Red Dove, Listen to the Wind

by Sonia Antaki

  She opened her palms to gather the vapors that would soothe her spirit.

  “Words carry medicine, Granddaughter. Remember that. And if you ever need my help, just ask. The pouch will connect us.” He straightened stiffly off the ground.

  “Always?” Red Dove whispered, rising slowly to meet him.

  “If you find the courage to trust its power, it will.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “So trust its power—and your own.”

  ›› I Understand Her ‹‹

  The noise they’d heard came from the wagon, now waiting outside. Red Dove felt the weight in her chest as she watched the white woman climb down and walk towards the small group already gathered around the fire circle, all the people who remained in the village.

  The woman saw Red Dove, and her frown changed to a smile. “Hello, my dear,” she called brightly.

  Red Dove didn’t return her smile. Her heart hurt. A blunt, insistent ache lodged inside her and would not let go. It throbbed like the pain from the rock that hit her ankle that day in the Wasichu town.

  I have to leave my home.

  She touched the bundle around her neck and the strange noise, like a swarm of a thousand bees, began. She lowered her hand and the buzzing stopped. Grandfather said it would help me understand better. She raised her fingers again.

  “Are you ready, my dear?” the woman was saying. “It’s going to be a long journey and I want to make sure you’re fully prepared.”

  Journey… prepared… I understand words I’ve never heard before. Is it because of the pouch? Red Dove dropped her hand and listened again, but with her fingers off the pouch, only a few words came clear.

  She reached up once more.

  “And now it’s time to go to school,” the woman said.

  To school? Already? No!

  Old Tom sat high in the wagon, whistling to himself and dangling the reins. He stared at the ground in front of the horses, his face covered by his crumpled hat.

  Red Dove scanned the faces around the fire circle. Her anxious aunts held tight to her squirming cousins, who were still too small to be sent away. Her mother slumped next to Walks Alone, eyes to the ground. Grandfather stood apart, his expression blank.

  The white woman jerked her head at Old Tom. “They don’t understand me, Thomas, so you tell them.”

  “Sure thing, Sis,” he answered.

  But we do understand, thought Red Dove, fingers on the pouch, as she watched Old Tom hobble down off the seat. At least I do. Every word.

  The woman took a step closer to Red Dove and held out the flat, black book with the cross on the cover.

  She said it was a Bible. It looks like the one the skeletons were carrying in my dream.

  “Inside this, you will find all of the answers to all of your questions,” the woman said.

  Red Dove expected the woman to hand it to her, but instead she jerked it back and shoved it into the satchel. “Later. After you’ve learned to read. First this.” She pulled out a small round package, wrapped in white paper.

  An apple?

  Red Dove stepped forward to take it, just as the woman snatched it away. Smiling coyly, she unwrapped the paper, raised the shiny ripe fruit to her lips and took a tiny bite. She held it up. “See? Outside, red, but inside white… like you with your strange gray eyes, my dear.”

  Red Dove looked at the pink-faced woman, the apple in her hand. Then she looked at her mother’s ashen face.

  Tell me what to do, Mother, because I don’t know!

  Suddenly she did know, and her legs carried her around the fire circle, away from the white people and towards Gray Eagle. “I won’t go,” she said.

  “You must.”

  “Come back here, you,” said the woman, dropping the apple. She moved slowly towards her.

  Red Dove grabbed her grandfather’s fingers with one hand and the pouch with the other. “I won’t,” she repeated.

  “You must, you must, you must,” she heard through the din of a thousand bees.

  Red Dove looked at the apple, lying half-bitten in the dust. “Take it, Mother,” she whispered, raising her eyes to meet those of Falling Bird.

  It is not for us, her mother seemed to say. “Toksa,” she heard her mother whisper. “We will meet again.”

  She looked at her grandfather and the faces all around. She saw the resignation that they wore.

  At that moment, Red Dove knew she had no choice. The adults she loved could no longer protect her. She was on her own.

  She gripped her grandfather’s hand as tightly as she could. She felt its delicate thinness, its gentle heat, the papery softness of his fingers.

  And finally let go.

  ›› Civilized ‹‹

  The wagon clattered over the bumpy, rutted road. From their perch facing backward, Red Dove and Walks Alone watched their old life disappear as the landscape changed from pinkish bluffs and evergreen hills to open prairie clotted with grass and scrub. The air was thick with the scent of sage mingled with dirt and dust. Red Dove had been here before during her family’s long wanderings, but now everything looked strange.

  “Not been introduced—” Red Dove heard Jerusha say.

  What? Red Dove turned around to see Jerusha point to herself. She touched the pouch and the meaning became clear.

  “Not properly, that is.” Jerusha fixed Red Dove with her bright, birdlike gaze. She waved at Old Tom beside her. “This is my brother, Thomas. Some call him Old Tom but you should call him Mr. Kincaide—”

  “Just call me Tom.”

  “Oh, all right.” Jerusha frowned. “Everything here is so informal. You can call me Jerusha.”

  “Je—” Red Dove started, but didn’t finish, as Jerusha filled the air with her chatter and Red Dove tired of listening. She took her eyes off the woman, dropped her hand from the pouch and the words became nonsense again.

  Walks Alone, shoulders slumped, stared back at the disappearing landscape.

  What’s he thinking? She had seen the anguish in his face when he climbed onto the wagon. This is your fault, it seemed to say.

  Is it?

  The sun crested as they rode, lighting the dusty trail, until finally, the broad, angular buildings of a white man’s town came into view.

  Old Tom brought the wagon to a halt and muttered something.

  Red Dove touched her pouch and watched, listening.

  Old Tom dropped from the wagon and started towards two swinging doors marked SALOON.

  “Wait. Where are you going, Thomas?” said Jerusha, looking anxiously around. “You can’t just leave us here.”

  Old Tom just kept walking.

  “He’s getting directions to the school, probably,” said Jerusha, shading her eyes as she watched him disappear inside the building. She pulled a piece of ivory cloth out of her satchel and dabbed at her neck and forehead.

  Red Dove looked at the ramshackle buildings, some painted, most left a weathered gray. What’s inside? she wondered, but the cracked glass in the few small windows was too murky to see through.

  “Come away, Abigail!” a woman screeched, breaking her thoughts.

  Red Dove touched her pouch and stared. The woman wore a lacy bonnet and was tugging on a round-faced little girl in a frilly yellow dress. Next to her was a boy in suspenders and short pants that reached his scabby knees.

  They’re dressed like the people in my dream.

  The girl gazed wide-eyed at Red Dove. She pulled something from her mouth and held it out.

  “Don’t give her your candy. No!” The woman swatted it from the girl’s hand.

  The girl stared at the fallen candy, lying sticky in the dirt. Then she looked up at Red Dove and began to wail.

  “Indians,” muttered the woman, dragging both children into one of the shops. “Come away!”

  Jerusha clucked in disapproval. “Some people have no manners.”

  They hate us. Why?

  Red Dove’s fingers searched the bottom of the parfleche until she f
ound what she was looking for: the black leather-bound book that Jerusha told them held all the answers. She opened it.

  “Well now,” said Jerusha with a shy smile. “Would you like me to read it to you, my dear?”

  Red Dove nodded.

  “It will make the time pass more quickly. But let’s wait until Thomas gets back, so he can translate any words you don’t understand—”

  “I do understand,” said Red Dove in a clear, strong voice, her fingers touching the pouch.

  “Where did you learn English?” asked Jerusha.

  “From my brother and mother. They lived with my father. A white man. But I don’t remember much. At least I thought I didn’t. Maybe it’s because of this—” She patted the top of her deerskin robe—then remembered her grandfather’s warning and dropped her hand.

  Jerusha waved at a fly buzzing around her nose and wiped her shining forehead. “What is it you have there, under your collar?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you keep touching your neck? Are you hiding something? Let me have a look.”

  Red Dove pulled back. “Hiya!” she shouted. “No!”

  “Well, honestly. I just wanted to help—”

  “Good,” blurted Red Dove, desperate for a way to change the subject. “Washte. I help you too. I teach our language.”

  Jerusha laughed. “You want me to learn your language? Why should I do that?”

  “So we… can talk.”

  “We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Jerusha pressed her lips together. “Look, my dear, it’s important that you learn our language, so you can be civilized—”

  “Civilized?”

  “Yes. Learn to be like us.”

  “White people?”

  “Of course,” said Jerusha. “But we’ll discuss that later. Right now I’d better go see what’s keeping Thomas.” She stepped carefully off the wagon, down onto the street and started walking towards the saloon. “Thomas?” Red Dove heard her call as the doors swung closed behind her.

  Grateful for a moment of quiet, Red Dove looked around at the dusty street, her brother now dozing beside her. She thought about the angry woman and remembered the venom in her words.

  Is that what it means to be civilized?

  ›› Delicious ‹‹

  Red Dove waited, eyes fixed on the hanging doors of the saloon. Another drop of sweat rolled down her neck. She brushed it away and felt the pressure in her bladder.

  Her thoughts began to drift.

  She saw a shape lean up against a building. It was the same boy she had seen before, but his mother and sister were gone. Brown-haired and scrawny, the boy looked half her age. He was holding a plum: ripe, purple, and heavy with juice.

  “Delicious,” she murmured, wishing she could taste it. She touched her fingers to the pouch and watched him bite down.

  A burst of flavor exploded on her tongue and a lush sweetness filled her mouth. She felt her teeth break through the crisp skin to the fleshy meat as juice tickled her chin. Now she was chewing, swallowing, sucking on the small, scratchy seed until every morsel was gone.

  Is this what Grandfather said would happen? He said the pouch would open me to dreams and visions, that I would understand people’s words—and feel what they feel. Is this what he meant? Or am I just dreaming?

  Out of the corner of her eye, Red Dove saw someone come out of a shop.

  “You’ve made a mess again, Harold,” the woman shouted, raising her hand above the boy.

  Don’t!

  Red Dove dropped her fingers from the pouch as the hand smacked down—but not soon enough. The slap fell hard and she felt the sting.

  “Aiyeee!” She jumped.

  “Sister?” Walks Alone startled awake. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Stunned and confused, Red Dove touched her fingers to her burning cheek. “I… must have had a dream. But it felt so real.”

  ›› I’ve Come to Help ‹‹

  Sweating in her deerskin dress, Red Dove felt her exhaustion. Her arms were sticky, now coated with the sweat and grime kicked up by horses’ hooves. She longed for the coolness of the stream that flowed through their village, the one where she used to swim.

  Used to, she thought.

  “We’re back,” Jerusha announced, clambering into the wagon.

  Old Tom lumbered up behind and Red Dove smelled the sick-sweet stink of whisky as he jerked the reins and they all lurched forward.

  “Did you get directions to the school?” Jerusha asked over the clatter of the wheels.

  “Yeah, Sis,” Old Tom mumbled.

  “Well, then tell us where you’re taking us, Thomas. We’re hot, we’re thirsty and we’re so tired, so please say you know where we’re going—”

  “Five miles yonder, that direction.” Old Tom nodded at the road ahead.

  “Is that what they told you in there?”

  “Nope. Knew it all along. Been there before.”

  “You have? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Like to keep you guessin’, Sis,” Old Tom said, as a faint smile curled the corner of his mouth. “You’re always so darn sure of everythin’.”

  Jerusha didn’t answer. Instead, she sat rigid with annoyance, staring straight ahead.

  He’s not very nice to her, Red Dove thought. She says she’s come to help us, but what does that mean? Fingers on the pouch, she twisted her head to stare at Jerusha’s rounded back.

  “What is it you’re plannin’ to do, Sis?” said Old Tom, asking the question for her.

  “Help these people. If that’s what God wants, I’ll wait for instructions. I’ve been meaning to ask you… that medicine man—”

  “Gray Eagle? The wicasa wakan?”

  She’s talking about Grandfather . . .

  “Shhh,” Jerusha warned. “Keep your voice down or they’ll hear us.”

  “Can’t. They’re sleepin’,” said Old Tom.

  I’m not, thought Red Dove. I’m just pretending to be.

  “You said his people think he’s a magician–”

  “A shaman. He has powers.”

  “Powers? Why, Thomas, that’s absurd. What can he do?”

  Old Tom was silent for a moment. “You saw him disappear,” he said at last.

  “That was just a silly trick—”

  “Weren’t no trick, Sis.”

  It wasn’t! Red Dove wanted to shout. He does have powers. He healed my brother when he was sick with fever. He gave him his spirit back again. And he gave me the pouch!

  “His people believe in him and they listen to him, more’n they’ll listen to me or you. They been tricked an’ lied to by white folks, time an’ time again. Know what they call us?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Wasichu. Means the ones that take the fat, the best part of the meat. That’s how they see us, helpin’ ourselves to what we want.”

  “Why Thomas, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been here so long—maybe too long. I’ve always meant to ask, why did you leave your life back East?”

  “Dunno, Sis. Can’t rightly say. Guess I just wanted somethin’ more… but what about you? Why are you here?”

  “I suppose I wanted something more as well.”

  Red Dove, peering round, was surprised to see Old Tom place his hand gently on Jerusha’s. “Must’a been kind hard for you back there.”

  “Oh, Thomas,” choked Jerusha, raising her handkerchief to her lips. “Why did they all have to go?”

  Old Tom patted Jerusha’s hand. “Parents die, Jerusha. It’s the natural course of things—”

  “Yes, but losing them both at once. And then my fiancé—”

  “Who? Oh yeah, forgot about that. You were s’posed to marry him, weren’t you?” Old Tom pulled on his hat brim. “Guess you’ve had a pretty rough time of it, haven’t you, Sis? Well, you’ll find somethin’ here to make up for it all.”

  “Will I, Thomas? The missionaries seem to think so, but I don’t know,” said Jerusha with a sigh.

&nb
sp; “Sure you will, Jerusha.” Old Tom cocked his head.

  Jerusha shifted sideways to stare at the vast, empty prairie far in the distance. “I suppose you’re right, Thomas. Maybe this isn’t like the person I used to be. Maybe I’m becoming a whole new person, with a whole new life.”

  ›› Ghost Dance ‹‹

  “Do you hear that?”

  Walks Alone’s urgent whisper startled Red Dove awake. She saw where she was, slumped against his shoulder on the rocking wagon, her hand wedged between her chin and neck, fingers touching the pouch. The air was cooler now, the sun lower in a cloudless sky.

  “What’s that over yonder?” Old Tom wondered, squinting past the thicket of trees that lined the road.

  Jerusha shaded her eyes and looked to where her brother was pointing. “There is something, isn’t there… what? Smoke?”

  “Nope. Dust, I reckon—”

  “And that noise. Sounds like thunder.”

  “Ain’t thunder—”

  “Isn’t, Thomas, the word is isn’t. What on earth could it be?” Jerusha squinted against the late-day glare.

  “Wanagi Wachi,” said Walks Alone. Red Dove saw the excitement in his eyes as he craned around.

  “What’s that?” asked Jerusha.

  “Ghost Dance,” Old Tom answered.

  “Really? I’d like to watch. Please stop the wagon—”

  “Ain’t regular dancin’, Sis. Some white folks think it’s more like a war dance. Could be dangerous—”

  “Dancing? Nonsense. Please stop. How am I going to help these people unless I learn more about them?” She nodded at a craggy boulder to her right. “I’ll head up there so they won’t see me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll be careful,” Jerusha said matter-of-factly. “Do as I ask, please.

  Old Tom shook his head and brought the wagon to a halt and Jerusha climbed down. “You stay here and guard the children,” she said, before picking up her skirts and making her way slowly up the boulder, slipping and sliding in her leather-soled shoes.