A History lesson part 3

A joke –

I once saw a man standing on a bridge, ready to jump and I told that man, “Don’t kill yourself. Life has meaning.” He said, “ My life doesn’t.”

I asked him, “Haven’t you found religion?” He said he had and I said, “Me too. Are you a Christian or are you a follower of Iseda?”

He said he followed Iseda and I said, “Me too. Are you African Traditional Iseda or Modern Western Iseda?”

He said he was Modern Western and I said, “Me too. Are you Modern Western Caribbean Islands Iseda or Modern Western American Continental Iseda?”

He said he was Modern Western American Continental Iseda and I said, “Me too. Are you Modern Western American Continental Iseda US or Modern Western American Continental Iseda Latin America?”

He said he was Modern Western American Continental Iseda US and I said “Me too. Reformer or Iconoclast?”

He said he was Iconoclast, so I pushed him off the bridge and said, “Die, heretic scum!”

Winghaven, 1867

The men hid their faces behind masks made from potato sacks or bed sheets. The people inside the temple saw the torches coming from down the dark road and they could hear the stamping of hooves. They knew there was no chance to flee so the priest and priestess ordered everyone to hide. When the men arrived, they hopped down from their horses, shouting threats and accusations. When no one responded, a rifle blast threw the door open and they rushed inside, finding no trace of their targets. It didn’t stop them from burning the temple to the ground, however.

The torches rose toward the night sky and fell at the outside base of the small wood structure. Inside, oil lamps were dumped onto the floor boards and the men quickly exited. The smoke would linger until dawn. At first, there were no screams. There was a secret basement under the floor and unfortunately, the people inside felt safe. Many died from smoke inhalation and they were the lucky ones. None of them died from the flames, however. The fire didn’t reach their bodies until after the top floor collapsed.

The first temple in Winghaven (and likely the US) had been burnt to the ground years after the American Civil War. The temple had only been up for a year with very quiet worship services and a congregation that were mostly in favor of Queen Obeah’s teachings, including her initial reluctance to use magic. Mystic practices had largely been lost to time, and considering they wanted to keep a low profile, spells and mystic rituals were frowned upon, if not, outright forbidden in America-based Iseda during this time. Their religion wasn’t a secret but the followers of Iseda knew better than to be too open about it and banning displays of mystic practices was in the hope of not appearing as a threat. It didn’t matter. The temple was burned all the same.

There were hauntings in the area and while ghost sightings were not uncommon before or since that time, the “black pagans” were accused of witchcraft and a posse set fire to their place of worship with men, women, and children trapped inside (more than a century later, Ella Saraki would be inspired to construct a reinforced basement when overseeing the construction of a community center). News of the attack traveled fast despite the limitations of the time. It was a traumatic event that rocked the Iseda community and there were heated arguments as to how it should be processed. Old debates sprang back up. Most followers of Iseda were split between those who wanted to live in secret away from the White Man’s world and those who wanted to fight against them. It was around this time that the words Iconoclast and Reformer were first being recorded as literate scholars, priests, and priestesses began putting their thoughts to writing. Existing temples began to splinter off. The schism began peacefully, if bitterly.

The Iconoclasts often celebrated Obeah’s life underground, away from man-made weapons and, like Obeah after arriving in America, there was a renewed interest in magic for self-defense. The Reformers initially valued Baracoa’s need to fight the system, reforming the religion into something more reactionary. Often, this meant involving themselves in illegal practices that would occasionally get members imprisoned or even executed. It was around this time that Reformer priests and priestesses began referring to themselves as “ma and pa” or “mama and papa” as they detested the authoritative titles of king and queen (much of that was due to ignorance of long-dead languages and their connotations). The Iconoclasts, meanwhile, peacefully hid themselves.

One Iconcoclast scholar wrote, “The Reformers want to live in the White Man’s cities and in the White Man’s houses. And for what? To wait for death?” A Reformer priest wrote, “The Iconoclasts are cowards who want to live among the trees. Nature never intended us to run from a fight.” Despite the theological disagreements, there seemed to be few physical confrontations between the sects until the 20th century.

****

Alysa and her father sat across from each other at dinner. Delroy could tell that his daughter was troubled by the way she silently poked at her spaghetti. “You think my book’s full of shit, huh?,” he asked finally.

“No,” she answered, “Maybe? I dunno. Like, I saw you did your research but from what I know…”

“No one lied to you, if that’s what you think. As someone who studies history, I can assure you, a lot of people are just ignorant.”

“Did… Mom know about this stuff?”

“Yeah, she helped me do some research.”

“It’s just that, she never talked to me about it,” Alysa grew quiet.

“I’m sure she would have eventually,” he assured her, “Maybe you just weren’t ready.”

She smiled a bit, “She kinda had the habit of keeping shit from me until I was ready to learn.”

“It’s what good teachers do sometimes.”

“I guess, but unfortunately she passed before I could get some of those lessons.”

He paused solemnly before asking, “What section are you on now?”

“I just finished the Civil War stuff.”

“That means the Prohibition Era’s next.”

“Is that when the big gang fight happened in Winghaven?”

“Sadly.”

Winghaven, 1927

Spider Jones styled himself as a big city gangster, wearing the most expensive suits and the shiniest shoes while never leaving his home without a switchblade. He ran a bootleg operation from Widow Springs all the way to St. Louis. His main base of operation was a speak-easy in Winghaven called The Duke, which was fronted by an ice cream parlor and while most locals were aware of it, a steady payment ensured the police didn’t interfere. For a small town criminal, it was an abnormally large operation. But then, things were never normal in Winghaven.

He was a follower of Iseda and belonged to the Reformer sect. There was no proper Reformer temple in Winghaven at that time, but he received instruction from Madame Islande, a former priestess from St. Vincent. She had been removed from her own temple for obscene practices and attempted to restart a temple in the town as there were many followers still there despite the original temple being burnt. Despite her spiritual keanings, she seemingly had no problem with Spider’s criminal career.

The Reformers weren’t initially aware that there was an Iconoclast temple in the area. An old house stood alone near a dirt road and supposedly, an old widow lived there that no one ever saw. In actuality, like The Duke’s ice cream parlor, it was just a front. There was a grotto underground where some Iconoclasts worshipped (almost a century later, some teenagers would be sacrificed there for a resurrection spell and the structure would be destroyed completely by Queen Faith). The priest called himself King Paul and he was a celebrated African American poet who had some works published in underground publications.

He openly spoke out against Spider and the Reformers causing trouble in Winghaven. He hated what they did to the community, particularly where it came to black youth. Spider, meanwhile, gradually became more aware of King Paul, not fully realizing he had his own temple and followers. This led to him dismissing Paul as a hermit, speaking to the wind. The confrontation in the town square became notorious in Winghaven history and was a turning point in the relationship between Reformers and Iconoclasts.

The initial reasoning behind the confrontation had conflicting reports. Some sources claimed scholars persuaded King Paul to stand up to Spider after a member of their congregation joined a gang. Other accounts claim that Paul was concerned about Spider’s influence over the youth and chose to confront him. What was known was that Paul ventured to The Duke a week before the infamous fight occurred.

A piano player happily played a tune in the smoke-filled basement. Women in flapper-wear hung on the shoulders of men in expensive suits. Spider Jones sat at the back of the bar with his seat against the wall so he had a good view of the speak-easy. He was tall and handsome with a neat haircut and trimmed mustache. Nearby, Madame Islande sat, shuffling a deck of cards. She was short and hunched over with long grey hair and dark glasses. Neither one of them drank while “on business” and the same was expected of their men, but they still made sure none of the clients had an empty glass. When Paul entered, he was flanked by two young men and their raggedy clothes were instantly noticed.

“What have we here?” Spider asked mockingly. As Paul approached, some of Spider’s men began to crowd him, but Spider waved them off. “Need a dime?” he snickered.

“You know who I am?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, a damn fool,” Spider happily placed a toothpick between his teeth, “The question is, pops, do you know who I am?”

“It’s why I’m here.”

“That so?”

“Yes, it is. I’m try’n to get our community on the right track and you keep dragg’n it down!”

Spider chuckled, “Relax, pops, and have a drink to calm yourself. On the house.”

“Piss on that!,” King Paul looked Spider in the eyes, “I don’t need your poison! Nobody does! I see you pranc’n about town with those spit-shined shoes and those flashy suits like them boys in New Orleans. Never made an honest living a day in your life. It’s foolish and it’s gonna stop, ya hear!”

Madame Islande cackled to herself and muttered in Creole, “This boy thinks he’s white.”

Paul turned to her and snapped back in Creole, “I know exactly who I am, witch!”

Spider removed the toothpick as he grew more annoyed, “You made your point, pops. If ya ain’t drink’n, go back to scribbl’n your little poems `fore I stop hav’n a good time.”

Paul faced him again, “You live in White Society. They want us kill’n each other and wast’n our money on liqour and fancy clothes. You and your boys peddle that shit to young blacks and it keeps ‘em down and stupid. You think you’re fight’n the White Man but you’re really only doing their bidd’n. They want bootleggers when it cones down to it. They may say it’s illegal but so long as the Black Man depends on hootch, they don’t care. Ya’ll an embarrassment, not just to our religion, but to black folk everywhere.”

Spider’s arrogant smile finally faded and he flicked the toothpick to the ground, “Mighty bold of ya to come down to my club and disrespect me. Especially in front of all my boys.”

Paul and his followers noted that they were once again surrounded by a group of large men in suits. Undaunted, Paul didn’t lower his eyes, “Ain’t scared a’ ya, Spider.”

“Maybe ya oughta be, old man.”

“We worship True Nature,” he told him, “We’ll never fear your guns or your knives. We’ll give you one week to clear outta here. Take your business and your boys and get the hell outta Winghaven.”

“Maybe I like it here” Spider’s smile returned but it now looked very different.

“One week.”

King Paul turned and left with his followers, once again getting the attention of the clients as they passed. Spider watched them go while rubbing his hands. Madame Islande sat silent for a moment, then returned to her cards before speaking in English, “They won’t back down.”

“Who you talk’n to, woman?” Spider straightened his jacket, “Think I’m afraid of them fools?”

“This isn’t about you.”

Spider rolled his eyes, “Is this about the police? They don’t give no nevermind about colored boys kill’n each other,” he tapped his chest, “Well, so long as the one who survives is the one who pays `im.”

“It’s not about the White Man, either.”

“Then stop talk’n in riddles and spill it.”

“The Reformers and the Iconoclasts have been at odds since your temple burnt down. Neither sect has agreed on the response even after all these years. It’s bad blood pooling over so many generations. A street fight can soon turn into a war.”

“There can’t be no war if we take out the general,” Spider leaned back in his seat.

King Paul returned to the grotto where more of his followers congregated. At the time, the grotto was lined with animal skulls and mud, lit by oil lamps hanging from the rafters. It would be several years before human skulls would be added as a means to strengthen their defenses at a time when the Iconoclasts were at their lowest.

“He probably won’t listen to reason,” Paul told his congregation, “We’ll have to fight. We’ve known this day was gonna come ever since those men burned down our temple and killed our people. Those Reformers just started act’n up, forming gangs and pretending they were fight’n against the White Man. Fact is, they don’t care who they hurt, white, black, or yellow.” He received some claps and words of encouragement. “We’ve strived to be better,” Paul bounced on the balls of his feet, “We worship True Nature. We defy the world outside! We make our own world and we’re safe!” His followers began to raise their hands in rapture while he continued, “And, more to the point, we protect our brothers and sisters! Anybody that threatens us, whether they be white or black, will be met with righteous fury! If the Reformers don’t leave, then we’ll make damn sure they never hurt another child again!” His followers began dancing and singing old songs that were nearly forgotten. The worship session carried outside and into the woods where it continued until dawn.

And as they sang and danced, a lone Iconoclast stood silent in the shadow of some branches. He was young and angry. He believed in King Paul but he still felt the need to make certain Spider Jones and his gang would meet their end. He placed a hand on the breast of his jacket, feeling the weight of the revolver.

Continued…