A Good Man (54 page)

“The way you look at me,” Sitting Bull says, “I see you think that I am a horse like Walsh too.”

“Not entirely the same, no. But like Walsh, I believe that once you have decided on the direction you wish to run, you will not quit it.”

“And what is it I should quit? That I do not understand.”

“I believe you would be wise to quit the Old Woman’s country and go back over the Medicine Line.”

Walsh hisses, “Know your place, man. This is not your affair to meddle in.”

“And why should I do that?” says Bull. “I am happy in the Old Woman’s country.”

Case ponders his answer, trying to frame how he will express what he has been turning over in his mind since arriving at Fort Walsh. “You will not like the words I am about to say to you, but I think them to be true. Once I wrote to Long Lance that it was better for you to be here. But now I think it would be better if you and your people wen back over the Medicine Line.”

“And why has your heart changed?”

“Because I lived a long time in the place where the Grandmother’s counsellors have their meeting house. My father was a friend to many of them. I tell you they are not men who think like Walsh. I have a strong feeling that they have already decided that the Sioux will never be British Indians. One day they will send you back over the Medicine Line to the country of the Long Knives. When that day comes you will be in a weaker position than you are now to bargain with the Americans. You have never touched the treaty pen with the Long Knives before. If you do so now, maybe they will be grateful, a little kinder to you.” Case shrugs. “Perhaps this does not please you, but this is what I think now.” He glances at Walsh, who wears a severe and disapproving look.

“No,” says Bull thoughtfully, “this is my country. I was born in the Red River country among these kind of people.” He points to Léveillé. “The half-breeds, the Slotas, taught me to shoot. I was born in the Old Woman’s country.”

“I spoke to some of your people today. They tell me that you were born down on the Missouri, not up here. Why is it you claim to be a British Indian?”

Bull fishes something out of a pouch hanging around his waist. He passes it to Case, who turns it over in his hands. It is a medal with the effigy of George III stamped on it. “Many years ago,” says Sitting Bull, “this Grandfather came to my people and said to us, ‘Let us fight the Americans together.’ And we fought them as he asked. When that war was over, this Grandfather who you hold in your hand gave away our land to the Americans, but we knew nothing of this. For many years we lived free before the Americans came and said to us this land is ours; the red coats gave it to us. Now,” says Bull, “if we were not British Indians, how could the Grandfather give away anything of ours? But he did. So he must have believed we were his Indians, British Indians. Now we have come to the Old Woman’s country and she must make a place for us here. In return for the land her relative gave to the Americans.”

Walsh greets this rebuttal jubilantly. “Bloody well done! The man belongs in Parliament!”

Case turns to the Major. “That is exactly the point I have been trying to impress on you. He will make his case in any way he can.”

Bull murmurs something to Léveillé. The translator says, “Sitting Bull wants to know what you and the Major are talking about.”

“Tell him,” says Case, “that I have told the Major that Sitting Bull makes a clever argument. That he is wily like a fox.”

“Have a care, my boy,” the Major warns him. “You go too far.”

Smiling at Case as if he is a wilful child, Bull says, “You call me a fox, but you do not know me. I will tell you who I am. I am a
wichasha wakan
, a holy man. Since I was very young I have understood the talk of birds – I do not know the language of foxes. I have dreamed the thunderbird dream, whiche asarful dream, a gift that Wakan Tanka gives to very few of his children. That dream gave me the right to paint my face with lightning, which is a great honour.

“Wakan Tanka sends me visions. In the time of the choke-cherries, the time of the Sun Dance – the summer that Custer came – I made sacrifice.” Sitting Bull pushes up both his sleeves and displays pale scars that spot his forearms like drops of melted wax. “Jumping Bull dug fifty pieces of flesh from each of my arms with an awl. I prayed and cried out to Wakan Tanka while he did it. Then I danced around the Sun Dance pole, praying, taking neither food nor water for a long time. I do not remember this, but the people say that suddenly I went still as stone. I stared up at the sun. The people came and laid me on the ground, sprinkled me with water until I came back to this world. That was when I told my good friend Black Moon what I had seen in the place I had gone to.

“A voice had told me to fix my eyes just below the rim of the sun. There I saw, thick as grasshoppers, pony soldiers riding hard and fast towards one of our villages. But the horses and men were upside down, their heads to the earth. The Long Knives’ hats were falling from their heads. The voice said to me, ‘These soldiers have no ears. They are to die, but those who kill them must take nothing of theirs.’ ” Bull has a distant look, as if hearing the voice again. “I saw Custer’s coming in this vision. When Black Moon told the people what I had seen, they were very happy because they knew that if the pony soldiers rode against us we would kill them all.”

“That is a powerful vision,” says Case. “I am sure the people were happy to hear it. But the Sioux did not obey the voice, did they? They took many of the things that belonged to the dead soldiers.”

Case can hear the sorrow in Bull’s voice even before Léveillé translates his words. “That is a thing that troubles me. The people should not have taken the white man’s weapons, clothes, horses, and mules. It was forbidden. I think Wakan Tanka wanted to teach us not to envy the white men’s goods.”

Case says, “On the other side of the Medicine Line the Americans say there will be more soldiers falling from the sky. But you do not dream this vision, you work and plan for it.”

“No. I will stay here in the Old Mother’s country. Just as Long Lance asks, I will not make war against the Long Knives.”

“Here is what the Americans say, that just as you brought the Oglala, the Brulé, the Miniconjou, the Two Kettles, the Sans Arc, the Hunkpapa, the Blackfeet Sioux, and the Northern Cheyenne together to rub out Custer, you work now to bring all the tribes together. The Americans say you have sent messengers to the Assiniboine, even to the Sioux’s old enemies, the Blackfeet, the Cree, the Slotas, and you say to them, ‘Let us kill all the whites no matter where they live, whether they wear red coats or blue coats. Let us remove them from the face of the earth and live free as we did before.’ ”

“I am tired of war,” says Sitting Bull. “I do everything that Long Lance asks me to do.”

Case glances at Walsh, whose head is lowered, his fingers tted in the fleece he is seated on. It is as if he wilfully refuses to entertain any possibility that the Sioux chief’s responses may be half-truths. And Sitting Bull’s unflappability, his calm, repeated assertions that he is guided by no one but Long Lance, are provoking Case’s head to throb. Spurred on by whiskey and frustration, he says testily, “Yes, you do what Walsh asks now because the uniting of the tribes has not yet come to pass. But I think if you grow strong, you will do as you please.”

“I am at peace with everyone now.”

In a harsh whisper, without raising his head, the Major says to Case, “You’ve had your answer. Stop persecuting him.”

Pointing to the crucifix, Case says, “I am curious why a Sioux holy man would hang the white man’s God around his neck. I wonder what it means.”

“The Black Robe De Smet gave this sacred bundle to me when he came to the Hunkpapa camp to ask me to touch the treaty pen years ago at Fort Laramie. I liked this Black Robe. He was very brave and went everywhere among the Indians, lived with them without fear. Even when I said I would not touch the pen, he gave me this sacred thing. The Black Robe said the Man on the Sticks’ power would protect me.” Sitting Bull gazes down at the cross on his chest. “I think this man hung himself on the sticks just as the Sioux hang themselves from the Sun Dance pole to suffer and win the favour of Wakan Tanka. That is a good thing to do.”

“No, Jesus was nailed on the sticks by others.”

Sitting Bull tips his head. “Who were the others? Why did they do this to him?”

“Where the hell is this going?” says Walsh. “You are supposed to be interviewing him, not giving him a Bible lesson.” The Major addresses Sitting Bull. “A friend betrayed the Man on the Sticks to his enemies for money. Thirty pieces of silver.”

“Ah,” says Bull mischievously, a shadow of a smile hovering on his lips. “Then his friend was a white man. The white men love the coloured metal.”

“That is what is often said,” Case declares, “that it was done for money. But I believe there was another reason.”

“I would like you to tell me the reason he did such a wicked thing.”

Case glances at Léveillé, warning him with his eyes that what is coming next will be difficult to translate. “There were two men,” Case begins, “one called Judas, and the Man on the Sticks, who was called Jesus. For a long time Judas listened to Jesus’ words and did everything he was told to. As you do with Walsh.” For a moment, Case looks steadily at Sitting Bull, who smiles back at him serenely. “Everything that Jesus said, Judas agreed with, saying, ‘Yes, this is true. This is wise. I must listen to this man.’ But I think as time went on, Judas began to feel small and weak. He said to himself, ‘Why must I do as this Jesus says? Am I not as strong and wise a man as he is?’ And he could not get this out of his mind. This is what happens when one man’s will struggles with another’s m’s will – there will be a falling out. I have seen this come true in my own life. The question – which is the stronger man? – must be settled. I think it will be the same between you and Major Walsh.”

“That’s enough,” Walsh barks. “I won’t have any more of this. This bloody farce is over. Stand up and leave now!” He swings to Léveillé. “You have no need to translate what I’ve just said.”

Bull is startled by Walsh’s sudden fury; his eyes dart back and forth between the two men. When Case begins to get to his feet, Bull reaches out a hand and restrains him from rising. The deep voice begins to roll, but when the Métis follows Walsh’s directive and remains silent, Bull speaks to him in a tone of command. Léveillé says, “Sitting Bull wants to know why I no longer speak his words. He says he has something to say to Mr. Case.”

“Christ, all right, proceed if that’s what Bull desires.”

Sitting Bull says, “I smell whiskey on your breath. Whiskey makes a fool even more foolish. All this time you have been trying to turn Long Lance away from me. This is how it is with discontented men who cannot find their own way. They are blind, yet they tell others what path to turn down. But turn yourself,” says Bull softly, “turn yourself, and leave others to do as they think right.”

Case feels his face colour and he stumbles to his feet. “I bid you goodnight. I have nothing more to say.” He hesitates, and adds, “Except to say I am very sorry for the death of your son. That is a hard thing to bear.”

“On your way,” says Walsh, voice clipped and bitter.

He goes out of the lodge and into the night. For a moment, he regards the shadows of policemen and soldiers mingling on the ground lit by the campfires, and considers how he has bungled this encounter. He had meant to reveal Bull to Walsh, but instead has been revealed himself. Prosecuting his case the way he had only ensured it would be lost. Most likely, he has only succeeded in pushing Walsh a little closer to the Sioux chief.

TWENTY-FOUR

AT THREE O’CLOCK SHARP
the next afternoon, Walsh, resplendent in his dress uniform, leads Sitting Bull and some twenty-odd lesser Sioux chiefs into the officers’ mess to commence talks with the Americans. Before the Sioux settle on the buffalo robes, which are spread on the floor in front of the table where the Terry Commission is seated, Sitting Bull insists on shaking hands with Walsh and Commissioner Macleod. The Major notes that he refuses General Terry and his boys the same courtesy, simply gives them a small, disdainful smile. Bull has blood in his eye.

The room is crammed with Police, soldiers, and anyone else who has been able to finagle admittance to the grand occasion. They are stacked three deep along the walls. The members of the press have been provided with ringside seats and a table so they can make notes on the proceedings. Walsh feels his mouth tighten when he sees Case, thinks how he’d like to put a boot so far up his arse that he’d taste she leather. His little speech about Judas last night had been enlightening. Case is a man well acquainted with the ins and outs of treachery.

Glancing over to the wife of the Bear That Scatters, he wonders if the Americans realize that the Sioux are thumbing their noses at them by including a member of the weaker sex in their delegation. A woman attending a council is unthinkable to the Sioux, a mockery. And she isn’t the only insult being offered to the Yankees; Spotted Eagle has come to the peace parley armed. He is cradling a huge war club studded with three knife blades, and wearing a scowl that suggests he would like nothing better than to start swinging it.

Sitting Bull has donned his Sunday best, a dark navy blue shirt spotted with white dots of paint, black leggings with wide red flannel stripes, ornately beaded moccasins, and a fox-fur cap hung with a badger tail. He has not braided his hair, but left it hanging loose, fanned out over the blanket draping his shoulders. Walsh has never seen him so splendidly dressed.

The discussions get off to a rancorous start. Sitting Bull demands that the Americans join him on the buffalo robes, claiming he cannot see those in the Terry Commission behind their table, and accusing them of trying to hide their faces from him. Terry retorts that it is not the habit of white men to sit on floors; they prefer chairs. But Bull refuses to relent and is satisfied only when the members of the Terry party finally haul their chairs to the front of the offending piece of furniture and drop down on them peevishly.