naked
and if the sky is naked
then the earth must be naked
also.
I remember that, I said. I almost do.
Iâm telling you, I used to sing it all the time. Or hum it. It drove Daddy crazy, which was part of the reason I did it. At some point, I realized years ago, he really did change himself into a priest; it was as if all his Bible reading and acting to fool the Mundo became part of who he was. I used to think of it as his having been overtaken by his ancient reptilian brain.
It was odd, wasnât it? I said. Both Mama and Daddy were atheists.
They were colossal liars, said June. Always spying on the Mundo and scribbling in their evil gray notebooks.
Their work would have been funded today, I said. Some anthropological society, integrated by now, would certainly spring to the aid of such a fresh, spunky, intelligent-sounding black couple, interested in the doings of a mixed-race tribe like the Mundo.
The church enslaved them, in a way, said June. Forcing them to do its work in order to do their own.
Itâs hard to imagine that they pulled it off, I said. Daddy preaching about stuff he hardly knew, or cared, a thing about. Mama pretending to be pious.
Fucking kept them going, my sister said bitterly.
Oh yes, I said, laughing. You would never believe how long it took me to understand why it did!
Why the Mad Dog Is Considered Wise
I remember when Magdalena asked me why in my tribe we consider the mad dog wise. It was like her to ask such a question. Her little sister, Susannah, hardly asked anything. She was content to trail sedately behind her parents. In truth, her father spoiled her. It was clear he thought her beautiful only when she was moving very slowly, or when she was still. He would gaze at her as if she were a flower, with no more mobility than a flower possesses. Not so Magdalena. She was all over the place, sticking her nose everywhere. All the elders loved her, because she was still wild. They would tell her stories for as long as she could sit still, and she would run errands for them.
The mad dog is considered wise because it has lost its mind, I said. Which is one of the most difficult things in the world to do. Our people take herbs once a year to lose their minds all together, at once. Instead of thoughts, we have visions, and that is how we guide ourselves.
But why would you want to lose your mind? she asked bluntly, frowning. That sounds stupid to me.
No, no, I said. In the world that you come from, people put too much emphasis on the mind. You could even say they have become mind only.
What do you know about the world I come from? she asked.
I will tell you about that later, I said, but right now I want to tell you about why the mad dog is wise.
Oh, okay, she said, putting her hand on her hip and looking up at me.
She was so pretty! Magdalena. Even when we were still only children I wanted to kiss her. Her lips were full and round; in the summer she became very brown, almost black. Her cheeks were like chocolate. I wanted to lick them. Her spirit was bold; whatever she felt never left her eyes.
Mad dogs bite people, she said now.
That is not the part we like, I said. Nor the drooling or frothing at the mouth, nor the fear of drinking water, either. It is only the losing-of-the-mind part.
Aha, she said.
It is a way of saying you must not live too much in your head. It is a way of reminding you to stay in your emotions, no matter how nutty they are; it is a way of saying, also, that craziness has value.
But wisdom? she said. I donât know if I see that.
The elders say you do not see wisdom to recognize it until you are old.
Well, she said, laughing, nobody could ever get as old as them.
Somehow the elders heard of this retort. They found it amusing. And that is when she began to be called Mad Dog. Which her father insisted must be MacDoc. And then even this nickname embarrassed him. He did not understand that Magdalena was what we called a Changing Woman, a natural one,
and if the sky is naked
then the earth must be naked
also.
I remember that, I said. I almost do.
Iâm telling you, I used to sing it all the time. Or hum it. It drove Daddy crazy, which was part of the reason I did it. At some point, I realized years ago, he really did change himself into a priest; it was as if all his Bible reading and acting to fool the Mundo became part of who he was. I used to think of it as his having been overtaken by his ancient reptilian brain.
It was odd, wasnât it? I said. Both Mama and Daddy were atheists.
They were colossal liars, said June. Always spying on the Mundo and scribbling in their evil gray notebooks.
Their work would have been funded today, I said. Some anthropological society, integrated by now, would certainly spring to the aid of such a fresh, spunky, intelligent-sounding black couple, interested in the doings of a mixed-race tribe like the Mundo.
The church enslaved them, in a way, said June. Forcing them to do its work in order to do their own.
Itâs hard to imagine that they pulled it off, I said. Daddy preaching about stuff he hardly knew, or cared, a thing about. Mama pretending to be pious.
Fucking kept them going, my sister said bitterly.
Oh yes, I said, laughing. You would never believe how long it took me to understand why it did!
Why the Mad Dog Is Considered Wise
I remember when Magdalena asked me why in my tribe we consider the mad dog wise. It was like her to ask such a question. Her little sister, Susannah, hardly asked anything. She was content to trail sedately behind her parents. In truth, her father spoiled her. It was clear he thought her beautiful only when she was moving very slowly, or when she was still. He would gaze at her as if she were a flower, with no more mobility than a flower possesses. Not so Magdalena. She was all over the place, sticking her nose everywhere. All the elders loved her, because she was still wild. They would tell her stories for as long as she could sit still, and she would run errands for them.
The mad dog is considered wise because it has lost its mind, I said. Which is one of the most difficult things in the world to do. Our people take herbs once a year to lose their minds all together, at once. Instead of thoughts, we have visions, and that is how we guide ourselves.
But why would you want to lose your mind? she asked bluntly, frowning. That sounds stupid to me.
No, no, I said. In the world that you come from, people put too much emphasis on the mind. You could even say they have become mind only.
What do you know about the world I come from? she asked.
I will tell you about that later, I said, but right now I want to tell you about why the mad dog is wise.
Oh, okay, she said, putting her hand on her hip and looking up at me.
She was so pretty! Magdalena. Even when we were still only children I wanted to kiss her. Her lips were full and round; in the summer she became very brown, almost black. Her cheeks were like chocolate. I wanted to lick them. Her spirit was bold; whatever she felt never left her eyes.
Mad dogs bite people, she said now.
That is not the part we like, I said. Nor the drooling or frothing at the mouth, nor the fear of drinking water, either. It is only the losing-of-the-mind part.
Aha, she said.
It is a way of saying you must not live too much in your head. It is a way of reminding you to stay in your emotions, no matter how nutty they are; it is a way of saying, also, that craziness has value.
But wisdom? she said. I donât know if I see that.
The elders say you do not see wisdom to recognize it until you are old.
Well, she said, laughing, nobody could ever get as old as them.
Somehow the elders heard of this retort. They found it amusing. And that is when she began to be called Mad Dog. Which her father insisted must be MacDoc. And then even this nickname embarrassed him. He did not understand that Magdalena was what we called a Changing Woman, a natural one,
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