Counting Coup, page 4
part #1 of The Benediction of Paul Series
The shouting increased. A thump shook the wall.
“Doesn’t matter what Grandma says. Endow can barely feed us. That makes him mad. Don’t be blind. Do you not see us? We are living in a shabby trailer. Our cupboards are empty,” Jimmy said, picking the threads of a hole in his jeans.
“We live like everyone else. We are not special,” Rebecca said as she jiggled Karl. She wanted answers. “Have you been told the story of the blue-eyed one?”
Jimmy slumped back against the wall. “Howls in Winter is a story to keep us from wandering into the mountains.”
“A story that teaches. A story has answers. Grandma always tells us to listen.”
Jimmy scooted farther into the room as a plate shattered outside the doorway.
“Not all stories are lessons. Some are tales to frighten little kids,” Jimmy said, poking Marie with a finger.
A lamp crashed to the floor. Karl’s lips pursed and quivered as Rebecca held him.
“I am a-feared,” Marie said as Jimmy patted her head. “I no like Howls in Winter. She was a witch. I heard her singing in the Pryor Mountains.”
Rebecca had listened to many stories about the ancient ones. Each person had a story. She remembered the tale of the blue-eyed woman. She imagined Howls in Winter as pretty and the people jealous. She was a medicine woman with power. She lived alone, not like other Crows.
Judith’s voice was pleading in tone as she tried to reason with Endow.
“I’ve been to the mountains. They’re just that,” Jimmy said as Marie covered herself in a hill of blankets.
“What about Cold Feet? Do you know that story?” Rebecca asked, recognizing the pattern of fight, beg, plead, promise, normal.
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Stories belong to families. You need permission to tell them.”
Grandma’s words came back to her, “All she needs to do is ask.”
“I think it is our story,” Rebecca said.
The wall thumped and thumped. Karl wailed in Rebecca’s arms.
Rebecca’s stomach churned.
“Shut him up. He’s only making it worse,” Jimmy said.
Rebecca stuck her finger in Karl’s mouth. “Hush, this is how it is. Let it bounce around you.”
Marie sniffled and crawled deeper into the covers.
It seemed like hours, but eventually, the yelling stopped. Then there were quiet sobs and murmured apologies and promises of change.
Marie slept. Jimmy read his comic book. Rebecca folded and counted diapers. Karl sucked his fist.
Her parents stumbled down the hall to make love with the same angry rage.
On a frigid evening in February, Rebecca trudged through the snow. The howls of the wind mixed with Karl’s wails, creating a sound of misery that filled Rebecca with despair.
“I don’t know who is noisier, you or Karl,” she shouted into the storm.
Her movement was slow, and her feet ached. Every house, shack, trailer, and teepee looked like white lumps. Weekly she had walked door to door like a Girl Scout selling cookies, asking for milk from the new mothers.
“Cold Feet, guide me to Grandma. I cannot see the path.”
Do not give up.
Her eyelashes clinked together, but she could not stop. The infant in the cradleboard howled.
If he screams, he is alive.
A bright light shone in a window, the only light she could see. She pushed her way through the drifts of snow. Finally, three more steps to the door. A blast of warm air caused her heavy eyelashes to drop and tears to drip down her cheeks.
“Granddaughter, it’s two in the morning. I could hear you from miles away.”
“This baby won’t stop crying.” Rebecca wiggled out from under her burden, clunking her brother to the floor. Snow plopped and formed into puddles.
Tiama helped Rebecca pull off her stiff clothing. She dug deep inside, under the furs of the cradleboard for the red-faced infant. She unwrapped the squalling baby and held her breath.
“I just changed him,” Rebecca said as she covered her mouth and nose.
Tiama filled the basin with warm water and bathed the infant.
“Do you have a name?” she asked the balled-up baby.
“He doesn’t talk. His name is Karl, it means strong one.”
The baby stopped crying in the warm water, but still his hands were in fists and his legs hugged his belly.
“That is not his name. That is the name you gave him. Get me the buffalo fur.”
Rebecca brought the soft skin to her grandmother and snatched a piece of fresh bread. It was as if Grandmother planned her arrival, the house ablaze, warm, and smell of venison stew on the stove.
Tiama frowned and rubbed the baby’s belly. Rebecca watched intently. Grandma did not appear to be bothered by Karl’s eyes. She had noted that Karl’s blue eyes caused a reaction. Some held their breath, and others wanted to touch him. There was a power in those eyes.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Gas. You need to give the baby fresh milk,” Grandma explained as she rolled the baby side to side. Then, placing a hand under his belly, she tilted him like a teeter-totter. Karl farted, and Rebecca giggled hysterically.
Karl relaxed and stretched his long skinny limbs out and stuck his fist into his mouth. Rebecca ladled stew into a bowl.
“This baby needs food. He’s hungry for food.”
Rebecca crossed her arms. She had fed him.
“Julia Morning Star gave me frozen milk. It’s for tomorrow. I fed him milk from Tilly Stones in the River. Then he started screaming.”
Tiama shook her head. She took out a jar of mush from the icebox and set it on the stove.
“What’s that?”
“Rice and powdered milk.”
“I get breast milk and freeze it and then run it under hot water,” Rebecca said as she stuffed a glob of bread and stew into her mouth. She savored the flavors of sage and pepper.
“No, you heat it up. It must be warm like one’s belly.”
“He doesn’t like warm bottles,” Rebecca said, getting a bottle from the cupboard trying to be helpful. She had never warmed the milk, just thawed it.
“Did he tell you this? Because that’s not the song I heard him singing. He sang his misfortune all the way here.”
“He can’t be hungry, and the milk didn’t stink.”
“He’s telling you he’s hungry. Do you have frozen mud in your ears? Listen. Do not use Tilly’s milk. She eats wrong. She’s round and her baby is a stick.”
There was truth in that statement. Tilly’s baby was thinner than Karl.
“He’ll get fat if I feed him so much,” Rebecca said as she wiggled her fingers in front of his face. “He would drink all day. I only get leftovers from the nursing mothers. I cannot ask for more than our fair share.”
“Impossible for this one to get fat. Feeding often will not make him fat.”
Tiama removed warm milk from the stove, and tested it with her tongue before she filled a bottle.
“I get powdered and use it for cereal. It tastes yucky. Basahke said it must last until they give us more. I mix it with syrup, corn syrup. He likes it.”
Grandmother’s face darkened. “No. Feed him as much as he wants and often and never watered down. No more syrup.”
“It tastes better,” Rebecca muttered.
“If you need, come here. I will feed anyone who needs it. A story for food that is the only price I ask.”
Rebecca nodded solemnly.
“He doesn’t cry much,” Rebecca said, removing her finger from the baby’s tight fist. “That’s how I knew he was sick. He cried too hard.”
“You are a wonderful mother. School is starting. Bright Penny will want you there. What will you do with him? Marie is too little to take him.”
A surge of joy ran through her. She liked school, but Grandma was being silly. “He goes with me. He is mine,” Rebecca explained. “I take care of him.”
After four ounces and a loud burp, Karl smiled.
“Now, it’s dream time for little girls, baby boys, and grandmothers. Daylight comes early.”
Rebecca dressed for the long walk home.
“You are here, so you may as well stay. My bed is big enough, and I get lonely. You’ll stay.”
Grandmother led both children to her bed by the fireplace. Rebecca curled her body around Karl, who cooed and wiggled beside her. Blue eyes took in the surroundings, the drying herbs that hung from the ceiling, antlers, and tanned hides. The fire crackled as the wind cried outside, alone. A smile filled Karl’s toothless mouth when he focused on Rebecca. Grandma cuddled next to Rebecca and sang.
All is fine now, she thought as her eyes grew heavy.
Chapter 4
Elk Egress
It does not require many words to speak the truth.
Hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt (Chief Joseph). 1840-1904. A passionate, principled Nez Perce resistor to his tribe’s forced removal, and a renowned humanitarian and peacemaker.
Rebecca sat on the porch of her grandmother’s house, listening through the open window to the Elders discussing education. The government outside the Rez insisted the children go to a school off tribal land.
School attendance depended on the day, and Rebecca knew their teacher, Bright Penny, kept a close watch on who was there. Rebecca admired Bright Penny. She was there every day, teaching one or sixteen. Rebecca had almost stopped schooling because Bright Penny said “no” the day she showed up with Karl. Rebecca insisted Karl would not disrupt the class. Bright Penny allowed it as an experiment. That was two years ago. She was the envy of all the girls, for she had a live baby. Karl’s presence seemed to bring more girls to school.
“This is 1950, not 1850. Haven’t they figured out we are not leaving the land?”
There was a snort.
“They did this before. It did not work then.”
“Oh, but it did,” Bright Penny said. “They took the children, took our hair, our names, and they tried to take our language.”
“We have not assimilated.”
“Our children don’t attend school now because of the trauma,” Bright Penny said. “They abused or worse, killed many of our children. That has not been written into the history books, but we remember.”
Rebecca picked at the peeling paint. She had missed several days because Karl had a fever. Being a parent at age eight was challenging work. She missed being carefree and alone.
“I don’t like school. Grandma went to a government school. She said she learned to distrust the white world. She received cruelty and fear,” Tilly Stones in the River said. “Children died there.”
Growls of assent followed her remarks. Rebecca had heard the tales of the boarding school roundups. The thought of dying away from the Rez sent chills up her spine.
“What if we don’t send them?”
The aroma of tobacco floated through the window as the children and dogs ran in the yard.
After a long silence, Gwen Short Legs spoke. “We have our lawyers looking into that.”
“What do they want?”
“They want us to stop pushing for what is ours. If we stay uneducated, they can break us. School off the Rez worked. Tilly, you and your children carry the burden of your grandparents. That is three generations of Stones in the River without education,” Bright Penny said.
“I fear it’s an attempt to separate us. If they keep children away from us, then they can claim we abandoned them,” Mark Knows the Song said. “We cannot let them do this.”
Rebecca agreed. She did not want to leave the Rez, Karl, or her family. The kids had to come to school. She would talk to the grandmothers. They would make it happen.
“You will always live here,” she said to two-year-old Karl, who was wrapping her beads around his arm.
“He’s a baby,” Marie said. “A stinky one.”
Rebecca prepared to change Karl’s diaper. He was not interested and ran around the table. Rebecca’s temper flared and after several attempts to grab the moving toddler, she stuck out her foot. With a loud thump, the child hit the floor and whimpered. Rebecca made haste to change his diaper. As she reached for a dry cloth, Karl sunk his teeth into her forearm. Rebecca let out a shout and poised her safety pin above the boy.
Grandma Tiama stepped outside.
“Rebecca,” Tiama said. “What has happened? Why the howling?”
“He bit me,” she said, pin still in hand.
Tiama took the pin from her as Karl crawled away. She looked at the purplish indentation on the girl’s arm. From the shelf, she took down a jar of oily herbs.
“Put this on it,” Tiama instructed as she snatched the half-naked child. Karl wiggled and squirmed.
“Don’t bite your sister,” Tiama scolded. “She’s not edible.”
Marie giggled.
“You’re a wicked brother,” Rebecca rebuked.
Karl continued to squirm. Rebecca slapped his thigh and ordered him to stay still. Karl wailed as a red mark appeared.
Tiama finished diapering Karl and snatched the ointment from Rebecca. She smeared the red mark.
“He bit me,” Rebecca said again, angered at Grandma’s reproach.
Grandma didn’t look at her. When you break the heart of an Apsáalooke, they will not look at you.
Rebecca’s breath grew ragged.
“This violence needs to stop. What you do returns to you. We are all connected. We don’t need more Endows. Don’t make another.”
“He bit me,” she said more insistently.
“You’re his teacher. Teach him a kinder life.”
Rebecca hung her head. She shouldn’t have hit him.
“He knows red marks and purplish green,” Marie said. “He’s bad. Basahke will not see him. He broke her. But I like him.”
Tears ran down Rebecca’s cheeks. Poor motherless child.
Karl scooted toward her, touched his wet cheek, and then touched hers.
“I sorry,” he said.
“Me too,” Rebecca said as she pulled Marie and Karl into a hug.
Grandma Tiama kissed the top of Rebecca’s head.
In mid-September, a big bus came and took the children. The tears fell on both sides. As the bus rumbled on, a dark silence hung in the air. The dirt road and dust turned into hard pavement. Rebecca leaned over the sleeping Marie. Her heart was aching. She could no longer see Karl, who had run after the bus shouting her name. The echo of his voice stabbed in her chest. The Rez dogs stopped following.
“Jimmy, have you ever been this far?”
He looked out at the rolling landscape and shook his head. Gone were teepees and trailers replaced with fences and large sprinklers. Then open plains with the blue-gray hills in the distance and dried grass blowing in the wind.
“I don’t think we will be home tonight,” Rebecca said, wondering who would take care of Karl. In the past when they came, they took the babies. She didn’t understand why they took the little ones.
“How do you figure that?” Jimmy asked.
“She’s right. They’re taking us to a strange place, and we’ll die like the buffalo,” Nation said. She was Jimmy’s age, twelve, and she was the daughter of a council member.
Rebecca squirmed. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“You always say that. This is a day for school. We go home tonight. You’re talking crazy.”
The pit of her stomach hurt. Jimmy was wrong. The other children on the bus were eerily quiet and the younger ones continued to sob into the laps of their siblings.
“We’re prisoners now,” she whispered as Nation nodded.
“We need help,” Nation said as she closed her eyes, and reached for Rebecca’s arm. “Help me call the ancestors. Make the bus stop.”
Jimmy snorted but stopped when Rebecca shot him an arrow-filled glare.
“I need to get home.”
Jimmy nodded again. “If they stop the bus, I could run.”
“What if we all run?” Nation asked.
A deep fear gripped Rebecca as Marie drooled on her pant leg. “The little ones would not make it.”
“They would slow us down,” Jimmy said.
Nation scooted closer to Rebecca. “No, don’t run. What if they shoot us? They could shoot us. I saw a rifle next to the driver.”
She needed to get home. Her heart was fading. She now understood those words. Grandma Tiama used them whenever a Crow member flew away to the white world, even if it were for a good reason, Grandma would say, “My heart is fading.”
“Talk to the boys. We have to get home.”
Jimmy darted to the group of older boys to make a plan. Rebecca and Nation touched foreheads, breathed together, and chanted to the ancestors, begging them for help.
“Do not let fear overtake you,” the Warrior whispered in Rebecca’s heart.
The bus came to a sudden halt, jostling the children who cried out. Marie sat up and reached for Rebecca. Worry creased her round face.
“Iichiilikaashe,” Nation shouted as she stood on the seat, looking out the window.
Rebecca and Marie glanced out. A herd of sixty elk meandered down the road in front of the bus. The driver honked his horn. The animals were unimpressed and moved slowly, encompassing the long yellow bus.
Rebecca turned and gave Jimmy an I told you gaze.
“See, see,” Nation said. “The iichiilikaashe are a sign. They’ll not separate us from our families. Our ties are strong. They cannot cut them even in this faraway place.” Her words stirred the children, and they became restless.
Rebecca had never seen so many elk in one spot. She had heard that, like the buffalo, they were disappearing.
Windows opened and the musky smell of hide and dirt drifted in. Snorts from the bulls and the cracking of ankle joints reminded Rebecca of drums at a powwow. Children cried and called out to their families, asking the large animals to send messages and help.
“Sit down,” the woman with almost-white hair shouted.
Several children reached out to touch the wild beasts. Antlers bumped against the steel exterior of the bus.
