by Beth Piatote
First let me say in my defense:
I know nothing of what I am about to speak.
KREON
You are a cipher.
GUARD
I did not see nor hear this thing that happened. Not
In flesh or film was it captured.
KREON
Whatever it was seems captured in your mouth.
Or in that large empty receptacle at the end of your neck.
GUARD
It is not easy to say.
KREON
Out with it! You try my patience.
GUARD
Okay, then. Here it is:
The warrior brothers are gone.
KREON
Gone! You mean they have been moved.
GUARD
Yes. Moved. Removed. Out of the building.
KREON
What are you saying? Artifacts are missing?
GUARD
Yes.
KREON
How could this happen? Surely you are mistaken.
GUARD
I am not mistaken nor am I alone a witness of the vault
That once was still in slumber but now speaks
The echoes of cries and footfalls, the panic of guardians unaware
Of the treasure slipped through the doors. Not only human remains are missing,
but all the magnificent testimony
of their warrior lives: warshirts and coup sticks,
beaded cuffs and painted shields.
(to CHORUS)
The mystery of it remains how the heist was carried out. The moment theft was discovered,
We locked down the grounds, hoping to
Ensnare the thief red-handed. Or thieves, shall I
say, for no one person could possibly bear
The weight of this catalogue alone.
The curious thing—we found no evidence. We found
Not a trace of entry or exit.
Not a whisper of movement
Or a shadow of sound recorded on camera.
Every eye failed us.
It was as if a wind had borne it all away, but even wind leaves tracks,
And we found none. A thorough search ended when we turned
Anxious hands upon each other. An inside job, we cried, pointing
Index fingers to each other’s chests, where pounded hearts newly rent.
Our Union now unraveled in fears of fraternal betrayal. One of us
Would succeed in deception, while all of us would fall. Not one of us
Can be saved, though we swear to submit to future inquisitions,
Give blood-oaths, and tie our souls to the polygraph’s quiver.
(to KREON)
Kind Sir, I give my word:
Each of us remained at his appointed post, yet none of us
Bore witness to this ugly turn of events.
My heart bleeds as I speak; it is beyond explanation.
AUNTIE #3
You will find your red-handed thief.
She is red-handed indeed.
KREON
To CHORUS OF AUNTIES
Your words suggest that you see more than you say.
You may wish to confound me with riddles, but Elders,
Surely you see that through this theft greater things may be stolen
Not only from me but from you. Now consider
Who wishes to strip me from this post.
Who wishes to silence my revisions, my visions, of history
Those who see me a wolf at the door—are they the ones you would favor?
For though I am the Headman here, I remain
A government-appointed chief, granted powers to sign
The futures and pasts of our People.
This theft is a conspiracy
To steal from me, from you, the right to hold our Ancestors in honor
To rule the museum, to sign the deeds, to show what remains of our Nations
Within this nation. They will have my head, so to speak, when this loss comes to light.
An Indian is yet a savage, after all, under their law.
And truly an Indian is most capable of this savagery. My kin
Are worthy warriors, refusing captivity, serving another Order. I fear them
More than the Americans. Was it one of our own who did this?
I have enemies above and beside me.
(Pause. KREON paces, then stops.)
But perhaps I’m taking this too personally. It could be no more than thieves
Who greased the hands of our guards to gain a fine bit of capital
For the black market, which trades in bones and measures in scarcity.
To them, giving life to a dead Indian is greater
Than taking life from a living one,
although in one act
They accomplish both.
To GUARD
Let me tell you this: punishment awaits you
Who have been trusted with Government treasure. In these days
Of War and Terror it will not go lightly on you
To show the slightest crack in security. You guards are one tribe
Under Homeland Security, and we are here in the Capitol, where demands
For statesmen and tourists are most extreme. I advise you to find
The conspirators among you, to seize the hands unfaithful
To your tribe and nation, and bring them to justice.
GUARD
May I speak a word?
KREON
Is it not obvious how much your words annoy me?
GUARD
Is it your ears or your heart that is troubled?
KREON
What do you care of my pain?
GUARD
The one who did this hurts your heart. I only hurt your ears.
KREON
(exasperated) You, my man, are a pain in the ass.
GUARD
I see that, Sir. But I did not do this deed, and neither did our men.
KREON
You did! You sold our bones and your souls.
GUARD
Ah!
This one cannot be convinced.
KREON
If you wish to convince me, bring forward the one who did this.
KREON retreats to his office.
GUARD
Calling after KREON, who does not hear him.
May the perpetrator be caught! But whatever the case
I depart now for refuge with my Union, who will defend me
Against these unwarranted claims and the defamation of my men.
He leaves, heading beyond the walls of the Museum, into the city.
The CHORUS performs.
AUNTIE #2
Wá·qoʔ titwatísa ná·qc.
They were living there, a handsome young man and his sister.
One day Grizzly Bear moved into their house with them. They lived that way
For some time, because there seemed no way to get Grizzly Bear out.
Grizzly Bear was cruel to the sister and made her a slave.
Grizzly Bear even made the sister use her own hair to wipe Grizzly Bear’s backside clean.
The young man was distressed and felt sorry for his sister.
One day he was out hunting, and he accidentally stepped on Meadowlark and broke her leg.
Auntie, he said to her, please tell me. How can I get rid of Grizzly Bear?
I’ll make you a madrone-stick leg if you tell me what to do.
Meadowlark told him, Make your house very strong so no one can get out.
When Grizzly Bear falls asleep, sneak out quietly and set a fire around the house and burn her up.
That’s the only way to get rid of her.
The young man thanked Meadowlark and made for her a new leg.
He did exactly as she told him; he set the house on fire as Grizzly Bear slept.
The young man and his sister slipped out.
Grizzly Bear woke and ran from one end to the other, trying to
get out.
As everything was burning, the young man said to this sister,
Qáni,12 let’s go now. Run and don’t look back!
He told her to come quickly, but she lagged behind.
Then BOOM!
There was an explosion.
The sister looked back.
Grizzly Bear called to her: Sister-in-Law! This is yours! Take my teeth!
The girl caught the teeth and hid them away.
Her brother asked her: What do you hide? What did you catch?
The girl said, Oh nothing, nothing.
The brother ran ahead.
He could hear her footsteps behind him.
He could hear her breath.
The breathing became louder.
The footsteps became heavier.
He continued to run.
The girl put the teeth in her mouth
The breath was loud and heavy, very clear now
Closer, closer, he heard her breathing
She became Grizzly Bear!
She chased her brother but he ran ahead. He took a knife
And split open the land, making a wide gulch
Difficult for Grizzly Bear to cross. He was able to cover more distance. Still,
Grizzly Bear went on tracking him.
He came to a hill and looked down. He saw someone there.
It was Pissing Boy, jumping back and forth, singing a song.
The young man ran to Pissing Boy.
ʔácqa,13 Little Brother, hide me! Grizzly Bear is after me!
Pissing Boy said, No. Not until you address me differently.
The young man thought of every kinship term he could. peqí·yex!14 and máma!15
He tried qalácaʔ16 and piláqaʔ17 and other kinship words.
Each time, Pissing Boy said no. Finally he said, cikí·wn!18 Brother-in-Law!
Hide me!
That’s it! said Pissing Boy, and he hid the young man in his braids.
He went back to singing and jumping as he had done before.
Soon Grizzly Bear arrived, following the young man’s tracks.
Do you see my prey around here? she asked. I see his tracks. Where is he?
Pissing Boy answered, Oh, are you the only one who eats humans?
I caught him long ago.
She laughed and said, When did I ever eat humans?
Pissing Boy said again: I took him long ago.
You’re just talking nonsense, Grizzly Bear said.
I’ll kill you! Pissing Boy warned.
Grizzly Bear fell on her back laughing.
And this is what Pissing Boy did. He turned and peed on his hand, then threw it in her face.
Grizzly Bear dropped dead.
That’s this much of the story.
SECOND EPISODE/SCENE III
The CHORUS notices the GUARD returning, bringing ANTIKONI with him as a prisoner.
AUNTIE #3
Who is this poor one, borne in the arms of the Guard,
Returning now? Surely she is nu·nim páplaq19
Antíkoni, yúʔc yiyé·ic20
Poor, unfortunate one, the child of divided blood, divided land
Who chooses to die under one law rather than live under two.
GUARD
Here’s the one you seek! Here is the one who would steal
What by rights belongs to the State. But where is Kreon?
CHORUS
As they reply, KREON appears from his office.
Koná hipá·yca.21
KREON
ʔehé, pa·ytóqsa.22
GUARD
My Chief, I return, once believing
That these gates would be closed to me forever,
That the only institution of the State that could admit me
Were I to admit guilt—though guiltless I would be—is the prison,
Not your grand hall, your showcase of captivity.
Only because the Heavens favored me
Did I come upon this one, this girl, this thief
Carrying away the remains, bearing the treasure of the State
To some other resting place.
May this one soon be on her way to the Shadowlands as well,
This one who loves the dead
And may my honor be restored by her passing.
KREON
And this one, how did you catch her? Was she yet on the grounds?
GUARD
She was bearing the bones away herself. Just beyond the gate.
KREON
My man, you know the nature of this charge? You testify to truth
in matters of a federal crime?
GUARD
My sight is true, and my words follow.
The appearance of this girl with dry blood, now dust on her hands
And ancient words on her tongue
Turns me from traitor to hero, from man to myth. Here is your body of evidence!
Her body has much more in common with yours, my Chief,
As I share not blood nor favor
With this Indian girl.
Forgive me, Sir, for speaking so forthrightly.
I fear for you now under the law
As the Feds will see you as accomplice, and me
As the noble whistleblower, and I
Will be afforded every protection
that would be yours by rank,
but trumped by blood.
KREON
To ANTIKONI
ʔikú·ytimx!23
Speak to me in the language of truth.
ANTIKONI
hi’ná·ata.24
KREON
To GUARD
You heard her.
Pause. KREON stares at GUARD , who doesn’t know what to do.
GUARD
Sir, with all respect. I don’t speak—
KREON
Ah! If only you didn’t speak at all! How quickly possession changes your register.
You who earlier cowered in fear
Now speak as a master. But you have not mastered our language, have you?
Perhaps you thought it dead?
GUARD
No. No, Sir. Not dead at all.
KREON
Very well, then. Perhaps you are not entirely worthless, although your greatest
Capital is your captive.
Do you not wish to know how she has assessed herself?
GUARD nods anxiously.
KREON
She said she is guilty.
ANTIKONI
Uncle, I object to your translation. Guilt is not on my tongue or my heart.
Truly I am most free of guilt.
I said only that I carried out.
KREON
You carried out a crime.
ANTIKONI
Again you translate me wrongly. You move me across,
From the arms of my family to the chains of the State.
You twist my tongue to unlock your laws.
I do pity you, Uncle, for you have long ago admitted yourself
To this prison, a darkness of another name.
KREON
And do you say, My Child, that there is no difference
In the prison between the inmate and the warden,
Though both abide within? Surely you know better.
Gestures for the GUARD to leave. He departs.
ANTIKONI
Are not the prisoner and the warden equally made of flesh? Are they not equally
Bound to the laws of Creation, to the turn of the Earth? Living and dead,
Humans belong to the same Order that turns and turns around itself,
Not to these unholy states
of suspension: the prisoner doing time, the artifact preserved.
These are human laws—though they are not humane—that would defy
Ancient laws. These unjust laws make a captive of
Time itself.
KREON
Your weakness, Little One, is that you cannot calculate difference
i
n degree or kind.
It makes for rather brittle politics.
Perhaps I may interest you in a story.
I have recently acquired a rare collection of
projectile points
Made by the famous Yahi Indian, Ishi.
When he lived—or as you may say, when he was a
captive—at the museum in California
he occupied himself by knapping arrowheads
from the glass bottoms of bottles.
Spectators came from far and wide to admire him as he worked. His creations
are most beautiful: impossibly long, elegant, and perfectly formed.
But completely nonfunctional. Shoot one of those at a mountain lion and the point would snap in two.
ANTIKONI
How dare you translate Ishi this way? You cast him as an artist in his studio,
not the living exhibit he truly was—
Though I hardly call it living, a human being alone.
It’s not how we were meant to live.
The museum preserves the life of things longing to die, while
Killing the Man, the last of his kind, whose tongue cruelly died before him.
Ishi’s admirers loved him to death.
KREON