Page 40 of Blazing Hot Nights
I took a step closer to the group of men. “If I open the trailer with all these people here, the animals may spook. I have the trailer as close as I can get to the pasture, but without a chute, I can’t predict what they will do.”
“Son, look to the pasture,” an elder said, turning to face the field. “We have prepared for their arrival. The spirit of their ancestors will draw them to the grasses of their land. Have faith, child.”
“I would still prefer it if everyone stood back,” I said between clenched teeth. “I lost my wife to one of these animals. I don’t want to see that happen here.”
The chief grasped my shoulder tightly. “I am sorry for your loss to the greatTatanka. The animals are home here. They will do no harm.”
I nodded once with my jaws still clenched. I motioned for Heaven to stay far away from the trailer while I readied it for opening.
“We have gathered for a reason,” the chief continued. “The white man has come to offer our people what, in the past, they did not hesitate to take away. They are the reason Ptesan-Wi can return to her people. Let us prepare for the White Buffalo Calf Woman.”
He motioned for me to open the doors as everyone began to sing. I swung the doors open, the metal, see-through slats still holding the animals inside. Whatever song the people were singing, the red dog and cow were equally enraptured by it. They remained in the doorway of the trailer, calm and peaceful, something they should not be after the long trip here.
The elders stood by the fence, seemingly unafraid of the animals that could kill them without even trying. The chief raised his hands, his declaration to the people that before them was the elusive deity of their people. Ptesan-Wi, or the White Buffalo Calf Woman, was said to return in the form of a white bison. The cheering, singing, and chanting of the people raced shivers down my spine, and my eyes searched for Heaven until they locked onto hers. Her eyes were wide, scared, and her chest was heaving as a tear ran down her cheek. She wouldn’t come to me, and I couldn’t leave the trailer. Before I could decide what to do, the chief’s wife went to Heaven’s side and held her waist, whispering something into her ear. Heaven’s breathing evened out while the chief’s wife lovingly wiped her face.
Heaven nodded that she was okay, and I offered her a smile. Then, knowing the people would wait no longer, I walked the slatted metal gate back and created a chute on one side of the gate. I had to pray the animals went into the pasture now and not off to the side.
Coaxed out after the long ride by the promise of food, the cow and red dog finally made their way into the pasture. Relieved, I quickly closed the gate on the pasture fence.
I waited, expecting more cheering, clapping, or song, but the air had fallen silent. Everyone had their heads turned to the field, taking their first look at the animal that, for many, had never been anything more than a story.
The chief looked to the elders, who nodded at him. “Ptesan-Wi!” he called out, his hands in the air.
“Ptesan-Wi,” the people responded.
Then the celebration began.
***
“More wohanpi soup, dear?” Kemimela asked.
The chief’s wife had made sure I was taken care of while the men kept Blaze busy. She told me her name meant butterfly, and it fit her well. She flitted about from place to place and brought serenity wherever she went. I had asked her what the Sioux name for heaven was. She told me they didn’t have one. The closest word they had was for the sky, because they didn’t need heaven or hell. They went to the happy hunting grounds when their life here ended.
“I’m okay, but thank you,” I said, rubbing my belly. “I’m stuffed. I’m usually not a huge fan of bison meat, but that soup was delicious. I won’t have to eat for days.”
“You must, though,” she said with a disapproving tone. “You’re too thin.”
I chuckled and sipped the cold tea she had brought over. “It’s all the work on the ranch. Summer is our busiest time of year.”
Kemimela tipped her head and stared me down. “But you are not busy except in your mind. Your mind is a hive of bees, angry and buzzing.”
“More like confused,” I said, swallowing the tea. “How did you know that?”
“Your reaction at the trailer was obvious, child.”
I set the glass down and stared across the tent filled with food, kids running and calling to each other, and women trying to wrangle them to sit and eat. “The bison have taken from me things I will never get back. I understand your celebration today, but it’s hard for me to celebrate something I fear.”
She sat and caressed the elbow of my left arm. “You think we do not fear theTatanka?”
“Doesn’t seem like it, no. At least not in the way I do.”
“That part might be true,” she agreed. “We have a healthy fear of theTatankaand how we must coexist with them. We don’t have our heads in the clouds about how insignificant we are in size compared to them. I think you learned that firsthand?”
I motioned at the arm she still held. “First, my friend, and then my arm. I have suffered enough because of theTatanka.”
Her eyes took me in, and the light dawned in them again. “Ahh, I understand now,” she whispered.
“Understand what?”
