Nakoa's Woman (7 page)

Upon the skins of Nakoa’s lodge was a brilliant blue star and a yellow pine cone. Nakoa had not allowed the woman to be painted. Her touch stretched from the pines to the North Star, but like the winds themselves, she had to remain invisible. What would Nakoa’s woman of the west wind think of him now? How would she give him strength and protection when he would destroy one of her sex and beauty in blind lust?

Anatsa took the cooked meat to her sister and Onesta and Mikapi. She could eat none of it herself and went back to sit by the fire near Nakoa’s lodge, feeding it with new sticks. At last she heard the sound of his horse.

Nakoa picketed the animal, and quickly walked over to her. He smiled and accepted the food she offered. “You will not eat?” he asked her.

“I have no taste for food tonight,” she answered shyly, and then determination made her look boldly into his face. “I would like to talk with you,” she said.

He looked surprised at the tone of her voice. “I am here,” he said.

“My words come hard.”

“Words have never been scarce between us before.”

“I want to speak to you of the white woman!” she blurted.

Immediately he looked wary. “Why should you speak of her?”

“Because I should not, and if it is that I should not, then no one else will speak of her as I will.”

“If you are afraid of your words then do not utter them.”

“I must. I will say them and not keep them silent within myself where they will fester and grow in power.”

“Then speak what you will.”

“I feel sickness at what you are doing with this white woman.”

“Why?”

Anatsa felt her face burn but she went bravely on. “It is what you
will
do, then.”

“What will I do?”

“You have told the high chiefs. You will use her as a mistress and then trade her to Siksikai!” Anatsa was appalled at her bold words. “I am sorry—” she said timidly. “I know she is yours—I know—but I cannot see such a woman done this way!”

“Such a woman? She is white!”

“She is clean! She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”

“You are pained for her just because she is beautiful?”

“I am thinking of you!”

“No. I want to lie with her. I want her for a mistress.”

Anatsa began to tremble, suffering an anguish of embarrassment. “She does not want this.”

“I do.”

“When you are through she will be dirty like Atsitsi!”

Nakoa looked at her earnest face, and putting down the food, took her thin hands and held them in his own. “Anatsa,” he said gently. “My heart is warm toward you. I have known you since you were born and have lived near you in this circle of high chiefs—but Anatsa—you are not of this village!”

“Why?”

“You cannot grow in the mud of a prairie river! You have always been so frail—”

Anatsa thinking of her leg tried to draw her hands from his.

“It is as if you were a flower that needs the sweet water of a more gentle stream—the shadow of protecting trees, Anatsa. This white woman is not like you! She—it does not matter what she is! I am a man,” he said somberly. “I am of the earth and of the mud where you gather the scrub brush for your cooking fires. I have desires and I live to meet them. I have fought for the coups I have; I have bled my blood for them, not the blood of my father, nor the blood of the high chiefs. I am not as you. I am of this village—this world. I do not have time for dreams. I do not live to scatter sunbeams!”

She bowed her head sorrowfully.

“Anatsa, I do not mock you. Be kind and gentle. Dream what you will in the mountain place you seek. Give others your touch of the sun. I am not a woman. I am a man. I have hot desires and I satisfy them. If my father and all of the head chiefs had said that I could not have this woman, I would have her anyway!”

“Why do you wait?” Anatsa whispered. “Why is she still at Atsitsi’s?”

Nakoa stretched out his long legs and looked at the fire.

“I am sorry,” Anatsa said quickly, “I deserve no answer.”

“Why do I wait?” Nakoa asked, speaking more to himself than to her. “She will accept me. I wait for this.”

“You wait for this?”

“To make my pleasure deeper.”

“Nakoa—”

“She has her life! If I had not wanted her I would not have saved her from the Snakes! Why else would I care whether a white woman lived or died?” He was getting angry. “And yet this woman has touched me. I see her face—and her body—when I am not with her. Why would it make my pleasure greater to have her accept me? Why would I care when I can take her by force any time?”

Anatsa shivered.

“I do not know my actions! For the first time in my life, I do not know my actions!”

“You feel pity?”

“No! Why would I feel pity for a woman I saved from being killed? I want to see her naked again. I want to hold her with nothing between her flesh and mine.” He suddenly realized Anatsa’s embarrassment. “My words are ugly to you,” he said. “They are coarse because you are a virgin to life. I am sorry, my little Anatsa.”

“You have always been so gentle with me,” Anatsa faltered. “You are not animal—mud of the river of earth …”

“We are all of the earth,” Nakoa said softly. He looked at Anatsa with tenderness. “But you are not. Anatsa, you are a note of a bird song.” He looked musingly into the fire, his handsome face even more tender. “But the white woman is of the earth and she fights the call of her body. I wait for her to listen. With an Indian she will still have to be the woman and—accept.”

“Your face is filled with love,” Anatsa said. “You speak tenderly of the white woman.”

“I am touched by her beauty.”

“It is more than that.”

“She will bring me pleasure. Do not be blind to what I am. Near her I know the heat of my blood. That is all.”

“That is everything,” Anatsa said gently and left him.

At her sister’s they were all asleep and the last of the lodge fire flickered faintly upon the ceiling. Soundlessly, Anatsa stretched out upon her own couch. Her despondent mood was gone. She knew the white woman to be blessed with Nakoa’s desire. Mikapi giggled in his sleep, his boyish face pure and innocent in the firelight. When did innocence flee at last? When did baseness come and rule the flesh?

Before sleeping, Anatsa thought lingeringly of Nakoa’s words. If she were but the call of a bird’s song, for her there would be no life, just a flashing of melody as brief as a spray of foam flung from a stream, quaking for a moment upon the earth before being dissolved by sun and wind.

Chapter Seven

“Nakoa important man,” Atsitsi said to Maria savagely.

“That is all you have been telling me for two weeks,” Maria retorted. “I think that you are in love with him, Atsitsi. Are you going to take him away from Nitanna?”

Atsitsi scowled. “You laugh at fatness. Atsitsi not always fat. And when was fat still white man like to screw with me.”

“I imagine it was your quiet delicacy and gentle refinement. And also you were probably the only woman west of the Mississippi!”

For two weeks, night and day, Atsitsi had been teaching Maria Pikuni. Pikuni was easy to learn; the language was beautiful in expression, moving in images.

“Tell me the Ikunuhkahtsi,” Atsitsi growled, beginning to eat again.

“The Ikunuhkahtsi is the tribal police,” Maria said wearily. “I know all of this!”

“I hear all again. Nakoa say, no repeat my word, no food, no eat.”

“All Blackfoot men enter the Ikunuhkahtsi, and advance from one society to another all of their lives.”

“Tell societies.”

“You just don’t want me to eat!”

“Shut mouth about food.”

“You old whore!”

“You young one. You be whore longer I bet! Now tell societies.”

“Boys enter the Little Birds, where they learn how to fight. When a boy has been to war three times he goes on to the Pigeons.”

“Give Pikuni name.”

“Kuk-kuiks. Then, when he is accepted as a tried warrior he goes on to the—Mosquitoes.”

“Pikuni name!”

“Tuiskistiks. Then if a man has led this society in coups and he is no longer mortal but is all God, he may join the greatest society of all because it is led by your old wished-for lover, Nakoa … This society is the Mutsik.”

“This—our greatest warriors. Nakoa leader.”

“Yes, yes, yes! And most young men do not make it, but go on instead to the—Knatsomita, the All Brave Dogs, the Mastahpatakeks, or Raven Bearers, the Issui, the Emitaks, and the Bulls. Now that I’ve named more men than even you’ve probably slept with, let me eat!”

“No. Tell where tipis.”

“Your tipis are arranged in two circles with the chiefs of the Ikunuhkahtsi camped in the inner circle. The outer tipis are arranged according to blood genes.”

“Not enough on lodges of high chiefs. Arranged according to age advancement of chiefs society.”

“All right. I agree. Now can’t I have some of that delicious food that you and the flies are fighting over?”

Atsitsi belched. “Why?”

Maria looked away and suddenly noticed two riders heading rapidly toward the inner circle of tipis. A crowd excitedly followed them.

“Something wrong,” Atsitsi said. “Something happen.” She stopped scratching, and got clumsily to her feet. The crowd waited at the fringe of the inner circle, staring at Natosin’s lodge.

“I go see,” Atsitsi said.

“Me too,” Maria answered.

“You to stay by my lodge!”

“I’m to stay with you, so you’ll just have to take me along!” They both walked to the crowd where Atsitsi listened a minute to the talking. “Strangers have come to village,” she said to Maria.

“Who?”

“Enemies from the south. Blackfoot have no friends to south.”

“Is this a war party they are talking about?”

“Yes. I hear now. They are Snake. Snake party come to challenge some of the Mutsik in battle.”

“The Mutsik?”

“The Mutsik always meet war parties. Now shut mouth, so I listen.”

The crowd was growing; Maria and Atsitsi were jostled about, and the old woman furiously shoved anyone who tried to take her place. Soon Maria thought that the entire camp was in the inner circle, but then she saw five riders approaching them, followed by a group of excited boys. The riders were painted. “Are those the Snakes?” she asked Atsitsi.

“Yes.”

“Can your enemies just ride into your village—like that?”

“If come in open challenge, yes! Now shut mouth, I listen.”

The murmuring of the crowd around them grew. Maria heard one name repeated in awe and fear. One of the Snakes had been recognized and was obviously a great warrior. The Snakes rode near them, forcing some of those around Maria to move out of their way. The Snakes were so close to Maria that she could smell the sweat on their horses, and see their features under the paint on their faces.

“Damn, damn!” Atsitsi whispered. “Nakoa get it now!”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked instantly.

“Listen! Maybe you read the Indian talk with hands.”

The Snakes had stopped before Natosin’s lodge, their horses forming a straight and unwavering line. Maria watched them spellbound. They were armed with bow and quiver, and the sunlight flashed from the long lances that they held before them. Each man held a shield close to his breast, and each wore a headdress of eagle feathers that the wind ruffled out. Scalp locks danced on their lances. They stood in stillness and silence.

“What are they waiting for?” Maria whispered.

“This,” Atsitsi said, and Maria saw Natosin, Nakoa, and a brave ride to them from the outer tipis. They were not painted for battle, but both Nakoa and his father wore a headdress of buffalo horns that Maria had never seen upon an Indian before. The three Blackfoot stopped, facing the Snakes. After a moment of stillness, one of the Snakes prodded his horse out from the four Snakes behind him and raised his arm high in sign language.

Instantly the brave with Nakoa and Natosin prodded his horse forward and signed back. A hush settled on the group around them. “What are they saying?” Maria asked Atsitsi anxiously. “Tell me what they are saying!”

“The Snake who gestures is Shonka, the greatest of Snake warriors. He has come for the scalp of Nakoa. He is the brother of Eeahsapa, who lies dead by Nakoa’s arrow. Nakoa’s arrow is known in Snake land because it has been found in friends and relatives of Shonka and the men who have ridden far to Blackfoot land with him. Shonka will kill Nakoa, and the four men with him will kill the four Mutsik who went into Snake land with Nakoa. The taking of Snake hair and Snake horses will end with the death of Nakoa and these four Mutsik.” Atsitsi was translating directly now.

The Blackfoot signed rapidly back, and Atsitsi had difficulty in keeping up with him. “The great Shonka does not tell that it is already seven times that Nakoa has ridden into Snake land and taken Snake hair and Snake horses! What will Shonka, who is both a woman and a coward, do about it?”

“Shonka will kill Nakoa tomorrow morning when the sun first comes to the sky, and the Snake warriors with him will kill the Mutsik they have challenged!”

“Nakoa and the four Mutsik will accept the challenge, and will be glad in their hearts to take yet more Snake scalps.”

“Good! So it will be!” Shonka signed, and then looking past the Blackfoot who had signed to him, looked directly at Natosin. He gestured again. “I talk to the man who wears the headdress of the Blackfoot high chief. I talk for my brother and for all of the Snakes who move restlessly in the ghost hills without the peace of the dead. Tomorrow your son, the man who has done this, will lie dead by my knife, and I shall wear my war shirt decorated with his hair. Tomorrow this ground will ring with his death cry, this cry of your only son, and his life blood will run at my feet.”

Natosin looked at the Snake without any change of expression, his eyes as deep, calm, and tolerant as they were the first night that Maria had seen him. Angrily the Snake signed again. “I have no words from the great Natosin. Does he tremble like a woman without speech before Shonka’s awful words?”

Slowly and with indescribable dignity, Natosin raised his arm and signed back. “I do not shake and I do not tremble at words that boast of such courage. When the courage is in the words, the man is empty. If tomorrow Shonka of the Snakes wants to die, he shall have his wish. If it is that my son will die I will remember that I did not tremble at his birth, and so I will not tremble at his death.”

The Snake looked at Natosin for a long moment. Maria and all of the Blackfoot looked too, drawn to his majesty. Like the greatest of kings he sat his horse, royal with his crown of ermine skins and buffalo horns, thin, polished, and gleaming in the sun.

Shonka seemed changed; some virility was now gone from his face. “Tomorrow,” he signed, “the four Mutsik warriors will lie dead too, and their lodges will be emptied and burned. Your village will weep with the wailing of their women and the weeping of their little children! I am Shonka, of the Snakes, and I have spoken!” Fierceness was in the words but no longer in the man. Slowly he led his war party from the inner tipis, through the outer lodges, and Maria could see that they would camp that night out by the guarded horse herds.

Natosin and Nakoa turned their horses and rode away too, and then the crowd dispersed.

“He will not kill Nakoa,” Maria said to Atsitsi as they walked to her lodge.

“No,” Atsitsi answered. “But if Nakoa die tomorrow you go to Siksikai, and then it bad. Siksikai might take you for wife and you not lucky to be good whore!”

“Oh be quiet!” Maria snapped, not hiding her concern at what she had just seen.

“Whore lucky woman. My words are straight. Whore accepts all. Whore no fool!”

Maria went to bed early that night, suddenly numb with exhaustion, but the premonition of coming doom made her restless. Late at night she heard the beating of a drum.

“What is that?” she asked Atsitsi.

“Prayer song of Ahkiona, one of Nakoa’s Mutsik, Snake to kill.”

“Oh,” said Maria and tried to go to sleep. Did only one of the five challenged Mutsik think it necessary to pray? Did only one have the desire to seek help?

A chanting began with the drum, and, tossing and turning, Maria heard it all night. The stars glittered coldly through the smoke hole of the tipi, and as Maria lay upon her back and watched them, they paled and disappeared with the coming of the dawn. Maria rose, shivering. The east would soon be touched with color, and would that mean that his blood would run as red as the eastern sky? She thought of his gentle beautiful mouth; the day had dawned already when he would kill, or be killed.

To the beat of the ceremonial drums, all the men, women, and children of the Pikuni village walked to the inner circle of the high chiefs. Maria and Atsitsi went there too, and all around her Maria saw eyes that were alert, shining, dark with excitement. For the first time since her captivity Maria was unnoticed, and she was quick to see also that there were no morning fires. A wildness was growing all around her, restrained now, but bursting to be unleashed.

When the drums commenced, people pushed to reach the high chiefs first and when they approached the inner lodges they formed a circle. Murmuring grew louder as Natosin appeared with all of the high chiefs except his son. Maria and Atsitsi stood near the crippled girl Anatsa, and Maria saw that the girl was twisting her hands as if she were suffering a terrible pain.
“Weekw?”
Maria muttered to her softly, but Anatsa only looked startled and tried to smile. She shook her head to indicate that nothing was the matter, but after awhile went back to twisting her hands again.

The sky in the east was red now, and for a moment the black forms of some flying birds showed darkly against it and then vanished. The early morning was cruelly cold. A shout suddenly went up from the spectators. Turning to where they all looked, Maria saw Nakoa and his four Mutsik warriors riding slowly toward them. In the terrible chill they were stripped for battle, wearing only breechcloths and moccasins, and their bodies and the bodies of their horses were painted. They came to the spectators and entered the circle where room was made for them to pass. For a moment they held their horses still, and except for the constant drums a silence settled as the crowd became worshipful and reverent.

The warriors were facing the rising sun. This was prayer; the cry for blessing. Then, a woman’s voice began chanting to the drums, and called out Nakoa’s name. He separated from the others, and walked his horse slowly around the inside of the circle, and the woman began chanting again.

“What does she do?” Maria asked Atsitsi.

“She count his coups. She tell why he is head chief of the Mutsik.” Maria listened intently to what the woman was singing, but she could not decipher the words. Then the spectators chanted, singing the praise of the man who rode before them, and as they chanted, young boys in the crowd walked proudly in the path of his horse. Nakoa’s cheeks were covered with vermilion paint, his arms and back bore bright gashes of color as if he were recently wounded. He was on display, the sign of Pikuni valor and courage, this man painted and dressed for fresh killing. On each face of each boy walking behind his horse was worship, idolatry, not for just the man who rode in front of him, but for the man he himself hoped to be.

When Nakoa had finished, Apikunni rode around the inner circle, his open boyish face obscured completely by its paint, and then came Siksikai, Ahkiona, and finally Opiowan. These were the men who had brought Maria back from Snake territory; familiar and yet so strange. Now, with no sign of nervousness, they were to fight for their lives. Nakoa alone wore the horns and ermine skins; the others wore feathers, but singly, not in the magnificent war bonnets of the Snakes.