HERE IS THE NEW IMPROVED VERSION...PERHAPS I POSTED THIS TOO QUICKLY
The Indian Giver
“This is a tale that happened long ago,” I say to the little ones as they stare at me with wide eyes and anticipate the telling of my story. Their parents sit behind them, also ready for what I am going to say. I am more than ninety now, and soon my days will end. I must tell the young ones the things my grandfathers have told me of the days gone by...long before my own birth. I also must reveal what I have seen and what I have learned. It is my responsibility and duty. The fire burns brightly, and we are warm. They are quiet now, so I begin...
She sits in the shallow water and observes the boats sailing closer. I also watch and question to myself. I feel wariness, but I do not tell her. I do not want her to become alarmed. All day we watch them as we wrestle the quahogs from their homes hidden beneath the rocky ocean floor. ”What can this mean? No canoe of this size has ever been seen,” we puzzle to each other. Now it is getting later, but Father Sun is still shining his light above the tops of the tall pine trees. “We have time to play for a while,” she tells me. I look at this sister who is my world and thank Creator for the blessing she is to me in my life. Her name, too difficult to pronounce for many who are unused to our language, means Morning Dawn. She has seen thirteen winters as she travels along her path. She is getting ever closer and closer to womanhood. My winters are sixteen. Morning Dawn, standing near to the edge of this passage, reveals how much she has been learning.
I love to hear her when she talks about the world. She knows how the rocks came to be and often talks of the spirit that they hold. “Thunder Heart,” she always instructs me, “do not think that the rocks are not living. They stand like sentinels to greet the morning sun as it appears over the ocean’s edge. To us they seem silent; we cannot hear their shouts, but the birds and fishes hear them trumpeting their welcome to the morning.” She knows how to talk to little animals. Rabbits, deer, even skunks and wolves often come near and sit by Morning Dawn to hear her voice in its lovely chant. They come, but she is not in danger. The red eared tolba comes onto her hand whenever she holds it out. Then she pats his shell house He basks on her lap enjoying not only the heat of the sun but also the warmth of her body.
Today she speaks to me of our friend, Golden Eagle, who is brave, strong, and handsome. His father has asked for my sister to become Golden Eagle’s wife. Our father has given permission. Morning Dawn says she loves Golden Eagle. She says she will be happy to move to his wigwam when the trees begin to celebrate the time of the rainbow leaves. That is when their joining takes place. She is excited to know that this will be soon. “I am sewing a white buckskin shirt for Golden Eagle to wear when we stand under the blanket to become one. This wedding shirt has fringe and little shells on it, and I am stitching a beaded eagle on the back. He has hinted that he is making wampum jewelry for me to wear on that day. We know will be happy. I am as joyful as this brook which bubbles and dances down the length of the hill and across the beach, soon to throw itself joyfully into the ocean.”
We are so busy laughing and enjoying plans for the future that we have not been paying attention to the big canoe. Morning Dawn is teasing me about little Blue Bird and telling me that I should be doing something about finding a wife for myself. She looks at me with penetrating eyes as if she knows my every secret. I realize that she possibly does. I am a bit sad knowing that soon everything will be different, that life will change. Still, I know that our bond will never be broken. We are linked together naugte, forever, as brother and sister which is strong in a different way from the joining of a husband and wife. When I think of this, I am cheerful again.
We chase each other around on the sandy shore. Morning Dawn stops to look at a gull that glides and swoops in the late afternoon breeze. She gets one of the quahogs from the pile and cracks its shell. She holds the gooey body up and the gull flies down to grab the morsel from her beautiful hand. He circles around to dip and loop proclaiming his thanks. Morning Dawn sings a song she is making up.
‘Come, my brother, of a feathered mother
I am your sister of the sun
We are part of the big circle of life
Sharing Mother Earth, Creator given
Take this food and feed your little ones
So someday they may soar and fly free
As you do....as I do...as my brother does, too.’
Morning Dawn does a little dance. She shakes her arms to make her bracelets jingle making a staccato rhythm for her lovely form to follow. The sun seems to shine a brighter golden light on this exquisite show. Little did we know my gorgeous Morning Dawn, sister of the sun and my sister of my heart, has just danced her own dirge.
Finally, we pick up our baskets filled with the evening meal, and we happily prepare to head toward our wigwam deep in the woods. Morning Dawn wants to give the quahogs to our mother. She is going to tell our father of our day and what we saw. She is planning to steal a few moments with her Golden Eagle to let him know how happy she is. Suddenly, several men in strange clothes step out from behind the soundless rocks that have betrayed us by their silence. Later, after it was all over, I go back and scream at these boulders, “She believed in you. You have let her down. Why didn’t you warn us? Why?”
The men speak to us. We hear their words but cannot understand. They speak louder, then shouting and looking angry. I ask myself why these men are angry. They cannot be afraid of us, can they? How could they fear us...my sweet woman child sister...or me, who is a skinny young brave still growing.
They come towards us. We back away, wanting to run from them but afraid to turn away. Morning Dawn backs into a rock. She looses her balance and falls down. Her head is now lying in the water at the ocean’s edge. Lying there, I see the life ebbing from her beautiful eyes as her life’s blood stains the once blue water. She reaches up to something beyond me. I look up and see an eagle in the sky. The bird swoops and circles above Morning Dawn. Her hand drops back into the water, and the bird soars away. Now I remember her story about the brook. She had painted a happy picture. The image has now turned into gloom. The dancing brook has reached the sea, but its bubble and joy cannot be seen. The sun goes beyond the trees and dusk casts its grey light everywhere. I see that even the men are shocked at what has happened. They pick up my Morning Dawn gently and beckon me to lead them on. I understand and head off for our village, but the rest is in a haze of forgetfulness. I know Morning Dove was not an Indian giver. She was an Indian, who had been taken. I don’t have any idea what those men know.
I have finished my story. Everyone is quiet. Some have moist eyes that shine in the firelight. Now it is my time to teach them the insight that can be found in this story. “It is important to apply the lessons of the past to the challenges of the present,” I tell those who listen, “Throughout my life the people from beyond the sea have continued to come. Their numbers are great now. Because we are so different there have been many calamities like the one that happened to Morning Dawn which our people have had to undergo. Many people have died on both sides. You may believe you know why this has happened. You may think that is because these people are evil.
The tragedy is that our white neighbors also believe that we are evil. Here is something for you to think about. Even good people do evil things. This is human nature. We think they are heartless; they think we are savages. We think they are treacherous; they think that we lack any spirituality. We think that they follow a God who allows them act maliciously. We think that the things of the earth should be borrowed from sparingly; they think that the land is for their use, and so they use it without regard for the future. All have misguided insights into diverse ways, this causes great confusion.
The misunderstandings have grown throughout my lifetime. We each hold beliefs as truths that are not always actually true. Innocent people from both sides are caught in the clash of our cultures. Many from both sides have died during my lifetime in battles waged to become the prevailing civilization. My children, you must learn and grow. Become familiar with truth. Do not let yourself fall into the danger of making a fatal mistake in your thinking about others. Do not take on beliefs that you have heard without seeking wisdom and knowledge. Seek guidance from the Creator when you deal with each other.
Now I am the one who has moist eyes. I know I will see Morning Dawn soon. I am weary, and I long for this. When I tell the story of my sister to my children and grandchildren, it is my hope that it will help them to see how things need to be. My desire is that they will discover the kind of wisdom and understanding they require as People of the First Light...as people who are true “Indian Givers”!
©Corinne H. Mustafa
11/3/09
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