John Manchip White ::: Indians of North America. Life, religion, culture
As we have already seen, the people of the Hohokam and Anasazi cultures, who lived in the southwest (which was inhabited before any other area) at the dawn of our era, were already skilled architects then. The Hohokam Indians built their famous buildings, including the Casa Grande, either from adobe - bricks from sun-dried mud, or from Kalish - dried hard clay bricks. Called "prairie marble" or "steppe marble" by early white American settlers, adobe and calish were cheap but strong and durable building materials; and today many residential and public buildings in the southwest are made of them. As for the people of the Anasazi culture, they proved to be remarkable masters of stone architecture, turning ordinary caves in Mesa Verde and elsewhere into dwellings of truly fabulous beauty, as well as building their famous free-standing "apartment buildings" in Chaco Canyon.
Somewhat to the north, we meet the earthen dwellings of their nomadic neighbors - the Navajo Indians. This numerous tribe of the Athabaskan language family wandered for a long time before settling in the area of the Pueblo settlements on the Rio Grande. These "dugouts" are unique in that, together with the pueblo dwellings, they are the only real Indian dwellings that are still in use today. On the Navajo Indian Reservation, you can literally find these squat, conspicuous dwellings at every turn, which are called hogans. The floor inside the hogan is circular, symbolizing the sun and the universe; from above it is covered with a vaulted wooden roof, which, in turn, is covered with densely packed earth. The entrance is a simple opening, hung with a blanket. It faces east towards the rising sun. At a short distance from the main hogan there is a "bathhouse" - a smaller hogan without a smoke hole; in this structure, reminiscent of a sauna or a Turkish bath, the family can relax and unwind. Such "baths" are very common and are found in almost all Indians of North America. Next to the main dwelling was also ramada - a gazebo made of wooden posts under the canopy of trees, in which the elderly could take a nap, the children could play, and the women could weave or cook.
Dwellings from the earth, of various kinds, could be found on the plains and prairies, but to a greater extent in the northern regions, where the summer was very hot and the winter was severe and cold. The Pawnee in Nebraska, and the Mandan and Hidatse in North and South Dakota dug their dwellings deep into the ground. If the dwellings of the Pawnee were round unpretentious dugouts, then the dwellings of the Hidats and Mandans were large, skillfully executed structures, supported from the inside by a powerful branched wooden frame. Some of the Mandan dwellings covered an area 25–30 m in diameter; several families lived in such a dwelling, and there were also stalls for horses, which the owners did not dare to leave outside. The inhabitants of such dwellings rested and basked in the sun on the roof of the hogan. Iroquois tribes also "huddled" in one longhouse; according to the evidence of European missionaries who had to temporarily live there, it was very difficult to withstand the "bouquet" of the heat of the fire, smoke, various smells and barking dogs.
In the central part of the Plains region, that is, in most of North America, the main dwelling of the Indian was a tent-type structure, which was called types. A tipi is sometimes erroneously called a wigwam, but this is a completely different structure, as we will now see. The tipi was a cone-shaped tent covered with painted bison skin; such tents are well known from many films about the Indians. The hunting tents were small in size, but the tents in the main camp, as well as the tents for solemn ceremonies, could reach 6 m in height and occupy an area with a diameter of 6 m; its construction took up to 50 buffalo skins. Regardless of their size, teepees were perfectly suited to both the conditions of the terrain and the conditions of life of nomadic tribes: they were easy to set up and roll up. The tipi “set” included 3-4 main props and 24 smaller wooden props. When the tent was dismantled, it was possible to assemble the already mentioned drag from the same structures, on which both the folded tipi and other loads were laid. In the camp, the main wooden supports were placed together in a large triangle and tied at its top, then auxiliary supports were attached to them, the cover was pulled over and the entire structure, resembling a giant crescent moon, was fastened with tendon straps. At the bottom, the coating was fixed with wooden pegs. In winter, the covering inside the tipi was tied to supports, and from below it was fixed to the ground to keep warm. In summer, on the contrary, the coating was thrown up to provide access to fresh air. The fire was kindled right in the center of the dwelling, and the smoke came out through a chimney neatly lined with reeds, tapering towards the top. If the wind was blowing in such a direction that the smoke remained inside the tipi, the position of the supports was very cleverly changed so that all the smoke went out. Unlike dwellings made of earth, tips were decorated on the outside with beads, porcupine quills; applied various signs and symbols of a religious and mystical nature; also, a personal sign or symbol of the owner of the dwelling was depicted outside. Tipi, belonging to such tribes as the Cheyenne and the Blackfoot, were truly remarkable structures of great beauty and originality. Not without reason, the Indians of the Plains region called paradise "the land where there are many teepees", believing that this is an endless flowering land dotted with sparkling multi-colored teepee tents.
Tipis were also characteristic of other areas of North America; however, they were not as magnificent there as they were in the Plains. Some tribes did not decorate tipis at all; others, especially those who lived in a harsh climate, did their best to insulate them, using mats, bedding, carpets, and whatever came to hand that could serve as insulating material. In Canada and on the northeast coast, birch bark was used as a covering, which was not suitable for richly decorating it with designs. It should be noted that tipi-type dwellings were known not only in North America, but also in other parts of the world, especially in Northeast Asia. It is likely that the ancient Asian hunters who came to America and Canada lived in caves in winter and in tent dwellings in summer; although, of course, such short-lived material as leather and wood could not have survived to this day, and therefore we have no archaeological confirmation of this assumption. People of that time are only called "cave people".
wigwam - a dwelling that has wooden supports, like a tipi, but its top is rounded, and it is covered not with skins, but with woven mats or birch bark. Often, for stability, a wooden frame was located inside the wigwam, resembling a platform of wooden scaffolding, which were firmly attached to the base with fiber ropes, which made the dwelling look like an overturned boat. More fragile, usually temporary dwellings, covered over the skeleton with tufts of reeds and dry grass, were called vicaps. Such huts were lived in desert areas like the Great Basin region and in the arid fringes of the southwest, where tribes lived in poverty and were at a very low level of material culture. Wickap was a typical dwelling of the Apaches - a tribe of a brave, but very backward.
Teepees and wickapes are to be distinguished from the reed-covered stately dwellings that were characteristic of the southern regions of the United States. These structures were built by people who settled in the southeast and in the Mississippi basin, where the builders of the famous "temple" mounds once lived and worked. These people built imposing and majestic tall buildings of a rounded shape with a powerful wooden colonnade. Often the roofs and walls of houses were covered with densely woven and brightly decorated reed mats. In such houses lived the forest tribes of North and South Carolina, as well as the northeast coast. There were often long houses with a domed roof and a trellis veranda. Along the entire length of such houses were wide benches on which entire families ate, slept, entertained and performed religious rites, similar to the communities of Southeast Asia that lived in a similar way.
The culture of building "long houses" reached its highest level in the northwest; as already noted, this area is known for its cultural achievements in several other areas. Tribes such as the Haida, Tsimshian, and Tlingit made boards and beams from red and yellow cedar, which were used to build houses that could accommodate 30–40 people. Such houses were almost always at least 15 m long and at least 12 m wide and were masterpieces of carpentry, wooden architecture and tiled wooden decorations. On the boards, grooves and tongues were skillfully made, which firmly entered the butt grooves. The roofs of the houses were covered with tree bark. The walls, both inside and outside, and the partitions that divided the interior into several rooms were decorated with carvings and drawings, their theme was associated with sacred spirits that were supposed to protect the house and household. The house of each leader was decorated in a special way, and uniquely individually. The ridge of the roof was covered with carvings and drawings, and the famous totem pole of the Northwest Indians was placed in front of the house, which displayed the history of this family or clan; on the top of the pillar was a family or tribal emblem. These pillars, sometimes reaching 9 meters in height, were clearly visible from afar, including from the sea, and served as a good guide to the terrain. And today, the inhabitants of the Indian settlements of the northwest lead an active life, showing interest in professional occupations and crafts and in the whole way of life of their great ancestors.
And today we will acquaint our readers with the meaning of the word "wigwam" and its differences from the "teepee" of nomadic tribes.
Traditionally, a wigwam is called the place of residence of the forest Indians, who lived in the northern and northeastern parts of the continent of North America. As a rule, a wigwam is a small hut,the total height of which is 3-4 meters. It has a domed shape, and in the largest wigwams, about 30 people can live at the same time. Also small in size huts, having a conical shape and similar to tipi, can also be attributed to wigwams. Now wigwams are often used as a place for traditional ceremonies.
Analogues of wigwams can also be found among some African peoples, the Chukchi, Evengs and Soits.
As a rule, the frame of the hut is made of thin and flexible tree trunks. They are bound and covered with tree bark or plant mats, corn leaves, hides and pieces of cloth. There is also a combined version of the coating, which is also additionally reinforced from above with a special outer frame, and in case of its absence, with trunks or special poles. The entrance to the wigwam is closed with a curtain, and its height can be either small or the full height of the wigwam.
There is a chimney at the top of the wigwam, which is often covered with a piece of bark. Raise it to remove smoke with a pole. Domed wigwam options can have both vertical and sloping walls. Most often there are round wigwams, but sometimes you can see a rectangular design. The wigwam can be stretched out into a fairly long oval and also have a number of chimneys instead of one. As a rule, oval wigwams are called long houses.
Cone-shaped wigwams have frames made of straight poles that are tied together at the top.
The word "wigwam" originates in the Proto-Algonquian dialect, and it is translated as "their house". However, there is also an opinion that this word came to the Indians from the language of the eastern Abenaki. Different peoples have their own version of the pronunciation of this word, but in general they are quite close.
There is also another term - wetu. Although widely used by Massachusetts Indians, the term has not caught on in the rest of the world.
Nowadays, wigwams are most often called domed dwellings, as well as simpler huts in their design, in which Indians from other regions live. Each tribe gives its wigwam its own name.
In the literature, this term is most often found as a designation of the domed residence of the Indians from Tierra del Fuego. They are similar enough to traditional Native American wigwams from North America, but they are distinguished by the absence of horizontal ligaments on the frame.
Also, a wigwam is often called the dwelling of the Indians from the High Plains, which is correctly called the word.
Tents of various sizes, similar in shape to wigwams, are quite often used in various rituals of rebirth and purification in the tribes of the Great Plains, as well as from a number of other regions. In this case, a special steam room is made and the wigwam itself in this case is the body of the Great Spirit himself. The round shape denotes the world as a whole, and the steam in this case is the prototype of the Great Spirit itself, which performs spiritual and cleansing regeneration and transformation.
Friends, if you remember, Sharik from the cartoon "Winter in Prostokvashino" painted on the stove, as he himself said, "an Indian national folk hut" - (in his mouth it sounded like "figwam", but it meant a wigwam):
So, Sharik drew this same “wigwam” and thereby misled millions of innocent children, involuntarily distorting in their minds the bright image of an Indian dwelling. Indeed, he depicted tipi- also a traditional Indian, but different from the wigwam in its cone-shaped housing. Unlike Sharik, Carl Bodmer, a Swiss artist, used watercolor rather than charcoal, so you can get a better idea of the tipi from his drawing, made in 1833 while traveling in North America:
Well, now we invite you to look and remember forever what a real wigwam actually looks like. The first one shown in the picture is located near Fort Apache in the northeast of the US state of Arizona. Its structure is fully consistent with the dwelling that the Indians, leading a nomadic lifestyle, had for many centuries. It was intended mainly for sleeping, since everything else, such as cooking, was done outside.
So, we see that the wigwam, unlike the tipi, has a domed shape. At its core, this is a frame housing, that is, a hut on a frame, which is made of thin long trunks (poles) and is completely covered with “pasture material” - tree bark, branches or reed matting. And although, as we have already said, it was not customary to cook food in a wigwam, there was still a hearth for heating in it, so a small hole was left in the center of the “ceiling” - a chimney.
National best reflect their image and lifestyle, which largely depends on the occupation of people and the climatic conditions of the environment. So, settled peoples live in semi-dugouts, nomads live in tents and huts. Hunters cover their dwellings with skins, and farmers with leaves, plant stems and earth. In previous articles, we told you about and, and today our story is dedicated to American Indians and their famous traditional dwellings – wigwam, tipi and hoganam.
Wigwam - home of North American Indians
The wigwam is the main type of Indians in North America. In fact, a wigwam is an ordinary hut on a frame, which is made of thin tree trunks and covered with branches, bark or mats. Such a structure has a domed, but not conical, shape. Very often a wigwam is confused with a tipi: let's take at least Sharik from the famous cartoon Prostokvashino, who was sure that he had drawn a wigwam on the stove. In fact, he drew a tipi, which has the shape of a cone.
According to the beliefs of the American Indians, the wigwam personified the body of the Great Spirit. The rounded shape of the dwelling symbolized the world, and a person leaving the wigwam into the world had to leave behind him everything bad and unclean. In the middle of the wigwam there was a stove with, which symbolized the world axis, connecting the earth with the sky and leading directly to the sun. It was believed that such a chimney provides access to heaven and opens the entrance to spiritual power.
It is also interesting that the presence of a hearth in a wigwam does not mean at all that the Indians cooked food there. The wigwam was intended solely for sleeping and relaxing, and all other things were done outside.
Tipi - a portable house of nomadic Indians
The tipi, which, as we have said, is often confused with the wigwam, is portable to the nomadic Indians of the Great Plains and some hill tribes of the Far West. The tipi is in the form of a pyramid or cone (slightly inclined back or straight), made in the form of a frame of poles and covered with a cloth of sewn skins of deer or bison. Depending on the size of the structure, it took from 10 to 40 animal skins to make one tipi. Later, when America established trade with Europe, tipis were often covered with lighter canvas. The slight inclination of some cone-shaped tipis made it possible to withstand the strong winds of the Great Plains.
Inside the tipi, a hearth was arranged in the center, and on top (on the “ceiling”) there was a smoke hole with two smoke valves - blades that could be adjusted using poles. The lower part of the tipi was usually equipped with an additional lining, which isolated the people inside from the flow of outside air and, thus, created quite comfortable living conditions in the cold season. However, in different Indian tribes, tipi had their own design features and were somewhat different from each other.
Surprisingly, during the pre-colonial era, tipi was transported mainly by women and dogs, and a lot of effort was spent on this due to the rather large weight of the structure. The appearance of horses not only eliminated this problem, but also made it possible to increase the dimensions of the tipi base to 5-7 m. Tipis were usually installed with the entrance to the east, but this rule was not respected if they were located in a circle.
Life in the Indian tipi proceeded according to its own special etiquette. So, women were supposed to live in the southern part of the dwelling, and men - in the north. It was necessary to move in the tipi in the direction of the sun (clockwise). Guests, especially those who came for the first time, were supposed to be in the women's section. It was considered the height of indecency to walk between the hearth and someone else, as this violated the connection of all those present with the fire. To get to his place, a person, if possible, had to move behind the backs of the people sitting. But there were no special rituals for leaving: if someone wanted to leave, then he could do it immediately and without unnecessary ceremonies.
In modern life, tipis are most often used by conservative Indian families, sacredly honoring the traditions of their ancestors, Indianists and historical reenactors. Also today, tourist tents are produced, called "teepee", the appearance of which is somewhat reminiscent of traditional Indian dwellings.
Hogan - home of the Navajo Indians
Hogan is another type of American Indian most common among the Navajo people. The traditional hogan has a conical shape and a round base, but square hogans can also be found today. As a rule, the door of the hogan is arranged on its eastern side, since the Indians are sure that when entering through such a door, the sun will certainly bring good luck to the house.
The Navajo believed that the first hogan for the first man and woman was built by the spirit Coyote with the help of beavers. The beavers gave Coyote logs and taught him how. Today such a hogan is called "male hogan" or "hogan with a fork pole", and its appearance resembles a pentagonal pyramid. Often outside, the five-sided shape of the house is hidden behind thick earthen walls that protect the building from winter weather. In front of such a hogan is a vestibule. "Male hogans" are used primarily for private or religious ceremonies.
Navajos were used as housing "women's" or round hogans also called "family houses". Such dwellings were somewhat larger than the "male hogans" and did not have a vestibule. Until the beginning of the 20th century, the Navajo Indians built their hogans in accordance with the described method, but then they began to build hexagonal and octagonal houses. According to one version, such changes were associated with the advent of the railway. When wooden sleepers fell into the hands of the Indians, which had to be laid horizontally, they began to build spacious and high with additional rooms, but at the same time retained the shape of the “female” hogan.
It is also curious that the Indians had numerous beliefs associated with the Hogan. For example, one could not continue to live in a hogan on which a bear was rubbing, or near which lightning struck. And if someone died in the hogan, then the body was immured inside and burned along with it, or they carried it out through the northern hole punched in the wall, and the hogan was left forever. Moreover, the wood of abandoned hogans has never been reused for any purpose.
In addition to hogans, underground, summer houses and Indian steam rooms were also common among the Navajo people. Currently, some old hogans are used as ceremonial structures and some as dwellings. However, new hogans are rarely built for the purpose of further habitation.
In conclusion, I would like to say that wigwams, teepees and hogans are far from all types national houses of the american indians . There were also structures such as Vikupa, Maloka, Toldo, etc., which had both common and distinctive features with the designs described above.
"Gringo Zone"
The mining village of Bonanza is lost in the Nicaraguan jungle among the hills in the west of the Celaya department. It is about two hundred kilometers from the port city of Puerto Cabezas. Nearly five hours drive, "if everything goes well." In Celaya, you often hear this phrase when it comes to traveling around the department. The road—or rather, not a road, but a track broken by wheels, washed out by downpours, marked on the maps with a dotted line—goes through the jungle, crossing it from east to west.
The only transport, a shabby Toyota pickup truck, goes to Bonanza once a day. It departs from the central square of Puerto Cabezas. The elderly driver is in no hurry: there is no schedule, and the more people in the pickup truck, the better. We sit in the shade and smoke. Fifteen minutes later, a tall young Negro with a cap of curly coarse hair comes up. Then two burly female vendors appear, carrying round baskets filled with fruits and vegetables. Finally, the area is crossed by a junior lieutenant in full combat ammunition and a militia with a carbine. There are six of us. The driver squints at the sun. Then, without saying a word, he goes to the car, gets in and starts the engine. We also take places. Portly tradesmen squeeze into the cabin with difficulty, the men settle in the back. On the outskirts of the city, a pickup truck is stopped by a middle-aged, lean man with a child in his arms. It turns out that this is a Cuban volunteer doctor who went to Puerto Cabezas to negotiate about medicines for the hospital in Bonanza. The junior lieutenant, looking at the child, knocks on the cabin wall with his fist. Traders pretend that everything that happens does not concern them.
“Hey, senoritas, climb into the back!” the junior lieutenant shouts. Nothing, you’ll be shocked in the back, it’s useful for you ...
The traders shrillly scold for a long time in two voices - the meaning of their words boils down to the fact that “the new government does not allow every brat to insult two respected women! They have sons at his age! And if he thinks, since there is a machine gun in his hands, then everything is possible - he is mistaken! - but still give way. While the women are climbing out of the cockpit, the second lieutenant is talking to the Cuban.
“You see, she doesn’t want to part with me at all,” the doctor seems to apologize, nodding at the baby. The boy is thin, big-headed. - He calls him dad. We found him six months ago in a hut. The gang attacked the village, killed everyone. And he survived. For two weeks he sat alone in a hut among the corpses of his parents and brothers, until we found him. We then went around the villages and vaccinated children against polio. The little boy was dying of hunger. He's four years old, but he looks two. I nursed him for six months, barely saved him. And since then, he stuck to me, does not let go. And my trip is over. You'll have to take it with you. I have five in Cuba. Where there are five, there is also a sixth. Are you going to Cuba, Pablito? The boy nods happily, smiles, and clings even tighter to the doctor's shoulder.
We get to Bonanza in the evening. The road goes around a steep hill. This means that we are already in the village, and the road is not a road at all, but a street. To the right, below us, are the gaping gaps of drifts, workshops, cable-lift towers, mechanical dredges. Mountains of waste rock... Mines. Behind the hill, on another peak, it is like a mirage: a complex of modern cottages, mowed lawns, flower beds, a banana grove, a blue bowl of the pool.
“The Gringo Zone,” the Cuban doctor explains, catching my astonished glance.
I learn the details the next day, when one of the activists of the local committee of the FSLN, Arellano Savas, a sedate, thick-set and unhurried middle-aged miner, leads me through the mines.
“The manager of the mine, engineers and employees of the company lived here before the revolution,” Arellano says, gesturing at the cottages. All Americans, of course. That's why we called this place the "gringo zone". We were not allowed to go there, and they appeared in the village only when they went to the office. The company knew how to divide people into "clean" and "unclean".
“What company, Arellano?”
- Neptune Mining. This is the last one, and there were others here before. I started working for her in the fifties as a boy. My father was also a miner until he died. Probably my grandfather, but I don't remember him. Father said our family moved here from Matagalpa, so we are "Spaniards". And there are Miskitos, mestizos, blacks ... The company owned everything, even the air, even owned our life. The land on which we built our houses belonged to the company, the building materials also belonged, the company brought food to the village and sold it in its stores. The light in the houses, electricity is also the property of the company, as well as boats, and piers on the rivers, and in general any transport to go to Cabezas or Matagalpa ... Do you know who the manager was for us? God! He both punished and merciful. True, he rarely spared. He will not give bonds for products, so live as you want. Or refuse a referral for treatment. The hospital was also owned by the company. And you can't run away - you're in debt all around. And if you do escape, the National Guard will definitely find you and bring you back. They will still beat, or even shoot as a warning to the rest ...
“Yes, companion,” Arellano continued, sitting down on a stone by the side of the road. “Here, in the mines, every man let the revolution into his heart. As the company was kicked out, everyone sighed. They saw life. The mines are now state-owned, we work for ourselves. Imagine, there are no spare parts, many cars have stopped, because gringos do not supply us with parts. But we are working! And we live happily. The school was built, the hospital is now ours, we distribute the products fairly. A kindergarten is located in the "gringo zone", children swim in the pool, and a library and a cinema hall are located in the former club.
Arellano and I descended the worn steps to the mine administration, and weary workers in miners' helmets, many with rifles behind their shoulders, rose to meet us. Another shift was returning from the mine. Their faces were black from the indestructible dust, covered in light streaks of sweat, but they made fun of each other, laughed merrily and contagiously. And Arellano also smiled through his thick mustache...
New Guinea
I never expected to meet anyone but Wilbert in Puerto Cabezas. From his rare letters that came to Managua, I knew that he was fighting in Nueva Segovia. And on a stuffy evening at the entrance to the city square, a short army sergeant held me by the elbow. He adjusted his glasses with a familiar gesture, smiled a familiar smile...
— Wilbert! What fates?!
- Transferred. And how did you end up here?
- On business...
Then we remembered for a long time the journey with the “bibliobus”, the guys, and that black night on the road that led from New Guinea to the village of Jerusalem ...
New Guinea is south of the Celaya department. Rama Indians live there, plow the land around tiny and rare villages, graze herds on the plains. The mountains in the south of Celaya are low, with flat peaks, as if cut off by a giant knife. They are thrown in randomly, like Scythian burial mounds, and therefore seem superfluous on the green, even tabletop of the steppe, where the grasses hide the horseman with his head. Cattle-breeding paradise, New Guinea... I went there in April 1984 with students of the capital's technical school "Maestro Gabriel".
My acquaintance with these guys began a long time ago. Back in 1983, students found an old rusty Volkswagen minibus in a car dump on the outskirts of Managua. On their hands through the whole city they dragged this junk to the workshop of the technical school. It is difficult, almost impossible, to get spare parts in Nicaragua, which is in the grip of a blockade. But - they got it, repaired it, then covered it with yellow paint and wrote on the sides: "Youth bus - library." Since then, the "bibliobus" began to run through the most remote cooperatives and villages, through student production teams that harvested cotton and coffee. And on one of the flights, the students took me with them.
New Guinea - a dusty and noisy town - comes to life with the first rays of the sun. When the "bibliobus", rattling and bouncing on the potholes, rolled into the winding streets, roosters in New Guinea were roaring and selflessly crowing. At the zonal headquarters of the Sandinista Youth, columns of student production teams were formed, leaving to collect coffee. In the yard, at a small rickety table, a border guard sergeant sat with sleepy eyes, moving his lips as he wrote down in a soiled notebook the numbers of machine guns issued to students, the number of ammunition and grenades.
While Wilbert was jostling in the headquarters, figuring out the route, Gustavo and Mario stood in line for weapons. The sergeant looked at them in bewilderment.
Are you from the brigade?
“No…” the guys hesitated, looking at each other.
The sergeant, again buried in his notebook, silently waved his palm from top to bottom, as if cutting them off from the whole line. Clear. Talking to him is useless: an order is an order. It is not known how everything would have turned out if Lieutenant Umberto Corea, the head of the district's state security, had not appeared at the table.
“Give them four machine guns with spare magazines, sergeant,” he said in a calm and even voice. “These are the guys from the Bibliobus. Did not recognize?
And then, turning to Wilbert, who had come to the rescue, he quietly said:
— The area is now restless. Again the Traitor's thugs stirred. Yesterday ours ran into an ambush, seven were killed. Your route is difficult, you will go to state farms, right? So, Wilbert, I allow movement only during the day. In the farms, of course, our patrols, and students post their posts, but there can be surprises on the roads ...
All day long we drove through the villages that lined the roads. Everywhere around the bus, a crowd gathered in a matter of minutes: peasants who had recently learned to read and write, students, women with children; the little ones stared curiously at the sight that had never been seen before. Gustavo, Mario, Hugo, Wilbert handed out books, explained, told...
In the evening, seven kilometers from the village with the biblical name Jerusalem, which is rare for these places, the minibus got up. A lean, agile, short driver, Carlos, looking into the engine, waved his hand in dismay: two hours to repair. From the height of his thirty-six years, he looked at "these boys" patronizingly and swore that he was going with them for the last time. Nevertheless, Carlos has not yet missed a single trip - and there were more than thirty of them - without, of course, receiving a centavo for this.
It got dark quickly. The sunset poured pure gold across the pale sky. The shadows vanished, and the round fruits of the wild oranges became like yellow lanterns hung in the dark foliage. Wilbert and Mario, hanging their machine guns on their chests, went to the right of the road, Hugo and Gustavo to the left: outposts, just in case. I illuminated Carlos with a portable lamp, who, having climbed under the bus, was poking around in the engine.
Suddenly, from the left, quite close, bursts of machine-gun fire rang out. Somos! One, second line. Then the machine guns barked excitedly, filling the air with a booming thud and ringing. Mario ran across the road. He did not even look in our direction and disappeared into the thick bushes that approached the roadside. Then Wilbert appeared.
"Soon?" he asked, gasping for air.
"I'm trying," breathed Carlos, without interrupting his work.
“Give the horn,” and Wilbert disappeared into the bushes again.
Shooting rolled, Satanel, raged. Finally, Carlos got out from under the car and jumped into the cab with one jump. With a trembling hand, he turned the ignition key and the engine came to life. In joyful excitement, Carlos hit the horn with force - the car roared with an unexpectedly powerful bass.
“Drive!” Vilbert ordered in a whisper, while the guys on the move, sending fiery streams of tracks into the dark wall of the bushes, jumped into the open door of the “bibliobus”.
And Carlos, turning off the headlights, drove the bus along the ribbon of the road, barely visible in the night. To Jerusalem.
There were also books...
Return of Nara Wilson
Tashba-Pri in translation from the Miskito language means "free land", or "land of free people". In February 1982, the revolutionary government was forced to resettle the Miskito Indians from the border river Coco to the specially built villages of Tashba-Pri... Endless raids by gangs from Honduras, murders, hijackings of people across the cordon, robberies - all this put the Indians on the brink of despair. Intimidated by the counter-revolutionaries, who often turned out to be relatives or godfathers, the Indians became more and more distant from the revolution, closed in on themselves, and even fled wherever they looked.
By relocating the Indians from the war zone deep into the department, the government not only built them houses and schools, churches and first-aid posts, but also allocated communal lands. A year later, many of those who had once left the Contras returned to their families in Tashba-Pri. The Sandinista government announced an amnesty for the Miskito Indians who were not involved in crimes against the people.
So Nar Wilson, an Indian whom I met in the village of Sumubila, returned to his sons.
When Nar Wilson got married, he decided to leave the community. No, this did not mean at all that he did not like life in the village of Tara. It’s just that Nar Wilson was already a serious person in those years, and therefore he reasoned that it was not worth huddling with his father and brothers under the same roof. I wanted to have a home - my own home, my own.
And Nar went along with his wife about ten kilometers down the Coco River, which separates Nicaragua from Honduras. There, in deserted, deserted places, in the selva, on a patch of land reclaimed from the jungle, he set up his house. Put firmly, for years. As expected, he dug piles of strong ceiba trunks deep into the damp clay earth, made a flooring from red kaoba boards on them, and only then erected four walls, covering them with wide leaves of wild bananas. It was twenty-five winters ago. Twenty-five times Coco's water swelled from showers, approaching the very threshold, and the house stood as if it had been built only yesterday. Only the piles turned gray from moisture and the sun and the steps were polished to a shine.
Everything in the world is subject to time. Nar Wilson himself has also changed. Then he was eighteenth, now he is over forty. It resounded in the shoulders, the palms became wide and hardened, the temples turned gray, time threw a network of wrinkles on the swarthy face. Life flowed like a river in summer - smoothly, measuredly and unhurriedly.
Nar fished, hunted, did some smuggling. He did not like smuggling, but what was to be done? After the American companies walked through the forests, there was very little game left. The manatee disappeared from the mouth of Koko, and even then one had to run after the wild boar.
Children were born, grew up, matured. The elders, having married, put their houses nearby, behind the bend of the coast, on a green low cape. The grandchildren are gone. So they lived all around, not noticing the time. Years were distinguished only by rich catches and outbreaks of the number of animals in the selva. It seemed like nothing was happening in the world. News from the west, from the Pacific coast, came rarely, and even more rarely did new people come from there.
From childhood, Nar remembered an important fat sergeant, head of the border guard post in Tara, to whom his father paid a weekly bribe for smuggling. Then just as carefully began to pay her and Nar. It was military power. The venerable Peter Bond personified spiritual authority. Priest Bond, like the sergeant, has lived in the village since time immemorial. He baptized and instructed Nara, then Nara's children, grandchildren...
Change came unexpectedly. Suddenly the sergeant disappeared. He was said to have escaped to Honduras by sailing across Coco in a boat. And Bond began to tell strange things in sermons about some Sandinistas who want to deprive all Indians of democracy. Then Peter Bond completely closed the church, saying that the Sandinistas forbid praying to God. Then everyone was outraged. How is it that no one has seen them, these Sandinistas, and they no longer allow people to go to church! The elderly were especially unhappy. And when the Sandinistas appeared in the district, they met them unfriendly, in silence. Most of the Sandinistas turned out to be young guys from the west, "Spaniards". The guys were hot, they gathered rallies, they talked about the revolution, about imperialism. But few understood them.
Gradually the storm of events subsided. Instead of the former sergeant in Tara, another one appeared - Sandinista. He did not take bribes and did not allow smuggling, which caused the anger of many. The Venerable Bond reopened the church. Nar was already beginning to think that life would slowly return to its former course, but his hopes were not justified. More and more often, Pedro, the Sandinista boss from Tara, began to look into Wilson's house. Starting a conversation from afar, he each time ended with the same thing - he convinced Nara to create a cooperative. Like, everything will be as before and Nar will be able to grow rice, bananas, fish, but not alone, but together with other peasants. In the words of Sergeant Nar Wilson felt sense and truth: indeed, he, his older sons and neighbors, working together, could live better and without smuggling. But, cautious, Nar kept silent, pretended that he did not understand everything. Pedro spoke Spanish, which the Nar actually knew very poorly.
Beginning in May 1981, people from the other side of the border began to visit Nara. There were among them Miskito Honduran and Nicaraguan, there were also "Spaniards". They crossed the river at night, stayed in his house for several days, taking advantage of the host's hospitality. For Nar is a Miskito, and a Miskito cannot drive a man away from his hearth, whoever he may be. The aliens were a dangerous people, although they spoke their native Naru language. They did not part with their weapons, cursed the Sandinistas and persuaded Nara to go with them beyond the cordon. He remained silent, although he did not find any truth or meaning in their words.
One day in November, when, after long rains, the selva was saturated with moisture like a sponge in the sea, a large detachment landed at Nara's house, about a hundred people, who sailed from Honduras in ten large boats. Among them, Nar saw his older brother William and son-in-law, the husband of his sister Marlene. The rest were unknown to him. Nara was asked to lead a detachment overland to the village of Tara. Nar refused for a long time, but William, after talking with the commander, promised that later he would be immediately allowed to return home and left alone.
The attack on the village was short-lived. Half an hour of skirmishing, and the detachment broke into the narrow streets of Tara. Only then did Nar understand what he had done, and realized that there would be no return to his former life. The border guards were killed, Sergeant Pedro was hacked to death with a machete. They raped and then shot a young teacher who had recently arrived in the village from Managua.
The Somosians returned to the boats, excited, inflamed with success. William walked next to Nar, was silent for a long time, and then finally said:
Nar just shook his head. He didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want to leave my house, leave my boat, leave my family. However, I had to. Before loading, the leader of the detachment said, screwing up his eyes angrily: "Come with us, Indian." The ringleader was not a Miskito, nor was he a Nicaraguan. That's why he said it as if he had given an order: "Come with us, Indian." Nar shook his head again, without uttering a sound. The ringleader, grinning, pointed at him, and two bandits stuck their rifle muzzles into Nar's chest. The Indian shook his head for the third time. The leader began to shout and wave his arms. Nar stood silently. Finally, the ringleader, yelling, shook his head - three of his men dragged Nara's wife and children out of the house, put them with their backs to the river, moved away and prepared to shoot. “Will you go now, Indian?” the leader asked and grinned again. Nar still silently wandered along the sand to the boats. Behind him, the bandits pushed a woman and children with rifle butts.
As they crossed the river, Nar stood at the stern, facing the Nicaraguan shore, and, holding back the sobs that rose in his throat, watched his house burn. Crimson reflections flickered across the water.
“Why did you set it on fire?” Nar asked in a whisper, without taking his eyes off the fire.
“And so that you don’t pull back,” someone’s mocking voice answered from the darkness.
In Honduras, Nara was placed in a training camp, the family lived nearby in the village. In the Nar camp, under the leadership of Honduran officers and two Yankees, he was engaged in military affairs: he crawled, shot, threw grenades, studied the machine gun. Three months later, he was assigned to a group of three hundred people and sent to Nicaragua to kill. For several weeks they hid in the jungle, set up ambushes on the roads, attacked villages, and units of the Sandinista army. And all this time Nara did not leave the idea of escaping. But how? After all, there, behind Coco, is a family.
He managed to escape only a year after that fateful November night for him. By that time, his wife had died, and Nara was allowed to go to the children more often. On one of those days they left five of them - Nar and four sons. For several days they wandered through the selva, confusing their tracks, leaving the Hondurans and the Somos. Once I had to shoot. But thanks to the Americans and other instructors - they taught me. Nar used to be a good shooter, but now he had in his hands not a hunting shotgun, but a machine gun. In a shootout, he knocked down two, the rest fell behind.
Then Nar with his sons sailed on the raft Koko and came to Tara. But the village was empty. Tara died out, many houses were scorched, from others only black firebrands remained. The five fugitives were met by an army patrol. Nara was sent to Puerto Cabezas, from there to Managua. Five years of imprisonment, determined by the court, did not seem excessive to Naru. He understood that he deserved more for what he managed to do on the soil of Nicaragua. He served only a few months - an amnesty arrived in time. What to do in the wild, where to go? Naru was advised to leave for Celaya, in Tashba-Pri. They said that his sons also live there, with whom he came from Honduras.
Nar walked along Sumubil and could not believe his eyes. The Indians have good houses, a school, a first-aid post on the hill. Music rushes from the wide open doors - it's the radios on, the kids are playing in the clearing in front of the garden. And most importantly - many in the village with weapons. But after all, in Honduras, he was told that the Sandinistas oppressed the Indians, took away their children and wives, the chiefs divided among themselves the property and lands of the Miskito ... So, they lied? It turns out so. It turns out that the Indians do not need the protection of the Somos at all. On the contrary, they themselves took up arms in order to defend themselves from these "defenders", from him, Nara ...
I met Nara on the outskirts of Sumubila, at the very edge of the jungle. He dug deep holes in the clayey, damp earth. Thick white ceib trunks lay nearby.
“I thought, I’ll settle down separately,” he said, sitting down on the logs and lighting a cigarette. “Soon another son will leave me - he’s thought of getting married.” I will stay with the three younger ones, I will send them to school, let them study. I will feed you. I will join the cooperative. As soon as I put up a new house...” And he affectionately stroked the slightly damp, still living trunks with his broad palm...
