Arilla Sun Down Read online

  Stop. Hearing no ca-loping. Going on, Harder going up and up. Maybe next tree showing Sun hanging around. Up the way, finding there it is everywhere!

  All the whole place full of blue sprinkles. Flowers! A-swaying and a-blueing in a breeze. Running to them, me. Must be way far up to be with them. See Sun didn’t do the flowers. Him just playing games. Tell him so. Him hiding was a game?

  The flowers all clear to one side. And water running real wide place and trees all along where. Dropping dibble and just run around run around. So happy. Pulling hands full a blue tops and some yellow tops way down low. Holding so many bright blue in a my hands, up a my arms. Hold them and smelling them real deep. Breathing them and feeling them nice. Hold and hear them humming. Hear the water stream and humming. Buzzing.

  All close a my face and ears to smell them. Which coming the most. Hearing flowers, smelling stream and hum-buzzing.

  Oh! So quick, all hurting. Arms! Neck! Everything! All a once, scaring and buzzing. I slip away and no shoes on. Toes sting and making me jump a-hurting.

  Let my flowers go falling. Cry, step up high. Get away from so much hurting. Slap! Slap! And see the big ants flying. Cry, and slap fly swatting.

  And run! For a stream just put the cold all around me. Run and run.

  Hurts. I cry, running for a stream. Tall trees, where it’s safe and climb and hide in a leaves.

  Tall trees too much for climbing. Have to hurry. Hurting me all up my dress. Can’t stop to cry. Just I see tall tree with no leaves at a water’s side. A horse by it.

  “Sun!”

  Standing so. With arms out but no leaves. With horse but no Sun Run.

  Standing so, no tree at all. No Sun Run. Man, one arm high up, straight to me, signing. “Stand back! Stay still!” Other arm, high up, hold a long stick at the water. At me looking. And slow, looking along down stick to a stream. And quick, long stick sailing on down the water. And HIT something.

  Now moves he and holding up stick through a fish. Push bright fish up fast up a wood and sends stick down the water fast again. Holding stick with two fishes. Bright one two. Other arm straight pointing me, signing, “Stay back! Stay still!”

  Looking at me in so many shade. Slowly, at stick quickly down a water many times. So many fishes up a stick and they stop waving. Gray rags so bright. Still. And he standing in a water. Turn away and move out, making real quiet. Walking over to laying stick fishes down. And horse. Horse drinking in real quiet from a stream.

  Watching man, me crying. Watching he moving quick way down with a long stick. But now the quiet. Hurting. And cry and cry.

  He taking me by hand and drawing me to a water.

  Speaking, sounds I don’t know. Hands. Speaking hands, he signing, “Wash you. Water you, arms and face where wasp hurt.” Signing both hands, “Drink you for to cool the fire that will come.” Eyes, caring soft.

  How I knowing speaking hands: Father mine always not talking when he sitting me by the sumac: “See you can throw dibble stick out of shade,” signing, he not talking. “Throw like the girls and women, who throw the best,” hands saying. “You throw, and I will throw like women, too,” so they say. Hands.

  And all the time father eyes so much soft caring for me. Never know Father is there before I see him. Never just think Sun Father before he standing in my way. Knowing him time I see him. Speaking, hands always with me.

  Now. Putting on me the cold stream. All wet, me, falling back on the ground. Feet down in the cool fishes.

  Talking, he with the long stick. He, putting on moccasins and talking so: “Where you travel? Who you and which country? Which town?”

  Very quiet, he, and kneel, hand beneath my head: “Where you come from, Moonflower?”

  Dress of mine color of the yellow moon. Too much burning face and feet for talking. Holding up hands of mine. Seeing me, fat bumps growing up arms of mine.

  “Where, Moonflower?”

  “Where it’s hurting,” Moonflower finally saying.

  “Poison going make you boil and fire,” he saying. “Get you home. Where — which way?”

  “The first time I slip away. Keep talking,” hearing Moonflower saying.

  He keeping on. Talking leaves a breezing sound, like a tall tree. Still breezing tall, time when we moving. If moving dreaming, I don’t know. I know hearing, smelling horse. Knowing a big horse so easy, not a sound. Horse so shade gray in front. All white on a rump and egg spots a-splatter rump. Rump looking like a white funny blanket. Like somebody splashing mud all over. So funny. Horse not stamping. Walking, not like Sun Run stamping. Me ride the walking, just like Sun. Me, a horse walking Sun.

  All the time. The tall tree-man talking sounds I don’t know.

  “Keep talking you hear?” So hard holding head up of mine. So sick feeling inside. Outside, hurting.

  And through the woods a long time. Through the woods and tall tree saying so:

  “Take you to Shy Woman. Medicine. Take you home.”

  A long kind of time, and he saying, “First time you run away? From whom? Stay awake, you! Open up the eyes, for you fall.”

  Like to hear a talking. And me talking, too. Stay awake and hurting: “First time I slip away, Sun Run. Brother. Ever you see Sun riding high?”

  And me saying, “Who you tall tree, talking man? Who the shy woman? Mother — na’ go’?”

  He lead a horse, me. Stopping and still. Slow head turning. See, he wearing glasses, dark a round. Glasses dark shining. And mouth and nose all slanted. Someone press a nose, mouth on a one side. Old face. Grandfather face, still good old face.

  “Yā!” he saying surprise. Look up at me.

  Me a horse and hurting. He make a sign: point finger draw across other point-finger — one time, two time, three time. Me hurting, make a sign back: point-finger across point-finger, one, two, three.

  “Yā! Shā hī’ yēna!”

  Me not knowing.

  “You!” he saying. “Dzĭ’ tsĭstä’s!”

  Knowing that. “Sure,” me saying. “Brother, Sun. Father, Sun. The People. Not me.” I know that.

  “Then you are a mixed blood,” he saying.

  “Mama looking just like me,” I saying.

  “Skin,” he saying, “brown and brown.”

  “Sure. Brown is hurting and hurting.” I crying out from the bumps on arms of mine.

  Now. Hurrying again and feel so sleeping and dreaming a long time passing.

  He still talking. Sometimes talking I don’t know. Times he talking true:

  “You hear me, grandchild? Nixa? One time there are blue-red-yellow birds, but all are one bird. There are black-brown-white horses, but all one horse. It is so with all things living. So with all trees and men. White, brown, black, yellow. Red. Once, only red men. But not now. Now, all. All, with peace.”

  “Keep talking.” Me saying nothing more. See dreaming nothing more.

  “And yet they all still fighting about it,” tall tree saying.

  And long kind of time. Somewhere lying flat, waking up. Me somewhere warm.

  Moccasin sound so quiet padding by. Food cooking smelling good. Soft-singing sounding so funny and making me warm.

  “Where is this?” Me so saying not loud. Nobody come near. Eyes still asleep closed. Not me. Listening. Some a one sitting on a side me, breathing smoke a pipe. All over me hurting so bad.

  Try. Eyes staying closed. Trying. Arms staying still.

  Way in back of eyes a mine. Me high up in the air. In a sling and swinging. So nice. Swinging fade away dark in sleeping. Me knowing sleeping.

  Until so much time passing late. Me waking up for sure. Opening eyes, look around. This is where. Nobody here in a room. Looking around see a front room where you live. Blanket covering me, pretty colors. Me all slick and medicines, smelling sharp. Seeing in a light on. Raise up arms of mine. No more bumps. One same big swelling, fat hands and arms. No red bumps, little dark specks. Holes where stings go in. Stinging gone and swelling not too bad. Feel a swelling. Arms
of mine hot feeling tight.

  Night is on a windows. Everywhere sleeping. Light on this room. I turn where is dark. They in the dark somewhere. He the tall tree and mother Shy Woman. Shy Woman who? He told in a woods. We left a woods. We here. Does Mother know?

  Mother sleeping. And Sun Run. And somewhere Father. The first time I slip away and sorry. Mother Sun Father. See them all in a wake-up time. Me sleeping again.

  I kick the blanket down. Food smelling good and fire burning. Sunlight going. Red and slanting down in a window.

  “Well, hi there, baby. You waking up now — yes! Sleep through the whole day! Uh-huh, feeling better now, baby. Sure.” Woman loud and close, kneeling down. Big blue bowl, spoon, steaming.

  “Eat it slow, now. See, I’ll blow on it for you, baby. Sure. Now take a little good cornmush. Yes, baby. See, I blow it for you and you gonna eat some of it. Make you strong. How you feeling, honey? Not so good? Okay? Feeling better, sure.”

  “Mama.”

  “Oh, now. Don’t you worry. We’ll find your mama, me and James False Face. We always find everybody, don’t you worry. You ran away — yes, pretty? Nah, you didn’t mean to, right? You travel off and forget where you’re going. Sure, baby, don’t you worry.

  “You’re lucky, you know?” She laughing. “You lucky you find the little wasps instead of a yellow school bus gonna get you.” Laughing more. “When I was little like you, honey. It come up fast, pumpety, pumpety, like a giant gold bug. I sure thought that yellow bus was gonna get me! How was I to know where they take all the children? I hardly ever see them come home. See, because I’d be taking a rest somewhere, or sleeping, and I never saw. So each time of the gold bug I’d run and hide. Never had to go away to school for a long time.

  “See, honey?” she saying. Holding up a yellow dress never knew I wasn’t wearing. Watching woman so nice and loud talking.

  “I wash up your pretty dress for you. Your mama sure make you up some loving clothes, yes indeed. Amber yellow, like the sunsets back home; like the moon come up here. See? I sewed up the tears. And now you watch me, I’m gonna iron it all up like new.”

  Eating. Watching woman at a board lying on a table. She take the iron off a stove. Wet her finger, touch the iron. Hearing like a popping.

  Woman laughing again. “Sure. Make you real pretty. Find your mama for you. We don’t know the people here, so it’s going to take James maybe some time to find which hill. We’re just traveling, you see. So many of us, all scattered now. Traveling, stopping here and there. Nobody gonna want to stay on the reservation each and every day. James-Face, he always saying the travel, the nomad is in the blood. And you know it, honey. Too much is happening right now for staying in one place. Some places the breeds and the full-bloods are together as one people. In other places they hate fully.

  “You know, east of the Mississippi nobody bother you about it. Everybody claiming to be an Indian. James, he says if you are one sixteenth or one fourth, well, you are blood-brother. I don’t care much about it. Maybe it’s more like James want to keep in touch with everybody.

  “What do they call you, baby, huuum? Come on now, you can tell Susanne Shy Woman, sure.”

  She laughing loud and full, like air eating, when I might tell.

  “I mean the American name,” she saying. “Never speak the name, child, so The People say. For maybe a ghost will be jealous and want to take it for his. Ha-ha! But you’re a child, maybe you don’t have a name. James, he give you one.

  “So I told you what they call me. Now. You tell me what they call you, okay, baby?”

  Watching Shy Woman. Feeling good and warm. Hands of mine around a bowl some shaking. I like talking and laughing.

  “See, you maybe call me Enormity, okay? No more Shy Woman.” Smiling. “See we head up north one time by Canada. Maybe we will cross over the line; but we get caught up there every time. We stop up there on this side by that most high prairie, where you breathe and swallow burnt heat.”

  She smiling sad, head shaking side to side. “A gas line runs under the jail there, they tell us, and the line has a leak. The government won’t fix the leak — you know what it did? It put a red light in the cells of the jail. The light flashes on when too much gas leaks into the cells. You better believe the prisoners are afraid to go to sleep, for fear they’ll miss the light.”

  Eyes closing and no smiling. Again talking. “We get up there, me and James. He has to go off looking and talking stories with the men. Thinks he’s getting me stuck with the women. But he wouldn’t believe it — no sir, baby.”

  Shy Woman talking steady, not too loud. “He wouldn’t know these women. Full-blood Hōhé women. Assiniboin women, some say. But nobody knows what the reservation been doing to the women. No woman ever sign a treaty I know of, and maybe that’s the reason a treaty never hold together.

  “Hah! Vího — Wašichu!” Speaking loud. “Wašichu, the white man, never knew how important were the women long ago in the tribe. But The People, they say the law was given them long ago by a woman.”

  She stopping. Iron clear off the board. She looking far out a window.

  “Sure, James-Face will tell you all about that.”

  Staring what she seeing. Maybe ask her when gone the good cornmush. Eating slow, so good and tasting so hot and sweet with honey.

  “Sure,” she saying, still no ironing. Letting iron go and sitting, hold my one dress nice neat on a lap. Dress looking like me sitting still.

  “Sure, men go off seeing and talking. No need looking for work, shoot.” She laughing. “And women, Hōhé, tough and poor. They talk tribal politics, you know, baby? Living with self but not for self. Tribal and individual. That’s what those changing women are talking about. And talking about today and yesterday, and last wars, all of us against the wašichu. Telling stories about all of us, so we will know one another, so we will come together as one. Pass it along.”

  Holding bowl, empty, watching her. And she very quick laughing.

  “Shy Woman is a crazy woman, that’s what you thinking, honey? Talking at you to death, poor baby.” Now smiling kind and caring. She standing, folding dress. Put it on a board. She kneeling next to me close. Take the bowl and spoon. Staring at me swelling. “Not so much,” she saying. Arms of mine full and not so fat. She touching head of mine. Lips. Touching neck.

  “You’re going to be okay. Right,” she saying. “Good baby. Right. You want to stand, test your little legs?”

  Head shaking, too tired.

  “Well, you rest, then. James-Face, he’ll be back soon. James, that old man!” She laughing, and make her big face all lines and teeth. One gold and shine.

  “I was just a girl, having passed through the Sixth Grade ten years by then. And then working at the community school at Cheyenne River Reservation right next to Standing Rock. I’m smart, they say. And I’m gonna go to college all in my mind. All ready, in my mind, to leave the tribal behind. Catch the yellow bug to be a graduate, be a real citizen. Ai! I think the reservation is the devil and the misery. I believe it’s the bigot. I will come back and change it, and then everything will be all right.

  “But James-Face came riding through one day. A traveling man, he came speeding faster than the dust could settle, driving a truck with a horse in the back (the horse — shunka wakan! that holy dog!). So he can chuck the truck and ride. And I saw him riding through on that first great Palouse horse I ever saw. The finest war-horse for miles and miles. James had no thinning hair then. He was standing up on the spotted rump of that horse, with his hands outstretched to all of us and his face bathed in sunlight. He never yet had the stroke that twisted his face into a mask of the Irinakoiw. He was James Talking Story of the perfect face. Strong, lean. Standing up on that horse of high speed, about to kill himself, like some crazed injun, yelling his head off, but talking true.”

  She laughing short, quick, eyes fill of water. “Like the scout come riding fast into camp — you remember that? Ever hear those stories, baby? Come riding li
ke a burst of wind, screaming, ‘The soldiers are coming! It’s a good day for dying! Make ready!’ So it was when James came, yelling. Only, he was Talking Story, beautiful then, and screaming — eyes closed, golden face, with arms straight out to us, fingers sifting air: ‘Chicago is coming! It’s a good day for running! Stay away from Chicago — it’s a good day for running!’”

  She laughing and choking. “Years before I understood what he meant. But he was telling us the pull of the city was coming at us. He wanted us to fight against the pull. Stay where we were, or run.” She swaying me and her, side to side.

  “Why you crying?” I saying. Swaying, she smoothing hair of mine. Holding easy, face of mine in her hands.

  “Oh, I’m not crying, I’m remembering,” she saying. “There was never a question — just hanging around that horse and listening to Talking Story. After a time there was no question for him, either. Ah, so long ago, it must’ve been written in the campfires. James Talking Story and poor Susanne of the community school.”

  She all wet in the face. Nose stream. I saying, “You looking ugly, woman.”

  “Being alone is — remembering. Talking too much,” she saying. “I know the end. James-Face working so hard all of the time. Getting the census wherever we go. Finding how many Indians and contacting Manpower. He keeps the old ways even when he says we are all one people. Always moving when he knows he is too old for it. James-Face is going to die! Then where will I be, one poor mixed-blood all alone?”

  Laughing little bit and sneezing. Wiping chin, dripping.

  “Mother always crying,” I saying, touching on her arm.

  Being all quiet, she staring more at me. “Look, tell me where you live, huh?” All hard and no sweet and no laughing.

  “Keep talking!” I saying hard the same and no sweet.

  “Look, kid, I’m not gonna take this from you!” Quick, by the arms of mine shaking. “Tell me who and where before James kills hisself out there! He thinks he’s going to dream it, like the old way. He’s waiting for the visions from hunger — God! It might take days. Tell me!”