The Chameleon Soldier: NOW AS AN ALIEN BLUE HE CANNOT DIE. (12 page)

Over the next month, Killian enjoyed his time working with the horses during the day, and talking with Zack in the evenings. He found Kip’s grandfather to be an intelligent and interesting man. He also started going to the local library to read articles from newspapers out west. He was looking for unusual stories which might lead him to the whereabouts of his arch-enemy Lupan.

One afternoon, while reading, he came across a few articles pertaining to the Indian boarding schools, in the western states of Oregon, Washington and Montana. However, the most interesting clippings, related to the orphanages and schools in North and South Dakota, which were managed by the Catholic Church. The articles were usually short, and on the inside pages of the western newspapers, as if they were intentionally being buried. The subject matter didn’t garner any attention from the larger newspapers in the big cities, as they were little more than complaints against the schools by Indian students and their parents. The reporters who wrote the articles were accused of being Indian lovers and atheists by those running the schools. Most white people appeared to brush off the reports as nonsense or fabricated lies, and clearly had little interest in the plight of the Indians and their children. The public believed the Indian boarding schools, which were under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA), were being run by qualified military men, and good Christian organizations.

After repeated visits to the library, Killian noticed a pattern was developing. Wherever there was an article about an atrocity at an Indian boarding school, it was often followed by reports of the death of a person connected to the school. At the Chemawa Indian School in Salam, Oregon, for instance, a matron who had been reported to be physically and emotionally abusing the Indian children was found in woods nearby, stabbed to death. Near the Puyallup Indian Reservation in Washington, meanwhile, a former instructor, who had been accused of molesting young boys at the Cushman Boarding School, was burned to death in a suspicious fire in his home. Killian also read of a similar death in Tacoma, Washington, where another Indian boarding school was located.

A week later, he read about the head matron at the Tulalip Reservation Boarding School in the state of Washington; she had been missing for a week. A North Dakota newspaper carried an article about the Wahpeton Boarding School run by Christian missionaries. It mentioned rumors of bad treatment and sexual atrocities suffered by the Indian children. Yet another article told of two missionaries who had been killed by a hit-and-run driver.

Killian decided the incidents must be related. The more he read about the schools in South Dakota, the more certain he became that Lupan must be involved in the deaths of all these matrons, teachers and missionaries.

A story on the back pages of the Rapid City, South Dakota, newspaper alleged the Indian boarding schools weren’t really schools at all, they were labor camps. Students were forced to work in construction, as servants or as farmhands for the townspeople. Another report identified the Catholic boarding schools as the worst. The priests and nuns routinely whipped the children with razor straps, and beat them with paddles until they bled. Children were locked in dark closets for hours, made to kneel on boards, and eat lye soap for simply wetting the bed or speaking their native language.

Some of the articles were even more disturbing. One stated that children were dying from malnutrition, as they were being fed as little as one sandwich a day. Some died of disease or through medical neglect. It was evident to Killian the orphanages and schools of South Dakota were a living hell for Indian children.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he read about the St. Paul and St. Francis missions. It was reported that sexual, physical, and emotional abuse was rampant at St. Paul, though the article stated the priests and nuns were denying they repeatedly sexually assaulted the children. In one article, an ex-employee of St. Paul’s swore that predatory priests and nuns targeted children as young as six for various types of sex. He claimed one boy told him the Mother Superior went from bed to bed at night to choose a boy to perform oral sex with her, and suck on her breasts. The St. Francis mission, a school run by the Jesuits, was said to be one of the worst schools. The article was written by a man who claimed vile predator’s daily committed violent acts on the children. He wrote the priests, brothers, and nuns were serial predators who raped, molested and sodomized the children. The Jesuits’ reply to the article was that the reporter was a demon and atheist.

In the Sioux Falls newspaper, Killian found an article buried on page eleven. It was about the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and the boarding schools themselves, who refused to investigate when the priests, nuns, missionaries, and lay teachers were accused of violent behavior, and inhumane physical, and sexual abuse of the Indian children, both boys and girls. The reporter had asked the question, “How do so many pedophile priests and nuns end up here in South Dakota, at orphanages like Tekakwithe, and Indian boarding schools like St. Paul’s, St. Francis and the Holy Rosary? Is the Catholic Church sending their problem priests, and nuns to the orphanages, and schools to hide them from the rest of the United States and Canada?”

The most recent article he read pertained to an orphanage in South Dakota. In the woods behind the orphanage the buried bodies of young Indian children had been found. They had been sexually abused and beaten to death. Killian suspected some of the priests, and nuns in South Dakota would soon be face to face with the God they pretended to honor. He felt sure Lupan was most likely already there, or on his way to South Dakota.

The next morning Killian packed a bag, and Zack drove him to the Washington, D.C. National Airport. Killian was convinced Lupan would continue on his path of revenge against those guilty of abusing Indian children. In his research, Killian had read about an even more recent case concerning a boarding school in Carson City, Nevada, where Indian children had been abused; he was confident that after South Dakota Lupan and his men would be heading south to Nevada.

When Killian landed in Reno, he bought a used navy blue Chevy Apache pickup truck, and drove to Carson City, Nevada. But, he was too late. The matron who had run the school, and been accused of beating boys, and bathing them in kerosene had been found the day before, burned to death. An empty tin can of kerosene was lying by her charred body.

Killian headed his pickup truck south. Again he was guessing, but from the newspapers he’d learned there were three possible schools that Lupan was sure to visit. One was the Haskell Indian School in Kansas. Recently, in the schools backyard, a gravesite with the bodies of Indian children had been uncovered.

The second boarding school was in Arizona. This one had a reputation of being a tough militaristic school, where young Indians were treated with great harshness. There however, wasn’t any suggestion of sexual abuse.

The third was a school in New Mexico, run by the Presbyterians, who were extremely strict. Like the other schools, they forced the children to renounce their Indian beliefs, and study the Christian religion. It was rumored the ministers raped the girls, while other teachers were known to molest the boys. It was alleged the matrons would undress the younger boys, give them a bath and play with their genitals, and also have sexual relations with the older boys.

Killian decided to aim for this last school, in New Mexico. As he drove, he contemplated the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the boarding school officials, who refused to investigate when there were complaints and accusations against those running the schools. He couldn’t understand how they could ignore the situation.

It was late in the evening, when Killian stopped the pickup in front of the Presbyterian-run Indian boarding school. The two-story brown brick building was dark. Only three outside lights, on tall wooden poles, lit the cold-looking structure.

He found a cheap-looking motel nearby and checked in. The next morning, after he had breakfast at a small diner, he drove over to the school. He parked and walked up the cracked gray sidewalk to the front entrance. The oversized wooden door was locked; he knocked, but there was no response. He knocked louder.

After a few seconds a heavy-set, stern-looking woman, dressed in black, answered the door. Killian was told he couldn’t enter. He was informed only school employees and officials were allowed inside. Killian asked why, and inquired if they had something to hide. The door was promptly and forcibly slammed shut. He heard the heavy bolt click, locking the door. Killian backed away, and strolled around the outer perimeter of the buildings.

In the back area, he saw what looked to be a children’s playground. However, it was void of swings and other fixtures normally associated with a playground. Instead, there were two old wooden tables, and a few benches inside the dirt area, which was surrounded by barbed wire. As Killian circled the mid-sized compound he saw young children coming out of the two-story brick building, and head toward a long, thin barrack-type structure. They were marching in a straight single line, and being very careful not to touch the barbed wire which lined both sides of the sidewalk leading to the other building. They were being escorted by a tall man dressed in black; at the rear of the line was a heavily built woman, also dressed in black. Killian watched as they disappeared into the smaller building. He continued circling the area until he was back at his pickup. He stood and took a last look at the establishment. It wasn’t the picture of any children’s school he’d ever seen before.

After dinner, at one of the town’s cafés, Killian parked the pickup in a secluded area, and settled down to watch the school. He saw a few people enter and others leave. There wasn’t any sign of Lupan.

The following day, Killian walked through the wooded area behind the boarding school. At first he didn’t see anything unusual. Then he spotted barbed wire nailed to a line of trees. He followed the wire, and realized it formed a square. It was connected to the barbed wire surrounding the dirt playground. He stepped carefully over the wire, and into the square area. At first he couldn’t make any sense of it, but then he noticed five small humps in the ground. He realized he was standing in a cemetery, a cemetery for children.

In the evening, he kept vigil. While he was sitting in his truck, waiting for Lupan, Killian had time to think, to think about how miserable the boarding schools were, and about the alleged atrocities being committed in them by unscrupulous people. It was impossible for him, to suppress the urge to believe, that bad and evil people in the world should die, no matter their gender or skin color.

As Killian waited, he realized he’d been wrong about Lupan, and his men showing up. They had gone to a different boarding school; they weren’t coming here now. Nonetheless, he knew they would come to this terrible place sooner or later; evil would kill evil. For the second time in his life, he decided to walk away, and let evil white men receive the punishment, which they deserved.

The following morning,
Killian sat down, and wrote a letter to his best friend.

Dear Kip,

As you know, I spent many days at the library researching and reading articles about the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and how, and why they set up the Indian boarding schools. I also read numerous newspaper clippings regarding the complaints, and accusations against the schools about mistreatment, both mental and physical. It is difficult for me to comprehend how our government can let the atrocities continue. How can they turn a deaf ear? How can they look the other way?

For God’s sake, Kip, children are being severely beaten, starved, raped and molested. They’re made to do unthinkable things. They’re made to do hard labor. The children are slaves to the military men, missionaries, priests and nuns, Presbyterian ministers, their matrons, and other Christian organizations. These young Indians, who have been ripped from their homes, denied their language, and religion, are being murdered by loathsome, amoral people, with the blessing of our government.

I am going to abandon my search for Lupan and his men. I have found there are worse people than him walking this earth. I fear I may join Lupan and his followers, as they are in the right, in this matter. They are the only ones who are taking to task these evil people. Lupan’s methods may be crude and unethical, but at least he’s doing what our government should be doing. The hypocrites, who are hiding behind the law and religion, should be tried, and put behind bars or executed for their crimes against humanity.

Kip, in the big picture of things, what Lupan is doing is small. I know he and his men would like to do more to cleanse the schools of the pedophiles, but fear being caught by our military, some of whom, are as guilty as hell themselves.

I’m leaving New Mexico before Lupan arrives. This place is evil, and Lupan will avenge the wrong being done here. I will not do anything to stop him.

I won’t be in touch for a while. Right now I’m not pleased with our government. I feel they have let the Indian nation, decent citizens and me down. I’m going to do some traveling, try and find some peace. I’ll travel the world. Maybe visit the islands of Tahiti and Marquesas, where Paul Gauguin painted. Or I may go to Tibet to learn from the Buddhist monks, and hopefully meet the Dalai Lama.

While staying at Zack’s ranch, I was inspired by my talks with your mother Jesse about the writings of her favorite author, Rudyard Kipling. I may visit the areas he wrote about.

Please thank your parents and Zack for their kind hospitality. Tell them goodbye, and that I hope to see them another day. I won’t totally abandon you, my friend. You will receive the occasional postcard from me as I travel the world.

Your good friend,

Killian

He left the motel, and went to a post office, where he mailed the letter before driving west toward California. In Los Angeles, Killian sold the Chevy pickup, and boarded a plane heading west.