The People

by Bernard Malamud

  “What else could we do?” Jozip asked uneasily. “Would you go to that reservation in the Western states which finally they say they will offer us, where nobody from our tribe has lived there before and the land bakes hot in the summertime? Is this where we should go, so far away from our home in the valley, to live like animals?”

  “Why do you ask me? We are of one mind about the decision to leave,” said Indian Head.

  “Denks for your good words,” Jozip said as their horses trotted on together.

  Indian Head then asked Jozip if he was religiously inclined. “You speak easily of the sky and in my presence you have often named the Great Spirit, but we have not exchanged thoughts about our beliefs. How much do you believe? Do you think of yourself as a religious man?”

  “I have not made up my mind on this subject,” Jozip confessed. “But I feel comfortable to believe in the Great Spirit. Who, otherwise, can explain the heavens and the light of the stars?”

  “You speak good words,” said Indian Head. “Why is it I make up my mind yes on some days and no on others, when the weather of my mood is the same each day?”

  “Now we tulk like friends,” Jozip said. “We will be friends—no?”

  Indian Head nodded, then fell back with his steed, and before long One Blossom rode forward on her bay.

  “The women and children are very tired,” she said. “How much longer do you expect us to go on today?”

  Jozip removed a bulky cloth map from the leather pouch he kept in his saddlebag. He pointed a stubby finger at the mountain range they were approaching in the near distance, then pointed to the foothills that lay before them. “This is where we turn off into Montana. You must speak to the women and tell them we will stop before the sun goes down. Tell them that the men expect to eat hot food. There is plenty of jerked beef and pemmican.”

  One Blossom lowered her head a moment. But when she raised her eyes toward him, Jozip faced her sternly and she put on a stern face. “I am sad to be leaving the land of my father’s grave,” said One Blossom. “I don’t know when I shall ever see it again.” She went on, “The whites have stolen our land from us. They say they go by democracy, but to me it seems that none of them knows what it truly is. If they had respected our rights and property we would still be living in the valley of the snaking river we love, and there would be no thought of a new reservation, or of fleeing into Canada.”

  “A reservation will be a miserable place to live if it feels like a prison roof on our heads. This must not hoppen,” Jozip said.

  One Blossom spoke in a low tone: “Jozip, I trust your judgment.”

  “Denks,” said Jozip. Then, as if he had just invented the thought, he told her that Indian Head was his first true friend.

  He said this while her eyes refused to leave his.

  One Blossom turned back to carry the chief’s message to the women.

  When she had gone Jozip reflected on himself as the leader of the tribe. He had many doubts about his performance. Yet the Indians chose me, he thought. Chief Joseph himself picked me to be chief in his place. Otherwise why did they kidnop me in the middle of the street?

  Jozip turned on his horse and signaled his people. He waved them toward the wood he wanted them to enter.

  The tribe ate in silence.

  Indian Head was one of those on guard that night. He said to Jozip, “The braves have been drinking firewater. They speak of their disgust that we don’t stand and fight.”

  “Who will they fight?” Jozip asked. “Maybe I should go with you when you speak to them? Maybe we should spill their firewater into the fire.”

  Indian Head said he thought he could handle it alone. He had told One Blossom that she had better get some rest. They had miles to go before dawn broke.

  “I will rest,” she said. “I wanted first to tell Jozip what my father said to me.” She looked at Jozip.

  “Tell me too,” said Indian Head.

  “I will tell you,” she said. “Once my father said that if it ever became necessary for his children to leave our valley he would be present to guide us on our way.”

  “Do you believe that?” Indian Head asked her.

  “I do,” she said. “I believe his word.”

  “I would enjoy to have his good advice,” Jozip said.

  He thought he ought to get a few hours of sleep if he could.

  Indian Head then asked One Blossom why she looked as if she had been crying.

  “I haven’t been,” she said. She glanced at Jozip but he wouldn’t look at her. One Blossom went off into the deep grass to the wagon where some of the young women slept.

  Jozip, in his tent, pulled off his buckskin pants, untied his leggings, then found he was too wide awake to sleep.

  The next morning, after the tribe was moving, One Blossom rode forward to talk to Jozip and confessed her fear of dying young.

  In the morning the herald spoke to the People:

  “The ascent of the mountains was tedious. It had begun to rain hard. The muddy, slippery trails were impossible to ride or walk along. They were crowded with huge rocks and fallen trees. We made our descent, slipping, crawling, scrambling over wet rocks and thick underbrush. At last we found an opening in the forest and stopped to feed and rest our animals. Last Days thanked the Great Spirit for stopping the cold rain.

  “We had come ten miles since daybreak, and Chief Jozip told the People we would have to go faster. The trails we followed over the Buffalo Mountains were obstructed by fallen trees, uprooted by winds, and matted together in troublesome ways. We abandoned two of the wagons for children, and divided them among the women. Then we found animals with torn bodies stretched along the trail where others had been, who Indian Head said were buffalo hunters from another tribe.

  “Our march this day was to be sixteen miles. We climbed ridge after ridge in the wilderness; sometimes the only possible passage was filled with fallen trees, crossed and uncrossed. We traveled more miles and camped on the slope of another mountain. Now the grazing was poor. We had lost one wagon full of hay, and all we had left for the poor horses was wild lupine and wire grass. We made camp in the late afternoon. Two of the children had fevers.

  “We had come ten miles since daybreak, but Chief Jozip said we ought to do another three before the day ended. We went another four. In the morning a messenger caught up with us and gave us bad news. He said that the soldiers under Colonel Gunther had discovered our early departure from the Long Valley and had begun to pursue us. Some of the braves were eager to stand and fight, but no one urged our chief to change the course of our flight. Chief Jozip said he thought he could see Canada when he looked into the deepest distance. I looked too but I could not see it.”

  Long Wind, a brave with a sharp tongue, came to talk with Jozip as he sat alone at his campfire. Long Wind said he must talk to Chief Jozip and they sat together. They spoke to each other as best they could.

  “What will you do when the soldiers catch up with us and begin to shoot their rifles?” the brave asked. “They are only two days behind us.”

  “If they shoot at us we will shoot back,” Jozip said in the language of the People, “but I will not shoot at them if they ask for a powwow and say they have come in peace and wish to live in peace with us. If they say that, I will tell them once more that we will not go to a new reservation. The only reservation where we will live is our own in the Long Valley. If they say that it is not our reservation anymore, then I will ask them to let us go on without delaying us.

  “I will say that we are on our way to Canada and bear them no ill will. I will say that Canada is our mother now. I can see her in my heart.

  “Do you feel sad at leaving America? Our people have lived on this land since they arrived on earth.”

  “But suppose they don’t let us go where we want to go and instead interfere with the People?” said Long Wind.

  “Then I will break off the meeting with the colonel and announce that we must move on again.”

>   “Suppose the whites shoot at us?”

  “We will take care of that when it comes to that.”

  “Without arms?”

  “We are not without arms,” Chief Jozip said. “We don’t want to use our arms if we don’t have to.”

  “You will get nothing from the white faces but scorn and lies.”

  “We will see.”

  “By the time you begin to see,” said the young Indian in a tight rage, “half our people will be dead.”

  “We will say we want peace, that peace leads to peace.”

  “They will say, ‘Peace leads to war when two nations collide,’ although you don’t seem to understand that.”

  “Don’t speak to me with murder in your heart, Long Wind.”

  “That is what I have in my heart,” said Long Wind bitterly. He walked away, leaving Jozip sitting alone by his fire.

  Now One Blossom came forth from the dark to speak to Jozip. Jozip did not tell her what Long Wind had said to him.

  One Blossom spoke angrily: “Don’t you take any pleasure in being with me?”

  “Of cuss,” the chief said, “but how much pleasure can I take if you belong to Indian Head?”

  “Indian Head belongs to Indian Head,” One Blossom said. “He is my friend, but I have never said I will be his squaw. I am Chief Joseph’s daughter, and will tell my man when I have chosen him. My father never gave me to anyone. I will love who I please. That is my message to Jozip the chief.”

  Jozip told her he was in no mood to hear that message.

  “Our tribe is now being followed by an American army,” he said. “I have to think of the tribe first. I have also Indian Head to think about. He is my friend. And I have our long journey, and at last the escape to think of which the council has planned.”

  Jozip said, “My name is like your father’s name. Think of that and what it means.”

  “Please don’t tell me what I must think.”

  One Blossom fled into the dark wood.

  Jozip called out an affectionate name, but she did not return.

  He scattered the glowing embers of his fire.

  TWELVE

  Three Indians

  ON THE MORNING of the twentieth day of the tribe’s long trek to Canada, One Blossom rode with Jozip, who had been riding with Indian Head. For a while all rode together. No one said much to the others. Jozip, uncomfortable with himself, tried to think out a way to put them at ease with each other.

  He spoke his mind openly. “My friend Indian Head and my friend One Blossom, let us tulk in such a way that it makes us comfortable to be together. Our big purpose must still be to protect the people from any kind harm, while we gradually leave our country. On this subject I am not always happy, but I have made up my mind what I must do and I will do it. What bothers me the most is that I feel we are angry and without trust for each other.

  “Indian Head,” Jozip asked, “are you angry and without trust on account of me, and if so, why? It feels to me like all of a sudden you are suspicious of me.”

  “I will tell you at once,” Indian Head said curtly. “Are you trying to take One Blossom from me?”

  “God forbid,” said Jozip.

  “I am not yours to be taken away from you,” One Blossom said.

  “Your father, the good Chief Joseph, wanted us to marry,” Indian Head said. “He told me so.”

  “He never said that to me,” One Blossom said.

  Indian Head asked her whether she thought he was lying.

  “No,” she said. “You and I are good friends. I want us to stay friends, but I don’t want you to try to push me to marry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Indian Head said. “We have known each other since we were children.”

  “I was not clear in my own mind,” One Blossom said. “I thought I was but I wasn’t. I learn more slowly than I thought. I have told you that often. That’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I am not pushing you to do anything, but I want you to be honest when we talk. Have you given me up for Chief Jozip? If this is true in your thoughts, don’t hide them from me.”

  “No,” said Chief Jozip. He said it twice.

  Indian Head did not hear it twice. He said to One Blossom, “If you don’t want me to feel my feeling for you, you must tell me why, and who you want instead of me.”

  One Blossom said, “I will ask the chief of our people to speak now. Jozip, do you feel in your heart any feeling for me? Speak truly and earnestly.”

  “Yes, I have my affection for Indian Head, I also have in my heart affection for One Blossom. But I have more feeling for the Indian people than I have for either of you. This is my honest answer.”

  One Blossom grasped her horse’s mane and turned him quickly. “We are running from the blue coats,” she said. “I can run from them but I won’t run from Jozip, and I don’t want Indian Head to run after me.”

  “Please,” Chief Jozip said, “please don’t tulk anymore on this subject. Let us say we all have affection and maybe love each for the other, but nobody should tulk now—when we are running away from an army of white soldiers—about questions of love and marriage. Not now, please. We got to keep our mind on what is the important thing. Now is the time to move first to Canada. Indian Head, is this right?”

  “It is right,” said Indian Head, “but you ought to stay away from One Blossom.”

  One Blossom did not hear him because she was galloping away on her white pony.

  Then Long Wind, on a black steed, came thundering toward Chief Jozip and Indian Head. “There is bad news,” he said in the People’s tongue. “Our messengers have seen white soldiers riding toward us, only two days away.”

  “We got to hurry to make it four days,” Chief Jozip said.

  “Why don’t we just stand and fight?” said the young brave. “Our hatred for the blond soldiers will make us fight like battle gods.”

  “Like the warriors we are,” said Indian Head.

  “First we will tulk, then if they don’t listen maybe we will have to fight,” Chief Jozip said.

  “There are no maybes,” Indian Head said.

  “Not maybe,” said Long Wind.

  That he was a vegetarian suddenly preoccupied and worried Jozip. “So how can I fight a war without the experience of a war?” he asked himself.

  His war experience, thus far, had been to practice using the implements of war, bows and arrows, lances and rifles. Of course he had also shot at buffalo, some the size of a small railroad locomotive. Jozip had blessed the beasts as they thundered to their doom, and he did not eat their flesh. He silently explained these thoughts to his grandfather the shochet, long since dead and buried, and thus to himself.

  He might fight, he thought, because he was an Indian, and Indians, more than whites, had to fight for their lives.

  Later Jozip threw up and searched his vomit for barley grains, of which there were more than a few.

  THIRTEEN

  What Does the Dead Pigeon Say?

  ONE NIGHT One Blossom feared death and screamed aloud. Indian Head came running to her tent and said there was nothing to fear.

  “I am a child in my sleep,” One Blossom said.

  An old squaw appeared in the tent and told One Blossom she would stop screaming once she was married. “It is the screaming alone in bed that is hard to do,” said the old woman. “I stopped when I was married,” she said to them, “but now that my brave is dead I scream again like One Blossom. Maybe it is your father the chief who whispers in your ear and makes you scream. What does he say to you?” she wanted to know.

  “I don’t know what he said in my ear,” One Blossom replied. “He said something I thought I understood, but then I awoke.”

  “You ought to take a husband,” said the old squaw as she left the tent.

  “You heard what she said,” said Indian Head. “Why don’t you take me as your husband? We have been friends since we were children in the missionary school.”

 
“I enjoy you as a friend, Indian Head, but I don’t think of you as my husband.”

  “The no is yes and the yes is no,” said Indian Head. He shouted at her for having talked so badly to him that day when the two of them were riding with Jozip. Indian Head said her medicine was bad medicine and bad medicine was who she was. He said she was shaming her father’s memory, and that was what the old chief had shouted into her ear. As he said these words Indian Head’s nostrils were drawn thin and tight with anger.

  One Blossom spoke coldly to him. She said that Chief Jozip was kinder to her than the friend she had had all her life. “What is this special kindness you ask for?” he said. “And why should I be kind to someone who shuns my wish to marry her and stands with two feet planted in her bad medicine? That is no life for me, and if that’s all you give as my portion of your friendship, I will have no use for you, either as a mate or as a friend, or for anything else in my life. Possibly I will leave this tribe.”

  Indian Head left One Blossom’s tent, his nostrils pinched white. He said he might go back to the States and not return.

  “Perhaps that’s what my father’s ghost whispered in my ear,” One Blossom said to herself. “For my part I want you to stay,” she said as if she were still talking to Indian Head. “You are Jozip’s friend as well as mine.”

  When One Blossom told Jozip that she feared death at night when she lay alone on the sack of branches she used as a bed in her small tent, he said, “So do I once in the while, but now I am alive, so if you will podden me, I will not tulk from death. When I think about you I think of life.”

  “Then why don’t you say it,” she said to him through the sadness in her eyes. “When you first came to our tribal home in the valley of the winding river, you smiled often as we talked, but now your face is always grim and you look too stiff and important when you wear your white feathered headdress.”

  “I smiled on account of I thought that someday I might love you in my heart,” Jozip said.

  “Then why don’t you say you love me when I can see that feeling clearly in your eyes?”