Circling Hawk, following instructions from Moon Dreamer, took up a position a short distance apart from where No Name sat in his little tepee. Circling Hawk feigned discovery of No Name as an enemy. Circling Hawk’s great eyes rolled and he whooped the Yankton war cry. Then he rushed upon the tepee and dragged No Name forth and wrestled with him and threw him prone on the ground. Loudly he announced, “Hi-ye! I have captured the enemy! He is ours. Now we shall torment him as the gods prescribe.”
Circling Hawk sat No Name up and, still under Moon Dreamer’s instructions, painted a red sun high on No Name’s chest and a black crescent moon on his back, with twenty-eight stripes of white radiating away from the sun and coming together again on the black moon. “Look. Attend. Here is the man in the sun and here is the woman in the moon.” He arranged No Name’s hair in a loose fashion and tied a white feather to a lock in back. He hung a whistle made of the wingbone of an eagle around No Name’s neck. He outfitted him with a white deerskin apron, fastening it at the waist and extending it below the knees both in front and back.
Dark buffalo head inclined, Moon Dreamer took No Name by the arm, lifted him to his feet, and led him to the sacred pole, facing him to the east. He lit the sun dance pipe with a coal from the sacred square place, held the stem to the sky, the earth, and the four great directions, took a puff himself, held the pipe out to Circling Hawk for a puff, held it to the lips of No Name for a puff, then replaced it on the buffalo skull.
“Behold!” Moon Dreamer cried. Again he approached the waiting No Name. With a bone awl he picked up a point of skin low on No Name’s chest, lifting it clear of the flesh, and then, with a quick stroke, cut off the raised portion with a knife, leaving a small raw hole the size of a chokecherry. Blood instantly welled out of the raw hole and began to flow down No Name’s belly.
No Name stood perfectly still, suffering it without flinching. “Have pity on me, Wakantanka,” No Name said quietly. “Send me the second part of my vision so that I may go on my long journey and then receive my name upon my return.”
Star his mother began to wail in a low tremolo from the sidelines, the notes falling slowly, almost imperceptibly, until at last they could hardly be heard.
Moon Dreamer worked on, calmly, cutting a row of raw spots from one side of the chest to the other. Presently No Name’s belly was sheathed in a moving blanket of blood.
Redbird, Star, Loves Roots, Circling Hawk, Strikes Twice, Owl Above, Full Kettle, Soft Berry, Pretty Walker, the virgins, the twenty marshals, and all the people looked on in silence.
“Have pity on me.”
With thumb and forefinger Moon Dreamer next took hold of the flesh above No Name’s left nipple, lifted it up, and then, quickly, thrust a sharp ash skewer through it. The flesh gave way with the sound of punctured buckskin. Moon Dreamer also thrust a skewer through the flesh above the right nipple. This too No Name suffered without flinching.
Moon Dreamer grabbed hold of the two ends of the long rawhide thong hanging from the crossbar of the sun dance pole and looped an end around each thorn and fastened them with a tight knot.
Star shuddered. She raised another tremolo, slightly higher in pitch, which also at the end sank away in falling wavering accents.
Moon Dreamer said in a low voice, “My son, do not let food touch your tongue. Do not let water touch your lips. Also, do not touch your body. All will be done by those who intercede for you.” Moon Dreamer picked up the eagle-bone whistle from around No Name’s neck and placed it between his lips. “Blow upon this from time to time that Wakantanka may know that you are giving him of your most precious possession, your flesh and blood. The eagle is his bird and he will attend to the whistling. Keep your head back and your eyes fixed on him who is our father. It is still morning. The day is still before you. Therefore, be brave as a man would. Let the child in you die and the man in you come forth, as the horse grows out of the tender colt. Follow the blazing one around the pole. May it be given you to follow your father the sun around the circle until the skewers pull out. The circle is sacred. All this is done so that it may be forever scarred on your heart. Ep-e-lo. I have said it.”
Strikes Twice sitting at the foot of the sun dance pole hit the great drum once, deep; then followed it with a series of very quick one-two beats; then leveled off into a very slow methodical beat.
Crying aloud, “Have pity on me!” No Name leaned back on the ends of the thong, hard. Flesh rose off his ribcase in two places like the small sharp breasts of a young girl. He fixed his eyes on a point just below the burning sun. His skull became filled with racing red flames. At the same time, in slow motion, he began to dance in step with the drumming, birdlike, toe down first and then the heel.
The people under the circular shade watched in silence, their black eyes full of reverent wonder, their lips set in the ancient grimace of sympathy.
Moon Dreamer gathered up on the point of his knife all the tiny bead-size bits of flesh he had cut from No Name’s chest. Carrying them carefully, walking with a rolling gaited step, he took a seat on a log a few steps west of the pole. He turned to the watching Yanktons, and holding aloft the bits of flesh, cried out, “Look upon your son! Behold the flesh he has given! Behold the scarlet blanket he has promised. Your son has kept his promise. Soon now the second part of his vision will be given him and we shall know what future Wakantanka has in store for him.”
No Name concentrated his attention on the dancing manes of fire in his skull. From time to time he blew on the wingbone whistle, low, persistent. “I am happy,” he whistled, “soon I shall know.”
Moon Dreamer every now and then gave instructions to the people. “We do this for the young boys so that they can learn to become men. We do this for the old men so that, remembering the time when they once were strong and could endure the torment, they may be restored in spirit.”
No Name danced on. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot just below the sun. Lashing plumes of fire continued to flower in his brain. “Soon I shall know.”
Moon Dreamer then spoke to No Name. “My son, look upon the noble world. Do you see it? Draw the great power of it into your breast and be joyful. Be one with Wakantanka. He loves his Shining People and wants them to be great. We are here in this one place, on the red rock beside Falling Water on our River of the Double Bend. The red rock is our all-father. The red rock is the ancestor of all things. We are a part of the earth’s body beside the river and this earth is part of our body. We are the breath of the earth. We breathe for her. We are also the breath of Wakantanka. We breathe for him. Remember this and be good. Follow the right path of living.”
The people waited patiently. The sun ovaled up the sky. The red rocks beside the river warmed. The small leaves of the willows quivered a fuzzy yellow in the bright light. Falling Water poured glancing golden lights. The horses across the river grazed in peace.
Moon Dreamer stood up. He handed a specially decorated lance and a water dipper to Circling Hawk. He took up a feather-frilled crook for himself. Then, gesturing, he led a slow majestic walk completely around No Name. He held up the crook to the sun and cried, “Let the power flow inward! The people of the other world are greater than you!” Again he made a complete circle around No Name, with Circling Hawk following. “The power of your shadow soul is greater than the power of your flesh soul. Live inward. Grow inward. Be strong. Pass into that place where there is nothing but joy which makes life good.”
No Name danced in step with the slow booming pound of the ceremonial drum. The searing little cuts across his chest as well as the terrible pulling gradually became sweet pains.
Moon Dreamer relit the pipe and held its stem out to the six great powers, saying, “Circling I pass to you who dwell with the father.” He took a puff himself, then, removing the whistle from No Name’s lips a moment, allowed No Name to puff. Moon Dreamer said, “The gods walk on the road of man. The road of man is sacred. Be strong. Do not be afraid. Arrive at the place where they are waiting for you. Soon
you will know. Endure the sacrifice of flesh. Become a brave man.”
Pretty Walker approached. A look of grave compassion was on her young round face. With wisps of sweetgrass she gently wiped off the blood flowing from the wounds made by the thorns. She was careful not to touch any part of the blanket of blood below.
Star sang a song in a low voice to encourage her son:
“Friends, look upon our son.
He suffers and we rejoice.
He says this:
‘Wakantanka, pity me.
Henceforth for a long time will I live.’
He says this.”
Moon Dreamer returned to his seat on the log. Shaking his dark buffalo head up and down, he said, “Obey the power. Let it flow two ways. Alone you are weak. Soon you will see with the eye of the heart.”
The blanket of blood on No Name’s belly and chest gradually congealed. Slowly it turned black. He moved as if encased in hardened mud.
“Wakantanka, pity me,” he whistled through the wingbone, “henceforth for a long time I will live.”
Moon Dreamer said, “Wakantanka does not hate. He loves all his creatures, the twoleggeds and the fourleggeds of the earth, the wingeds of the air, and all green things that live.”
The sun passed by overhead. No Name followed it around, dancing a circular rut in the red dust.
Even the red babies snug in their cradles on their mother’s backs looked with big, solemn bluish eyes at the dancing man. Their little round black heads lolled with every move and shift of their mothers, their eyes always returning to the figure hanging from the rawhide thongs.
During the hot afternoon Circling Hawk and four male singers, with Strikes Twice at the drum, sang four songs for him. The first was sung in slow measure, low, plaintive, the drum and the rattle sounding gently:
“Behold, hear me crying.
I cannot escape the thorn.
I am bound forever
To the pole of torment.
Hear me crying.”
The second was given in a slightly faster tempo, with bolder tones:
“Look, friend,
I dare to look upon
The face of the sun
As I make this request:
‘Grant me the full vision.’
I dare to look.”
The third was rendered in a tight rhythmic unit of sound:
“The sun is my father.
On my breast
I wear his mark.
The moon is my mother.
On my back
I wear her sign.
They are my friends.”
The fourth was sung in loud and joyous tones, the drum and rattle sounding vigorously:
“Well, a white horse is now here,
Very wild and fierce.
I have caught it.
See, a white horse now is here.
It wishes to kill me.
Behold, I have conquered it.
Wana hiyelo.”
Suddenly No Name let the whistle fall from his lips. He cried out, “I see it! I see it! The sky is terrible with a storm of plunging horses. They shake the world with their neighing. Only the Thunders dare to echo back.”
At that very moment the horses grazing across the river lifted their heads and whinnied sharply. The sound of it over the low pouring waters was as clear and as pure as the silvery call of meadowlarks.
“He is winning, he is valiant!” the people cried.
“U-hu-hu-hu!” the warriors grunted with intense satisfaction.
“U-wu-wu-wu!” the maidens intoned.
No Name strained against the thorns, leaning back with all his might. He set his feet in the rut in the dust to get better leverage. He hung so heavy that at last the flesh on his chest gave a little, ripping apart in narrow seams. Fresh blood began to flow.
Pretty Walker came up singing a low song of comfort, intending to wipe away the new blood with some sweetgrass.
Moon Dreamer waved her back, imperiously. He shook his dark buffalo head threateningly. “Do not touch him. It is coming.” He pointed at the lowering sun in the western sky. “Soon our shining friend will rest with his people in the region under the world. There he will commune with The Great Master Of All Breath. Beware!”
At the mention of the unspeakable name, Pretty Walker shrank away as if struck a blow. The people around the circle fell into a deep stricken silence. Hands covered mouths in shock. To mention Him Who Is Behind All by his big name was to touch the secret and sacred eternal fire itself.
No Name leaned back in a frenzy. He jerked his body from side to side, violently. He fought against the thong like a wildcat resisting capture. The two-pronged pain in his chest reached all the way up to his skull. A pair of working claws seemed to be mauling his brain.
Struggling, dancing, he kept his eyes on the sun. The world became a place of racing shimmers. Suddenly his eyes seemed to shoot upward into a single terrible blinding whiteness, a massive illumination into which blood and flesh and phallus and memory and love and day and red rock vanished. The eye became the sun and the sun the eye.
Moon Dreamer cried loudly. “Be brave, my son! Endure the torment! Give generously! Speak with one tongue!”
No Name felt a great inrush of power. He leaped up wildly. Then with a great cry he gave one final wrenching backward jerk, and at last the thorns tore out of his flesh, first on the right and then on the left. And losing his balance, staggering, he fell to the ground with a hard thud. The forces of the wild, the dark urges of the universe, had heard his cry and had taken dominion over him.
Circling Hawk and his four singers leaped to their feet and gave the sudden whoop of victory. A shout, a tumultuous roar, broke from the circle of watchers. Redbird’s cry was loudest of all.
No Name lay unconscious. The bleeding slits on his chest lay open and swollen as if they had just given birth to puppies. Sweat coursing down his chest caused the painted red sun to run. But the painted mare on his right cheek and the painted stallion on his left cheek remained as vividly white as when first put on. As his face convulsed, the two painted horses struggled to be released so that they might strike each other.
The people crowded in close on all sides, looking down at the prostrate form. Moon Dreamer waved the people back. Slowly, wonderingly, they retreated to their places again under the ring of shade.
Moon Dreamer whispered something in Circling Hawk’s ear.
Circling Hawk nodded, big eyes whirling up and around. Then he ran to get a heartskin bucket and filled it with water from the streaming red cascades.
Moon Dreamer took the water and splashed some of it over No Name’s face. After a few seconds, when No Name still showed no sign of reviving, Moon Dreamer threw some more over him.
No Name’s eyes slowly opened. A grayish purple haze lay over them. The pupils were almost obscured.
“I see you have returned, my son,” Moon Dreamer said gravely.
No Name’s eyes rolled; finally fastened on Moon Dreamer’s buffalo head. He seemed to recognize him.
“I see you have returned, my son,” Moon Dreamer repeated.
At last No Name’s eyes cleared some and he asked, “Where is Redbird my father?” No Name’s voice was greatly changed.
“He sits in his accustomed place. Why does my son ask?”
“I have been told the second part of the vision. Now I know.”
“Ei!” Moon Dreamer cried. His eyes began to glitter in the eyeholes of his dark buffalo head. “And what did they of the other world have to tell you?”
“The gods were reluctant to give me my vision for a reason.” No Name rolled his head from side to side. “Now I know.”
Moon Dreamer held No Name in his arms, lovingly. He gave him to drink from what was left in the heartskin bucket. “What did they have to tell you, my son?”
No Name’s eyes fixed themselves on Moon Dreamer’s eyeholes. “Where is my true father?”
“Hi-ye. Did they speak of the fathers?”
Moon Dreamer stiffened. He waved Circling Hawk back with others under the willow shade. Then he removed his buffalo head and placed his ear near No Name’s mouth. “Speak, my son. I am your mother’s brother and I attend you. We lie alone. What did you see? What did you hear?”
No Name’s eyes closed. He whispered, “It was the mare with the silver tail again. She was as white as a snowgoose in the morning sun. Her lips were red. She flashed her sacred tail over me.”
“What did she tell you?”
For a fourth time No Name asked, “Where is Redbird my father?”
With a puckering of lips Moon Dreamer pointed in Redbird’s direction.
No Name looked at his father a moment, piercingly; looked at the copper-tipped lance shining above him; then looked up at the blue sky overhead. “It is fated,” he said sadly.
“Tell us the second part of the vision,” Moon Dreamer demanded. “What did the white mare have to tell you?”
“She flashed her tail over me. She said, ‘After you have returned with your white horse from the River That Sinks, your true father must die.’ ” No Name burned a look of anguish into Moon Dreamer’s eyes. Black centers had returned to his eyes. “I love my father dearly. I cannot kill him.”
Moon Dreamer began to cry. His old face broke up into jerking wrinkles. Tears ran down his face. He hid his face from the watchers. The dark shadow of the late afternoon sun reached across to the sacred place east of the sun dance pole.
“What shall I do?” No Name whispered.
“Nephew, the white mare knows best. Follow her words.”
“But I love my father dearly. I do not wish to kill him.”
Moon Dreamer groaned. “Follow her words.”
“Also, what shall I tell my father? He will wish to know what I have heard today. See, he sits waiting to hear. I do not wish to tell him that he must die at my hand.”
Conquering Horse Page 16