Thunder Close By walked across the space toward Moon Dreamer’s painted tepee. He coughed. He said aloud, “Our father, what have we done wrong? Give us the name.”
A silence followed, a silence so deep hearts began to beat like wild running horses. All listened as Thunder Close By leaned forward to hear what Moon Dreamer might have to say.
There was a low harsh whispering between Thunder Close By standing without the lodge and Moon Dreamer sitting within.
At last Thunder Close By nodded. He returned to the circle. He whispered clearly and closely into the ear of Speaks Once. Again the people stilled and tried to catch what was said.
Speaks Once turned and looked down at the kneeling No Name again. “My son, take courage. All is well. Moon Dreamer withholds himself only because a certain thing is yet to come. But he sends to say that you have earned the honor feather and the new name.” Speaks Once faced the people. He lifted his hand and proclaimed to all. “Ha-ho! let the people know this. Our son was valiant and dared to face the great wild stallion. He rode after him and caught him. He rode him over the cliff and almost into the skies. Also he returned with the great one’s white colt. Therefore know our son at last as He Comes From Conquering A Horse.” Speaks Once placed his hands on No Name’s head and wept over him. “My son, take courage. Your name is now Conquering Horse. Arise. Stand on your feet. I have said. Yelo.”
Bearing the burden of his new name, Conquering Horse rose slowly to his feet.
Redbird held up his copper-tipped spear. “My children, you have seen my son give all his horse wealth to Owl Above, who once had a fine herd. It is good.” Redbird turned his stiff body slowly around, looking at the people every one. “Tomorrow, before the sun reaches the midday point, many more gifts will be distributed to the needy and to those who were valiant in the summer hunt.” Redbird’s old hawk face became gentle with indulgence. “But now it is time for dancing and feasting. Sing, my children. Dance, my children. Be happy. A great thing has come to our nation. This day we are the fortunate ones under the sun.”
“Houw, houw!”
The drum boomed, once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth stroke, boom! the singers began to cry the scalp dance song. Men dancers shot out into the circle of light and began to bounce and leap about in wild abandon. They gesticulated. Agitated feathers snapped and sunflower bustles bobbed. The men cried, they howled, they bellowed. Some became as crows, some as hawks, some as eagles, some as fox, some as wolves, some as buffalo bulls. Feet danced up on the beat. Red dust swirled overhead.
At last, not able to resist it, young maidens along the outside of the dancing area began to dance too. They stood facing the scalp pole, hopping, fringes flouncing in unison, dancing in one place.
The men cried, “U-hu-hu-hu-hu!”
The women cried, “U-wu-wu-wu!”
Gradually the drumming and the singing and the dancing rose to a tremendous pitch. The dancers churned up the red earth like the striking down of a great whirlwind. The bluffs across the valley resounded with the roar of it.
Suddenly a widow named Her Thighs Are Scarlet, and known as one of the ones who could perform magic tricks, flew in among the men dancers. She heaped up a small mound of dust on the ground, then fixed a small wooden effigy of a man on top of it. Moving with a quick back-slip step, eyes pinched shut, braids flopping, leaping and jumping, she contorted herself into such a mad whirling dance around the effigy that her dress revolved up around her neck. Her face ran with the sweat of terrible concentration. With all the power of her flesh soul she was willing a shadow soul into the man effigy.
Presently all saw the magic thing she had for them. Slowly but surely the little wooden man began to jiggle on the dust mound, then to dance on it. The little wooden man continued to dance with her until she fell to the ground exhausted and unconscious. Then it too fell and lay still.
It was a great and wakan trick, and the people cried in admiration.
In the morning, as he had promised, Redbird gave away all of his horses to his people, sharing them equally among the poor as well as the valiant.
Conquering Horse received four mares, each of them to be mated some day with his white seed colt. Among them was Swift As Wind, Redbird’s favorite.
3
It was just after dark. Conquering Horse and Leaf lay side by side on fur bedding in their own tepee. He lay naked, she had on a doeskin nightdress. The fire, sunk to embers, cast a soft rosy light against the slanting leather sides. The sleeping baby hung in its cradle from a tepee pole. The white stud colt, curled up like a dog, slept on a pile of grass at their feet. Conquering Horse’s war gear hung on a tripod just inside the door.
They lay in silence. Except for an occasional whoop from the council lodge in the center of the village and the distant murmur of Falling Water, the camp too lay in silence.
Presently Conquering Horse placed a hand of love on Leaf.
Leaf stirred, then slowly rolled away from him, on her right side. His hand slipped off her belly.
Conquering Horse considered this. What? Wasn’t life already enough of a sorrow without the added burden of living with a wife who did not love one? He rolled toward her and tried again, this time placing his hand on the soft curve of her hip.
She lay stiff under it.
“Ho,” he thought to himself, his eyes opening slightly. “What is this? Does she hate my touch? Have I taken unto myself a disobedient woman for a wife?” He shook her, a bit roughly, to let her know what he thought.
She continued to lay stiff under his hand.
“Woman,” he said finally, taking one of her braids in his hand and giving it a playful tug, “what would you have me do, obey the dream, or obey the love I have for my father?”
Gently, yet firmly, she pulled the braid out of his hand.
He considered this too for a while. Then he asked, in what he thought was the same sweet gentle air his father might have used, “Woman, have you turned against me?”
She moved her shoulder as if to shrug off his question.
Outside, a young brave began to blow his flute, singing a courting song to some maiden. The young brave was signaling his love to come out, that he had something to tell her. Conquering Horse’s eyes filmed over in memory. Not thirteen moons ago he himself had sung such a song to Leaf. And remembering, he smiled to himself, and placed his hand on Leaf’s round hip again. Gently, with soft tact, he rolled her toward him. Then he lay upon her so that her eyes were directly under his.
“Woman,” he asked yet once again, “have you turned against me?”
Her eyes opened momentarily. They were hardened against him. They glittered in the soft rose light, shining in the black fixed manner of a reptile. Also she placed her elbows against him.
“Woman,” he said, startled, “I see that you have turned away from your husband.”
Her eyes at last softened, though she continued to hold her elbows against him.
He looked a long time into her eyes, trying to melt her with a longing look of love. He pressed his risen ardor against her.
At last, heaving a deep sigh, she said, “Foolish husband, have you forgotten to count the days? It is not fitting that we mate at this time. We must wait until after two moons have passed.”
He rolled away from her. His mind hauled up short. He went back in time. He counted the days on his fingers, beginning with the little finger of his left hand, shutting it down forcibly with the thumb of his right, and when the five fingers were shut down, starting on the thumb of his right hand, shutting it down in turn with his left fist.
It was true. Four and forty nights had passed since the baby was born. Taboo required that five and forty nights should pass before man and wife could make love again.
He hated to give it up. He was aroused, and was a man, and disliked thwarting. He rolled toward her again. He slid his hands under her soft doeskin nightdress. He stroked her across the soft tufts of her pubes.
She closed her eyes and crossed
her legs. She held herself rigid against him.
He tried to pry her limbs open with a knee.
She tightened harder against him. The months of carrying the baby, of lifting tepee poles and leather covering, of handling horses, had made her, in defense, more than his match.
He rubbed his nose against hers. He stroked her shoulders, downward, in love.
Yet she did not relent. Eyes held fiercely shut against him, muscles of her crossed legs hard, she continued to refuse him his pleasure.
It was then, lying hard on her, that he noticed something. She had not perfumed herself in the usual way. The smell of her was like the smell of ordinary moccasin leather. When a woman desired a man to caress her she invariably sweetened herself with one of the scents of the prairie flowers. With a grunt of anger he pushed her away.
He lay breathing hard for a few moments, then abruptly got up. He slipped into his buckskin garments. Picking up the square case in which he kept the circlet of scarlet horsehair, taking with him also a new white buffalo robe, he swept out into the black night.
He stopped beside his father’s lodge a moment, listening. Star’s fire had fallen so low no illumination showed through the leather walls. Conquering Horse fancied he could hear his father snoring lightly, could make out his mother’s occasional sighs. As for Loves Roots, he did not want to think of what she might be doing.
A thickness took hold of him. His arms felt stone heavy. His nose was almost closed. It was in him to rage and weep at the same time.
He placed his hand over the charm behind his ear. He whispered, “I love my father very much. Must it still be done?”
Silence.
He looked down at the square case in his hand and spoke to the scarlet plume inside it. “I see you are displeased. Let us seek out Moon Dreamer that he may perform the proper ceremony. It is time.”
He moved cautiously across the center of the camp, letting his toes drag across the grass to keep from tripping over ropes and stakes. He was also careful not to stumble over those who might be sleeping outside. It was not a pleasant thing to step on a soft belly in the dark and then hear a sudden gasp from the ground.
The young nightwalker still blew his flute, asking his love to come out and join him under his robe. The center campfire, collapsed to a low mound of pink coals, gave off a small aura of light. Above, a silver net of stars drifted slowly across the sky.
When he came to Moon Dreamer’s lodge, he saw that a small fire still burned within the tepee. The tepee glowed softly like a huge pointed lantern. There was just enough light within to make the white decoration painted high on the outside glow like a bloody moon. As he stood before the door, he saw the shadow of someone passing the fire within moving upon the semi-transparent walls. Ahh, his uncle was still up.
Conquering Horse coughed lightly to let his uncle know a visitor stood without. Then he lifted the flap, stooped inside, and, moving around the fire, seated himself on the guest robe. He waited a decent interval; then, with modest demeanor, looked around.
Moon Dreamer sat across the lodge from him, legs crossed, looking at his small stick fire, unmoving, stiff, as if someone had carved him out of dark redwood. Except for a clout, he sat naked.
Conquering Horse was startled to see the change in his uncle. Like his father, Moon Dreamer had aged greatly the past summer. Pus ran in the corner of his left eye and the marks of the woman on his chest hung even lower than his father’s.
“Ae,” Conquering Horse thought, “soon I alone will have the burden of watching over my people. My uncle will also soon join those of the other world. Hi-e! And I have not yet seen the end of my torment.”
After a further silence, Conquering Horse held up the new white robe he had brought with him, folded it, and placed it to one side of Moon Dreamer’s doubled knees. “My uncle,” he said, “see, I have brought you a present. It is from a buffalo that was slain so that Leaf my wife and I might eat while I chased the great white stallion. It is the best of all the robes that my wife has yet made. She prays that you will find it warm in the winter moons to come. I have said.”
Moon Dreamer sat as if he had not heard a word. He neither inclined his head up or down, nor moved it to the right or the left. Only the drop of pus in the corner of his eye moved. It rolled halfway down the side of his high hawk nose.
“My father,” Conquering Horse said, “you did not step out of your door to see me return in glory. You did not come to visit my lodge to see your new grandnephew. You did not attend the ceremony of my naming. Therefore, my father, I have come with the scarlet plume. It is that which the white mare spoke of, from that place where all can be seen by a horse.” Conquering Horse placed the leather case containing the circlet of scarlet mane before Moon Dreamer. “My father, I have come. Bless my fetish that I may do that which has been bidden me. Remember, I have chosen you as my intercessor.”
Moon Dreamer cracked out of his stiff pose. He picked up the white robe, hefted it once in his gray-edged hands, grunted, set it to one side behind him. He reached back and picked up his black buffalo mask and slipped it on. Its two curved horns gleamed like ebony. Next he picked up his red ceremonial pipe from its resting place, filled it, lighted it. After saluting the six great powers, he offered it to Conquering Horse. They smoked the pipe by turns until all the tobacco was burned away.
Then Moon Dreamer lifted his old eyes and fixed them glittering on Conquering Horse. “Are you ready to fulfill the vision that was given you?”
Conquering Horse groaned. He bowed his head. “I am ready. I must try to be a brave man and take things as they come. I cannot weep.”
“You are ready to see your father die at last?” A mysterious black lurked in the eyeholes of Moon Dreamer’s buffalo mask.
“I am ready.”
“Even if it must be by your own hand?”
“I cannot weep.”
“Ai, now the gods know that you fear them, seeing that you are willing to give up your true father to them. It is good.”
Conquering Horse shuddered.
Moon Dreamer brushed clean a small square of earth before the fireplace. Then he took up the leather case and opened it and removed the circlet of scarlet mane. Very carefully he divided the mane into two equal parts, making a smooth round twist of each. He placed the two twists and the square case on the clean place of earth. He passed his hands over them, murmuring to himself, then let his hands fall to his doubled knees.
“My nephew, where is the piece of horse chestnut that was given you?”
Conquering Horse removed the bit of chestnut from the braid behind his left ear and gave it to Moon Dreamer. The chestnut had become cracked with age. It no longer had much odor.
Moon Dreamer looked at it, then, passing it from his left hand to his right hand, dropped it into the fire. It smoldered for a moment, then flared up brightly. A thin plume of gray smoke rose toward the smokehole. As the horse chestnut burned, Moon Dreamer said, “The new has come, let the old go.” Next Moon Dreamer picked up the two twists of mane and the square case and passed them from right to left and held them up over his head. “Wakantanka,” he said, looking up at the smokehole, “you see these. The two scarlet twists were taken from a wakan white one, one of yours, the leather case was taken from the buffalo, also one of yours. It was done as you commanded. Let your power enter them.” He waited a moment.
Of a sudden a breath of wind puffed down through the smokehole. The thin plume of smoke broke and turned aside. The fire itself darkened a moment, then quickly brightened.
Moon Dreamer looked at Conquering Horse. “My son, the power of Wakantanka has come. It has entered these things you have brought me. Treat them with the same veneration that is due Wakantanka.” Moon Dreamer picked up the red pipe again, filled it, lighted it, once more offered the stem to each of the six powers. He and Conquering Horse smoked until they had finished all of the tobacco.
Moon Dreamer folded one of the red twists into the square case. Then he handed th
e case and the other twist to Conquering Horse. “Take these. You know what they are. The square case is your medicine bag. The twist in it is your medicine. The second twist is your fetish. When you wish to call on your medicine or on your fetish for help, remember to speak in the following manner: ‘Helper, you are my god. I am in trouble. Tell me the true way. My ears are open and my heart waits. I wish to be one with you.’ My son, always call on them in this manner and with these words. Now, my son, repeat the words after me.”
Conquering Horse repeated the words, slowly, distinctly.
“It is good.” Moon Dreamer got to his feet and reached into the dark back of his lodge and picked up a long horsetail. The horsetail had been dyed red. Moon Dreamer stood behind Conquering Horse and held the horsetail over his head. “My nephew, I have given you a fetish to hide in your hair. I have also given you a medicine to take to your lodge. The white mare told me how to prepare this fetish and this medicine. The white mare says that you should let yourself be controlled by their power. If you do this, she says it will go well with you in the life to come. You will provide for the women and children. You will be brave and truthful. The people will listen to you. You will never have to cut off the nose of your woman because of adultery.”
“I hear you, my father.”
“If you are lazy or a coward, the white mare says you will sleep with coyotes. Also no woman will gash her flesh for you when you die. If you tell lies the buffalo will laugh at you. Your women will suffer and your babes will have great pains in their bowels. But she says that if you listen to your holy man, the warm south wind will stay with you. I now wave the horsetail over you.” Moon Dreamer slowly flourished the red horsetail over Conquering Horse’s head, back and forth, four times, sharply, so that it whistled. “Go, my son. Take your new fetish and put it in your braid. Take your new medicine and hang it beside the armor that hangs on your tripod by the door. Do this so that all may see you have gone down the long road of torment.”
Conquering Horse Page 34
