The Redmadafa Read online

  Caboose walked over to his locker and opened it. The small cubby hole, which bore into the wal , looked more like a storefront in the market than it did a place for books. Small trinkets and several of his favorite snacks cluttered the tiny space. He reached in, grabbed a mushy mart and took a bite. He made space for a

  book, took a couple out, and then slammed the door shut with-

  out locking it; there was no need, a fist-sized hole caved through the middle.

  Caboose walked down the hal way on his way to class and

  was struck in the shoulder by a large moogle. He looked back

  expecting an ‘excuse me’ or any gesture that would acknowledge

  his existence but the moogle never broke pace. Caboose was more

  of a people watcher than a people talker but that didn’t mean you could treat him as if he wasn’t there. He rounded the corner on

  his way to Herbs and Plants, and glimpsed Mack and Oka stand-

  ing by the stairs, which were in need of repair. The old weathered boards split in the middle and sunk low when stepped on.

  Mack looked at Oka, a young lad with a thick head of

  thatched red hair, and nodded his head toward Rammer, the new

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  kid from Junction Point. Oka stepped in front of him and slapped his books out of his hands. The books slid across the hal way and slammed against the wal . Oka wacked his head and moved it side

  to side trying to get a reaction, but Rammer wasn’t impressed.

  Rammer looked Oka over and sighed. He noticed Mack, the

  leader of the lixoar gang, which consisted of himself and four

  others, waiting for him to make a move—lixoars are meat-eating

  thunder beasts that stick to their own kind. He knew now was not the time or place to deal with them.

  Caboose walked over by the books.

  “Hey Caboose, you been drinking Thunder Juice again? You

  sure are walking funny,” said Mack.

  Caboose didn’t say anything. He reached down to pick up

  the books but Oka stepped on top of them and slid them down

  the hall.

  “Hey boys, I heard Caboose and Patches are going to the

  dance together,” laughed Mack, leaning against the wal .

  “Patches wouldn’t be caught with a dead beat like Caboo-

  boo. Her locking rocks aren’t that thick,” rattled Oka.

  Caboose couldn’t pass on that one. He turned around and

  wisecracked, “You’re real funny, Oka. You know, I was going to

  take her but she said she was already going with you.”

  Mack looked at the others standing by him, “Now that’s

  funny.”

  “Is th-th-th-that right,” stuttered Oka. “We’ll see how fa-fa-

  fa-funny you are at lunch. Meet me behind the wood shop and

  da-da-don’t be late.”

  Oka stuttered when nervous. His self-confidence couldn’t

  take the embarrassment of being challenged by Caboose.

  Rammer, a medium-sized unidor, strolled over and picked

  up his books. Everyone laughed at Oka and then headed for class.

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  Dr. Gary Warren Foshee

  The ram’s horn sounded marshaling everyone into class. Caboose

  toddled into the room with his head held low. He passed the

  teacher’s desk and sat down.

  Whispers resounded chair to chair.

  Heads turned aside.

  Caboose pulled out his writing pad and scribbled a draw-

  ing of a tree. His heart raced with the thought of fighting Oka at lunch.

  Why didn’t I just keep my big mouth shut? he thought.

  Caboose had a temper, that when triggered, would put him in

  awkward situations. And he didn’t like to fight. He was big and

  strong, although he had yet to truly discover his inner strength, and he was afraid if he hit someone he would hurt him.

  The windows in the classroom faced the tree line leading

  down to the banks of The Redmadafa. Class projects lined the

  wal s and herb experiments filled transparent jars along the

  windowsil . A cool gentle breeze blew across the room ruffling

  writing pads and pushing dust clouds along the floor—they

  slammed against the wall and crashed back down, brown-wash-

  ing the floor.

  “Hey,” echoed a whisper behind Caboose. “Are you real y

  going to fight Oka at lunch?” asked Zoan. Zoan had known

  Caboose since the sixth grade. He was real smart but not very

  athletic.

  “I’m not fighting anyone. Besides, without Mack and the oth-

  ers, Oka wouldn’t be as boastful as he is.”

  The teacher, a medium-sized herbivore with maroon strips

  on his body, glanced their way. He hesitated while Zoan slid back in his chair, and then continued his lecture on which plants were eatable and which ones have natural healing properties good for

  cuts, wounds, and digestion.

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  Zoan leaned forward again. “You better pay close attention to

  this. You’re gonna need it.”

  Caboose didn’t respond. He didn’t even want to think about

  it. He just wanted to be left alone. Caboose, for the most part, was quiet. He minded his own business and tried to get along with

  everyone. He helped others when he could and was an over-all

  nice guy. He loved doing things with his Papa and, to his little sister, he was the greatest.

  The horn sounded signaling lunch. Zoan jumped out of

  his seat, slapped Caboose on the back and sarcastical y gave an

  encouraging word; “Don’t worry Caboose. It only takes five days

  for a black eye to heal; I’m not sure though about a cracked rib.”

  Caboose rolled his eyes and proceeded outside wondering

  how he was going to avoid Mack and Oka. He paced around the

  schoolyard, too nervous to eat his lunch. He stayed as far away as he could from the wood shack. He saw several people gathered

  around the back of it so he stayed by the water hole.

  After several minutes of waiting, Mack, Oka, and the rest of

  the gang funneled out from behind the wood shack and searched

  the grounds. They circled several of the trees towering over the schoolyard before Mack spotted him by the water hole—the others quickly closed in.

  “I knew you weren’t much of a unidor Caboose, but I didn’t

  realize you were a squealer too,” said Oka. “You know what. I bet you’re not even full-blooded. I bet you were adopted and your

  real Papa was a lopsided bush squealer.”

  Everyone laughed. Bush squealers were unclean brutes

  unable to speak.

  “Don’t you have better things to do than make fun of people?”

  “Make fun of people,” gestured Oka. “I don’t make fun of

  people. I just make fun of you Ca-boo-boo.”

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  Dr. Gary Warren Foshee

  “You wouldn’t be so eager to fight if Mack wasn’t standing

  behind you.”

  Mack stepped out from behind him and laughed.

  Oka smiled, “Is that better.”

  Oka stepped forward.

  Their eyes locked.

  A crowd gathered around and waited. Mr. Sunka looked up

  from his desk and then proceeded outside.

  Rammer pushed his way through the crowd and watched

  from a distance.

  “You’re never gonna amount to anything. In a few years we’ll

  see you hobbling around begging at the gates.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” said Caboose balling his fists.

&
nbsp; Oka lunged forward pushing Caboose back. Caboose sur-

  prisingly remained calm but within his anger boiled.

  “Oh yeah. And what are you gonna do about it?”

  Oka jabbed with his left.

  Caboose caught it with his right, twisted it ‘round, and

  planted his elbow on the left side of his nose. Blood splattered through the air landing on those closest to the fight.

  Oka couldn’t see. Water from the impact glossed his eyes

  causing him to panic and swing aimlessly.

  Caboose dodged the shadow boxing and came in low

  gut-shoting him three times. Oka sank down into a half crouch,

  huffing in pain, just as Caboose finished him off with an upper

  cut knocking him into the crowd.

  Mack, not wanting his gang to look foolish, nodded.

  A lixoar ambushed Caboose from behind with a blow to

  the back of his head crashing him into a human girl holding her

  lunch, knocking her back into the crowd.

  His anger spiked.

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  He spun around wind-milling his knuckles up against the

  jaw of the lixoar. When he did, his tail knocked Mack off his feet, plunging him face first into the mud.

  The crowd gasped.

  Oka and the others froze.

  Furious and humiliated, Mack sprung from the mud and

  grabbed Caboose by the throat.

  Caboose drew back to swing but was bombarded by Oka and

  the rest of the gang. They hit and kicked him several times before Mr. Sunka emerged through the crowd and broke up the fight

  sending them all to the principal’s office.

  Rammer un-balled his fists and breathed a sigh of relief. He

  was inches from Oka just about to cave-in the back of his man-

  gled head.

  * * * * * * *

  “Hey Brook,” said Rachael, sliding on the lunch bench slamming

  her in the side. Rachael peeked over her shoulder at the few nibbles missing from her sandwich.

  “Hi, Rachael,” responded Brook, looking up with heavy eyes

  burrowed into a pale gaunt face fair as the moon. Choppy cher-

  ry-brown hair with curled split ends drooped past her ears; a

  small strand curved down over her eye and rested upon cracked

  lips entrenched with thin lines. Brook was sick but not in the

  usual way. She is bulimic. After she eats, she goes to the bathroom and throws up.

  Why?

  She thought she was fat and ugly. Over the past year, she’s lost 35 pounds and was losing strength. Her cheekbones protrude

  through her face and her body was slowly wasting away from

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  Dr. Gary Warren Foshee

  malnutrition. Brook’s father left the family several years ago and now her mom had to work two jobs just to keep food on the table.

  Brook was a daddy’s girl growing up. She painted his fin-

  gernails, brushed his hair, and entertained him with cinnamon

  tea parties. Every Saturday, he carried her on his shoulders to

  the market and bought her the most beautiful dol s with color-

  ful woven cotton dresses embroidered with white lace. She spent

  hours in her bedroom fixing their hair, rocking them to sleep,

  and pushing them around the house in a little red carriage telling them how pretty they were.

  Everything was different now that her parents were divorced.

  She use to love being around friends at school and always had

  sleep-overs. Not anymore. Now she stuck to herself and was con-

  soled by writing in her diary.

  “Are you going to temple tonight?”

  “Temple? Tonight? No, I…need to clean my room and…get

  caught up on homework.”

  “That’s too bad. We’re going to have a special youth service

  tonight at temple. Traeger the howler is going to be speaking.”

  How many times do I have to tell her ‘no’ before she stops

  bugging me about temple? thought Brook. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard

  of him,” she said, trying to be polite.

  “Brad is going to be there.” Brook liked Brad—she had had

  a crush on him since the 5th grade. “I will be by at six to pick you up,” zipped Rachael, polishing off her lunch in record time.

  “But, I already told you—”

  “It’s Friday. Nobody does homework on Friday. See you

  at six.”

  “But—”

  Rachael whizzed outside and out of site. Rachael was no

  ordinary girl. She had been created by His Majesty to do Great

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  Things. Her family were shepherds, temple servants; servants

  that had served sacrificial y for years, never expecting anything in return. At times, many in the community and the temple had

  even mistreated them, but their hearts were not of this circle.

  They never lost focus of what they knew they had been created

  for. It was because of them, that many had called out his name.

  * * * * * * *

  Caboose sat nervously outside Mr. Hammer’s office—who had

  a reputation of living up to his name. Caboose studied the floor trying to think of the best way to explain his current situation.

  His ears twitched toward the door, listening to the intense scolding Mr. Hammer gave Mack and Oka. Caboose wiped his mouth

  and looked at his finger.

  Blood traced the edge.

  He licked it off.

  Silence retreated as the thick oak door with a black cast iron

  handle opened. Heavy trodden footsteps marked Mack and Oka’s

  brutish departure—scowled eyes telegraphed retribution.

  Caboose looked up and then down again. He breathed

  deeply, exhaled, and then stood up. How was he going to explain

  this to his Papa? Being the son of a Temple Elder, he was expected to set the example and stay out of trouble.

  Caboose plodded into the office and shut the door.

  Mr. Hammer’s office was a collection of exotic arts and crafts

  from all over the circle. He loved trading in the market and he

  had a weakness for shiny silver things; he loved showing off his collection to everyone that visited his office—under favorable

  conditions of course.

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  Dr. Gary Warren Foshee

  Mr. Hammer looked through Cabooses file, closed it, and

  then looked up.

  “Koby, why are you here?”

  Caboose looked puzzled and didn’t know how to respond.

  He folded his hands, “Mr. Sunka said I had—”

  “I know that,” interrupted Mr. Hammer. “I’m asking you.

  ‘Why are you here?’ You are better than this.”

  Caboose dropped his head and looked at the floor.

  “You must learn to control your anger, even when you have

  every right to be angry. If you are overcome by the simple, you

  will never stand against the great.”

  Caboose thought for a moment. Unsure about a response,

  he shrugged his shoulders. “I expect more from you. Next time,

  I want you to think before you act. Pride brings about shame but with humility comes wisdom.”

  “Am I supposed to stand there and be the brunt of their jokes

  every day Mr. Hammer?” he said with a smug look. “I’m sorry,

  but I can only take so much. I know I’m different. But I’m tired of everyone always expecting me to be someone that I’m not.”

  “I’m not expecting you to be anyone but yourself. But I do

  expect you to follow the rules and to treat others the way you />
  would like to be treated. Koby, I’m sorry but I am going to have to suspend you for three days. I want you to wait outside my office until your Dad comes to pick you up.”

  Caboose stormed out of the office, down the hal way and out

  the front doors. He ran across the schoolyard and through the

  woods all the way to The Redmadafa. Down by the river he sat

  venting his anger. He didn’t want to go home and tell his parents, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  Caboose lived a good life. His parents loved him very much

  and his father was always there for him. He enjoyed going down

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  THE REDMADAFA

  to the river with his family and swinging on the twisted vines

  hanging from the trees—he could swing way out and soak every-

  one on the bank with his enormous splash—his swimming

  abilities, on the other hand, were questionable.

  Hearing the commotion, Toby and Tyku swam over and

  looked up through the water. “Hello Caboose,” bubbled voices

  from the water.

  “Hi Toby, Tyku,” answered Caboose in a gruff tone.

  Toby and Tyku were Bugler fish that lived in The Redmadafa.

  They’re called bugler fish because their mouths are shaped like

  bugles. Every morning down on the river at dawn, you can hear

  them and thousands of others playing wonderful musical ensem-

  bles. Bugler fish talk through bubbles. They speak underwater

  and words rise in the bubbles. When their bubbles reach the sur-

  face “Pop, pop, pop,” out come the words.

  “Caboose, why are you so upset, did something happen at

  school?”

  “It’s not me, Toby, its Mack and Oka…and my leg. They’re

  always running their mouths. They said I was adopted and my

  real Papa was a lopsided bush squealer,” said Caboose, looking

  for an answer that would shift the blame and bring him sympathy.

  “Mack is nothing but a flibbertigibbet,” said Toby. “You can’t

  believe a word coming out of his slimy mouth.”

  “Caboose, why do you let that bother you? You know that’s

  not true,” replied Tyku.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not like them. I’m different.”

  “Of course you are. There is only one Caboose in this great

  big circle and he is wonderful y and fearful y made.”

  “Fearful y made, you see, I told you I was different.”

  “No Caboose. Fearful y made means, when you were created, 17