The bottomless purple sky spread it's shawl over the limitless element of the ocean. The roar of its raging waves drowns in the deep, soft but powerful voice of the Shaman. He sings his song of magic.
The fire gives its warm crackles. The night air is filled with scents of burning wood, salty water and night blossoms. Sometimes the hot tongues of fire burst into the sky, trying to reach the pale, coldly shimmering stars. Then the Shaman's song grows louder, enchanting sounds are hypnotizing. The innermost secrets are hidden in his song. This is the song of words not to be understood, the song of a melody not to be repeated, a spell of a magic not to be cancelled. This sacramental moment the Shaman seizes the future.
The tribe seems to be frozen. Every woman, every man is all attention. We are afraid; we are excited, we are curious, we are protective. We are waiting.
Lately, a group of exhausted pale people crawled to our shores. They came from beyond the sea. We can see them dying. The place they had come from must be the real paradise, where people don't have to hunt, don't have to plant; don't have to work, as they are unable to survive in our land. They dwell in caves, they eat stones. They cry and they die. They don't know that we are here, watching them, because they have no sense of smell, no sharp eyes, they are deaf and clumsy.
We pity them. We want to bring them food, teach them to hunt and help them to survive in our rich, fertile and grateful land. But we are protective. And that is the reason, why we are here this decisive night, listening to the Shaman's song. We want him to see the future and to be secure so that we wouldn't cause any harm, helping the pale people. The Shaman is my father.
I am against the pale people. I don't like them. I can sense something, which seems to me an ultimate danger, which glimmers from infinity with a constant threat. I am the Shaman's child.
Here comes the moment of verity. The Shaman's song fades into a whisper, then the silence takes over. It's so quiet - only the ocean's sighs could be heard from the darkness.
The Shaman slowly opens up his eyes. His eyes are penetrating, even the daring can't bare his look. He looks at me, then at the whole tribe. Face by face, we are reflected in his wise eyes.
--
So? What should we do? - The strongest man of the tribe takes his chance to be the first to ask the question.
--
We should help them. We give them our help. They will have a bountiful harvest the year after. They will share their happiness with us, and we will have a feast, all together, which will tie our people together for hundreds of years. Our future is clear!
The whole tribe gets in a merry mood. People celebrate their good will, singing and dancing around the fire.
I lost my father in this happy crowd. I wanted to talk to him, as I saw the dark shadows in his eyes - the signs of trouble. Something went wrong, and I had to know, what exactly.
I chased his track, until I found him sitting calmly in front of the tribe's totem statue. I carefully approached, not willing to break his
calmness. I wanted to touch his shoulder, so he knew I was here. But my touch was not needed: he already knew that I stood behind his back.
--
You knew, where to find me...
--
I always find you here, if there is something that is disturbing your mind. What did you see, Father?
--
I saw the future. - The Shaman moved his eyes to the statue, and looked up at it just as I interfered their mutual conversation, and they shared their disappointment of my presence.
--
I know that, father! I know that you saw something, something totally wrong! Tell me, what have you seen?
--
I told the tribe about it. I saw pale people, feasting together with us upon the prosperous yields. What else do you want to know?
--
The truth!
--
You don't like the pale people, do you? - He grinned bitterly.
I shook my head. I disliked them right at the moment I saw them for the first time. I believed that we should have killed them, sacrificed them to our gods. They were supposed to stay in their land. They don't belong here, they don't even know, how to handle their own lives! However, I did say none of those words. I just shook my head.
--
Then I must not tell you what I saw! You will hate them from now on!
--
I need to know, father! Tell me! I am not going to leave, until you let me know, why those dark shadows covered your eyes.
--
Well, if you are so persistent so far, then listen. You are mature enough to know. Everything is going to be just like I said. WE will help them, the feast will bind us, and we will live together forever. But I did not tell the tribe, what would happen after we share the feast.
--
What is it? - I felt my heart beat faster; a light chill ran up and down my skin.
The Shaman frowned and gazed at the statue, as if seeking for its support. But the totem was silent and indifferent.
--
Then more of the pale people will come. They will remember the feast day, and proclaim it as a holiday of the nation. They will give us their gratitude for our help. And after that they will conquer our land. They will call us "The red people, the Indians". They will treat us like animals, not as humans. They will burn our houses, ruin our gods, and destroy everything, which is vital for us. They will spoil our men with the poisonous water they will bring with them. They will exterminate most of the tribes; all of our people will be killed by them. Thousands will be put in chains ant taken across the sea to be the slaves to the pale people. In a very short time, the whole culture will be turned to dust, and the only solid remembering of us will be the day of thanksgiving, the day when different people got together, thanking each other for help.
I dropped to my knees, I was about to faint. Father's words put me in a trance, I felt so terrified, as never before. I couldn't find any words to respond; I didn't know what to do. The only thing was on my mind - we must go and kill those demons! Now!
--
No! We won't! - Father read my mind.
--
But why? Why? Tell me. Why do we have to let this end of the world to happen?! I can't understand it!
--
You won't. This is fate. It has to happen, and it will happen, regardless of our wishes. Hundreds of years after people will celebrate the Thanksgiving Day. They will transform it into a kind of a family meeting, they will eat tons of food, which they will consider to be national tradition. A few of our people will survive. They will live in special towns, just like the captured jaguars. Some of them will get rich. Some will dwell in poverty. None of them will remember their native languages, none of them will have our eyes, and they all will be as helpless, as the pale people. But they will forgive. Our people will forgive them. I forgive them, and you should!
--
No! I wont! Even if I lived for hundreds of years, I would not be able to forgive them for a slaughter! I will remember this day forever as a black day, the day when my people condemned themselves to disappearance!
--
They call it "peacemaking". They will try to do the same to many different people, on both sides of the sea. Be wise, my child. Be grateful to history. Some pale people will write books about us, and the pale children will dream to become us. We have to understand. It's a Forgiveness Day.