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The Soft-Hearted Sioux · Native American Stories by Zitkala-Sa

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  Speaker 1: Section five of American Indian Stories. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Read
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  Speaker 1: by Christine Bowden. American Indian Stories by Zike Coalissaw The
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  Speaker 1: soft Hearted sou Beside the open fire, I sat within
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  Speaker 1: our tp with my red blanket wrapped tightly about my
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  Speaker 1: cross legs. I was thinking of the coming season, my
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  Speaker 1: sixteenth winter. On either side of the wigwam were my parents.
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  Speaker 1: My father was whistling a tune between his teeth while
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  Speaker 1: polishing with his bare hand a redstone pipe he had
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  Speaker 1: recently carved. Almost in front of me, beyond the center fire,
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  Speaker 1: my old grandmother sat near the entrance way. She turned
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  Speaker 1: her face toward her right and addressed most of her
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  Speaker 1: words to my mother. Now and then she spoke to me,
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  Speaker 1: but never did she allow her eyes to rest upon
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  Speaker 1: her daughter's husband, my father. It was only upon rare
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  Speaker 1: occasions that my grandmother said anything to him. Thus his
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  Speaker 1: ears were open and ready to catch the smallest wish
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  Speaker 1: she might express. Sometimes, when my grandmother had been saying
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  Speaker 1: things which pleased him, my father used to comment upon them.
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  Speaker 1: At other times, when he could not approve of what
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  Speaker 1: was spoken, he used to work or smoke silently. On
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  Speaker 1: this night, my old grandmother began her talk about me,
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  Speaker 1: filling the bowl of her red stone pipe with dry
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  Speaker 1: willow bark. She looked across at me, my grandchild, you
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  Speaker 1: are tall and no longer a little boy. Narrowing her
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  Speaker 1: old eyes, she asked, my grandchild, when are you going
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  Speaker 1: to bring here a handsome young woman. I stared into
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  Speaker 1: the fire rather than meet her gaze, waiting for my answer.
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  Speaker 1: She stooped forward and through the long stem, drew a
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  Speaker 1: flame into the red stone pipe. I smiled while my
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  Speaker 1: eyes were still fixed upon the bright fire, but I
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  Speaker 1: said nothing in reply. Turning to my mother, she offered
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  Speaker 1: her the pipe. I glanced at my grandmother. The loose
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  Speaker 1: buckskin sleeve fell off at her elbow and showed a
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  Speaker 1: wrist covered with silver bracelets. Holding up the fingers of
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  Speaker 1: her left hand. She named off the desirable young women
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  Speaker 1: for our village. Which one, my grandchild? Which one? She questioned? Oh,
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  Speaker 1: I said, pulling up my blanket in confusion. Not yet here.
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  Speaker 1: My mother passed the pipe over the fire to my father.
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  Speaker 1: Then she too, began speaking of what I shod should do,
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  Speaker 1: my son, be always active, Do not dislike a long hunt.
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  Speaker 1: Learn to provide much buffalo meat and many buckskins before
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  Speaker 1: you bring home a wife. Presently, my father gave the
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  Speaker 1: pipe to my grandmother, and he took his turn in
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  Speaker 1: the exhortations. Oh, my son, I have been counting in
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  Speaker 1: my heart the bravest warriors of our people. There's not
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  Speaker 1: one of them who won his title in his sixteenth winter.
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  Speaker 1: My son, it is a great thing for some brave
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  Speaker 1: of sixteen winters to do. Not a word had I
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  Speaker 1: to give an answer. I knew while the fame of
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  Speaker 1: my warrior father, he had earned the right of speaking
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  Speaker 1: such words, though even he himself was brave only at
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  Speaker 1: my age. Refusing to smoke my grandmother's pipe. Because my
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  Speaker 1: heart was too much stirred by their words, and sorely
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  Speaker 1: troubled with a fear lest I should disappoint them, I
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  Speaker 1: arose to go, drawing my blanket over my should, I said,
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  Speaker 1: as I stepped toward the entranceway, I go to hobble,
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  Speaker 1: my pony. It is now late in the night. Nine
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  Speaker 1: winter snows had very deep that night when my old grandmother,
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  Speaker 1: together with my father and my mother, designed my future
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  Speaker 1: with the glow of a campfire upon it. Yet I
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  Speaker 1: did not grow up the warrior, huntsman, and husband I
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  Speaker 1: was to have been. At the mission school, I learned
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  Speaker 1: it was wrong to kill nine winters. I hunted for
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  Speaker 1: the soft heart of Christ and prayed for the huntsman
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  Speaker 1: who chased the buffalo on the plains. In the autumn
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  Speaker 1: of the tenth year, I was sent back to my
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  Speaker 1: tribe to preach Christianity to them. With the white man's
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  Speaker 1: Bible in my hand and the white Man's tender heart
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  Speaker 1: in my breast, I returned to my own people wearing
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  Speaker 1: a foreigner's dress. I walked a stranger into my father's village,
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  Speaker 1: asking my way, for I had not forgotten my native tongue.
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  Speaker 1: An old man led me toward the tepee where my
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  Speaker 1: father lay. From my old companion, I learned that my
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  Speaker 1: my father had been sick many moons. As we drew
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  Speaker 1: near to the teepee, I heard the chanting of a
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  Speaker 1: medicine man within it. At once I wished to enter
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  Speaker 1: in and drive from my home the Sorcerer of the Plains,
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  Speaker 1: but the old warrior checked me oh, wait outside until
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  Speaker 1: the medicine man leaves your father, he said, while talking,
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  Speaker 1: he scanned me from head to feet. Then he retraced
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  Speaker 1: his steps toward the heart of the camping ground. My
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  Speaker 1: father's dwelling was on the outer limits of the round
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  Speaker 1: faced village. With every heart throb I grew more impatient
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  Speaker 1: to enter the wigwam. While I turned the leaves of
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  Speaker 1: my bible with nervous fingers. The medicine man came forth
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  Speaker 1: from the dwelling and walked hurriedly away. His head and
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  Speaker 1: face were closely covered with the loose robe, which draped
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  Speaker 1: his entire figure. He was tall and large. His long
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  Speaker 1: strides I have never forgot, they seemed to me then
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  Speaker 1: the uncanny gait of eternal death. Quickly pocketing my bible,
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  Speaker 1: I went into the Upon a mat lay my father,
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  Speaker 1: with furrowed face and gray hair. His eyes and cheeks
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  Speaker 1: were sunken far into his head. His sollow skin lay
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  Speaker 1: thin upon his pinched nose and high cheek bones. Stooping
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  Speaker 1: over him, I took his fevered hand. How ate I
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  Speaker 1: greeted him? A light flashed from his listless eyes, and
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  Speaker 1: his dried lips parted. My son he murmured in a
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  Speaker 1: feeble voice. Then again the wave of joy recognition receded.
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  Speaker 1: He closed his eyes and his hand dropped from my
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  Speaker 1: open palm to the ground. Looking about, I saw an
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  Speaker 1: old woman sitting with bowed head, shaking hands with her.
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  Speaker 1: I recognized my mother. I sat down between my father
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  Speaker 1: and my mother, as I used to do, but I
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  Speaker 1: did not feel at home. The place where my old
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  Speaker 1: grandmother used to sit was now unoccupied with my mother.
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  Speaker 1: I bowed my head alike. Our throats were choked and
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  Speaker 1: tears were streaming from our eyes. But far apart in spirit,
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  Speaker 1: our ideas and faith separated us. My grief was for
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  Speaker 1: the soul unsaved, and I thought my mother wept to
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  Speaker 1: see a brave man's body broken by sickness. Useless was
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  Speaker 1: my attempt to change the faith in the medicine man
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  Speaker 1: to that abstract power named God. Then one day I
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  Speaker 1: became righteously mad with anger that the medicine man should
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  Speaker 1: thus ensure my father's soul. And when he came to
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  Speaker 1: chant his sacred songs, I pointed toward the door and
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  Speaker 1: bade him go. The man's eyes glared upon me for
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  Speaker 1: an instant, slowly gathering his robe about him. He turned
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  Speaker 1: his back upon the sick man and stepped out of
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  Speaker 1: our wigwam ha ha, my son, I cannot live without
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  Speaker 1: the medicine man. I heard my father cry when this
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  Speaker 1: sacred man was gone. On a bright day, when the
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  Speaker 1: wings seeds of the prairie grass were flying hither and thither,
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  Speaker 1: I walked solemnly toward the center of the camping ground.
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  Speaker 1: My heart beat hard and irregularly. At my side tighter
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  Speaker 1: I grasped the sacred book I carried under my arm.
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  Speaker 1: Now was the beginning of life's work. Though I knew
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  Speaker 1: it would be hard, I did not once feel that
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  Speaker 1: failure was to be my reward. As I stepped unevenly
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  Speaker 1: on the rolling ground, I thought of the warriors soon
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  Speaker 1: to wash off their war paints and follow me. At length.
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  Speaker 1: I reached the place where the people had assembled to
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  Speaker 1: hear me preach. In a large circle, men and women
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  Speaker 1: sat upon the dry red grass. Within the ring, I stood,
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  Speaker 1: with the white Man's Bible in my hand. I tried
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  Speaker 1: to tell them of the soft heart of Christ. In silence.
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  Speaker 1: The vast circle of bareheaded warriors sat under an afternoon sun.
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  Speaker 1: At last, wiping the wet for my brow. I took
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  Speaker 1: my place in the ring. The hush of the assembly
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  Speaker 1: filled me with great hope. I was turning my thoughts
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  Speaker 1: upward to the sky and gratitude, when a stir called
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  Speaker 1: me to earth again. A tall strong man arose, his
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  Speaker 1: loose robe hung in folds over his right shoulder. A
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  Speaker 1: pair of snapping black eyes fastened themselves like the poisonous
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  Speaker 1: fangs of a serpent upon me. He was the medicine man.
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  Speaker 1: A tremor played about my heart, and a shill cooled
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  Speaker 1: the fire in my veins. Scornfully, he pointed a long
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  Speaker 1: forefinger in my direction and asked, what loyal son is he, who,
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  Speaker 1: returning to his father's people, wears a foreigner's dress. He
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  Speaker 1: paused a moment, and then continued, the dress of that
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  Speaker 1: foreigner of whom a story says he bound a native
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  Speaker 1: of our land, and, heaping dry sticks around him, kindled
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  Speaker 1: a fire at his feet. Waving his hand towards me,
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  Speaker 1: he exclaimed, here is a traitor to his people. I
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  Speaker 1: was helpless before the eyes of the crowd. The cunning
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  Speaker 1: magician turned my honest heart into a vile nest of treachery.
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  Speaker 1: Alas the people frowned as they looked upon me. Listen,
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  Speaker 1: he went on, which one of you, who have eyed
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  Speaker 1: the young man, can see through his bosom and warn
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  Speaker 1: the people of the nests of young snakes hatching there.
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  Speaker 1: Whose ear was so acute that he caught the hissing
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  Speaker 1: of snakes whenever the young man opened his mouth. This
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  Speaker 1: one has not only proven false to you, but even
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  Speaker 1: to the great Spirit who made him. He is a fool.
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  Speaker 1: Why do you sit here giving ear to a foolish
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  Speaker 1: man who could not defend his people because he fears
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  Speaker 1: to kill, who could not bring venison to renew the
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  Speaker 1: life of his sick father with his prayers. Let him
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  Speaker 1: drive away the enemy with his soft heart. Let him
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  Speaker 1: keep off starvation. We shall go elsewhere to dwell upon
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  Speaker 1: an untainted ground. With this he disbanded the people. When
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  Speaker 1: the sun lowered in the west and the winds were quiet,
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  Speaker 1: the village of cone shaped teepees was gone. The medicine
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  Speaker 1: man had won the hearts of the people. Only my
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  Speaker 1: father's dwelling was left to mark the fighting ground. From
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  Speaker 1: a long night at my father's bedside, I came out
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  Speaker 1: to look upon the morning. The yellow sun hung equally
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  Speaker 1: between the snow covered land and the cloudless blue sky.
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  Speaker 1: The light of the new day was cold. The strong
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  Speaker 1: breath of winter crusted the snow and fitted crystal shells
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  Speaker 1: over the rivers and lakes. As I stood in front
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  Speaker 1: of the teepee, thinking of the vast prairies which separated
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  Speaker 1: us from our tribe, and wondering if the high sky
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  Speaker 1: likewise separated the soft hearted sun of God from us,
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  Speaker 1: the icy blast from the north blew through my hair
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  Speaker 1: and skull. My neglected hair had grown long and fell
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  Speaker 1: upon my neck. My father had not risen from his
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  Speaker 1: bed since the day the medicine man led the people away.
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  Speaker 1: Though I read from the Bible and prayed beside him
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  Speaker 1: upon my knees, my father would not listen. Yet I
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  Speaker 1: believed my prayers were not unheeded in heaven. Ah hah,
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  Speaker 1: my son, my father groaned upon the first snowfall, My son,
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  Speaker 1: our food is gone. There is no one to bring
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  Speaker 1: me meat. My son, your soft heart has unfitted you
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  Speaker 1: for everything. Then, covering his face with the buffalo robe,
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  Speaker 1: he said no more now. While I stood out in
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  Speaker 1: that cold winter morning, I was starving for two days.
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  Speaker 1: I had not seen any food, but my own cold
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  Speaker 1: and hunger did not harass my soul, as did the
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  Speaker 1: whining cry of the sick old man. Stepping again into
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  Speaker 1: the teepee, I untied my snowshoes, which were fastened to
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  Speaker 1: the tentpoles. My poor mother, watching by the sick one
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  Speaker 1: and faithfully heaping wood upon the center fire, spoke to me,
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  Speaker 1: my son, do not fail again to bring your father meat,
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  Speaker 1: or he will starve to death. How aina, I answered sorrowfully.
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  Speaker 1: From the teepee. I started forth again to hunt food
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  Speaker 1: for my aged parents. All day I tracked the white
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  Speaker 1: level lands in vain nowhere, nowhere were there any other
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  Speaker 1: footprints but my own. In the evening of this third
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  Speaker 1: fast day, I came back without meat, only a bundle
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  Speaker 1: of sticks for the fire I brought on my back.
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  Speaker 1: Dropping the wood outside, I lifted the door flap and
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  Speaker 1: set one foot within the teepee. There I grew dizzy
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  Speaker 1: and numb. My eyes swam in tears. Before me lay
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  Speaker 1: my old gray haired father, sobbing like a child. In
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  Speaker 1: his horny hands, he clutched the buffalo robe, and with
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  Speaker 1: his teeth he was gnawing off the edges, chewing the dry,
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  Speaker 1: stiff hair and buffalo skin. My father's eyes sought my hands.
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  Speaker 1: Upon seeing them empty, he cried out, my son, your
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  Speaker 1: soft heart will let me starve before you bring me meat.
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  Speaker 1: Two hills eastward stand a herd of cattle. Yet you
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  Speaker 1: will see me die before you bring me food. Leaving
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  Speaker 1: my mother lying with covered head upon her mat, I
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  Speaker 1: rushed out into the night, with a strange warmth in
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  Speaker 1: my heart and swiftness in my feet. I climbed over
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  Speaker 1: the first hill, and soon the second one. The moonlight
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  Speaker 1: upon the white country showed me a clear path to
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  Speaker 1: the white man's cattle. With my hand upon the knife
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  Speaker 1: in my belt, I leaned heavily against the fence, while
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  Speaker 1: counting the herd, twenty in all I numbered. From among them,
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  Speaker 1: I chose the best fattened creature. Leaping over the fence,
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  Speaker 1: I plunged my knife into it. My long knife was sharp,
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  Speaker 1: and my hands no more fearful, and slow slashed off
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  Speaker 1: choice chunks of warm flesh. Bending under the meat I
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  Speaker 1: had taken for my starving father, I hurried across the
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  Speaker 1: prairie toward home. I fairly ran, with the life giving
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  Speaker 1: food I carried upon my back. Hardly had I climbed
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  Speaker 1: the second hill, when I heard sounds coming after me.
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  Speaker 1: Faster and faster. I ran with my load for my father,
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  Speaker 1: but the sounds were gaining upon me. I heard the
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  Speaker 1: clicking of snow shoes and the squeaking of the leather
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  Speaker 1: straps at my heels. Yet I did not turn to
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  Speaker 1: see what pursued me, for I was intent upon reaching
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  Speaker 1: my father. Suddenly, like thunder and angry voice shouted curses
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  Speaker 1: and threats into my ear. A rough hand wrenched my
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  Speaker 1: shoulder and took the meat from me. I stopped struggling
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  Speaker 1: to run. A deafening whir filled my head. The moon
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  Speaker 1: and stars began to move. Now the white prairie was sky,
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  Speaker 1: and the stars lay under my feet. Now again they
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  Speaker 1: were turning. At last, the starry blue rose up into place.
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  Speaker 1: The noise in my ears was still. A great quiet
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  Speaker 1: filled the air. In my hand, I found my long
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  Speaker 1: knife dripping with blood. At my feet, a man's figure
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  Speaker 1: lay prone in the blood red snow. The horrible scene
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  Speaker 1: about me seemed a trick of my senses, for I
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  Speaker 1: could not understand it was real. Looking long upon the
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  Speaker 1: blood stained snow, the load of meat for my starving
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  Speaker 1: father reached my recognition. At last, Quickly, I tossed it
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  Speaker 1: over my shoulder and started again homeward, Tired and haunted,
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  Speaker 1: I reached the door of the Wigwam, carrying the food
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  Speaker 1: before me. I entered into the teepee. Father, here is food,
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  Speaker 1: I cried as I dropped the meat near my mother.
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  Speaker 1: No answer came. Turning about, I beheld my gray haired
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  Speaker 1: father dead. I saw by the unsteady firelight, and old
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  Speaker 1: gray haired skeleton lying rigid and stiff out into the open.
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  Speaker 1: I started, but the snow at my feet became bloody.
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  Speaker 1: On the day after my father's death, having led my
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  Speaker 1: mother to the camp of the medicine Man, I gave
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  Speaker 1: myself up to those who were searching for the murderer
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  Speaker 1: of the pale face. They bound me hand and foot
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  Speaker 1: here in this cell I was placed four days ago.
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  Speaker 1: The shrieking winter winds have followed me, heather rattling the
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  Speaker 1: bars they held unceasingly. Your soft heart, your soft heart,
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  Speaker 1: will see me die before you bring me food. Hark.
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  Speaker 1: Something is clanking the chain on the door. It is
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  Speaker 1: being open from the dark night without. A black figure
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  Speaker 1: crosses the threshold. It is the guard. He comes to
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  Speaker 1: warn me of my fate. He tells me tomorrow I
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  Speaker 1: must die. In his stern face, I laugh aloud. I
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  Speaker 1: do not fear death. Yet I wonder who shall come
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  Speaker 1: to welcome me in the realm of strange sight. Will
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  Speaker 1: the loving Jesus grant me pardon and give my soul
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  Speaker 1: a soothing sleep? Or will my warrior father greet me
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  Speaker 1: and receive me as his son? Will my spirit fly
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  Speaker 1: upward to a happy heaven? Or shall I sink into
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  Speaker 1: the bottomless pit, an outcast from a God of infinite love.
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  Speaker 1: Soon soon I shall know. For now I see the
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  Speaker 1: east is growing red. My heart is strong, my face
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  Speaker 1: is calm, My eyes are dry and eager for new scenes.
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  Speaker 1: My hands hang quietly at my side, serene and brave.
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  Speaker 1: My soul awaits the men to perch me on the
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  Speaker 1: gallows for another flight. I go. End of section five.