Johnny Hunter Page 11

  Rounding the last boulder, Johnny was surprised to see that a large lodge had been built in the center of the sacred circle. It was the biggest tipi he had ever seen, standing about twenty-five feet high and covered with hides, skins, and canvas. It looked more like a circular house than a tipi. Horses and ponies were tied up everywhere. The drumming and singing came from inside the lodge.

  Johnny slid off Thunder and quietly crept up to the entrance flap. He lifted it and looked inside. Three Cheyenne men pounded on large drums, which were decorated with eagle feathers and painted with red stripes. Gray Man knelt in the center of the lodge next to the fire, drawing on a skin. Around him were about thirty Cheyenne men and women chanting a song that sounded like the wind whistling through the forest branches. Richard Amos, his arm in a cast, sat close to the entrance.

  “Hey, Richard, what're you doing here?” Johnny shouted over the chant. He crawled through the flap and over the hard dirt floor.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Richard said, a grin filling his broad face.

  “How’s the arm?” he whispered as he sat next to his friend.

  Richard lifted the cast and flapped it like a chicken wing. “Feels great, except it gets cold inside. I need a mitten to keep my thumb and fingers warm.”

  “Hey, how come everybody’s signed it but me?” Johnny asked, acting hurt.

  “Because everybody else is back in school. How long you going to drag this out, hero? Sarah Pretty Feather asked about you. I think she likes you.”

  “I’m coming back tomorrow,” he said, ignoring the part about Sarah.

  “Be quiet,” a raspy voice whispered from behind them. Logan Badger forced his way between them, sat down, and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

  “What’s going on, Logan?” Johnny asked. “What’s Gray Man doing?”

  “Just watch and you will learn. Right now he is painting the sacred wolf skin. He must do it just as our ancient ones have told us.”

  Johnny watched as Gray Man knelt on the ground, dipping his fingers in several small pots. The old man was naked from the waist up, but the cold didn’t bother him. He spread the wolf skin out on the ground, and starting at the left forefoot, he drew a red line across to the right forefoot. Then, Gray Man traced a yellow line to the right hip and over to the left shoulder.

  “What’s it mean?” Johnny asked Logan.

  “When Gray Man proceeds in the proper order, he honors the four directions, which have long been sacred to our people. The four directions symbolize peace with nature and our balance with Mother Earth. If the spirits of the four directions are pleased with the massaum, then we will have good fortune.” Logan’s eyes glistened as he told the boys the meaning of the ceremony. He felt like a young man just talking about the massaum.

  “Why is that cottonwood tree stuck there in the middle, Logan?” Richard asked.

  “It symbolizes the growing things in nature. It shows the wish we have for all the fruits and trees to grow and prosper with us. Be quiet now. Gray Man is finished.”

  They watched as the medicine chief knelt over the painted skin. He lifted the skin and faced each direction with it. After turning south, he hung the wolf skin on the cottonwood tree.

  “My people,” he shouted, his voice filling the tipi, “we have followed the ancient traditions for four days. I am sure that Maheo will be pleased with our massaum and our traps will soon be filled with the animals of the forest that we honor here tonight. For now, it is time to dance and sing. Has everyone brought their skins?”

  The Cheyenne answered by raising and waving their furs: beaver pelts, fox, bear, and even a buffalo robe. Johnny was amazed to see so many different skins because most of the large game had disappeared from the Cheyenne reservation years ago.

  “That is good,” Gray Man said, quieting the crowd with a wave of his hand. “My grandson is here with us tonight. As most of you know, he has recently been visited by the spirit world as proof that Maheo still hears his special people when they need help. Hunter has saved his brothers and shall lead the dances as the warriors did in days past.

  “Come, Hunter.”

  Johnny felt the applause pounding in his ears as he stepped over the others. He nervously avoided the eyes of his friends while he worked his way toward the center of the lodge. When he reached Gray Man, the large drums pounded the beat he had heard at the earlier dance. The rhythm filled his body and he started to dance.

  The other Cheyenne joined him, wearing their skins and acting like animals. Johnny, feeling warm in his jacket, stripped it off. He wanted the others to see his necklace. Stomping and spinning, he felt like it was two hundred years ago. Long ago, when they were done dancing, the tribe would head out for a buffalo hunt on the prairies, riding for a hundred miles if necessary. The dancing, the shouting, all seemed so natural to him.

  Johnny pulled off his shirt and tossed it to Richard. His friend was shaking a rattle and chanting.

  The fire cast eerie shadows on the tipi walls as the dancers circled around it. The wolf heads and bear skins looked like giant animals on the lodge skins. It was an animal dance, a massaum. Who knows, Johnny thought, it might even work.

  He swayed near the fire, holding the necklace in his hand. The shadow on the walls looked like a huge grizzly paw.

  “Hey, Richard!” he shouted. “Look at the grizzly.” Johnny pointed at the shadow, which was above the entrance to the tipi.

  There was a commotion and then the tipi flap flew open. The snow blew in, followed by a big man in a denim jacket. Billy Hunter squeezed through the hole and stood glaring at the dancers, his hands on his hips. The drums stopped.

  “So, boy,” he screamed at Johnny, “the old man’s even got you dancin’ around half naked. Well, you’re gonna pay for it now. I warned you about coming here and joining in this mumbo-jumbo.”

  Billy stomped across the tipi and grabbed the bear claws from Johnny’s hand. He tore the string in two and threw the claws into the fire.

  “But, Dad,” Johnny started to say. He searched for words but the knot in his stomach clamped his throat shut. “But, Dad.”

  “Ain’t no buts about it,” Billy said. His eyes were as wild as a mustang stallion. “You deliberately disobeyed me, and I can’t stand for that.” He grabbed Johnny roughly around the back of his neck.

  “Get your clothes on. Ain’t you got any sense? You been sick for a week.” He pushed Johnny toward his shirt.

  “Wait,” Gray Man said. “Do not be angry with the boy. It is my fault that he’s here.” The old man stepped between Billy and Johnny.

  Billy rubbed his sleeve across his mouth. “You’re right, old man; it is your fault he’s here. But Johnny’s a big boy now, and I told him not to come and he did. He’s got to pay for that.”

  “Listen, Billy. I know you don’t like me, but why don’t you stay and watch the dance for a while. You’ve never given us a chance. Who knows? You might even like it.” Gray Man spread his arms as he spoke.

  Billy pushed him aside. “I don’t need this kinda crap. C’mon, Johnny. Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed Johnny’s arm, dragged him through the quiet crowd, and out through the tipi entrance.

  The air felt cold on Johnny’s face. He had worked up a sweat dancing; he pulled on his shirt as fast as he could.

  “Get on your horse, and I don’t want to hear a word from you all the way home,” his father said, his voice full of anger.

  Johnny smelled whiskey and beer on his breath. “Yes, Dad,” he mumbled softly. He pulled his jacket on and climbed on Thunder’s back. He was shaking, but not from the cold. A hard chisel pounded in his stomach as he turned his horse toward the trail. Billy Hunter climbed on his horse, Little Girl, and followed behind him as they silently rode out of Spirit Canyon. Johnny thought about how excited he had been when he rode into the canyon tonight and now it had all gone wrong. He felt like he was going to throw up.

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED back at the cabin, Johnny pushed the door open
and rushed into the warmth of his house. His mother was standing over the stove, stirring the contents of a big black pot. Her eyes darted back and forth, like a frightened calf, between Johnny and the door. He had never seen her look so scared.

  “Are you okay, Johnny?” she asked as she walked over and hugged him. Her warmth felt so good after the cold ride back from the canyon.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “How’s your father?”

  “About as mad as I’ve ever seen him.”

  “He came to the school and found me when you weren’t at home. He thought you might be with me. I could see him getting madder and madder by the moment. He knew you were in Spirit Canyon, and he slammed the door hard as he left.

  “When he’s that mad, I’m afraid of him.”

  She pulled away from him. Her hair was braided, hanging down the front of her cotton dress. She was wearing an old yellow sweater for extra warmth. “He would never hurt you, Johnny, but you shouldn’t have disobeyed him after he told you not to go to the dances.”

  “But what’s wrong with dancing like a Cheyenne?”

  “Nothing,” she said, “but it’s more important to obey your father. That’s the Cheyenne way, too.”

  Johnny dropped his head. “I know, Mom. I guess I’m kind of confused right now. I don’t want to disobey Dad, but Gray Man’s my grandfather and I think that he’s right about our people.”

  “He may be,” Mrs. Hunter said. “But when I married your father, I promised the priest to love and obey him and that made your grandfather second to him. What your father says is what I listen to and so should you.”

  The door opened, and Billy Hunter walked in from putting the horses in the stable. The chilly ride back had not cooled his temper. He slammed the door shut, stomped across the living room, and tossed his denim jacket toward the clothes hooks on the wall.

  “Okay, son,” he said, stripping his leather belt off his jeans, “now you’re going to get it for making a fool out of me in front of my friends. Everybody at Rosie’s was laughin’ at me, telling me you was out dancing with Gray Man and those other nuts. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Riding out to the canyon, I kept telling myself that you wouldn’t be there when I got to the lodge. I guess I was a fool to believe that you’d obey me, but I kept hopin’ that my friends were wrong.”

  Johnny stood still, looking his father in the eyes. He felt a chill of fear creep up the back of his neck. His father had never been this angry with him before. “But, Dad,” he said almost in a whisper, “I didn’t do it to make a fool of you. I did it because I’m curious about the culture of our people. I want to know about being a Cheyenne.”

  Billy swayed slightly as he smacked the belt across his calloused hands. His black eyes were narrow slits under his heavy eyebrows.

  “I don’t want to hear that crap anymore. We’ve had this fight before and apparently Gray Man means more to you than I do. It looks like you’re going to have to learn the hard way, so bend over that table and take your punishment.”

  Billy grabbed Johnny and pushed him toward the table. Tripping over the rug, Johnny fell across the kitchen table, landing on his stomach. He grabbed the tabletop and the belt cracked him across his legs, sending pain roaring to his brain. The table slid forward from the force of the blow.

  “No, stop it!” Mrs. Hunter shouted. She stepped between them and wrapped her heavy arms around Johnny. “This won’t solve anything. This boy’s as stubborn as you, and you ought to know that you can’t beat anything into him. Now stop it!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Billy Hunter stepped back as if his wife’s words had knocked him down.

  “You takin’ his side, too,” Billy shouted. He spat as he screamed. His face turned bright red and suddenly his hand swept from behind him and smacked his wife across the face. Minatare staggered back and fell to the floor.

  Johnny climbed off the table and, kneeling beside her, helped her sit up. “You okay, Mom?”

  She slowly nodded, rubbing her hand on her cheek. She looked frightened, her big dark eyes full of sadness and hurt.

  “Oh, God,” Billy moaned. “Oh, God.” He covered his face with his hands and staggered toward the door. “I’m sorry Minatare,” he said softly as he opened the door. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean to hit you or Johnny.” The door closed behind him, and in a minute, they heard the pickup door close and then the truck driving out toward the highway.

  “I hope he’ll be okay,” Mrs. Hunter said quietly. “He’s so upset.”

  “I know. I never saw him cry like that before,” Johnny said. He helped her to a chair by the kitchen table. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. She straightened the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “He’ll probably be okay and come home in a couple of hours.” Her face had a red hand mark burning on one cheek.

  Johnny went outside and packed snow into a dish towel. He gave it to his mother, and she held it against her cheek.

  “Thanks, Johnny. That feels good.”

  “Has he ever hit you before?” Johnny asked from the stove. He poured a cup of hot sage tea and brought it to her, setting it on the table.

  “Never. He used to be so kind when we first got married, but he doesn’t like himself much anymore. He thinks he’s a failure. That’s why he drinks so heavily, and that’s why he wants you to do so good at basketball and school—so you won’t be a failure like him.”

  “I want a basketball scholarship, too, Mom, but I don’t think I have to give up being a Cheyenne just to be a success.”

  “I don’t want to argue about it,” she said, “but as long as you live here, you better stay away from them dances. You hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you. I wouldn’t want another scene like tonight. My stomach’s still tied up in a giant knot.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes until Johnny spoke. “Mom, why does Dad hate the Cheyenne way of life so much? Since I was a little kid he preached to me about living like the whites do?”

  Minatare thought for a moment before answering him. “He doesn’t hate the Cheyenne’s traditions, but he hates the results. When he was young, his father tried to teach him the Cheyenne ways but his friends made fun of him at school. They were all going to leave the reservation and make big money in the white world.

  “But his father died, and everywhere he looked on the reservation there was poverty and hopelessness. Him and his mom struggled to find food. There were no jobs on the reservation, and eventually he turned against our traditions. He saw no hope as a Cheyenne and started running with the wild boys, drinking and stealing and destroying whatever future they had.”

  “But you married him.”

  “I did. When we started dating I made him promise to give up alcohol and find a job, or I wouldn’t date him. To my surprise, he did, and Father Shannon gave him a job at St. Andrew. We were happy in the early part of our marriage, but he doesn’t really like working as a janitor. After a few years he started drinking again, just a little at first but it got worse over the years.”

  “What happened to his friends?”

  “One of them actually became a successful lawyer in Denver, but a couple of them died from alcohol; and he still sees one or two at Rosie’s. Other than the lawyer, they are all pretty much just living for the next bottle of beer or bourbon.”

  “But the Cheyenne beliefs didn’t make him a failure.”

  “I know, but that’s who he blamed. He thinks he should have success like the Denver lawyer. As the years went by, he became more depressed and he’s now drinking a lot more. So, he blames his troubles on the Cheyenne.”

  Minatare took his hand in hers. “He wants you to have the success he never found.”

  In about an hour, they heard a car rolling up the driveway, its tires crunching the snow.

  “Maybe he’s back!” Johnny shouted. He jumped from his chair and looked out the frosted window. A black station wagon drove slowly by
the gate and stopped. The driver turned off the lights and opened the car door.

  “Who is it?” Mrs. Hunter called out.

  “I think it’s Father McGlothlin,” Johnny said after a minute. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”

  He opened the door and the young priest came in, along with a chilling breeze. Father McGlothlin brushed the parka off his head and stomped the snow off his boots. He took off his gloves and looked around the room before he spoke. A chair was still lying on its side on the floor. “Where’s Billy?” he finally asked.

  “He left,” Johnny said. He wanted to ask the priest why he was there but the words stuck in his throat.

  The priest walked over to Minatare and looked at her face. He bent over and gently touched the red mark. “He was very angry, wasn’t he?”

  “Never saw him that crazy before,” Mrs. Hunter answered.

  “He must have been quite upset to hit you, Minatare. You know he loves you very much.”

  “I know, Father. He just lost control for a moment. He had been drinking and he got so mad at Johnny.”

  The room was quiet for a long moment.

  Then Johnny asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Richard came to the priest house and told me what had happened at Spirit Canyon, so I rushed right over to see if I could help. I knew Billy’d be awfully mad, and I was worried that he’d do something crazy or hurt one of you. Did he hit you, too?”

  “Just once,” Johnny answered. He rubbed the back of his jeans. “Father, me and mom are okay, but we’re really worried about Dad.”

  “Yeah,” Mrs. Hunter broke in. “He’s been drinking and he’s mad and I’m afraid he might hurt himself in the truck or fall down in the parking lot at Rosie’s. I don’t know what to do.”

  Taking her hand in his, Father McGlothlin patted it gently with the other hand. His hands were warm. “Don’t worry, Minatare. I’ll go find him and bring him back here. I think he’ll listen to me.”

  A smile lit her tear-streaked face. “You’re awfully good to us, Father. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No thanks needed. We’re all children of God.”