Tecumseh had no more questions. There was so much to think about from this day. He remembered now:
“Brother! Have you ever shot a running rabbit, while you were running? And did you know our mother is out of her year of mourning?”
IT WAS THE TWENTIETH DAY OF THE HUNTER’S MOON, COLD and gray, and most of the leaves had fallen to the ground, when Black Fish summoned Tecumseh to his lodge and told him that it was time for him to start earning his pa-waw-ka. A chill of dread seized Tecumseh, for he had seen other eight-year-old boys in past winters earning their pa-waw-kas, and he knew it was going to be worse than anything he had ever had to do.
“When you have your pa-waw-ka,” Black Fish told him, looking at him with sharp eyes, “you will be able to get power from the Great Spirit when you most need it. You will wear your pa-waw-ka all the time, and when you have great trouble or terrible suffering, you will hold the pa-waw-ka, and the power and comfort will come like sacred fire into you through your hand. Your pa-waw-ka will be your most treasured thing. Sometime it might keep you alive, or help you defeat your strongest enemy. You even more than most warriors will need such a power to turn to because of the duties you will have someday. Because it is so important, you cannot get it easily. There is no short or easy way to get anything of great importance. Do you understand?”
Tecumseh nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“You must obey me. Every morning for the next four moons you will have to do this, at the beginning of every day. After the first morning you will probably say, ‘I cannot do this again.’ But you will have to do it the next morning, too. Even when the snow is on the ground and ice is on the river, you will have to do it. If, even one morning of that time, your spirit is not strong enough to make you do it, you will fail to earn the favor of Weshemoneto. Do you promise me now that you will do it each morning?”
Tecumseh shuddered. But he replied, “I promise, Father.”
Black Fish nodded, his craggy face unsmiling. “Good. Tomorrow morning at the first daylight you will begin. Your brother Chiksika long ago earned his pa-waw-ka. He will tell you how to strengthen your heart for it. Go to his lodge in the morning as soon as you are awake.”
The next morning when Turtle Mother squeezed Tecumseh’s foot to wake him up, the first thing he heard was sleet hissing and pattering on the bark roof of the wigewa. He had hoped it would be one of those sunny, mild days that sometimes occur during the Hunter’s Moon.
“Come,” said his mother. “It is time for you to go to Chiksika’s lodge.” Star Watcher smiled to encourage him.
He left the warm envelopment of his sleeping robe and dressed, standing as close as he could get to the fire, shivering and almost sick with dread. Outside the wigewa the air was raw and icy. Sleet pelted his face and hands like tiny arrows of ice. He shivered and set off at a hunch-shouldered run down the lane. The bare trees and hulking huts were black against the hissing gray sky. It had rained most of the night before the sleet started. The path was covered with mashed, sodden, dark leaves, speckled white with sleet, dotted with puddles of cold rainwater. His moccasins were soaked at once and squished and splatted as he ran through the hissing gloom. He hoped that Chiksika would have a blazing fire in his hut but was afraid that he would not.
Chiksika was not married yet and lived alone. His little wigewa was about two hundred paces from the river, and Tecumseh could hear the river water running even at that distance. The river was high and fast from the night’s rain, and Tecumseh was frightened. The ordeal ahead would be dangerous as well as miserable.
When he turned back the door flap and ducked in, the little space was very warm with a smokeless fire of white oak. Chiksika was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, dressed and waiting. His weapons and medicine bag hung on a post behind him, and on his spear hung the scalp he had taken from the soldier at the battle of the Kanawha-se-pe. The brass trim of his gun gleamed with the firelight. The gun was a rifle he had taken from a dead enemy in that battle, a much better gun than the musket he had used before. The room was cozy and interesting, one of Tecumseh’s favorite places to visit, and it would have been a good place to sit on such a wet, dismal day, drinking hot sassafras or mint tea and hearing Chiksika tell stories. But for the next four moons, clear into the depth of winter, his visits to Chiksika’s hut were not to be such pleasures.
“Take off your clothes, little brother,” Chiksika told him even before he could sit to warm himself by the fire. “You will want to get this done as quickly as you can.”
When Tecumseh stood naked, his clothes on the ground, his tough, slender little body agleam like copper, Chiksika began the instruction.
“You remember what our father told us about the sacred fire. Tell me.”
“Yes. The People have the fire that was lit long ago. There are men whose duty it is to tend the fire and never let it go out.”
“Just so,” Chiksika said, “there is a fire inside the spirit of every Shawnee warrior. What does Shawnee mean?”
“It means People of the South.”
“Yes. And when we came up into this place of cold winters, the Sun gave each of us some of himself to keep us warm when we hunt in the winter and are away from the sacred fire of our home. Now listen to what I say:
“When you begin to earn your pa-waw-ka, you will be naked like this, and you will leap into the river every morning, in the deep place there so that even your head will be under the water.”
“Yes.”
“When you do this, only the fire of the Sun inside you will keep you from turning to ice. So listen: When you go into the river you must think very hard of the fire inside you. You must pray Weshemoneto will blow on it and make it flame up. The fire inside you must be greater than the cold on your skin. It is like when you are hunting in winter and you tell yourself that cold does not matter, that it is just a feeling, just as warmth or pain or pleasure are just feelings, and if you make yourself warm inside, you are able to bear it.”
“Yes. I have done that. You taught me.”
“On the day when you earn your pa-waw-ka, you will have to go under ice in the river, and not one time but four times. It is cold today, but it is warm compared with the way it will be on that day. That is why we start now. Day by day you must get used to calling for the fire inside you. When the snow comes it will get harder to do, but as you do this each day you will learn to talk to Weshemoneto and ask, so that he will hear, for his breath to fan the fire inside you. And so, by the time of the coldest day, when you have to go under the ice four times, he will know your voice well, and he will know you have prayed every morning and are worthy to find your pa-waw-ka, and he will keep you from turning into ice as you go down to the river bottom for it. Do you understand this quite well?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then come. We shall walk down to the river.”
“Walk?”
“I said walk.”
“I saw other boys last winter, and they ran. They ran down, and they ran back.”
“Yes, but you are Tecumseh, son of Hard Striker. In this family we do not show anyone we are concerned with pain or fear. In this family we walk down to the river. We leap into the water so that we go all the way under. And then we walk slowly and with dignity out of the river and back to the hut. I have seen boys from other families who go into the river and out so fast that they are like a skipping stone, and only get wet on one side. And people laugh at them.” Chiksika was smiling as he said this, and it was funny enough to make Tecumseh smile, even in his dread.
“Did you walk when you did this?” he asked Chiksika.
“Yes. Our father walked beside me. Slowly and with dignity.”
“Then I will walk slowly and with dignity.”
“Then let us go down. I advise you to start praying now, because the sleet will try to freeze you even before you get to the river. Come.” He stood up.
Tecumseh took a deep breath,
swallowed hard, began trying to pray, turned, and stepped out from the warm house into the wet, chilly gray of the morning.
Even more shocking than the icy sting of the sleet was the sight of the people standing there in their blankets. He had not seen a single person on his way to Chiksika’s hut, but now dozens of people were standing along the path to the river, some with their blankets and hide robes pulled up over their heads, all looking at him. Tecumseh was outraged. He felt colder than cold and more naked than naked because they had come out to watch him. And he could see by their faces that they were in a jolly, mocking mood. People had not come out in numbers like this to watch other boys. This must be, he thought, a part of the burden of being favored.
“Don’t forget to pray,” Chiksika reminded him. “And they are the reason why you must go slowly and with dignity.”
Tecumseh turned outside the door and began walking toward the distant river. The sodden ground under his feet had a thin crust of sleet on it, which he stepped through with each pace. His feet and ankles and even his calves began to ache with cold. The cold rain and melting sleet were running down his skin everywhere. It felt coldest between his shoulder blades and in the cleft between his buttocks.
“Look at his skin! Like a plucked duck!”
“You had better run, Tecumseh!”
“Look at his little passah-tih!” shrieked a coarse widow-woman of the tribe. “Like a little twig! And where is his little bag of balls? Has it frozen and fallen off? Ha! Heeee! Heheee!” Her remarks made the others cackle and inspired them to make similar remarks and jokes.
“Remember to pray,” Chiksika reminded him again. “They’re only trying to make you forget.”
And so Tecumseh prayed with all his might and walked in spite of his desire to run. The wet ground squished, and the taunts kept coming, and the grinning faces kept leaning in front of him, and the terrible distance to the terrible gray river looked like a mile. His breath was coming in gasps, and he was shuddering uncontrollably, and the people along the way were remarking on it. It was as if he were in a gauntlet where the people used taunts instead of whips.
“Stand straight,” Chiksika murmured in his ear. Tecumseh straightened his back and shoulders, which had become hunched. Straightening up made him feel colder and more vulnerable.
“Pray for the fire!” Chiksika hissed when at long last they were almost to the river’s edge. The water was fast, loud, gray as flint, dimpled with raindrops and sleet. Tecumseh prayed with all his might. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. The wind was icy, blowing from the river onto the front of him. His naked skin was taut as a drumhead all over him. And now they were standing on the mud-slick bank of the river, and his feet and hands were numb, and the river looked too terrible. The surface was choppy and shivering in the wind gusts, steaming with rain spatters. He felt as if he were stiff as ice already and feared that he could not move to go in. All his insides were shaking and shuddering.
“Pray,” Chiksika hissed again. “Make him hear you! Remember the Shawnee fire, the Sun!”
Tecumseh with his last bit of will clenched his fists and tensed every muscle to stop quaking. Weshemoneto, he cried inside, help me do this! Blow on the Sun and make me warm!
“Now,” Chiksika commanded in a merciless whisper, “go in.”
“I … can’t.”
“Little brother,” Chiksika whispered, “you have done well. Believe me. I have a secret: it is warmer in the river than in the wind. Go in!”
With a desperate gasp, believing everything Chiksika told him, Tecumseh forced his stiffening leg muscles to spring, and with the name of the Great Good Spirit echoing in him, he leaped off the shore, sure that he would die in the river and now ready to. For an instant he saw the dark shape of his body against the gray sky reflected on the water.
And then with a great, slamming heartbeat he splashed into the water, and what Chiksika had said was true: it was warmer than the wind! It was not at all warm, but it was not as cold as the wind, and that surprise was enough to make the prayer work. Suddenly the cold was no longer inside his body, but only on the skin. His flesh was not frozen after all, and he could move!
When his head broke the surface he gasped a chest full of air.
Chiksika and the people on the bank, and the village and trees beyond and the gray sky were blurred by the flow of water over his open eyes, cold gray, but inside him the warm power was blossoming. He was swept by joy. Weshemoneto had heard him and answered! And the noises coming out of Tecumseh’s throat now were gasps of laughter. Even as he thrashed in the river and paddled toward the shore he saw a grin on Chiksika’s face and heard the people laughing, but now laughing not at him but for him, sharing his joy.
“Now come out,” Chiksika called. He knew the truth of cold, that even if one had mastered it and learned to bear it, it could still quickly kill a person who was not hardened to it. “Come out,” he called again.
So Tecumseh waded out of the cold water into the colder wind, wisps of steam coming off his body, his skin tortured by the cold but his spirit feeling strong and worthy, steady and hot, and with the people cheering him he walked with Chiksika his brother and teacher, slowly and with dignity, back up through the sleety grass and wet leaves and puddles, toward Chiksika’s hut. He was not even thinking of the warmth in the hut now, nor of his clothing nor of food nor of hot drink, but of the strength that he had found burning inside himself and of his faith in the Great Good Spirit, who had kindled it in him when he had needed it. He understood that it was a sacred fire inside him and that it would never go out as long as he lived, as long as he could will it to keep burning, and that it would be an even greater fire when he finally earned his pa-waw-ka. Never had he wanted anything as he wanted that! As he and his wonderful brother walked side by side, Chiksika said, “Look up. There is blue sky through the clouds.”
“Yes,” he replied, surprised to hear how his voice quavered. He thought of sunshine. He thought of the part of the sun burning inside him.
“If the sky clears,” Chiksika said, “that means it will be much colder tomorrow morning.”
EACH MORNING AFTER THAT, TECUMSEH WAS SURPRISED TO discover, the air felt just as cold and the river looked just as terrible. He had expected the fire to be burning in him every morning when he awoke; he had expected to feel strong and sure when he went to Chiksika’s house; he had expected the ritual to become easier.
But it did not. Every morning the dread would be in him. It seemed that his skin and flesh could remember the awful cold better than his heart could remember the warm power and the joy. Thus every morning the test of his will had to be repeated, and every morning he would fear that Weshemoneto was not going to hear his prayer. He would find himself praying at night that the next day would be mild, and then he would be ashamed of himself, and would doubt his worthiness, and would think that perhaps Weshemoneto was withholding his help because Tecumseh had been timid and prayed for mild weather. Every morning he went through these doubts all over again. He wanted to ask Chiksika why it never became easier, but he did not want him to know that he was weak.
And as the winter deepened, another discouraging thing happened. The river water grew colder and colder, and it was no longer a refuge from the biting cold air and wind.
After just a few days the people had stopped coming out to watch him go to the river. At first he had resented their presence. But when they no longer came and did not even seem to care about his ordeal anymore, he began to realize that they had in a way been a help to him, since he could never have let them see him fail.
Chiksika did not have to be told that his little brother was having trouble with his ordeal. Every boy had trouble with it. Chiksika himself had quailed before each morning’s plunge. And even though more than ten winters had passed since he had earned his pa-waw-ka, he still relived the shock of it every morning as he watched Tecumseh’s lithe little body splash into the cold gray water. And every morning as they walked back t
o the wigewa his own heart would soar and flame up with joy because Tecumseh had again triumphed over the cold.
One morning after a month of the ordeal had gone by, Chiksika leaned over the fire in his hut and told Tecumseh:
“Tomorrow you will have to go to the river without me. I must leave the town with a hunting party. We are going a long way west, to the ground between the Big Miami-se-pe and the Whitewater. It is harder to find game toward the Beautiful River because of the whitefaces. We expect more luck west of the Miami-se-pe. That country is several sleeps from here, and we might be gone for six or seven days. You must promise me that you will come down and go into the river every morning, just as if I were here. It will be harder.”
“Yes,” Tecumseh admitted, knowing how true this was. “It will be harder.”
“But you will do it.”
“I promise I will do it.”
“Think of the honor of our father.”
“I will not make anyone think his son is weak.”
“Good. I have arranged for Eagle Speaker to go to the river with you every day while I am gone. He will live here in my house while I am gone, and you will come here as usual.” Chiksika noticed the firm, angry set of Tecumseh’s mouth, the insulted look in his eyes, and he explained quickly: “It is the rule that a man must always be on the shore when a boy goes into the river in winter. It is not to spy on you and make sure you do it, little brother, but to pull you out if you get cramped.”
The insulted look passed from Tecumseh’s face. Chiksika went on: “Eagle Speaker may have some important things to say to you. He is one of the Bear Walkers. He, like Change-of-Feathers, had a dream the night you were born. To have Eagle Speaker near you when you are in this ritual will be good. You can talk to him about dreams you have. And if he has signs about what will happen with the people, perhaps they will help you understand your own.” He looked up. He listened to the wind. The bark slabs of the roof were creaking and rubbing, and once in a while a gust would make smoke from the fire puff back down from the smokehole. “We have come far into this winter without a snowfall, or ice on the river,” he said. “The signs were for a hard winter, but it comes late. I think that it will snow before I come back. I hope so. Snow can help hunters, if it is not too bad a snow. But I expect that one morning, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, you will have to go to the river in the snow, and I will not be here to help you.” He smiled ruefully. “Are you ready for a day like that?”
Panther in the Sky Page 11
