“But, my uncle, when must I kill my father?”
Moon Dreamer looked gently down at Conquering Horse. Carefully he reached a finger under his buffalo mask and wiped away a sliding tear of yellow matter. “My son, tomorrow, at dusk, it will be given to you.”
“My father is greater than I. Yet I hear you, my uncle.”
“My son, do you feel the power of the white mare?”
“It is entering me.”
“My son, do you feel the power of the white mare?”
“Ai, it is warming my belly.”
“My son, do you feel the power of the white mare?”
“Aii! it is making me a mighty man.”
Yet a fourth time Moon Dreamer asked it. “My son, do you feel the power of the white mare?”
“Hi-ye! Yes, yes, I am a great man! I am happy! Thank you, thank you.”
“Return to your wife. It is now past the middle of the night. She awaits you.”
He stole into his tepee. Quickly he lashed down the door flap. He stepped out of his buckskins and slipped naked into bed beside Leaf.
He trembled with exultation. He quivered from head to foot. Little shivers stirred in the muscles all over and inside his body. He could still feel the power of the white mare throbbing in him. He now saw all life as one huge flow, with himself a streaming part of it. And being a part of it he felt the whole of it. The huge flow included the lives of the wingeds and the fourleggeds and the twoleggeds, and also his life and the life of his father. One part of the flow was exactly like any other part of it. It was all one and the same. Therefore he no longer needed to think about how his father’s life would end.
Leaf said suddenly beside him, “My husband, you tremble as one who has been seized with a madness.”
“I have at last become one with the great flow.”
“Did Moon Dreamer speak of what you must do with your father?”
“Ae, woman, he did. Tomorrow is the day. I await it. I am ready.”
She lay silent a moment, then said, “My husband, I have something to ask you. Yet I am afraid to ask it.”
“Speak, my wife. Are we not alone in our lodge? Neither the child nor the colt yet have ears of understanding.”
She paused again, then in a hesitant voice asked, “Has your uncle ever shown jealousy of your father?”
Conquering Horse popped straight up in bed. “Woman, why should he?”
“I do not know. Though I have seen that both your father and your uncle loved your mother very much.”
“Woman, why should they not love my mother?”
“I do not know. Though I have often heard my mother wonder why it was that your uncle never took a wife.”
Conquering Horse’s ire rose. “Woman, you have been married but a year and already gossip like a common magpie, chattering of little things.”
“Is it a little thing when a great man does not take a wife to himself?”
Conquering Horse’s mouth hung open in the dark. He puffed oddly. This wife of his, this Leaf woman, what a gift she had for speaking of troublesome things. Just when he had become reconciled with what had happened so far and with what was yet to happen, she came to him with a question that chilled him to the bone. He drew in a great breath, let it out again. Then he lay down.
The fire at his feet was almost out. It no longer smoked. Only in one place did a pink ember show. It peeked at him like the partly opened eye of a sleepy gray dog.
Leaf seemed to guess that her husband’s sense of well-being had been disturbed. She placed a firm calloused hand on his belly, then after a moment stroked him, from the arch of his chest to his groin. Her stroking was like running fire.
Conquering Horse almost leaped off the fur bedding. “Woman,” he said, trembling, “why was this done?”
For answer, she took his hand and placed it on her belly.
Moving his finger tips a little, he discovered that she too lay naked, that she had removed her doeskin nightdress. Sniffing, he also discovered that while he had been with his uncle she had perfumed herself with the juice of the purple smartweed. “Woman,” he said, “when we went to bed, did you not tell me it was but the forty-fourth day?”
“Husband, it is long past the middle of the night. The morning of a new day is almost here.”
He cried aloud in surprise. “Ho, I have forgotten.”
“Can you now forgive me for denying you?”
“Ai,” he cried.
And like clouds, his anger passed off and once again power surged through him. He found himself suddenly throbbing with love. Mating with a woman had been denied him a long time, almost another lifetime ago. An ardor like the sweet, sweet honey of the bumblebee moved through his veins.
He rolled on his side. He thrust his right hand under her head and with his left hand made love. He touched her. Her breasts were like well-fed puppies curled in sleep. He touched her. The cleft of her thighs was like a red melon split with ripeness.
“Woman, let me lie between thy breasts.”
She moved eagerly under his hand. “It will be as you wish when you will it, my great one.”
“Woman, do you feel the power of it?”
“Husband, your power is as the head of an eagle and I await it.” She took hold of him. “It is also as the turtledove. Has not the time for the singing of birds come?”
“Open to me, my sister, my dove.”
“My husband, ravish me. Love me as you once loved me by the river long ago. I have dreamed of it many times since.”
“You have sweetened your breath with the juice of rose hips.”
“Your head is sprinkled over with the drops of night.”
“I have seen a maiden who is very beautiful. I feel sick when I think about her.”
“O, my husband!” she cried, leaping under his hand, “feed among the river lilies. Be as terrible as a war party with flying pennons!”
“You have used sorcery on me, woman. I cannot help myself.”
“O, that you were as my brother Burnt Thigh, who was lost, who sucked the breasts of my mother with me. If I should find you standing without, I would lead you inside and give you to eat of our valley, even unto the scarlet plums.”
“Woman, you have eaten a part of me and now I desire to have myself back.”
“Make haste, my beloved, be as the young male deer are. Come leaping upon me.”
He rose as one riding a horse. With his right hand he held her head and with his left hand he caressed her hips. He thrust down at her. She thrust up at him. She clasped him around the small of his back and drew him closer and deeper. Their hips danced together. Soon his toes curled in the fur. Her heels touched behind his back. They cried in joy together. Power flowed from him and he strengthened her. She accepted it eagerly. All life flowed as one.
4
Conquering Horse sat on a red rock just inside the village circle.
As evening came on, a fall chill moved in from the northeast and all the tepees began to spume slow pennants of smoke. The smoke, drifting across the river, gradually formed into a low veil of fog. Most of the little children had been put to bed, though a few of the older ones still played on the tumble of red rocks beside Falling Water. A mother at the far end scolded a son to come in, telling him that if he did not hurry she would send the Owl Man after him. Two guards armed with society spears sat on their heels before the door of the council lodge, warming their hands over a small stick fire. Frogs grumped beneath some cattails in a nearby swale. While off in the southwest a scattering of puffy clouds gathered slowly into a thunderhead.
Conquering Horse sighed. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes. It had been a day of waiting. Dusk was upon them and yet it had not been shown him what was to be done about his father.
Then, as he sat musing to himself, he heard a tepee door flap open.
Looking, he saw his father Redbird step outside, first stooping, then slowly straightening up. His father had on his ceremonial clothes as chief: headdress
of eagle feathers falling in a beautiful crest down his back, a black glistening Buffalo bull horn set on either side of his forehead, braids long and fur-wrapped, leather shirt covered with intricate quillwork, leggings trimmed with dried scalps, a pictured robe thrown gracefully over his shoulder, and his treasured copper-tipped lance in hand.
Conquering Horse sat up. The moment had come at last.
Redbird turned toward the southwest where dusk lay like a band of rusty gold under the thunderhead. The evening light gave his lined face a momentary look of glowing youth. He stood looking fixedly at the long dark cloud.
The thundercloud began to gather in size against the wind. The already sunken sun caught it for a last time, fringing its jet-black deeps with a lace of silver. It threw a huge shadow toward the village. The sky to the north took on an eerie green cast.
Redbird’s lips moved, shaping some private prayer. The expression on the whispering lips revealed neither sorrow nor happiness. Only the eyes gleamed, lighted up as if by an inward fire. A ghost sun seemed to have risen in them.
Gradually the soft northeast wind fell away. Almost at the same moment the plumes of smoke from the tepees veered and began to rise straight up, each remaining single and inviolate until they vanished into the high-thrown shadow overhead. Then, imperceptibly, the wind swung around until it came out of the southwest. At the same time the thunderhead began to move in. Its sides widened, spreading off to the north and the south. Its silver fringes slowly changed to bloody edges. The wind became warm, became soft and caressing. Shadows rustled across the green grass.
Just as the thunderhead’s edges became a watery red, a vivid forked tongue zigzagged out of the ground. It hit the underside of the cloud, quivered once, then exploded into a great flash of bright blue lightning. The dazzling stroke hit a distant tree on the brown horizon. The tree seemed to vanish before the eyes. A few moments later a boom of thunder raced across the plains.
Redbird slowly straightened. His hand lifted. “Hi-e!” he cried. “Thunders, you have come for me too late. The white mare has decreed otherwise.”
Again the thunderhead shot down a stroke, this time a claw of fire that caught at the highest bluff west of the river and stirred up a puff of dust. Thunder boomed deep and long as it raced east.
“Friends, I hear your war whoop!” Redbird cried. “But you have come for me too late.”
Redbird’s eyes burned. Holding the lance with its burnished copper tip straight up, he advanced toward the center of the village. He walked in stately dignity, erect, knees thrown forward turn by turn from the hips, slowly. When he came to the scalp pole from which the Pawnee’s scalp still dangled, he stopped. He stood still a moment. Again his lips moved in inward prayer. Then, turning slowly around, he called to all sides. “Ha-ho! listen to me, my children. Now will I speak out among the Yanktons, tamers of horses.” He set the heel of his lance on the ground. “Hey-a-hey, hey-a-hey, hey-a-hey, hey-a-hey! The thunder beings who have been like relations to me say they are coming to visit me again. You hear them. Well, they have come too late.”
Deep silence fell over the camp. The mother calling her son stopped dead in her tracks and bowed her head. The two guards in front of the council lodge sat listening raptly. Warriors in the doorway behind the guards sat motionless. The people sitting just inside their tepees, the old as well as the young, also listened closely.
Redbird turned completely around once more, surveying all the village. As he did so, his roving eyes caught sight of Conquering Horse sitting on a red rock. Redbird fixed his gaze on his son a moment, eyes gleaming with the ghostly brightness of a sundog, then moved on.
Redbird threw back his head and again spoke loudly and clearly. “I am killed. The white mare says I must die at last. I am no longer needed. Now, my children, I am sad that I must leave you so poor. I am sad that I leave the Yankton nation not yet a great nation. I am sad that you are not rich with many spotted horses. I am sad that the Pawnees still come and steal our horses and rape our maidens and kill our young men. Therefore, that I should die is good, that I should live is bad. Old age is an evil thing when one is no longer needed.”
A soft puff of smoke bloomed out of the top of Moon Dreamer’s tepee.
“My children, we all come from the same mother and the same father, the earth and the sun. This was true of my father. It is true of me. It is true of my son. It is true of my grandson. As the days go by, like the breaths we take, one father must give way to another so that the great flow of life may remain unbroken and one.”
Softly overhead the cloud moved up. Its wings touched the far south horizon and the far north horizon. It hovered over the tiny tepees like a huge eagle brood-mother. Its tail of rain trailed along the earth. First it flashed lightning out of its left eye, then out of its right eye.
“See the great thunderbird!” Redbird cried. “Hehan! he comes too late.”
A second puff blossomed out of Moon Dreamer’s smokehole.
“My people, listen to me. I have looked ahead to this day many times. In the night on my sleeping robe I have thought of how it might be. Once the nightmare came to me and said, ‘You have heard of those who in some sacred way died alone and never were seen again. Listen, old one, and I will show you how it is done.’ When I listened carefully and saw that the nightmare meant for me to throw my life away, by letting myself fall into the Great Smoky Water, I cast her words aside. A Yankton chief belongs to his people. Therefore to throw his life away is to throw away the life of his people.” Redbird turned slowly with little steps, looking above the pointed tops of the tepees, eyes fixed on the lifting veils of smoke. “Still another time a spirit demon whispered in my ear and said, ‘Take your son to a high place and offer him in sacrifice to Wakantanka. Wakantanka will then see that you love him very much and will give you a second youth.’ Again I saw this could not be done. Even as the chief belongs to his people, so the son of a chief belongs to his people. Thus I cast these words aside also.”
It began to sprinkle. A scattering of heavy raindrops smacked onto the leather lodges. Dark sodden spots began to show on Redbird’s buckskins.
“My children, listen to me. At last, after many sleepless nights, the white mare of my son’s vision came to me in dream.” Redbird pointed his lance at Conquering Horse. “My children, look upon a noble son.” A spark seemed to leap from the copper tip, darting straight for Conquering Horse. “My children, the white mare gave me the same dream she gave my son, both the dream he saw on the Butte of Thunders and the dream he saw in the sun dance beside Falling Water. Then I saw. Then I knew. I was happy. I accepted it.”
Conquering Horse jumped to his feet. He clapped hand to mouth. His eyes rolled from side to side as if he could not bear to listen to the thing his father told of. Then he cried aloud, “My father, my father, let it not be!”
“Do not weep, my son. A Yankton never throws away his tears. It is well. They of the other world have decided.”
A third puff of smoke bloomed out of the top of Moon Dreamer’s lodge.
“My children, your new chief will have a good heart. This I know. On the Butte of Thunders the white mare told my son to catch a white seed horse. My son told you of this when he returned. It was a good thing. In the sun dance beside our river the white mare told my son that his true father must die at last. Hi-e. Well, my son did not wish to accept this part of the vision. He wept. He loved his father very much. He wished to keep the knowledge of what had been told him from his father. Yet it had to be.”
The only sounds in camp were the soft cracklings of the hearth fires.
“My son had a heavy heart, thinking that on his return from capturing the seed horse the white mare would require him to kill his true father. This was a dark vision. My son carried this knowledge with him when he took the trail alone. Yet he persevered. He counted coup on the Pawnee. He found his wife Leaf. He found the white stallion. He did all the things required of him and returned with a son and a seed colt. My children, I
tell you these things so that you may know how great the Yankton nation is with such a new chief at its head.”
A drum sounded in the council lodge, once, deep.
“Then the white mare came to me in a dream again. She waved her red tail over me and spoke to me. She said, ‘You have lived long and done well, but now it is time for you to go to the country of the spirits where your grandfather Scarlet Whirlwind and your father Wondering Man await you, as well as the Old Ones. You have the courage of the Old Ones and deserve this. Listen carefully. After your son has returned this is what you must do. Put on your vestments as chief and walk to the scalp pole. There you must tell the people in a loud voice that the white mare has told you to declare yourself their enemy. You will remember that your grandfather Scarlet Whirlwind often spoke of a custom in which the very aged were disposed of in a certain way, a custom called, “making enemies of the old fathers.” The old fathers were armed and allowed to defend themselves as best they could, while the young braves killed them with clubs. This was done so that the old fathers could die honorably in battle and thus glorify the greatness of the Yanktons. Therefore, on the last day of the Moon of Scarlet Plums, at dusk, after the sun sinks, call up the young braves in Circling Hawk’s war society, as well as your son who will be chosen as chief, and command them to attack you in the red rocks across the river. Fight well. Do not fight in a mocking manner. We will be watching. There in the red rocks, it will be given you as well as your son!’ ”
A fourth puff billowed up from Moon Dreamer’s lodge.
Conquering Horse slid forward to his knees. He lifted his arms in supplication. “My father, my father, is this a true thing? Did the white mare tell you this thing in truth? My father, how can this be, when we love you very much and do not wish to see you killed?”
“My son, do not cry. I go to a place of peace. My shadow soul goes to the south where it will no longer be troubled by the pains of life. My shadow soul will not visit you nor frighten you in this life. Remember this, my son. While you still remain here in misery, I will be happy in death.”
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