“But seriously, Elk,” Stone Breaker said, “you are learning the dances and chants?”
“Yes, but what—”
“And your mother beats the cadence, as she does for White Buffalo?”
“Yes. Sometimes I do, for my father.”
“Ah, yes! I have a thought. Would it not be well to have your own assistant, to beat your cadence? Someday, Elk, it will be so. Would it not be better to have her learn as you do?”
He pointed to Crow Woman. There was a long silence.
“I… I do not think it is done, Stone Breaker. I do not know of a medicine man whose cadence is set by other than his wife or assistant.”
“That should be no problem!” insisted Stone Breaker. “She would be a better wife and assistant later if she learns now, while you do.”
“It sounds good to me,” laughed Cattail. “You could be together more!”
It sounded so sensible, so reasonable, that surely there was something wrong with the idea. Finally, the other three teased and cajoled until Small Elk’s temper flared.
“All right,” he snapped. “I will ask, now!”
He rose and left the lodge. The wind was cold as he crossed the camp to the lodge of his parents. White Buffalo was sitting against his willow backrest, enjoying a smoke.
“Ah-koh, my son,” he said. “Back so soon?”
Elk nodded, speechless.
“Does it look like snow?” Dove Woman asked.
“Maybe tonight,” Elk guessed. “It grows colder.”
Cold, however, was hardly the word for the reception that his question brought. White Buffalo stared at his son with an expression of righteous indignation that left a chill hanging in the air.
“Of course not!” he sputtered. “Elk, have I not taught you better?”
“But, Father, if Crow could learn while I do—”
“No,” White Buffalo stated positively. “It is not good. Elk, you are not taking this seriously.”
There was no use arguing, and Small Elk left the lodge, angry and frustrated. It was not easy to return to his friends’ lodge and face the others. He told them very tersely that White Buffalo would not consider such a thing and sat again by the fire. In a little while, the antics of the baby and the bright conversation had lifted his spirits a little.
When Crow Woman rose a little later and left the lodge, no one attached any particular importance to it. She threaded her way among the lodges and slapped on the lodgecover of the medicine man.
“It is Crow Woman,” she called. “May I come in?”
Dove Woman lifted the doorskin, and the girl stooped to enter.
“Ah-koh, Uncle, Mother,” she said. “I wished to tell you, do not be angry with Small Elk. We urged him to ask you about the drum.”
Crow Woman was in no way provocative, but she was an exceedingly attractive and straightforward young woman. White Buffalo had to admire her bold approach.
“It is nothing,” he smiled. “It is forgotten.”
“It is good,” Crow Woman said. “Uncle, may I ask a question?”
“Of course, my child. What is it?”
“How did Dove Woman learn the cadence and the beat to accompany the dances?”
If White Buffalo had chanced to look, he might have seen that there was a twinkle in the eye of his wife.
“Why, I taught her,” he said proudly.
“Ah, yes, then Elk can teach me.”
“No, no, child. This was after our marriage. It is not proper for a woman to be the helper of a medicine man unless they are married.”
He appeared suspicious, realizing that something was happening that he did not quite understand.
“It is good!” exclaimed Crow Woman. “He can teach me later.”
She paused to think for a moment.
“But, Uncle, I will keep the drum cadence for him for many years. I would hope to be the best help that I am able. Would it not be best for me to learn it directly from you?”
Few men can resist flattery from a beautiful young woman. White Buffalo looked at his prospective daughter-in-law sympathetically.
“Possibly,” he agreed, “but that cannot be until you and Elk are married.”
Crow Woman gave him a quick hug and jumped to her feet.
“Oh, thank you, Uncle,” she said brightly. “We will talk of when.”
She vanished through the doorway, and the skin swung back into place. White Buffalo looked at his wife, bewildered.
“What? What was that…”
Dove Woman was laughing, her eyes squinting closed until the tears of laughter could scarcely escape from beneath the lids.
“My husband,” she was finally able to say, “I think you just gave permission for your apprentice to marry! Aiee, she will make a good wife for a holy man!”
She collapsed into laughter again.
Crow Woman and Small Elk, the medicine man’s apprentice, were married soon after. They sat together by the fire in the lodge of the girl’s parents, and their fathers united them in marriage by placing a robe around the shoulders of the two, making them one. It would have been usual for them to live in the lodge of Crow Woman’s parents until they had their own. In this case, however, one of the reasons for marriage at this time was that they could be instructed together in the duties that would be theirs. Crow Woman moved into the lodge of Small Elk’s parents, to observe and learn from White Buffalo and Dove Woman. It was not the best arrangement, but it would be temporary.
People immediately began to contribute skins toward the lodge of the newlyweds. There would be no honeymoon, because Cold Maker had descended with a vengeance; it was a hard winter, and it was well that the People had supplies. Even so, they were together. There would be other disadvantages to marriage at this time. Even after they had established their lodge, there would be little time together. When warm weather came, there would still be no honeymoon, for that would be the time for the most demanding part of Small Elk’s instruction.
But at least they were together.
Stone Breaker and Cattail were delighted, of course, for the happiness of their friends. The two girls had long conversations about establishing a lodge, the feeding of babies, and the care of husbands. Crow Woman’s time was necessarily limited by the fact that she must live up to her part of the instructions. There were times when it seemed to her that White Buffalo was intent on punishing her for her part in contriving the early marriage. But probably, she decided, it was only that the life she had chosen was difficult and demanding, one of responsibility. She watched her husband’s parents, how Dove Woman was an important part of the medicine man’s skills, and reveled in her own learning. There was much of importance in the way a wife could help a medicine man.
By the time they had worked together through the Moon of Snows and the Moon of Hunger, which was not especially hungry this year, even White Buffalo agreed that the marriage had been an excellent idea. By the Moon of Awakening, the medicine man half believed it had been his idea all along. He could never have hoped for a finer assistant for Small Elk than this delightful young woman. She intuitively perceived many things of the spirit and seemed to put them into practice without thinking. In her hands, the dance-drum spoke with authority and meaning. Aiee, the world was good. White Buffalo had an apt pupil to carry on his work, and Elk had a wife-assistant second to none.
Now winter was nearly over. Long lines of geese honked their way back north. Here and there, as a snowbank began to melt, small sprigs of green appeared. The upper twigs on the willows began to show a bright yellow color as their buds swelled. Little rivulets of snowmelt trickled and joined together to swell the prairie streams.
It would soon be the Moon of Greening and another great step in the instruction of Small Elk. White Buffalo called his son to him.
“Elk, you have done well so far.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“No, no, it is nothing. But you are now ready to begin serious instruction. So far, it is all just preparation.”
<
br /> Elk did not answer.
“Now, my son, this is where we begin to talk of the medicine of the buffalo. It is like a vision quest, and no one can help you, not even your wife. What you start now is far more dangerous. Not at first, but soon. Are you ready?”
Small Elk paused only a moment.
“Of course, Father.”
“Good. Then let us go out on the prairie. The greening has begun, and you have much to learn before the buffalo come.”
18
“Where are seven or more kinds of grasses here,” White Buffalo said, pointing to the tiny green sprigs among last year’s growth. “All are different, though they look much alike now. This one,” he knelt to touch the new growth, “is the tall real-grass. At the time of awakening it looks much like the other tall one, the plume-grass, but it does not matter. They, together, give the sign that it is time to burn.”
“Is it time, Father?” Elk asked.
“No. Another few days. It should be about this tall.” He indicated with thumb and forefinger. “Then we must have a day when the wind is right, both in direction and strength. If we send smoke through the camp, we lose some respect.”
“And then the buffalo will come?”
“It is to be hoped for. Usually, it happens. This is all very much intertwined, Elk. The herds are now far to the south, who knows where? Something happens to start them moving north. Maybe nothing but a few warm days, Sun Boy’s torch warming again. Probably, they are already moving. Now, we burn the old grass to prepare a good feeding-ground. The new, tender grasses entice them into this area, instead of somewhere else.”
“This always brings them?”
“Almost. If the season is bad somewhere else—or good, maybe—they take a different trail. A few always come. But now, let us talk of the calfskin.”
Elk had never seen his father actually work a herd with the calfskin. He knew it was one of the most important parts of the medicine man’s art, and also one of the most dangerous.
“I have not used this often in the past few seasons,” White Buffalo admitted. “It takes agility and quickness, and my bones are old and slow. You have that now. Sometimes it is almost necessary to work the herd in this way. Now, first, you must begin to practice the movements of a calf.”
He watched critically while Small Elk, feeling somewhat foolish, stooped to mimic the motion of a buffalo calf.
“You can observe them, and do better, when the herds come,” White Buffalo said. “No, a little more stiff-legged. That is better. We will let you wear the skin, and that will help.”
The calfskin was a soft-tanned hide, with the wooly, yellowish hair of the young animal still intact. It held none of the sacred medicine of the white cape, but was merely a tool. A very useful tool, it was true.
“I once would wear out a calfskin in a season or two,” the medicine man recalled. “It is a good method to handle the herds.”
Small Elk continued to practice, away from the camp and under the watchful eye of his father. Never, it seemed, could he do quite well enough to please White Buffalo. He began to resent the discipline. His muscles were sore, his legs aching, from the unnatural position.
“I do not see the importance,” he complained to Grow Woman one evening under the stars. “White Buffalo has not even used the calfskin for two or three seasons.”
“But he is very wise,” the girl reminded him. “There is surely a reason.”
At the next instruction session, White Buffalo attempted further explanation. It was as if he had sensed the unrest in his apprentice.
“You do well, Elk,” he stated, “but I am made to think that your heart is not in it.”
Small Elk started to speak, but his father waved him to silence.
“No matter. More important,” White Buffalo continued, “is that the ceremony of the calf helps you to understand the buffalo. You must feel their feelings, get inside their heads. Only then can you move the herds and put the buffalo where you want them.”
Small Elk was still in doubt. It seemed to make little sense that it was possible to do without the calfskin ritual, but that his father insisted on it. It seemed unfair that he was required to develop this uncomfortable, tedious, and dangerous skill. He made the mistake of mentioning this one evening after a grueling day. White Buffalo flared in anger.
“When you have been a medicine man for forty winters,” he said hotly, “then you will know enough to question this!”
“But Father, I—”
“Enough! There may come a time when your ability with the calfskin ceremony makes the difference whether the whole band lives or starves. Now, we will speak no more of it!”
The day came when White Buffalo declared that it was time for the burning ceremony. There was great excitement. He chose several young men as helpers and stationed them along the edge of a wide expanse of open prairie. A gentle breeze rustled the dried grasses of the winter. In some areas the tough seedstems of the real-grass and plume-grass still stood taller than a man’s head. The burn would remove these tough, dry stems to expose succulent new growth.
White Buffalo chanted a prayer of thanks for return of the grass, while Dove Woman kept the cadence on the drum. Then he stooped to place a few carefully protected coals in a clump of curly, pink-colored little-grass. Flames licked upward, and the puff of smoke signaled the waiting helpers to begin. The fires grew like living things, expanding and merging. Soon the appearance was that of a fiery snake, crawling across the low hills, with blackened prairie on one side and the ragged remnants of last season’s growth on the other. It was always fascinating to watch, to smell, and to listen to the sounds of the fire. The People did little else that day. In some areas, the breeze fanned flames into a roaring inferno, racing ahead of the advancing line only to die down and fall behind when it encountered an area with less fuel to sustain its advance. In the places where the taller grasses stood in abundance, the crack of the exploding stems was like the popping of corn. Then the flames swept on, leaving blackened prairie that would be lush and green again in a few days.
Night fell, and from any slight rise, the crawling line of flames could still be seen snaking over hills a day’s journey away. They would burn out when they encountered a stream too wide to jump or when the next of the frequent spring showers occurred.
“It is good!” declared White Buffalo.
Now, there was only the waiting for the arrival of the herds.
White Buffalo was confident, but when the scouts reported that the first animals had been sighted, it came as a great relief to Small Elk. This season, he had a more personal affinity for the event. However, all things seemed timed perfectly. The grass was lush and green, the buffalo calm and unexcited.
This would not be a big, heavily organized hunt. There was no need to store a large quantity of meat until preparation for the next winter. Besides, the hot season was ahead, and meat does not keep well in hot weather. This was a season to procure some fresh meat, to revel in the life-giving juices of the raw liver, a delicacy enjoyed a bite at a time during the butchering. After the nutritional deprivation of the winter, even with good supplies, there was a craving. There are some things that dried meat and pemmican simply cannot supply.
White Buffalo, after the appropriate ceremonies for the first kill of the season, turned his attention again to Small Elk’s instruction. They spent an entire day on a rise near a calmly grazing herd. There were many calves, their yellowish color quite obvious among the darker coats of the older animals.
“It is a good season!” White Buffalo spoke with approval. “A good season for you to learn the calfskin. Now, watch the calves. See, a calf is never far from its mother. But sometimes several will lie down together. One cow watches over them. See, to the left there? The others graze, and then return.”
Small Elk nodded.
“Now, watch when they play,” White Buffalo continued. “You must make your motions look like theirs. And think! Your thoughts must be theirs. Here, put
on the skin. Tie it well. Now, practice a little before you go down. Ah, that is good! That little kick, yes!”
Small Elk’s heart was beating fast. This was a climactic day, one he had long been preparing for. White Buffalo seemed every bit as tense.
“Remember,” he cautioned, “do not place yourself between a cow and her calf. And do not panic. They can smell the fear. Above all, do not try to run.”
With his palms sweating, Small Elk made his way toward the herd. He was certain that they would run, but none of the buffalo seemed to notice him. He moved among the first animals, trying to mimic the stiff-legged walk of the young calves. He must think like the buffalo, now, react as they would. He passed near a grazing cow, and she lifted her head to threaten him. For a moment, he felt the grip of fear. The horns—so black and shiny and sharp, the broad forehead so big—no, he told himself, she is not threatening Small Elk. She threatens a calf that is not hers, lest it try to suckle. In that way, he slipped “inside the head” of the cow. As he had seen the calves do, he made a move toward the cow’s flank, pretending to try to nurse. She swung her head again, and he dodged playfully aside to trot on a few steps.
A large bull grazed peacefully, and Elk approached it. Bulls, he had noticed, paid almost no attention to a small calf. Their minds were on other things. Boldly, he approached the huge animal, who continued to crop grass. As he had expected, there was no reaction. As he had seen calves do, he nosed curiously, and actually brushed against the massive shoulder. Then he moved on.
He felt, rather than saw, a calf approach him to play. The creature loped around him, playfully made a make-believe charge at him, and then approached to try the head-pushing game. Trying to behave like a normal calf, he pushed back, but the calf was persistent. Besides, it was stronger than he and had a weight advantage; he was handicapped by his stooped-over stance. He could not stand without revealing his true identity. Finally, in desperation, he slapped the calf boldly across the nose. The startled youngster retreated, and Elk glanced around to look for reactions from other animals. There were none. Apparently the adults had ignored the episode as the play of the young. In retrospect, he realized that it would have been more in character if he had retreated to end the game. But no matter… he moved among the herd, with growing confidence now. A cow swung a threatening horn his way, and he stepped aside without a thought.
The Changing Wind Page 10