The Sixteen Kalas of Silence: The Adventures, Romance and Enlightenment of Clay St. Clair

Cutthroat

Rosebud County

As the sun was setting over the Tongue River valley, Sphinx Bad Axe watched from the bluff as the twin brothers, Wilho and Toivo Ishpeming, raised their SMAW Serpents.

God dammit, not yet. he quietly whispered into the Stryker Throat Microphone transponder.

Toivo’s hand signal confirmed for Sphinx that he had received the order through his plastic earpiece.

Sphinx wondered sometimes if he had the right men for the job. Both brothers met the physical requirements. At six feet six inches tall, and tipping the bathroom scale at almost two hundred and fifty pounds apiece, they were like twin mountain peaks. Their fair skin, blonde hair and grey eyes pegged them as the stereotypical Russian male. But they were not Russian. They had been born in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to a woman of Finnish heritage and a father who was a mixed blood American Indian from the Ojibwa tribe.

I said not yet! Sphinx yelled into his mouthpiece in a frustrated whisper as Wilho raised his shoulder launched assault weapon again. We have to wait until Furio is in place. We go on my command. Get that through your thick blonde skull.

Now, Furio Benzonia was a guy he could rely upon. Furio had some brains. Like Sphinx, Furio had jet black hair and dark brown eyes. But this is where the resemblance ended. When Sphinx looked into the bathroom mirror, he saw a demigod looking back. He still had the rock hard body of an NFL running back and the magazine model good looks that came with having an African American mother and a Native American father from the Cheyenne tribe. Furio, on the other hand was just another greasy wop. He was good looking by most standards but Sphinx always got the women into his bed when the two partied together. After all, what woman would choose a puny five foot six inch Italian computer geek over a six foot two inch stud who carried his remarkably long credential in the front of his underwear to prove it?

In sight. Furio miked as the two Cat 797F off-highway mining trucks came around the side of the hill and crept side by side into view.

Wilho, you’ve got the one on the right. Toivo, you’ve got the one on the left. Give me a hand signal if you copy. Sphinx whispered and then saw the twins both give him the thumbs up.

Now he spat.

At Sphinx’s command two thermobaric anti-tank rockets left the SMAW Serpents that were wielded by the twins. It took less than five seconds for them to slam into the left mining truck.

Both of you guys hit the truck on the left. Sphinx yelled again into his mike, this time not in a whisper. Wilho, I said you were supposed to take out the one on the right. What happened?

Oh, that right. Wilho whispered back. I thought you meant the one on the right if I was looking from your position.

What a dumb ass, Sphinx thought to himself as he thumbed his mike again. Reload. And this time, both of you guys take out the remaining truck. Furio, it’s time for you to do your thing.

As the twins let loose their second set of rockets, the second Cat 797F was ripped apart faster than a newly delivered pepperoni pizza at a Super Bowl half time party.

Simultaneously, twenty three other multi-million dollar pieces of mining equipment, which were sitting in the night time parking lot where the two Cat 797F’s were headed, exploded in a raging ball of fire.

Great job, Furio. Sphinx said. At least one of you guys got the job done right. Now, let’s get the hell out of here before the authorities show up.

Look Boss. Toivo radioed back. A guy is crawling out of the cab of that second Cat that we nailed. What should we do?

Do what I am paying you to do. Sphinx radioed back.

A few seconds later, a third set of rockets left the barrels of the launchers. After that, only a small colony of gophers, with their heads partially exposed above the sandy ground, were left to watch as the four men jumped into their extended cab Dodge Dakota truck and drove off into the sunset of Rosebud County, Montana.

Grosse Pointe

Nancy was heartbroken as she put her small suitcase into the taxi that would take her to San Francisco International Airport. In less than five hours, her parents, Raymond and Patricia Picararo would be picking her up at Detroit Metro Airport. There would be mixed emotions in the car as they drove the forty five minute trip to their home in suburban Grosse Pointe.

As she took her seat on the Boeing 757-300, she thought about how compatible she and Clay were. Clay was her dream man. He was kind, spiritual and smart. He would probably never be super rich but that meant little to Nancy. She loved Clay’s mathematical mind and rejoiced on the day that he had received his Ph.D. in the subject from Stanford. She loved his light brown hair and six foot tall athletic body that he had formed while playing sports in high school; and sculpted while a Ranger in the US Army. She recalled his tenderness when they had made love for the first time. And his constant thoughtfulness, as they both went about their daily lives for the past year as an engaged couple.

And Nancy knew that Clay was overjoyed for her on the day that she had received her Ph.D. in anthropology. He had taken her out to VMware, their favorite restaurant in Palo Alto, to celebrate. Finding a restaurant that they enjoyed was always easy. They were both mostly vegetarian and favored locally grown, organic, non-genetically modified food over restaurants with fancy table cloths and expensive flatware.

Nancy leaned back into her coach class seat and closed her eyes as the plane lifted from the ground. She recalled the many hiking trips that they had taken over the years. And how Clay had never beaten her in a game they played on those trips called, Name That Tree.

Although she was five foot eight tall, and not quite as athletic as Clay, she was able to beat him much of the time during their weekly tennis matches.

They had been friends since they were in their early twenties when both were undergraduate students at the University of Michigan. When Clay moved to California to attend grad school at Stanford, Nancy had kind of given up on the relationship and went to England to get her Master’s degree. But Clay had persisted and Nancy had eventually joined him in California. It had now been more than a year since Clay had given her an engagement ring.

And most of all, Nancy recalled as her jet cruised at five thousand feet above the Great Plains, how Clay had said on many occasions that he loved her.

But none of that mattered now. She and Clay were both in their early thirties and Nancy was feeling the pressure of her biological clock ticking. At times she thought about what it would be like to have children but the demands of her job kept her mind pretty focused on the tasks at hand. Six months ago, she had started her own consulting firm and now traveled the world helping large corporations understand how people of different cultures were still just people with the same basic human needs as defined by Maslow’s Hierarchy.

It was ironic, Nancy thought, how she could teach corporate executives how to fulfill the needs of their employees but she was unable to totally fulfill her own needs. The problem, she kept coming back to, was that she really was not sure what she wanted out of her life. At times, she wanted to be married and have children. At others, she wanted the freedom that a less attached life provided.

But she wanted the option to make that choice herself. And this was why she was flying back home to spend a few days with her parents. Clay seemed to be very happy in their current relationship. He seemed in no hurry to get married and had not asked to set a date. He had expressed little desire to be a father. And now, he was leaving her.

Well, not actually leaving her. Clay had just accepted a job to do research and teach post graduate level mathematics at the University of Montana in Missoula. She knew that he had been offered the position. But he signed a contract and accepted the position without any discussion with her. He just assumed that she would go wherever he went.

And this is what had Nancy fuming and questioning their relationship. Was it her responsibility to just pick up on short notice and leave her life in California behind to accommodate Clay’s career? And if he weren’t actually going to marry her, should she use this career move to spend some time apart from him and maybe consider other men? Maybe he would appreciate her more if she did, she pondered. Nancy had been brought up Catholic and the nuns had taught her in high school that every woman should either be married or not involved at all with a man. Wasn’t it time that Clay St. Clair made an honest woman out of her? Certainly this would have to be the case if she chose to have children.

Hello honey, how was your flight? Nancy’s father asked.

Wonderful, just wonderful Dad. Nancy replied, as she burst into tears on his shoulder, to the total confusion of both of her adoring parents.

Missoula

Clay loved hiking at the Snowbowl. Being just twelve miles from Missoula, it took him less than half an hour in his Toyota Highlander Hybrid to drive to the base of the mountain on the unpaved access road. From there, he would hike up the trail that was directly beneath the old Riblet double chair lift. Once he reached the top, he would bushwhack down the bowl, making mental notes of the terrain that he would refer back to during the ski season.

Growing up in the lakes and forests of Michigan was a kid’s best dream come true for Clay. And he loved the time he spent in the San Francisco Bay area getting his doctorate degree. But he was really looking forward to what Montana had to offer.

Clay had spent two years in the mountains of Afghanistan while in his early twenties leading a reconnaissance platoon as an officer in the Army Rangers. He was grateful for the skills that his Ranger training had instilled in him. This is why he felt so comfortable hiking by himself in remote areas. He knew inside that he could handle almost any emergency that might come his way.

As Clay clambered around toppled trees and car-sized boulders, he pondered the changes he had just made to his life.

The University of Montana at Missoula was quite old. Founded in 1893, it served as the states flagship public research university and was its largest institution of higher learning. One of the reasons Clay had accepted the position at the school was that it was world renowned for its academic achievements. Over the years, it had produced twenty eight Rhodes Scholars, eleven Truman Scholars, fourteen Goldwater Scholars and thirty one Udall Scholars. Rolling Stone magazine had labeled it the most scenic campus in America; and Outside magazine called it the best campus in the United States for combining academic achievement and outdoor recreation.

At the university, Clay would be teaching Chaos Theory this semester. He loved looking at the behavior of dynamical systems. In addition, he had been given a research grant that would allow him to continue his work in Selectorate Theory, an emerging area of Chaos Theory. He hoped that the mathematical model that he was developing would be able to guide politicians in making better decisions on which technologies were good or bad for the growth of their area of influence. His inner hope was that future political decisions would be made based on scientific research rather than back room deals with whomever had the most money at the time to pay for the politician’s reelection campaign.

It took Clay more than three hours to return to the base of Snowbowl. During his hike, he had encountered a family of mule deer and thought that he had glimpsed the tail end of a running black bear. He had also seen a number of marmots.

Resting from his outing, Clay removed a thermos of chai tea from his pack and enjoyed a cup as he straddled a downed log and looked up at the sun filled sky. His thoughts soon went to Nancy.

He had been caught off guard when she told him that she would not be moving to Montana with him. He was totally committed to her and had just assumed that she felt the same about him. He thought that he had proven that fact by giving her an expensive engagement ring. So, why had she not come with him?

He thought back to the reasons that she had given. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say to the emotions that she had let loose. Clay was good at understanding reasons but not very good at understanding women’s emotions. From his point of view, Nancy really didn’t give him any good reasons why she decided not to move with him to Montana. She seemed to expect him to be able to read her mind. Now, he thought as the left side of his brain kicked in, a computer model for understanding women’s ever changing moods and emotions had the potential to earn someone a Nobel Prize in the field of Chaos Theory.

Helena

"Helena, the state capitol of Montana, was founded with the July 14, 1864 discovery of gold in a gully near the Prickly Pear valley by four prospectors from the State of Georgia. It was nicknamed Last Chance Gulch at the time. By the fall of that year, the population had grown to over two hundred and the name Last Chance was viewed as too demeaning. So, on October 30, 1864, a group of seven men met to give the town a proper name, authorize the layout of the streets, and elect commissioners. The first suggestion was Tomah, a word the committee thought had connections to the local Indian people of the area. Other nominations included Pumpkinville and Squashtown, as the meeting was held the day before Halloween. Finally, a Scotsman named John Summerville proposed Helena, in honor of a town he claimed existed in the old country. Other tales say that the town was actually named after a girl that Mr. Summerville used to frequent at Miss Daisy’s Bordello." As the crowd chuckled and applauded, Guy Charlevoix concluded his talk to the Young Presidents Organization of Montana.

Nice talk, Governor. Magda Helmer fawned as Guy stepped down from the podium. But you forgot to give the part of the speech where you tell everyone that Helena was chosen as the state capitol in 1889 by the two reining Copper Kings of the time, Marcus Daly and William Clark. As I recall, they had a knock down drag out political brawl as to where the state capitol would be located and Helena was chosen because Daly had Clark killed.

Yes, I purposely left that part out Guy responded laughingly, because how politics was practiced back then in Helena is not all that different than how it is practiced now.

I agree. Magda said, also laughing. Didn’t I read somewhere that by 1888, more than fifty millionaires’s lived in Helena and that there were more millionaire’s per capita here than in any other city in the world?

Correct. Guy agreed. At that time, about four billion dollars worth of gold had been taken from the Last Chance Placer, the main surface mine upon which the town was founded. In fact, a few years back, when repairs were being made to the First National Bank building on Placer Boulevard, a small vein of gold was discovered under the bank’s foundation.

So, is this how you fund your reelection campaigns, Magda went on jokingly. by sluicing gold from old mines?

Don’t I wish! Guy came back. I mine my political gold from people like I just spoke with. Many of those men and women who belong to the YPO are up and comers but don’t have the big bucks to support large political campaigns at this time. But they will have the money to do so in the future.

Magda contemplated this last statement as she thought about the dossier that her staff had prepared for her on Guy Charlevoix. According to the report, Guy came from humble, southern roots. His family was originally from the New Orleans, Louisiana area and moved here when he was ten years old so that his father could take a job with one of the local mining companies.

Guy’s father was a hard working, hard playing man. He eventually became the local organizer and enforcer for the United Mine Workers. On the weekends, he had even more responsibility. He was not only the head for the Montana Chapter of the Ku Klux Klan; he was the de facto leader of the right wing, anti-government militia movement for Montana, Idaho and Wyoming. And if he wasn’t busy enough with all of that, he was also the biggest skirt chaser in town.

Guy’s mother was a god fearing