by L. E. Waters
My grandfather puts a light arm around my shoulders and says, “When you were born, you cried, and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice.”
As we walk back to my teepee, Apawi spins by us, smiles with his eyes wide and strange, and says, “Isn’t life wondrous?” Then he spins back off again, screaming, “Thank you, Great Spirit!”
I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand Apawi.
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Mother has to move our teepee from the inner part of camp to the edge where all the widows, wintes, and childless elders are expected to live. Right next to our teepee lives a winte—a man who decides he doesn’t want to be a hunter or warrior and puts on a skirt to do woman’s work. There he stood, watching us sadly as we put up our teepee. Mother befriends him right away and tries to learn the winte’s tanning and beading secrets. Mother always says, “No woman can compete with the skill of a winte.” Some nights a man will sneak into his teepee, but it’s well known it brings bad luck to spend time alone with the winte.
The tribe now will provide us with some of what we need, but I want to make Father proud. I go out every day for the next week and crawl for hours in a buffalo skin, inching up, step by step, getting closer and closer to the fast antelope that graze in the open plain. Finally, when I’m within but a few paces, I pull up my father’s bow and quickly release the only shot I’ll get. Many times I miss, and walk home empty-handed to Mother. But this time, as I throw the buffalo skin off, I’m pleased to see one of the antelopes slowing and falling over with my arrow stuck in its ribs. I look to the skies, and a sudden wind comes and throws my hair back, and I know it’s Father.
Dragging the antelope by its thin horns, I pass right by my father’s resting place and see my mother there, wailing as she makes small cuts up her arm to relieve her grief. After she clears the tears from her eyes, she sees me with the antelope and comes to help drag it home. Once back to the camp, she says, “You have made your father smile.”
I never miss again.
Chapter 3
Six winters later, in the month when the Sun Stands in the Middle, the air is so hot and suffocating that Mother tells me to walk to the river near the neighboring camp and take my little brother swimming. She knows I have no love for swimming but she hits my backside gently, pushing me to leave her to her chores in peace. I begrudgingly walk the long distance to the wide river and hear the children and squaws splashing and laughing from many paces away.
It’s strange for a Lakota child to have such an aversion to water. Most are thrown in as soon as they can walk. Mother has done so, many times, but I always came up clinging to her. The banks of the river are crowded with residents from all the neighboring camps who come the distance to cool off in the hottest time of the day. My brother runs at the sight of the water and dives in, making me angry that he takes to it so well. He comes up from under the sparkling depths with water running into his little brown eyes and splashes at me on the bank, taunting me to come in. I bend over and see my wavering reflection on the surface. I see how I’ve changed since last summer. I see my father in my dark, shining eyes, broad cheekbones and lean build.
I turn to see if anyone else is afraid of the water, but see only Apawi pretending to swim in the dirt. He stares at me, winks, and sticks his face in the dirt. He turns over on his back in a fluid movement and spits the dirt up in the air like water as he paddles backwards in great, sweeping motions.
“Kohana,” someone calls. I scan the naked, smiling people and can’t tell where it’s coming from.
“Kohana!” he yells even louder.
I see him, sitting in a small birch bark canoe, holding his paddle high in the air for me to see.
“Hanska!” I exclaim, so happy to see the answer to my dilemma. They named him Hanska for his great height. He approaches manhood and, even now, is taller than most of the warriors. Hanska is my mother’s sister’s son. He paddles quickly to rocky bank where I’m standing. I jump in effortlessly, take the other paddle, and we go up against the current. I look back to check on my brother, who looks just as happy to be swimming by himself. We paddle up the middle of the river where few are brave enough to swim. As I put my paddle in each time, I stare into the uninviting depths. When we’re far up the river, Hanska says, “Let us lie back and watch the clouds as we float our way back.”
The air is much cooler on the water. I rest into the crook of the wooden frame and can smell the warm pitch used to hold the seams together. The thick white clouds move slowly on this windless day, and Hanska and I call out which animal spirit we see in each puff. The canoe lurches and, to my great horror, we flip over into the water.
I come up sputtering, grabbing hold of the seat to stay afloat inside the flipped canoe. Alone and afraid, water drips down my forehead and chin into the river and echoes in the cavernous underside. A form emerges in front of me and comes up with its long hair covering its face. The person splits the dark hair down the center of their face and pulls it back, revealing the delicate features of a girl. She wipes the water away from her eyes and grabs up to hold on to the other side of the seat, brushing my clenched fingers in the process. She laughs and gives a wide smile with a slight space between her front teeth. I’m shocked to see light-green eyes instead of the usual brown or black eyes of our people.
She says, “Do you live under here?”
I’m unable to speak, still suspended by her eyes. She is so close to my face in the dark of the canoe, I can feel her sweet breath touch my face. She giggles again and sinks down so that only her sparkling eyes flash above the water and then quickly squirts me straight in the eyes and disappears.
I hear much laughing outside the canoe. “Come out, Kohana! We need to flip it back over.”
I’m petrified to let go of the seat but, after seeing the beautiful girl who is so brave to be out in the middle of the river, I don’t want to seem a coward. I take a deep breath, force myself under the cool water and come up into the sun, still holding on to the edge of the canoe.
“He is attached, I think!” another girl says, laughing at my expense. She is slightly older than the green-eyed girl and is also beautiful but in a much more traditional way.
“No,” I protest. “I am flipping it back over.”
They laugh again as Hanska makes his way over to right the canoe. The girls dive after each of the floating paddles and when Hanska asks for them back the one with the large, honey-brown eyes says, “For a kiss.”
Hanska looks at me, surprised at her request, and eagerly swims back out to where she floats with the paddle. With his eyes closed and mouth puckered, he goes to kiss her as she leans in. Right before he gets close, she splashes him in the face and pushes away, laughing, letting the paddle float toward him. The girls and I laugh as the odd girl swims away.
She calls back to her friend, “Ask Glued-to-a-Canoe for a kiss.”
Green-eyes looks at me, and I shake my head immediately, making the girls reel with giggles. The green-eyed girl throws the paddle into the air with such great aim that I catch it from where I still hold on to the canoe. She yells, “I would not want you to have to swim for it.”
The heat rises in my face as she shames me, and I watch her swim like a fish back to her friend. Hanska, also shamed by the other girl, wipes the water from his scarred eyebrow and says, “Girls,” then spits out the water in his mouth.
The two girls dive down at the same time so that their small rear ends float above the surface. When they come back up, they’re laughing like loons. Hanska and I get the canoe flipped over, and both of us have trouble getting back into it without footing. As soon as we’re in, we try to paddle quickly away from the girls, but we keep turning to keep an eye on them. Once we go back to my brother, I help Hanska pull the boat from the water and carry it back to our tribe.
“Do you know those girls?” I ask.
“Yes, I have gone to their dances a few times.”
“Why does that girl have green eyes?”
He strains to better position the canoe on his shoulder. “Her father was a squaw man. He bought her mother and took her back to his French trading post. When she was still a baby, he left them and went back to his homeland across the big water. Just left them like most trappers do. So her mother returned, to her people, and for years no man would take them until Mato took her on as his third wife.”
I yell over my shoulder to my brother, “Keep up with us or the wolves may get you!” I hear his little feet quicken, and his hand grips my hip, trying to stay close to me now. “Do you know their names?”
“You are interested in these girls, I see.” He gives me a sly smile.
“Fine. I don’t care.” I kick a rock hard into his calf, which makes him laugh.
“The green-eyed girl is named Wakinyan, and the other is named Mika.”
“Strange names.” I say, thinking about why the green-eyed girl is named after the sacred and feared thunderbird.
“She was named Mika because she was born with a darkening around her eyes, like the raccoon, that lasted for days.”
I nod. I want him to talk more about Wakinyan, but I don’t want to seem too curious. We walk the rest of the way back in silence and, later, as I sit at Mother’s fire, I glance in the direction of Wakinyan’s camp. Mother notices my faraway look. “Did you leave something at the river?”
She breaks my trance, and I say, “No.” But she can clearly see from my reaction her instincts are right.
“You are past ten winters now, and that is a good time to start visiting other nightly celebrations.” She lets my brother crawl into her lap as I eat my supper. She continues, “Soon you will start to look for a wife, so it is good to get to know all the girls, to see which ones you favor.”
I nod, and she says, “After your belly is full, you can go out to that camp, if you like.”
I stuff the rest of the meat in my mouth and take off running across the prairie in the direction of the drumming as the sun lowers on the horizon.
Chapter 4
I can see the glowing teepees from far off. The drums get louder, and their voices rise out to me. I run into the village as the evening star appears and find a place at the back of the large circle formed in the center of camp. A great bonfire reaches up to the stars, casting mysterious shadows over all the faces, making them hard to recognize. It seems the entire village is out tonight, either dancing or singing. I look around, trying to see the cause for such a celebration and, there, sitting by Chief Eyota are two white men, dressed in the thick, stiff clothes of their kind, smoking the peace pipe with the chief and council elders. Now and again, the white men come into our village to trade furs for guns, and they stay in the camp for some time before they go back to their trading posts.
I can’t understand a word of their strange tongue and don’t like the way they walk and stare at things. I push my way into the circle and sit down with my legs crossed, watching the warriors dance around the fire. When the song is over, some of the young maidens get up to dance, and I notice the white men stop talking suddenly to watch. One white man is much older than the other one, who looks like he must have just reached manhood. When I look back to the maidens dancing, I realize that two familiar young girls have joined in.
Mika and Wakinyan are adorned in their finest skirts and beaded necklaces. Mika wears mostly blue, and Wakinyan is in green. They both have their hair tightly braided, with feathers tied on each braid. Wakinyan dances around the older maidens as a child would, spinning and hopping with a large grin on her face, but Mika seems to have already learned the maiden dance and follows the other maidens. She is the most captivating dancer among them. As she circles around, every gaze sets upon her and follows her around the circle. Her feet taps are as light as an antelope’s, springing up on the quick beat. She dances low while tapping and then spreads her feather-adorned arms wide in perfect rhythm.
When the dance ends, Eyota motions for the snake dance—a courting dance for young couples—to begin. Some warriors take the hand of the maiden they’re already courting and lead them into the circle, while others simply start to dance alone, waiting to be joined by an interested pursuer. The chief pushes the two trappers to go and pick a maiden for the dance. The older one goes immediately to a shapely maiden standing near Chief Eyota, while the young one walks through the whole circle to ask Mika to dance. She shakes her head at first, since no maiden can dance the snake dance until she has had her women’s celebration, but Eyota gives a quick nod and hand swipe indicating that, in this instance, she should dance.
A pang of anger washes over me that this paleface gets special treatment, but then I decide it will be much fun to watch him dance. White men are terrible dancers, swaying as stiff as trees, legs planted and arms tightly moving. When all maidens are paired, the drums and flutes begin, and I smile as the trapper tries to follow her fluid movements. The trapper is much taller than Mika, who seems not yet fully grown. He hovers above her, and she smiles sweetly as he catches on. Not only does he catch on but, by the end of the dance, he moves as if he has been dancing the snake dance for many moons. When the drums stop, they’re moving as one.
She hops back to the spot near her mother. The trapper watches her sit and then goes back to the chief. The other man brings back the maiden he danced with and has her sit close beside him. The maiden looks pleased to be chosen and giggles to her sisters on her other side.
Wakinyan sits with a few girls her age, playing with the beads in their hair. Though the flutes continue and an elder gets up to sing alone, I see Eyota talking to the trappers again. I speak to the older boy beside me. “Why are the palefaces here?”
He turns to see if he knows me and quickly replies, “They came in the morning, bringing five ponies for the chief. The old one lived with us a year ago, and now he’s back with a young one.”
Wakinyan gets up and walks away, and I follow her. She hurries along, winding through the empty teepees. I hang back so she won’t notice me. I follow her down the knoll near the river to one of the teepees on the eastern side of camp. Wakinyan puts her hand in the bowl left by the entrance and bends down to take a drink. She then wipes her mouth and steps into the teepee. I come out from my hiding spot, attempting to memorize her exact teepee as her head pops back out, and she throws a moccasin at me. I dodge right before it hits my head, and the teepee erupts with giggled laughter. I run all the way home.
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I come back again the next night, with Hanska leading the way. This time, the circle is much smaller. Many in the tribe are walking around, visiting and talking, since darkness is always the tribe’s leisure time. All children who have grown out of their cradles are free to run through the village and return to their teepees when they need rest. Hanska goes to sit with those gathered near the light of the fire in the big council teepee, and I follow. The circle is made up primarily of warriors and a couple of council elders. The two white men are there again and are the subject of much interest. The older white man speaks our tongue surprisingly well, but he seems to be teaching and translating to the young one. It’s such a hot night that the circle sits away from the fire, and the white men sweat in their cloth. The younger one keeps coughing and only breathes through his mouth.
The older white man snickers and turns to us. “It will take a little while for him to get used to the bear grease.”
Palefaces always have trouble getting used to the grease we use on our hair and skin.
An elder speaks, “And how long will it take to get used to the smell of him?” We all laugh, and even Reynard chuckles a bit at this. White men smell like wet dogs when their wool clothes get wet and steam by the fire.
The white man points to us. “Are they from the west camp?’
Hanska nods for us.
“What are your names?’
“Hanska and Kohana,” he says.
The older man poin
ts to himself. “They call me Reynard, and this is Chase.”
“What is he doing here?” Hanska asks without a smile.
Reynard laughs. “What are any of us doing here?”
Eyota and some of the elders laugh along with him. He translates for Chase then replies, “He says he is here to steal your women.”
Reynard laughs hysterically along with Chief Eyota, whose deep dimple shows. Hanska is getting bothered.
“Everyone except this one.” Reynard pulls the young maiden he’d been dancing with down beside him. “Oh, and”—he belches mid-sentence and resumes—“this one too.” He chuckles as he brings down another young girl serving him food. He squeezes them both to him.
Hanska gives Eyota an agitated look. Eyota puts his hand up slightly and shoots him a stern glare.
Apawi enters the teepee, rear end first, and comes rolling over backwards into the circle. When he gets up, he sits backwards with his face toward the teepee skin. Chase and I seem the only ones amused by this, and Chase says, “Ha.”
Then Chase almost jumps out of his skin when Apawi immediately, and much louder, yells, “Ha!”
Chase stops laughing and looks to Reynard with his hands up. Reynard twists his fingers around his ear and rolls his eyes around strangely in some unspoken gesture. “Always nice to see you again, Apawi,” Reynard says, in a much-too-sweet tone.
Apawi breaks out in hysterical laughter, slapping his knee. Reynard looks around in wonderment, and his lips purse at the insult. Chase says something that amuses Reynard and Apawi breaks out in mimicked-laughter too.