Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)

by James Welch

  White Man’s Dog felt his face burn with shame; but more than that, he felt a heaviness come into his heart that made him weak, unable to speak even if he wanted to.

  Yellow Kidney looked across the fire. “You heartless ones! Do not chide this young man. He acquitted himself bravely and wisely against the Crows. And now I hear from Heavy Shield Woman that he hunted for my family in my absence. He is a good young man, and I thank him before you members of the honor societies.”

  But White Man’s Dog had not heard Yellow Kidney’s words. He knew too well what had happened in that lodge. He had been there in his dream and the girl, the white-faced girl, had lifted her arms, not for him but for Yellow Kidney. Why hadn’t he told Yellow Kidney of his dream? Such a dream would have been a sign of bad medicine and they might have turned back. Yellow Kidney would still be a whole man, not this pitiful figure....

  It had grown quiet in the big lodge as the men watched Yellow Kidney fumble for his pipe and tobacco sack. The beading on the sack was of a different pattern from those used by the Pikunis. With his fists Yellow Kidney was able to dip his pipe into the sack and fill it. He held the pipe in the palm of his left hand and held a blunt twig in the crease of his other palm, tamping the mixture. One of the younger men picked a burning stick from the fire and came forward to light the pipe.

  “Thank you, Calf Shirt. And now you, like the others, wonder what happened to my hands to make them thus.” Yellow Kidney puffed on his pipe and looked around the lodge. He had the calmness of a man who has lived through the worst of it and questioned the worth of survival. He removed the pipe with a stubby scarred hand and continued. “As I said, my mind was very confused and I became frightened. I began to move around to the various robes and I threw them back and saw by the light of my fire stick that they were all young girls, dead, and covered with the white scabs. Oh, I was frightened. I dropped the burning stick and rushed out of there, not caring what I would encounter. Anything was better than that death lodge. As I stood outside, trying to keep my guts down, I noticed that it was snowing heavily. This end of camp was still quiet. I thought my luck would hold, in spite of what I had seen and done in that lodge. I thought the snow would add to the confusion and help me to escape. But then I saw two young men come toward me from a tipi off to my right. In my haste, I had left my robe inside the death lodge. It didn’t take them long to recognize me as an enemy and one of them hurled a lance at me. I managed to duck out of the way, but the other had a musket, and as I turned to run I heard a blast and my right leg buckled. I had been shot in the thigh. And now they were upon me and one of them grabbed my hair and I felt cold steel against my forehead. They meant to scalp me.

  “I must have fainted, for the next thing I knew I was surrounded by our enemies, and they were talking and laughing. But one of them was angry and argued with the others. Although I had only seen him twice before, I recognized this angry man. It was Bull Shield and I knew he wanted me for himself. I spit at him and called him a Crow dog-eater; then I began my death song, for I knew that they would now kill me. And I wanted to die a good quick death, scorning my enemies. How I wish it had been so! Several of them rushed at me with their knives and they would have killed me but for a strange thing—the angry Bull Shield bade them to stop. He had become calm and thoughtful. He spoke some words to the others. I could not understand them, for I sang loud in their faces. Four of them picked me up and carried me to a nearby big-leaf log. There they placed my hands against the rough bark. Bull Shield then unsheathed his heavy knife and began to saw my fingers off, one by one. At first I tried to be silent to show that it did not bother me. My hands were numb because of the cold. But then the pain hit the warm parts of me and coursed through my body like lightning. I nearly bit my tongue off. Then I screamed like a real-lion and fainted again.

  “When I woke up I was sitting astride a scrawny white horse, my legs tied under its belly. They had looped the reins around my neck. I had gotten sick, for as my chin rested on my chest I saw the foul outpouring of my stomach frozen to my shirt. When I had the strength to lift my head, my eyes fell on Bull Shield. He was now wearing a full headdress and he had a repeating rifle propped in the snow at his feet. Then he signed to me: Go and tell the Squats-like-women this is what the mighty Crows do when they send their girls to steal our horses. One of them hit the bony horse on the rump, and they all set up a war cry as I left their camp in the driving snow.”

  There was a great outcry of sympathy for Yellow Kidney and a stronger berating of the Crows for this humiliation. Even Three Bears, who had long since left the hot words to the younger ones, expressed his anger. “Before this coming season of the high sun ends, we will make the miserable Crows to pay. Many of our brothers from the other camps will ride with us when they learn what has happened to Yellow Kidney. We will punish them severely.” All in the lodge vowed they would join the war party. Some wanted to leave the next day, but it was agreed that they would go after the Sun Dance encampment. Three Bears wanted all the Pikunis to learn of Yellow Kidney’s fate.

  During the heated exchange, Riders-at-the-door had watched his son slip out of the lodge. He had been watching his son during Yellow Kidney’s story, and he didn’t know what to make of it. White Man’s Dog had sat with his head down, apparently not even listening. Rides-at-the-door had seen this attitude before, and he didn’t want to think he had seen it in his son; it was the attitude of one who has done a bad thing. And it had to do with Yellow Kidney’s sad story. Now White Man’s Dog had slipped out like a dog that had stolen meat.

  “But go on, Yellow Kidney, tell us how you survived your misfortune,” said Wipes-his-eyes, head of the Doves society. He was married to one of Yellow Kidney’s sisters.

  “It is difficult to remember what I did those first couple of sleeps, Wipes-his-eyes. The Crows had taken my capote—I remember seeing it on one of those who struck my horse—but they had tied one of the white men’s blankets around my shoulders. All that day and the next I kept fainting. But my scabby little horse—the one you saw me arrive on—kept wandering. One night I awoke to find us standing in a grove of spear-leaf trees. My horse’s head was down but he was not eating. I knew that he would soon collapse and then we would freeze to death. But the dawn came and I saw we were down in the valley of the Elk River. The snow had stopped, and the wind which had plagued us on the plains was no longer blowing. As I lifted my head to look around at my last day in Old Man’s world, I saw on the other bank a small village. My head cleared and I saw smoke rising from the smoke holes of their lodges. I knew that it could be a party of Crow woodcutters or hunters, but I felt it would be better to die there than to live more hours of death. So I raised my horse’s head and urged him forward. As we crossed the Elk River, I felt the cold water around my knees and twice the horse stumbled. Then I thought it would be better to drown. But we made it across and I rode right into the center of that small camp. I was too weak to cry out, and so I waited for them to come out of their lodges. Once again my head went black and this time I thought I saw my shadow slipping away. Ah, it was peaceful. I felt my body grow warm and cold at the same time. Then I was flying over the white plains, and ahead I saw the Sand Hills. I began to cry, for I saw the long-ago people standing before their lodges with their arms outstretched. But then they turned their faces away. I cried to Old Man to release me, for I wanted to join my father and my grandmother and my eldest son who died of the coughing sickness. They stood there with tears in their eyes. But then they too turned away and the Sand Hills hid themselves.

  “I awoke in a darkened lodge with a strange man leaning over me. After a time I asked him if I was in the Shadowland, but he shook his head and signed to me that he did not understand my tongue. Then he made the sign for Spotted Horse People. I had been there for five sleeps. They had taken me in and were in the process of curing me. I didn’t understand this last part and so I lifted my hands to sign to him my confusion. Then I saw my hands. They were wrapped in bundles of the wh
ite man’s cloth and I remembered what had happened. Oh, I cried bitterly, for I had lost my ability to draw a bow, to fire a musket, to skin the blackhorns. I would be as useless as an old dog, and I not yet thirty-nine winters! I began to speak to the man again, to plead with him to retrieve my fingers, but again he made a sign that he didn’t understand. Then he got up and went out of the lodge.

  “It turned night and I lay there thinking of my Heavy Shield Woman, of my sons and daughter. I could never hunt for them, and I wanted to die right there rather than let them see me. I began to pity myself. I cried and cried and I asked Sun Chief why he didn’t let his wretched Yellow Kidney die. What had I done to offend him so? Then I vowed that if he would let me die and give me back my fingers, I would hunt on behalf of all the old ones in the Sand Hills, since I could not hunt for my own family in this life.

  “My crying and pleading were interrupted by the appearance of an old woman. She carried with her a medicine sack. She had a kind face and she wore her gray hair loose beneath a blackhorn-skin cap. She knelt beside me and gave the sign for medicine woman. There was a pot of boiling water behind her. She then unwrapped my hands and held them close to her face. They were very sensitive to air and I could even feel her breath on them. I drew them back and looked at them myself. They were black and puffed up like a bladder full of water. But beneath the black scabs I could see the pink new skin beginning to form. She made a paste of pounded-up bear grass and crow root and a leaf I didn’t know. She sang a healing song and chewed some buffalo food and blew it on the wounds. Then she applied the paste and wrapped my hands in new cloths. One could tell by her presence that she was a practiced healer. She never smiled, but the kindly look did not leave her face. I fell asleep dreaming of my own dead grandmother.

  “I continued to recover, drinking broth and eating of the wags-his-tail and prairie-runner meat they brought me. Then a few sleeps later I awoke in a sweat with a fearful pounding in my head. Then I began to get cold and my teeth chattered so I thought they would shatter. I tossed all night in such agony. When the medicine woman came to see me in the morning I had calmed down a little. But she looked at my face and her mouth fell open for I had begun to develop the little red sores. I saw them on my arms and I felt them around my mouth, and again I was besieged by the fever and chills. My body began to buck with such fury I was powerless to stop it. The old woman hurried out and returned with two older men. They had strips of rawhide in their hands. After they had tied me down, the woman signed that all of them had lived through the last plague of white scabs. They would not get it again. But by now I was tortured by red sores which were bursting all over my body and I was terrified of dying such a horrible death. This went on for how long I don’t know because I was out of my head. I saw many things during my ordeal, things that would drive a healthy man out of his mind. Perhaps Old Man was being merciful in allowing me to die at last, but I had to question his method. Many times I returned to the Sand Hills only to be drawn back right on the edge. The only peace I knew was when my relatives smiled at me.

  “Then one day I returned to the lodge. I was awakened by Sun Chief’s warmth as he lit up the walls. Then I smelled a meat broth and I got a little hungry. I pulled myself up on my elbows and looked at my body. It was covered with a pale salve. Many of the white scabs had dropped off and I could see the angry scars. It was there, that day while looking at my scars and my hands, that I knew why I had been punished so severely. As you men of the warrior societies know, in all things, to the extent of my ability, I have tried to act honorably. But there in that Crow lodge, in that lodge of death, I had broken one of the simplest decencies by which people live. In fornicating with the dying girl, I had taken her honor, her opportunity to die virtuously. I had taken the path traveled only by the meanest of scavengers. And so Old Man, as he created me, took away my life many times and left me like this, worse than dead, to think of my transgression every day, to be reminded every time I attempt the smallest act that men take for granted.” The energy had gone out of Yellow Kidney’s voice and he sat motionless, looking down at the fire. The lodge was as quiet as death, except for the occasional pop of the pitchy wood. Outside, in the black night, a wind came down from the north and rattled the ear poles of the lodge. The tight skins around the lodgepoles flapped and the fire flickered, then blazed.

  Three Bears spoke a prayer to all the Above Ones, thanking them for the return of their son, then said softly, “The spirits can be cruel, Yellow Kidney, but in their way there is a teaching.” He looked at the younger men of the lodge. “Did you find Fast Horse?”

  “No, his father has not seen him since midday,” said one of the Doves.

  “When he is found, tell him we would talk with him.” Although it wasn’t said, there was no doubt that it was Fast Horse’s loud boasting that caused these bad things to happen to Yellow Kidney. But the men respected Fast Horse’s father. The Beaver Medicine was the most powerful of the bundles and Boss Ribs had kept it well. Now his son would be punished. Many of them hoped that Yellow Kidney would exercise his right to revenge his mutilation, to kill Fast Horse. If that didn’t happen, they would probably banish the young man. That way, Boss Ribs could save some face.

  Before they left, the men renewed their vow to make war on the Crows. It was decided they would do this in the moon of the yellow grass. They would make Bull Shield pay for his cruelty.

  Three Bears called to Rides-at-the-door to stay when the men filed out. He lit his pipe and leaned back. His stiff back pained him badly and he needed to rest for a moment. Finally he said, “Why did White Man’s Dog leave in the middle of Yellow Kidney’s story?”

  Rides-at-the-door looked at Three Bears, but the old man had closed his eyes. “I think he heard something that startled him. I don’t know. It shamed me to see him leave.”

  “Perhaps he was just upset. Yellow Kidney is a pitiful man now. I don’t know what he will do.”

  “I was afraid he would come back this way. As he said, he would be better off dead. It pains me to say it but I wish he had not come back. I fear more bad things will happen.”

  “Do you think he will attempt revenge—on Fast Horse?”

  “Right now I don’t think he knows. He pities himself and thinks only of his misfortune. Soon, though, he will begin to think of Fast Horse.”

  “It could set off something. Such bad blood in a small group like the Lone Eaters could go hard on everyone.”

  Rides-at-the-door thought for a while. He knew what should be done but he didn’t like to say it. Boss Ribs was a friend of his and had already suffered much. Finally he did say it. “Fast Horse should be banished—tonight, if we can find him. The sooner he is gone, the sooner people will quit talking about him and Yellow Kidney. Perhaps we can prevent this revenge before Yellow Kidney has a chance to think of it.”

  “I feel as you do, Rides-at-the-door. Perhaps you can talk to Boss Ribs, persuade him to banish Fast Horse himself. If it can be done quietly, without commotion, our people will be able to forget this problem and get on with their affairs. There are some hotheads in this camp. We must cool them down.”

  “How I pity Boss Ribs! He has already lost two wives and three children to the Shadowland. To banish his own son—”

  “Talk to him. Tell him it must be done for the good of his people—and for the safety of his son.” Three Bears sat forward, and the pain made his eyes water. He knocked the ashes from his pipe. “One more thing. Heavy Shield Woman’s man is back, thus fulfilling her prayers. I would like White Man’s Dog to ride among the other bands and tell them of her vow to be Medicine Woman at the Sun Dance. He can start in the morning.”

  Rides-at-the-door had known Three Bears all his life and thought he knew the direction of the old man’s mind, but Three Bears many times managed to catch him off balance. “Why White Man’s Dog?”

  Three Bears began the painful task of getting up. “I trust him,” he said simply.

  “What about our journey to the tra
ding fort? The people expect to leave in the morning,” said Rides-at-the-door, helping the old man to his feet.

  “We can delay it a couple of sleeps. We must feast the return of our good relative, Yellow Kidney.”

  In spite of his concern for his son’s action that night, Rides-at-the-door had to smile at his old friend’s way of always trying to make things right for his people. That is why he is a chief, thought Rides-at-the-door.

  9

  THE NEXT MORNING WAS COLD, and a light rain ticked off the lodge skins. Beneath the roiled clouds the prairies looked as green as the waters of the Two Medicine River, and the first flowers had opened up. White Man’s Dog led the gray horse from the herds toward camp and didn’t notice that his moccasins were soaked through or that the smoke hung heavy and low over the lodges. Nor did he notice the man who approached from camp, until he felt the horse tug back against the lead. He lifted his head and saw his father, and he stopped.

  Rides-at-the-door didn’t waste words. “I want to talk about last night,” he said. “Something about Yellow Kidney’s story troubled you and now it troubles me. I want you to tell about it.”

  And so White Man’s Dog told his father about his dream, about the girls in the death lodge, and about how Yellow Kidney had suffered so horribly because of the dream.