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Banner of Flame
© 2007 by Walter Reimer High Risk Falls May 1, 1929: The winter had been its usual unforgiving self to the people who lived in High Risk Falls. Chunks of ice in the harbor caused a hazard to the fishing boats, freezing fogs hampered visibility and the weather couldn’t make up its mind between rain and snow, alternately drenching and blanketing the upland orchards. Most furs spent the season staying warm, unless they had to venture out for work or to collect more wood. Spring, however, was mild and presaged a hot summer. By late April the upland hills overlooking the town and its fjord were fragrant with the smell of apple and pear blossoms, and if the weather held there would be a good harvest. Neighboring fields were already showing signs of a good wheat crop, and fervent prayers were whispered in church and in grove that it would be so. The town was located on the northern side of the fjord, partly shielded from the chill winters by a series of hills. The higher ground to the east held the orchards and fields, with a higher plateau above it. The broad and grassy expanse was the location of the town’s annual festivals and gatherings. Part of it overlooked a lake to the south, from which water spilled into the fjord. The jagged moss-slick rocks and sheer drop that allowed the water into the estuary gave the town its name. Men had been working since before dawn, setting up large tents and trestle tables. Large tubs filled with ice and bottles of chilled lemonade waited to refresh them (the beer would be brought up later, as the day went on). As the sun started to peek over the eastern horizon and the field began to warm up, several of the men dug pits for the food that would be brought up to be cooked. The sod was carefully cut and laid aside so that it could be replaced and the field kept in as pristine a state as possible. More men began appearing on the road out of the town leading horse-drawn carts laden with supplies. Women walked along beside them, carrying more food or trying to supervise the groups of children that ran and played around the procession. When they finally finished getting everything set up it was nearly noon. Leaving some of the younger adults to watch over the children and make sure that the firepits didn’t go out, every man and woman over the age of twenty-one gathered at one corner of the field. It was part of the town’s charter to select a new Town Council on the first of May, and last year’s quintet of men and women seemed relieved to give up the responsibility. The Town Clerk, a short fat bear with brown fur, brushed grass off the seat of his trousers as he stood up and said, “Friends, your attention please.” The crowd quieted and he went on, “Here we are again, on a perfect first of May, to celebrate the spring and to have some fun.” Several of the townsfolk exchanged grins; the Clerk was known for keeping the talk short and to the point. “I see we have some new faces here,” he said with a grin and wave of his paw. “Welcome, and I hope you all had happy birthdays. You all can vote now, so I’ll sit down and let you talk about the nominations.” He sat back down on the grass as several furs started talking. The nominations were made and discussed with a lot of good-natured joking about each person’s qualifications and whether the person would last the year. Finally ten people, four women and six men, were standing up while the rest of townsfurs sat. The clerk got back to his feet. “All right,” he said, “we have ten. Let’s see if we can trim it down to five.” Again, a discussion ensued, and one by one five of the furs sat back down. There was no obvious discontent on their faces; every person in the crowd knew what a burden governing a town could be. “Three women, two men,” the bear remarked as he looked at the five remaining. With a wink he said, “Better get used to being henpecked, boys.” After the laughter died down he asked, “So, how do you all vote on this group? Show of paws, please.” Only two paws stayed down as the townsfurs voted on their governing council for the next year. It took a little time, but several furs helped the bear by counting votes made by each town collective, such as the fisherfolk or the farmers. The clerk finally noted the total vote down on a small sheaf of paper and asked the quintet, “Who do you want to start off being Mayor?” The five went into a huddle, and after much pointing of fingers and low-voiced argument a slim puma femme threw up her paws. “All right, all right, I’ll do it,” she said. She turned to the assembly and said, “I’m Maria Fernandez, and I’m the Mayor until June. I pray I do a good job.” A round of applause brought a blush to her exposed skin. The puma glanced over at the clerk. “Silas, what time is it?” “Almost noon, Maria.” “Then I say we eat. Anyone voting against?” Laughter greeted the question and people started picking themselves up off the grass to get the firepits stoked and the food cooking. There was plenty for everyone, and there were activities afterward. The town’s parson and shaman organized a three-legged race and ensured healthy competition by participating in every heat until both the badger and the fox were sprawled on the grass, panting with the exertion. The two were carried into the shade of a tent to recover. A baseball game was set up between teams from each of the town collectives. The storekeepers managed to hold off the farmers, but lost to the fisherfolk before they in turn lost to a team fielded by the school. As the afternoon wore on more furs sought the shade to relax and some slept on blankets stretched out on the grass. May Day was an all-day affair in High Risk Falls and many of the younger furs were looking forward to what happened after sundown. More food was brought up from the town and more wood was thrown into the fires as the sun started to dip in the west. Dinner was blessed by the parson and the shaman (the fox’s totem was the Great Raven, and many in the town reverenced it), with lit torches illuminating the scene as the assembled furs began to eat. As dinner progressed families who had finished eating moved away from the tables to find a comfortable seat on a hillside overlooking the lake. When nearly everyone in the town were seated (some families left early, carrying sleeping children) their new Mayor stood up, a lit torch in her paw. It was pretty much a set speech, written a few years before by a teacher, and almost every adult in the town knew it by heart. There was no need to stick to the exact wording, but many did. Maria said in a steady voice, “We’re here to celebrate the season, and to elect a new government. We’ve done that. But there’s another reason we gather on the first of May. “Here in Rain Island we don’t work for any boss, because we’re the bosses. Everyone works for the collective and the community. We don’t bow to any president or king, because our leaders are our neighbors, or our relatives. They could be your brother – “ “Not my brother,” one fisherman, a thin and rangy moose, interjected. He ducked an apple core thrown at him by a slightly younger man. Maria laughed along with the crowd before resuming. “They could be your brother or sister, your son or daughter. Today we celebrate the vision of a new country,” and the minute she stopped speaking a single skyrocket shot into the air with a hiss. The rocket exploded in a burst of golden sparks, and the crowd sat transfixed as the lake below them lit up. Six furs had worked throughout the winter on the idea, trying their utmost to keep it a secret so that it would be a surprise for May Day. A tiny red flame sprang up in the lake, and the flame quickly spread out into a rectangular shape as the lit fuses touched off the rest of the eighty-four linked fire pots floating on the water. The red flag of Socialism burned on the surface of the lake, the water’s motion making it seem as if the banner waved in a breeze. As the fires gradually faded, the crowd was silent for a moment, then began applauding and cheering the accomplishment. Overhead, fireworks started to burst with showers of multicolored sparks and booms that made some smaller children cover their ears and hide against their mothers and fathers. While the fireworks painted the sky the parson stood and led several furs in singing Come On Every Lad and Lass. The tune was simple, being the American Yankee Doodle, but the words spoke of a hopeful struggle for a better future: “Come on every lad and lass Too long we’ve been kept under By rotten chains of greed and fear We’ll snap them all asunder! When the revolution comes, The social revolution It’s coming fast Our turn at last The social revolution!” More songs followed; patriotic tunes like Our Land and the song that was being considered as Rain Island’s national anthem, An Island of Freedom were among the favorites. Other songs, some of them imports from Canada and America, were also sung. As the fireworks died down the townspeople started to wearily turn for home. The fires were put out by burying them under the refuse from the party and the soil and the sod was laid carefully back over the holes, and the torches were used to light the way back to the town. The tents were left for the following day. Everyone agreed that the gathering had been a success. But the Banner of Flame, as people in High Risk Falls called it, remained the talk of the town for the rest of the year. end |