English 12
J. Turner
Readings for Thursday, October 27, 2011
from Edges, BY LENA ROY
Getting the rest of the way back down the rocks had not been fun, he and Bruno taking turns carrying and cajoling Dominique. Fortunately, Hal had chilled out and made it down himself. Tangerine had been in high spirits and had taken Bruno's car keys and driven them back to the hostel. It was just after midnight when they returned. Luke had gone straight to the trailer after telling everyone good night.
Now he lay in bed, thinking. Dominique, Tangerine, Georgia. Sometimes mind-wandering could be a good thing, sometimes not. He shook his head; he didn't want to think about Georgia. Was he still stoned? He stared at the painting for a minute, and then it came to him-the kachina doll.
When he lived in New York, the kachina doll had sat at the foot of his bed. As he got older, he sometimes thought that this was silly, but he and Georgia had always laughed together about it, so he kept it there. Maybe it was having his own place that made him want to have his doll at the foot of his bed. Where was it? He remembered stuffing it in his backpack when he left New York, but he had never unpacked it. He got up and found his backpack by the door. The kachina was at the bottom of the front pocket, and he sat back down on the bed and looked at it, remembering.
It must have been the summer he was six. It was the second time that he and his parents had vacationed in Moab. They had spent the day exploring the Navajo reservation in Monument Valley. Afterward, they'd checked out the smattering of tourist shops. Inone of the shops, they had been fascinated by a life-size kachina with a bear's face. "A true work of art," Georgia had whispered, looking at the price tag. "Worth more than four thousand dollars, I'd say."
The shopkeeper had nodded. "This kachina was carved by an artisan in our neighboring Hopi tribe. Do you know about kachinas? Kachinas are the Hopi religious icons, teaching symbols. The Hopi carve kachinas to represent every aspect of their mythology, be it animal, vegetable, mineral ... ancestral. I will show you some smaller, more affordable imitations." He had brought them over to a bookshelf filled with hundreds of small dolls. Luke had been entranced, listening to the shopkeeper's lesson on kachinas.
"During religious ceremonies, people wear masks and, through dancing and music, become one with their kachina, celebrating life and praying for a good harvest. These dolls embody the spirits of those dancers."
Luke had picked a doll with a bear's head and a body carved out of a soft wood, wearing a red leather skirt. The shopkeeper had told them that the bear kachina is the healer. "She is one of the strongest, for she can heal the sick."
Georgia had bought it for him, and together they had named her Ursula. "It means 'little bear' in Latin," Georgia had explained. The kachina doll was a part of Georgia, just as the painting was, and he wanted part of her with him. He realized that he wanted to be thinking about her. It was okay.
Memories of Georgia made him want to go up to Angel Rock and lie on the rocks and count the stars, to be even more alone than he felt in his trailer. Angel Rock had been her favorite, and he appreciated that it was probably because it was a hike Luke could manage as a small child. If you walked past Angel Rock, you would find Hidden Valley, and then Behind the Rocks.
He could walk from the Moonflower to Angel Rock in twenty minutes.
His fingers smoothed over the rugged construction of the doll: the red leather covering some of the wood, brown fur on the back of the head, and the strange face, meticulously carved. The turquoise eyes were loose and probably needed to be glued back on. He remembered the hope and encouragement that Ursula had always given him, there on the foot of his bed. But that was long ago, and he didn't want to let himself get too sentimental. Still, he put her in her place, opened the door to his trailer, and began walking toward Angel Rock.
This part of the Moab Rim was a bit lower than on Kane Creek Road, so climbing the tiers of rock seemed effortless compared with earlier that night. He hiked higher and higher until he saw the mesa and the rock formation he had been looking for. And smoke. Smoke?
Was there a fire? There was smoke billowing over Angel Rock. Instead ofwalking straight to the top, he veered to the side to better assess the situation.
Luke saw a large figure cloaked head to toe in brown fur. Luke was sweating in just a T-shirt. What was going on? His mind flashed to Hal's Bigfoot. He watched the back of the figure-was it a man? A woman? A woman couldn't be that big. Probably a man. He snuck a little closer. It was tourist season; it was bound to be some hippiedippie tourist, thinking that this mesa was a center of spiritual energy and praying to whatever gods might be listening.
Luke started to get agitated just thinking about that. He decided to go another way. He snuck one last look-but there was no fire, no fur-man. Nothing. That was impossible. Luke had been watching the figure for nearly two minutes.
He jumped over the rock and strode across the mesa to the spot where the fire had been. But there was no small circle of rocks, no ashes, no burn marks, just pure, unadulterated red sandstone. Bigfoot traveling through dimensions? That was ridiculous. He was losing his mind. Or was it the pot?
Luke sat on his knees, feeling the earth for a sign, anxiety rising in his throat. The flat surface was cool beneath him. Then he swung his legs out in front of him and collapsed back, stretching his arms overhead. Looking up, he saw a shooting star. He tried to concentrate on the stars and empty his thoughts. But it wasn't working; he was positive that there had been somebody right here, right where he was lying. He closed his eyes and must have dozed, then woke with a start when he felt someone stroking his hair. He looked up into a pair of brown eyes, and for a moment he saw Georgia. But as his eyes focused, he saw that he was looking into the eyes of someone else. Who was it? What was it? A bear. A big brown bear. Instead of being afraid, he almost smiled.
You see, Hal? There's no Bigfoot, no bogeyman . .. it's just a sweet bear ... His eyes closed again, and he fell back asleep.
"Luke! Where are you?" His mother was calling him. Luke was giggling, hiding behind a giant red stone. They had been hiking the Slickrock Trail at the Sand Flats Recreation Area, where there weren't many boulders like this. He loved this game.
"Luke!" Maybe he should give his mother a hint. She sounded like she might give up, and he wanted her to play.
"You'll never find me!" He wanted to climb up the boulder. Luckily, there were lots of little rocks around it that he could use to help him· shimmy up this one. He found that his hands could grip easily.
"Mommy!" he yelled at the top. Georgia was sitting with Frank, looking in the opposite direction. She turned around and waved at him, beaming.
Frank got up and walked toward him, arms outstretched. "Free fall, Luke!" Luke felt exhilarated. Hiding, climbing, falling. He took a deep breath and catapulted himself into Frank's arms.
They hiked back to their campsite, Luke riding on Frank's shoulders. He had never slept in a tent, and he was overflowing with excitement. After dinner, they snuggled in their sleeping bags, and Luke said, "Tell me again ..." Luke loved hearing the story of how Frank and Georgia met.
"We met right here, pumpkin, in Moab," Georgia started. "On the Slickrock Trail, where we were today. I was on my mountain bike when I saw this man on the ground. The earth here is perfect for mountain biking-"
"If you know what you're doing!" Frank continued, looking at Georgia. "I had no clue. One minute I'm up and having fun, then I hit the path in the wrong way and boom! I'm down. But who knows what would have happened if I hadn't fallen?"
"His friend had just left him in the dust! So I stopped. And once we realized that we both lived in New York, on the Upper West Side, well, we were inseparable."
"Our meeting was kismet," Frank said. "
Kismet," Georgia agreed.
How Luke missed Frank! But Frank might as well have died with Georgia.
Luke opened his eyes, and he was alone.
What had just happened? He crawled back down to steady earth and reality, made his way to his trailer, and fell into his soft bed and a deep, normal sleep.
Analysis By Sherona
The excerpt is chosen from Edges by Léna Roy.The novel is about a teenager named Luke, who just lost his mother, Georgia, running away from his alcoholic father in New York and coming to Moab, Utah, which is a memorable place for his family. The excerpt reveals the complicated inner world of the lonely protagonist. It is manifest that the loss of his mother has caused a severe negative impact to both Luke and his family. Although everything seems to be working well in the daytime, he is alone in his bed at night. The memories start to flood in his mind and “make him want to go up to Angel Rock and lie on the rocks and count the stars, to be even more alone than he felt in his trailer”(Page 24).In addition, at Angel Rock, he dreams about the happy time he had with his parents when he was a child. Ironically, Luke realizes that he actually misses his father whom he just runs away from. This implies that where Luke is does not affect the strong bond between Luke and his home in New York; it is unbreakable. Moreover, the sudden emptiness he feels when he wakes up also contributes to this idea.
The novel is written in first person point of view, which enables readers toobserve the protagonist’s thoughts, feelings, dreams and memories. The author used vivid imagery to create pictures in readers’ minds. For example, the author describes the kachina doll as” the red leather covering some of the wood, brown fur on the back of the head, and the strange face, meticulously carved”(Page 24). On the other hand, as mentioned in the excerpt, “the kachina doll was a part of Georgia… and he wanted part of her with him” (Page 23-24), the kachina doll is more than just a doll. It’s more like a symbol in the novel. The author uses symbolism in the novel to demonstrate Luke’s strong relationship with his home. Furthermore, one of the main components of the novel is memory from Luke’s childhood. The comparison between his memories and realityhighlights his loneliness and emptiness such that when“[he] opens his eyes, and he was alone”
From Secret Daughter
BY SHILPI SOMAYA GOWDA
Once Before
Mumbai, India—2005
Asha
Asha feels her heartrate quicken as the train rumbles into Churchgate Station. The approaching train stirs about the dusty air and releases the persistent stench of urine from the steaming ground. The odor is overwhelming, but she can think only about where this train will take her. She moves forward on the platform, a wad ofrupees safely tucked in her money belt. Her backpack, unused since the flight over here, now contains her notebook, city maps, and first-class train tickets-the only safe way for an unaccompanied young woman to travel in India, Dadima insisted.
Before he left, her father gave her the only details he could remember, the name of the adoption agency and the representative who helped them. When Asha called the agency, they directed her to the orphanage. Dadima gave her the address of the orphanage and the name of its director, Arun Deshpande. She wrote it in Asha's spiral-bound notebook, in English, Hindi, and Marathi, just in case. Dadima offered to come with her, but Asha wanted to do this alone. She settles into her seat on the train, pulls the silver bangle out of her pocket, and holds it for the duration of the ride. When she gets off the train, she makes her way to the front of the rickshaw line, where she shows the driver her notebook with the address of the orphanage. He nods, spits betelnut juice on the pavement, and pedals off on impossibly thin, sinewy legs.
The orphanage looks different from what Asha expects, a sprawling two-story building with outdoor areas where children play. She pauses at the plaque inscribed in English outside:
SHANTI HOME FOR CHILDREN
EST. 1980
KIND THANKS TO THAKKAR FAMILY
FOR GENEROSITY IN PROVIDING OUR NEW HOME
Thakkar? As she's learned since arriving here, there are thousands of Thakkars in Mumbai. It's a nice change to not have to spell it for everyone. She rings the bell at the front gate, and an old woman with a puckered mouth shuffles out. "I'm here to speak with Arun Deshpande." Asha speaks slowly, assuming the old woman doesn't understand English. Upon hearing the name, she opens the door and points to a small office at the end ofthe hallway. Asha puts her palms together to thank the old woman and steps tentatively into the building. She was so confident on the way over here, but now her legs feel weak, and her heart is raCing. The door to the office is open, but she knocks nevertheless. A man with pepper-and-salt hair and bifocals perched on his nose speaks loudly on the phone in a language that doesn't sound familiar. He motions for her to come in and sit down. She clears a pile of papers from the one chair in the office. She sees a nameplate on the desk that says ARUN DESHPANDE, and her palms begin to sweat. She takes out her notebook and pencil while she waits.
He puts down the phone and gives her a harried smile. "Hello, I am Arun Deshpande, director of Shanti. Come in, please," he says, though she is already seated.
"Thank you. My name is Asha Thakkar. I am visiting here from the United States. I ... was actually adopted from here, out of this orphanage. About twenty years ago." She puts the end of the pencil in her mouth as she waits for his reaction.
Deshpande pushes himself back from the desk. "Thakkar? As in Sarla Thakkar? She is your relation?"
"Sarla ... uh, yes, she's my grandmother. My father's mother. Why do you ask?"
"We are very grateful to your grandmother. She made the donation for this bUilding, must be, almost twenty years ago. She wanted to make sure we had enough classrooms upstairs for all the children. Every day, they continue their studies here after school. Music, language, art."
"Oh, I ... didn't know that." Asha chews the end of her pencil.
"I haven't seen her in many years. Please give her my very best regards."
"Yes, I will." Asha takes a deep breath. "Mr. Deshpande, the reason I'm here is I'm hoping you can help me. I'm ... trying to find my birth parents, the ones who brought me here, to the orphanage." When he doesn't respond, she continues, "I also wanted to say I am thankful for all that you did for me here. I have a good life in America, I love my parents"-she pauses, searching for the words to convince him-"and I don't want to create any trouble. It's just that I really want ... I have always really wanted to find my birth parents."
Mr. Deshpande takes off his glasses and begins rubbing them with the tail of his shirt. "My dear, we have hundreds of children coming through here every year. Just last month we had over a dozen new babies left on our doorstep. The fortunate ones are adopted; the others stay here until they finish their schooling, sixteen at most. We can't keep records on every child. For most, we don't even know their true ages, and back then, well ..." He sighs heavily and tilts his head to look at her. "I suppose I could check. Very well. Thakkar. Asha, you said?" He turns to the relic of a computer on his desk. After a few minutes of fumbling with the keyboard and squinting at the screen, he turns back to her. "I'm sorry, I can't find that name. There's no record of you. Like I said, our record keeping . . ." He shrugs and puts his glasses back on.