Red Dove, Listen to the Wind

by Sonia Antaki

  Red Dove looked at the snow-covered road ahead. The moon was waning, and in the dim light it was hard to tell which direction to go. Straight, she thought. North to Paha Sapa.

  “Wait up!” she heard from behind.

  Rick’s bigger chestnut soon caught up with her little mare. He grabbed the reins and slowed both horses to a walk. “Why’d you hightail it outta there? Where ya headed?”

  Red Dove didn’t answer.

  Rick reached his gloved hand in his pocket and pulled something out.

  The pouch.

  “That’s mine!” she said.

  “Thought so. Found it lyin’ in the mud… you must’a dropped it.”

  “I did… wait… can you see it?”

  “Sure. Why not? Just a lump of leather. What’s in it, anyway?” he asked, pulling off his glove, and picking at the leather with his bare fingers. “Not much, is it?”

  “Don’t touch it!”

  But it was too late. Rick’s fingers had connected with the pouch. The whites of his eyes grew round and words tumbled out. “Feel kinda strange… like… I can tell what you’re thinkin’… an’ feelin’. Huh.” He shook his head. “Some kinda Indian magic?”

  “Give it back.”

  He stared at Red Dove. “You just learned that the cap’n’s your father, an’ you ain’t happy… .” He wrinkled his brow.

  Red Dove looked straight ahead.

  “I don’t like the way it makes me feel,” he said, squinting at her. “So here. It belongs to you.”

  “Wopila. Thanks,” said Red Dove, taking it from him. “You must be a special person,” she murmured.

  “Why?” Rick asked with a grin.

  Because you could see it when others couldn’t, she thought, and it didn’t hurt you. That means something… but what?

  “Guess it tells you a lot about people, don’t it?”

  “Han.”

  “So you can use it to see that the cap’n’s really a good man—”

  “He is?”

  “Sure. Been a father to me. Adopted me a long time ago after he’d lost his own family. Found me wanderin’ as a little kid. My parents were dead, killed by Indians they said.”

  The pale moon came out from behind a cloud and lit his face. “So can that thing do anythin’ else?”

  “Like what?”

  “Help you find things?” His eyes sought hers. “My dog—”

  “I know. It’s missing.”

  “Yeah. Disappeared at the Indian camp the night before the battle. So can you use it to help me find him?”

  “I don’t know.” Red Dove shoved the pouch back in her parfleche. “But I don’t want to use it anymore. Especially not there. I’d have to feel the suffering of all the people who died.”

  “You’re right,” he said with a shrug. “It’d be too much.” Then his eyes found hers again. “If you’re tired, you can climb on up behind me. Give your pony a rest,” he said with a shy smile.

  Suddenly, all his thoughts—and feelings—came clear.

  “I’m all right,” she mumbled.

  “Suit yourself,” said Rick, pressing his lips together. “Didn’t mean to offend you.” He jerked his head up suddenly. “I thought you said you was headed to the Black Hills.”

  “I did. I was—”

  “Well that ain’t where we’re goin’. Musta missed the fork back there, ’cause this here’s the road to where the battle happened.”

  “It is?” Red Dove was startled that she could have made such a mistake. But she knew that if she did, it was for a reason.

  “What’s happening, Grandfather?” she whispered.

  His voice came in answer, carried by the wind. “Do as I ask and honor them in the place they fell. At Wounded Knee.”

  ›› Go Down and See ‹‹

  Snow softened the landscape as they rode, coloring the world a gentle blue-white.

  “Black Hills that way,” said Rick, nodding over his shoulder. “But there’s another fork up ahead. You can take a left turn there.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  “Sure. When I touched that thing,” he nodded at the pouch, now buried deep in the parfleche, “I saw how upset you were, missin’ your family an’ all—”

  His horse shied suddenly. “What’s the matter, girl? Easy.”

  “Up ahead,” Red Dove said, listening to the buzzing in her head. “I can feel it.”

  “What?”

  “Chankpe Opi Wakpala. Wounded Knee.”

  Rick brought his horse to a halt at the edge of the ridge, slid off, and tied her to a lifeless tree.

  Terror gripped Red Dove as she approached, but she forced herself to look down at the valley below.

  The sight that met her eyes was worse than she imagined. Bodies were there, unburied still, dozens and dozens shrouded with a layer of white and lit by the glow of the moon.

  “Someone should put them to their rest,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” asked Rick, his eyes fixed on the devastation.

  “Honor them. Lay them on winchagnakapi—scaffolds—and put them in the ground.”

  “They’ll be sending a burial party from the fort soon.”

  “The fort? You mean the same men who killed them will bury them? That isn’t right. We should do something first.” She slid from her pony to the ground, walked to the edge of the cliff, and faced the death-covered valley below. She began to sing:

  “Tunkashila Wakan Tanka ho nahoaho tuwa mis tate el kin,

  Niya tuwa ku wiconi makaowacaga kilyuha kin,

  Naho Aho mis. Mis cistila na hokesni.

  Mis cin nita wasake na woksape.”

  “Never heard that before,” said Rick, taking his hat off his head. “What’s it mean?”

  “This.” Red Dove raised her arms and turned towards the valley again. “Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds,” she said, “And whose breath gives life to all the world, Hear Me. I am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom.” She looked at Rick, now kneeling beside her. “May Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, watch over you.” Her voice lifted in the wind. “And may your spirits be at peace.”

  “Amen,” sighed Rick, rising slowly and putting his hat back on his head.

  Red Dove felt an icy finger down her spine. Something was calling her from below. “I have to go down. I have to see.”

  “Leave the pouch,” a voice called. “On the ground. There.”

  Red Dove reached into the parfleche, pulled out the pouch and laid it on the frozen earth.

  “Why’d you do that?” asked Rick, walking towards it.

  “Don’t touch it!” she warned and he moved back, watching as she stumbled down the icy slope to the valley below.

  A tiny doll lay on the ground. But it wasn’t a doll.

  The rosebud mouth, soft round cheeks and snow-covered lashes were those of a child.

  The blood froze inside her.

  “You okay?” Rick called from the ridge. “Should I come too?”

  His words were swallowed by a sudden roar, a blast of hooves from the ridge above.

  “Stay down,” he cried. “Hide!”

  Hide? Huddled at the base of a cliff, Red Dove saw she was an easy target for a man with a gun. She slumped to the ground and forced herself still.

  “Thought you’d beat me to it, huh, Rick?”

  A chill went through her. Jake!

  “What happened? You lose that girl you were chasin’?”

  “No… I—”

  “Lookin’ for souvenirs, then? So am I. Indian stuff could be valuable. You find somethin’ nice—it’s mine.”

  Red Dove waited, stiff with fear, eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see what was around.

  Rick’s voice broke through. “He’s gone, Red Dove, lookin’ for other stuff. Now’s your chance.”

  Red Dove was shivering so hard no sound could emerge.

  “Climb up. I’ll help you.”

  She crawled to her feet on the slippery g
round.

  “Over there. Slope’s gentler.” Rick pointed to where the cliff wall met the valley floor.

  There was a crunch of boots on icy ground. Red Dove fell back down.

  “Who you talkin’ to, Rick?”

  “No one,” said Rick with a nervous laugh. “Ghosts, I guess.”

  “Plenty of ’em round here. Ain’t scared, are you?” Jake sneered.

  “Nah. Course not. You find anythin’?”

  “Junk. Nothin’ valuable. Say, what was it I seen you pick up back at the fort?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Just outside the gate. I saw you stop your horse an’ pick somethin’ up off the ground that she dropped, most likely. What was it? Anythin’ valuable?”

  Rick shook his head. “Junk, like you said. Just a scrap of leather. I left it.”

  “You’re lyin’.” Jake squinted at Rick. “I can always tell. Give it here.”

  “Tell him to pick it up.”

  What? Red Dove, in her terror, squeezed her eyes shut again.

  “Jake should pick it up. Tell him.”

  “He should pick it up, Rick,” she whispered in words that only Rick could hear.

  “Over there,” Rick said. “See? That little bit of leather lyin’ on the ground? Pick it up.”

  Red Dove opened her eyes and saw Jake’s figure against the sky, moving to the edge of the cliff. He bent down.

  “Ain’t nothin’ there.”

  He straightened, turned and looked down. “But I did see somethin’ else. That girl down there. D’ya wanna see her twitch? Watch this.” He pulled his gun from its holster, raised it, aimed and fired.

  “No!” screamed Rick as the blast shattered the night and Red Dove’s world went black.

  ›› Suspended Above ‹‹

  She felt herself rise. Gazing down, she felt an odd, lazy calm, knowing this struggle wasn’t hers.

  As if suspended above, she watched Rick. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

  But I want to… .

  A line of smiling ancestors, men in eagle feathers, painted for battle, women in bead-trimmed deerskin, waiting to take her home.

  “Gray Eyes.” Before her, the old, well-loved face.

  I will stay with you now, Grandfather. Here. Forever.

  She watched the light grow and swallow the dark, the line of dancers spiral into a new vision, a cloud of women dressed in purest white, nodding and smiling. “Follow us… .”

  A song from far away, carried by the ancient wind, holding memories of everything her people ever knew.

  “Do you want to leave the world?” her grandfather called.

  I want to be with you. Wherever that is.

  “I have taken the path to the Western Sky. I am no longer of the world you know—”

  Then I will come too!

  “Don’t waste your time, kid.” Jake’s voice shattered the moment. “Burial party’s comin’ so let’s get outta here.”

  Rick, frozen with shock or dread, didn’t answer. He bolted down the slope to where Red Dove lay. “No!” he howled into the wind.

  “Cryin’ for an Indian? Get back here. Now.”

  Red Dove wanted to scream from above. Give him the pouch. It’s lying there on the ground at the top of the cliff. Use it.

  Rick looked up as if he’d heard. “The pouch,” he said, and staggered back up the cliff to where the little bundle was lying.

  “Whatcha got there, kid?” asked Jake, moving slowly towards him. “Give it here.”

  Rick ignored him. Wrapping the pouch in his bandana so as not to touch the leather, he picked it up, but instead of giving it to Jake, he went slipping and sliding back down the slope and carried it to where Red Dove was lying. “This has magic,” he whispered and laid it on her chest. “It’ll heal—”

  “Whatcha got, I said?”

  “Leave me alone, Jake!” Rick cried, head bowed as he watched for signs of life from Red Dove. She saw his shoulders heave, watched him brush his sleeve across his eyes and turn towards the man lumbering towards him. “You’ll pay for this, Jake,” he said, balling his fists.

  “Yeah? Who’s gonna make me?”

  The pouch, Red Dove said again. The pouch!

  Rick nodded as if he understood. “Here,” he said, picking it up in his bandana and holding it out to Jake. “What she dropped at the fort. You said you wanted it. So take it—”

  “You told me it was junk.”

  “I lied. It’s worth a lot.”

  “Yeah? Then why’re you givin’ it to me?”

  “Because… you should have it.” Rick held out his hand.

  Jake watched him suspiciously with his one good eye. “You tryin’ to trick me? There ain’t nothin’ there—”

  “You don’t see it? Here. Catch.” Rick took aim and hurled the pouch at Jake, who raised his arm to ward it off.

  The pouch, like a living thing, leapt into Jake’s outstretched palm. And stuck.

  “What the—” Jake’s fingers closed around the thing he couldn’t see.

  “Feel it?” Rick whispered. “In your hand?”

  A shower of sparks rose from between Jake’s curled fingers, and Red Dove knew what was coming next.

  “It’s burnin’,” Jake cried, shaking his hand to be free, but his fingers wouldn’t release. “Somethin’s burnin’. Get it off!” He twisted and turned, leaning far over the edge of the cliff to fling it into the valley below, desperate to be rid of the pouch.

  And saw the bodies.

  “No… !” he cried, and as he did, Red Dove watched the memories of what had happened to the people lying there fill his head.

  She saw him fix his eyes on a little girl lying near the base.

  And become her,

  Remembering,

  She saw the soldiers of the Seventh Cavalry rush up, the bayonet slice down and down, through the sleeve of the robe and the flesh of the arm.

  “Stop,” Red Dove heard Jake cry, as pain roared through. She saw him, eyes drawn by some dark force across the field to a boy lying in a ditch,

  Become him,

  Remembering, reliving,

  The race for safety, the bullets that shattered his chest.

  “No,” she heard Jake cry, trying to look away as his eyes were dragged to a mother with a baby at her breast.

  And watched him become her,

  Reliving…

  The infant’s warmth,

  The desperate panic,

  The blow that stopped her heart… .

  “It’s me they’re killin’! Because I am them, all of them!” Jake screamed.

  Red Dove watched him fall, writhing in pain, lost in a nightmare that went on and on for what felt like forever, until, at last, he gave a great shuddering howl into the night.

  “I’M SORRY… .”

  The pouch fell from his hand.

  “I didn’t know,” he whimpered, shivering on the ground. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

  “What didn’tcha know, Jake?” said Rick, bending over to claim the pouch, careful not to touch the leather.

  “What it was like, what I did.”

  “Yeah, well now you do. Because of this.”

  ›› Gone ‹‹

  “Their tracks lead here, I think,” called a man’s voice, followed by the creak of a wagon.

  Red Dove, still watching from above, listened to the sound of voices she knew.

  “Over here, Captain,” she heard Rick cry.

  “That you, son? What the devil are you doing here? And who’s that—Jake? Drunk again—”

  “He shot her. Down there. She needs help!” Rick’s words tumbled out in a rush. He pointed to the bottom of the cliff.

  “Dear God!” Jerusha scrambled off the wagon.

  The captain was quicker. He launched himself down the slope and fell to his knees next to Red Dove.

  She saw him bending over her, fingers pressed to her wrist. “Come on, come on,” he mumbled.

  He’s tr
ying to save me.

  “You gotta help her, Cap’n,” said Rick, rushing up beside him.

  “There’s no need.”

  “What? I don’t understand—”

  “Let’s just get her away from this terrible place,” the captain choked.

  Red Dove heard Jerusha’s long wail, saw Rick rush down the slope to her side.

  “Can’t be,” said Rick. “No.” Rick shook her, gently at first, then harder as he refused to accept what the others knew.

  “Stop, son,” the captain said, laying a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “She’s gone.”

  From her vantage point above, Red Dove saw herself being lifted from the frozen ground, carried slowly up the long steep slope. And watched it all: the Captain holding her up; Rick, brushing his face with his sleeve; Jerusha sobbing.

  Don’t cry, she whispered.

  Rick stopped and looked up.

  “What is it, son?” asked the captain.

  “Thought I heard somethin’. . . ,” Rick pointed to the sky. “Up there.”

  “The wind. Come on, let’s get going.” The captain looked at Jake. “You did this,” he said, darkness in his eyes.

  ›› Somethin’s Changed ‹‹

  “What are we gonna do with Jake, sir?” Rick asked. “He shot her—”

  “And for that he’ll be punished.”

  “Will he?” Rick looked at the bodies around. “What about the others who did the killin’ here? Will they be punished, too?”

  “Good question,” said the captain, scowling. “None of it makes a lick of sense now, does it?” He pulled a rope from the back of the wagon.

  “Tie him on good and tight, Rick, so he doesn’t fall off.” The captain shook his head. “It would serve him right if he did.”

  “Remember anythin’, Jake?” Rick whispered, as he wrapped the coils around Jake’s slack torso. “Of when you were holdin’ the pouch, I mean.”

  “The pouch?” Jake stared, bleary-eyed. “Was that what it was? That thing that you threw at me? Made me feel different somehow. Somethin’s changed… I can feel it.” Tears filled his red-rimmed eyes and rolled down his drooping mustache.

  “Something’s changed for you all right,” said the captain, striding over. “Rick said you shot her. So if there’s any trouble, soldier, any trouble at all—” He nodded at his holster. “Understand?”