Two Medicine

by John Hansen

  The blanket-tent-lodge looked extremely small for the ten-or-so people who were supposedly attending, and it was strangely low to the ground. I figured someone must have dug out the center into the ground to get lower down. Thunderbird dropped his backpack he had been carrying and pulled out a pair of shorts. He tossed them into my hands and said, “You’ll need to change; you don’t want to be wearing anything good when you’re in there.”

  I looked at his bag, and didn’t see any other clothes. “What about you?”

  “I don’t wear any clothes in the ceremony – many of us don’t.”

  Us? I thought. White guys? Weirdo’s?

  With that he pulled off his clothes one by one, revealing a huge, hairy mass of a chest and stumpy, hairy legs. He pulled off his boxers and stood stark naked – like a big, naked garden gnome. I looked away out of embarrassment, and then saw out of the corner of my eyes that he was stomping off into the direction of the entrance of the tent, where a couple of men were shoveling large, white-hot stones into the enclosure.

  I took my shirt off, my pants off, and even my underwear – quickly, while no one was looking – and pulled on the ratty khaki shorts he had given me, thankful that I had them. They were too big for me but stayed on if I gripped the waist.

  I walked over to the entrance gripping my waistband as the light began to fade into early evening. The little valley we were in was getting dark, and very quickly the only light was coming from the fire. I looked around me before I entered the tent with a feeling of apprehension, but also with a new, calm assurance that I was meant to do this. I pictured Alia watching me go in, shaking her head ruefully, but the ghostly image faded as I felt the heat reach me from the tent entrance.

  As soon as I flipped up the flap on the front of the tent I was struck by a cloud of smoke and intense heat. I smelled an overpowering fragrance of sage and pine needles, and recoiled for a moment with the intensity of it all shocking my senses.

  Then I set my gaze firmly towards the entrance, took a deep breath, and shoved my way in, crouching low and sliding into the darkness. The inside was just the ground, but with some blankets strewn about. In the center was a small but deep fire pit, smoldering with stones, some herbs and grasses. I saw a large plastic bucket and with a ladle next to it. I could barely see in the dark gloom, but I detected several legs crossed around in a circle as several figures had already started in.

  I didn’t know if I was supposed to sit in any certain place, and I really didn’t want to sit next to a naked, hairy, and sweaty Thunderbird, so I just plopped down near the entrance flap a few feet from the next sitter. A good spot for a quick getaway.

  The smoke and heat and fumes weren’t as strong inside as I had thought when I first got blasted by the cloud, or maybe I was just getting used to it. I could see better in a few minutes as well, and could see some faces now staring down somberly into the fire pit, or stretching and breathing heavily to get their bodies acclimated.

  An old, very skinny man with short grey hair in a military-style buzz cut stepped in and carefully tiptoed his way into one of the empty places near the pit. He got settled and drew the ladle from the bucket and poured water onto the stones, which hissed and spat and steamed up the air in the small space within seconds. I thought I saw in the bucket that sticks of sage and other herbs were floating around in the water.

  “More stones!” the old man croaked to the men outside. A couple of other figures crouched in almost naked, like the rest of us. I sat with legs folded like the rest, not yet sweating but getting hot. I breathed in the steam and smoke and felt the air stinging my eyes and nose. More stones were shoveled in and carefully dropped into the pit. More water. The heat was fierce now, coming in steamy clouds that began to sweat on my skin. The heat plumes assaulted my chest, my head and my legs. The popping of stones and the breathing and snorting of the men were the only sounds in the tent.

  A final figure popped in and I saw out of the corner of my eye that it was Clayton. I realized when I saw him that I had subconsciously been waiting for him – or Jake – and now I wondered if Jake would show. With his clothes off, I could see Clayton had a lithe and athletic frame and long hair that fit the stereotypical image of a young Indian. He sat down next to me by the entrance – perhaps blocking it in case I couldn’t take it and tried to run!

  More stones, more water, steam billowing in the dark up into the dome of the tent just inches from our heads. Breathing became a manual, forced effort. Everyone had their heads bowed, not out of reverence maybe, but in submission to the steam-smoke. My thoughts slowed to a animalistic crawl as I just breathed the heat in and out, in and out, in and out, the sage and pine penetrating my head. Some men coughed and spat, others like me just sat and stared at the ground like wet figurines, and just breathed.

  Clayton looked relaxed but was already covered in sweat, the dim light from the coals reflecting on his dark skin. He slowly cracked a knuckle in each finger, the sound mixing with the popping rocks. The heat was almost unbearable for me, now; but others seemed at peace and relaxed, from what I could see through the dripping sweat.

  The old man with the buzz cut began to mumble, and then he got louder. “Oki Ni-kso-ko-wa. Hello, my relatives.” he said to the group. No one answered.

  “We are the children of the Great Holy Being, iit-tsi-pah-tah-pii-op, The Source of Life.” The man ladled more water onto the stones, and then tossed in some dry pine needles onto the stones that hissed and sparked. A few flames shot up around as the needles were consumed. “And we gather together of our own free will tonight, because the Creator made us to be free and to live in harmony.

  “We call together those who have lived before us, those that are still with us, but no longer live in their bodies.” He chanted a phrase lowly, over and over, “Kso-ko-wa, kso-ko-wa, kso-ko-wa.”

  “We call you home tonight to be our relatives in this place, with Stah-koomi-tapii-akii, Mother Earth, and beyond.”

  I felt lightheaded, dizzy, and I caught myself leaning to one side and then straightened back up, putting a hand down on the ground to steady myself. I tried to breathe softer, shallower, to lessen the intake of the heat and the steam-smoke, but the light breathing only made me more lightheaded. I looked at the entrance and thought about getting up and sliding out, my heart started beating in a new panic. I thought about Alia, however, and pictured her standing outside, waiting for me to finish this; and then I willed myself to make it another five minutes, at least.

  “More stones!” The grey-haired croaked to the outside.

  I shot him a look of dismay, and then I glanced around the darkness at the other faces. Most of the men sat motionless, sweat dripping from their noses and running down their faces and chests in little rivulets. Nobody appeared to be in distress in the way I felt. Did I look distressed?

  More stones shoveled in. Ladled water poured onto the hissing and popping stones. Intense searing heat. Like wrapping yourself in a blanket of boiling, hot steam. I ran my hands over my face and through my hair, now soaked. I tried shifting my position a little bit, and inched back towards to the side of the tent behind me, trying to see if closer to the wall it would be cooler, but it made no difference. It was torture; and I felt like I had to get out or I would die. I looked to the front flap again, but kept my place. Clayton hadn’t moved.

  The old man spoke again. “A mosquito bites you and drinks your blood. The trout eats the mosquito. You eat the trout. Our blood passes through the mosquito, passes through the trout, and returns back to us again, and eventually feeds the ground. Nothing is lost in the wild.”

  What was this old man talking about? I groaned. I was in agony and felt certain that I was about to pass out. What would they do when I did? I guessed they would just drag me out and pour water on my head.

  “Your blood is given back to you. Your life is returned to you. Blood is the iit-tsi-pah-tah-pii-op, the Source of Life. Our blood never leaves this earth, even after death.”

  More s
team from the ladling. Just at the moment I gave in, and I was going to just get up and shove Clayton aside, not caring anymore.

  The man’s voice altered slightly, however, and he spoke more strongly. “They are here.”

  His eyes looked around at us in the gloom. “They have come.”

  I felt a tingling in my skin, and I reached over and felt the leather string with beads as a reflex. I couldn’t see Thunderbird anywhere in the gloom, but I knew he was on the far end of the tent. I wondered if the buzz cut man saw my two spirits.

  I wanted to let Alia’s spirit go, I truly did; but I didn’t want to be free of it, of her, at the same time. Maybe that’s what Thunderbird had been trying to tell me, that I was holding on to her too tightly. I felt as I sat in the torturing heat and stinging smoke that I wanted her to be free of me, if that’s what would bring her peace.

  Just like the sweat was pouring out of me, I wanted to purge myself of her spirit and give her peace.

  I loved her; and if I could do something to be able to see her again, to hug and kiss her face, I would do it – anything. But I did not want her spirit on me anymore, not one more second, in this heat, steam, sage and sweat – it wasn’t doing either of us – her or I – any good. It was upsetting us both.

  I ran a hand down my left arm, sweat streaking off of me, then down my other arm, then my legs, and my chest, and my neck and my back. I rubbed my skin all over, slick, hot, greasy, sooty and sweaty. I took a deep breath, and as I did I passed out.

  Or thought I did. What I felt was a blackness come over my mind, like someone laying a heavy, black blanket over me. It felt weightless, and floating. I no longer felt my body. I couldn’t hear the hissing stones, the old man’s voice, just… a rushing sound, like wind, or a train.

  Then in the darkness in my mind I saw two lights, to bright white lights side by side coming incredibly fast at me, rushing up to me and slamming into me so hard that I felt searing pain and shattered bones. I heard the sound of crunching and rending, metal and bone, and I felt the cold ground catch me as I fell. I felt the coolness of the grass and mud on one side of my face. My body was broken, but I was slowly leaving it anyway… I didn’t need that body anymore; and I could feel myself rising from it into the sky.

  Thirty-Seven

  I woke up to find myself outside the sweat lodge. It was full night now, and stars were out in the thousands above me. Crickets chirped and men’s voices in the distance buzzed in my ears. I looked up and a man who I didn’t recognize squatted down next to me. He had some clothes in a grocery bag next to him. I looked down and realized I was completely naked.

  “Ok?” he asked. His face was difficult to see in the dark, but his voice sounded a little wary.

  “Yea, I think so.” I looked around. “How’d I get out here?”

  “We dragged you.” He nodded over to a group of men standing around.

  “Where’s Thunderbird?” I asked.

  “He had to go; but gave me these clothes for you.” He picked up the bag and handed it to me. He showed me where a hose was running from a nearby water truck which I could use to shower off as best I could – all the dirt, sweat and grime was caked on me.

  “Wait a minute,” I said to the man, as he started walking off. “Did Thunderbird say anything about a ride back for me? I live in Two Medicine.” But the man either didn’t hear me or ignored me, and kept walking.

  I stood up and looked around at the clearing, which was a dark expanse now. Far in the distance I could make out the parking lot, which now only had a couple of cars. Thunderbird’s motorcycle wasn’t there, nor was Greg’s van. I looked around, standing there naked in the dark, at where the powwow had been and no one was there. It was an empty field again, a distant drumming was barely detectable and I could not tell from which direction it came. Maybe from nowhere, maybe from a spirit world. The empty field gave me a chilling awareness of my situation. Greg, and now Thunderbird, were gone. Me and some straggler around the sweat lodge were the only souls left in the woods – and the stragglers were driving off, I noticed.

  It was probably two hours to walk it back to Two Med. As I showered off with the hose, using a sliver of bar soap someone had left on the grass, I wondered what I had just experienced in the sweat. The lights, the pain, the death… it seemed distant and ungraspable now – like a quickly-fading dream.

  With wet hair and my clothes back on, a little damp since I didn’t have a towel to dry off with, I felt better and began to walk. I breathed in deeply the clean, cool air of the forest on either side of the road leading away from the field. My lungs, despite having gone through the torture of the steam, smoke and ashes, felt cleaner, stronger – clearer than they had before. There was a lightheadedness that felt peaceful buzzing in my brain; and I felt a spring in my step as I started down the dark road through the forest. For having passed out in extreme heat, I felt overall incredibly good – much lighter and cleaner, in fact.

  As I walked alone the only light was from the thin moon that had just risen above the tall pines. Little pools of sliver-blue moonlight spilled out onto the road, and I walked through them like small spotlights on a stage as I went.

  I walked for about an hour, past sounds of animals scuffling away in the dry brush, past crickets whirring, past an owl hooting off in the tree tops. The night sounds of nature came alive after man had left the area, and no cars came along to quiet them down again.

  Not until a small car came up from behind. I saw its lights passing through the trees on the road behind me as it winded down the forest road. I saw the two lights, rushing forwards, getting closer. Suddenly, the sweat lodge vision became vividly real in front of my eyes.

  My heart raced as I stepped over to the side of the road to let the car pass, but as it came closer it slowed, and eventually stopped about thirty feet from me. I heard someone pull up the parking brake with a cranking sound. The two lights had not crashed into me, not yet, but I felt a certain dread coming from that car; and I knew instinctually that those in it meant me no good. I felt a stab of fear strike my chest, and my heart started beating even harder. This is it, I thought with dread.

  Four figures emerged slowly from the car, barely visible behind the headlights, but backlit by the moon. One by one closing the door behind them, the car still running, people stepped out. I backed away and then looked behind me, nothing anywhere but the dark road stretching away into the black and the darker forest, stretching away into… nothing. I frantically considered running into the woods; but where would I go? I knew the people would follow anyway.

  Thunder cracked from a distance over the mountains, and it began to rain. I looked back at the car; the figures walked slowly towards me in a dark mass. My heart beat violently; and I squinted at them, trying to shield my eyes in the rain and glare of the headlights. Then I saw Jake emerge from behind a couple of the figures, like a prowling wolf, silhouetted by the car’s headlights. Sunglasses on, he must have been blind in the dark. But then I was lit up like a scared rabbit in the car’s headlights, so he could probably see just fine.

  I could see that the men with Jake were young, and Clayton was not among them. One kid was very fat and short, another thin with very long hair. A rough looking bunch – from the powwow no doubt. Jake mumbled something to them.

  “You know why I’m here.” Jake called over to me. It was a statement, not a question. His voice, now hearing for the first time since that first bonfire introduction, was oddly quiet, but cold, raspy, and cruel sounding.

  “I don’t,” I said in response, shaking my head into the glare of the headlights crisscrossed by raindrops. “What do you want?”

  He didn’t answer, but gestured to the fat guy and one of the others with a nod of his head, and the two came over to me and clutched my arms, holding my biceps tightly like vice grips. I ran out of breath. My heart was now thumping, so loud the sound filled my ears.

  Few people ever experience true fear, thankfully, but at that moment I was absolutely a
fraid; and every atom in my body was pulsing with adrenaline, dismay, and crazed fear. I suddenly tried to lurch out of their grasp, hoping to turn and run into the woods, but they held me firm; and then Jake stepped up and punched me hard in the stomach. I doubled over and almost vomited. I could not catch a breath, and as I gasped for air I thought I would pass out. What would they do with me now? I wondered desperately. Passing out a second time in a group of Blackfoot would not turn out well, I figured.

  They pulled me over and jerked me off the road, down a small path next to the road that looked like a dried up stream bed. I was lurched along as our feet cracked through brush and sticks as we pushed through tree branches and shrubs. I stepped clumsily over some roots, unable to see the ground. I had no idea where the path led but I pictured my murder happening further off in the woods. Should I call out? No one to hear... Why did Greg AND Thunderbird take off like that?

  I heard Jake say something to one of the guys, harsh and low, and the fat guy’s heavy breathing, and our smashing through the undergrowth. How did Jake even know I was out here?

  Our steps began to become quieter as the rain softened and muddied the ground. I walked through a spider web, which clung to my face and hair. I tried to raise a hand to brush it off but the fat guy jerked my arm almost out of its socket, and muttered something I couldn’t make out. These Blackfoot and their eternal quiet…

  For a second time I tripped over a root sticking out of the dirt, but caught myself and ran forward. I then heard an object whoosh towards me milliseconds before I was hit, and when it did hit me it felt like a large wooden branch smacking me right across my nose and cheek. I felt a stabling pain through my head and my nose broke. Blood ran down my face; and I felt like I was cut across my right cheek. I was hit a second time, this time on the back of the head. The branch had felt like a bar of iron, and I must have lost a few seconds because I was suddenly looking up from the ground, lying on my side, one arm awkwardly bend behind me. A searing pain still burned in my face.