Read One Thousand White Women Online
Authors: Jim Fergus
One Thousand White Women (27 page)
This morning we buried Sara and the unborn child she carried. Her body was dressed in her Cheyenne wedding gown and wrapped in a white buffalo hide, covered with rocks in a shallow grave on the prairie.
There had been much discussion among all concerned about whether the girl should have a Christian or a traditional Cheyenne burial. Of course, Reverend Hare and Narcissa White argued for the former. But others of us believed that the only true happiness our Sara had ever known in her short life on this earth had been among these people. And we wished for her soul to go to the place the Cheyennes call
Seano—
the place of the dead—which is reached by following the Hanging Road in the Sky, the Milky Way. Here the Cheyennes believe that all the People who have ever died live with their Creator,
He’amaveho’e.
In
Seano
they live in villages just as they did on earth—hunting, working, eating, playing, loving, and making war. And all go to the place of the dead, regardless of whether they were good or bad on earth, virtuous or evil, brave or cowardly—everyone—and eventually in
Seano
all are reunited with the souls of their loved ones.
Seano—
the place of the dead—which is reached by following the Hanging Road in the Sky, the Milky Way. Here the Cheyennes believe that all the People who have ever died live with their Creator,
He’amaveho’e.
In
Seano
they live in villages just as they did on earth—hunting, working, eating, playing, loving, and making war. And all go to the place of the dead, regardless of whether they were good or bad on earth, virtuous or evil, brave or cowardly—everyone—and eventually in
Seano
all are reunited with the souls of their loved ones.
“Heaven,” I said to the Reverend Hare.
“Seano,
is just like our own Heaven. What difference is there, Father?”
“Seano,
is just like our own Heaven. What difference is there, Father?”
“A substantial difference, Miss Dodd,” said the Reverend, “for it is not a Christian heaven and any soul can gain entrance there without regard to baptism, without reward for virtue or punishment for sin. Such a place does not exist, cannot exist, for how can there be a heaven unless there is a hell?”
“This earth, Reverend,” I said, “is both a heaven and a hell. No one knew that better than our Sara. She should be allowed a simple heathen burial by her husband.”
But the Reverend remained, as I knew he would, implacable on the subject. “The child was baptized in the only true church,” he said, “and her body must receive the holy sacraments so that her soul may enter the Kingdom of Our Lord.”
And so, finally, both services were conducted, one by Reverend Hare and the other by Yellow Wolf and his family, who carried Sara’s body to its final resting place, leading her saddled horse, which to all of our shock the boy killed there beside her grave, drew a knife across its throat—just as his young wife had died herself—so that the horse fell to its knees with a pathetic trumpeting of air escaping its severed windpipe.
“Ve’ho’a’o’ke
must have her horse,” Yellow Wolf explained as the horse toppled over on its side and the light faded from its eyes, “to ride the Hanging Road to
Seano.”
“Ve’ho’a’o’ke
must have her horse,” Yellow Wolf explained as the horse toppled over on its side and the light faded from its eyes, “to ride the Hanging Road to
Seano.”
Thus Sara’s soul rode her horse wherever she wished to go—a choice of heavens—and all were satisfied.
Our funeral procession left Yellow Wolf sitting cross-legged beside the grave of his bride. For two days and two nights, we have heard the boy’s wails of mourning carried on the wind.
I need hardly say that it has been a difficult time for us all … not only dear Sara’s tragic end but our own debasement at the hands of the Crows has changed things among us, and within us, things that we can as yet only faintly comprehend.
But for hollow platitudes, the Reverend offers us scant comfort and we have, as always, only each other for solace … and thank God for that.
And so we have made a pact together, each of us, never to speak of that night, or the following day, neither among ourselves, nor with any of the others. We cannot change what has happened and so we must go forward away from it.
Our Cheyenne families have taken us back into their generous bosoms, caring for us with great solicitude and kindness, without a hint of reproach —which seems to be the domain of a few of our own women alone. Of course, Narcissa White treats us as if our little group had somehow enticed the Crows to carry us away, that whatever humiliation we may have suffered at their hands was just punishment for our sins and confirmation of her own righteousness.
Since our ordeal I have hardly let my husband out of my sight—truly he is my savior and protector, a good, brave man. I feel a greater attachment to him now than ever, though in a strange way more as a daughter than as a wife. I have taken, the past few nights since our return, to slipping under the buffalo robes with him, after all in our tent sleep—not, of course, for the reason of sexual intimacy, but only to feel him beside me, to curl next to him and take comfort in the smooth warmth of his skin, the fine wild smell of him. The old wife Quiet One has been extremely kind to me; I know that she is aware of these nightly visits but does not begrudge me them. I believe that she knows of my efforts to protect her child, Pretty Walker, who since our return, has herself slept in her mother’s bed. The child and I have both now seen the boogeyman in the flesh and are more than ever afraid of him.
By my estimation I am now approaching the third month of pregnancy. I do not believe that my baby has been injured and for that I am grateful. Martha and the Kelly girls, too, seem healthy in their terms. As does Gretchen. Thank God.
Of my closest circle of friends only Phemie and Helen Flight seem not to be with child. Helen, of course, has already confessed to me about having lied to the medical examiner regarding the matter of her fertility in order to be accepted into this program.
“Mr. Hog is really a most agreeable fellow,” she says now, “but he has since our marriage been possessed of the unfortunate male notion that unless he impregnates his wife he is something less than a man. He used to inquire of me almost daily, by rubbing his stomach hopefully, if I was yet with child, and when I answered in the negative … well, then he would wish to try again! I must say, it got to be a dreadfully tiresome business. However since our abduction and safe return he has made no further overtures toward me. I am able henceforth to concentrate my efforts solely on improving my ‘medicine.’”
For her part Phemie is still wearing her chastity string, and merely chuckles deeply. “Like you, Helen, I have an occupation,” she says. “I am a hunter, and now a warrior, which is hardly a suitable profession for a prospective mother. Moreover from the time that I was a child men have forced themselves upon me whenever they so desired. I am very fond of my husband,
Mo’ohtaeve’ho’e,
and one day perhaps I shall have his child. But I shall decide when I am ready.”
Mo’ohtaeve’ho’e,
and one day perhaps I shall have his child. But I shall decide when I am ready.”
As for the rest of us, we have the comfort of all being pregnant together, so that we may share the experience, commiserate, make plans. By our estimation our babies will be born next February, and although we worry about the prospect of being far along in our terms throughout the cold winter months, hopefully we shall be more permanently encamped then. We may even expect to be living at one of the agencies with a doctor and hospital nearby—for there has been talk among some of the men in council recently about going in this year.
A very ugly thing has occurred today, the repercussions of which will be felt for a long time to come. Hearing shouts of distress from Reverend Hare and angry cries from a mob of savages, a number of us hurried in the direction of the Reverend’s lodge. There we came upon a shocking scene.
A man named
Hataveseve’hame,
Bad Horse, was driving the naked Reverend from his and Dog Woman’s lodge with a quirt. The Reverend—huge, pink, and hairless—was sobbing and trying to protect himself from the man’s lashes, which were raising angry red welts all over the fat man’s body. A number of people had gathered, including other members of Bad Horse’s family. Bad Horse’s wife, a short, squat woman named
Kohenaa’e’e,
Bear Sings Woman, came from the Reverend’s lodge carrying their young son—who was also naked, although, especially among the children, such a natural state is not in the least bit unusual. Still it became clear what had occurred, for the Reverend in his confused blubbering combination of Cheyenne and English was trying to explain that he had only been giving the boy instruction in his catechism. Which explanation did not placate the furious father, who continued to drive the Reverend with vicious blows of his quirt.
Hataveseve’hame,
Bad Horse, was driving the naked Reverend from his and Dog Woman’s lodge with a quirt. The Reverend—huge, pink, and hairless—was sobbing and trying to protect himself from the man’s lashes, which were raising angry red welts all over the fat man’s body. A number of people had gathered, including other members of Bad Horse’s family. Bad Horse’s wife, a short, squat woman named
Kohenaa’e’e,
Bear Sings Woman, came from the Reverend’s lodge carrying their young son—who was also naked, although, especially among the children, such a natural state is not in the least bit unusual. Still it became clear what had occurred, for the Reverend in his confused blubbering combination of Cheyenne and English was trying to explain that he had only been giving the boy instruction in his catechism. Which explanation did not placate the furious father, who continued to drive the Reverend with vicious blows of his quirt.
I stepped up beside Susie Kelly who, with her sister, had joined the small crowd of onlookers. “Should we do something to help him?” I asked, for my dislike of the man notwithstanding, it was a pathetic sight.
“’Tis a family matter, May,” Susie said. “The old hypocrite got caught
booggerin’
the boy.
’Appens
all the time, you know, amongst the Catholics. When Meggie an’ me was growin’ up in the orphanage, the old priests used to
boogger
the lads
bloody
. Isn’t that so, Meggie?”
booggerin’
the boy.
’Appens
all the time, you know, amongst the Catholics. When Meggie an’ me was growin’ up in the orphanage, the old priests used to
boogger
the lads
bloody
. Isn’t that so, Meggie?”
“Right, Susie, a sad thing, it’tis, too,” said Meggie. “For lads that take it up that chute that way become angry men, that’s been my experience. I don’t believe they’ve ever seen such a thing among these people. Even the old Nancy Boys amongst them like the Father’s roommate don’t fool with the young lads. They say the old
he’emane’e
are celibate.”
he’emane’e
are celibate.”
“He’s a lost soul,” I said of the pathetic Reverend, “who may not deserve, but still requires, mercy.”
“Noothin’
to be
doon
for him, May,” said Susie. “They won’t kill the old
booger.
They’re just goin’ to teach him a
goood
lesson.”
to be
doon
for him, May,” said Susie. “They won’t kill the old
booger.
They’re just goin’ to teach him a
goood
lesson.”
And indeed, the outraged parents’ fury soon abated, the family went home with their son, and the crowd dispersed. Then the twins and I went to our fallen spiritual advisor, who lay curled upon the ground, reduced to a quivering mass of torn red flesh. We helped him back into his lodge, where old Dog Woman, clucking his concern, ministered to his wounds.
I’m afraid that the Big White Rabbit’s disgrace among the People is final, and irrevocable. I must say, beyond the fact that some of us have fulfilled our end of the bargain by becoming pregnant, we do not seem to be having much success in instructing the savages in the benefits of civilized ways.
We are on the move again. This time and for the first time since our arrival we are dividing into several groups and heading off in different directions. The game has dispersed and so must the People, for it is easier for smaller bands to feed themselves than one large band all together.
This separation has caused a great deal of anxiety among our women. Martha is nearly hysterical with worry as she and her husband Mr. Tangle Hair belong to a different band than my family, and as a consequence we will be separated—possibly for weeks … possibly longer.
“I cannot leave you, May,” the poor thing said this morning when we learned of our imminent departure. “Oh, dear God, what shall I do without you?”
“You’ll be fine, Martha,” I tried to console her. “You’ll have others in your group.”
“For how long are we to be apart?” Martha asked. “I cannot bear the thought. What’s to become of us?”
“You must stop worrying so,” I said. “You worry yourself sick and then everything turns out fine after all, does it not?”
Martha laughed. “My friend,” she said, “if you call the events of the past months, and especially those of the past weeks, ‘fine,’ truly you possess a serenity that will never be mine. I cannot survive without you to give me strength.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Of course you can, dear. We will be together again soon enough.”
“How can you know that, May?” she asked. “How can we know that we’ll ever see each other again?”
“There you go worrying again,” I said, trying to be lighthearted. “You are soon to be a mother, and I have always been a believer in the old saw that anxious mothers give birth to anxious babies.”
“Of course you’re right, May,” she said. “But I cannot help myself. I am anxious by nature. I never should have come here to the wilderness … I’m too much of a mouse, terrified of everything …”
“After what you have been through, Martha,” I said, “you have every right to be terrified.”
“But you are not, May,” she said. “I would give everything to be like you—intrepid and unafraid. I know that we are not to speak of that night, but I must tell you this … I must tell you how proud I was of you … and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t help you when they murdered Sara …” Now Martha had begun to weep. “I was so frightened, May. I wanted to come to your aid, but I could not, I could not move. Perhaps if I had been able to help you the wretch wouldn’t have killed her …”
“You must never think that, Martha,” I said, sharply. “And you must honor our pact not to speak of that night. There was nothing any of us could have done to save the child.”
“Yes, but you protected Pretty Walker,” Martha said. “I would never have had the courage to do what you did, May.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Enough of that, Martha.”
And then she put her arms around me and hugged me with all her might. “Tell me something to give me courage, May.”
“I can tell you one thing only, my dearest friend,” I said. “And then we will not speak of it again. You must promise me that.”
“Yes, of course, I do.”
“I was just as terrified as you that night, as everyone else,” I said. “I have been from the beginning of this experience. But I’ve learned to disguise my fear. I made the vow to myself on our very first day, that whenever I was most afraid for my life I would think of my babies, my Hortense and Willie, and I would find peace in knowing that they are safe, I would seek serenity in the image of their little hearts beating calmly. That’s what I thought of when the savages set upon me that night. I realized that the worse thing that could happen to me was not that I should be killed—but that this baby I carry would die. And thus I submitted. And I endured. Just as you and the others endured. Because we are women, because we are mothers some of us, and others mothers to be. And some, like Helen Flight, are just plain strong. Do you remember what Helen said once in our discussion on the subject of a warrior’s medicine? That if they believed strongly enough in their own power, perhaps they are protected by it?”
“Yes, I remember,” Martha said, “and you said it was pure poppycock! Pure superstition!”
“Yes, I did,” I admitted, and I laughed. “And truth be known, I still think so! But you must remember, Martha, that you survived that night yourself, you submitted and endured, and by doing so you saved your baby. Your power as a woman, as a mother, is your medicine, and it saved you. Take your courage from that. Do not be afraid of our separation. Have faith that it is only temporary, that you will be well protected by your husband, your family, and the friends who accompany you, and that you and I shall be reunited again in due time.”
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