Stone Song (26 page)

“
I give my son a great name
.

I call him Tasunke Witko
.”

The tears were flowing freely now. Curly could see his mothers immediately behind his father—what would be his father’s name now?—and his brother and sister behind them, and Buffalo Hump. He noticed that all the great ones were there: Man-Whose-Enemies-Are-Afraid-of-His-Horses, Bad Face, Red Cloud, and most of the young warriors. He looked briefly for No Water and Pretty Fellow but didn’t see them. Maybe they were in the column—what did it matter today?

“
I give my son a great name
.

I call him Tasunke Witko
.

I give my son a great name
.

I call him Tasunke Witko
.”

Curly’s father made the circle of the lodges again, singing the song in honor of his son, and this time the people joined their voices to his, a mighty chorus of praise, the people as one spirit.

“
My son rode forth

against the people of the unknown tongue
.

Against the people of the unknown tongue

my son rode forth
.

“
For his courage I give him a new name
,

the name of his father
.

For his courage I give him a new name
,

the name of many fathers before him
.

“I give my son a great name
.

I call him Tasunke Witko
.

I give my son a great name
.

I call him Tasunke Witko
.”

They finished the circle the second time, all the people raising up the naming song mightily together.

When Curly’s father stopped singing, he left the head of the line and walked ceremonially toward Curly. His face full of feeling, he said, “I greet you by the name Tasunke Witko.”

Curly hesitated and started to stammer.

His father smiled lightly. “From today the people will know me as Worm,” he said.

PART THREE

LOSS

In the center of the sundance ground

he sits beside a small fire
.

He picks up some needles of the cedar tree

and throws them onto the fire
.

Then he makes gestures of washing himself

with the smoke
.

When he has finished the ceremonial cleansing
,

he slaps the ground with an open hand
.

“I, His Crazy Horse,” he says
,

“from the Hunkpatila Oglala of the Titunwan Lakota
,

I look, and I tell you truly what I see.”

The drum throbs
.

TEMPTATION

It was driving him mad.

He waited near the three other young men, his blanket wrapped up to his eyes. As though anyone would not know who he was, with his hair the color of a sage hen chick sticking out at the top. At least the right side, once shaven, had grown out until he could braid it now. Or let it hang long and flash the color of the sun when he and Hawk rode into battle.

The four young men did not look at each other, for this was a kind of fakery. Each was apparently waiting for a chance to stand wrapped close with Black Buffalo Woman for a short while. His Crazy Horse, once called Light Curly Hair, now honored with his father’s name, stood farthest from the lodge and so by convention claimed the most time with her. Since he had more war honors than almost any man twice his age, no one would deny him this privilege. Not even He Dog, who stood next to him. She would come to him first and stay with him longest.

Actually, she would spend almost no time with anyone else, for they had no interest in courting her. He Dog was here because Crazy Horse had asked him. Next to He Dog was Lone Bear, up to his chin in a good blanket. Next to He Dog was Hump. If all four stood in line, they knew, no other men would come courting tonight. Crazy Horse was sick of seeing others lined up to court his woman, especially Bad Faces.

Not that this trick would cure anything. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Black Buffalo Woman wasn’t wearing his ring, again using the excuse that he didn’t wear hers. He also thought she was avoiding him. All this made him feel like a lunatic.

Half of him was saying.
How foolish! How silly to imagine such things!
And reminded him of the signs of preference Black Buffalo Woman had given him. She had slipped away with him exactly seven times. He remembered them all in detail that was exquisite and excruciating all at once. He drove himself mad with remembering them. Also, and most important, she sometimes wore his ring openly. Sometimes.

He also tortured himself with thoughts of the signs of preference she didn’t give him. She hadn’t gone into the willows with him since he got his new name. And she could be stubborn. He imagined the dialogue.

She: “You don’t wear my ring.”

He: “But I
can’t
—you should understand that!”

She, mockingly: “But I
can’t
—you should understand that!”

He: “You dance with others and not me.”

She: “You won’t dance.”

He: “You don’t slip away with me anymore.”

She: “An invitation to disgrace.”

He: “You let others court you.”

She: “I’m obliged to.”

He: “But
No Water!
”

She: “No Water is a fine young Lakota. And he doesn’t dress like a beggar.”

He: “You pretend we aren’t betrothed.”

She, with a shrug: “You have tied no horses at my lodge.”

It wore him out just to think so many words in a row. And thinking was as futile as saying them would be.

His father and mothers hinted often that Crazy Horse should send a relative with horses. No Water was the favorite of Black Buffalo Woman’s family, they said, and he commanded more and more respect these days. Her father and mothers were inclined to No Water. The brother who owned the right to give her away in marriage also preferred the Bad Face. The Bad Face people wanted her to marry within the village, it was said, to tighten the bonds of kinship and give the band new children. They reminded everyone that a youthful betrothal didn’t mean much. They said Crazy Horse no longer seemed interested and would be relieved to see her marry another.

Crazy Horse snorted at this foolishness. Black Buffalo Woman knew better.

On other evenings his family would hint that it was all political. Red Cloud was making himself the first man of the Bad Faces, they said. They traded dark looks, not needing to say that most people thought Red Cloud was the one who had actually struck the fatal blow against Bull Bear twenty years ago, put up to it by Smoke. This was why he had never been made a shirtman.
A-i-i-i
, even though he was strong in war.

Now he was drawing all the strong young Bad Face men to him, they said. He Dog mostly lived back with the Bad Faces now, probably to be near Red Cloud. Pretty Fellow was the war leader’s friend, always loitering around his lodge. Red Cloud was also drawing the promising three young brothers to him, the twins and No Water—he was maneuvering to get the family to give his niece Black Buffalo Woman to No Water in marriage.

“
Hunhunhe
,” would mutter Crazy Horse’s father, Worm, in apprehension. Worm sought for himself the great Lakota virtue of being common as grass—that was what his new name suggested, for the worm was common. But Red Cloud was self-glorifying, seeking to make himself separate from others and above them. Or so many people said.

Crazy Horse listened to all this talk and said nothing. He could be as he was, he could follow his vision, but he could do no more.

He was all mixed up. Did he have the right to marry at all? Sometimes he didn’t think so. But wasn’t his path pure and clean, dangerous but glorious? And didn’t Black Buffalo Woman love that?

She would belong to him, surely.

She felt giddy. These days, torn between two men, she seemed to feel giddy all the time and even dizzy. This was a familiar giddiness, though. She eased closer to Crazy Horse, her shoulder and hips touching his.

She felt his arms stiffen unpleasantly.

She glimpsed No Water’s back going into her lodge.

She smiled to herself. Oh, yes, that would make Crazy Horse angry, as it did every other young man interested in her. No Water walked straight into her lodge these days and courted her by the center of fire of her own home, with the blessings of her family. If No Water weren’t a rising man, important, this rudeness, this bypassing of other young men, would cause not only anger but fights.

It was time for her to begin to speak nothings. “Where will your people camp this winter? Is your sister well? And her husband? How is your brother?”

She felt Crazy Horse relent when asked about Little Hawk. “My brother will be the most daring of us all,” he said with naked pride. It touched her—his voice seldom showed nakedness, or his face. She felt a pang of regret. She loved him sometimes, maybe all the time, she truly did.

Other than the words about his brother he said almost nothing. He held an arm around her shoulders, and his face and body said it all. No Water had disappeared from his mind. She filled his thinking, his feeling, his being. She felt it, and she knew it. He seemed unwilling to contaminate this feeling of his entire self with the commonplace currency of words.

Regret. Unfortunately, she knew too much about the way he loved her. And she had made up her mind to speak tonight. To resolve something. Now. It would shock him.

“You don’t really want me,” she said. The words came out like a cough, and she repeated them. “You don’t really want me.” She looked at him hard, wondering what he would do.

“What do you mean?” he said. The words came out flat, slowly, one at a time, like pebbles tossed onto ice. He felt relieved that he was able to talk at all.

“Your mind is really somewhere else, all the time.”

He shook his head gently. Some things he was sure of. He let himself be aware of her warm body against him. “Not at all.”

She lay her cheek against his chest, and he felt her head nod. “It’s always on … whatever you see in your head. People talk about it, you know. You walk around camp, but you don’t see us. You’re looking at… something you think is better.”

He had nothing to say.

She raised her face to him, and now he saw the tears. “You don’t want a woman, you don’t want a family, you don’t want a warm lodge and lots of children. You want to be out with your friends, testing yourself against some …” She hesitated, and then threw the word away. “Ideal.”

His throat almost strangled on the words. “Is that so bad?”

Now her face got more serious, challenging. “I won’t be a second wife. Not to anything. Me second, the family third …”

“Not second and third,” he protested.

“You won’t even be alive to see them grow up,” she said softly. She bit her lip and shook her head no. “Very young men are in love with fantasies of battle,” she said. “Grown men take care of those they love first.”

“I would always take care of you.”

She nodded, and her tears flowed again. She hid her face in his chest. “I know,” she mewled.

After a long moment she looked back up. “Why haven’t you staked horses at my lodge?”

He hesitated. He couldn’t say why, it was complicated. He decided. “Tomorrow I go raiding,” he said. “I will bring lots of horses back.”

She knew he meant it. He looked at her, his eyes burning, and she knew. She took a deep breath, in and out. She didn’t know what to say. He didn’t realize that to her his crucial words were, “Tomorrow I go raiding.” She said, “I should move on.”

He didn’t respond. She lowered her head. She’d slipped into the woods with Crazy Horse just once since No Water threatened her. She remembered his words very well—“I will kill you. Not him.” Her woozy belly and weak knees said he meant it.

Now she often felt relieved that she could resist Crazy Horse. Deep breath, in and out.

He held her tighter.

Originally, she had scoffed at the idea of marrying No Water.
Acch
, no, all heavy and stiff and rigid as a tree trunk. No Water should marry an old woman, because he was like an old man.

But when he had stolen the stains of her first flow … When he had a spell cast on her …

She was as much fascinated as horrified. She toyed with pictures of his boldness in her mind, stealing the bundle, getting purified of the contamination of touching it, conjuring over it. She felt a little thrill.

Power. It lay before most men openly, and they were afraid to pick it up. They wanted it, but they lacked will.

No Water picked it up, seized it, even stole it. He used it however he
pleased, ruthlessly. She felt this spine of will in him. He would take whatever he wanted.

No Water made her breath come short, when she thought about his brazenness. He frightened her and made her knees watery.

“You must decide,” she told Crazy Horse.

In fact, she had to decide. Her family was pressing her politely. If she said firmly, “I will not marry the Strange Man,” it would be over. If she said something as oblique as, “He is attractive, that No Water,” her brother would say a quiet word and the next day horses would be staked at her lodge. So far she had said only, “I don’t know about that fellow.” Had said it over and over.

He squeezed her, and she turned her breasts against his chest and moved her hips gently against him. A reminder.
Oh, how I love you
, he thought.

She would move on to the next blanket soon, He Dog’s. She sometimes said she was glad for forms, which gave necessary shapes to human behavior. Crazy Horse hated forms, which forced people into their shape. He must say something more before she left or repeat his promise of horses. He tried words in his mind:
My heart decided years ago …
He drew in the scent of her deeply and prepared to speak.

Suddenly He Dog bellowed, “Let’s rescue that captive in His Crazy Horse’s blanket!” His voice was teasing, playful.

“His Crazy Horse is stealing all our time,” said Lone Bear in the same spirit.

Black Buffalo Woman cocked her head back and looked into his eyes, her body pressed against him. “I always stand too long in your blanket,” she said. He saw her sucking at her cheeks to keep from smiling too broadly. She took the teasing better than he did.

The lodge door swished behind her. He looked into her grandmother’s face. The old woman rushed at them in a small fury. “Get away from my granddaughter!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

Crazy Horse tried to turn Black Buffalo Woman away from her. Old, bony fingers tore at his blanket.

Black Buffalo Woman lurched backward and almost took both of them down.

Humiliation flashed in him like gunpowder. He opened his blanket quickly to let Black Buffalo Woman out and closed it back up to his eyes.

“You think you’re better than our Bad Face young men.” The old woman spat the words contemptuously. “You’re not fooling anybody.”

She shambled off into the trees, perhaps to relieve herself. He felt as if he’d been attacked by a little, wrinkled, empty bearskin. And whipped.

As Black Buffalo Woman slipped into Lone Bear’s blanket, Crazy
Horse caught his friend’s merry eyes. “If you’re going to steal a woman, you have to be able to fight off her grandmother,” said Lone Bear.

“At least,” agreed He Dog.

Crazy Horse walked off, chest tight with frustration.

Crazy Horse rode into the clearing at the rear and a little to one side of the line of riders, as was his way. He let his eyes roam around the group of Bad Faces without appearing to inspect them. Red Cloud, No Water, the twins, He Dog, and half a dozen others.

Hump grinned back past Little Hawk and winked. “They invited us Hunkpatila to be the lunatic point of the spear,” he said. “Let’s show them.” And the five of them goaded their ponies into the circle of warriors and cut in and out and curlicued and curveted and kicked up the dust in their friends’ faces.

Little Hawk dismounted laughing, which pleased Crazy Horse’s heart. It was his first time to go to war with his little brother. At fifteen winters, Little Hawk was thicker-bodied than Crazy Horse, and just as tall. His hair had darkened more than his older brother’s, to dark brown, so he was less conspicuous. Already Little Hawk had a reputation for daring, even recklessness. He and Hump together would make a fine spear point. Even Crazy Horse, pledged to desperate deeds, was more cautious than these two. And compared to the first three, Young Man-Whose-Enemies and Black Elk were sedate. “No hanging back this time,” Hump said to them. “We are the Hunkpatila.”

So they lounged with the Bad Face young men and munched on pemmican from the bags and talked about what they would do. Red Cloud had sent the
canupa
to Hump, inviting him to pick some young men to come with him. All the Hunkpatila were glad to come. After all, the leader was Red Cloud, Mahpiya Luta himself.