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The Moon Goddess of Roraima

By

Virginia Chatson

Chapter One

It was an unbearably hot July 4th when Skye Whitefeather escaped from her maternal gushing relatives and sought sanctuary in her grandmother’s attic in Boston, Massachusetts. “Hasn’t she grown?” and “Oh yes, she’s definitely going to be tall like Franklin” were still ringing in her ears. Her father’s name was said in a whisper since her parents’ recent divorce. Skye caught a brief glimpse of herself in the hall mirror as she headed towards the attic. Her Lakota Indian father and blond mother were both reflected in her face. Her father’s huge brown eyes were cloned on Skye, while her long, straight and very brown hair was uniquely hers, as well as her olive skin. At twelve years old, she felt isolated and lonely even though as she has often written on her mother’s birthday card “you are the best mom I could ever have.” Skye acknowledged to herself that she had what her father referred to as “Injun loneliness.” Her father’s soft voice echoed in her ear, “most First Nation Americans suffer from this affliction at some point in their lives.” Her forebears, however, were soon forgotten when she opened the attic door which smelt of a mixture of the old world of seventeenth-century England, the new world and dust. A smile of anticipation beamed across her heart-shaped face, as she picked up the round blue stone that was exactly the right size for her hand. The blue stone was always kept in a red box with what looked like miniature gods and other deities, one found in a museum. She wiped the dust on a nearby cover and was careful not to spoil her blue organza dress, since July 4th was also her birthday. Skye could see her relatives toasting each other in her grandmother’s garden from her eyrie. Her uncle Johnny was saying “hey Vanessa, where’s your July 4th baby?”

“Oh, don’t call her a baby, she might be twelve but she is going on twenty-four.” Skye’s mother said with a proud smile across her face.

“Well, she’ll certainly like this book I bought for her birthday.”

 Her father was what she wanted most of all but it was not something anyone would understand. Like most children, Skye felt she had to protect her mother, as if she would be incapable of showing fortitude if told, “I’d prefer to see daddy.”

Skye left the adults with their domestic gossiping and concentrated on what was uppermost in her mind. Shapes of people as usual started to appear in the blue stone when she rubbed it. It would first become opaque then change into a brilliant picture, as if a scene had appeared from an ancient civilization on television. She was interrupted when Jean-Luc Warville III, her best friend, also twelve years old with coal black hair, tall and gangly for his age, said loudly: “I’ve been looking everywhere for you Skye.”

“Schhhh.” Skye hissed.

He lowered his tone to a whisper, “can you see them again?” Jean-Luc sat beside her. He already knew the sequence of events that always followed. People in a distant land would gather and look up expectantly at a magnificent and enormous moon. It was a hot place with palm trees, wide rivers, white pyramid shaped temples and serious men dressed in magnificent embroidered cloaks in an array of bright colors who were waiting anxiously. The children’s attention would also be drawn more and more into the picture as they also felt the sun’s rays reflecting on the bronze skin of the inhabitants. But today the scene before them showed the entire population had turned its collective face towards the moon. Skye and Jean-Luc shrieked together, “here she comes!” A young woman whose looks and coloring bore a striking resemblance to Skye, appeared to step out of the moon then the scene changed to a golden palace high atop a hill. The picture of a golden palace always appeared as if it stood precariously and was about to fall into the lake it overlooked. The important man with the cloak walked with the ‘moon lady’ up marble stairs to a long balcony in the palace. Anxious faces among the multitude now changed to relief and some were even smiling. In a moment, the scene turned opaque again and then it was just an ordinary blue stone. Skye and Jean-Luc breathed a sigh of relief.

Skye turned to her friend and was earnest as she pronounced, “we have to find her,” to which Jean-Luc declared “and that place.” Their tone and serious demeanour were an indication that only the very young were capable of such self-belief.

The book uncle Johnny gave to Skye described the Kaiteur and Roraima Falls between Venezuela, Brazil and Guyana in South America. It described a lost civilization that many historians and archaeologists believed might still be in existence, with temples, houses, palaces and most importantly, an abundance of gold and precious stones. The artefacts were always animals such as jaguars, cheetahs, monkeys, embellished with these precious stones of rubies, emeralds and sapphires. The places shown also had an unbelievable variety of birds and insects. The book continued that this place was called El Dorado or a place of gold which the early conquistadors of Spain came to find, after Christopher Columbus brought the new world to the attention of Europeans in 1492. The book nevertheless concluded that this place only existed in people’s imagination. But there was no doubt in one young girl’s mind that this so called mythical place still existed “because I’ve seen it, you stupid, stupid, people.” Skye retorted angrily and immediately e-mailed Jean-Luc to inform him of the contents of the book. “And furthermore, the author or writer or whatever, Professor Sir Herbert Hitchens of King’s College in London, is a stuffed shirt. I am going to find this place and let him eat his words Jean-Luc, you mark my words.”

Later, Skye heard her father’s voice downstairs and immediately ran down the steps two at a time but half-way down, the all too familiar voices of her parents were raised in anger. She sat on the stairs and was aware that her heart was beating faster when her father Franklin stated flatly, “but I can’t see why there’s problem if I take Skye with me for a short while. Come on Vanessa, it’s just to see my parents, they are her grandparents after all.”

Vanessa’s voice rose shrill and hostile, “and what would Skye do on a reservation, uh tell me what?” Her parents’ hostility in the twenty-first century mirrored the disagreement of two cultures that crashed into each other five hundred years ago. Silent tears ran down Skye’s face, as she opened the door of the living room, a tastefully decorated expanse that showed her mother’s creativity. How many times had she looked at photographs in that very room which showed her arrival from hospital on a cold January day? More photographs showed her Lakota grandparents helping her to blow out her first birthday candles, with her proud parents. Her mother’s family were also there throughout her young life but now her parents’ rift had caused her emotional pain.

“I’d like to spend some time with daddy and his family this summer mom.”

Skye’s father immediately rushed to her, his teeth looked whiter in his mahogany coloured skin. “How’s my little Lakota princess?” He asked quietly but his voice conveyed all his love for his only child.

“Is that what you really want sweetheart?” her mother asked gently.

“You don’t look so good dad.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got my little girl, haven’t I?”

Father and daughter hugged and kissed each other and as usual, spent the day together. After Franklin took his only child back to her mother’s house, it was agreed that Skye would spend a part of her summer vacation on the reservation with her paternal family.

On her way home from school the next day, Skye visited her grandmother nanna Hope with Jean-Luc and they both helped to clear up the last of the streamers from the July 4th celebrations. Nanna Hope was not like the grandmothers one saw on television; for one thing she hated being a grandmother and insisted at first that she would like to be called ‘Hope’ but Skye, like most children, was very conservative and settled on ‘nanna Hope.’ However, on this day she was not at one of her many charities she supported and made Tollhouse cookies for her only granddaughter.

“And how is the marquis de Warville today?” Nanna Hope asked.

“I’m good Mrs. Appleby.”

“I just love your historical connections, Jean-Luc,” Hope gushed but the boy continued to gorge so many cookies that his face was distorted.

“I’m . . . .glad.. you do.”

“Came over with the French General, Rochambeau’s army, didn’t he?” Nanna prompted.

 Skye sipped her milk and then interrupted.

“Now why do I know, my beautiful granddaughter wants something,” as she kissed Skye on the crown of her head.

“I found a huge blue stone in your attic a long time ago, and...”

 “Yes, Mrs. Appleby, it’s awesome” Jean-Luc’s eyes showed his excitement.

Skye kicked her friend’s leg.

“Of course, I know what you mean sweetheart, that blue stone was brought back by my great grandfather on some archaeological dig in the early twentieth century. It’s worthless of course but I keep it for sentimental reasons.”

“Do you know where he found it  nanna?” Skye whispered.

“Why, in South America somewhere. It was taken from the forehead of a god in some temple or other.”

“Could I keep it, 1 mean, take it with me to daddy’s reservation.” Skye’s face looked expectant.

“Well I don’t see why not, as long you bring it back sweetheart.” Nanna kissed Skye’s cheek again.

Jean-Luc, with naïve notions of ancient artefacts belonging to their place of origin offered, “but wouldn’t it nice if we could find which god it came from Mrs. Appleby.”

“And return it to its rightful place?” Hope asked.

“Well, there is a school of thought which advocates such a thing, like that English Professor Herbert Hitchins.”

“Yes, we know about him nanna, but he doesn’t believe there was an El Dorado.” Skye now stood next to Jean-Luc to show her support.

“But he believes all historical treasure should be returned to their places of origin.” Nanna Hope countered.

Hope Appleby stepped back, a youthful figure crowned by over dyed auburn curls with make-up that stated less was more, or so she was assured by her make-over expert. Hairs grew out of a large back mole on the side of her nose and although she had promised to have it cauterized one day, she simply forgot about it in the intervening forty-five years. Jean-Luc thought she looked like a witch the first time he saw her on a cold Halloween night.

“Goodness,” Hope said with genuine surprise “it looks like we are going to have another archaeologist in the family.”

“I just want to find out about the past nanna and put things right.” Skye’s young face now looked sombre.

Nanna Hope looked lovingly at her granddaughter: “oh I love you so,” and kissed Skye again.

“So I can keep the blue stone Nanna?.”

“No, you may borrow, remember borrow it, now run along I have a hot date.”

As soon as she entered the attic, Skye knew things were not right. The all important box was not in its usual place.

Jean-Luc whispered “the blue stone has gone.” Skye’s heart was thumping as she searched frantically for what she considered to be “her” blue stone. There was a movement in a dark corner of the room as a black tail flashed in the slats of light from a window. This was sealed with paint and no one was able to open it in a hundred years or more. Splashes of light also shone on Jean-Luc’s black hair and half his face so that only a voice emanated from where he stood rigid.

“Yes, I see it .” Skye whispered.” She wanted to scream for nanna but couldn’t. “Who are you?”

“Come out this minute,” Skye emulated her mother’s voice to show she was in control.

 “Stand back Skye, let me handle this.” It was now Jean-Luc’s turn to emulate his father.

 Skye shot him a quizzical look but it was she who approached the two black eyes huddled in the corner.

“I won’t hurt you”

“Oh my God, it’s a monkey, how did you get here?”

But fear immediately turned to concern when she saw the monkey was shivering.

The “monkey” stood up with the blue stone. Skye and Jean-Luc were extremely embarrassed and confused. Jean-Luc spoke first: “you’re a boy and a monkey!”