V.
The ring composed of Indians was quaking, after the bang of one of the staves from the Whites had destroyed every hint of silence in this landscape of a natural state and had put an end to the live of the innocent pig that had squeaked nervously until the plumb bullet smashed his head.
Fright and horror, shining through the eyes of shocked Indians, dominated the temper of this hamlet from now on and every word, every impulse of these strangers was considered in a different light, observed exactly and treated with caution.
This demonstration of power underlined the might of these white gods, or demons, or something in between.
It also changed how the native Americans thought about them.
Why were they so friendly? What do they really want? Was it just affectation and they only pretending?
However, this act made conversations among the different cultures nearly impossible.
Even the Whites sensed the tension in the air and thus they stacked together, nodding and whispering vehemently.
It seemed, as though they formed a front that resounded loud, disturbing words, which scared some of the Indians up. Others startled, hesitated.
Nita could only hardly hold his vocal protest back.
And his son? Tala was pondering, weighting his alternatives up. Finally, he began to say: “I…”, but faltered again, calling everybody’s attention to him. In his ears, neither the quack of a frog, nor the buzzing of a bee, nor the sough of the wind, or the scroop of a tree made enough noise to be heard. Nature avoided annoying him while speaking, afraid to loose him. Or was he just imagining?
He was so confused, disordered, disrupted inside. The day has been so bizarre; first of all, his first culled animal without appreciation, but later with rejection, then the Whites, and now this question, this new possibility, this chance…
