Much later, she realized that she had been confusing her own child, dead these many seasons, with the pitiful child who had been abandoned. One became the other as she drifted in and out of consciousness, and they became inseparable.
“Thank you, Little Bird,” she said, as she sipped cool water from the gourd that the child had brought.
“What, Grandmother? What did you say?” the girl asked in hand signs.
Why does she sign, instead of talking? Running Deer wondered. “Bird, what is it?” she snapped irritably. “Talk, do not sign! I am too tired to play games!”
Bewildered, Gray Mouse retreated. She had not been able to understand a word of the outburst. What had she done to anger the grandmother? She crept away, tears welling up.
Out of sight, she buried her face in the thick fur of Yellow Dog’s neck and cried softly to herself.
Several more days passed. They were unpleasant days for both of them, the frightened, confused child and the sick, demented old woman.
Afterward, Running Deer remembered very little of it. At the time, her illness was so severe that she saw things and people who were not there. They were so real that she talked to them, and sometimes they answered. Well, the dog never answered. At least she thought not. It did lick her hand sometimes, and her face.
And there was the child. Her lost child, Little Bird. Bird was there much of the time. She brought water, and food which Running Deer was unable to eat. And she talked, that one. Yet that was even more frustrating. When Little Bird spoke aloud, she spoke in words that were completely without meaning. Running Deer was puzzled at this. In her more lucid moments when her tormented mind tried to reason, it seemed to her that it must be the language of the dead. Little Bird had crossed over long ago, and must be here to welcome her mother to the Other Side. And, since this tongue that the girl was speaking was unknown to Deer, it must be that which is spoken there, by those who had crossed over.
Strange … she had never thought of it … What language is spoken on the Other Side? Will it be all one, used by all humans and animals, as it once was long ago?
It angered Deer, though. Little Bird, though she appeared to be trying to comfort her mother, persisted in speaking that tongue.
“Have I not taught you better?” Deer flared at her once. “Why do you speak in words that I cannot understand?”
The girl shrank away, frightened at the tirade, and Running Deer was almost sorry for her outburst. Almost, but not quite. She drifted away in confusion again, and roused to find the girl using hand signs. Has she forgotten her own tongue? Deer thought irritably.
One thing really bothered her about the hand signs, too. Granted, the signs vary a little from one tribe to another, but they, above all, must be understood by all. Would hand signs, then, be different on the Other Side? There would seem to be no purpose if they were all different. And it would seem that there should be no need for hand signs there, if everyone spoke the same tongue … Aiee! It was too much for her fevered brain.
The hand signs, though, used by Little Bird … What was I thinking? Oh, yes … Why did her daughter persist in using the sign for grandmother? Several times Deer tried to correct the child. Mother, not Grandmother! she signed. But the child’s eyes would fill with tears, and she would shake her head, and Running Deer was too weak to argue. It was no matter anyway. Soon she would cross over. Or finish crossing… She thought she was probably partway over already. Was her daughter not here? When she finished crossing, she would understand the language of those who had already crossed. Then she could demand an explanation for this insulting treatment.
She wondered if she would understand the new language instantly, or would she be required to learn it? Surely, she would not be submitted to that indignity. But who knows?
She slept again, and wild and frightening dreams raced through her head. Nothing was clear … there were fragmented pictures of abandoned lodges and empty landscape and then she would come upon piles of rotting corpses and flies everywhere, and the smell of death …
Running Deer woke, and it was early morning, not yet full daylight. She looked around, trying to remember. Yes, her little camp … this lean-to … but why … oh, yes, the girl. And I was sick, so sick!
Almost at the same instant she realized that her fever was gone. She started to rise, and fell back. Aiee! She could hardly hold up her head. Ah! I have crossed over, she thought, and immediately knew that it was not true. On the Other Side, there would not be the pain and stiffness that she felt in every part of her body. Would there? She thought not. But the girl … What girl?
She realized that she was having trouble sorting out what had been real and what was part of her fever-dream. She had seen the Other Side … or had she? Wait, now … My daughter … Yes, Bird was there! She brought water!
There was a movement beyond the fire, and a large yellow dog raised his head. Yes, the dog! But had it been here, or on the Other Side? The dog wagged his tail, and in the poor light Deer saw that curled next to him was Little Bird, who was slowly awakening.
But what is she doing here? I have come back, but she had to stay, surely!
Then the truth struck her. This is not Bird! It never was … Yes, the dying child … not dying now … the poch …
She cared for me, Deer realized. All the time I was so sick. I did not know. I thought it was Little Bird!
As her memory came rushing back, she realized that she had spoken harshly. She had argued and sometimes yelled at the child in her fevered delirium. Aiee, the poor thing …
Running Deer managed to sit up, and the little girl, rubbing her eyes sleepily, came toward her. Deer spread her arms and then spoke, with both words and signs.
“Come to me, little one!”
Gray Mouse smiled and rushed into the embrace, tears of joy now flowing.
“You have come back to me,” she signed. “It is good.”
And now both were laughing and crying, all at the same time.
13
It was a long time before Running Deer completely regained her strength. There were times when she thought that she would never completely recover. She would waken in the morning and look at the dawning day and marvel at everything that had happened since the Sun Dance.
And I am still alive! she would say to herself. And so is the child!
She took no credit for it, though perhaps she should have. Sometimes there is nothing left but sheer will and determination. These qualities she had never lacked, although her family would probably have called them stubbornness.
But now the crisis was past. The black scabbed places on her face and body were drying rapidly. Already some of the smaller scabs had dried and fallen away. The others were itching, and it required much attention not to rub or scratch them, especially as she slept.
The lesions on the skin of Gray Mouse had already finished their cycle and the scabs were gone. Left behind were the scars, bright pink against the pale golden brown of the girl’s delicate skin. Running Deer supposed that the bright scars would fade, in time, to the color of the normal skin. At least, it would be so with any other scar.
It was too bad, the scars on the pretty young face. Yet as she studied the girl’s appearance, Deer decided that it would not be too bad. One large poch in the center of the forehead, just above the eyebrows. A smaller one in front of the left ear, and two or three around the neck and shoulders. Some of those, even, would not be visible under normal circumstances.
Young Gray Mouse was completely unaware of her own appearance. She did seem to enjoy having the older woman comb and plait her hair after they would bathe at the stream and cleanse their hair with yucca suds. Occasionally the girl would seem troubled that the plait was “not good.” It took a little while for Running Deer to realize that her meaning was “not right, not correct.”
Of course … The way one’s hair is worn is important. It denotes belonging. Running Deer had taken little note of how Mouse’s people might have dressed their hair. The
contact had been much too intense. With a start, Deer realized that she had never seen any of the girl’s nation alive, except for Mouse herself.
Anyway, she told herself fiercely, she is mine now, one of the People. She will do her hair as a woman of the People.
That led to other thoughts of the People, and what was to be done now. It was still something of a surprise that they had survived, both of them. She had made no plans that included that possibility. Now what? It was apparent that they must rejoin the People, but summer was passing quickly. It must now be the Red Moon, with its withering heat. Not a bad season, though … There had been occasional showers which washed the prairie clean and cooled the air. Nights were always cool.
Running Deer studied the scattered flowers among the tall grasses. Yes, the right flower-heads of the yellow sun-seekers were blooming, and there were purple spikes of feathery appearance. Very nearly the Moon of Hunting. Or of Gathering, she had heard some of the Grower people call it. Yes, now she realized that the real-grass was already pushing up its bluish seed stalks. In a matter of days, they would be as tall as a man, with the three-toed seed head, like the foot of a turkey. Their allies the Head Splitters used that name for it … “turkey-foot grass.”
Deer had always loved this time of the year. The several other grasses, each with its own character … The sights and sounds and smells of the coming autumn … The excitement of migrating geese in long lines across the sky … Migrating buffalo … She wondered if the fall hunt would be good for the People.
She was thinking of these things for good reason. Would it be possible for the two of them to rejoin the band in winter camp? And where was it to be? She should have listened to her son Beaver. He had tried to tell her, but she had been angry, and cut him short.
It would be very hard to travel now. The beauty of the tallgrass prairie and its man-high grasses was overshadowed by its problems just now. At this season, it was very difficult to travel, especially on foot. With the real-grass and feather-grass taller than one’s head, it was quite easy to become disoriented and lost. Especially on foot. She wished for a moment that she had asked her sons to leave her a couple of horses. But that would have been ridiculous. She had expected to die here, and to have no need for travel.
But what now? It had come down to this: should she plan to winter here, or try to move to a more favorable site? Eventually she decided on the latter. It would be almost a moon before the tall seed heads of the grasses reached their heaviest and became the greatest of problems. There was a little time to travel.
Besides, the alternative was not a pleasant prospect. She did not relish the thought of long dark nights only a couple of bow shots upstream from a dead village of corpses. Probably they were already being devoured by scavengers. She shuddered.
Part of the shudder was brought on by the realization that she must go back to the lodges of the dead one more time, at least. The supplies that she had salvaged were running low. Distasteful as it might be, Deer felt that another visit to the camp would be by far the easiest way. She could probably find more food in the deserted lodges. The only alternative that she could think of was to try to kill some large animal … deer, elk, or preferably buffalo. She could possibly do that, because she had the bow and arrows. Then, however, it would be necessary to prepare the meat. The butchering, slicing, drying, and packing of the food would require some time … Time that they really did not have.
No, if they were to move, it should be quickly. A day to prepare, and then they should be on the trail …
Running Deer had hoped that she could persuade the girl not to accompany her to the camp. That was not to be. Little Mouse was so terrified at the possibility of being abandoned again that finally Deer relented.
“It will not be pleasant,” she warned.
The child nodded, holding tightly to her hand, and with tears still flowing.
Running Deer was shocked to see the changes in the village as they approached. It had truly taken on the look of a dead, abandoned place. She realized that it had been nearly a moon, but aiee!
A deserted house, bereft of the supportive spirits of those who lived there, begins to deteriorate quickly. It can be seen anywhere. Windows stare like empty eye sockets, shutters and doors sag, sad and lonely, because the life force that was once there has now departed. How much more apparent in a lodge of poles and skins, which are a few steps closer to the life force that produced them, and has produced all things …
Tattered skins hung limply on sagging poles. Painted designs were fading from sun, rain, and wind. Grasses grew tall in front of lodge doors. A small animal, surprised in its solitude, scurried away and into a lodge to hide … what a strange sensation!
Gray Mouse was clinging to her, silent and afraid. Even the dog seemed to sense something oppressive here, slinking along at their heels.
“Enough!” spoke Running Deer, hoping that her voice would not sound as strained as she felt it was. “Let us look for our food and be gone from here.”
She said this without signs, partly because Mouse was beginning to understand more, and partly because she could not sign well with Mouse holding tightly to her hand. The real reason she spoke, anyway, was to bolster her own confidence.
Many of the supplies that they found were spoiled, bundles torn open by raccoons or other small animals, and the contents partly eaten and scattered. A couple of the lodges were damaged considerably, perhaps by a bear.
They were able to assemble a bundle of dried strips of meat. Not enough for the winter, Deer thought, but enough to travel on. She also salvaged a pouch of tobacco. She had never smoked it very much, but it might be a comfort. She had enjoyed the social smokes at their big lodge when her husband was alive. She could almost smell it now, the pungent bluish cloud gathering above the heads of the guests and drifting out between the smoke flaps.
Of course Walks in the Sun had used tobacco ceremonially, too. It was always good to offer a pinch of tobacco to whatever spirits might reside in an area. And now they would be traveling … yes, tobacco would be useful to appease the spirits where they would camp, and where they would spend the winter. She should have thought of it before.
She considered taking along a pipe. There were several that were of no use to their previous owners. Not in this world, anyway. Yet a pipe is a personal thing, a thing of the spirit. Tobacco, for the use that Deer had in mind, could be offered in a fire. Just a pinch, tossed in the evening campfire as it grew to a lively start. Yes, she would do it that way. Walks in the Sun had told her once that a ritual itself is not as important as the spirit in which it is done. “If the heart is good, the Grandfathers know,” he had said. Running Deer hoped that her heart would be considered good.
“Come, we must go!” she said suddenly.
It was good to leave the place. Long after the lodges had rotted to dust and the bones of the inhabitants were scattered and reduced to nothing, the People would remember this place as the Camp of the Dead.
Yellow Dog trotted ahead. He, too, had been impressed by the dark and heavy mood that hung there.
Back at their own camp, Running Deer built up their fire, and just to be sure, tossed in a generous pinch of tobacco.
Now she must begin to organize their move. She had thought that they had very little, but now as she surveyed her camp, there was quite a lot to transport. Their robes and blankets, the food, the skin lodge cover that formed the lean-to. Yes, they must take it. They might also need more shelter for the winter, but one thing at a time.
She had it in mind to head south. She had abandoned any thought of trying to find the People. There was no time to waste in wandering around. But a march of a few days—she did not know how many—would bring them to the area where the tallgrass prairie met the oaks of the red-dirt country. That would be a good place for them to winter. The oaks, holding their dried leaves all winter, would be a good natural windbreak. It was necessary only to camp on the south side of a thicket to hide from the main force
of Cold Maker’s icy breath.
Besides, the scrub oak thickets harbored deer, turkeys, and squirrels. Yes, they could manage, if they could get there. But so many bundles and packs …
Her eyes fell on Yellow Dog. Of course! Did not the People use dogs to pull a pole-drag before the horse came? She laughed aloud.
“What is it, Grandmother?” asked Mouse.
“Come, child,” called Running Deer. “We will teach Yellow Dog to pull a pole-drag!”
14
They found the travel not really too unpleasant. There were meandering game trails, which through the centuries had delineated the easiest paths. For the same reason, the tread of a million hooves, the tall grasses were not so vigorous in growth there.
In areas where they had a choice, Running Deer chose the trails that followed the streams. There was better concealment in case they needed it, more fuel for their nightly fires, and of course, water. Always, they worked their way south.
The dog, young and undisciplined, seemed more trouble than he was worth for a few days. His main purpose in life seemed to be to avoid the harness that Running Deer had fashioned to allow the use of a small pole-drag. Yellow Dog was inhibited considerably in his explorations by such a contraption. Eventually he seemed to become resigned to it. Even so, he did break away in pursuit of a rabbit once, destroying the harness and scattering poles and supplies along the stream. There were times when Running Deer was tempted to use her hatchet on the contrary creature’s skull. She refrained for several reasons, not the least of which was Mouse’s affection for the strong-willed pup. And it was a help, not to have to carry all of the heavier bundles. Besides, if the time came when they really needed to kill and eat the dog, it would be in the winter, the Moons of Snows and Starvation. Gradually, the headstrong pup became accustomed to pulling a burden, and was actually useful.
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