I liked visiting my grandpa. He took me places with him. And he talked to me. I was somebody to my grandpa. The best thing for me was story time. He didn’t read to me and he didn’t give me books to read. My mother did that. Mostly giving me books. It was part of her job. To keep me out of trouble. Grandpa had a lot of books. All his own. He had a special room for his books. All the walls were books. Two little windows peeked out from the shelves. His desk fit neatly into a nest of books and there was a big wing-backed chair with a small table and lamp next to it that I used to sit in. I was the little king sitting on my throne and all of those books were my subjects. I liked to sit there in the still silence surrounded by that massive world of knowledge. Paper and leather and cloth–I liked the smell. To this day, I go into a bookstore and am immediately put at ease, for I can smell my grandpa’s library. I even pick up new books and smell them as I riffle through the pages. Anyway. I knew that these books of my grandpa’s were knowledge. I knew it was waiting for me, too. Hovering around me, telling me something. I believed that sitting there I would learn. But what I liked more was sitting on grandpa’s lap in the lamplight as he told me stories.
“How about a story?” he’d say.
In a shot I was in his lap.
“What did you do today?”
“I went exploring in the woods.”
“What did you discover?”
“Spiders and snakes and scorpions and a little river that just disappeared into the ground.”
“Well, maybe I’ll tell you a story about discovery, then.”
“Great.” I settled back against his belly and chest, ready for another fantastic voyage.
Grandpa took a sip of his drink. And he began. As he always did. “Well. . .”
One day Hellecchino decided he would have some fun pretending–
“Like me?”
“Pretending?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes.”
“Who is Hellecchino?”
“He was a trickster. His name means little devil.”
“Mommy calls me a little devil.”
“Does she? Well. . .perhaps you’re not this kind of little devil.”
“Okay. If you say so. Go on. Tell me the story.”
“Thank you very much.” Grandpa took another drink and began again, “Well. . .”
One day Hellecchino decided he would have some fun pretending to be White Man. So he went outside of the village and sat on a rock. He needed to discover what it was that was White Man. What could it be that was White Man’s favorite thing? Hellecchino thought and thought and just as the sun was going down, he discovered what it was. He jumped up and scampered off to the forest down near the river mouth. He had work to do before it got dark.
“He could have waited til morning.”
“Say. . .who’s story is this anyway?”
“I’m listening. It’s mine too.”
“Hmm. . .but I’m not finished so it’s not your story yet. It’s mine.”
“Is it a true story?”
“Stories don’t lie, my boy.”
“Okay.”
“Well. . .”
Hellecchino had a lot of work to do before it got dark because he was excited about getting started. A prank wasn’t a prank if it waited around too long. Then it was stale, like bread. Only good for stuffing. You have to play a prank as soon as you’ve got it. Fresh prank is best prank. That’s what Hellecchino and the other tricksters said. So Hellecchino took his little axe and starting cutting down some trees. They were little trees because his axe was little. Also, he was little so he didn’t need big trees. And then he stripped the branches off of the limbs and trunks. He made an outrigger frame by lashing the two largest trunks together. Then he bound the branches together to make a boat. All of the leaves and branches he spread out like a mat so he’d be comfortable. “Because White Man likes his comfort,” he said to himself. Hellecchino was very pleased with himself. But it was almost dark and he had one more task to do. He looked around for some driftwood. As the shadows grew longer and blended into the growing darkness, he found the piece he wanted. He took his knife out and began whittling himself a paddle. It wasn’t a big paddle. He didn’t need a big paddle. He wasn’t going to travel very far. Certainly not all the way over the ocean. So a little one was good. Hellecchino was good at judging things like this. His immediate needs. Proportional representation, he called it. It was pitch black when he finished. Now it was time for him to go. If people saw him leave, there would be no prank. This way, when the next day came Hellecchino would appear to come out of nowhere, just like White Man. White Man liked to just suddenly appear. Like a Jack-in-the-box. To fill the time, Hellecchino talked to himself about what it was he was going to do. He was rehearsing. It was to be a grand performance!
So, Hellecchino disappeared into the dark night riding the lazy waves of the dark water. There is no telling how far he paddled and talked to himself. But it was awhile. He stopped when he got tired. His little arms were not used to so much work and his hands were stinging. So he stopped and bobbed about on the waves. He couldn’t see anything. No lights on the shore. No lights in the sky. Well, here he was and there was nothing to do but wait out the night. Hellecchino lay down to get some sleep. For the next day’s adventures, he needed to be well-rested. “Besides,” he said to himself, “White Man likes to rest. It’s one of his favorite things to do.” Hellecchino was getting into character. He had to be convincing.
Well. . .eventually the sun came up and it was the morning of the Hellecchino prank. Hellecchino spit on his hands and took up his paddle. He began paddling back toward the shore. The land he had come from. He had paddled and paddled and paddled the night before and wore himself out. But paddling back to land didn’t seem quite so difficult and painstaking. Probably because he knew where he was going. Last night he hadn’t know where he was going–just “out there”–and the time seemed longer. So he was pretty happy. Just when he could see land, Hellechino stopped and put on his disguise. A kind of half-mask with a high nose and big round eyes and a big bushy moustache. And it was sort of pale. No use in playing a prank if you didn’t look the part. “Ha-ha!” said Hellechino. “Now I’ve got you!” Very pleased with himself, he picked up his paddle and continued on his way. The closer to shore he got, the more he puffed out his chest because this is how White Man behaved when he felt important and proud of himself.
It just so happened that Hellechino was paddling his raft to a portion of the land where a group of the people who lived there had gathered for a celebration of some sort.
“What sort of celebration?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes. It does.”
“It doesn’t matter because if you’re going to discover something you have to be ignorant.”
“Oh. Okay.” I settled back down.
“Well. . .”
They did not see him until he was quite close to shore. Occasionally, Hellechino would stop paddling and wave his arm shouting, “Hey! Hey!” Finally, one of the people noticed him. He looked and looked, not believing his eyes. “Hey,” he called to his friends, “will you look at that?” He nodded his chin in the direction of Hellechino and his raft. Everyone gathered around, curious to know why it was someone was rowing his boat ashore. Where had he come from? And what was he up to? People didn’t come from nowhere for no reason at all. They watched him all the way to shore.
When Hellechino landed, he dragged his raft up out of the white water, grabbed his make-shift cross and ran a ways up the beach to where the sand stopped. He dug a hole and planted his cross in it. He–
“You didn’t say he made a cross.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Oh. I must have forgotten. He had made one, you know. That’s how he could plant one.”
“What would it grow to be?”
“Don’t be silly. Well. . .”
Hellechino pushed the dirt back in the hole, making sure the cross stood steady and upright. Then he mumbled some words to the ground and some to the rugged cross. All the people thought he had lost his mind. He was doing such crazy, unheard-of things. But, you know, the world is a strange place, so many of them shrugged Hellechino’s behavior off. Sooner or later he’d make himself known. They believed that if you waited long enough, people would make themselves known. There were words and there was behavior. Neither stood alone. And so it was with Hellechino. When he finished talking to his icon, he turned to face the people gathered before him. As if he were talking to them and as if he were not, Hellechino said in a big and important voice, “I take possession of this land in the name of the Trigeminal Entity.” Everyone was silent. They didn’t now what to say. Who was this strange White Man? “Because I have taken possession of this land, certain magical things have occurred.”
The people waited for awhile, expecting more.
“What are you talking about?”
“Hey–who are you?”
“I am White Man!”
“What are you doing?”
“Are you deaf? I am discovering this land.”
“Oh. We discovered this land a long time ago. When there were no people here. So, you are too late.”
“I take possession of this land in the name of the Trigeminal Entity!”
“You can’t have it.”
“Do you own it?”
“Nobody owns it.”
“Ha! Then it is mine. It is inevitable.”
“What is inevitable about you paddling your boat ashore, walking over there and planting your cross?”
“Ah-ha! I will tell you.”
“Good. We want to hear.”
“I will make it simple so you can understand.”
“Do you think we are ignorant?”
“Yes. We knew about this land and you did not.”
“You must be crazy coming here with your silly cross.”
“Who are you to own this land? Everybody knows the Creator made the land for everyone.”
The people talked amongst themselves then, sure that White Man was crazy. But Hellechino puffed out his chest some more and made important sounding noises. So everybody turned back to him. He was getting ready to talk. Maybe they would learn something about him. Maybe they would hear some good reasons.
“By the mysterious yet intelligent ways of the Trigeminal Entity, my discovering this land and planting the Trigeminal Entity’s flagrant facsimile all of the lands and animals belong to me and I, the shameless messenger, have ultimate control over everything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I mean what I say. Listen!” Hellechino White Man paused for effect. And to be sure these people were listening. He didn’t need to, for everyone was hanging on his every word. Mouths agape. “Because I sailed here from the east and discovered this land, I’ve decided that I have the right to lay down the law and can, therefore, decide how and why you ignorant savages will live your lives. I deserve, too, to be honored and rewarded for being such a brave and intrepid explorer, for no one else has ever done what I have done, for I have suffered terrible tribulation and hardship paddling my vessel across the ocean. Oh–the sacrifices I have made!” No one said a thing. “Since there is no one here to reward me for my deserving effort and heroics, I have decided the least I can do is reward myself for having discovered this place and giving myself ultimate control over this land and your lives.” White Man widened his already big eyes. He stroked his big bushy moustache and twirled its ends. He puffed out his pigeon chest some more. He struck a pose of haughty grandeur. It is sad that he did not bring a portrait painter or photographer with him to capture the moment forever.
“Now you listen to us, White Man. You haven’t discovered anything. In order for you to discover anything, no one else can know of it. Since we know of this land and have lived here since the Creator put us here, all you can say is that you have far traveled far and long to get here.”
“Yes. We know our lands and protect them well. Without them we will die.”
“Our lands and lives do not belong to you just because you rowed your boat here.”
“We think you are crazy.”
“But I have superior genius!” shouted White Man, striking an angry, imperialistic pose. “My superior genius necessarily gives me the rights I have abrogated to myself. Because I am White Man, because I have declared myself of superior genius, because I rowed my boat ashore and because I planted the ineffable simulant of the Trigeminal Entity, I therefore am inevitably in control of everything, my fellow countrymen. It is because I, White Man, have done these things and have assumed by way of my superior genius control over everything, I have decided I am an authority unto myself.”
What a mouthful.
“We do not admit this.”
“Even if it were true, tell us what it is about your superior intelligence–”
“Genius. Superior genius,” corrected White Man.
“Superior genius. What is it specifically that allows you to take control over all you see?”
“Good question. And it is easy to answer. Because I am White Man, I have decided to assert that it is so. Since I deem it to be true, it is true.”
“Let me see I we understand you correctly. . . . You are saying that you have the right to come here, think up a reality and assume that that reality really exists because you say it does.”
“Yes. That is exactly right,” said White Man with a smug look on his face. “That is why I am of a superior genius. I merely have to think of something existing and my thoughts immediately conjure up that thing into existence, simply because I have thought it. My ability to think and assume a reality into existence is powerful indeed. It is my doctrine of discovery.” White Man was very proud of himself. He would surely go down in history.
But the people of the land decided that since there was no reasoning to be done with White Man that they could think up a reality too. The people decided that White Man was an anchor. So they wrapped him in a fish net, putting some heavy stones in there to keep him company, and put him on his boat. The boat was paddled out into deep water and they threw him overboard.
The end.
“Is that all?”
“Yup. That’s the story.”
“But what happened to Hellechino?”
“He was White Man.”
“No. He was playing like White Man.”
“But they didn’t now that.”
“Oh. . .is White Man really like that?”
“I’m just telling you a story. You asked for a story.”
“What does Hellechino’s name mean?”
“Little Devil.”
Tags: doctrine, hellecchino, history, secor, white man
