropping his gun and scrapping his palms on the hard dirt. The Rattlesnake curled back up while America scrambled away on his hands and feet. It lashed out again and again America barely dodged a mouthful of venom.
“Keep it moving people! Come on, hurry it up!” America yelled into the crowed shuffling about on the train platform.
He watched irritably as Japanese-Americans slowly boarded the trains with what little luggage they had been allowed to carry. This was taking forever. Here he was getting a bunch of people into some far off camp in some far off remote area of California when he could be out fighting Japan himself.
Confused and forlorn faces stared at him from the windows of the cars. America stared back at them suspiciously. Any one of them could be a spy. That guy with the hat or that guy in the polo shirt. That woman with too much make-up or that kid playing with a model plane. Anyone one of them could be - no probably was - a spy for Japan. Well America wasn’t about to let any of his enemy’s people just walk around like they owned the place.
That last car was loaded and the train began moving. America did not stay to watch it go. As long as they stayed in those concentration camps for the rest of the war they didn’t matter to him.
Hissing and shaking its tail, the Rattlesnake slithered closer to attempt another deadly bite. Moving faster and more deliberately than any rattlesnake had a right to, really. His luck ran out on the third strike. America couldn’t move fast enough. With a final lunge the Rattlesnake sank its fangs into his left leg, just above the ankle. America screamed as poison was jumped into his system.
Again the world changed. Somewhere in the South the bodies of colored men hung from the trees. Kidnapped from their homes in the dead of the night or taken right off the streets. Having done nothing wrong but be in the wrong place at the wrong time and be of a darker shade of skin. Wives and children gathered around the swinging bodies crying hopeless tears as police looked on with indifference. America spared them a pitying glance and then went about his business.
Another time as he left the voting booth, he found the beaten and bleeding bodies of those black people who had dared to vote for the future of their country. America quickly turned around and took another route home, disgust on his face but no conviction to do anything about it. Things like this happened everyday after all.
Never did the reptile take its eyes off of him as it injected its venom, never giving him a chance to justify himself. Pain was its way of lashing out at his hypocrisy and spinelessness over the years. If snakes could talk this one would be mockingly chanting: “Freedom, Justice, Equality!” while it poisoned him both with its fangs and those shameful memories.
America tried to pull the creature off of him with one hand while grasping around him for gun. America’s hand drifted over a rock instead. He grasped it tightly and sent his own glare back at the Rattlesnake…
China looked on approvingly as a large Oriental style dragon floated past him and America on the busy street of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Much work had obviously been put into constructing it and the dozen or so other costumes that paraded down the street in celebration of the Chinese New Year.
“Like it, huh?” America asked while slurping up a bowl of noodles (with a fork).
“I do.” Was China’s simple reply. He followed the procession of other performers and marchers “They put a lot of effort into this.”
America licked his lips as he gulped down the last of the bowl, “Course they did; my people always give 110%!”
“Your people?” China scanned the parade’s participants, the huge crowd of onlookers and others passing by. Chinese, most of them. Chinese-Americans. Together with other nationalities. China chuckled.
“I guess they are.”
The rock crashed down on the Rattlesnakes head. This had the adverse affect of making the fangs sink deeper into his flesh but America ignored it. He lifted the rock up above his head and again brought it down on the skull of his attacker. The Rattlesnake let go of his leg and for a second looked dazed. It recovered its wits just in time to avoid the next attack from America, slithering in retreat. Glaring its black snake eyes glare the Rattlesnake hissed in fury while America sent back his own defiant stare.
America knocked loudly for a good ten seconds. Not that he minded the wait much, gave him a chance to catch his breathe, but he really had to keep moving.
At last someone opened the door, an older man. He stared at the young looking blonde, who was leaning on the doorframe, sweating and breathing heavily, like he just run several miles in the hot California sun. His glasses were slipping from his nose and a large wad of paper slips were held delicately in his left hand. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Are you…Mister…Takahara?” America gasped in between a lungful of air.
“Yes. Are you alright?”
America waved off the man’s concern. “Car broke down… been running… up and down the coast… all day.” He took one of the slips from his left hand with his right and held it out to the aging Takahara. “This is for you.”
It was a check for $20,000.
Before the former camp detainee could say anything America handed him another check. “And this is for your wife,” and another, “And this is for your son.”
The man who had just received $60,000 looked at America, looked down at the checks, and back up at America. “These are from the government?”
America nodded. “Everyone who had to go to the camps is getting one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another thousand of these to give out.”
He turned and hopped off the porch of the Takaharas’. But before he took as many as ten steps America turned around again to face his citizen. His tired and sweating face grew serious.
“I know this isn’t going to make up for the years you lost, but I really want to let you know: I’m really sorry.”
America took off before he could say anything.
This time it was America who lunged forward to attack. The Rattlesnake made to bite him again but was too slow this time around. The rock made contact with the reptile’s snout, again disorientating it. America shouted a wild primordial call as he bashed the Rattlesnake’s head again and again until it slumped to the ground.
The Lincoln Memorial was a place of solace and reflection. America didn’t get that memo apparently. He paced back and forward, babbling and looking like the sky was falling on him. An older man stood nearby trying to calm him down.
“America, please calm down.” He said
“But, I’m a failure!” America exclaimed miserably.
“Now see here - ”
“For decades I’ve ignored you. I could have fixed things along time ago if I had just done more.” America had repeated this several times now.
“Alright, enough of this. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”
In an uncharacteristic display of roughness, Martin Luther King Jr. grabbed America by his shoulders and shook him.
“Come on now Alfred, we don’t need you moping about. If you are truly sorry them help us win this fight for equality.” The civil rights leader said sternly.
America still felt something was wrong. The bottom of his stomach was churning like never before. “I don’t know if I can, Martin. I mean, I want to but how can I help you now if I’ve done nothing for the past century? I’m supposed to be a hero, but I’ve let injustice towards my own people go on for so long. Look at me!”
America waved his hands down to indicate himself. “I’m as white as any Kard-Karrying-Klansman! Do you really think the others really accept me as their nation? I’ve done nothing for them before, why should they believe in me now?”
Martin Luther King shook his head. He lifted America’s hand and brought it up to his own. “Look, Alfred. My skin and your skin are completely different. But that does not matter in the slightest. You are still my county. You are the country of every black man and white man and every other race here. We are doing this because we believe in you, believe in everything you represent.”
America fell silent. He looked down and away from Martin. Quietly he said, “You still believe in me even though I’ve been a big lie?”
Another shake, gentler, but still firm. “Alfred, so what if you’re not the hero you thought you were.” Martin said, “No one is perfect. Not you or me or anyone else. But you have to strive. If you’re not the hero you thought you were then become him. You have the potential, you just have to live up to it. You can start by giving us your support.”
America still felt uncertain. Could he really reverse 200 years of discrimination just like that? Martin spoke again.
“I know this is probably causing you a lot of inner turmoil. If you cannot have faith in yourself then just have faith in us, because we have faith in you.”
America didn’t realize the Rattlesnake was dead until the venom began pulsating through his arms. He dropped the rock next to the Rattlesnakes crushed skull as he doubled over in agony as sweat burst from his brow. It was like a wave of needles going through his veins and reaching every part of his body.
For an instant America felt like he was going to die. That was silly; everyone knew you couldn’t die in a dream. Besides as a Nation a mere snake bite would hardly be enough to bring him down. Whoever had said you could not feel pain in a dream however, was a damn liar. It hurt less when the Rattlesnake was actually biting him!
How long he stayed on the ground America did not know. Minutes, hours, it could have been a week and he would not have known. Time was still on the dark frontier. Whatever amount of time had passed, America finally got himself up. The venom would not be leaving anytime soon and it wracked his body with continuous pain. But one does not achieve superpower status without a high level of pain tolerance. America picked up his shotgun and slowly started limping foward.
The poison would leave once he awoke. The memories wouldn’t go away though, nor could they be flimsily justified like those brought to him from the Eagle. The Rattlesnake had wanted to torment America, keep him moving until he tired out even as he tried to fulfill his role as the hero. Pay the price for neglecting his own people.
----------------------------------
Notes:
Chinese immigrants faced a lot of discrimination when they first arrived in America, such as working just a hard as everyone else but only receiving half the pay. Today, Chinese culture is celebrated, especially during the Chinese New Year when awesome parades and festivities are held.
In a wave of paranoia following Pearl Harbor, all Americans of Japanese ancestry were sent to concentration camps in desert areas for fear that they were spies for Japan. No one was ever convicted of espionage but many lost their homes, businesses and property while interned. In 1988 the government under President Ronald Reagan apologized for what was done to them. The survivors of those times were each given $20,000 in reparation.
For most of its history the US has been guilty of horrible treatment to its African American population. This finally changed during the Civil Right’s Movement of the 1960’s. Look up Martin Luther King Jr. yourself because this footnote will end up his biography if I continue.
Another time and place, America hammered down a spike before wiping the sweat off his brow. The desert was not a friendly place but the railroads had to go somewhere. It was the end of the week; pay day. He walked up to the boss along with his fellow workers, many of them Chinese who like him worked all day for the train companies setting rails and cutting down trees. A week’s labor and wages only a half of America’s they received. They didn’t protest so America kept his mouth shut. If they didn’t think it was unfair who was he to say anything?
The Rattlesnake struck. America leapt back, narrowly avoiding the creature’s fangs and lost his balance. He hit the ground, dropping his gun and scrapping his palms on the hard dirt. The Rattlesnake curled back up while America scrambled away on his hands and feet. It lashed out again and again America barely dodged a mouthful of venom.
“Keep it moving people! Come on, hurry it up!” America yelled into the crowed shuffling about on the train platform.
He watched irritably as Japanese-Americans slowly boarded the trains with what little luggage they had been allowed to carry. This was taking forever. Here he was getting a bunch of people into some far off camp in some far off remote area of California when he could be out fighting Japan himself.
Confused and forlorn faces stared at him from the windows of the cars. America stared back at them suspiciously. Any one of them could be a spy. That guy with the hat or that guy in the polo shirt. That woman with too much make-up or that kid playing with a model plane. Anyone one of them could be - no probably was - a spy for Japan. Well America wasn’t about to let any of his enemy’s people just walk around like they owned the place.
That last car was loaded and the train began moving. America did not stay to watch it go. As long as they stayed in those concentration camps for the rest of the war they didn’t matter to him.
Hissing and shaking its tail, the Rattlesnake slithered closer to attempt another deadly bite. Moving faster and more deliberately than any rattlesnake had a right to, really. His luck ran out on the third strike. America couldn’t move fast enough. With a final lunge the Rattlesnake sank its fangs into his left leg, just above the ankle. America screamed as poison was jumped into his system.
Again the world changed. Somewhere in the South the bodies of colored men hung from the trees. Kidnapped from their homes in the dead of the night or taken right off the streets. Having done nothing wrong but be in the wrong place at the wrong time and be of a darker shade of skin. Wives and children gathered around the swinging bodies crying hopeless tears as police looked on with indifference. America spared them a pitying glance and then went about his business.
Another time as he left the voting booth, he found the beaten and bleeding bodies of those black people who had dared to vote for the future of their country. America quickly turned around and took another route home, disgust on his face but no conviction to do anything about it. Things like this happened everyday after all.
Never did the reptile take its eyes off of him as it injected its venom, never giving him a chance to justify himself. Pain was its way of lashing out at his hypocrisy and spinelessness over the years. If snakes could talk this one would be mockingly chanting: “Freedom, Justice, Equality!” while it poisoned him both with its fangs and those shameful memories.
America tried to pull the creature off of him with one hand while grasping around him for gun. America’s hand drifted over a rock instead. He grasped it tightly and sent his own glare back at the Rattlesnake…
China looked on approvingly as a large Oriental style dragon floated past him and America on the busy street of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Much work had obviously been put into constructing it and the dozen or so other costumes that paraded down the street in celebration of the Chinese New Year.
“Like it, huh?” America asked while slurping up a bowl of noodles (with a fork).
“I do.” Was China’s simple reply. He followed the procession of other performers and marchers “They put a lot of effort into this.”
America licked his lips as he gulped down the last of the bowl, “Course they did; my people always give 110%!”
“Your people?” China scanned the parade’s participants, the huge crowd of onlookers and others passing by. Chinese, most of them. Chinese-Americans. Together with other nationalities. China chuckled.
“I guess they are.”
The rock crashed down on the Rattlesnakes head. This had the adverse affect of making the fangs sink deeper into his flesh but America ignored it. He lifted the rock up above his head and again brought it down on the skull of his attacker. The Rattlesnake let go of his leg and for a second looked dazed. It recovered its wits just in time to avoid the next attack from America, slithering in retreat. Glaring its black snake eyes glare the Rattlesnake hissed in fury while America sent back his own defiant stare.
America knocked loudly for a good ten seconds. Not that he minded the wait much, gave him a chance to catch his breathe, but he really had to keep moving.
At last someone opened the door, an older man. He stared at the young looking blonde, who was leaning on the doorframe, sweating and breathing heavily, like he just run several miles in the hot California sun. His glasses were slipping from his nose and a large wad of paper slips were held delicately in his left hand. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Are you…Mister…Takahara?” America gasped in between a lungful of air.
“Yes. Are you alright?”
America waved off the man’s concern. “Car broke down… been running… up and down the coast… all day.” He took one of the slips from his left hand with his right and held it out to the aging Takahara. “This is for you.”
It was a check for $20,000.
Before the former camp detainee could say anything America handed him another check. “And this is for your wife,” and another, “And this is for your son.”
The man who had just received $60,000 looked at America, looked down at the checks, and back up at America. “These are from the government?”
America nodded. “Everyone who had to go to the camps is getting one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another thousand of these to give out.”
He turned and hopped off the porch of the Takaharas’. But before he took as many as ten steps America turned around again to face his citizen. His tired and sweating face grew serious.
“I know this isn’t going to make up for the years you lost, but I really want to let you know: I’m really sorry.”
America took off before he could say anything.
This time it was America who lunged forward to attack. The Rattlesnake made to bite him again but was too slow this time around. The rock made contact with the reptile’s snout, again disorientating it. America shouted a wild primordial call as he bashed the Rattlesnake’s head again and again until it slumped to the ground.
The Lincoln Memorial was a place of solace and reflection. America didn’t get that memo apparently. He paced back and forward, babbling and looking like the sky was falling on him. An older man stood nearby trying to calm him down.
“America, please calm down.” He said
“But, I’m a failure!” America exclaimed miserably.
“Now see here - ”
“For decades I’ve ignored you. I could have fixed things along time ago if I had just done more.” America had repeated this several times now.
“Alright, enough of this. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”
In an uncharacteristic display of roughness, Martin Luther King Jr. grabbed America by his shoulders and shook him.
“Come on now Alfred, we don’t need you moping about. If you are truly sorry them help us win this fight for equality.” The civil rights leader said sternly.
America still felt something was wrong. The bottom of his stomach was churning like never before. “I don’t know if I can, Martin. I mean, I want to but how can I help you now if I’ve done nothing for the past century? I’m supposed to be a hero, but I’ve let injustice towards my own people go on for so long. Look at me!”
America waved his hands down to indicate himself. “I’m as white as any Kard-Karrying-Klansman! Do you really think the others really accept me as their nation? I’ve done nothing for them before, why should they believe in me now?”
Martin Luther King shook his head. He lifted America’s hand and brought it up to his own. “Look, Alfred. My skin and your skin are completely different. But that does not matter in the slightest. You are still my county. You are the country of every black man and white man and every other race here. We are doing this because we believe in you, believe in everything you represent.”
America fell silent. He looked down and away from Martin. Quietly he said, “You still believe in me even though I’ve been a big lie?”
Another shake, gentler, but still firm. “Alfred, so what if you’re not the hero you thought you were.” Martin said, “No one is perfect. Not you or me or anyone else. But you have to strive. If you’re not the hero you thought you were then become him. You have the potential, you just have to live up to it. You can start by giving us your support.”
America still felt uncertain. Could he really reverse 200 years of discrimination just like that? Martin spoke again.
“I know this is probably causing you a lot of inner turmoil. If you cannot have faith in yourself then just have faith in us, because we have faith in you.”
America didn’t realize the Rattlesnake was dead until the venom began pulsating through his arms. He dropped the rock next to the Rattlesnakes crushed skull as he doubled over in agony as sweat burst from his brow. It was like a wave of needles going through his veins and reaching every part of his body.
For an instant America felt like he was going to die. That was silly; everyone knew you couldn’t die in a dream. Besides as a Nation a mere snake bite would hardly be enough to bring him down. Whoever had said you could not feel pain in a dream however, was a damn liar. It hurt less when the Rattlesnake was actually biting him!
How long he stayed on the ground America did not know. Minutes, hours, it could have been a week and he would not have known. Time was still on the dark frontier. Whatever amount of time had passed, America finally got himself up. The venom would not be leaving anytime soon and it wracked his body with continuous pain. But one does not achieve superpower status without a high level of pain tolerance. America picked up his shotgun and slowly started limping foward.
The poison would leave once he awoke. The memories wouldn’t go away though, nor could they be flimsily justified like those brought to him from the Eagle. The Rattlesnake had wanted to torment America, keep him moving until he tired out even as he tried to fulfill his role as the hero. Pay the price for neglecting his own people.
----------------------------------
Notes:
Chinese immigrants faced a lot of discrimination when they first arrived in America, such as working just a hard as everyone else but only receiving half the pay. Today, Chinese culture is celebrated, especially during the Chinese New Year when awesome parades and festivities are held.
In a wave of paranoia following Pearl Harbor, all Americans of Japanese ancestry were sent to concentration camps in desert areas for fear that they were spies for Japan. No one was ever convicted of espionage but many lost their homes, businesses and property while interned. In 1988 the government under President Ronald Reagan apologized for what was done to them. The survivors of those times were each given $20,000 in reparation.
For most of its history the US has been guilty of horrible treatment to its African American population. This finally changed during the Civil Right’s Movement of the 1960’s. Look up Martin Luther King Jr. yourself because this footnote will end up his biography if I continue.