by Karen Kay
“Aa, they are.”
Kali strained to get a better look. There they were, two people, men most likely, their faces hidden beneath their robes, which were drawn up over their heads. The two of them were moving slowly toward a lodge, which was lit up from within by a bright fire. She watched as they stopped outside of the lodge. One of the figures crept forward, pausing to peer inside. But no sooner had he done so than he returned to his partner, the two of them hurrying away.
“Brightly Spotted Elk is not home,” explained Soaring Eagle.
“Come again?”
“That is Brightly Spotted Elk’s lodge. Those two men are from the Medicine Pipe Society. Had Brightly Spotted Elk been home, they would have entered the lodge and surprised him; they would have sung the Owl songs which cast a spell over him, so that when offered the pipe, he would not be able to refuse it.”
“I see,” she said. “Although actually I don’t. Tell me again, why would they have to cast a spell over him in order to get him to take the pipe? If it is an honor to be the recipient of it, wouldn’t he be proud to have it?”
“It is too great a responsibility for many men.”
“So you have said. Why is that?”
“Because,” he said, leaning away from the tree, “if ever one of the people is sick, a man may pray to the Medicine Pipe, and a ceremony must be given that he may take a vow. When this is done, the sickly one will recover. Sometimes even marriages are realized during the pipe ceremony.”
“Really? By ‘realized’, do you mean that it is a marriage service of sorts?”
He nodded. “I do. It is always a very sacred vow that is given between two such people, for when a union is made during the pipe ceremony, it is directed by the spirits.”
“Truly? That’s fascinating. And are many marriages made this way?”
“Very few,” he said, “for these ceremonies are costly, not only for the pipe holder, but for the ones who make the vows.”
“I see. Then the pipe ceremony is really a way of allowing others to make vows? To…ah…help a loved one recover, or perhaps to make a marriage.”
“Aa, it is so.”
“Are there any other sorts of vows that can be made?”
He nodded. “A person is free to promise whatever it is that he chooses. But he must give something in exchange to the one who owns the Medicine Pipe, just as the Medicine Pipe holder must prepare the ceremony.”
“Ah, now I think I understand. So if these ceremonies are a costly affair, a person’s objection to becoming a pipe holder is simply a matter of finance?”
“Saa, it is not quite that simple. There are many rules that accompany the ownership of the pipe, and it must be owned for four years. These rules are a burden, not only to the owner of the pipe but to his family, for they must be followed to the last detail, or else ill fortune could come to the owner and his family.”
“And what are some of these rules?”
“There are too many to tell you, but a few of them are: Never bathe in a river without first having sprinkled with water while singing the Water Bird song. Always take a place at the back of a lodge; never sit near a door. Do not allow anyone to sleep in or upon your sleeping robes. Never say the word ‘bear’ if the pipe is near; use the word ‘badger’ instead. You must burn sweet pine in your lodge upon first rising in the morning. The Medicine Pipe bundle may hang outside the door of your lodge, but must never be left out in bad weather. The pipe must be taken outside on the right and brought back into the lodge on the left. Never point using a finger, always the thumb. Never curse or blacken the character of another by word or deed. These are a few. There are more; many, many more.”
“I see. And the owner must take care of this bundle in this way for four years?”
Soaring Eagle nodded.
“And he must do all these things exactly lest misfortune be his lot?”
“Or his family’s.”
“Oh, dear. That is a bit of a burden, isn’t it?”
“It is. My father and our family have borne it these last four years. It is now time for a new owner.”
“Your father is the Medicine Pipe owner? The one you call Comes Running Bird?”
“Aa.”
“I didn’t know that. Was he sitting in the circle tonight?”
“Aa, that he was. He was sitting to my right.”
“And it was he—your father—who gave permission for me to witness the ceremony?”
“Saa, not completely. The council gave the order.”
“Oh.”
“But my father was in favor of it and helped to convince the council of its decision.”
Kali shot a quick glance at Soaring Eagle. His father had been her champion? Why? She asked, “Does your father know anything about me?”
Soaring Eagle grunted. “A bit too much, I fear.”
“Too much? What do you mean?”
Soaring Eagle darted a frown at her. “It was he who suggested I spend the evening with you.”
“It was? Why?”
“He tells me that it is because he believes you will be persistent in your desire to take our pictures.”
Kali sat up straighter, a scowl pulling at the corners of her lips. At length, she asked, “Isn’t that a bit odd?”
Soaring Eagle shrugged. “Not necessarily. He is a very wise man. He sees much. He knows much.”
He knows much. It was an odd sensation, Kali thought, this feeling that a man she had never met might know something about her. Stranger still was the sensation that she also shared some dim knowledge of him.
But Soaring Eagle was speaking, interrupting her thoughts, and he said, “He also seems to have looked into my heart, for he said that he believed you had captured my affections.”
Kali looked away. At first she didn’t speak, preferring to absorb this piece of information in silence. That’s when it happened. A sensation of déjà vu stole over her, as though she had been here before, lived this before; as though she belonged here with Soaring Eagle, and had done so for years too numerous to count.
Worse, there was more.
She said aloud, “Ah…does your father wear a yellow and blue headdress?” She asked the question as casually as she could, though secretly she dreaded the answer.
Soaring Eagle spun around toward her, giving her his full attention. And in his look was some amazement. He said, “He does sometimes.”
“With a black and yellow beaded circle in the center?”
“Aa, he does, but for special things.” Soaring Eagle raised an eyebrow.
Kali gulped.
“How do you know this? He was not dressed in those clothes tonight.”
“I…I’m not sure. It’s only that when you told me that your father is a wise man, that he seemed to know me and that he guessed what was in your heart—when you told me all those things, an image of an older man flashed before my eyes.”
“Flashed? Before your eyes?” Soaring Eagle was doing more than leaning toward her. He had come up onto his knees before her, staring at her in a most unusual way.
“Y-yes.” She tried to laugh, but the sound materialized as a jerky sort of cough.
“You have had a vision about my father?”
“I—I would hardly say that I… I mean, I did catch sight of him tonight, after all.”
“Tell me what it was that he held in his hand.”
“In his hand?” Kali asked, barely daring to glance at Soaring Eagle. “I—I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do. What did you see?”
“Why I—I didn’t see anything that—”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I—I…” Soaring Eagle grabbed hold of her hand, held it between both of his own as though it were precious. “An animal skin,” she said after a pause. “That’s what I saw in your father’s hand. And don’t ask me what kind of animal, because I don’t know.”
Soaring Eagle dropped her hand and sat back, and truth be told, Kali was relieved. Reliev
ed that there were no more questions, at least not right away; relieved that, at his touch, he hadn’t noticed the shiver of anticipation that had swept over her. Quickly, she stole a glance at him, discovering that his attention was riveted on something else, not her. At this moment, he appeared to be as puzzled as she.
At last, however, he sat up straighter, gazed in her direction and gave her a most perplexing look. He said, “You are a very strange white woman.”
“Strange? Why?”
“I have never known a white person to speak of having a vision. I had assumed they had none.”
Kali didn’t know quite how to respond to that, and so she remained silent.
“You wouldn’t have native ancestry, would you? A grandmother, perhaps, whom the family tries to hide?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Because all the white people of my acquaintance—at least those who surround our reservation—would certainly not admit to having a vision, even if it happened to them. Indeed, most look upon our Indian ceremonies, our beliefs and traditions, even our knowledge of the spirits, with some disfavor.”
“Surely not.”
He sneered.
“Look, Soaring Eagle, although I’m not an expert on history, I do know that this country was founded on the principle that all people in it are free to believe as they choose.”
He shrugged. “Free, as long as their beliefs are those of the white man.”
“Soaring Eagle, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Do you?” He scowled at her. “Have you researched my tribe’s plight yet, as you said you would?”
“You know that I haven’t. There hasn’t been time.”
“Then don’t talk to me about what is and what isn’t until you discover for yourself what is happening here.”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “Let us speak no more about it. It upsets us both.”
“But I—”
He glanced away from her, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest.
Silence descended upon them. As it had once before, Mrs. Black’s commentary came back to haunt her, but Kali tried to push those thoughts away. It was pointless to mull the upset over and over with no hope of resolving it. Particularly since Soaring Eagle wasn’t going to speak of these things further. And, truth to tell, she really did need to keep her promise and do her research.
Meanwhile, the air between them hung heavy with an unusual quietness. At last, Kali couldn’t help asking, “Is your father a medicine man?”
“Saa, no.”
“But he holds the Medicine Pipe—at least he does presently?”
“He does.”
“Then, since he is the pipe holder, he must be fairly well-to-do?”
“By Indian standards, he is,” said Soaring Eagle. “Although few of us have as great a wealth as we did in the days when the buffalo still roamed the plains.”
“I see.” She sat contemplating that statement for a moment. Then she commented, “It must be difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“To live so near the same region that was once so abundant with game and buffalo. To look out upon it day after day—and to remember how it used to be. Then seeing it now, so barren…”
He pulled forward, his gaze catching hers. “That was a perceptive thing to say.”
“Was it? Perhaps it’s only because I’m here now and surrounded by those who feel these things strongly. It’s a little like walking into a room where people have been arguing. A person always knows…somehow.”
He drew ever closer to her, his face so near, she had only to reach out…
“It is strange.” He practically whispered the words.
“Wh-what is?”
“You.”
“Me?”
He blinked, giving her a slight nod. “At first, I thought you were merely something good for the eyes to feast upon. But then I talked to you—at the party last night—and I realized then that there was more to you. There’s a fire in you, Kali Wallace.”
She gave him a nervous chuckle. “A fire? In me? Pooh!”
“Aa, I speak true. Your hair, its color, is witness to it.” He swept a strand of it into his fingers, twirling it round and round.
Oh, dear. That touch, soft and faint though it was, felt good. Kali inhaled deeply, but remained silent.
At length, he asked, “Do you see this little tuft of hair?”
She glanced downward to observe him brushing his fingers through a curl that had come loose.
He continued, “With this color, your hair is as alive as you are.”
“Is it? I think you are just being poetic.”
He smiled. “And yet, Miss Kali Wallace, this is what I see. I only wish I could experience all of the fire that burns within you. Experience it in every way a man possibly can.”
Although Kali was certain there was more than a hint of sexual connotation behind these words, the true meaning of them escaped her. Still, that didn’t stop her from responding to the warmth of his words, or the sincerity emanating from his tone.
Hardly knowing what she did, she bent in toward him, barely catching herself. Quickly she straightened. But the die was cast. Somehow, somewhere along the line tonight, she had changed.
Yes, from the beginning, she had responded to this man; yes, it was undeniable that she found him attractive. But previously she’d been able to hold herself separate from him.
And now? Now, all she wanted to do was melt into him. Indeed, so strong was the impulse, she began to wonder how she was to get through this night without demanding his touch.
And she must keep her distance. She must. After all, to allow another into one’s heart was to give that person a certain power, to be used for good or for bad, wasn’t it?
And truthfully, Kali wasn’t prepared to give anyone that sort of advantage.
Trying to break the spell, she gazed away from him. “Ah, Soaring Eagle,” she began, her voice breaking through the silence, “ah…how much longer do you think it will be before they find a new owner for the pipe?”
Soaring Eagle didn’t answer right away, appearing to be more interested in discovering the tiny nuances in her eyes, her composure; anything that might reflect her thoughts. He stared at her long and hard. However, when she continued to sit before him as though unmoved, frozen, he at last drew back from her and nodded toward the evening sky, saying, “When the last brother points toward the earth, that is when the society should have a new owner.”
“Last brother?”
With his thumb, he indicated the Big Dipper. “The last brother—the last star in the handle of the Dipper—tells time in the night sky. When it is pointing toward the earth, it is certain that dawn is approaching. Judging from where the last brother is now, that time is still many hours away.”
She sighed and glanced away from him, avoiding direct eye contact.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look at this man without realizing the futility of her situation.
And now perhaps she understood why he had been so glum earlier. She was well and truly stuck; stuck with a man whom she desired as readily as if they had already been lovers.
And yet, whispered a hidden voice—one concealed somewhere deep inside her—she must never give in to him. Yes, she might enjoy his kisses; she might even yearn for his embrace, but she must not lose sight of who she was and what she was doing here.
To do so would be to court certain disaster. Wouldn’t it…?
Chapter Fourteen
Wide, brown plains, distant, slender, flat-topped buttes; still more distant giant mountains, blue-sided, sharp-peaked, snow-capped; odour of sage and smoke of camp fire;…long-drawn melancholy howl of wolves breaking the silence of the night, how I loved you all!
—James Willard Schultz, My Life as an Indian
Kali’s tripod sat off to the side, set up as though awaiting its owner’s immediate response. Her camera rested close beside it; the flash stick
s, glass plates and packets were in order and lay close to hand. Everything was ready and waiting. There was nothing else to do, at least not for the moment. She might as well attempt to rest, especially since it could be several hours before the members of the Medicine Pipe Society found a new pipe owner.
In the meantime Kali and Soaring Eagle, who were still resting toward the edge of the encampment, had formed a truce of sorts. They had ceased speaking of things that upset one or the other. Amazingly, it made for a much more pleasant evening.
There had been talk at first of Kali spending the evening in the lodge of Sits-in-sun Woman, Soaring Eagle’s grandmother. But Kali had pooh-poohed the idea. As soon as a new pipe owner had been found, she wanted to be able to jump into the thick of it without the social obligation of thanking her hostess.
Besides, deep within her was the desire to remain with Soaring Eagle. Like it or not, trust him or not, she was attracted to him, and there was very little she could do about it.
And so it had come to pass that Soaring Eagle, and Soaring Eagle alone, remained with her, her constant companion this evening.
He was still reclining against a cottonwood tree, while Kali lay prone on the buffalo robe, pretending, as best she could, indifference. It was a beautiful spot they had chosen.
The stars, her ceiling, were twinkling above her through the branches of the cottonwood, the sky appearing as though it had been sprinkled with glitter. The robe beneath her, her floor, not only cushioned her gently, like a babe, but kept out the cold. And underneath her head was Soaring Eagle’s blanket, its softness and musky fragrance like a soothing balm.
How wonderful it must have been, she thought, in days of old to lie beneath the stars, to listen to the sounds of the crickets and locusts; to the nighthawks, the wind and the gurgling of a running brook. Ah, to live as perhaps nature had intended. How thrilling it must have been to awaken each morning, to greet the open spaces with outstretched arms. For the only boundaries would have been the sky above you and the ground below you.
She sighed and inhaled the crisp night air; air, she recalled, which had become famous for its promotion of good health. No wonder, she thought, the Indians fought to keep their way of life. For to live here, as the Indians had once lived, would have been as to exist with constant aesthetics.
