Read Celia's Song for Free Online Page A

laughs.
    THE SERPENT CRAWLS OUT of the sea and lolls in the crevice of two mountains. Both heads stare at the men below . They are different from the people they knew before. What is that big yellow thing that squats nearby? Why are there no trees but for a thin patch next to the men? Loyal has no interest in doing them harm, but Restless is excited. He surmises that these men have murdered the trees; this means they lack a conscience, and so they are full of the kind of spirit food Restless craves. Below is a spiritual banquet just waiting to be devoured. Restless readies himself for his first meal.
    â€œAntsy in the bush, se’manh?” Amos’s fork clatters against his blue enamel camp plate.
    â€œNo, I’m just not deaf. I hear voices in the wind.”
    Amos glares at Steve. Hate tangles his insides. The arrogance of this se’manh twists Amos into knots. Steve’s people spent a century and a half alienating him and his family from their knowledge, banning his people from using it. They took pains to lock the remnants of his culture in their museums, archives, and universities, and then barred him from entering. And this white man who has access to everything Amos has been denied flaunts it.
    Of course, Steve did not know his people had done this. It was orchestrated so that no one understood what was going on. It would have been beautiful, if the result were not so ugly.
    Restless curls about Amos’s feet. “Bastard, kill him,” Restless whispers to Amos and Amos swallows the words. They poison his guts. Restless smiles at Amos. The other head sighs, consumed by his sadness, he lies helpless; it is not his turn. Steve says nothing, just pulls his sandwich out of his lunchbox and eats. After he swallows the last bite of his sandwich, he heads for the sound.
    â€œDon’t get lost,” Amos chuckles. He’s trying hard to laugh away the shame he feels, to suppress the desire to kill Steve. The others join his laughter and this takes the edge off the burning rage inside Amos. After a short while, the foreman follows Steve into a clearing not far from camp; he sees the longhouse that has sunk into the ground. It is missing its roof, but the opening hole is still there, boarded up. Steve draws closer.
    â€œDon’t go any closer,” the foreman warns. Steve shrinks back and turns toward the foreman, who points at the boarding. “They must have died of sickness. Who knows how long the illness survives? Who knows how long the house stood roofless or how long bacteria live inside dead bodies?”
    They both retreat, but Steve stares at the house front as he backs away. Something is wrong with it and he is trying to figure out what it is. He gives up trying and he turns around, following the foreman back to camp.
    I scamper after them. Don’t even have to try to be quiet.
    â€œSo? What you find?” Amos asks, his mouth full of food. He is perched on an old stump. Steve stands downwind from Amos and wishes he had the nerve to tell Amos to wash once in a while. Amos has no manners, and lacks the decency to maintain any level of cleanliness. Steve resents him for it. His hair hasn’t seen a comb or brush for weeks, is uncut and tied into a dark, tangled mass that hangs down the middle of his back. A dirty red rag tied across his forehead and a single elastic is all the care and attention Amos gives it. It irritates Steve, and he fights to ignore his own irritation. The derision in Amos’s voice is ill-disguised, but Steve feigns apathy on hearing it. Amos is about to find out that Steve can toy with people too.
    â€œLonghouse.” He drops the word flatly and every man among them squirms and stops eating.
    â€œYou didn’t go in there, did you?” Joey asks. The rest of the men stare, waiting for the answer, hoping it is one they can live with. Amos taps his feet like he wants to run. Steve doesn’t answer right away.
    â€œNo,” he says