There was a quiet struggle of a different sort taking place in the lodge of Singing Wolf and his wife, Rain. Not of the sort that one might think. Rain had always gotten along well with her husband’s mother. Deer was simply a part of the extended family.
True, there had been a time these last few years when the old woman was virtually intolerable. But that had not been a personal thing. Running Deer had been intolerable to everyone, not just her son’s wife. Privately, Rain had always admired the old woman’s spunk. She, Rain, had hoped to be as energetic and forceful as Deer.
Now it was with pleasure that she recognized the old spirit. Running Deer was herself again. There was none of the bleak, dark sadness and helplessness. There was defiance of ill-fortune, with an energy and enthusiasm not seen for several years. The tragedy and the coming of the child had actually been good for Running Deer. The disagreeable, crotchety old woman was gone, and in her place had returned the wife of Walks in the Sun, the mother of Singing Wolf and Beaver Track, whom Rain sincerely admired. The bad times seemed behind them. For which let us all give thanks, Rain prayed silently.
A more complicated matter was the addition of another child to the lodge. Gray Mouse was timid and afraid at first. She preferred to avoid contact with the family whenever possible, drawing aside with her doll or with her big yellow dog.
“Do not bother her,” Running Deer quietly told the other children. “Mouse has suffered much, but she will do well. Give her a little while.”
There were apparently two incidents that occurred which provided the impetus for the change. The first involved Deer.
Gray Mouse was quite reluctant to allow Running Deer out of her sight. Fear could be seen in her face, and she would cling tightly to the hand or the fringes of the skirt of her protector.
They were gathering sticks for fuel along the stream one afternoon and chanced to meet an old acquaintance of Deer’s.
“Ah, Running Deer! I had heard you were back,” the woman cooed. “And this …”
Gray Mouse was trying to hide from the woman’s prying gaze, slipping behind Deer’s skirt, but the woman kept peering around to get a better look at this curiosity. Mouse instinctively disliked her.
“… this must be the Child of the Dead! Well, she is a pretty little thing, except for the scars, of course.”
Running Deer felt her temper rising to a boil. The woman was talking about the little girl as if she were not even there. As if this were a non-person, an amusing object for diversion, but not to be taken seriously. With great care, Deer held her wrath in check.
“Pretty Bush,” she said with a tight smile, “she is not dead, she is alive and she is of my family. This is my daughter, Gray Mouse.” The smile remained, but the tone of her voice stiffened now. “You or anyone else who calls Mouse such a thing as you just said will have me to face! Is it not so?”
Pretty Bush took a step backward and the color drained from her face. Deer stepped toward the woman.
“Is it not so?” she demanded.
“Yes … yes … it will be as you say, Deer,” the woman mumbled as she retreated.
“And what is her name?”
“… Mouse. Gray Mouse. That is her name. Yes …”
“Then remember it!” Running Deer called after the retreating figure. Yellow Dog gave a short growl and would have run after the woman, but Deer called him back.
The other incident was not so climactic, but perhaps even more significant in the long run. Dark Antelope, a few years older than the new inhabitant in his parents’ lodge, seemed to take a great proprietary interest in the little girl. He brought her bites of choice food, made little playthings from cottonwood leaves, and helped her to begin to play with other children.
“Come, little one,” Deer heard him say gently to Mouse. “We will go to play with the others. I will take care of you. Here, hold my hand!”
Besides, Yellow Dog seemed to approve. Running Deer smiled.
When the bands separated after the Sun Dance, Singing Wolf watched carefully and then went quietly to talk to the band chief.
“Ah-koh, Uncle.”
“Yes?” Broken Lance said eagerly.
“Thirty-eight lodges,” Wolf reported.
“Aiee! We only had forty-one before, no?”
“That is true.”
“It is good. Now, how many are truly good?”
“It will be hard to tell, for a while. I see two, maybe three that are no help. They have joined three different bands for a season or two. Two lodges, brothers from the Eastern band.”
The chief chuckled, but Wolf went on.
“They may be our best newcomers, Uncle. You know how it is with the Eastern band. They produce leaders, sometimes, but they have no one to lead.”
Both men chuckled, and Wolf went on.
“The others, in between, probably. A few good hunters, a few opportunists. We will see.”
“It is good. Thank you, Wolf.”
“My honor, Uncle. Now, if I can keep my mother from fighting anyone who looks at Gray Mouse …”
Both men laughed again.
Part Three
28
Antelope had sensed a certain restlessness in his friend this season. Gray Mouse was sixteen or seventeen summers old, no one was sure. It was no matter anyway. The question was only there because of the manner in which Mouse had joined the People.
Ten seasons it had been, maybe more. Again, it did not really matter. Mouse barely remembered any life prior to that time, though Antelope did. He remembered it well. To this day, the scent of decaying flesh gripped him with a panic. His memory leaped back over the years to a time when a whole village of skin lodges lay before the People. Those in that Camp of the Dead had been strangers, struck down by the poch, the spotted death. No one except Antelope’s father the holy man and one or two others had been allowed to go near. That had made it even worse, because what fear is greater than the fear of the unknown? The smell, though, had been a powerful thing to young Antelope. That had pounded the incident firmly into his memory, to bring it back at unexpected times.
He was embarrassed to admit that he did not even remember that there had been one survivor of the Camp of the Dead, a small girl. He first remembered Gray Mouse when she turned up at the Sun Dance at Medicine Rock. Mouse had been in the company of Antelope’s own grandmother, who had been thought dead. That was an unforgettable summer.
First, there was the disruptive change of two more people moving into the lodge. One was the small girl who belonged to Grandmother. The boy’s heart had gone out in sympathy to the frightened girl, and she quickly became like a sister to him. There were a few incidents in which other children thoughtlessly or even cruelly inflicted hurt on the little girl. There was a short while when it appeared that she might become known as the Child of the Dead. That possibility was short-lived. Few of the People had the courage to face the wrath of Running Deer. Even then, it might have been a hidden joke among the children, except for Antelope.
From the very first day, he felt a responsibility to his new sister. There was a need for the girl to be protected, and the youngster seemed to assume that it was his duty. They were an odd couple, some four years apart in age. About right, as it turned out, for the purpose. Any children who were cruel or thoughtless enough to torment Gray Mouse were a year or two older than she. By the same token, three or four years younger than her protector.
In a short while everyone in the Southern band was aware of a simple fact of life: anyone who showed disrespect for Gray Mouse had to face the wrath of Running Deer or of Dark Antelope, or both. In addition, the large yellow dog which always followed her was yet another protector.
This is not to say that Mouse was pampered. Running Deer was a strict parent, as she had been with her sons. It was amusing to see the change in Deer after her “return from the dead.” (Do not say “dead,” someone would warn sometimes. You may have to fight her.) From a tired and bitter old woman, she had become a vibrant and active person. Sh
e could, and did, work as hard as anyone in the band.
Deer had insisted that she wanted her own lodge again. It would be better for Gray Mouse. This was actually a clumsy social situation. A widow with the status of Running Deer would normally have been taken into the lodge of her oldest daughter, but Deer had none. That had been part of her reluctance to live in the lodge of one of her sons.
On her return, Running Deer, even though she had mellowed some, still had strong opinions. She and her new daughter would have a small lodge of their own. They would camp close to the lodges of Wolf and Beaver Track. Thus, the relationship of Dark Antelope and Gray Mouse was something like that of a brother and sister, but different. The People understood it, and there was no need for discussion. Besides, comment might rouse the ire of Running Deer, and that was certainly to be avoided. Deer seemed not to change at all now. She was ageless. Energetic, active, hard-working. A visitor from one of the other bands had once commented on it to Rain.
“That is odd. I remembered Wolf’s mother as a somewhat older woman.”
“I, too, at one time,” Rain agreed.
The children had grown up together in this strange yet comfortable extended family relationship. Some people may have thought of them as a couple. Many of the children of the People paired off as friends quite early. Mostly, though, they were regarded as brother and sister. At least they were in the early years.
Other changes were taking place in the band, ones which did not really concern Mouse, Dark Antelope, and Running Deer. There was considerable political shifting for a year or two. A family who had recently joined the Southern band to move into a politically empty spot found that there was none, and moved on, as they had before and would again. There was no loss there.
Other, more stable lodges joined actively in the affairs of the band, and were respected. The prestige of the Southern band wavered and recovered, as strong as ever. Much of the credit for this was due to the statesmanship of Broken Lance. The aging leader seemed destined to go on forever, becoming more capable as he went.
With young couples establishing their own lodges, the size of the Southern band was nearly back to strength now. Their prestige, too, had not suffered, only wavered.
Dark Antelope had reached the age of puberty first, before Mouse. Had they been of the same age, the girl would have matured earlier. It was not uncommon for a couple of childhood friends to stay together through this difficult time, even though she might be taller and more physically mature for a season or two.
In this case, Antelope’s advancing maturity seemed to make little difference. He was, naturally, drawn to girls whose physical characteristics showed development. But he and Mouse discussed such things, and basically thought nothing of it. It is doubtful that either of them even considered the possibility of a romantic relationship. Still, no girl seemed right for Antelope. He had not married, and still lived in the lodge of his parents.
He proved himself as a hunter, and was accepted into the Elk-dog Society. He had considered the Bloods, but some of them had radical ideas. There were many of the available girls who would have jumped at the chance to establish a lodge with Dark Antelope, but nothing happened. Some wondered if he would become a woman-man, but it did not seem likely. He did not seem romantically interested in boys, either. He had not decided yet whether to aspire to his father’s status as a holy man.
“Do not worry about it,” Singing Wolf told Rain. “I matured late, too, you know.”
A change began to be noticed with the body changes of Gray Mouse. Mouse had been thin and gangly as she grew. Then overnight, it seemed, there was a difference. Mouse had always been a pretty girl, but aiee! She suddenly grew taller. Her face and hair began to glow with a new radiance. The stick-straight legs began to show attractive swells at the calves, with corresponding trimming at the ankles. The shirt portion of a new buckskin dress was found to be too tight. It was necessary to resew the seams at the sides of the chest to accommodate the gently bulging breasts.
An even bigger change was in her attitude. It was a difficult time. There were times when Gray Mouse seemed calm, quiet, and helpful. At other times she was uncooperative and defiant. There seemed to be no pattern, and it was completely unpredictable. Sometimes Running Deer was at her wits’ end. About that time, Mouse’s mood would change and all would be well again.
“Aiee, I see why it is the young who are made to have the children,” Deer confided to her daughter-in-law on one of these occasions. “Have you had such problems, Rain?”
Rain laughed. “It is the way with girls, Mother. You have had only boys before!”
There was an obvious difference in the attitude of the girl toward Antelope, too. It, too, was a variable thing. Sometimes it manifested as a coy, blushing sweetness. At others it was a fiery jealousy toward any other young woman who even looked possessively toward the young man.
Running Deer viewed this with mixed emotions. She was not ready to have her child thinking of a lodge of her own. Yet, if Mouse: were to do such a thing, Dark Antelope would make a great husband and provider. But was this acceptable? Was he not her brother?
Deer approached her son, the holy man, with the question.
“I, too, have thought of this, Mother,” Wolf told her. “I am made to think in this way: Gray Mouse is an outsider.”
“No, no!” Deer’s temper flared. “She is not! She …”
“Wait, Mother! About this, maybe it is good for her to be. True, she has become one of the People, one of our family. But by blood, she is not the sister of our Dark Antelope. They are not brother and sister, and there would be no question.”
Deer nodded, only half convinced.
“Would the council have to decide?”
“Maybe. But Mother, they have said nothing, the two young people. Let them tell us what their desires might be. Maybe they are not interested except as brother and sister.”
“Yes … Aiee, Wolf, I thought that raising boys was hard.”
Her son laughed. “And so it was, Mother. But let us see what happens now. Maybe there is no problem.”
“What is it? What is the matter?” asked Dark Antelope.
The two were sitting on the hill behind the camp of the Southern band, watching the sunset. That should have been a serene moment of sharing, but there was the restlessness that came between them.
They had talked of marriage, but Mouse was not ready.
“I have waited this long,” Antelope told her. “I can wait a little longer.”
Somehow even that irritated her, but there was nothing to say that would not be misunderstood. She did not want to hurt him. Not really … And now this question. What is the matter? She wanted to yell at him, to tell him, If I knew, there would be no problem!
She sighed, and Yellow Dog raised his head, thumped his tail, and sleepily returned to his rest. He was growing old. The dark yellow along his muzzle showed many gray hairs now. A glum feeling came over her. She knew that the dog was older than most of the dogs of the People already. Most had either been eaten by this age or had met with a misadventure with some wild creature. But she hated to see this happen to her dog, this creeping of age upon him. Yellow Dog seemed to be part of her problem, and she was not sure why.
She had been a secure and happy child, feeling safe and loved. At least, most of the time. She no longer had the night-visions, the dreams of death that had plagued her for a long time.
Maybe it was that she was unwilling to give up the safety of her childhood for these new feelings. It was exciting to be a woman, to feel the stirring in her blood, the need for a man … But to become a woman meant to leave behind the safety she had known since she had been with Grandmother.
And Dark Antelope … He was her protector, brother, teacher, friend. Could he also be her husband? Or would it be better to look for another?
She suspected that some of the young men more nearly her own age might be interested. She had even flirted a little. But they all considered, probably, t
hat she belonged to Antelope.
Maybe I do, she thought. How do I know? She resented his attempts to bring up the matter, and had told him so. “I will tell you when I am ready,” she had snapped at him, and then regretted having hurt him. And she was no closer now to knowing how she felt.
An owl called in the growing shadows downriver.
“Good hunting, Kookooskoos,” Antelope murmured.
She had heard it all her life. No, not all my life, she thought. There was a time … an owl should be feared! Dimly remembered, her first winter with Grandmother, all alone … There were things that were different, and it had worried her that what she thought she knew was not the same as what Grandmother told her. Which is right?
A wave of resentment rose in her. Her grandmother had stolen her identity, and left her confused.
“Sun Boy chooses his paints well tonight,” observed Antelope, interrupting her thoughts.
The traditional story of the People, where Sun Boy paints himself to prepare to spend the night on the other side of the earth … Is it really Sun Boy? her mind demanded. Maybe for my people it is someone else.
She looked at Dark Antelope as if she had never seen him before. Was this her problem, that she was trying to be something that she was not, something never intended?
“Antelope,” she said dully, “I do not even know who I am.”
29
There was a time that season when Gray Mouse and Dark Antelope drew apart. Mouse refused to accept it for a while, but finally was forced to the inescapable conclusion. There was a barrier between them.
“No, Antelope,” she tried to explain to her friend, “it is nothing you have done, or not done. It is not you, it is my own problem. I must do this alone.”
“Do what, Mouse?”
Anger rose in her. “How do I know?” she snapped irritably. “Let me alone. I must do this myself.”
The bewildered youth retreated. He still had no understanding of what the girl must do, but one thing was clear. He had no part in it.
Child of the Dead Page 17
