by James Welch
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No, I am afraid for myself,” he said.
“Why? Do you desire me?”
“I can’t say. It is not proper.”
“Why not? This is the place of dreams. Here, we may desire each other. But not in that other world, for there you are my husband’s son.”
White Man’s Dog looked at her, and he felt nothing but desire. He tried to feel shame, guilt, but these feelings would not come.
“You may desire me, if you wish. Nothing will happen. You may lie with me, if you like.” She moved out of the water and stood before him. She looked into his eyes, and he saw Kills-close-to-the-lake for the first time. He saw the hunger she had kept hidden, he saw her beauty, and he saw her spirit.
So they lay down in the white grass together, their bodies warm and alive. He covered her breasts with his hands and pressed his mouth to her slender neck. He smelled her familiar scent and knew it was her. She moved beneath him and pulled him down and he closed his eyes. He felt her fingers tracing worlds on his back, and then he slept.
White Man’s Dog awoke with his cheek against the damp dawn grass. At first he didn’t know where he was. He was all alone and it frightened him. He sat up quickly and felt the sudden pain of his chest. He looked down and saw the strip of trade cloth that had been wound around his torso. Beneath the cloth he saw the leaves and the salve, and he remembered the events of the previous day. He was weak with hunger, and he fell back on his elbows. Sun was not yet up, but he saw Morning Star on the eastern horizon and, above him, Mistake Morning Star. He shook his head as though the whiteness of the stars had blinded him or reminded him of another place.
When he awoke the second time, Red Paint was kneeling beside him, his father and mother standing behind her. Red Paint smiled at him and helped him up and held him tenderly to her. Her hair smelled of sweet grass, and he whispered in her ear, “You are my woman, Red Paint, and I will always be your man.” He felt her lips move against his cheek but he couldn’t make out the words.
He turned and touched his mother, holding her away from the pain. She looked anxiously into his eyes.
“I am proud of you, my son,” said Rides-at-the-door. “Mik-api tells me you did not cry out once.”
“Mik-api is kind,” said White Man’s Dog.
Rides-at-the-door laughed and hugged him vigorously. He let out a howl and then he laughed too. As White Man’s Dog gathered up his robe, he saw a small object fall out. It was a white stone almost as big around and long as his little finger. He tucked it into the strip of cloth around his chest and caught up with his wife.
Mountain Chief stood before the gathered people. He was a tall man with a long handsome face creased by the winds of many winters. His shirt and leggings were made of antelope skin with dyed quill trim down the arms and legs. Weasel-skin pendants hung from the neck and shoulders. His bonnet was made of thirty eagle feathers standing upright from a folded rawhide headband, decorated with red flannel and brass disks. He raised his arms and the people fell silent.
“Haiya! Listen, my people, for I speak to you with a good heart. Once again we have constructed the Sun Lodge in the way we were taught by our long-ago people. Let it stand to remind passersby that the Pikuni are favored among all peoples. We have smoked the long-pipes together and are at peace with ourselves. Many have left presents for Sun Chief, and some among us have fulfilled vows made in times of trouble. Our children have learned much of the good way. Heavy Shield Woman and her helpers have shown our young girls the way to virtue. Our young men have listened to the wisdom of their chiefs. I believe our father, Sun Chief, is satisfied with us. He will bring us rain at the proper time so that the grass grows and the berries ripen. He will cause the blackhorns to be thick and everlasting upon our land. He will heal our sick and take pity on the poor....”
White Man’s Dog heard the sound of horses off to the right, in the area of Mountain Chiefs band’s lodges. He stole a glance and saw several young men sitting on their horses. He recognized Owl Child and Black Weasel and Bear Chief. The rigidity with which they sat, as they listened to the head chief, made White Man’s Dog tense. They had not been around during the ceremonies. Some thought they had remained north of the Medicine Line after Mountain Chiefs band fled up there. Others heard they had gone far south to the country where the Napikwans dug the yellow dust. But here they were, proud, arrogant, ignoring the people who glanced out of the corners of their eyes, dividing their attention between these intruders and their chief. Just as he was about to turn back to Mountain Chiefs speech, he glimpsed the black legs and head of a horse on Owl Child’s far side. He watched for a while and soon the horse, with a shudder, moved forward a couple of steps and he recognized Fast Horse. Like the other riders, he wore face paint and earrings and a Napikwan shirt, gartered at the elbows. His hair was tightly braided with pieces of red flannel. It had been two moons since White Man’s Dog had seen him, and he looked leaner in the face and harder in the body. He seemed to listen to the speech but his face gave away nothing.
White Man’s Dog stood and slipped behind a near lodge. He circled the inner lodges until he could see the backs of the riders. Then he walked forward slowly until he was standing beside the black horse. It was a good, strong animal but it wasn’t the horse Fast Horse had stolen from the Crow camp. White Man’s Dog looked up and at first Fast Horse would not recognize his presence. Then Fast Horse scratched the back of his neck, turned and looked down. He looked at White Man’s Dog and a grin slowly spread across his face. It was a triumphant grin and his eyes remained hard. Then he turned his attention to the remainder of the speech, the grin still in place.
“... I myself have never liked the Napikwans, and I say to you now I would do anything to rid this land of their presence. But many of our chiefs have spoken against me and I respect their arguments. They say that Napikwan is a way of life now. Some even suggest that we go to his schools and his churches. They say if we learn his language, we can beat him with his own words.
“As you know, the white chiefs soon will move the agency from Many Houses to the Milk River to be nearer to us. I believe this will happen before the falling-leaves moon. Already they have taken much of our land, and now they will want more. They are like the yellow-wings who hop about, eating everything in their path. Soon there will be nothing to feed upon.” Mountain Chief paused and looked down at a group of children who sat near his feet. His eyes softened and he almost smiled at these young Pikunis. He lifted his head. “But I will do as my chiefs demand. We will counsel with the whites, and if they do not want too much, we will make a new treaty. My heart is not in this, but I will accede to the wishes of my people.”
Owl Child suddenly whirled his horse, and in an instant the other riders followed. White Man’s Dog jumped back but the tail of the black horse caught him across the face. He rubbed his cheek and watched the riders gallop out of camp and across a field and out of sight behind a rise. It happened so fast that many people saw only a cloud of dust.
Mountain Chief saw it all, and he waited until the drumming hoofbeats died away. If he had been affected, he gave no sign. He was a chief. “Now we will go our separate ways and rejoin the hunt. Let there be no bickering among you, for our plains are vast and the blackhorns plentiful. You young men keep away from the white man’s water. I wish you good traveling and good hunting. Sun Chief has been honored and feels kindly toward his children. I grasp hands with all of you. My words enter your ears from my heart. Farewell.”
As White Man’s Dog helped pack the lodge furnishings on the travois, he watched the Small Robes leave the encampment. Heavy-charging-in-the-brush rode at the lead, followed by the warriors, who were singing a traveling song. Behind them came the women riding the travois horses. Children and old ones rode the travois, watching the other bands take down their lodges and pack up. The camp dogs, so boisterous during the encampment, now trotted patiently beside the packhorses. At the rear, young boys drove the loose
horses, snapping pieces of rawhide at them and shouting insults.
White Man’s Dog was anxious to be gone. He had learned from his father that they would head for the Sweet Grass Hills. The grass was always long there, and the buffalo caused the plains to be black as far as one could see. Also he was happy because the Sweet Grass Hills were not far from the Medicine Line. He did not like Owl Child’s reaction to Mountain Chief’s call for peace with the Napikwans. If trouble came, the Lone Eaters could run across the line in a day’s time. The thought of running shamed him, but he now had to think of Red Paint as well as his family.
He walked over to his father’s lodge to see if he could help them, but they were tying on the last of their belongings. His mother told him to get a kettle of water to douse the fire. He was glad for something to do and walked swiftly down the path to the small creek. As he neared the dam of sticks and mud, he saw Heavy Shield Woman bathing her face and arms. She was his mother-in-law now and according to custom he must not look at her face again, so he walked through the brush downstream until he came to a pool close to the bank. He lay on his belly and sucked in the cool water. He sat back and wiped his mouth. It was pleasant in the shade of the big-leaf trees, and he was glad to get away from people. He sighed and closed his eyes but he knew they would be waiting for him. He dipped the kettle full of water and turned to leave.
Kills-close-to-the-lake stood in the path. White Man’s Dog realized he had not seen much of her during the encampment, but she probably spent her time with her parents, who were of the Never Laughs band. They were camped several bands away from the Lone Eaters. As White Man’s Dog looked at her face, he saw something different about her. At first he thought she looked different because he had not seen her for several sleeps. Her face was still young but her eyes were deeper, as though she had become someone else, a woman that White Man’s Dog had never seen before. He started to speak when he noticed that her left hand was thickly bundled with cloth. He saw only three fingers sticking out of the bandage.
“You sacrificed a finger,” he said quietly.
“It is not uncommon. It is done at the Sun Dance honoring ceremony.”
“You made a vow?”
“I had a dream,” she said and walked past him and knelt by the water. He watched her drink from a cupped hand and then splash water on her face and neck. Then she stood and walked a short way upstream. She leaned against a big-leaf tree and shuddered deep down. Her eyes darkened with pain as she lifted the bandaged hand to her breast.
“You should rest—for the journey.”
“It was a dream about you,” she said. She did not look at him. “It was the moon when the heavy snows come, but it was not cold. It was as warm as it is now. You were down here by this creek and all around it was white. You hid behind this tree but I saw you. You watched me bathe in the waters. I felt your eyes on my body and I got light-headed. I pretended I didn’t notice you”—she lowered her eyes to the bandaged hand—“but then I felt something crawling all over my skin as though the water held tiny hot fleas. But when I turned to you, you were gone. In your place stood a short heavy animal with long claws and sharp teeth. He said, ‘Come to me, sister, and I will show you magic.’ He was the creature that lives by himself in the Backbone. All the others fear him, but I didn’t. I came out of the water and let him ravish me. I didn’t care; you had gone away. When he had finished, he bit this finger off. Before he left he threw the finger on the ground and it turned into a white stone. ‘Let this always remind you of your wickedness, sister. You’re lucky I didn’t bite your nose off.’ I threw myself into the white grass and wept, for he had revealed what I had kept hidden even from myself. And it was so hopeless, this desire! I wept until all my tears, all my desires and hope, were gone and I felt lighter. I could see more clearly and I saw nothing ahead of me and I was content with this vision. I found the white stone and carried it to where you were sleeping after your torture. I placed it ih the robe beside you so that you would be reminded of your good fortune.”
White Man’s Dog watched her run away from him. His mind was tangled with confusion. That white world she described was familiar to him. He had been there and had seen the white river. the white ground. And he had seen a dark creature and, yes, it had been Wolverine. Then he remembered the animal with white fur that had come to drink. It was a slender, lovely animal and he had watched it drink from the white waters. He had been in that world but he hadn’t seen Kills-close-to-the-lake.
He felt in his small war bag that hung around his neck and he pulled out the white stone, and as he caressed it, he sang softly:
“Wolverine is my brother, from Wolverine I take my
courage,
Wolverine is my brother, from Wolverine I take my
strength,
Wolverine walks with me. ”
White Man’s Dog didn’t know how or why, but Wolverine had cleansed both him and Kills-close-to-the-lake. He had also given White Man’s Dog his power, in the white stone and the song.
PART TWO
11
EARLY IN THE MOON of the burnt grass, not long after the Sun Dance, Red Paint sat outside her lodge resting her back. She had just fleshed a green blackhorn hide, and now it lay stretched to dry in the sun. She looked at the glistening white skin and it reminded her of the puffballs that grew in the valleys of the Backbone. She wished she was there now; the rivers were clearer and colder, the smell of pine was always sharp in the air—and the chokecherries would be ripening. Only last summer she had been a girl and had accompanied her mother and some other women up the Two Medicine River to pick the tangy cherries. It was there she had seen the round mushrooms and had picked one the size of her fist and held it against her cheek. It gave off a dry musky odor, and its skin was as smooth and hard as her own thigh. Except for the short dark whiskers on the bottom, it was as nearly a perfect thing as she had ever seen. She had taken it home to her father’s lodge, but soon it became leathery and collapsed in upon itself. One day she squeezed it and it split, sending out a puff of green smoke.
In six days White Man’s Dog would ride with the war party against the Crows. As she rubbed her neck and looked off to the Sweet Grass Hills, she felt again the dread that came whenever she allowed herself to think. She had tried to stay busy, but even a momentary lapse in concentration allowed that dreaded thought to steal through her whole body. She knew that war parties were part of a man’s life and she knew that she should be proud that White Man’s Dog had been selected to count coup on behalf of her father, Yellow Kidney. But it was because of Yellow Kidney that she felt so fearful. In her mind the Crows had grown big and fierce. She knew of their cruelty, and she was afraid White Man’s Dog would become foolish in his desire to avenge her father. Last night he had told her he would look for the lodge of that treacherous enemy, Bull Shield, and bring his head back for Yellow Kidney to spit upon. She knew this was the way a man prepared himself for a war party. All the men were talking this way; she had heard her own father tell of cruelties he would inflict upon the enemy—but that was in the past now. She just wanted her husband to be safe.
Her husband. Once again Red Paint marveled that she was married and keeper of her own lodge; even more she found it unbelievable that she had come to love White Man’s Dog with such heart. Now when he was away hunting, she could hardly wait for his return. And when he did return safely, she offered up silent prayers and cooked such big meals he complained that he was getting fat. Sometimes at night they would sleep away from camp under the stars, naked in their robes. They told ghost stories until both were frightened; then they made love as though the night were made only for that. Afterward, she would tell him more stories and make him laugh at her wild inventions. But the way he held her when he slept made her a little afraid—for she would never be able to live without him, without this love.
And now he was restless and he would not be at peace until he had counted war honors against the Crows. Last night he had struggled and cried out
in his sleep, and she knew that he was frightened.
Red Paint unrolled another green blackhorn hide and began to stake it down. As she pounded with her stone hammer, she thought again of the chokecherries in the mountains and wished they were there now, just she and White Man’s Dog. And maybe a little one inside of her. For the first time in four winters, she had missed her time to bleed. It was far too early to tell anything, but in her heart she was sure she was with child. She looked toward the lodge and saw a butterfly flitting against the stretched cover. It landed on the tied-back entrance flap. It was small and white with black-tipped wings. “Sleep-bringer,” she whispered to herself.
“Daughter! Why is it you daydream when all the other women are dressing blackhorns? Let me help you.” Heavy Shield Woman took the stone hammer from her daughter and quickly staked down the hide. It had been sixteen sleeps since she had been the Sacred Vow Woman, and she was recovering her strength. Red Paint looked at her face and in the bright sunlight it looked shrunken, the lines around her eyes and mouth deeper, the hollows of her cheeks shadowy. Even her strong brown fingers looked almost bony. But she struck the stakes with great force, driving them easily.
“You look different to me, Mother. Have you not recovered from your fast?”