V
The next day was one of letdown and much sleeping. By dusk, most of the visitors had ridden away. After supper, Laughing Boy’s mother and uncles went over to one of the deserted summer hogans. He finished his cigarette and followed. Wounded Face returned and spoke to Two Bows, who went back with him. Mountain Singer rode in, dismounted, and joined them.
So she was not to be allowed to fight for herself. None of the others at the fire paid any attention; not even casting an extra glance towards Slim Girl. She remembered vaguely that, when a marriage-contract was under discussion, it was the correct thing for the girl concerned to go well away from the house. She supposed that some such etiquette could be invoked to cover this occasion. It would have to do. She slipped out into the darkness, watching to see if her going caused any commentary of exchanged looks. Then she went swiftly away from the hogans, past the corral, where she deliberately startled a herd-dog into barking.
She circled behind to come up on the summer hogan, carefully now, thinking of the silent feet and quick ears of her people, feeling herself clumsy, her limbs managed by indirect control. She crouched in the shadow of the back wall, clutching her blanket about her for warmth, praying that her teeth would not chatter. She was clearly conscious of the beauty of the night, its stars and sharp cold, the smell of sage and sand, the faint rustle of leaves on the hogan.
They were lighting a fire. When it was burning well, they gathered close to it, so that peering between the leaves and branches she saw them as dim, significant masses with their faces faintly shown, identifying them. Mountain Singer was in the place of honour, with his back to her; on his left sat Walked Around, Laughing Boy’s mother; on his right was Spotted Horse. Wounded Face was next to him, facing Laughing Boy, and Two Bows sat a little bit back, near the door. She summed them up to herself, wishing she could be present to use her skill and have her share in the approaching conflict. It was not fair. She wished she could see Mountain Singer’s face; that old man’s influence would be emphasized, now that he was just through conducting the chant, and her husband with serving him as acolyte. He was the leader of the Tahtchini Clan in this section; his importance was shown by his seat of honour in this conclave of people to whom he was only distantly related. Spotted Horse did not amount to much. Walked Around hated her, personally and with fear. Wounded Face was set against her for more general, but weighty reasons. As for Two Bows, she could not tell. He had a quality of understanding which might make him her friend or her most dangerous enemy. In any case, he was here only as a privileged outsider.
The fire began to make warmth, and tobacco was passed round. Nobody spoke for several minutes. Then Mountain Singer said:
“We are thinking about my younger brother here; we are thinking about what he should do. We have come here to talk it over with him.”
They went on smoking. They were sombre bundles of shadow, in their blankets, with faces of people faintly seen. Wounded Face spat out a grain of tobacco. “My nephew, we do not think it is good, this thing you are doing. We have talked about it a long time among ourselves. We know about that woman, that she—”
Laughing Boy raised his head. “You have said those things once, uncle, and I have heard them. Do not say them again, those things. If you do, there will not be any talk. Tell yourself that I have heard them, and know what I think of them. They were said in Killed a Navajo’s hogan. I heard them there. Now go on from that.”
They talked, watching the end of their cigarettes, or with the right hand rubbing over the fingers of the left, as though to bring the words out, or touching each fingertip in turn, with their eyes upon their hands, so that the even voices seemed utterly detached, the persons mere media for uttering thoughts formed at the back of nowhere.
“Perhaps you are mistaken, I think, but I do as you say. You are making unhappiness for yourself, you are making ugliness. You are of The People, the good life for you is theirs. It is all very well now while your eyes and your ears and your nose are stopped up with love, but one day you will look around and see only things that do not fit you, alkali-water to drink. You will want your own things, and you will not be able to fit them, either, I think.
“It is all very well that you deceive the younger people with your clothes and hard goods and manners, but we can see that all the time you are apart. And you are just a light from her fire, just something she has made. She has acted and spoken well here, that one. She speaks above and below and before and behind, but she does not speak straight out forward, I think.”
“We live like other People.”
“Even your beginning was like Americans. You talked about it with each other, you two arranged it face to face. You had no shame. She caused that. Have you been married?”
“Yes.”
“Who sang?”
“Yellow Singer.”
“Did you look at him? No, I think. You looked at him with your eyes, so as not to fall over him when you walked past; did your mind see him? No, I think. If you think now about him, you will see him, perhaps. You will see what is left of a man when he leaves our way, when he walks in moccasins on the Americans’ road. You have seen other People who live down there. Some of them are rich, but their hearts are empty. You have seen them without happiness or beauty in their hearts, because they have lost the Trail of Beauty. Now they have nothing to put in their hearts except whiskey.”
Slim Girl winced.
“Those people cannot dance in a chant and do any good. You would not want Yellow Singer to hold a chant over you, it would not bring you hozoji.
“You say live like The People. Why do you live apart, then? Does she not like to be with The People, that woman?
“I have spoken.”
Laughing Boy made a gesture of brushing aside. His uncle threw his cigarette butt into the fire with an angry motion.
Walked Around leaned forward. “What my brother says is good, but it is not all, what he has said. I have watched you, how you go about. This valley T’o Tlakai speaks to you with tongues, I think. When you look over to Chiz-na Hozolchi you hear singing, I think. You hasten to speak with your own people, you like to use your tongue for old names. You care more to talk about our sheep and our waterholes—your waterholes—than we do. You belong with us, and we want you. We want good for you. When you are gone, we know that you are away. That woman keeps you from us. Why does she do it? If she means good towards you and we mean good towards you, why should she be afraid of us? Perhaps because she wants to make you into something else, she does it. Perhaps because if you were among us you would see straight.
“She has no parents, no uncles, that she should build her hogan near them. There are plenty of the Bitahni Clan here; let her come here. Come and live among us, your own people. Perhaps then, if she is not bad, we shall see that we are wrong, we shall learn to love her, my child.”
Clever, clever, you bitch!
Laughing Boy moved his hand again.
Wounded Face took up the word. “You are young, you do not like to listen.”
His voice was level, but he was angry; there was tension in the hut. That was good; if they showed anger they would lose him forever.
“You do not intend to hear what we say.”
Mountain Singer interrupted him. “His father taught him to hunt, to dance, and to work silver. His father knows him best of us all, I think. Grandfather, what is in your mind?”
This was more important than anything heretofore.
Two Bows spoke slowly. “We have all seen his silver, her blankets. We have seen him dance. We know, therefore, how he is now. We know that, now, all is well with him.
“A man makes a design well because he feels it. When he makes someone else’s design, you can tell. If he is to make someone else’s design, he must feel it in himself first. You cannot point a pistol at a man and say, ‘Make heat-lightning and clouds with tracks-meeting under them, and make it beautiful.’
“My son is thinking about a design for his life. Let him tell us, and if it is not good, perhaps we can show him.”
“You have spoken well, Grandfather.”
“Yes, you have spoken well.” It was Spotted Horse’s only contribution.
They all shifted slightly, watching Laughing Boy. He spoke without hesitation, but selecting his words precisely.
“I had not spoken, because I thought all your minds were made up. Now I shall tell you. I heard what my uncle told me that time; I saw Yellow Singer and those others down there. I have thought about all those things. I have not just run in like a crazy horse. Everything has been new, and I have watched and thought.
“I have been with that woman many moons now. I tell you that I know that those bad things are not true. Hear me.
“It is true that our life is different, but we are not following the American trail. Do not think it, that thing. She is different. She does everything as we do, more than most schoolgirls; but she is different. You have seen our silver, our blankets; if you come to us you will see how everything is like that. It is beautiful. It is the Trail of Beauty. You will just have to believe me, it is something I never imagined, we have nothing here to compare with it, that life. We do only good things. Everything good that I have ever known, all at once, could not make me as happy as she and her way do.
“Look at me. I am older than when I left here, I know what I say. My mind is made up. I do not want you to be angry with me; I do not want you to be unhappy about me; I do not want you to tell me not to come back. You may not believe me, but I want you to wait.
“It does not matter. I know. I have spoken.”