The Changing Wind

by Don Coldsmith

  “She reminds me of you at that age,” he told Crow Woman.

  “Aiee!” Crow laughed. “I was not so pretty or so athletic. Besides, that was when you did not like me, so how would you know?”

  “I was talking of her spirit,” he began.

  Then he saw that she was teasing him. There was no way that he could win this discussion.

  “Woman,” he snarled with a terrible grimace, “you test my patience!”

  He threatened to tickle her, and she retreated, still laughing. Finally they tired of the game, and she turned to the fire where a stew of corn, beans, and dried meat bubbled in the pit. Crow removed a cooking stone with her willow tongs and deposited it in the coals, replacing it with a freshly heated one. The stew hissed and subsided to quiet bubbling again.

  “Elk,” she said thoughtfully as she came to sit beside him, “it is good that you see good things in this girl’s spirit. I think she has the gift.”

  “This may be,” he agreed. “Let us observe her a little longer, and then I will talk to her. Your feel for the spirit is good, Crow. You could have done this.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I think so. I knew it then, but I would rather have borne your children.”

  A tear formed at the corner of her eye, and she brushed it away.

  “You knew,” White Buffalo said sadly, “and you rejected the gift, for me. Now you have neither.”

  “No, no, Elk. I have you. I have helped with your gift. I would do so again, to be with you.”

  They sat, leaning together, enjoying the warm comfort of touching, until suddenly Crow sat upright.

  “Aiee!” she said, “I am neglecting my cooking. The stew will be cold.”

  She began bustling around, busily attending the cooking pit which needed little attention.

  * * *

  The Southern band had settled into winter camp now. Crow and White Buffalo had continued to observe Big-Footed Woman and continued to be pleased. The girl was quick and observant, thoughtful of others. Already she was assisting with teaching the first dance-steps to the tiny beginners in the Rabbit Society. She was popular, but in a different way. Friends seemed to come to her for advice and counsel. There were others who appeared destined for leadership, but this one’s role seemed different. Perhaps her maturity lent itself well to helpful friendship, and her warm wisdom was appreciated by her peers.

  “It is good,” White Buffalo observed to Crow. “This one will learn well and has the spirit to use her gifts wisely.”

  Still, it was a long time before they approached her. White Buffalo must be very sure, certain that his choice was a good one. Eventually, Crow Woman issued the invitation.

  “The holy man, my husband, wishes to talk to you. Will you cometo our lodge?”

  The girl seemed surprised but quickly regained her composure.

  “Of course, Mother. But what could he want of me?”

  “He will tell you.”

  “When? Now?”

  “As you wish, child. There is nothing urgent in this.”

  The sunny smile that they had noticed lighted the girl’s face.

  “Then let us go now,” Big-Footed Woman suggested. “I would not keep the holy man waiting.”

  Pleased, Crow led the way to their lodge.

  The girl’s eyes were wide with wonder as White Buffalo questioned her about her thoughts and feelings about the matter at hand.

  “You mean, Uncle” she finally blurted in astonishment, “that I might have such a gift, a gift of the spirit?”

  “Why not, my child? You are wise beyond your years, and you know many things. I am made to think that you do have the gift of vision, of the spirit.”

  “Aiee! What must I do, Uncle?”

  “That is your choice,” he said simply. “One may refuse the gift. Some do, for the trail is hard. There is much to learn, much responsibility. It is quite permissible to say.”

  “Must I say, now?”

  “No, no. Think on these things. Then come back and tell me.”

  The girl nodded.

  “Uncle, another question. I… you see, I know no holy woman. Are there some among the People?”

  “Oh, yes, my child. Only one now, I think. She is of the Mountain band. But, there have always been medicine women of the People as well as men.”

  “Their position is much the same?”

  “Yes. There are always differences from one holy one to another, men or women. But much the same. You would develop your own medicine and follow where it takes you.”

  “I see… maybe… might I start to learn and then see where it leads?”

  “Of course. But do not think too hard about it now. Go, think carefully; you will be guided in the right way.”

  Big-Footed Woman left the lodge of the holy man, still full of wonder. White Buffalo was pleased with her reaction. The girl had shown humility yet was pleased to think that she might be chosen for so special a vocation. Her every reaction was good.

  “Yes,” White Buffalo told his wife, “this one has the gift. I am made to think that she will be back quickly.”

  It was only two days when young Big-Footed Woman returned, humbly and in earnest.

  “I am ready, Uncle,” she announced. “I am ready to learn.”

  Her instruction started that very day. White Buffalo was delighted with her quickness of thought, her eagerness to learn. Crow Woman too welcomed the young woman’s presence and helped with her instruction. Very quickly, Big-Footed Woman was learning the drum cadences of the ritual chants, and White Buffalo acknowledged that her drumstrokes spoke with much authority. Very quickly, she also became a part of their lodge. Both Crow and White Buffalo felt pleased and happy in her presence. Crow said nothing but did not fail to notice that her husband was showing more interest in life. She had not heard him chuckle so much since… well, not since the loss of their own White Moon. This young woman, it seemed, was taking the place of the daughter they had lost. The surprising thing was that it seemed right. Through all the years, both the holy man and his wife had assumed that no one could possibly take their daughter’s place. Now it appeared that they need not have been concerned. The years that White Moon had been with them were still fresh in their memory, they found, now that there was someone to help them forget the sadness. It was a pleasant thing to have the bright cheeriness of the young woman in their lodge. It was a winter of happiness that had not been theirs since their loss.

  Big-Footed Woman continued to learn rapidly, and White Buffalo was ever more pleased with her progress. In the Moon of Awakening, he suggested to Crow that they ask the girl to move into their lodge.

  “It is good,” agreed Crow Woman. “The time is at hand when you will have much to show her, many lessons. I will ask her tomorrow.”

  When Big-Footed Woman arrived the next morning, cheeks flushed from the wind, Crow was ready to make the offer. It was exciting—the thought of a daughter in her lodge again. The girl had become so much a part of their lives that this seemed a completely natural step.

  “I have something to speak of with you,” Crow began.

  Big-Footed Woman’s eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “I too, Mother! Let me tell you first. I am going to marry!”

  “What?” White Buffalo exclaimed. “Child, you cannot… I mean, you must think on this. You would cast aside your gift?”

  Crow sat dumbly, unbelieving.

  “Not cast it aside, Uncle! I would only postpone it. You have said some women do so, until after their child-bearing years.”

  “Yes, but girl, that is a long time from now. I need—”

  He had started to say that he must have someone now to whom he could impart his skills. But that would be unfair. Frustrated, he lapsed into silence.

  Crow Woman regained her composure.

  “Who is your young man, child?” she asked pleasantly, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

 
; “His name is Coyote. May I bring him in?”

  “Of course! Bring him!” Crow said.

  Big-Footed Woman gave Crow a quick hug and slipped through the doorskin.

  “Aiee!” exclaimed White Buffalo. “Coyote? How can she do this?”

  Coyote, who had been a child at the time of his father’s death, was often a source of amusement to the band. The youngster was adept at practically nothing. He was a bit fat, a bit lazy, and seemed to take nothing seriously. From the time he was small, he had been a buffoon, more interested in jokes, pranks, and laughter than in learning.

  “I will not allow it!” White Buffalo sputtered.

  “It is not yours to say,” said Crow. “You must accept her choice.”

  “But I do not have to approve!” he snapped.

  “No. You must respect it, though.”

  “Do you approve?”

  “I did not say that, my husband. Only that the choice is hers. My heart is heavy too!”

  By the time Big-Footed Woman returned with her self-conscious young man, White Buffalo had at least recovered his composure.

  “Coyote,” the girl said proudly, “my almost-parents, Crow and White Buffalo.”

  The young man nodded, embarrassed, and giggled nervously. White Buffalo recalled now that this chuckling little laugh, like the chortling cry of the coyote in the night, was the origin of the boy’s name. He took a deep breath and determined not to show his repugnance if he could help it.

  “I knew your father well,” he ventured. “Short Bow… a man to admire.”

  “Yes, Uncle. He was such a man. It is good that you speak well of him. Thank you.”

  Well, thought White Buffalo, the boy is polite at least.

  “He gave his name away, did he not?” White Buffalo asked.

  He knew that to be true, or the words short and bow would not be in use. It was actually a cruel thing to say, a reminder to Coyote that he was not the recipient. But the youth only smiled, unperturbed.

  “Yes, Uncle. To my oldest brother, before I was born.”

  Somehow, White Buffalo felt that he was losing control of this conversation. At every turn, the young man spoke quickly and appropriately, even with what seemed a degree of wisdom and maturity. This was disconcerting to White Buffalo, who was prepared to be critical.

  “Mother,” the girl was saying to Crow, “you wanted to speak of something before?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I have forgotten now, in the excitement. It was nothing,” Crow said.

  The conversation continued a little while, and then Big-Footed Woman rose.

  “We must go,” she apologized. “I will bring him again.”

  The two young people ducked out the door, and then the girl turned to poke her head back inside for a moment.

  “I am so glad you like him!” she whispered, eyes glowing with excitement. Then she was gone.

  “Like him?” sputtered White Buffalo. “I cannot tolerate him!”

  “Now, Elk—” his wife warned.

  “Yes, I know. I will try. But Crow, he has spoiled it all!”

  His heart was very heavy.

  33

  White Buffalo did not know which he resented most. Young Coyote was preventing Big-Footed Woman from carrying out her calling, and that was bad enough. But to make matters worse, the medicine man found that he resented the girl’s choice. This Coyote was a buffoon, a lazy nobody without a serious thought in his head. Why, why would a beautiful, intelligent young woman choose to burden herself with such a man? He recalled that this was not uncommon. Such a young woman, with such potential, would sometimes choose such a nobody. It was a thing of wonder, of resentment and envy to all other men.

  There was another odd thing here, however. White Buffalo felt a sense of rejection. It irritated him, embarrassed him a little, and it was something that he did not feel free to discuss with Crow. It was actually much like the feeling of rejection that had obsessed him long ago when he thought that Crow had married their friend Stone Breaker. It was ridiculous, of course. He had never wanted this young woman in that way. She was more like a daughter to him. To them both. Yet it bothered him, the thought of this beautiful girl and the short, fat little Coyote in bed together. The girl’s long, graceful legs… aiee! In a completely illogical way, he was jealous. He would not have been so, he told himself, had Big-Footed Woman chosen one of the handsome, capable young men of the band. But Coyote? Aiee, life is strange.

  Crow Woman, wise in the ways of such things and even wiser in the ways of her husband, had some idea of his frustration. She felt much the same, as a mother does who feels that her daughter has not chosen well. She brought up the subject one evening as White Buffalo sat silent and sullen.

  “You are thinking of Big-Footed Woman.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  “What? Oh, yes. Maybe. My heart is heavy for her, Grow.”

  She came and sat beside him.

  “Elk, we know this young woman well, do we not?”

  He gave a deep sigh.

  “I thought so, but…”

  “Now, think, my husband. Has not she shown good judgement?”

  “Yes, always. That is why—”

  Crow held up a hand to silence him.

  “Yes,” she agreed, “she has. So, my husband, let us see it this way: Either she sees something fine in this young man that we do not see, or…,” she paused a moment for effect, “or she will soon see her mistake.”

  Crow was always so logical. She could make things seem astonishingly simple. White Buffalo could not argue with her reasoning. He was still frustrated, but the course of action that Crow’s statement suggested was the only one available to them—waiting.

  Probably the most difficult thing was that Big-Footed Woman continued to spend much time at their lodge. They were glad for her presence, of course. She had become closer than family in many respects. Only the instruction had ceased. The problem, an irritation that grated on the already stressed emotions of White Buffalo, was that the girl usually brought Coyote along. The young man was jovial and pleasant, and his chuckling giggle was not so obnoxious as his nervousness began to decrease. He was even helpful sometimes, bringing firewood for Crow Woman or assisting in some minor way around the lodge.

  Gradually, Crow began to appreciate the quiet helper—the gentle understanding, the hidden maturity of Coyote. He still made jokes and soon began to tease Crow in a mischievous, flattering way. By the end of a moon, Crow was completely won over.

  “She is right, my husband. This is a kind, gentle, and very intelligent young man.”

  “But he has no ambition!” White Buffalo snapped irritably. “And he does not do well at the hunt.”

  “Maybe that is not his skill,” Crow suggested. “For some, another way is better. Stonebreaker does not hunt, nor do you.”

  “That is not the same, Crow. He does nothing. He is lazy.”

  “He has many friends,” Crow observed. “Big-Footed Woman says his counsel is sought after.”

  “And I do not understand that, either,” White Buffalo sputtered. “Everything is a joke to him.”

  “But his jokes teach, Elk. They are wise.”

  Even though these two women, most important in the life of White Buffalo, understood and admired Coyote, the holy man was slow to accept it. Coyote seemed not to notice, casually coming and going, apparently taking nothing seriously. Sometimes he asked questions, which irritated White Buffalo at first.

  “Uncle, it is said that the Head Splitters do not fight at night.”

  The holy man nodded but said nothing.

  “Why is this? I have heard they are afraid that spirits of the dying, crossing over, will become lost in the darkness.”

  “So it is said.”

  “But, Uncle, our spirits sometimes cross over during darkness.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “Yet they do not become lost?”

  “That is our belief.”

  “Then, U
ncle, if we have to fight Head Splitters, we should do so at night? It would give us advantage.”

  White Buffalo sat silent a moment. No one had suggested this before.

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “Of course, one does not fight Head Splitters by choice.”

  Coyote chuckled.

  “Of course. Uncle, do you believe the thing about spirits crossing over in the dark?”

  “It does not matter what I think but what Head Splitters think.”

  Coyote chuckled again.

  “That is their problem then, Uncle?”

  White Buffalo smiled, a little reluctantly. This young man had far deeper insight than he had imagined. Maybe, as Crow Woman had suggested, there were qualities in the young man seen only by Big-Footed Woman.

  Gradually, White Buffalo was convinced. The fact that Coyote could carry his own end of an interesting conversation helped greatly. So did his thirst for knowledge. The young man asked about everything, from uses of the herbs and plants to how the geese know when it is time to fly south.

  “The buffalo see that the grass is drying, I suppose,” he said one day, “but how do the geese know? They start before it is cold.”

  There were other questions, about things of the spirit. Over a period of time, White Buffalo came to look forward to Coyote’s visits. Then came a day when the holy man reached a startling conclusion. He was actually covering information in these sessions that he had taught before. These were the things he had been teaching to Big-Footed Woman. Ah, he thought, of course! Here is a young couple who can work together, as Crow and I do. The spirit-force is strong in both. Aiee, what a wonder that he had not seen it before! This Coyote, who was already beginning to learn, could be his apprentice. Yes, of course! He, White Buffalo, would begin at once to teach them. The only thing that still stood in the way was Coyote’s agreement. He could be asked at his next visit.

  Crow Woman was not so certain.

  “He may not wish to do so,” she warned.

  “Of course he will,” White Buffalo scoffed. “Look at him, the questions he asks. Already, he understands many things. Things of the spirit. Crow, this is the one! Big-Footed Woman came to bring him to us. It is meant to be!”