Nakoa's Woman (8 page)

When the coups of Opiowan had been recited and finished, the drums suddenly changed, and the boys following their chosen warrior quickly scattered. Faster and faster beat the tempo, and the challenged men rode together, chanting themselves.

“What is it?” Maria asked, tugging at Atsitsi’s sleeve.

“Wolf song. Now they fight!”

“What do you mean?”

“Sing Wolf song just before battle!”

The warriors nudged their horses into a wild run, and their ponies’ hoofs kicked dust at the spectators who stood oblivious to it. Enraptured, they listened to the warriors’ chanting, the lust to kill intoxicating them all. Wildness, savagery, pounded above the drums. Faster and faster went the horses beaten into a new frenzy, and with a sudden and wild shout, their riders urged them on, and broke from the circle. The spectators scattered in all directions, then ran frantically after them as they raced toward the waiting Snakes.

Row to row, man to man, horse to horse. Blackfoot and Snake stood upon the prairie facing each other. Panting, Maria reached the rest of the spectators, and when Atsitsi came and shoved her way to the front, Maria followed her. She saw Anatsa, and saved a place near them.

The girl stood watching Nakoa’s friend. Maria saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

“Anatsa—” she said gently, and took the crippled girl’s hand.

“Apikunni,”
the crippled girl whispered. “Father—the Sun …” She did not go on.

“Why she loves him!” Maria thought, and within her own hand, Anatsa’s grew cold.

At last the Blackfoot drums became silent. A meadowlark called out near them. “Bet forget white titty now!” Atsitsi said, still watching Nakoa.

“Shut up!” Maria hissed, shaking in spite of herself.

“Dumb man might be killed and not get to hear you talk Pikuni,” said Atsitsi.

“Keepetahkee!”
Nakoa shouted to Shonka who shouted the word back, and kicking his horse into a run, made a wide circle away from Nakoa and his Blackfoot warriors. Thirty yards away he turned the animal, and rode at a dead run toward Nakoa as if he meant to ride him down. Nakoa’s horse began to plunge in terror, and when Shonka threw his lance almost at his feet, Nakoa had difficulty holding him down.

A soft sound came from the Blackfoot spectators. Nakoa kicked his horse and riding a similar circle, plunged his lance before Shonka’s horse. Instantly Nakoa and Shonka rode away from each other, turned, and came back upon each other as fast as their horses could skim the rank grass. Maria hid her face within her hands and in a second heard the awful twanging of bows, a sound that made her sick with terror.

“Haiyah! Haiyah!”
the Blackfoot were shouting excitedly. Maria looked up and saw that the Snake’s horse had taken an arrow and was thrashing upon its side in agony. A woman screamed,
“Initsiwah!”
The crowd around Maria repeated the word excitedly.
“Initsiwah!”
Kill him! Kill him!

Shonka worked free from his horse. He faced Nakoa and held his quiver high so that Nakoa could see that in his fall it had been emptied of all his arrows. Nakoa pulled in his horse, and in spite of the frenzied shouting did not ride the Snake down. Swiftly, he dismounted, and holding his quiver high, threw it and the arrows it contained away from him. The Blackfoot moaned in fury. He then cast aside his bow and his shield. Shonka drew out his knife, and stripped to just his knife too, Nakoa went to meet him. Disgruntled silence settled upon the Blackfoot.

Nakoa’s hand moved toward his knife belt and came away empty.

Maria cringed. He had lost his knife! He had shown the Snake mercy, would not Shonka do the same for him? But Shonka would not wait for Nakoa to find his knife or get a new one.

The Blackfoot moaned again. Would not Natosin stop this, and see that his son was armed to fight?
“Niikassi! Niikassi!”
shouted some men to Nakoa, but his father made no move to help him, and Shonka came at him for the kill.

Maria could not see Nakoa killed. She could not accept his death. Oh, God, what good the prayer drum, the paint, the forlorn chanting. The crippled girl began to look at her closely.

Maria could not turn away. The dawn was red. Red sky burned all around her from the pitiful wagons, and now another would die that she loved.

Nakoa was backing away from Shonka. He stopped suddenly where he had thrown his bow and, with an incredibly swift movement, grasped it, parrying with it the knife thrusts that Shonka now dealt furiously upon him. Retreating all the while, in a magnificent gesture of surprise, he felled Shonka with one swipe of the bow and leaped upon him. Lying upon the earth, twisting, turning, thrashing, the two men struggled for the knife, and its blade slashed both of them, and each lay colored with the other’s blood. Nakoa was the stronger; wresting the knife finally away, he plunged it into Shonka’s heart. A long sigh traveled out from the Blackfoot; air rushed into Maria’s lungs; color returned to her face. Atsitsi began to scratch with relief.

Maria turned away. Nakoa was scalping Shonka, and when he had finished, he stood and faced the mounted Snakes, silently holding their leader’s bloody scalp.

Bloody sunrise was gone, and a golden morning rested upon the still grasses. A meadowlark called out sweetly. Now it was that Shonka lay dead in Blackfoot land. Now it was that a Snake lodge would hear the wailing of grief and useless despair, and the wandering soul of Easapa would know no peace.

The four Snakes looked down upon their leader’s hair held in Nakoa’s hands and spoke no words, and made no sign. The long black locks seemed to move with their own life. Silent upon their painted horses, they were but four men alone in the land of their enemy, four men alone and without even the protection of their medicine now. Even the great Shonka’s medicine had not been strong enough to save him from an unarmed man!

Slowly, one of the Snakes turned his horse to the south, back to where their villages lay. Another followed, and in time another, and when the first three were small upon the prairie, the fourth turned away from the waiting and silent Mutsik too, and not one Blackfoot spoke a word, or called anything after him. Now all of the Snakes were gone except Shonka who rested behind them with his hands outstretched, still reaching for the knife that had been taken from him.

With terrible difficulty, Nakoa mounted his horse, and rode slowly toward the spectators. Silently, the Blackfoot made room for him to pass, and Maria went to where his horse was picking his way through the crowds. Unthinking, on blind impulse, she blocked the animal’s way. With tears touching her face, she looked up at him, wanting to tell him that she loved him, that in these last moments she had learned that she wanted life with him, and could not bear life without him. “Nakoa,” she whispered, but this was all she could say, for she could not think of one word in his tongue.

His right arm was horribly mutilated, and dangled uselessly at his side. Blood welled yet in his chest, and at his side, and when Maria saw his bleeding, she shuddered against his horse. Without a word to her, he moved the animal around her, and then the crowds following him hid him from her sight.

He had looked at her without any expression of recognition. She looked back once more at Shonka. She would rather be dead than alive. In this awful world she was all alone, for the man she loved did not even know her.

Chapter Eight

The celebration of Nakoa’s victory went on for weeks. There was feasting in all the lodges. When the cooking fires were going, the flaps of all of the tipis were left open and anyone could enter and eat. Atsitsi was everywhere. Her own fire was dead; she was tired of the dried meat she had in store, and wanted the fresh game that the hunters brought to their lodges. Their women received her coldly, but this didn’t bother Atsitsi. She went from one lodge to another, eating constantly, and only stopped long enough to torment Maria when she too entered a lodge for food.

“Sweet little thing tired of own company?” she would ask Maria in English. “You die on own sugar?”

“I have come to see how long these women can stand you,” Maria snapped back.

“I much too good for them,” Atsitsi said. “Big damn fools. But fresh meat good. This good about men. Bring fresh meat and always have big stick.”

Maria shuddered. Her hostess looked concerned, as if Maria had found the food bad. Maria smiled at her, and told her in Pikuni how well the meat was prepared.

“Her husband good hunter,” Atsitsi commented in English. “Hunt all time for fresh meat and fresh girl. Find both. That’s why so strong. Exercise all the time.”

“Why don’t you say this in Pikuni?” Maria hissed to her.

“No. Let dumb wife sit all time on sweet ass. Why keep unmarried girls in tribe from good time?”

Maria decided to ignore her and turned to the Indian woman be side her. “I am called Maria,” she said in Pikuni.

“I am Sikapischis,” the woman answered. “I live two lodges from this one. I live with my son Siyeh, and with my father who cannot see with his eyes.”

“You have no husband?” Maria asked.

“My husband is dead. He went into Snake land for coups and did not return.”

“He went for coups and stayed for…” Atsitsi started, and Maria responded with an anger that startled everyone in the lodge.

“I know what you were going to say! You are not going to insult this woman’s dead husband to me!”

Sick with Atsitsi, Maria got up and left the lodge. They did not speak that night but the next morning resumed Maria’s language lesson and their bitter battle.

“Hurry up and fill brain,” Atsitsi said disgustedly. “Learn all by damn words so can screw in Pikuni. I tired of you around.”

“I don’t find you exactly charming.”

“Now how can you sit here in hot sun? You sweat in heat. Why not go quick and jump in river?”

“I have already bathed. But you haven’t, so I prefer it outside.”

Maria rose and walked away, her hands pressed to her ears as Atsitsi’s words followed her. She became dimly aware that ahead of her a large crowd was watching a horse race. She quietly joined the spectators. Across the circle she saw an Indian watching her. It was Siksikai. Other men began to glance at her. If they thought it rude to look a person full in the face why did they all stare at her? She closed her eyes in helpless anguish, and when she opened them, she saw that two men, with their backs to her, talked to Siksikai. It was Apikunni and Nakoa, and when they turned toward her, she could see that she was the subject of their conversation. Her senses tightened, and her mouth became suddenly dry. What was happening was not good for her; she could feel it with certainty. Talk built everywhere around her now. Women were staring at her too. There was a sudden agitation as someone shoved toward the front of the crowd. It was Atsitsi.

“Now what I hear?” she shouted. Her little black eyes darting wildly around. “Ha! Siksikai and Nakoa talk!” She slapped her thigh, and showed her gums.

“Why do you always have to follow me?” Maria snarled.

“Like bee to sweet little flower,” Atsitsi chirped. She grabbed a woman standing near them and shook her roughly. They talked in Pikuni and Maria could not follow their words, but gathered that Atsitsi was asking her questions. “Ha!” she said again with such glee that Maria felt panic. “Why are you so happy?” she asked her.

“Good world now,” Atsitsi answered. She began to scratch happily.

Maria felt a chill, and the perspiration upon her body felt like ice. “What is it?” she asked. “Why is everyone staring at me?”

“To see if when you sweat, sweet bird song come from your body!”

Siksikai and Nakoa walked to the starting line of the racers. All talking around Maria stopped.

“They are going to race!” Maria said stupidly.

“No!” hissed Atsitsi back, pretending surprise.

“You old devil, Nakoa can’t race—he’s still wounded!”

“Nakoa doesn’t race. His horse does.”

“You’re so smart!”

“All Indian smart. Even Nakoa now!”

“What are you talking about?”

Where Nakoa and Siksikai had stood mounted, there now appeared two bursts of dust, racing toward the crowd at the finishing line. Nakoa’s horse had gained the lead and kept it, but as they approached, both quirting their horses savagely, no one shouted or cheered as they had done in the previous race. At the finish, both riders dismounted, and Siksikai silently handed his horse over to Nakoa.

“They bet their war horses!” Maria exclaimed in surprise because she had learned how valuable these animals were to the Indian.

“Siksikai bet horse. Nakoa not so stupid. He bet you!” Atsitsi said in triumph.

There it was again, in all of its terrible clarity. To Nakoa she was an animal to be traded for a horse. With black rage came darker despair. That night Maria paced Atsitsi’s lodge like a caged animal. She hid her face in her hands. “To him I am a dog—a lowly dog!”

“No. He just like horse better! Now why you so mad?”

Maria picked up a piece of wood. “Don’t speak to me! If you say another word I will kill you!” Tears coursed down her cheeks in spite of herself. She flung herself upon her couch.

“White woman fit all of time!” Atsitsi moaned. “Why not go outside and have fit? More room!” Atsitsi began to eat, and finally Maria quieted. From the inner circle came the sound of drums. “What is that?” Maria asked.

“Mutsik dance in council lodge; celebration ‘cause you finally shut up.”

Maria turned to the wall, a plan beginning to form in her mind. She remained quiet and pretended to sleep. Much later she cautiously turned over and saw that Atsitsi had fallen asleep, her mouth slack and spittle running from its corners.

“She must be having a good dream,” Maria thought. “Atsitsi!” she whispered. “Atsitsi!”

The old woman started slightly, scratched and began to snore. Maria noiselessly left the lodge.

Laughter and singing were coming from the inner circle, and Maria walked toward it. The cool night air brushed her face, smelling as it always did of the pine from the mountains. Nakoa would be in the Mutsik lodge; the thought of seeing him in a few minutes made a tumult in her mind, a pounding in her blood.

“Who is this?” a voice asked suddenly.

Maria looked up at a tall shadowed form. “The white woman,” she faltered. “I do not know you,” she continued slowly in Pikuni.

“I am Siksikai.”

Maria drew back in fear.

“Why is Nakoa’s white woman walking alone at night without Atsitsi?”

“She fell asleep. I wanted some fresh air.”

“You speak our tongue well.”

“Atsitsi spends all day teaching it to me! That is, when Atsitsi is not eating.”

Siksikai did not smile at her humor. Maria could see him better now, and he was studying her intently. “Has Atsitsi told you that Nakoa is to give you to me?”

Maria bowed her head. “Yes.”

“I do not want to wait,” he said suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“You know my words. Come to my lodge with me now. Nakoa will not know.”

Maria began to shake in fury. “It is to be that easy? From one to another?”

“I have looked at you.” She started to back away from him, but he held her closely. One hand held her wrists and the other brushed her hair, her lashes and finally her lips. He kissed her mouth. “I have watched these lips,” he whispered. “I have seen your breasts—naked—beautiful—and I will see the rest of you.”

With a tremendous effort Maria broke away from him. “Move toward me, and I will scream!” she panted. “Nakoa almost killed you twice because of me!”

He remained still.

“You do not know that he will not keep me!”

“He will give you to me. Nitanna would have it no other way. What you do now will determine the way you will be treated as long as I have you.”

“I have no choice. You will have to wait your turn—like the others—after you.” In spite of her intent, she had begun to cry. She walked away from him, toward the inner lodges, and he made no attempt to restrain her.

“Remember my words,” he said quietly, but she neither answered nor turned around.

Near the council lodge, she stopped to wipe the tears from her face. Inside there was loud laughter, and the drums began again.

“Maria!” a feminine voice called softly. “Maria!” It was Anatsa; Maria could tell by the crippled girl’s walk as she came toward her. “Maria,” she said, very agitated. “What are you doing here?”

“I am going to a dance,” Maria said bitterly.

“It is for only the wives and sweethearts of the Mutsik!”

“Well, aren’t I everybody’s sweetheart?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you have heard. Everybody in the village has heard. Anyone can be my lover. In your tongue I would be unclean. In my tongue I would be a whore. In either tongue, I am to be another Atsitsi!”

The little Indian girl took Maria’s hand. Maria fought tears, and was surprised to see them spring into the Indian girl’s eyes. “I know your pain,” Anatsa said simply. “Come and sit with me before Onesta’s lodge, and we will talk.”

Wordlessly, they seated themselves before the darkened and quiet tipi, both watching the lighted council lodge so close to them.

“Where is Atsitsi?” Anatsa asked.

“Asleep. She won’t get up until she gets hungry.”

“Why did you walk here alone? This would make Nakoa very angry.”

“I—hoped to see him. I want to talk with him.”

“Inside there tonight there will be sacred ceremony. This night the women of Mutsik choose their lovers—the men they will accept.”

“Do the women do the choosing?”

“In this dance they do. If a man does not want to be the woman’s lover, he does not meet her in the Kissing Dance.” Anatsa’s slender hands began to twist again in her lap. She had been sick all day at the thought of a woman choosing Apikunni and his accepting her. Maria saw her hands.

“Anatsa,” she said gently, “I think I know what is in your heart.”

Anatsa looked startled. “What is in my heart?” she repeated.

“Yes. You love Apikunni.”

Anatsa bowed her head.

“Why do you bow your head at love?”

“Because I am nothing before it. Love brings agony, but loving alone brings death. No there is not even the peace of death. There is just emptiness. Emptiness—with expectation gone.”

“Why should expectation be gone for you?”

Tears now rushed suddenly down the thin cheeks. “How can you ask this when you have seen me? Have you not seen that I am crippled and ugly, a thing that can never even grow into a woman? It is only a woman that can produce a son!”

“I see a beautiful young girl who has the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen. I do not see just a crippled leg.”

“If I existed for him at all—that is all he would see. But I do not exist for him—I cannot!”

“Little fool!” Maria scolded tenderly. “Little fool. You do exist, and you cannot destroy yourself by saying you are nothing. Does he know your love? Does he know your feelings? Does he know that you would take his face within your hands and kiss his lips and know nothing else in the world but the need to do it again and again?”

Anatsa looked at Maria strangely.

“Does he know that you would lie with him and in your love have all of the beauty of all of the women who ever loved a man? You can be drink that he will have to have—yes, you!” Anatsa looked into the beautiful shadowed face. Maria stood, feeling a strength that shook the prairie. “Such is the power of the woman who loves,” she said softly. “It is as strong as the tide of the oceans—the pull of the earth. Anatsa,” she said. “Get up. We will go to the sacred dance!”

“I have no sweetheart,” Anatsa said.

“I give you one of mine!”

“Maria, it is serious ceremony!”

“And I am serious. Anatsa, I saw my father and sister die. My old life is dead, but I am not. I am living now, with each beating of my heart, and there is no place upon this earth for the living to hide. I will not hide, Anatsa, and neither will you.”

“I cannot.”

“Then I will go there alone.”

“Maria, you cannot, you have been told not to leave Atsitsi’s alone.”

“Inside of the lodge I will be with the whole Mutsik.”

“All right,” Anatsa whispered, getting to her feet. “I will go with you.”