Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (18 page)

 
          
 
Willow
marched up to the old man who carried
brightly painted parfleches from inside the pole skeleton of a lodge. The
Puhagan wore his gray hair in twin braids to either side of his head. Flank
steak, left in the sun for days to dry, had the same look as his weather-burned
face: dark, wrinkled, and parched. For some reason the old man's fleshy nose
had grown with a bend in it. He looked up with obsidian-dark eyes, and watched
her approach. He clung to one of the brightly painted parfleches with swollen
fingers that looked like pemmican.

 
          
 
Willow
stopped before him, aware that Slim Pole's
two wives had ceased their chatter as they folded the lodge cover into a big
square. They watched her with wary inquisitive-ness.

 
          
 
"Good morning,
Willow
." Slim Pole's voice sounded scratchy,
belying the fact that he sang with deep rich tones during the ceremonies.
"I had dreamed many things, but not that you would come seeking me this
morning."

 
          
 
Willow
crossed her arms. "Could you walk with
me for a moment?"

 
          
 
Slim Pole grunted, turned, and carried his
parfleche to the waiting stack. The squares of hard rawhide contained the
medicine elder's healing herbs and paraphernalia for the Sun Dance and vision
quests. He patted the stack as if making sure his sacred possessions were out
of the way of trampling horses' feet. Then the old man turned and ambled out
toward the west, away from the camp.

 
          
 
Willow
walked beside him, watching his short,
shuffling steps, reading the pain in the old man's hip joints and the wobbly
balance caused by his fading vision.

 
          
 
"You wish to speak?" He glanced at
her, his eyebrow raised. "My eyes are bad, but I see from the ice in your
hair that you've come straight from your morning bath."

 
          
 
"Red Calf is going to accuse me of being
a witch."

 
          
 
"I see." A pause. "Are
you?" He slowed, staring out at the gray-brown buttes to the west.
Snow-filled gullies streaked their sides like white veins. Beyond them, burning
orange in the morning, the fir-covered slopes of the Warm

 
          
 
Wind
Mountains
rose to white-capped majesty against the
paling sky.

 
          
 
"I am no witch—as you know, elder."
Willow
kicked at the hoof-flattened snow. Piles of
frozen horse manure lay like black warts here and there in the scrubby
sagebrush. "You have not approved of me, of my Dukurika ways. As a good
elder should, you have sought to give me advice, to guide me to behave more
like a proper Ku'chendikani. I have always listened with respect."

 
          
 
"And continued doing things just as you
did before."

 
          
 
"That is true, elder. Each soul has its
way. As Tarn Apo made us. Perhaps there is a little of Coyote in all of us. An
urge to follow our desires because we must."

 
          
 
"But there is also Wolf in us," Slim
Pole replied. "To accept and do our duty. To act in a way which is
responsible to the People."

 
          
 
"I agree, Puhagan. That is why I came to
you this morning, inconvenient though it may be. I wanted to tell you that Red
Calf is going to make trouble. I have the responsibility to tell you about it
in order that you may give the matter thought before trouble breaks out."

 
          
 
He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the distant mountains.
Slim Pole could still see into distances with some clarity, but people said
that even that sight was growing hazy. Only the bright colors of his parfleches
allowed him to locate his things.

 
          
 
"And what responsibility do you have to
the People, Heals Like A Willow?" He cocked his head.

 
          
 
"I also came to tell you that I will be
leaving the Ku chendikani within the next moon. I would go now, but the snow is
too deep and I might not be able to carry enough food to reach the Dukurika
winter camps."

 
          
 
"In another moon, the snow will have
melted off the ridges. The ice will still be thick enough to allow you to cross
the streams. But food will be a problem for another two moons at least."

 
          
 
"I can find food in another moon. The
first sprouts of wild parsley and shooting star will be up."

 
          
 
"Ah, I forget, you are the one who thinks
in terms of plants, and not of buffalo." He paused. "Perhaps this is
for the best." He glanced at her. "I would have Heals Like A Willow
know that Slim Pole, while he may have found her troublesome, enjoyed his talks
with her."

 
          
 
"And I with him."

 
          
 
"I am sorry about your husband and son.
Two Half Moons told me that you followed the rituals necessary for their souls
to find their way across the sky. For that, I thank you. But, yes, I think
perhaps it is better if you return to the mountains. White Hail wanted to marry
you. Fast Black Horse may yet ask you to marry. And if he does?"

 
          
 
"I will say no."
Willow
let her eyes search the mountains, tracing
the jagged lines of peaks. "I gave all the love in my souls to my husband
and my son. I have none left to give to anyone else."

 
          
 
"Like a clay bowl? Poured out until there
is nothing left?"

 
          
 
"Yes, like that."

 
          
 
He chuckled dryly. "Mostly you are a very
clever woman, Heals Like A Willow. You surprise me by the questions you ask,
and the things you know about life, about Tarn Apo and the way He created the
world. But then you say something like that, and I realize that for everything
that you know, parts of you are still secret to yourself."

 
          
 
She stood silently, refusing to respond.

 
          
 
"I think you are no witch," he said
at last. "I have watched you work with the sick. A woman should not do
such things until after her bleeding stops. Until that time, she is unclean.
Woman's blood is offensive to Power."

 
          
 
"Do we want to argue about this again,
Puhagan?"

 
          
 
"No. You and I have argued so many times
we each know the other's words better than our own. I was just saying that I
have never seen evil in you, and while the Spirits have come to me to complain
about you, it was just to tell me that you were polluting them with your
woman's blood, not doing evil."

 
          
 
"We will disagree about that
forever."

 
          
 
"Yes, we will." He glanced at her.
"Tarn Apo made women to bear children. If I would offer advice to Heals
Like A Willow, I would say that she should stop worrying about Power, bear her
children as Tarn Apo meant her to, and worry about puha and healing when her
bleeding finally stops."

 
          
 
Willow
smiled wearily. "I will consider Slim
Pole's words. In the meantime, I thank him for his understanding and
consideration. Within a moon, Heals Like A Willow will be no more trouble to
him, or to the Ku'chendikan!"

 
          
 
"I wish you well," the elder said.
"And ... I think it is best for you as well as for my people that you
leave. In the meantime, Slim Pole will see that Red Calf makes no big trouble
for anyone." He smiled then, the wrinkles on his face deepening.
"However, Red Calf will continue to make a lot of little troubles. It is
her nature to make people miserable; she is like cactus to a barefooted
man."

 
          
 
"I will miss you, Slim Pole. I will
especially miss arguing late into the night about good and evil, and the nature
of Tarn Apo, and about responsibility and life and death as we have done so
often."

 
          
 
His expression turned wistful. "Yes,
well, who will challenge me from now on? Eh? Your souls see very clearly about
many things,
Willow
. Your questions cut like obsidian. I have learned many things from you
. .. and your irritating questions. For that, I thank you. And, I fear, for all
the complaining I've done about you, I will find myself missing you, wishing
for another of your annoying arguments."

 
          
 
"May Tarn Apo guide your way, Slim
Pole."

 
          
 
"Yours, too, Heals Like A
Willow
."

 
          
 
Richard shivered as Virgil nosed in toward the
Saint
Louis
waterfront. He stood at the rail with the rest of the passengers, witnessing
the end of the long journey. Below him, the bedraggled masses craned to see.
Richard watched them in turn, nervously searching for Francois. Even the
thought of him brought tickles of fear to Richard's stomach.

 
          
 
A practical joke, the captain had said. A
quick search that morning had produced no sign of the vicious Frenchman.

 
          
 
After all, who else could it have been? And
where had he disappeared to?

 
          
 
Richard shuddered and tightened his hold on
the grip containing the banknotes. At last he would be able to relieve himself
of that albatross. Two days in Saint Louis, and then he'd be headed home. Home
to Laura.

 
          
 
French calls and jokes mixed with English and
carried on the air as the men caught lines and waited. The Virgil strained one
last time, her paddle churning as she drove into the muddy bank.

 
          
 
Saint Louis
didn't disappoint him. In the late
afternoon light it looked as squalid as he'd anticipated. High on the bank
stood an open-sided market building. The streets were mostly mud despite some
attempts at brick paving. Along the shore, the men looked barely better than
those he'd seen at
Fort
Massac
.