No sound other than low murmurs was heard among the nearly two hundred tribal people gathered. The Redclay family moved away from the open grave and trudged down the slope to their car. Others followed and dispersed. This was not a funeral to celebrate a life lived long and full among the people. This was the grim silence of loss; the loss of a young life torn away with all its strength and promise from a community that had so little to spare.It would have been easy to hate, but there was no hatred that day. Hate demands impassioned, violent emotions of anger and accusation. Hate found no room in their weary hearts. Angry words hurled against the whites, against the government, against the cold gray skies would be uselessly swept away on the wind, unheard, unheeded, disregarded.The elder couple stood huddled together facing the Chief Joseph grave monument, regarding the carved face recessed in the white marble. Once the marker stood straight, gleaming, highly polished and proud. Now. Future? What future?I thought that I was now finally finished with this ordeal.But no!Margo pulled up my pink shirt and exposed my abdomen.She pinched some of my flesh together and then inserted a needle.She had pieced by belly-button! Yikes!She retrieved a brass ring with the letter 'S,' and inserted it into thehole.I now had a stomach ring! And marked with my mistress, 'S's, (Sara.Yikes!Finally, finally, I though this dreadful day would end.But no, Margo accused me of looking at her breasts when she had worked onmy face.I tried to deny it, but she would not accept my responses.She unbuttoned the top three buttons of my pink shirt and reach in topull my breast flesh on my right side towards her.She then picked up the largest syringe and needle I had ever seen.I panicked.I could not scream with my thong in my mouth.The chair buckles held me in place.I felt like I was a human guinea pig.Margo slowly inserted the needle into my right breast and drained all ofthe cylinder's contents.
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