I apologize for taking so long to post this next chapter. Thank you to anyone who is still reading.
xi
The horse blanket, even though I shook it out and folded it the other way to keep horse hairs off me, was rough on my ass. But it was better than sitting on the grass and having pustules raised on my 'delicate' parts from ant bites. Ross sat on the other side of the pit that held the red-hot stones. He poured water on them causing them to hiss and steam to rise.
"This water," Ross said, touching the pail, "is for making the steam but it's also for us to drink. But before you take any for yourself, pour some on the ground for those who came before you. It's a way of showing respect."
Once the steam had risen and with the heat of the stones, it quickly became uncomfortable. I was glad it wasn't summer—bad enough it was spring, and I understood why Ross wanted the ceremony in the evening when the outside temperature dropped. He said if I ever felt I couldn't breathe, the cooler air was near the ground. But I could leave the lodge at any time; he would understand.
"So, is there anything else I need to know?" I asked. "I mean, I don't have to open a vein and make a blood sacrifice or anything, do I?"
"Naw, nothing like that." Ross grinned. "No animal sacrifices either. This is just about renewing yourself, who you are, ridding yourself of the past and going ahead clean. I guess, it's a little like a baptism in a way, you know, being reborn and all."
I could understand that. There are many ways to be "reborn." I felt a little like that after I'd returned from back east. I no longer was the Cartwright son who rebelled against rules and felt morally superior while mocking the ways, values and traditions of my father's generation. I was now a man who understood so much more. What I didn't realize was how much more there was to comprehend about life and about the others who I would invite through the years to share my life with me.
"All right," I replied. "What else do I need to know?"
"Well…" Ross thought. "I can only tell you what I learned from an old Blackfoot I rode with for about a year."
"Oh?" Ross had never mentioned this time in his life.
"Yeah. I was about 15 or so—not really sure, you know how times goes. Anyway, he knew I was an Indian and a Lakota, at that. Said he saw all my ancestors standing in a row behind me. I thought he was a crazy old loon at first but we kept company for quite a while. Nights, while I was trying to fall asleep, he'd start talking and tell stories of the buffalo spirit, Ta Tanka, and how it can guide you. Told me to pay attention to my dreams because that's when your spirit communicates with the unseen, with Ta Tanka or the wolf spirit, the pathfinder who can lead you the right way. He told me to leave myself open to all the spirits around us, the spirits of the trees, the rivers, the mountains and the rocks like these here. We have to listen to their message. His name was Chogan. It means blackbird, so I told him about my name meaning crow. I remember he smiled at that-the fact we had the same totem. Well, one day as we were riding, he explained the sweat lodge to me, the traditions. I've forgotten some of it, but I've remembered the most important things." He gestured toward the pit and said, "Now, the mother stones, these represent the earth. So, since she is the mother of us all, when the steam rises from our mother, we breathe it in, and like a person takes a bath for the body, the steam is a bath for the spirit. It cleanses a man's soul."
Ross held up a bundle of grasses among a small pile, twine wrapped halfway up. "Now, these are prayer bundles."
"Prayer bundles?"
"Yeah. Sweet grass, sage and two I rewrapped with some tobacco leaves. And I whittled this pipe; I had to make it in two parts that're connected here." He put down the bundle and held up a long pipe with a carved bowl and showed me where the top portion had been pushed into the lower section. "I had trouble hollowing out the inside." Ross had tied a few feathers above the bowl; they hung down and fluttered in the rising steam. "See, tobacco, well, I know it all sounds like hogwash, but it's s'pposed to represent a man's spirit rising with the smoke because when you breathe out the smoke, a bit of you goes with it. Then your spirit rises to the heavens and mingles with your ancestors. So, I chopped up some of that tobacco and packed the pipe. But first…"
Ross lit one of the bundles that quickly began to smoke, and passed it over the pit and about himself, chanting something in what I took to be Lakota but maybe it was Blackfoot. He handed the bundle to me and told me to do the same. I held one end and stared at it.
"Just move it around myself?" I asked. I felt foolish, sitting there with the sweat already rolling down my chest, my back, my sides and from my brows, stinging my eyes along with the smoke and dripping off the tip of my nose.
"Yeah. Just let the smoke float around you and ask for all bad spirits to leave, or say a prayer that means something to you."
"A prayer?"
"A prayer of thanks if you want or anything else that comes to mind. As long as it carries the sincerity of what's in your heart to the spirits." I guess he felt a little foolish because he added, "You don't have to say it out loud if you'd rather keep it private. It's just part of the ceremony."
I stared at the bundle and then I did as Ross instructed and moved it around myself, but my mind darted about trying to think of an appropriate prayer. Then a passage from the Bible came to me and although it wasn't a prayer, I repeated it aloud. "When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." I looked across at Ross. He had his eyes closed as he sat, the steam and smoke slightly blurring my view of him but it seemed he wore a small smile. I hoped the passage would mean to him what it meant to me; we weren't children anymore and charity was the greatest virtue as in its greatest sense, charity is loving your fellow man more than oneself. That was why I wanted to give things to him, not only material things but things of my mind, my ideas and my friendship.
Time passed and I felt the rhythmic dripping of sweat off my nose and hitting my stomach only to roll down and wet the blanket below me. Every so often, Ross would light anther bundle until I began to dread that part and its smoke. And although I drank constantly, I remembered the ceremonial pouring of water on the ground before I drank from the ladle. I thought about my ancestors, the Stoddards whose name meant "standard bearer," or so my grandfather had said. Long ago, it had been deemed an honor to ride into battle holding the standard high for the enemy to see. Who were my forefathers who had carried the flag of some ancient king into battle? How many had fallen on the field, desperate to hand off the flag to another before it was trampled into the bloody earth? I honored them as well as all the Cartwrights who lived before me, the "cart makers" in their sheds pounding hoops of iron or copper to reinforce the wheels on the carts they proudly made. And in the steamy heat surrounding me, a chill ran down my spine and I wondered if my long line of ancestors were hovering about me in spirit, watching and accepting the respect and honor I showed by offering them drink first.
Whenever the steam subsided and no more steam could be raised, Ross would go out and with the tongs from the smithy, pull more hot stones from the fire, fueling the flames outside from the stacked wood and then putting more stones on top to heat. Once I opened the flap, feeling relief in the sudden cold air, and watched him. I decided next time I'd volunteer just to get out in the night air, but I quickly sat back on the blanket, a shiver overcoming me.
More steam was raised and the heat began anew. We had passed the pipe earlier and I was pleased I hadn't been cheated by the tobacconist; the leaves were rich and their magic raced through my veins, easing any tensions. Ross lit another bundle of sweet grass, tobacco leaves and sage and blew on it to keep it from smoking too much. Then he tossed it on the hot stones and smoke filled the space. I was uncomfortable but Ross simply sat still. I could hear low murmurs from him but couldn't make out the words. Was he praying, talking to the old man, Chogan, or to his ancestors? Or maybe he was in a spiritual realm I was denied because I didn't really believe.
The smoke began to sting my eyes so I closed them. I listened to Ross' droning and suddenly I felt as if a large hand grasped me by the throat and something, a force was trying to enter my mind. I kept telling myself it was only panic and the heat, the choking smoke, but I couldn't swallow and my throat closed up. I felt so weak that it was a struggle to open my eyes. I'd lost control of my calm, rational, logical self and in desperation, dragged myself out of the sweat lodge, struggling to push the flap aside and once out, sucked in the crisp, cold night air. I lay on the grass until I was breathing easier and my panic subsided. Ross was still inside and the vibrations of his prayers or incantations or whatever they could properly be called, seemed to thrum in the air about me. I began to feel chilled but didn't want to go back inside the lodge. I decided that if asked, I would tell my father nothing had happened except that I sweat like a horse that'd been rode-hard. I thought I'd go in the house, dress and wait for Ross. Maybe make a pot of coffee or sleep on the divan.
I slowly managed to stand straight up after having sat for so long. I bent backwards a bit to unkink my back. My hair was soaked and stuck to my scalp, and although I knew it was only sweat rolling down my legs and having sat cross-legged for so long, it felt like insects were running about on my legs while my feet tingled uncomfortably. I looked at the sky, guessing it to be past midnight. We had been in the sweat lodge for quite a few hours and I wondered if I was yet "pure" enough to be best man. The hell with it, I decided. Ross would have to accept me as I was, spiritually cleansed or not.
Then I heard it. I looked in the direction of an ungodly sound that was like a scream and a roar at the same time. I grabbed up the heavy iron tongs that Ross had tossed out after he'd last used them. I also threw more wood on the fire, causing it to flame higher but I still couldn't see what or who had made the sound. I knew a panther's scream could freeze your blood with its eerie pitch, but this was different and definitely not a bear. A bear emitted a snuffling sound until it roared. But maybe it was the panther we suspected of killing some of our young steers; none of us had been able to find it and shoot it. I suddenly remembered the story of the creature at the bunkhouse window with the red, glowing eyes that had terrified Ross' hired hands and as I stood there, naked, holding the tongs, I'd never before felt so vulnerable.
I jumped when an owl hooted, then told myself I was an idiot to be afraid of sounds in the night. There were all sorts of night creatures and these same type of sounds in the daylight were ignored. And hadn't I just been communing, so to speak with my ancestors? If I believed in evil entities, then shouldn't I also believe in good ones? I was about to put down the tongs when I heard the sound again. I hadn't imagined it after all and stepped around the lodge, peering into the darkness. And against the sky, I saw the outline of multi-branched antlers that were far too thick and too tall for a deer. The Elk Man from the petroglyphs. Was that what I was seeing again? No, no, I argued. I remembered my father once mentioning the first time he heard a male elk "bugle" as it searched out females during rut; it was an unexpected, unnerving sound, one that made a man jump. What I saw might only be that same elk that had traveled to this part of Nevada for some odd reason. But rut was in the fall and it was spring…my mind raced trying to make sense of what I had seen and heard. I decided to get my rifle from the house and tell Ross something was about on his property. I heard rustling behind me and turning, I sucked in my breath. There was a woman, a young Indian woman. Her hair was long and black as a crow's back, coming down to the hardened tip of her bare breasts. She stood, looking at me and I couldn't move, couldn't speak. She took a few more steps toward me and there was something unusual about her stride but I couldn't take my eyes from her beautiful face. She was more than beautiful; she was entrancing. Her lips parted as if to say something to me as she reached out for my hand. I dropped the tongs and stretched out my hand as lust suddenly overwhelmed me. She seemed to exude a scent like some seductive perfume and I knew that when I kissed her, her mouth would taste like honey and I would never tire of it. I wanted her and she wanted me and nothing else mattered at that time. I didn't know where I was or who I was except that this creature who embodied all I had ever desired in a woman was going to lie down with me and submit to my will.
My breathing stepped up and she murmured something as I took her hand, warm and soft, and walking backwards to keep facing me, she led me away to the tree line. A noise behind me, my name being called out in the night, broke the stillness and I turned. When I did, her hand pulled away from mine. "No!" I cried out. I remember that distinctly because when I had turned back to her, she was all but completely gone. I just caught a glimpse of a pale, bare flank and flashing legs disappear into the trees.
"Adam?" The flap of the sweat lodge was flipped back and Ross stood outside. "You out here? You okay?"
"What?" I felt disoriented, unsteady on my feet. I took a few deep breaths. Ross had reached me and put a hand on my arm. "I opened my eyes and you were gone. Guess I was too deep in my own thoughts. Looks like you've had enough, boy. Let's call it a night. It's damn cold out here."
"Yeah…yeah…," I said looking about, beginning to shiver. "Thought I heard something. But…" I remembered Dell had said the day I arrived home, that if she didn't know better, she'd think Ross had another woman. Was it she I had met, Ross' lover? "Ross…" He had begun to lead me to the house but I stopped. "Is there an Indian tribe nearby? A Paiute or Bannock tribe or even some Indians from another tribe who've settled hereabouts?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" He truly looked confused.
"I just thought I saw an Indian…" I chuckled nervously. "Nothing. I think the heat got to me. Let's go inside." We went inside the house leaving the fires outside to die down and I suddenly felt weak. I sat on a kitchen chair and pulled on my trousers, standing only to button them, and slipped on my shirt while Ross, in only his trousers, started the fireplace going and then fired-up the kitchen stove.
"Hungry?" he asked me.
"Yeah. I think so." I sat at the kitchen table and felt overwhelmed with weariness. I ran my hands through my damp hair and longed for a nice, warm bath. But the image of the Indian woman standing before me, luring me to go with her, making promises of pleasure with her luminous eyes, heated my blood again and I tried my best not to think of her. She had been real. I had touched her, gripped her hand and felt its warmth, her smooth flesh. And the knowledge she was out there and could be "known"—in both the Biblical and prosaic sense—was alluring, seductive. I felt such longing for the Indian woman that it made me almost gasp with desire.
"Ross, whatever happened to the old Indian, Chogan?"
He stopped slicing bread and said, "One morning, he said he had to go and finish dying. He said when we came across each other, he was on his way to search out his death place but knew I needed teaching. So, he decided to live a little longer. But after a time, Chogan said he needed to finish his journey and that I had much more to learn, much more before I was ready, but his spirit was seeking its rest. So, he rode off on his own."
"Ready for what? What is it you weren't ready for?"
"I don't know. I really don't." Ross went back to slicing the bread.
"You know, I read something in college: A little learning is a dangerous thing."
"What the hell does that mean?" He asked, chuckling.
"I guess it means that if you only know a little bit about something, you shouldn't apply it."
"Adam, you aren't telling me this house is going to fall down around Dell's and my ears because you don't know everything yet about building a house, are you?"
I had to laugh. I was being foolish and had embarrassed myself. But still, the woman was corporeal, she did exist, and something had drawn her out of the darkness. I feared it had been me.
