Free Season of Hate by Michael Costello

dark skin. I noticed the milky film of a cataract was beginning to cover his left pupil.
    "Fellas, you go off and play with the kids. I've got some food and supplies in the car for you," he told Ganan. Ganan then called out a directive in their language and four men immediately came forward and went with Dad to the car.
    Doug and I saw a group of children playing hopscotch in the reddish brown dirt. Another boy had an old busted metal toy truck, moving it along a road he'd drawn with a stick, while two little girls played jacks with some animal bones. They were the only toys we saw. The flies didn't bother us so much, but they seemed to always be around the other children's eyes, noses or mouths. Some had runny noses like Snotty Norris.
    "If this is a Reservation, and s'pose they are like Indians, what's to stop them scalping us? Didn't you see the big knife in that rope holding up that old chief's pants?" Doug whispered. I pointed out a pile of spears leaning against a tree.
    We ran quickly after Dad and the others, watching our backs in case of an ambush, and feeling I guess that if we were to be killed, at least we'd all die together.
    "What if some fur trapper has sold them guns?" Doug puffed. We eventually made it to the relative safety of Dad and the car, but if something did happen we felt we were outnumbered and unarmed.
    We all came back as a group, Dad looking a bit annoyed at us for running after him and not playing with the children as we were told. Two of the men set down the large metal drum full of water. It had a little tap attached to the bottom. When the children saw the box of food, they all clustered around it. One woman got two enamelled cups and measured out some of the powdered milk. She filled them to the brim with water from the drum before giving both a good stir. Another lined up the children and as the cups were past down the lines one would take a large two-handed sip, while another shooed away the flies as they drank.
    Mrs Symonds' spam and pickle sandwiches were handed out and quickly eaten. Two boys offered us a bite out of theirs but we declined as we'd already had a hot breakfast.
     

     
    At first we stayed close by Dad, thinking we'd be safer if anything did happen – but not so close as to be a nuisance. After all, we didn't want to ruin our chances of the double feature. As the time past we became more relaxed. One man let us hold one of the spears and touch its stone spear head.
    Dad had brought an old tarpaulin which he laid over the small altar in the shed. He used it as a makeshift examination table for the patients to sit on. In front of it he tied off a sheet between two poles to act as a screen for privacy. The people sat in the pews waiting their turn. He started examining the women and children first and then the men. Ganan, on the other side of the sheet partition to Dad, acted as interpreter when Dad asked the patients a question. Dad gave some medicine on a spoon and to others, a tablet or two. Some got medicine and tablets. All received an injection in their arms. The adults comforted the children as Dad gave them all saline eyewashes with their injections. But after each jab the children got to choose a lolly from Dad's bag for being brave. Any tears soon evaporated.
    The wind started to come up a bit, swirling the dust about in circles. The last to get checked out were two kids and their mother. Ganan said a few sharp words and they came forward from the back. We'd noticed early on that they played and ate apart from the others, some distance from the main group in front of their little tin shack. These two children, a boy about five and a girl about seven, weren't like the others. Their skin was darker than Dad or Doug's, but not the dark brown almost black of their mother and the rest of the group. The little girl had blue eyes and they both had light brown almost blonde hair. When Dad finished with their examination and the injections, they returned to the front of