by Gayle Rogers
“No!” hissed Atsitsi back, pretending surprise.
“You old devil, Nakoa can’t race—he’s still wounded!”
“Nakoa doesn’t race. His horse does.”
“You’re so smart!”
“All Indian smart. Even Nakoa now!”
“What are you talking about?”
Where Nakoa and Siksikai had stood mounted, there now appeared two bursts of dust, racing toward the crowd at the finishing line. Nakoa’s horse had gained the lead and kept it, but as they approached, both quirting their horses savagely, no one shouted or cheered as they had done in the previous race. At the finish, both riders dismounted, and Siksikai silently handed his horse over to Nakoa.
“They bet their war horses!” Maria exclaimed in surprise because she had learned how valuable these animals were to the Indian.
“Siksikai bet horse. Nakoa not so stupid. He bet you!” Atsitsi said in triumph.
There it was again, in all of its terrible clarity. To Nakoa she was an animal to be traded for a horse. With black rage came darker despair. That night Maria paced Atsitsi’s lodge like a caged animal. She hid her face in her hands. “To him I am a dog—a lowly dog!”
“No. He just like horse better! Now why you so mad?”
Maria picked up a piece of wood. “Don’t speak to me! If you say another word I will kill you!” Tears coursed down her cheeks in spite of herself. She flung herself upon her couch.
“White woman fit all of time!” Atsitsi moaned. “Why not go outside and have fit? More room!” Atsitsi began to eat, and finally Maria quieted. From the inner circle came the sound of drums. “What is that?” Maria asked.
“Mutsik dance in council lodge; celebration ‘cause you finally shut up.”
Maria turned to the wall, a plan beginning to form in her mind. She remained quiet and pretended to sleep. Much later she cautiously turned over and saw that Atsitsi had fallen asleep, her mouth slack and spittle running from its corners.
“She must be having a good dream,” Maria thought. “Atsitsi!” she whispered. “Atsitsi!”
The old woman started slightly, scratched and began to snore. Maria noiselessly left the lodge.
Laughter and singing were coming from the inner circle, and Maria walked toward it. The cool night air brushed her face, smelling as it always did of the pine from the mountains. Nakoa would be in the Mutsik lodge; the thought of seeing him in a few minutes made a tumult in her mind, a pounding in her blood.
“Who is this?” a voice asked suddenly.
Maria looked up at a tall shadowed form. “The white woman,” she faltered. “I do not know you,” she continued slowly in Pikuni.
“I am Siksikai.”
Maria drew back in fear.
“Why is Nakoa’s white woman walking alone at night without Atsitsi?”
“She fell asleep. I wanted some fresh air.”
“You speak our tongue well.”
“Atsitsi spends all day teaching it to me! That is, when Atsitsi is not eating.”
Siksikai did not smile at her humor. Maria could see him better now, and he was studying her intently. “Has Atsitsi told you that Nakoa is to give you to me?”
Maria bowed her head. “Yes.”
“I do not want to wait,” he said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“You know my words. Come to my lodge with me now. Nakoa will not know.”
Maria began to shake in fury. “It is to be that easy? From one to another?”
“I have looked at you.” She started to back away from him, but he held her closely. One hand held her wrists and the other brushed her hair, her lashes and finally her lips. He kissed her mouth. “I have watched these lips,” he whispered. “I have seen your breasts—naked—beautiful—and I will see the rest of you.”
With a tremendous effort Maria broke away from him. “Move toward me, and I will scream!” she panted. “Nakoa almost killed you twice because of me!”
He remained still.
“You do not know that he will not keep me!”
“He will give you to me. Nitanna would have it no other way. What you do now will determine the way you will be treated as long as I have you.”
“I have no choice. You will have to wait your turn—like the others—after you.” In spite of her intent, she had begun to cry. She walked away from him, toward the inner lodges, and he made no attempt to restrain her.
“Remember my words,” he said quietly, but she neither answered nor turned around.
Near the council lodge, she stopped to wipe the tears from her face. Inside there was loud laughter, and the drums began again.
“Maria!” a feminine voice called softly. “Maria!” It was Anatsa; Maria could tell by the crippled girl’s walk as she came toward her. “Maria,” she said, very agitated. “What are you doing here?”
“I am going to a dance,” Maria said bitterly.
“It is for only the wives and sweethearts of the Mutsik!”
“Well, aren’t I everybody’s sweetheart?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you have heard. Everybody in the village has heard. Anyone can be my lover. In your tongue I would be unclean. In my tongue I would be a whore. In either tongue, I am to be another Atsitsi!”
The little Indian girl took Maria’s hand. Maria fought tears, and was surprised to see them spring into the Indian girl’s eyes. “I know your pain,” Anatsa said simply. “Come and sit with me before Onesta’s lodge, and we will talk.”
Wordlessly, they seated themselves before the darkened and quiet tipi, both watching the lighted council lodge so close to them.
“Where is Atsitsi?” Anatsa asked.
“Asleep. She won’t get up until she gets hungry.”
“Why did you walk here alone? This would make Nakoa very angry.”
“I—hoped to see him. I want to talk with him.”
“Inside there tonight there will be sacred ceremony. This night the women of Mutsik choose their lovers—the men they will accept.”
“Do the women do the choosing?”
“In this dance they do. If a man does not want to be the woman’s lover, he does not meet her in the Kissing Dance.” Anatsa’s slender hands began to twist again in her lap. She had been sick all day at the thought of a woman choosing Apikunni and his accepting her. Maria saw her hands.
“Anatsa,” she said gently, “I think I know what is in your heart.”
Anatsa looked startled. “What is in my heart?” she repeated.
“Yes. You love Apikunni.”
Anatsa bowed her head.
“Why do you bow your head at love?”
“Because I am nothing before it. Love brings agony, but loving alone brings death. No there is not even the peace of death. There is just emptiness. Emptiness—with expectation gone.”
“Why should expectation be gone for you?”
Tears now rushed suddenly down the thin cheeks. “How can you ask this when you have seen me? Have you not seen that I am crippled and ugly, a thing that can never even grow into a woman? It is only a woman that can produce a son!”
“I see a beautiful young girl who has the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen. I do not see just a crippled leg.”
“If I existed for him at all—that is all he would see. But I do not exist for him—I cannot!”
“Little fool!” Maria scolded tenderly. “Little fool. You do exist, and you cannot destroy yourself by saying you are nothing. Does he know your love? Does he know your feelings? Does he know that you would take his face within your hands and kiss his lips and know nothing else in the world but the need to do it again and again?”
Anatsa looked at Maria strangely.
“Does he know that you would lie with him and in your love have all of the beauty of all of the women who ever loved a man? You can be drink that he will have to have—yes, you!” Anatsa looked into the beautiful shadowed face. Maria stood, feeling a strength that shook t
he prairie. “Such is the power of the woman who loves,” she said softly. “It is as strong as the tide of the oceans—the pull of the earth. Anatsa,” she said. “Get up. We will go to the sacred dance!”
“I have no sweetheart,” Anatsa said.
“I give you one of mine!”
“Maria, it is serious ceremony!”
“And I am serious. Anatsa, I saw my father and sister die. My old life is dead, but I am not. I am living now, with each beating of my heart, and there is no place upon this earth for the living to hide. I will not hide, Anatsa, and neither will you.”
“I cannot.”
“Then I will go there alone.”
“Maria, you cannot, you have been told not to leave Atsitsi’s alone.”
“Inside of the lodge I will be with the whole Mutsik.”
“All right,” Anatsa whispered, getting to her feet. “I will go with you.”
Outside of the council lodge, Maria hesitated before she opened the doorflap. She saluted the sound of dancing and laughter within. “To our sweethearts,” she said soberly.
When they entered the lodge, all of the drums stopped as if a magical wand had suddenly willed silence.
The men had been dancing, two rows of them facing each other. They stood still and looked at Maria and the trembling Anatsa. The women seated upon the sidelines looked at them too, and no one said anything. Maria saw Nakoa right away, and an amazed Apikunni. After the first long silence, Nakoa did not favor her with another glance, but signaled for the drummers to commence again, and the dancing was resumed.
“What ceremony is this?” Maria asked Anatsa.
“This is the dance for warriors who have never fled from a battle.”
“Well, one just fled now!” Maria said.
Anatsa smiled, and Apikunni saw her smile and wondered which one of the Mutsik was her lover.
The women were slow to turn back to the dance of their husbands and sweethearts, seeming to find Anatsa and Maria more interesting.
The dance finally ended, and two more followed, the dance for men who had never been surrounded in battle, and the dance for men who gave most freely of their possessions. Nakoa was in both. “That is a good dance for him!” Maria said of the last, thinking of Siksikai, the horse race, and the way Nakoa had held her once and ignored her now.
Anatsa caught Apikunni’s eyes upon her, and blushing, tried to move behind Maria. “Where are you going?” Maria asked angrily. “We haven’t asked anyone to dance yet.”
“Maria,” Anatsa scolded. “These dances are sacred to the Indian. Do you see the stripes a man wears upon his leggings? Each one stands for an enemy killed in battle.”
“Or that he is a skunk,” Maria said.
“The cut pickets upon their shirts stand for the coups of stealing an enemy’s horse. Stealing a great warrior’s horse is as great a coup as stealing his scalp.”
“And a lot more valuable than stealing his wife.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” He didn’t even look at her. For forty days he had held her captive, and had branded her as a whore for the rest of her life, and now was even too godly to give her an angry glance! His complete indifference was the one thing she had never expected. When the drums finally stopped she was choking with rage. If I were chief of this village I would make him sleep with Atsitsi! Every night—and twice a day! she thought.
The men had gone back to their side of the room. “Now what are they doing?” Maria growled.
“They are preparing for the Kissing Dance. Oh, Maria, what can Apikunni think of my being here?”
“That you have a lover—I hope!”
“Maria, that is a lie!”
“So are all of them!” she said wrathfully, nodding at the men. At last, very softly now, the drums began again. Some of the women stood, and moved forward from the others still seated to watch the dance. They moved slowly and beautifully to the beat of the music. A solemn hush fell over the room. The women danced toward the line of men, and the men who responded to them with feeling rose to meet them. Anatsa’s face became suddenly radiant. Apikunni remained seated!
Now the line of men approached the dancing women who began to sing sweetly, moving their hands and arms gracefully toward them. When the women had danced close enough to their men to touch them, the first woman touched her lover lightly upon the shoulders. He immediately drew her to him, and they kissed, and then the two of them danced between the lines of men and women. When they had gone from one end of the line to the other, they parted, each returning to his own line. The next woman chose her lover, with the singing and dancing resuming after they had kissed.
“Nakoa has remained seated,” Anatsa whispered.
“He’s probably tired from being so mean,” Maria replied. She saw the dance as a moving and a beautiful ceremony in spite of herself. “Now which one will I choose?” Maria asked Anatsa flippantly.
Anatsa clutched at her arm. “Maria, you are pledged to Nakoa. A woman can have only one man. Adultery is severely punished!”
Behind her, Maria felt someone enter, and turning, saw Siksikai. He smiled at her, and hoping that Nakoa would see her, she smiled eagerly back. Anatsa began to stir uneasily. “I think we should leave,” she said softly.
“No,” Maria replied. “We have Apikunni stealing all kinds of looks over here. Now we can work on stone-mountain Nakoa next to him!” She glanced at him wrathfully as she spoke. From the men’s line Siksikai caught her attention.
Rage made her sick. If Nakoa had lost his race this afternoon, Maria would have been forced to bed with Siksikai. She darted for the woman’s line. Let Nakoa pretend not to see her now!
Behind her, she dimly heard Anatsa gasp, “Maria!” Blindly she went to Siksikai and touched his shoulders. Standing on her toes she kissed him upon the mouth. Let him not see her—now!
Her breath was knocked from her lungs. She had been flung to the floor with killing force. Blotting out all light, Nakoa stood over her again, his knife drawn and facing Siksikai. The drums had stopped. The singing had stopped. There was no sound, as though all of the world was dead and they were bloodless shadows in a frozen twilight.
Anatsa came swiftly to her and helped her to her feet. “He will kill me!” Maria sobbed.
“No,” Anatsa said.
Maria hid her face against Anatsa. How could she not have remembered his awful wrath?
“If you ever touch this woman again before I am through with her, I will kill you!” she heard Nakoa say. “If you ever allow even her touch before she is yours, I will kill you!”
“Kill him now!” Apikunni shouted. Maria looked at him aghast.
“Kill the woman!” another said.
Maria moaned and with terrible effort faced Nakoa. He came to her and grasped her roughly by the arm. “Akai-Sokahpse!” he said low and savagely, and forced her toward the door. Terrified she looked at Anatsa, and then Siksikai, and Nakoa saw her pleading.
“There is no one to help you now,” he said and forced her outside of the lodge.
Chapter Nine
Hardly away from the lodge, Nakoa seized her and shook her by the shoulders. When she cried out, he slapped her across the face. She screamed in rage, and he slapped her again. She sprang at him like a wild animal, but was powerless against him.
“Fool! Fool!” he raged. “Are you so crazy to have a man inside of you that you have to come to my tribal society to straddle them all?”
“How dare you! You unspeakable despicable …”
“Speak my tongue!”
“Savage! Savage!”
He slapped her again. She bit her mouth and blood came to her lips.
“I know that word,” he said low and ominously. “You will never use that word for me again.” His hands had tightened upon her flesh. He shook her again. “Answer me!”
She hung her head, her long hair covering her face, blood running unchecked to her chin.
“I know the word for you that the white m
an gave Atsitsi. Harlot. Harlot. If you are a harlot, why did you fight me at the river? For what were you crying when I started to enter you? You have made me a fool, waiting to take you as my wife!”
“As your wife? You are marrying Nitanna!”
“As my second wife! I have waited—when now I will not wait! I have wanted you to keep.”
“Siksikai—I am to go to Siksikai—and then everyone else. Atsitsi said—”
“I can change that.”
“You told the high chiefs—”
“I am the high chief. I am next to my father. You are mine to do with as I will. If I decide to keep you, I can. If I decide to kill you, I can.” He forced her to walk with him, toward his darkened lodge.
“Where are we going?”
“To my lodge.”
“Why?”
“To lie upon my couch. I will sleep with you tonight. I will try you and see how many more nights you will stay with me.”
She began to sob. “You did not weep in there,” he said. “You did not weep when you invited Siksikai to your bed tonight and told the whole village that you are a harlot!”
Maria looked up at him in a rage. “You will not be called a savage by me; I will not be called a harlot by you. I cannot beat you, and I cannot kill you, but don’t you call me a harlot again!”
He pulled her inside his lodge, and built a fire. He looked at her as she crept close to it, trying to control her shivering. “Isn’t this the time for you to take off your dress?” he asked her quietly.
“I will not take it off,” she said. “You can do it for me—like you did my chemise!” She would not cry again, but she would not look at him either. He turned her face toward his.
“What did you want tonight, Maria?” he asked.
“To make you angry,” she blurted.
“Why?”
“For over forty days you have ignored me! You have not looked at me, spoken to me, and yet you have told your people that I am to be your mistress and the village whore when you marry this—Nitanna!”
“I have kept from you—to make you my second wife. I have kept you clean so I wouldn’t have to trade you!”
“Why couldn’t I have known this?”