Before I realized it, I was back at the cemetery. I pulled over into the little lot off the dirt road and walked over to Sybil’s grave. I tried to speak, explain to her what had gone wrong, what I’d tried to do, but no words would come. I knelt down with my head in my hands, the wind blowing, a cold scythe on my face and body.
I sat there, and the wind stopped. The sun set, but I remained. I didn’t want to get up and face what I’d almost certainly lost. What I’d lost and still had yet to lose. The country of the living was gone to me, and I knew that I’d entered a different space, one that offered no solace but only the wind and the cold and the frost. Winter counts. This was the winter of my sorrow, one I had tried to elude but which had come for me with a terrible cruelty.
26
It was early in the morning when I went home, still dazed and numb. Marie met me at the door when I walked in, her hair askew and wearing one of my old Megadeth T-shirts, her eyebrows furrowed together in an angry line.
“I called you like thirty times. I thought something had happened.”
“I was at my sister’s grave. All night. Left my phone in the car, fell asleep at some point. There’s some bad news. Turns out that—”
“I heard,” she said. “My dad told me. I’m really sorry. But you should have left a message. I called everyone looking for you. Tommy, my dad, even Jerome. No one knew where you were. I thought maybe the drug guys had shot you.”
“Needed some time,” I said. “Sorry.”
She softened. “You hungry? Let me make you some breakfast.”
“We got any of those corn cakes left?”
I hadn’t realized how carved out I was. I sat at the table as she brought food to me. I felt my mind begin to clear as I inhaled cornbread, berries, and strong dark coffee.
“So tell me what’s going on,” she said. “My dad said they found the car Nathan was riding in, but no one was in it.”
I finished my coffee and poured another cup, then told her about the abandoned car and the smashed cell phone. The fact there was practically no chance of finding them without a description of the car they were now driving.
“What are they going to do?” she said. “The police.”
“I don’t know. He just said to trust him, that they’d call when there was news.”
By the look on her face, I could tell she had the same degree of trust in the feds that I did. She poured herself a cup of coffee and put it in the microwave to warm it up.
“I have an idea,” she said. “I don’t know if you’re going to like it. Here’s the deal. I was trying to find you last night; like I said, I even called Jerome Iron Shell. Thought you might be over there, drinking sodas or something. Jerome usually knows what’s going on around here.”
I nodded. “He’s a good guy.”
“Anyway, I told him about Nathan, that he’d possibly been, you know, captured, and we didn’t know where he was. Jerome said there’s a way to find missing people.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t know where this was going.
“He said we need to have a yuwipi. Most people think it’s for healing, but he said it’s also used for other stuff, like finding missing objects—or people.”
I started to say something, but she kept going. “He said if you pray hard enough at the ceremony, the spirits will grant your request, tell you what you need to know.”
A yuwipi. I’d never been to one. If a person was badly ill, people gathered at a house with the windows completely blacked out, then the medicine man would be tied up with ropes and wrapped in a star quilt. Then a ceremony would supposedly call up the spirits, who would heal the sick person and release the yuwipi man from the ropes. I’d never heard it could be used to gain information or find missing people. But I knew one thing. It was a goddamn waste of time. And right now, time was critical if I had any chance of getting Nathan back alive.
“Hey, that’s really cool of you,” I said. “It’s great you’re thinking about Nathan. Appreciate it. But right now, I need to—”
“Don’t patronize me,” she said, stirring her coffee.
“What?” I saw that a little had spilled out of her cup.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to shut me up. But you need to listen. I’m just going to say it—Nathan doesn’t have much time, if he’s still alive. That’s a shitty thing to say, I know! But you’ve got to get past your own crap. About our traditions. Now’s the time to use whatever you can. I don’t know if it’s the spirits or the placebo effect or whatever, but I’ve seen things at ceremony I can’t explain.”
She pointed with her lips to the corn cakes on the table, asking me to hand her one.
“Marie, I hear you. I’m not disagreeing with you about ceremony. But I can’t see taking a whole day for some yuwipi right now, not when I can be out scouring the streets.”
“It’s not a whole day! Maybe two or three hours. And it’s done at night. When you’d be finished looking. Why wouldn’t you try this?”
“I don’t know, let me think about it. Maybe in a few days, if Dennis can’t find anything. We’ll talk about it then.”
She looked out the window toward the light. “Actually, I already told Jerome to start getting ready. The ceremony is tonight. When the sun goes down.”
I DROVE AROUND the streets of the reservation, looking for something out of the ordinary, something that would give me a clue as to where Nathan might be. I went down back roads and dirt paths, places that didn’t appear on any GPS system. I covered the main streets quickly, then worked my way to the outskirts, driving to the small hamlets and communities of the rez, not really towns, just homesteads where people congregated to be near others and gain some comfort amid the vast spaces of the territory, the land that had been promised to us but whittled away by thousands of official seizures, done under cover of federal rules and regulations.
After a long time, I realized it was pointless. I felt foolish, thinking I might stumble onto the guys that had abducted Nathan. They could be anywhere from Rapid City to Denver or beyond. I called Dennis, hoping for some good news. He picked up right away and said there was no new information, but the search was ongoing. He’d contact me the minute anything turned up. His tone was abrupt, and I wondered if he felt guilty or was just busy. The last communication from Nathan had been exactly twenty-four hours ago. The critical time period.
I saw I was near Tommy’s shack, so I decided to stop in and talk. I knocked on the door, and he answered right away.
“Hey Virg. How you doing? Come on in.” He was wearing a flannel shirt, only half buttoned, and I could see the scars on his chest from the Sun Dance he’d taken part in.
I looked around his little trailer and noticed that he’d put up some posters: Honor the Treaties, Geronimo holding a rifle, and several Billy Jack movie stills, all depicting Tom Laughlin about to kick the crap out of the white townspeople.
“Ain’t got no Shastas, but you want some Kool-Aid? I got tropical punch.” He handed me a jelly jar filled with reddish liquid. “Any news about Nathan? Marie called last night, gave me the four-one-one.”
I took a drink of the Kool-Aid and nearly spit it out, it was so overpoweringly sweet. I set the glass down on the table without drinking any more.
“No news,” I said. “There’s an alert out—all-points bulletin—so I’m hoping some cop spots them. But you know, there are only like ten tribal cops on the entire rez. Half the time they’re dealing with some family shit.”
“Yeah, well, maybe somebody will see ’em. I’m sending out good thoughts to the Creator.”
“Marie tell you she wants Jerome Iron Shell to hold a yuwipi to find Nathan?”
“She didn’t tell me, but I heard. You know, word travels. That reminds me, I got something for you.”
He went to the other room and came back, holding his hand out to me. “This is for you, bro. Belonged to my ciye, but now it’s yours. You need to give it to Jerome tonight. He can’t start unless you give him a pipe a
nd ask the Creator for help. Don’t worry, I already filled it for you.”
It was a cannunpa, the sacred ceremonial pipe that had been passed down to him by his brother, who’d passed away years ago. Tommy had filled the bowl with tobacco, but the stem was disengaged, as was the custom.
“I can’t take this,” I said. “I know what it means to you. And I’m not going to have the yuwipi. That’s Marie’s idea, not mine.”
Tommy held out the pipe to me. “Homeboy, take this. You fuckin’ need it.”
THE PIPE ON MY FRONT SEAT, I traveled the bruised streets of the rez, hoping to see something, anything. I knew these roads so well, my memories layered, dense, and compacted; nearly every corner triggered some recollection. Sybil, trying to breastfeed Nathan as a baby, her frustration mounting as he stubbornly refused to latch on and finally giving in and buying formula at the corner store. Nathan in diapers I’d bought at the market, dancing on a chair to some heavy metal tune I’d played. The time I dropped him off at the day-care center, his fear of being left with strangers, his little face a mask of surprise and panic. The nights he’d gotten up, sleepwalking, and how I’d quietly get him back in bed. The empty lot by Main Street, the sting in my hand when I caught a baseball he’d thrown with surprising heat. The sarcastic demeanor he’d assumed in junior high. The look on his face in the juvenile detention center.
Before I realized where I was going, I found myself at a familiar homestead south of town and got out of my car. Jerome Iron Shell greeted me.
“Been waiting for you.”
I handed the pipe to him. He took it and nodded.
On his porch, he told me about preparations for the yuwipi. He’d already gathered friends and family, who were praying and making four hundred and five tobacco ties. He’d spoken to Marie, who was bringing food and drink. Rocky was getting the yuwipi house ready, blacking out the windows so no light could come in.
“But the most important piece is you,” he said. “You can’t have a negative attitude—the spirits won’t enter. You need to have a good heart. Be best if you could sweat, really purify, but no time for that. Just try to keep any bad thoughts out of your mind. Maybe go out in the woods, sit for a bit. Clean your soul.”
I wasn’t sure if it was possible to keep negative thoughts out of my mind, but the suggestion to sit outside for a while sounded right. I drove out to a quiet spot in a patch of trees and angled my car seat back. The birds twittered and I heard an owl call, far off in the distance. In my half-conscious state, it seemed like a warning, a caution. Then I heard it again, very faintly, muffled, barely audible, and the world went dark.
OPENING MY EYES IN the early twilight, I looked around and tried to determine how long I’d been asleep. A few hours. Then I remembered. The yuwipi. If I was going to go through with this, it was time to go. I drove out to the intersection, the one that led to the yuwipi house, but waited for a second. I could just drive away and let Jerome and the others figure out I wasn’t coming. I didn’t owe them anything. I could continue the search for Nathan by myself, alone, separated from the rez and all its people, problems, complications. But Jerome had told me that about forty people were coming to the ceremony, most of whom I didn’t know, just people who’d heard about Nathan’s disappearance and wanted to help. The community.
I turned toward the house, the car seemingly driving itself over the bumps and jolts of the unpaved road. A few dozen cars were parked out in front, but for once I didn’t see any dogs or kids running around. It was strangely silent and still.
I opened the door and walked in. Someone had plugged in a few table lamps, but that was the only light. The windows had been covered with heavy paper and duct tape, and even the gaps between doors and frames had been sealed. Hundreds of colorful tobacco ties had been placed around the room and on the makeshift altar set up at the far end. Prayer flags, sweetgrass braids, a pitcher of water, and some food were placed around the altar. Two drummers and two singers sat off to the side, and dozens of others were sitting on the floor against the wall, looking at me silently. Some were smiling, but most looked serious. Marie was there, sitting right next to the altar—the place of honor—with a small smile on her face. Tommy was off to the side, next to Velma. He raised his hand and grinned at me.
Marie indicated I should sit next to her on a knockoff Pendleton blanket she’d laid on the floor. I sat down, the comforting smell of the sweetgrass thick in the air. About fifteen minutes later, Jerome’s grandson Rocky and another guy I didn’t know walked in, followed by Jerome himself. He slipped a leather bag off his shoulder, rested it against the altar, and carefully removed a few objects. He passed each one through the sweetgrass smoke before setting them on the altar. I saw eagle bone whistles, feathers, two large rattles, a porcupine quill medicine wheel, a Tupperware box full of soil and rocks.
When he nodded, the drummers started pounding, and the other two started singing in Lakota. The drums were so loud, they caused my teeth to vibrate as I followed the keening melodies of the song, the words rising and falling along with the rhythms. After the music ended, Jerome picked up the pipe I’d given him earlier, now fully assembled, waved it in each of the four directions, and put it, too, on the altar. Then he began speaking in Lakota. I couldn’t understand most of what he was saying, but I understood that this was a prayer inviting the spirits to enter. Then he switched to English.
“I have seven children and four grandchildren. They’ve brought me the most joy in my life, even when they caused me grief. A lot of grief. To the Lakota, our children are sacred, wakan. It’s our job to keep them safe and teach them our ways. But bad things can happen. Kids get sick. They wander away, get lost. That is the hard time, when we have to reach out to the community and to the spirits.”
He paused, and the people said “Hau.”
“I remember when my son—he was only two or three then—became sick with some illness. The doctors couldn’t figure out what it was. He was in bad shape—couldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat or drink anything. Coughing, sweating, moaning. I went up on the mountain and prayed for him nonstop. I asked the Creator to help my child. And the people prayed too. Family, friends, neighbors. The spirits heard me. They told me that I needed to believe in the pipe. Believe in the pipe, and if I did, my son would recover. And he did get better.”
“Hau.”
“Tonight we pray for the return of Nathan Wounded Horse. Something bad has come to our community, and we ask the spirits to remove this evil and return the child to Virgil Wounded Horse and send the rattlesnakes away. These rattlers slither onto our land and tempt our children with lies. We ask the spirits to help Virgil, and also to heal our people, especially our young ones, and give them strength to resist this wickedness. Thank you, Tunkasila.”
Turning to his helpers, Jerome said “Wana.” They went over to him and tied his hands behind his back with a leather cord. Then a large star quilt was draped over him, and they bound him with ropes seven more times, from neck to ankles. In each knot, Rocky placed a small piece of sage. When Jerome was tied up completely, the helpers laid him down in front of the altar. The table lamps were turned off, and we were shrouded in total darkness.
The drummers began playing again, and the singers joined them. I could hear Jerome singing as well, his voice muffled underneath the blanket. Most of the people sang along, and I was embarrassed that I didn’t know the words. The drums started off slowly, then began pounding out a more insistent tempo. The drums were like a heartbeat, pounding, pulsing, hammering, and then we were united by the sounds of the singers. In the blackness, it was difficult to tell how much time was passing. I focused on the rising and falling melodies of the songs, the voices of the singers, the words of prayer and lamentation.
Then a loud whistle sounded, and I heard rattles beginning to shake to the rhythm of the drums. It felt at least ten degrees warmer in the room, and the air seemed like it was charged with electricity. Negative and positive ions, transforming themselves,
attraction and repulsion, gain and loss. The hair on my neck bristled as I noticed bluish sparks near the altar. Beginning to feel dizzy and disoriented from the heat and the sounds, I tilted my head back to breathe more deeply, and when I did that, something touched my head, something soft. It felt like a bird circling me, tapping the sides of my face and neck. Then it flew away.
The drumming became even louder, and the heat was nearly unbearable. Light-headed, dazed, I lowered my chin onto my chest to steady myself. I took deep breaths and concentrated on the sound of my own respiration.
Then I heard voices, screaming, and the sound of gunfire off in the distance, but coming closer. I opened my eyes and saw women and children running in terror, being chased by men in uniforms. Soldiers. They were firing on those fleeing, shooting them in the back. Hundreds of Indians were running in all directions, and I was surrounded by dead bodies in a grassy meadow. The sound of thunder split the sky, exploding in my head, the roar deafening. On a hillock above the field, the soldiers had a giant cannon firing directly on the panicked Indians while other soldiers ran out onto the field in pursuit. I saw one soldier shoot a woman carrying a baby. When she went down, the child wailed in terror, but then stopped crying for a moment and looked straight at me. I wanted to reach out and help her, but the soldier ran over and shot the child in the head.
I watched in horror as the soldiers kept firing on the unarmed people. Some people swerved suddenly to outwit the shooters, but it was useless with so many weapons trained on them. The screaming and howling grew louder as the bullets rained down. Then, almost on cue, the people started running in the same direction. There was a small hill at the other edge of the meadow with a building on its crest that looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. Then it came to me. The abandoned museum, the mass grave.
Winter Counts Page 24