Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction) (39 page)

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Authors: James Welch

BOOK: Fools Crow (Contemporary American Fiction)
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“If you are successful in your stay with the Siksikas, if you learn from them and purify yourself with their Medicine Pipe keeper, perhaps sometime you would return to the Lone Eaters. It is getting time for you to dance before the Medicine Pole. Perhaps I would assist you.”
Running Fisher looked up at his father; he looked at him for a long time. His eyes, too, were shiny.
“I will do as you say, my father. I will leave tonight and I will pray to Cold Maker to allow me safe journey. I ask that you too pray for this nothing-one. If I return I will have the strength to ask your forgiveness in the proper way.” He turned his head so that his father would not see the wetness on his cheeks. “If I do not return, I ask that you and my mother think of me as I once was, a loving and obedient son.”

 

Double Strike Woman lay facing away from the fire. Only her loose hair was visible above the sleeping robes. Rides-at-the-door felt great pity for her. Her younger son was gone, banished by her husband. Her older son had been gone for six sleeps and she was sure he would not return, that he had been swallowed up by Cold Maker and would never be found. Her two sons were gone and neither would have a proper burial. They would not even be able to go to the Sand Hills to join their dear relatives. She had wept and wailed all night, and only by much talking and soothing could Rides-at-the-door convince her that it was not time to mourn, that both were still alive and both would return to her. At last she had looked into his eyes and seen the truth of it, or at least an earnestness that she could understand. Then she began to dig around among her belongings until she came up with her best elkskin robe and her small-bone breastplate. He had gone with her into the night, hurrying through the snow, until they came before two large spear-leaf trees. She placed the robe in one and the breastplate in the other. Together, they prayed to Sun Chief to accept their offerings and to look after their sons, to bring them safely home when the time came. Rides-at-the-door remembered looking up then and seeing the Star-that-stands-still and feeling that their prayer would be answered. The light from the star came straight down and the snow shone like the silver of the Many Bracelets People. They walked back to camp without speaking. He walked with his arm around her shoulders, but she felt small to him and far away in her thoughts.

 

Rides-at-the-door pushed a stick farther into the fire, and the lodge brightened. He looked over at the robes of Striped Face. She lay with one naked arm flung across her forehead. He could barely make out the hump of her belly beneath the shaggy robe. She was with child and would deliver within two moons. Rides-at-the-door marveled at how Mother Earth always took care of her children. Some die but there are others to take their place. Even as his sons were far from him, and in perilous circumstances, there was a new life in the lodge waiting to be born, to grow up and be strong. We will go on, he thought; as long as Mother Earth smiles on her children, we will continue to be a people. We will live and die and live on. It is the Pikuni way.
He lit his pipe and watched the belly of his second wife move up and down with her breathing. Although he had been angry with her earlier in the day, she had been right to tell him. If the two lovers had been allowed to continue, the whole camp, eventually all the Pikunis, would have known about it—if they don’t already, he thought. He would have to tell his wives not to see White Grass Woman for a while. It would be difficult to keep the fat cow from learning about his disgrace and telling the whole camp, but they had to try, for honor’s sake. Then he thought that his pitiful honor was as a hopping-biter on the blackhorn that was dying of the watery eye. The Pikunis were dying, and all he could think about was himself and his honor. Oh, hateful one! Your heart tonight is as small and hard as the seed of the stinking-weed. He buried his face in his hands and sat motionless, listening to the dry crackle of the fire. It seemed that every day brought news to cause him to feel more tired than the last. He wished he could have made himself feel better about Fools Crow’s return, but he didn’t even know where his son had gone. Red Paint would only say that he had had a dream and left the next morning.

 

He almost smiled as he thought of the talk in camp that day. Many people were now anxious to cross the Medicine Line to escape the white-scabs and the seizers. Even Sits-in-the-middle, so vocal in his opposition, now talked as though it had been his idea in the first place. Three Bears would go, to lead his people from danger, but he would rather die in his own country. He too had been looking old and tired these days. Rides-at-the-door was certain that to go north would be the best course, at least for the winter. And he knew that he could swing the decision. If he talked to Three Bears this night, they would pack up in the morning.
Double Strike Woman rolled onto her back and heaved a shuddering sigh. Several strands of hair were stuck to her cheek. As he looked at his sits-beside-him wife, he thought of the suffering she had endured just that evening. No, he could not move his family while Fools Crow was gone. They would wait until the time for the sore-eyes moon and beyond. They would keep vigil with Red Paint and the infant growing inside her. They would take their chances with the white-scabs disease and with the seizers. When the snow melted and when they could move about freely, perhaps it would be like it always had been.

 

Rides-at-the-door lit his pipe. In the back of his mind he heard a voice, and it told him he was a foolish man. He rolled his shoulders beneath the blackhorn robe and didn’t listen to that voice. Instead, he thought that he would sweat with Mik-api in the morning. He would purify himself with his son’s friend. Perhaps Mik-api would know something.
33
“WHO DO YOU MOURN?” he said.
They were sitting across the cold fire pit from each other. She had spent the day painting a design on the yellow skin. Fools Crow had watched her mix her paints and he had watched her dab the paint on the skin, but when he looked at the skin he could not see her design. The paints vanished and yet she painted on, as though she could see some image emerging. After a time, Fools Crow had given up and gone for a walk. Then he returned to the lodge and smoked and thought about the woman’s strange mourning in the clearing, but he could make no sense of it. Afterward she had walked down to the river and stripped off her dress and moccasins and bathed. He had watched her as she submerged herself, then came up, sputtering, tossing her short hair, wiping her face with her hands. She splashed water on her breasts and arms. She looked at him and smiled, and he realized that she was the first woman, other than Red Paint, that he had seen naked since becoming a man. And he felt no shame.
Now, as he looked into the pale blue eyes, he noticed that something about her had changed. Her eyes had changed. He saw age in them, the watery flat eyes of an old one. He thought again of her splashing water on her breasts and how he had marveled at their firmness, and the flatness of her belly.
“It is finished,” she said. She rolled up the yellow skin and laid it aside. She wiped her fingers with a strip of skin, then looked across at Fools Crow. “I am So-at-sa-ki.”
At first Fools Crow didn’t make the connection. He had become used to the waiting, and the way she said the name seemed as timeless as everything else in her world. Then he felt the small prickles of sweat sting his forehead, and when he opened his mouth the words came out harshly: “Feather Woman!”
She smiled faintly.
“But you died—you died in mourning!”
“It is true that I mourned the loss of my husband, and it is true that I died. There was much sorrow in me and I did not care to live. And so I left your world, a pitiful creature whom no one missed or mourned. But I did not go to the Sand Hills to join my beloved relatives. I came here—Sun brought me here—to live in mourning. Now he sends my husband and son here each dawn to remind me of my transgression.”
“Morning Star and Star Boy,” murmured Fools Crow.
“Yes, they come every morning, and every morning I beg them to take me back, but they do not listen to an old woman.” Feather Woman’s voice had lost the vigor that Fools Crow had come to enjoy. She spoke in a grave, flat rhythm. “You saw me in the clearing. You saw the yellow feather and the juniper bough with the spider’s web. These things were given to me that long-ago night Morning Star took me to live with him in Sun’s house. The web is the ladder I climbed. Spider Man built the ladder to the sky, and I entered my husband’s dwelling place and was embraced by his father and mother, Sun Chief and Night Red Light. We were very happy, all of us, and even happier when I gave birth to Star Boy, the one your people now call Poia. Sun and Moon beamed with pleasure each time they looked upon their grandson. Morning Star walked with great pride, and I—I was the happiest of all, for I was indeed blessed in that sacred lodge.”
Feather Woman closed her eyes and smiled, as though she were reliving those happy times when she had lived with the Above Ones. Fools Crow sat in silence, for he was still stunned by her revelation. And he was suddenly frightened to be in the presence of one who had been sacred to his people and who had fallen so low that no one mourned her when she died. Yet when he looked into her eyes he saw only kindness and warmth.
“One morning I went out to dig turnips. I had been warned by my mother-in-law not to dig the large turnip in the middle of the field, for it was a sacred turnip. I thanked her and told her I had no intention of doing so. All morning I dug, all the time coming nearer to the sacred turnip. The closer I came the more fascinated I became. I seemed to be drawn to it and then I was upon it. It was large and it frightened me and I ran away. I dug more turnips and soon I was near it again. Oh, I was frightened, but I had no control over myself. I dropped to my knees and started to dig. I dug deeper and deeper but to no avail. Finally, with all my strength I thrust my stick deep into the earth. I thought I would push back on the stick and pop the turnip out, but neither stick nor turnip would move. I had wedged the stick too tightly. Oh, I pushed and pulled, and then I became frantic because I was afraid Moon would find me doing what she had warned me against. I worked with all my strength to free my stick, but soon I became exhausted and lay down to rest and weep. Then I spotted two cranes flying overhead. I called out to them to help me, and after several circles they landed. They began to sing sacred songs, one to each of the four directions, and after the fourth song Crane Chief took the stick in his bill and started to move it. Before long, the turnip popped out and left a hole in the sky. I thanked the cranes and they flew on. It was then that I looked down into the hole and saw my people. I saw my mother and father, my sister, our lodge. I saw my village, and the people were busy and happy. Women were working on hides, children were playing in the river, men were making arrows and racing their horses. It was so lovely and peaceful that I became homesick. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to tease my sister, to hug my mother and to braid my father’s hair. But I was so far away I could never be with them again. I cried and cried and soon Star Boy, who was an infant on my back, began to cry. After a while I overcame my sorrow and gathered up my sack of turnips and digging stick and returned to Sun’s lodge. Morning Star, my dear husband, looked into my eyes and knew what I had done. Moon exclaimed, ‘You foolish girl, you have done the one thing you were not to do.’ Soon Sun arrived home and Moon told him of my sin. He became very angry and told me I must leave his house, for I would never be happy there again. I would always miss my people. He gave me the sacred medicine bonnet and my digging stick. Then he wrapped Star Boy and me in an elkskin and sent us back to our people’s world.”
Fools Crow had been looking at Feather Woman’s hands, the very hands that had dug the sacred turnip, but in the silence he stole a glance outside the entrance. Freckle-face sat alertly, looking in at the woman. He did not seem to be aware of Fools Crow’s presence.
“Storytellers say that Spider Man let you down and you became a bright fire in the sky. The people thought it was a feeding star, and when they found the spot it landed, there were you and Star Boy. They say you were never happy again, that you rejected your people, that each dawn you would beg Morning Star to take you back.”
“It is so even now. One dawn, in the long-ago, he spoke to me. He said, ‘You have brought upon yourself your own misery—and misery to your people.’ And it is true. Now you see sickness and hunger, Napikwans and war. It is no wonder the people didn’t mourn me when I left their world.” A small joyless smile crossed her lips.

 

Fools Crow looked out at Freckle-face. He remembered the wailing of a thousand geese in the bowl that morning. He saw the great water birds’ flashing wings and he saw Feather Woman with her arms outstretched, beseeching Morning Star and her son to allow her to fly with them across the sky. He couldn’t understand—all these winters, these summers, why did she continue? It was so hopeless. Then he heard her voice and he realized with shame that she had read his thoughts.
“One day I will rejoin my husband and son. I will return with them to their lodge and there we will be happy again—and your people will suffer no more.” Now her eyes were bright again, the eyes of a young one.

 

The spell had been broken and Fools Crow was again aware of light and shadows, of warmth and the odor of dusty summer pines. Freckle-face had entered the lodge and now sat beside Feather Woman, a look of contentment and loyalty on his face. He has been her only companion all these winters forever, thought Fools Crow, and he suddenly loved them both and was glad he had come to their world.
“You should be proud of giving birth to Poia,” he said, “for he has given the Pikunis their sacred summer ceremony. Long ago he taught the Pikunis the ways of the Sun Dance, and they honor Sun Chief exactly as he instructed. In this way you make Sun Chief to smile on his children and to provide for them.”
Fools Crow was puzzled by the look of alarm on Feather Woman’s face. Had he not spoken truly? Had she misunderstood him? For a short time she seemed hesitant, even timid. She had not been this way before. Even her wailing and crying had been strong, her grief full of resolve.
She picked up the yellow skin and unrolled it. She laid it on the white bighead robe and smoothed it out with her long brown fingers. Then she stood and left the tipi. Freckle-face followed her. At the entrance she looked back briefly, then was gone.

 

Fools Crow sat for a moment and looked out at the blue river. Somehow he knew that the point of his journey had been finally reached. He was in no hurry as he crept around the fire pit and knelt and looked down at the yellow skin. It was a well-tanned skin, creaseless, without thin spots or cracks.
At first he didn’t see the designs. He rubbed his eyes and blinked and leaned closer—and he saw the first one. The pigments were not strong and he had a hard time seeing it in its entirety. The yellow light within the tipi was strong and almost washed the colors away. Then he saw a circle and, within the circle, the familiar triangular shapes of painted lodges. There were many lodges. In the middle were the lodges of the bear, elk, beaver and otter. Outside the circle many horses, bridled and painted, stood in a white background. Fools Crow was confused by the proximity of the sacred lodges surrounded by whiteness. These lodges belonged to different bands and came together only during the Sun Dance ceremonies; yet, in the design, the white represented the snow of winter moons. As he looked at the representation he thought at first that it was only a poorly done winter count or war history. But then the horses began to move; almost imperceptibly, the horses came alive. One switched its tail, another took a step, another pawed at the snow. Then he noticed a wisp of smoke coming from one of the lodges, and he saw a dog sit up and scratch his ear with a hind leg.

 

Fools Crow shrank back from the skin with a small cry. He trembled and he wanted to run away, to leave that place and the strange woman, to return to Red Paint and his family. He was no longer eager to complete his journey, to learn the fate of his people. Nitsokan. Why had Nitsokan chosen him? Why did he have to see this thing? He tried to stand, to leave, but his legs wouldn’t move. He was rooted to that spot and he couldn’t stop looking into the yellow skin. He was powerless to keep from seeing, and so he saw inside the lodges and he saw the agony of the sick ones, the grief of the mothers and fathers, the children, the old ones. And he saw the bundled bodies of the dead, slung across the painted horses being led from camp. He saw inside the lodges of all the Pikunis and he saw suffering and crying and wailing. He saw mothers mutilate themselves, men rush from lodge to lodge, clutching their young ones, the elders sending up their futile prayers.
Through his tears, Fools Crow felt his eyes wander over the design. He recognized people from the Hard Topknots, the Never Laughs, the Grease Melters, the Many Chiefs, but it was only after he had searched all the lodges did he know what he was looking for—his own lodge and that of his mother and father. They were not in the village. Nor were the lodges of most of the Lone Eaters. He let out his breath in a sigh, but a lodge on the edge of the encampment caught his eye. It was the painted ermine lodge of Three Bears. Outside, Three Bears’ sits-beside-him wife knelt in the snow with her head down. There were two other lodges from the Lone Eaters band.

 

The white-scabs disease has reached us, thought Fools Crow. We did not act quickly enough. We did not go north to the land of the Siksikas. It will be only a matter of time before all the Lone Eaters join this village of sickness.
Then the village was gone and Fools Crow saw only the yellow skin. He sighed deeply, and his heart was heavy in his chest. He closed his eyes, and in his weariness he could think of nothing, could feel nothing but a mild gratitude that Red Paint had not yet moved their lodge to that village of death.

 

Fools Crow had seen enough, but when he opened his eyes he saw a faint design, as indistinct as a shadow. He bent forward and the shadow became a red wash across the skin. Then the red wash became a column of horses. Stick figures rode the horses and their heads were colored yellow. Small black curly marks turned into buffalo coats and one of the yellow-heads moved, turned around and looked at the other yellow-heads. And then the red horses were moving through a snowy valley. Fools Crow heard the squeak of leather and the bark of a dog. He looked back to the sound of the bark and saw the seizers’ fort on Pile-of-rocks River. A small knot of men and women were watching the seizers ride off.
It was bitter cold and the seizers rode with their collars up and wool scarves tied over their caps and ears. Their horses lifted their legs high and snorted white smoke in the cold air. As Fools Crow swept the column, from rear to front, the number of seizers grew until he could see hundreds of them, each with a long-gun in his scabbard. At the head rode a seizer chief that Fools Crow had never seen before. But beside him, his broad yellow face partially hidden in the collar of his buffalo coat, rode the scout, Joe Kipp.

 

When the seizers reached the edge of the valley they rode up a wide gully and up to the short-grass prairie. Fools Crow put his hand to his mouth to muffle the cry that had begun in his throat. He recognized that gully. It was the one he had just ridden down on his black buffalo-runner. The seizers were traveling north to the country of the Pikunis.

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