Nakoa's Woman (5 page)

Why were his eyes so deeply sad? Did he see her frenzy as not for him at all? “I love you,” she had told him. Ana’s blue eyes gazed sadly and lovingly into her own and vanished. Her father, struck with an Indian arrow, wept openly at the impotence of his coming death. Love—an Indian? Love an Indian with
their
hands stilled forever upon the prairie? Shuddering, Maria buried her face in her hands. Her thoughts were darting swallows and she reeled after them.

His lips softly brushed her forehead, and rage suddenly leaped within her. “Indian! Indian!” she screamed, lashing his face as hard as she could. Stunned, he recoiled wordlessly away from her. His face became an expressionless mask.

He wouldn’t even give her life, as the savage Indians hadn’t given her father and Ana life!

Silently, he gestured for her to mount the bay. He made no attempt to help her, nor did he mount the horse behind her and shelter her from the bitter mountain wind. Every fire in the world had gone out and she felt as if she would never be warm again.

Natosin

Chapter Five

When the Indian led the bay into the village, it seemed to Maria that all sound stopped. Drums were muted; talking ceased; there was only a dog barking frantically, and then, with a loud yip, he too became silenced. People had gathered where she and the Indian would enter the village, and more and more were quickly coming. Their black eyes were all upon her, as if she were a strange thing apart from themselves. Had they never seen a white woman before? The reflection of the firelight shone upon their unwavering gaze.

Without a word, the Indian led his horse past them all, and then Maria could hear them quietly following, now not so hushed or awed, and their voices beginning to murmur. Maria began to pick out separate words.
“Essummissa! Essummissa!”
she heard over and over. Was that their word for white? A child darted up to them, looking up at her closely, and then ran away only to return and search her face again. A crowd was following them now, and more throngs lined the route that they seemed to know the Indian would take.
“Makto mahxim!”
a man shouted, and then another said,
“Ksiksi num-ksiksi num!”
and still her captor answered none of the voices.

Maria felt sick; she concentrated upon holding herself erect and on keeping any fear from her face. Dear God, where was he taking her? Did he have to display her to everyone in the village? She wanted to call out to him, but she did not even know his name, so she looked proudly ahead, and refused to look at any more of the eyes watching her.

They were now approaching the inner circle of tipis, and here the crowd collecting behind them stopped. “
O
wayai
—
ashtay!”
a good-humored voice laughed.
“Tsumah tsi tsi? Ninow?”
There was laughter in answer from the others, and then the Indian led her away from them.

The inner circle consisted of only nine tipis, and apart from them stood one of tremendous size. It was over twenty feet in height and was supported by at least thirty lodge poles. It was at this lodge that her captor stopped the bay and gestured for her to dismount. When Maria swung to the ground a pack of dogs came yapping furiously at her feet, and the Indian kicked them away from her.
“Piintwike,”
he said, telling her to enter the door of the tipi. Maria hung back.
“Piintwike,”
he repeated impatiently, and slowly Maria entered the door. She had to stoop to enter the lodge, and as she did so, she glanced pleadingly back at the Indian, but he gave no sign of encouragement.

Inside the lodge Maria straightened, and her captor took her by the arm and led her to eight or nine men who were sitting around the fire. The Indian who had prevented her from escaping on the bay already stood before them. Maria looked at him in surprise. He was arguing, and without looking at him, the seated men listened, and as they listened they smoked from one pipe that was slowly being passed from right to left.

Her captor plainly grew enraged at what this man was saying, and again Maria saw the killing wrath come to his face. She shrank against the wall, but her captor jerked her roughly back to him, and she stayed by his side, looking at the seated men fearfully. Her assailant at the meadow finished speaking, and then there was long silence.

The fire burned steadily in front of them all, and wearily Maria moved her weight from one foot to the other. She noticed that the fire pit was neatly lined with stones; that the interior wall of the lodge was covered with cowskins upon which were painted crude scenes of battle; she saw that the lodge was so large that the fire did not light its shadowed corners. Her captor now began to speak, and for the first time the eyes of the seated men swung to her. She was the subject of this conversation—this bitter argument!

Directly across from the doorway they had entered sat a man who held her gaze. She had been mistaken in believing her captor to be a tribal chief; clearly here was the leader of these Indians. There was a familiarity about him that Maria could not place, and she met his searching gaze and was struck more and more by it. Where could she have seen this man before? He was probably in his early fifties. He wore his hair long; it was streaked with gray and fell unbound to his shoulders except for one lock, about two inches in width, that was cut short at the bridge of his nose. He was very large, muscular, and flat bellied. He had the body of a much younger man; it was only his gray hair that made him look older. His eyes were fierce in their pride—but his mouth—his lips—and … Startled, Maria glanced swiftly from him to her captor, and then knew that these two men were father and son.

As his son talked, the father still watched her intently. How was she so positive that he was the tribal chief? Only an elaborate necklace of elk teeth and bear claws, and the way he wore his hair, distinguished him from the others. Yet it was the dignity, the awful dignity and pride, and a majesty that even his son did not yet have, that made her know. She was spellbound by the eyes. In them she saw truth, the answer to questions unknown, and there was temperance, and Maria felt safety in his presence. She sighed, breathing more quietly, and then the chief looked away from her at last, but the glances of the others still remained. The son had finished speaking, and again came the silence, with the pipe still wordlessly passed from one seated man to the other.

The fire shrank in size, and fell to hissing at a wet piece of wood. It hissed like an old witch whispering of dark nights and evil winds, and then it bit into a pitch pocket and spewed venom out in a scalding stream of pitch. It leaped brightly into new life, and having devoured the pitch, sank back and resumed its monotonous hissing at the water spot.

Maria felt pains of fatigue. She had ridden over twenty hours without sleep and she despaired for rest. Each of the seated men spoke directly to her captor, and when they had finished, the father nodded in agreement. The Indian who had been arguing before them shouted angrily. Her captor leaped at him in a fury. “Nakoa!” the chief called sternly, and her captor reluctantly and slowly released the man he had again attacked. Mother of God, these two were fighting over her! She saw in humiliation that every man in the room was looking at her, and finally the chief motioned for his son to take her from the tipi.

Outside the night air was cold and blew her hair back from her damp forehead. The Indian signed for her to mount the bay again, but she could not. She pressed her head weakly against the animal. “I am sick!” she whispered.
“Estse no stum,”
she repeated in his tongue.

He lifted her upon the horse, and this time mounted behind her.
“Neet akkse”
he answered, but she had forgotten these words. They rode back to the outer tipis, and he stopped the bay before a lodge that was dark and silent. He went inside and started a fire, and she followed him timidly, standing at the door. Suddenly a huge shadowed bulk emerged from nowhere, and almost knocked her down at the entrance. It was an old woman, shouting at her captor excitedly. She pulled Maria into the tipi, and tried to study her face in the firelight. She smelled of grease and sweat and her stringy gray hair was standing almost on end.
“Essummissa?”
she asked and belched.

“Essummissa,”
her captor answered. The old woman belched again in wonderment. She squinted her little black eyes into Maria’s face. God, what a smell! Maria thought.

“By damn!” shouted the old woman. “By damn!”

“You speak English?” Maria asked her immediately.

The old woman gave no indication of understanding. She pulled Maria closer to the fire and when she still couldn’t see her well enough, angrily threw more wood on the flames. In the growing light she looked at Maria bug-eyed.
“Hai-yah!”
she exclaimed, scratching herself, and Maria saw with horror she wasn’t particular where she scratched.
“Neek? Neek?”
the old woman asked her captor, but without answering her, he left the tipi. Maria looked numbly after him. Why had she been brought to this old hag?

The old woman put her hands on her hips and then pointed to herself. “Atsitsi,” she said proudly.

Maria nodded. “You are named Atsitsi,” she said. She saw some water in the lodge and asked for it by cupping her hand to her lips. The old woman handed her the buffalo paunch, and when Maria had finished with it, gave her a cold stew of some kind. It was horrible, but Maria ate it anyway, and all the time she was eating the little black eyes never left her face.

When she had had enough, Maria went to one of the two couches in the lodge, and without an invitation of any kind, lay down upon it to sleep. “Good night,” she said to her absorbed hostess.

The next morning the first thing Maria saw was the old woman still watching her. “My goodness,” she said to her, “didn’t you close your eyes all night long?”

The old woman bared her gums, and began to scratch under her breasts. She offered Maria more of last night’s stew, and Maria forced herself to eat some, and thanked Atsitsi when she had finished.

The old woman grinned happily.

Maria looked around her, running her hands through her tangled hair. If only she had a comb and could bathe and put on a clean dress! She went to the water pouch and was preparing to wash with its contents when the old woman almost knocked her down. She led her to the door and away from the outer tipis to a river. She pointed to the water and then looked at Maria as if she were crazy to bathe at all.

Maria strove for privacy while bathing, but the old woman seemed to be peeping from every bush so Maria tried to resign herself to her staring. Maria called her names, and the old woman nodded in agreement.

Returning to the village, Maria found crowds waiting for her arrival. Food and fires had been left unattended. Children had abandoned their play to stare at her; dogs left their gnawing on bones to yip and snap at her heels. She was frightened, and she kicked at the dogs savagely. Panting, she felt tears sting her eyes and she ran and hid herself in the old woman’s lodge.

Maria lay down on her couch and buried her face in shaking hands. “Why didn’t he just kill me?” she moaned to herself. “Why did he save me at all?”

The old woman had entered, and she sat down upon Maria’s couch. “Ha!” she exclaimed in English. “You not know why you saved?”

“You speak English!” Maria said, at once astonished and overjoyed.

“I no say I not.”

“But last night—”

“Last night I look.”

“Are you the only person here who speaks English?”

“Yes. I work once for white man. I the white man’s word for good Indian woman. I whore. I whore at Laramie for many suns!”

“Oh,” Maria said, feeling pity for the old woman.

“I no like sweet look,” the old woman said angrily.

“I am sorry,” Maria whispered. “You worked for whites. You know my tongue—won’t you help me?”

“Why need help?”

Maria felt her lips tremble. “I am a prisoner. I am here against my will!”

“Ha!” the old woman leered.

Maria felt growing discomfort. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

The old woman moved closer to her, her stench making Maria sick. “You virgin—before Nakoa?” she asked.

Maria recoiled. “I am still a virgin,” she said without thinking.

The old woman got up and stood over Maria enraged. “You lie!” she shouted.

“I do not!” Maria replied heatedly.

“You lie and insult Pikuni and whole by-damn Blackfoot nation!”

Maria looked up into the little hate-filled eyes. “Blackfoot?” she repeated. “You are Blackfoot?”

“Pikuni of the Blackfoot nation. And you tell by-damn lie about Nakoa!”

Maria was stunned. She was a prisoner of the Blackfoot who were known never to trade with the white man and never take whites as prisoners. She had heard that no white man ever had been allowed in a Blackfoot village. “Oh, no,” she moaned, pressing her arms against her stomach.

“Go toilet again if sick,” the old woman growled.

“Where am I?”

“Sitting on tipi couch, fool!”

“I mean, where is this village?”

“In Blackfoot land. Where else, by damn?”

Maria sighed. “Who is Nakoa?”

The old woman rolled her eyes and batted her eyelashes. “Who is Nakoa?” she mimicked, mincing her words.

“Is he my captor?”

“What this by-damn captor?”

“The man—I will be forced—to marry.”

“Oh, oh.” The old woman smiled and sucked at her gums. “That a ‘captor’. Make poor white virgin marry bad Indian. How old is sweet white virgin?”

“I am nineteen,” Maria said stiffly.

“Why men stay away from nice virgin? Not all pale and sick like most white woman. And have nice big breasts. No understand.”

Maria’s face reddened. “Don’t worry yourself about it,” she said angrily.

“What little virgin’s name?”

“Maria. I would like to be your friend. How did you happen to work at Fort Laramie when you are Blackfoot?”

“Husband not Blackfoot. He Dahcotah. Dead now, thank God. I come back to my village but no man want me because I sleep with whites. Big sticks here leave me alone, so I no bathe any more. It make village unhappy, but I Pikuni and I stay here until I die.”