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Authors: Chris Dietzel
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don’t get too frustrated all at once.”
They came to the end of the cave. Each rock seemed to change shape as the light flickered here and there. Benio held the torch out so the walls around them became illuminated. Instead of shining black, the color of lava rock, or green, the color of moss and fungus, the walls sparkled a deep crimson.
“My god,” Anderson said, putting his hand to a section of the wall, letting his fingertips glide over the smooth stones.
Rubies.
“Pretty, eh?” the elder said.
All around him, the walls glowed with what looked like red energy. There were more rubies than he had ever seen. Enough to fill a jewelry store. Enough to fill a hundred jewelry stores. He had seen the women with red stones worked into their necklaces, the men with red stones engraved into the gold handles of their knives and daggers. Now he knew where they came from.
“Not just pretty,” Anderson said. “Amazing.” He watched as the red energy flowed in every direction as the torch burned. “Just this amount,” he said, rubbing his hand over a small chunk of scarlet stone, “is enough, where I come from, to pay for someone to become a leader and have them do your bidding.”
Benio held the torch closer to the wall to make sure they were looking at the same thing. “This stone? Why? It doesn’t do anything except look nice.”
“People have a distorted sense of value, I guess.”
He thought about how much the Tyranny’s friends convinced everyone that diamonds were worth their paychecks. They weren’t of course. There were a thousand times more diamonds than there were soccer balls. Yet one was supposed to be valuable even though it was plentiful and did nothing, while the other was handmade and gave people enjoyment. All because the Tyranny’s friends convinced everyone it should be that way. The same went with the pretend money the Tyranny printed, which had no value other than what they could convince people it had. Unlike diamonds and the printing of magic money, rubies actually were fairly rare.
Benio pointed to the sparkling walls and said, “Sometimes, the women come here and take the stones to make necklaces and bracelets, but they don’t get much for them. They are shiny, but they don’t actually do anything the way chickens and sheep and crops keep people fed and clothes and blankets keep people warm.”
“Our leaders treasure this more than the welfare of their people.”
The more Anderson looked around, the more he appreciated the immensity of the ruby deposits surrounding him. It wasn’t just carats or pounds or cubic feet, it was enough of the precious stone to fill the trunk of his car, his wife’s car, his neighbors’ cars. A blood-red fortune.
“What are you going to do with it?” he said.
Benio laughed. “Do with it? There is nothing to do. It is okay where it is.”
The elder turned and began walking back out of the cave and Anderson followed. But the entire time, as they made their way back toward the village, Anderson barely paid attention to Benio’s questions. All he could think of was the glowing red cave.
Another day, after one of the boys taught Anderson how to shoot a bow, the child said, “Have you ever killed a bear?”
“No,” Anderson laughed.
“Have you ever fought in a battle?”
The Mi’kmaq had never had to engage in a war but they had met people from other communities who had been invaded by some of the more aggressive nomadic tribes further south.
Anderson didn’t know enough about American Indian history to know what became of the Mi’kmaq tribe, but if their fate was anything like all of the tribes Anderson did know about—the Cherokee, the Navajo, the Mohawk—they would either be forced off their land or else be slaughtered.
“I hope you only ever use your bow to hunt,” Anderson said, patting the boy on the back.
“But the elders tell stories of great warriors who fought and became stars in the sky.”
“Those are just
They came to the end of the cave. Each rock seemed to change shape as the light flickered here and there. Benio held the torch out so the walls around them became illuminated. Instead of shining black, the color of lava rock, or green, the color of moss and fungus, the walls sparkled a deep crimson.
“My god,” Anderson said, putting his hand to a section of the wall, letting his fingertips glide over the smooth stones.
Rubies.
“Pretty, eh?” the elder said.
All around him, the walls glowed with what looked like red energy. There were more rubies than he had ever seen. Enough to fill a jewelry store. Enough to fill a hundred jewelry stores. He had seen the women with red stones worked into their necklaces, the men with red stones engraved into the gold handles of their knives and daggers. Now he knew where they came from.
“Not just pretty,” Anderson said. “Amazing.” He watched as the red energy flowed in every direction as the torch burned. “Just this amount,” he said, rubbing his hand over a small chunk of scarlet stone, “is enough, where I come from, to pay for someone to become a leader and have them do your bidding.”
Benio held the torch closer to the wall to make sure they were looking at the same thing. “This stone? Why? It doesn’t do anything except look nice.”
“People have a distorted sense of value, I guess.”
He thought about how much the Tyranny’s friends convinced everyone that diamonds were worth their paychecks. They weren’t of course. There were a thousand times more diamonds than there were soccer balls. Yet one was supposed to be valuable even though it was plentiful and did nothing, while the other was handmade and gave people enjoyment. All because the Tyranny’s friends convinced everyone it should be that way. The same went with the pretend money the Tyranny printed, which had no value other than what they could convince people it had. Unlike diamonds and the printing of magic money, rubies actually were fairly rare.
Benio pointed to the sparkling walls and said, “Sometimes, the women come here and take the stones to make necklaces and bracelets, but they don’t get much for them. They are shiny, but they don’t actually do anything the way chickens and sheep and crops keep people fed and clothes and blankets keep people warm.”
“Our leaders treasure this more than the welfare of their people.”
The more Anderson looked around, the more he appreciated the immensity of the ruby deposits surrounding him. It wasn’t just carats or pounds or cubic feet, it was enough of the precious stone to fill the trunk of his car, his wife’s car, his neighbors’ cars. A blood-red fortune.
“What are you going to do with it?” he said.
Benio laughed. “Do with it? There is nothing to do. It is okay where it is.”
The elder turned and began walking back out of the cave and Anderson followed. But the entire time, as they made their way back toward the village, Anderson barely paid attention to Benio’s questions. All he could think of was the glowing red cave.
Another day, after one of the boys taught Anderson how to shoot a bow, the child said, “Have you ever killed a bear?”
“No,” Anderson laughed.
“Have you ever fought in a battle?”
The Mi’kmaq had never had to engage in a war but they had met people from other communities who had been invaded by some of the more aggressive nomadic tribes further south.
Anderson didn’t know enough about American Indian history to know what became of the Mi’kmaq tribe, but if their fate was anything like all of the tribes Anderson did know about—the Cherokee, the Navajo, the Mohawk—they would either be forced off their land or else be slaughtered.
“I hope you only ever use your bow to hunt,” Anderson said, patting the boy on the back.
“But the elders tell stories of great warriors who fought and became stars in the sky.”
“Those are just
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