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Echo Tree By Henry Dumas

The Echo Tree

Two boys on a hill. Evening.    "Right there! Thats the place!"    "How can you tell?"    "Shhhh. Be careful. Don't step where the roots is, not yet . . . I know, cause we always come here together."     "These hills all look the same. How can you tell from last year?"     "You gonna get in trouble talkin' like that. Don't you know that spirits talk, 'n they take you places?"     "I don't believe about . . ."     "Careful what you say. Better to say nothin than talk too loud."     "Did you and Leo always come this far?"     "Thats right. Me 'n him."     The wind fans up a shape in the dust: around and around and over the hill. Out of the cavity of an uprooted tree, it blows up fingers that ride the wind off the hill down the valley and up toward the sun, a red tongue rolling down a blue-black throat. And the ear of the mountains listens. . . .      "Did Leo used to want to come up to New York?"      "He ain't thinkin bout you whilst you way up yonder."      "How come you say that? Whats wrong with up there?"        "Leo's grandpa, your'n too, well he say up in the city messes you up."      "Aw, he's old."      "Makes no difference. He know. Thats how come Leo know too."      "Leo is dead."      "So, I bet he never teach YOU about this here echo tree."      "He was my brother."      "Makes no difference. He my friend more'n your brother."      "What're you talking about?"      ". . .'n he taught me how to call. . ."      "What you bring me up here for?"      ". . . how to use callin words for spirit talk . . ."      "What?"      ". . . Swish-ka abas wish-ka. Saa saa aba saa saa."      "What's that?"      "Be quiet. I'm gettin ready . . ."     The wind comes. Goes. Comes again. Across the sky, clouds gather in a ritual of color, where the blue-black, like muscles, seems to minister to the sides of the sun.      "Leo never talked that stuff."      "And he's dead now anyway, laughing at us."      "He did talk. He ain't all dead either. You get in trouble talkin' like that."      "Why so?"      "Peep over there. See them little biddy trees? Well, if you want to know somethin then I tell you. One of them is another echo tree."      "Another?"      "Right there is where the first one died. And we dug it up and built a fire, and the smoke sailed out, see? Just like the dust."      "How can a tree grow all the way up here to us?"      "Cause its the echo tree! Don't you know nothin?"      "If you don't believe in the echo tree and believe what it hears from the spirits and tells you in your ear, then you're in trouble."      "What trouble?"      "Real trouble! If you curse the echo tree, you turns into a bino."      "A what?"      "Can't say that word but oncet. You better start listenin' ".      "To what?"      "Quick! Let me look at you!" (He runs and examines the other boy's face) "Aw it's too late, too late. You's already beginnin' to turn…"      "What?"      "Hurry, hurry, boy, and stand in the echo place. Where the tree is… Hurry Up! You're turnin' white…!      "I…what?"      "Shhhhhhhh. Hold still. You be safe for a while there. Now I gotta tell you how to get outa trouble."      "Nothin's worse than a bino, nothin. A bino is anything or anybody that curse the echo tree and whichever spirit is restin' there."      "I didn't curse."      "You got to be careful, I'm warnin' you."      "But I didn't curse."      "You cursin' right now . . . If you don't believe in the echo, if you don't believe what it say, n' if you laughs, if you pee, or spits on the tree, it's all the same as cursin'. Then you's finished."      "How come?"      "Shhhhhhhh . . . cause the spirit leave out your body, you punes, you rolls on the ground, you turns stone white all over, your eyes, your hair. Even your blood, n' it come out your skin, white like water."      "But I…"      "Bino! Then you's a bino."      "Albino?"      "Naw. That's different. If you let yourself to taint all the way till you's a bino, then you don't eat, you don't sleep, you can't feel nothin', you can't talk or nothin'. You be like a dead dog with a belly full o' maggots, and you thinks you livin'. . ."      "I didn't really curse."      "Makes no difference."      "I. . ."      "Shhhhhhhh. See the sun yonder?"      "Umh humh."      "Well, he's gatherin' in all the words talked in the daylight. Next, them catcher clouds churns 'em up into echoes. When the time is right, the echo tree will talk. Be still, cause when the butt end of the sun sit down on them mountains, then. . . be still! Then we can talk to leo in the. . ."      "Leo is dead."      "Hush, man! Can't you see it's almost time? Iffen I'se you, I ain't want to be no bino." Shadows begin to fade into a tinted haze. Red Oklahoma clay darkens. Green stretches of Arkansas pine finger their way into the land. White blotches of clouds edge into open sky, fading into oblivion. Orange filaments stream from the sun. And blue red blue, green blue, white blue, all ink the sky. Shadows become fingers of wind in the night. Shadows take on shapes. They come to breathe. And the blue-blue prevails across the heavens, and the weight of the mood is as black as night…. “.  .  .  Swish-ka aba swish-ka. Quick! Say the opening words!” “Er  .  .  . swish  .  .  .” “Stop! Saa saa aba saa saa!” “What’re we saying?” “Be still. I had to seal them off. You started too slow n’ you cursed.” Silence. ”Shhhhhhhh. Now I have to make the call. Watch the sun yonder.” (He stands behind the other boy and dances a strange dance. He stops, but continues with his arms, and jerks his body toward the valley and the sky.) “Laeeeeeeeooooooo!” The sound pierces the wind. It rides down into the valley, rolls up Laelaelaeeeooo! toward the sun. It resounds like notes of thunder made by children instead of gods. It comes back LaeLae-eee-ooo! “What is . . .?” “Shhhhhh. He’s still talkin’.“ There is silence . . . the silence of an empty lung about to breathe in. Again the sounds vibrate and answer from the boy’s throat. Again they travel and return as though wet, as though spoken. . . . “I’m going” “Shhhhhhhh.” Echoes come. Again and again and again. “Is it talking to me too?” “You’re the tree. Be still and listen.” “I feel funny. I better go.” “Saa saa lae-ya saa saa.” (And the echo trails off. . . .) “Do you think you really talked to somebody?” “Hush. We got to be quiet from now on till we gets home.” “Huh? Did you?” Silence. “Aw, you didn’t talk to nobody but yourself!” “I warned you oncet. Iffen you curse again, not even me and Leo put together, n’ your grandpa too, can save you from taintin’.” “What am I doing?” “Talkin’ too loud like you don’t believe in nothin’.” “I’m not doing anything.” “Don’t move! You standin’ in the echo tree taintin’ it. Spirits be after you for good. Iffen you move now your soul leave your body.” “I don’t believe you.” Silence. “Then iffen, after I tells you what Leo said about you, and you still don’t believe, you’ll be a bino fore we gets down the hill.” (He points to the sun. He does a dance. He sings the magic words.) “Step out of the tree!” (The other boy runs out of the cavity.) “Now you’s safe for a while. I had to open for you to come out, and them seal ‘em back before they reached out after you.” “I hear something.” Silence. “Talkin’ spirit-talk, you gotta open everything and seal it too.” “What’s that?” “That’s them spirits in the echo tree down there, n’ Leo is there with them.” “What is he saying?” “He say you his brother, but iffen you don’t get that hard city water out your gut, you liable to taint yourself.” “Taint?” “Taintin’ is when you just feels tired, you don’t want to do nothin, you can’t laugh, and your breathin gets slow. You’s on the way to bein a bino.” “Were you really talking?” “With the spirits and Leo.” “Shucks, that kind of talk sounds like those tongue-speaking people who get on their knees in the dark in that sanctified church at home, a block around the corner.” “That’s right.” “Leo teach you that stuff?” “You just gotta know how to talk to the spirits. They teach you everything.” “How does it go again?” “Can’t tell you now whilst you laughin.” “I’m not laughing.” “Makes no difference. You is inside.” “Leo was my brother.” “You never stayed down here with us. You always lived up there.” “I don’t care about it anyway . . . Swisher Baba!” “Now! Oh now! Now you IS in trouble.” “Shucks.” “You is marked for cursin whilst standin right in the echo tree. All of them heard you. Leo too. Ain’t nothin you can do except . . . Ohhhh, boy, you is dead. You’re worse than a bino now. Deep deep trouble.” “Nothing is happening to me.” “Just wait a few minutes.” Silence. “Are you going to tell me about this echo tree?” Silence. “You won’t tell me much. If I’m really in trouble . . .” “I been splainin’ it all to you, but you got so much city taint in your blood, you be a bino fore you go back.” “I’m not scared.” “Oh no?” “No.” “You’d better be.” The wind, the wind. All of a sudden it sweeps across the top of the hill like an invisible hand swirling off into the darkening sky. Whispers echo from the valley throat, and all motion becomes sound, words, forces. “I hear something.” “Shhhhhhhh. Spirits done broke through. They comin.” “Where?” “Here.” “I . . . don’t” “Swish-ka aba swish-ka. Let the seals bust open!” A moanful resonance, a bluish sound, a wail off the lips of a wet night, sweeps over them . . . Shhwssssssss! “I’m not cursing anymore. What is that?” Shhhwsssss! The small valley seems to heave, and the sounds come from the earth and the red tip of it’s tongue. And then a harmonic churning swells up and up! and as the ink-clouds press in on the sun, a motion in the sky, a flash of lightning, a sudden shift of the cloud, churns up, and a speck of sunlight spits out to the Shhwssss! of the spirited air, and the ears of the boys hear and the sounds are voices—remade, impregnated—screaming out to the world. . . .

Wide-mouthed, one boy cannot speak now. He stands near the spot of the tree. He seems ready to run. “Iffen you run, a spirit’ll trip you up. Then you falls down and down, like you do when you dreams, and you never hit bottom till you is a bino, a foreverbino.” “Where is my brother? Leee!” “Spirit got you now.” “Leeeeee!” “Swish-ka aba, take the tainter, “Swish-ka aba, count to three, “Swish-ka aba, take the hainter, “Saash-ka Lae, don’t take me.” “Stop! Don’t say it! I’m not cursing anymore!” Silence. “Please . . .” “One . . .” “Please . . .” “Two . . .” “I want to hear it too, please.” “Then seal ‘em out. Seal ‘em out!” “I . . . er.” “Two ’n half.” “Saaaa . . .” “Saa saa aba saa saa.” “Saa saa aba saa saa.” Two shapes on a hill. The sun has fallen down. Two forms running the slope. And in the wind it is whispered to the ear of the hearer . . . The sun will rise tomorrow.

[mayac6]

Echo Tree By Henry Dumas Part 1

The Echo Tree

Two boys on a hill. Evening.    "Right there! Thats the place!"    "How can you tell?"    "Shhhh. Be careful. Don't step where the roots is, not yet . . . I know, cause we always come here together."     "These hills all look the same. How can you tell from last year?"     "You gonna get in trouble talkin' like that. Don't you know that spirits talk, 'n they take you places?"     "I don't believe about . . ."     "Careful what you say. Better to say nothin than talk too loud."     "Did you and Leo always come this far?"     "Thats right. Me 'n him."     The wind fans up a shape in the dust: around and around and over the hill. Out of the cavity of an uprooted tree, it blows up fingers that ride the wind off the hill down the valley and up toward the sun, a red tongue rolling down a blue-black throat. And the ear of the mountains listens. . . .      "Did Leo used to want to come up to New York?"      "He ain't thinkin bout you whilst you way up yonder."      "How come you say that? Whats wrong with up there?"        "Leo's grandpa, your'n too, well he say up in the city messes you up."      "Aw, he's old."      "Makes no difference. He know. Thats how come Leo know too."      "Leo is dead."      "So, I bet he never teach YOU about this here echo tree."      "He was my brother."      "Makes no difference. He my friend more'n your brother."      "What're you talking about?"      ". . .'n he taught me how to call. . ."      "What you bring me up here for?"      ". . . how to use callin words for spirit talk . . ."      "What?"      ". . . Swish-ka abas wish-ka. Saa saa aba saa saa."      "What's that?"      "Be quiet. I'm gettin ready . . ."     The wind comes. Goes. Comes again. Across the sky, clouds gather in a ritual of color, where the blue-black, like muscles, seems to minister to the sides of the sun.      "Leo never talked that stuff."      "And he's dead now anyway, laughing at us."      "He did talk. He ain't all dead either. You get in trouble talkin' like that."      "Why so?"      "Peep over there. See them little biddy trees? Well, if you want to know somethin then I tell you. One of them is another echo tree."      "Another?"      "Right there is where the first one died. And we dug it up and built a fire, and the smoke sailed out, see? Just like the dust."      "How can a tree grow all the way up here to us?"      "Cause its the echo tree! Don't you know nothin?"      "If you don't believe in the echo tree and believe what it hears from the spirits and tells you in your ear, then you're in trouble."      "What trouble?"      "Real trouble! If you curse the echo tree, you turns into a bino."      "A what?"      "Can't say that word but oncet. You better start listenin' ".      "To what?"      "Quick! Let me look at you!" (He runs and examines the other boy's face) "Aw it's too late, too late. You's already beginnin' to turn…"      "What?"      "Hurry, hurry, boy, and stand in the echo place. Where the tree is… Hurry Up! You're turnin' white…!      "I…what?"      "Shhhhhhhh. Hold still. You be safe for a while there. Now I gotta tell you how to get outa trouble."      "Nothin's worse than a bino, nothin. A bino is anything or anybody that curse the echo tree and whichever spirit is restin' there."      "I didn't curse."      "You got to be careful, I'm warnin' you."      "But I didn't curse."      "You cursin' right now . . . If you don't believe in the echo, if you don't believe what it say, n' if you laughs, if you pee, or spits on the tree, it's all the same as cursin'. Then you's finished."      "How come?"      "Shhhhhhhh . . . cause the spirit leave out your body, you punes, you rolls on the ground, you turns stone white all over, your eyes, your hair. Even your blood, n' it come out your skin, white like water."      "But I…"      "Bino! Then you's a bino."      "Albino?"      "Naw. That's different. If you let yourself to taint all the way till you's a bino, then you don't eat, you don't sleep, you can't feel nothin', you can't talk or nothin'. You be like a dead dog with a belly full o' maggots, and you thinks you livin'. . ."      "I didn't really curse."      "Makes no difference."      "I. . ."      "Shhhhhhhh. See the sun yonder?"      "Umh humh."      "Well, he's gatherin' in all the words talked in the daylight. Next, them catcher clouds churns 'em up into echoes. When the time is right, the echo tree will talk. Be still, cause when the butt end of the sun sit down on them mountains, then. . . be still! Then we can talk to leo in the. . ."      "Leo is dead."      "Hush, man! Can't you see it's almost time? Iffen I'se you, I ain't want to be no bino." Shadows begin to fade into a tinted haze. Red Oklahoma clay darkens. Green stretches of Arkansas pine finger their way into the land. White blotches of clouds edge into open sky, fading into oblivion. Orange filaments stream from the sun. And blue red blue, green blue, white blue, all ink the sky. Shadows become fingers of wind in the night. Shadows take on shapes. They come to breathe. And the blue-blue prevails across the heavens, and the weight of the mood is as black as night…. “.  .  .  Swish-ka aba swish-ka. Quick! Say the opening words!” “Er  .  .  . swish  .  .  .” “Stop! Saa saa aba saa saa!” “What’re we saying?” “Be still. I had to seal them off. You started too slow n’ you cursed.” Silence. ”Shhhhhhhh. Now I have to make the call. Watch the sun yonder.” (He stands behind the other boy and dances a strange dance. He stops, but continues with his arms, and jerks his body toward the valley and the sky.) “Laeeeeeeeooooooo!” The sound pierces the wind. It rides down into the valley, rolls up Laelaelaeeeooo! toward the sun. It resounds like notes of thunder made by children instead of gods. It comes back LaeLae-eee-ooo! “What is . . .?” “Shhhhhh. He’s still talkin’.“ There is silence . . . the silence of an empty lung about to breathe in. Again the sounds vibrate and answer from the boy’s throat. Again they travel and return as though wet, as though spoken. . . . “I’m going” “Shhhhhhhh.” Echoes come. Again and again and again. “Is it talking to me too?” “You’re the tree. Be still and listen.” “I feel funny. I better go.” “Saa saa lae-ya saa saa.” (And the echo trails off. . . .) “Do you think you really talked to somebody?” “Hush. We got to be quiet from now on till we gets home.” “Huh? Did you?” Silence. “Aw, you didn’t talk to nobody but yourself!” “I warned you oncet. Iffen you curse again, not even me and Leo put together, n’ your grandpa too, can save you from taintin’.” “What am I doing?” “Talkin’ too loud like you don’t believe in nothin’.” “I’m not doing anything.” “Don’t move! You standin’ in the echo tree taintin’ it. Spirits be after you for good. Iffen you move now your soul leave your body.”

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[mayac6]

Remembering good times in Cholula, Mexico.