Debauching A Culture: Part 2 of 2 [Reader Post]

Part 1 here.

Biscuit’s people were a promiscuous bunch that liked the passages about hunting and killing whales, they loved the Shakespearean stories about issues of love and lust. Their ability to learn and grasp English was astonishing, they would mimic my soft slow way of speaking to each other in memorized passages from my reading and then break into wild laughter.

As a culture they were locked into a time warp between the stone age and the 20th Century. Yet some of them were among the most intelligent people I have ever met. They could grasp complex concepts while learning the language at the same time, my initial feelings of being from a superior culture began to wither away, unlike those of the male nurse.

He was the harpoon tip of an effort, by Leftist Political types, that wants to bring minority type peoples under a protective umbrella of nurturing and care. With the benevolence of a Big Brother image, these primitives are seduced with the promise of acquiring the amenities of the twentieth century by assuming a welfare type mentality; although, they are capable of assuming roles in the 20th Century with just a little guidance and a leg up.

These people had at least two genetic infusions at some point in the past. The body type we referred to as Chips was obvious, (short for Chippewa, I suppose) these people are huge, the men are often over six feet tall and weigh well over 300 pounds. They don’t appear to be athletic or particularly strong, but some of them can move with the prowess and speed of a cougar and have the strength of a bear. There was also the influence of French trappers or traders, they possessed family names like Napoleon, Bonaparte, Louise, Bastille and several others, (obviously, these were Frenchmen with a sense of humor as well as a healthy sexual appetite). Their language had been peppered with French words and phrases for so long (at least a hundred and maybe two hundred years), that they were unaware that these were foreign influences.

Despite the seemingly hybrid vigor of these healthy intelligent people, the Liberals were encouraging them with a sense of entitlement and the idea of perpetual care. The catalogues with pictures of goods they couldn’t power without electricity were intriguing. They began to long for the amenities that were so familiar to people in the cities, while Gregory, always ready and willing to be the middle man, the enabler; always setting the trap of victim hood with the bait of entitlement. This group was even more unique, since Biscuit’s father or grandfather, I could never figure which, was a veteran of WWI and an ‘Oil Indian’ from Alberta, he was receiving royalties from oil and gas. He was essentially wealthy, with no place or reason to spend money other than clothing and a few necessities of life.

Thus I walked in on a culture in the initial stages of transition; from a self-sufficient group that was healthy, intelligent, and dynamic turning into a dependent group of entitled victims. The transformation or what I refer to as the debauch of a culture was surprisingly easy, it was so easy that I unwittingly participated.

This group of Indians was a Matriarchal group, Leadership was determined through the female line and the man who married the Princess became Chief and their daughter would one day marry the man who would become Chief. It worked as well as any hereditary system, but Biscuit’s oldest daughter became the object of all the young men. She was not only beautiful, but she was in line for Biscuit’s oil royalties.

I learned a lot before Gregory returned with all the supplies in the tribe’s flat deck. With a crew of forty men we set to building the foundation. I actually had too much help, but I pretended that every man was useful and needed. One of the biggest men whom I called Griz, because of his size, a name that morphed into ‘Grease’, was the official hod carrier, a position he assumed literally and proudly.

There were about six men mixing the concrete in a wheel barrow, in a few minutes they would have a wheel barrow load ready and since Grease was the Hod Carrier, he would pick the wheel barrow up and run with it over to the concrete form and dump it in and run back to the mixing men. I tried to explain that he could wheel the wheel barrow over, but he knew that since he was a hod carrier that he should carry the concrete. There are always problems with communication when you only know a portion of the other man’s language. The form was done in two days, the floor took another day and the eight inch by twelve inch logs went up in another two days, The roof took another two days and then we started putting in the doors and windows. I did it, because I was the best carpenter we had and I had done it before. They were not like a sharp professional had done the work; but they functioned properly.

The house looked pretty good, the wood cook stove would hook up to a metal pipe chimney along with the wood furnace. I was fast using up my time for my senior trip, but I was having a good time and figured I was doing something meaningful.

In the mean time I was doing cooking demonstrations for the women and the food was getting to be better and better.

While we were moving furniture into the house, one of Biscuit’s younger daughters came to me all excited. I heard Tiger raising Hell with someone and ran to the corrals to see sullen Indian getting ready to shoot Tiger. The Indian had walked my horses over from Biscuit’s corral to a community corral: I had no idea what was going on, but if a man shot Tiger, he would die that same day.

The Indian, in his mid-twenties was stout and weighed at least 250 pounds, he was trying to get a bead on Tiger who was rushing in to get him and had already bitten the man at least twice. I pushed the man and took his rifle away and promptly hit him with the rifle butt in the chest to make him keep his distance. He was screaming and I had no idea what he was talking about; several of his friends were standing with him and they began to circle around me. The situation was about to escalate into a serious confrontation.

Biscuit and Gregory walked down to the corrals along with most of the village. I was relieved, my protagonist was emotional and pleading his case to Biscuit. Biscuit listened as if he was Solomon, looked at me and then turned to Gregory to explain the details.

Gregory broke into a big grin, and I thought the situation was defused. He then explained the situation to me. Woolens, his name as I heard it, wanted Vase for his wife so that he would be Chief; she was paying me too much attention, he stole my horses to humiliate me. According to Tribal Law, they were now his.

They were the envy of everyone, being twice the size of these Indian ponies, I could see why he wanted my horses, but there was no way in Hell I was going to walk home. However, the horses weren’t the real point of contention: Vase was falling for me and had even started to visit me in the middle of the night, Woolens was jealous and figured he had to make his move or lose his future.

I told Gregory that I had no intention of giving up my horses to any man alive.

Again there was serious consultation between Gregory and Biscuit. Gregory turned to me and explained my options. If I wanted to keep my horses there was to be a fight immediately. I could also gather my horses in the middle of the night and slink off with my livestock, but I would be leaving my pride.

I asked what kind of fight, Gregory asked Biscuit and turned to me with the answer. “It is a knife fight, a way to save face for both of you, he who draws first blood is the winner; but men have died in these fights”, Gregory shrugged and said, “It’s your call”. I looked at the men gathered around and many of them had a scar on their face, I now realized these were from dueling.

This had turned into a nightmare, I had never been in a fight in my life. I had milked cows, fed 350 cows off a bob sleigh in 4 and 5 foot of snow during the winter, and logged with a cross cut saw and an ax, and ran a huge trap line; but I had never been in a fight. I was much stronger than nearly any man and physically fit like a trained athlete: there was now way that I wanted to hurt this man nor get hurt myself. Everyone was waiting for my answer, pride can be a dangerous attribute, I was trying to think of the correct path to take, my emotions were aflame.

I thought of Vase, she would come to me at night and together we explored a surreal world of love. She was innocent, yet very passionate, at the height of her arousal, I would whisper the words that the tribe considered so funny. She would laugh at her peak and be in a state of hyper sensitivity and eroticism. Together we explored the mystic spirit world, beyond heightened sensitivity, beyond the boundaries of everyday life. I was in love with her like no other, not before nor since.

I came out of my deep concentration, that was like a trance state, and without a second thought, I said, “We fight”.

Biscuit grinned with satisfaction and walked away to his house. He returned a few minutes later with a roll of moose hide. Wrapped in the leather were two very old knives, I thought to myself, these two knives have caused most if not all the scars around me. I picked one up and felt the weight. It seemed like a good knife, with an antler handle and brass bolsters. I walked over to my pannier boxes and pulled out my sharpening stone. My sharpening skills had already made themselves known, by me sharpening all the kitchen knives. I now sat down to begin sharpening this dueling knife.

I know that people respect a sharp knife and a man who can put a razor’s edge on a knife can intimidate other men. Slowly and methodically I sharpened the knife. I asked one of the twins to get a piece of paper from a writing tablet. It is a cheap trick, but a fairly sharp knife can slice a piece of paper in half if you hold the paper so that it is stiff and then either push or pull the knife as you cut through the paper. It’s impressive if you don’t know how to do the trick.

After I cut through the paper, there were oohs and ahs from the crowd. This was all planned to give me a psychological advantage over my opponent. I looked at him and he didn’t have the same confidence he had in the beginning.

Biscuit called us together and grasped our left wrists shoulder high, he then tied our left wrists to each other with a thick moose hide thong that left about a foot of leather between us. This was something I didn’t count on.

Biscuit had the leather piece that separated us in his left hand and was counting to three. I knew this guy outweighed me by at least 50 pounds and was going to try and pull me to him from the get go. Rather than resist, I was going to be pulled to him and hopefully throw him off balance.

Biscuit raised his hand and stepped backward. My opponent yanked hard and I jumped forward and snatched my left arm hard to the left and half spun Woolens to his right. I used the butt of the knife and hit him hard in the temple, he winced from the pain, I threw an overhand right to the jaw that landed like the blunt edge of an ax, his body went limp and I knew he was either dead or knocked out. He hit the ground in a heap on his belly with me on his back, I brought his left arm behind him until I heard and felt the shoulder dislocate. I grabbed his long hair with my left hand and brought his head up off the ground, there was a huge intake of air from the crowd, I cut him from one cheek to the other across the bridge of his nose. He would have the best scar in the tribe.

I cut the thong and dropped the knife, I walked away shaking while Gregory instructed a few guys to carry Woolens into the clinic for repairs.

Some of you readers might think of me as mean, please remember, I never cause a confrontation and never walk into a bar and risk the possibility of a confrontation; but when a push deserves a shove, I shove back with a vengeance.

Later that night, Biscuit came to me with a proposal. I could marry Vase and later on the twins when they were old enough. I could become Chief and inherit his oil and gas royalties. A simple plan with complicated details, I was astounded at the opportunity; yet I knew I should talk over the situation with my dad. I thanked Biscuit and told him, I would need to return home, before I could agree to anything.

I left a few days later, the twins must have known all the details, they followed me around and were always pulling on my hands and being extra cute and friendly. It was hard saying goodbye to Vase, she cried and kissed me over and over when I left.

On the way home, I hardly noticed the beauty of the mountains or the Big Horn Sheep, Mountain Goats, Grizzlies or Elk that were running around in the mountains. I was thinking of my dilemma and of my true love.

I arrived home early, my dad was not to happy, he had written my uncle and they were expecting me. I only made it half way.

I explained the situation and my marriage opportunities. Of course my dad looked at me as if I was a village idiot and provided a rancher’s version of reality.

“Yes, the culture was being debauched, not only by Gregory and agents that I didn’t meet, who were usually the lowest scum on the face of the earth; and I was also ready to debauch the culture, a culture that had thrived for hundreds if not thousands of years without the White Man and his gadgets. Who was I to change their cooking skills and dietary habits, was I so much better? Why did I think they needed to be exposed to English and English Literature, was that not a sign of a superior attitude? And what did I suppose I was going to do for the next 60 years, live on the bravery of a vet who was long gone? I had a ranch and a position in life, what was I to those people? Nothing but an interloper who would eventually cause problems. (I didn’t tell him about the fight)

I had a scholarship at a major University that I had earned. My destiny was to be decided there, not in the distant mountains.

I acquiesced to my father’s wishes and then realized, I didn’t have the address for Biscuit and Vase.

My college was nearly four thousand miles away, the flight there was the loneliest trip I had ever made. I found the courses to be much easier than my dad’s home schooling curriculum. My friends were usually my instructors, I didn’t really fit in with the students with their sharp, expensive clothing. I found an old horse shoer and nailed shoes on for him on the weekend. He spent all week making these beautiful horseshoes and I would nail them all on for five dollars a head, he made seven dollars on each horse and we became great friends. He had been a farrier in the National Guard and I listened to cavalry stories and then I would tell him about mountain horses.

If any riders were having trouble with their horses, I was often asked to try and correct the problem in the afternoon. One day, an attractive woman about 35 years of age asked me if I would ride behind her and watch her seat to see how she was doing. I was paid extra for all this work so I did what she asked; although, I was mortified. In the English world, a seat refers to how she sits in the saddle, I thought she wanted me to watch a particular part of her anatomy. After the ride she asked what I thought, I told her it was just fine; later on, Matt my farrier boss filled me in on the distinction in between his fits of insane laughter.

I made more money than I could spend, so I bought a pair of Western Boots and a Triumph Motorcycle. At the cycle shop, right after the purchase, the owner showed me where all the components were and I drove away without a hitch. Later on, he said I was the first one to ever do that on a first ride. Compared to logging with horses, motorcycles are easy and safe. I wore moccasins and overshoes until there was nothing left, and since there were no moose in the country side, I had to begin wearing my new western boots to class.

In English class I excelled, I was asked by my instructor and the head of the department to choose English as a Major. I laughed at them, politely of course, I told them, I didn’t really consider English a Major. I was moved up to the senior level classes anyway, in the forlorn hope that I would change my mind. I scored well and found things to be relatively easy.

Then in May I received a letter from Gregory that had been redirected from the home ranch. Apparently, Vase had been pregnant when I left the village, a few weeks ago, she had a difficult labor for 48 hours, the baby was born breech and suffocated in the birth canal, Vase hemorrhaged afterwards and passed away the next day. He said at the last, she was asking for me.

I was reading the letter while walking to class, I laid my books down on a stone wall, I asked another student to give my books and the letter to the campus police and left with my motorcycle heading West.

I stopped in Kentucky and worked breaking race horses for a month or so and then continued West to Sheridan, Wyoming. I broke and trained polo horses until fall and then joined the military. I finished up my University training later on with six years of education. I didn’t return to BC for over ten years, many of my human friends and all my animal friends had passed away.

Debauching a culture is easy to do even with good intentions: unfortunately, often you end up debauching yourself, despite your best intentions.

We have minorities in North America, they have swum in genetic pools like the rest of us, some are brilliant, some are slow, that is life; if you have personal drive and integrity, you will improve your life: if you want to wallow in despair and self-pity under the blanket of victim-hood, you will become a perpetual ward of the state.

There will always be a number of weak people who lack the drive to succeed, they are not defined by race unless they want to be, and apparently there will always be politicians and bureaucrats ready to exploit the weak and lazy; they are always there to offer the easy alternative of dependency, thus guaranteeing political survival for the parasitic politician for his own benefit, thus they create and define barriers that don’t necessarily exist, except in the mind of the exploiter who becomes a parasitic creature who thrives on misery and shame.