
excerpt
But how when the ones we trust to uphold the holy of the
holies sin the way street people do?
“Before the white man came to this land,” his father continued
his thoughts, “these people were as happy as they could
be in their world, their environment, lifestyle, beliefs, nature; the
day the white man arrived with their beliefs, prisons, arms, with
their censors and jailors, guards and merchants, the free world
ideals, these savages were looked as enemies and their way of
life was an obstacle in the white man’s survival next to them in
their lands, so the free people, the Anglos, started aiming, from
that very first day, at how they could change these savages into
their kind of savages, their kin, and the rest is history. And the
results of this drama, this tragedy better yet, are described in
these diary entries.”
Nothing could be said that could console Anton tonight,
nothing his father could add, nothing that his mother could offer
him, nothing could make him feel better than those two melancholy
eyes he loved but how could he find them now, at this time?
Perhaps Mary was resting now in her room before she would go
to sleep. How he would love to be next to her, in her bed, hugging
her delicate body, listening to her soft words, touching her wavy
hair, kissing her soft lips. Nothing of that was in tonight’s cards.
Anton didn’t even feel going to Molly’s for his usual coffee and
cheesecake.
Dylan was buried in the School cemetery as unceremoniously
as possible and with just a few of the children attending;
the priests made sure to bring the older kids only, so about thirty
boys and thirty girls stood in rows of three, like new soldiers on
their first line of defence. Father Jerome said a few words then
the errorless undertakers did their job under the watchful eye of
the Lord and the soft rustle of the tree leaves …
