Sacajawea (27 page)

The woman shrugged her shoulders and sat down near the smoking fire. Sacajawea wondered why this woman had come to talk with her, why she was not working.

“Recently there was a Becoming a Woman Ceremony,” the woman said unexpectedly.

“Ai.
I was honored by my mother, Grasshopper,” said Sacajawea with a hint of bragging in her voice.

The woman got to her feet and danced to the right and to the left.
“Hih-hih-hih.
I knew it. The food was good there.”

“I will tell Grasshopper. She will be pleased with your comment.”

“Will she also be pleased to know that I found the weasel collar she left in the trash heap?” the woman said. “Kakoakis would not like to know his present was so poorly treated.”

Sacajawea felt her forehead crinkling in a frown, and her eyes pulling together as though she were trying to see through the smoke. This was the woman Grasshopper saw running from the refuse heap! Who was this woman? Why was she here?”

“Why would you tell Kakoakis?”

“You are not very smart,” said the woman, tapping a finger to her head. “My man is friends with all the chiefs, and especially Kakoakis and the Wolf Chief. They are three important men.
Hih-hih!
Jussome is a go-between for the white traders and the Mandans.” She stuck her grubby right hand inside the front of her blouse and, pulling the weasel collar out, placed it around her neck and paraded in front of Sacajawea.

Sacajawea felt no compassion at all for the woman and her burned shoulders anymore. She felt blind anger. “You had better take that off,” she said, trembling. She searched for Rosebud for help, but Rosebud had not yet returned from the riverbank with the wet leaves.

“I will take it off and maybe let you have it if you will tell me what is in the bottom of the sacred medicine ark.”

“I will tell you these things are very old and belongto this village! They do not concern you. They were left by the first Mandans who lived here, ages before us.” Sacajawea reached out her hand for the collar.

“I’m wearing it while I eat at the lodge of the Wolf Chief in the company of Chief Kakoakis,” said the woman with a sharpness to her tongue that cut deep into Sacajawea.

“But you said—”

“I wanted to know why you were looking in there yesterday. My man has asked me to get a talking stone from there. He said he could be a rich man if he had that. Will you get it for me?”

“No! It belongs here. It is of no use to anyone personally. It is a village thing. It is something from their past. Only the Great Spirit remembers the significance of it. For you it would be a bad token.”

“Something bad?”

“Ai,
something that would make your man soft and your children find an early death. Like the root of the mayapple when held tightly over a deep wound. Perhaps by morning you would be dead.”

The woman gaped wide-eyed at Sacajawea. “Dead? You are making a mistake.”

“Grasshopper made a mistake with the gift Kakoakis gave to Sweet Clover, and I will take the collar as you said.”

“Grasshopper’s mistake!
Hiiaaa!
“ The woman stepped closer to Sacajawea, her children on either side of her. “I know your sister. I was there when she became sick. It was only in fun, but she was soft, a weak one. I played the man-and-woman games, too, and it did not make me crazy in the head.
Ai,
look what it got me.” She pointed a dirty finger at her boy and girl. Then she made an obscene gesture with her hands and hips toward Sacajawea, and broke into a barking, staccato laugh. Controlling herself, she added, “Handsome, aren’t they?”

“What is Jussome that he would want the sacred relics in the medicine ark?” Sacajawea said.

“Yiiii,”
the woman burst out mockingly. “What is Jussome? What is French? That is the language of my man. He calls it
français.
You take a lot of time asking questions. You do not know much!”

“I am finding out,” said Sacajawea, disliking the woman more and more. “Your man is from the nation of Jussome, and he speaks
français.”

“I ought to give you a good pounding for talking smart, but instead I am going to wear this collar and not give it back to you.” She rubbed her grimy hand on it and smoothed the white fur. “Kakoakis owes me a gift, anyway, and I have wanted this for moons. He knew it, too—the filthy skunk.”

“Does Kakoakis owe you a present? What for?” asked Sacajawea, once again holding out her hand for the weasel-tail collar.

“Why, I ought to—I ought—that just shows how dumb you are! Kakoakis likes the roundness of my body and my hard breasts thrust against his bare chest. It is the sight of them that holds his one glittering eye and makes the saliva drip from his loose-lipped mouth. He owes me a lot!”

Sacajawea took a step backward in surprise. The woman looked wild and disheveled, primordial, pagan. Her hands were filthy, and her clothes smeared with grease and blood. Her hair had loosened and was coming down about her shoulders in uneven lengths. The way she looked, it did not seem possible that anyone would like her. The woman had caught her breath and started again. “And my man likes the presents he gets from the Wolf Chief and Chief Kakoakis, so he sells me for a night or two.”

“Sells you? Trades for you?” asked Sacajawea, low-voiced. “And you do not mind?”

“What can I do?” the woman asked. “I have nothing to say about it.” She wrung her hands in helpless resignation. “But I do not care. They play games I enjoy. My man is nothing compared to the excitement those chiefs can bring to me.
Eeeeiii
—they make me wild with urges, and I will do anything for them. They are devils. Like the devil of Okeepa.” She looked toward the heavens and pushed her full breasts together, squeezing tightly.

“Why did you come to talk with me?” asked Sacajawea. “You talk longer than an old squaw. What is truly on your mind?”

“Do you think I did not observe Kakoakis’s foolishlooks at you during your ceremony? And you danced with no man. That made others swing their glances in your direction. They forgot about me. Kakoakis is still hot for you. Then I found you here, talking to Four Bears. I want you to think of those sweet small breasts under your chin that Kakoakis finds so exciting, even though he has not seen them. How would you like one of them cut off?” She made a slash with her hand toward Sacajawea.

Sacajawea stepped quickly backward. She felt the blood leave her head, and her feet felt heavy. Then her anger returned, and she reached out and snatched the weasel-tail collar from the woman’s neck.

“Give that back to me!”

“I will not! And if you do not leave, I will tell Four Bears that you plan to steal the relics from the ark.”

“You would not!”

“Ai! I would.”

The woman turned and walked away, with her two children following. Her backside moved with each step as though she were put together with extra loose sinews. “Kakoakis is becoming completely blind!” yelled the woman.

Rosebud came back, flushed of face, with a great skirt full of wet, soggy leaves, which she dumped near the fire.

“Do you know her?” Sacajawea asked, pointing toward the swaying hips.

Rosebud began an angry guttural discourse. “She is Flower Who Awaits the Bee, woman of a white trader. She is also known as Squaw of Any Man. She has another name that will stay with her for a long time. The Mandans call her Broken Tooth, because one time her man hit her on the mouth with the end of his firestick after she sneaked out to Kakoakis’s lodge without his permission. Everyone knows about her and her white man, who has strange laws. If he gives his permission for her to go, it is all right. If he does not tell her to go, she must not. But everyone knows she goes to Kakoakis when she wants.”

“She is the woman Grasshopper found at the refuse heap. She had the weasel collar,” said Sacajawea. “Itook it away from her. She talked of many strange things.”

“So—it was Broken Tooth! I am not surprised. She thinks she is the answer to all men’s desires, and she does not like anyone who has things prettier than she.”

Then Sacajawea asked, “What are we going to do about the collar?”

“That is easy,” said Rosebud. “We will bring it back to Grasshopper and tell her what happened. What is not easy is how we are to finish our work! We must be ready to return home with Fast Arrow and Redpipe in the morning.” She began stuffing the wet leaves into the meat-smoking fire, and soon Sacajawea was too busy cutting buffalo meat to worry further about Broken Tooth and the weasel collar, which she had tucked into a pouch for safekeeping.

In the morning they prepared to leave the village of the Mandans. It had been a successful buffalo hunt, and Sacajawea and Rosebud were pleased that they would return with Redpipe and Fast Arrow in one month, for the ceremony of the Okeepa.

All the mysticism, religious devotion, and endeavor to be in the good graces of the Great Spirit, found its ultimate expression in what the Mandans called O-kee-pa. Among the rituals of the peoples of the earth it would be difficult to find any practice of self-imposed penance more excruciating. Sacrifice was an important part of the Plains Indians’ religion. It was widely practiced and took many forms, from the simple offering of a bit of meat cast into the fire before eating, or the burning of the first ear of corn before the harvest, to the inflicting of pain approaching the brink of death. But nothing equaled the ordeal of the O-kee-pa.
¹

Harold mc cracken
,
George Catlin and the Old Frontier.
New York: Crown Publishers Inc., 1959, p. 101.

T
he women of Redpipe’s lodge chatted excitedly as they erected a small buffalo-hide tent. They were preparing for Fast Arrow’s steam bath, which was part of the formalities to be undergone before offering oneself to the Mandan chiefs for the Okeepa Ceremony. Grasshopper waddled off to the Council Lodge of her village for the wicker bathtub that was used for the men’s steam baths. Rosebud had pushed several large stones into the center of a hot fire near the hide tent. Sacajawea gathered sticks for the fire. Redpipe sat nearby smoking and letting his grandchildren climb in and out of his arms. Several villagers walked past, but using the steam bath was a common thing—they did not stop to talk.

Naked, Fast Arrow solemnly climbed into the tub and sat on fresh-crushed sage leaves with his arms wrapped around his knees. Rosebud rolled the hot stones by means of a long stick into the tent, and Sacajawea sprinkled more crushed sage and other medicinal leaves on the hot stones, at the same time dousing them with cold water. Thick clouds of steam rose, extracting the exhilarating aromatics from the sage and feathery green anise shoots. The women left while Fast Arrow inhaled deeply into his lungs, purifying his body so that he would be ready to take his part in the upcoming Poh-khong rites, the torture of the Okeepa. Fast Arrow thought of his great honor in becoming the adopted son of Chief Four Bears.

Before the steam cooled down and completely condensed, he dashed out and plunged into the cold water of the Knife River. Rosebud followed Fast Arrow with a buffalo robe and wrapped him in it for warmth on the way back to the lodge. A few curious eyes watched from the doors of the lodges, but no one was so curious as to come out and ask why he was using the steam bath this particular day. Rosebud rubbed him vigorously with bear grease, while Sacajawea and Grasshopper served him a meal of simmered anise and hard-boiled duck eggs.

After a pleasant nap, Fast Arrow dressed in his finestgarments and paraded himself around the village, stopping once in a while to gossip with passersby.

The following day, Grasshopper fussed over Fast Arrow as though he were her own son, instead of the man of her daughter. She took great care in painting his face and shoulders. “My son should be the finest-looking brave at the Okeepa,” she said, drawing up her mouth and studying the designs she’d just finished painting on his chest. “My daughters will tell me everything, so that I will not miss a thing by staying home with the babies.”

“Ai,”
agreed Sacajawea, climbing over Sucks His Thumb as she hunted her moccasins for the trip. The little boy pulled out his clean thumb from his mouth and offered it to his father. Fast Arrow swatted the child and sent him scampering and laughing to the other side of the lodge.

“You are not afraid, are you?” whispered Grasshopper to Fast Arrow.

He looked at her in disbelief, shaking his head no. Certainly Fast Arrow was not frightened—this was going to be the greatest experience he had ever had or expected to have. Attending the Mandan Okeepa Festival and then actually taking part in the holy torture rites was what every brave dreamed of to show his strength and prove he was worthy of being a member of the nation.

They were seated on the ponies, Fast Arrow and Redpipe each on their own and Rosebud and Sacajawea together on a little tricolor, when Grasshopper thought of something she had forgotten.

“Take my good wishes to the wives of Four Bears,” she called, “especially to the one with the silver hair, Sahkoka, the Mint, and the youngest, Sun Woman. Tell them that your sister Sweet Clover is in good health and my grandchildren drive me crazy as a loon. Let’s see how well you can remember to give my greeting.”

They were soon out of sight, and Grasshopper shooed the children back into the lodge and ordered them to sit quietly around the fire.

Chickadee, who was too small to keep her legs tucked under, extended them out front at full length and smiled at Grasshopper, who was now busy sprinkling cornmealat the edge of the lodge fire. Sweet Clover came shyly to the fire to sit with the little ones. She smiled and sat with her legs crossed, not understanding why she did this.

Grasshopper mumbled a prayer to the Great Spirit. Her mind was joyous, yet there was something held back as she thought of Fast Arrow going through the torture rite. It was a ceremony, a ritual to show a man’s bravery to everyone. It had been used for ages beyond remembering. But a man’s spirit came close to that of the Great Spirit at that time, and afterward he was different, never the same as before. Grasshopper pondered this thought: A man comes home wiser, more understanding, if he is fortunate, but a man can become haughty and cruel, then everyone suffers from his change. Good men die. Brave men die. No one will stop the torture, so it must go on each year until one day in the unknown dawn it will wear itself out. Sacred things wear out, just like a pair of leggings that have been worn overlong and seen much abuse.