by LeAnne Howe
They follow closely behind him. The sky turns charcoal. The cornfields are black. Scrawny deer graze in burnt fields. Here and there, perched in the arms of charred trees, swamp chickens nap. However, in the far distance a shadow creeps toward them. As the phantom gets closer it begins to run, like a horse at full gallop. It’s Tatoulimataha, and when he stops before her uncle, he faints. His diluted pupils stare dumbly, white dikes of salt flank the sweat canals lining his skin. Anoleta goes to work kneading back spasms that curl him into a fetal position. Suddenly his legs cramp—visible pulsations under the skin knot the calf of the left leg and the thigh of the right. The boy yells as he comes to consciousness. “I have a message,” he finally says, wheezing through the pain. “The head of the coiling snake will be here before dark. Do not strike without them.”
“It’s Choucououlacta’s iksa,” says her uncle. “They must not be far away.”
Anoleta continues to rub the boy’s legs. She gives him small amounts of water to sip so he will not choke. Nitakechi finally asks him what happened to Hopaii Iskitini.
“We were being followed, he told me to run ahead with the message,” says Tatoulimataha, gritting his teeth. “He disappeared.”
Twilight comes. Koi Chitto watches as the head of the snake slowly slithers toward him—two hundred warriors in all. He sees many old friends and they exchange greetings and information: It is known the Inkilish okla have placed a cannon atop the ridge, and they will surely use it. At least one hundred more Red Fox warriors have arrived and taken refuge inside the rampart surrounding the village. The occasional shots that he hears are those of the Red Fox, drunk on death.
Koi Chitto decides there is enough light left to take a few seasoned warriors and advance to the outside of the rampart. They will search for their enemy’s weaknesses. Nitakechi goes with him. Within minutes they encounter a few Alibamu Conchatys hiding amongst the burnt cane not far from a fallen wall. Three old men, a blind grandmother, and six ragged children tell terrible stories of how their enemies, led by Red Shoes, massacred their families. But the worst story they tell is of the women of the Pacana Village who were loyal to their relatives, the Alibamu Conchatys, and the Filanchi okla.
“They are in a bad way,” says one elder, whose eye is bleeding from the blows he received from their enemies. “The women were taken over there,” he says pointing in the direction of the fort’s rampart.
Nitakechi stands like a ghost among men as he hears of the Pacana massacre. His senses are intact, he smells the burning fires, he hears the sounds of the swamp not far away, but he feels killed by the story. The Pacana woman he calls tekchi, wife, must be dead. He turns away from the warriors standing beside him. He does not trust himself not to sing his death cry and alert their enemies.
Until Shakbatina had insisted, shortly before her death, Nitakechi never intended to marry, nor make children. He was content to watch out for his nieces. Even then he dawdled another seven winters before finding the woman who had for years troubled his dreams. Shakbatina had said the true Imataha Chitto was most likely a woman, and when he found her living in Pacana Village, they married. Mantema, as she was called, was supposed to be safe with her relatives in Pacana. He never imagined that the war with Red Shoes would spread this quickly.
Nitakechi draws his knife; he intends to use it on Red Shoes.
Koi Chitto puts his hand on Nitakechi’s shoulder. “My brother,” he says softly, “let me go and see what has happened. I know Mantema—she is young and has most likely escaped.”
“No, I will scout ahead, you follow,” says Nitakechi, turning to face Koi Chitto.
“We are not in council, we are at war!” says Koi Chitto sternly. “You must take the stragglers to your nieces. These people are in need of food and water. And it is not proper for an old peacemaker to order a powerful warrior from the Imoklasha, war clan!”
The two men stand nose to nose. Nitakechi considers what he should do. He has not lived an insolent life, but how much more can he endure? Briefly, he visualizes breaking Red Shoes’ head with an ax, then slicing it away from his body with his knife. This would put an end to the misery the renegade has caused. But he sees how warriors from Yanàbi Town eye him. They expect for him to help their injured allies first, before he takes any action.
“Don’t be long,” he says, “This old peacemaker will not be far behind!”
Koi Chitto and the other warriors depart to scout the fort. They cross a small stream where the gar and sunfish are floating atop the water. A volley must have exploded there. Koi Chitto takes care to warn his warriors that a cannon is already pointed in their direction. He approaches the rampart first and sees something large and red on a log, but he can’t make it out. He draws nearer; it’s the body of a young woman nailed there by an Inkilish okla bayonet. The handle sticks up hideously into the air from between her naked legs. Her eyes are fixed on the bayonet. It is Mantema, she had been pregnant. About her are other women, perhaps twenty in all, variously killed, their sex staring out in an obscene manner. It is a sight of madness. The women gave up their lives so the few Alibamu Conchatys could escape. A fire ignites inside Koi Chitto’s belly, growing hotter by the minute. To see men killed in battle is one thing, but to see these women horribly tortured is another. The warriors around him burst out in tushka panya—their cries, near hysterical laughter, alert their enemies.
Koi Chitto forgets himself and screams, “Imoklashas will cut off the head of Red Shoes and all his allies!”
Across the sky, orange and blue fire explodes, so beautiful he watches what will surely kill him, but it does not. The cannon sounds are muffled, though, as if shot through a blanket; perhaps his ears are blown off. He moans, and then slowly heads toward a downed tree. He sits there for a while shivering, looks at the Red Fox village then back at his shoulder that has been nearly torn off.
After some minutes, Koi Chitto stands up very slowly, holding his war club in his one good hand. Bending low to miss the volleys and swaying as if he will fall, he runs straight toward the enemy. It’s a long run down a slope, and the Red Fox cease firing. He knows they will stop long enough for him to sing his death song.
He stands tall in front of them, crying for the ancestors, then for his beloved Shakbatina, then for all those who have fallen around him. When he finishes, all their muskets fire together and Koi Chitto, riddled through and through, feels himself flying across the sky like an eagle on route to his mate. From aloft, he watches a Red Fox warrior chant in his honor before taking his head, then it is paraded high in the air.
Anoleta’s eyesight is strong. From the hill where she is camped she sees what she does not want to see. Her father’s mutilation. Then her uncle, in a fit of rage, tears his shirt off, grabs a hatchet and runs like a madman shouting to the warriors on one side, then on the other side, “I will take his place,” he says screaming, “if you want to see an old peacemaker at work, follow me!”
The Yanàbi Town warriors and Choucououlacta’s iksa scramble after Nitakechi to attack the Red Fox and Inkilish okla. They stretch out and hit their enemy from the left and the right. When they have them in a close mass, they begin to squeeze, cutting them to pieces with terrifying speed. This is the first time Anoleta understands why her people use the symbol of the coiling and uncoiling snake.
Within moments two dozen Filanchi okla soldiers, led by the trusted friend of Bienville, Jean-Marie Critches, arrive. They head toward the Inkilish okla cannon like a swimming alligator. When attacked, they halt, take cover, and fire again. There is no haste, no hesitation, and eventually they take out Inklish okla manning the cannon.
At last everything becomes clear to her: the burned grass, the dark sky, the complete serenity she feels in knowing what to do. Picking up a knife and her hatchet, Anoleta follows the warriors to scout for enemies who are too weak to run. They will be her prey. Once enraged, women are the fieriest killers of all, cutting out beating hearts, skinning the heads of wounded enemies, leaving them to di
e slowly. The night marks time with the sounds of tearing flesh and screaming men. For an Indian woman at war, there is no tender mercy. Many of the enemies have dropped dead in their tracks before Anoleta reaches them, but her hands continue to find pleasure in their tasks; they do not tire. Today she has witnessed her father, and many beloved relatives, killed. All this because she failed nine years ago.
As she picks her way through the fallen men, she discovers one of her own, Hopaii Iskitini, the boy her uncle had called “nephew.” The boy screams when he sees her. His thigh has been shattered by a volley, the soil around him is wet with blood. In the fashion of war he has been further tormented. A bayonet was hammered through his shoulder, pinning him for the insects. Yet, even so, he is still fully conscious.
“Who did this?” she asks.
He drops his eyes. “Red Shoes and his Inkilish trader. They got away, they got away,” he cries. “West.”
It is very dark now, with a wind bearing great gusts from the gulf. In the salty night air, occasional flashes of musket volleys can be seen twinkling like fireflies. The boy utters one more phrase before he expires. “I saw your uncle hanged in a tree with his stomach still in his hands. A flock of birds surrounds him.”
Anoleta has entered the place of blood revenge. She heads back to their temporary camp where Haya has been caring for the Alibamu Conchatys survivors. She picks up her burden basket and orders Haya not to follow her. Her words have little effect. Haya says together they can find him. And she is right. Within an hour they locate the tracks of a pack train heading toward Red Shoes’ stronghold, the western town of Couechitto. The country toward Couechitto is elevated, covered with hills. Anoleta and Haya struggle each step of the way, sometimes taking turns pulling each other along. She worries that when she does find Red Shoes, she will be too feeble to kill him. Several more hours pass before they smell the smoke from an immense fire. Anoleta tastes ashes in the breeze. She and her sister hide, then sneak close enough to see who is there.
Red Shoes is sitting before the fire, as if he expects them. Next to him sits his Inkilish trader. Red Shoes throws off his deerskin shirt and examines the wound on his stomach. In moments, he raises his voice in song. When he begins to dance, Anoleta and Haya walk slowly into camp. No one says a word as Anoleta approaches him. Just then she has an odd thought. She wants Jean Baptiste Bienville to know that she is the one who finished Imataha Chitto.
Red Shoes studies her face, but does not read her deceit. His eyes say, “There have been no years between us.” Then the warrior cries to Miko Luak as they dance. Haya follows them. Around and around they go, and without warning, Haya bolts and, using both hands, she pushes Red Shoes into the flames.
12 | Suspended Animation
TALIHINA,
ROCKY ROAD
Night has come. Rain falls in the center of Talihina, the tiny Choctaw town in Southeastern Oklahoma. The blacktop road shines like a mirror as Auda drives her Jeep up Bengal Mountain. The taillights of Red’s Mercedes seem to leave the road and Auda is convinced she’s following a flying car. It’s probably an eye trick, but she feels headed for the sky.
On previous trips to their house on top of Bengal Mountain, she and Red have usually taken one car. They pack fancy meats and breads, imported cheeses, several bottles of wine, and the expensive pears she orders by mail. Yet for some reason they’re driving separate vehicles tonight. She can’t remember packing any food or clothes, not even a toothbrush, but she dismisses this.
Red’s taillights disappear and she guns her Jeep, trying to catch up with him. When she reaches the top of the mountain his car is already parked under the carport. She runs across the driveway to avoid getting wet, and as soon as she steps onto the front porch the rain stops. Red is sitting there casually in a rocking chair. But where are all his mongrel dogs? Usually they run to greet her; something must have happened. He looks as if he’s been waiting a long while. There is a cooler next to his chair, filled with beer.
He offers her one and she takes the bottle from his hand. She doesn’t say a word. His eyes, like black stones, follow her every movement. She drinks. She had not planned to come to this place; she had not planned to find him again, but after all the years—and hundreds still to come—how could she possibly resist. His slender body swells like a grub then returns to normal. Another illusion.
“You’re too tense. Do you want another?”
“No,” she says. “I don’t.”
He scans the sky as he fingers the frayed cuff of his white linen shirt. “The clouds are so dense we can’t see a thing.”
Auda is fascinated by the sight of the whirling mist above her head. She forgets Red for a moment and stares into the blackness. The air is heavy with water.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, standing up to rub her neck and shoulders.
Auda doesn’t want to tell him, so she’s slow to answer. Finally she asks him for the names of the Choctaws he bought off in order to sell the casino project to the rest of the tribal council.
“Nitakechi, Koi Chitto, and of course, Choucououlacta. Sooner or later they all came around to my way of thinking!”
She smiles, knowing that he’s lying and walks inside the cabin.
Red follows her. He seems intrigued by his own answer. He says he doesn’t know those men, that he’d once heard their names in ceremonies at the Nanih Waiya. “But I don’t really know anything for sure. Wait a minute,” he says slowly, “I did know those men. It was at my instigation that the warriors had stained the roads red, and that Nitakechi and Koi Chitto were killed.” Then he begins to weep.
“Much later, the council went along with the casino deal. Like you, they wanted to believe me,” he says, his voice choking with sobs. “Why can’t you understand? I did it to make our tribe strong again—like we were in the old days.”
She studies his face, sees that the back of his head is caked with blood, but is not disturbed at this. In fact, she thinks this is the way it ought to be.
“What about your trips to Ireland?”
“Poetic justice.”
“Explain.”
“I met James Joyce in a pub in Belfast. He said something like, the Choctaws and the Irish have a common enemy—the English. We both want revenge. It was a marriage made in history,” he says, wiping tears off his face.
“Then what happened?”
“I concentrated on what I wanted. Revenge for what the English did to you, and for the disease they brought our people. After all Elsley, the Inkilish trader, betrayed us both. He was the one sitting next to me in front of the fire, remember?”
“No.”
“Elsley got what was coming to him. His head was broken with an ax four months later by warriors from Yanàbi Town. So now you know. When I’d read about a building in London exploding or an English train derailing, I’d think ‘that’s Choctaw revenge, too.’ Eventually I began stealing money for us. Look, I can prove I’m telling the truth.”
Red takes her to a large barrel of dog food. He hauls a large black nylon bag out it. It’s stuffed with cash.
“Nine million—the other million I already handed off to Joyce. My last hurrah. Stealing from the Mafia ... it’s kind of mythical, isn’t it? I always knew I’d be caught and killed. You’ll make good use of the money, won’t you?”
She stares at him in disbelief.
“You said yourself that we’d never make enough money from smoke shops and truck stops to buy the Nanih Waiya from the state of Mississippi.”
She can’t say that he’s wrong. “I once had hope,” she says. Then she walks outside and into darkness.
The car—they’re off again. The earth and air and space are rearranged for this purpose. At last they can tell the whole story, beginning with the hunger of the Hispano Osano. He looks straight into her eyes. “I’ll tell you all of it. What difference can it make now? People thought all I cared about was power.”
She nods yes.
“Sometimes you did too
, didn’t you?”
“After a while, I knew it was true,” she says.
“When Carl discovered you were stealing wire transfer reports and other documents, he told Hector.” Red continues solemnly, “The D’Amato brothers wanted you dead, but I couldn’t let that happen. I told them I’d handle you. To prove it, I made a bet. If you wore the Italian dress to work, it would mean I was in control, and Hector had to leave you alone. If not...”
She waits for her rage to return, but feels nothing. “You lost,” she says, dryly. “Look where we are now.”
They both laugh a little too much.
Auda searches the sky through the car window. Eyes practically identical to hers stare back at them. Perhaps they’re stars, yet when she blinks, they dissolve. There is only her and Red floating on a black ribbon. She takes all this as normal, but she doesn’t know why. She can’t wait until they get to Mississippi. They’ll sleep on top of the mound at the Nanih Waiya. “The sky will be clear and bright there,” she says, “and I know we’ll at last be happy.”
“You wore the dress I gave you, after all?”
Auda scrutinizes her clothes. She’s wearing the red dress, but her high heels are splattered with dried blood.
“I put it on for you.” She laughs at the absurdity. He laughs too, the same way.
“Still, the dress really suits you,” he says. “It’s amazing how good you look in it—it’s as though it was made for you.”
“Where’s your Harvard tie, the one you always wear? What’s happened to it?”
Red laughs again. “I don’t know about the tie. I seem to have lost it along with everything else.”
Now they’re both in hysterics looking around in the car for his things.
They stop laughing abruptly when they see the large black nylon bag in the backseat of the car full of blood money. The mood becomes sad, and they both know the truth of what has happened. The tribe split, land all burned up, her body violated like the land, his shot clean through. And who could forget the blood revenge that began in 1747?
