CHARACTERS
KICKING BEAR, a Minneconjou Sioux; proselytizer of
the Ghost Dance.
BULL BEAR, a Hunkpapa Sioux.
SITTING BULL, chief of the Hunkpapas and erstwhile
of all the Sioux.
BULL HEAD, chief of the Indian Police.
WHITE HAIR, the Indian agent.
CHORUS of widows and old men of the Hunkpapa.
Mute characters: the Indian policemen.
[An Indian camp with dilapidated teepees. Enter
KICKING BEAR, wearing a shirt painted with symbols and
carrying a large bundle.]
Kicking Bear
Here, in these shattered spindles of a nation,
The road of vision takes a darker turning.
If the eternal world has pitched its camps
In desolation of the outward sight,
What place could be more populous than this?
There came a sudden neighing on the wind;
I saw, like waves atop a glossy sea,
The ghostly flash of mingled manes and tails.
What herds, great Sun Chief, you inherit now!
There seems to rise, out of these tattered tents,
The distant chattering of children's voices;
But no door flap stirs, no faces emerge,
And no dog runs out to demand of me
The doings of the barking, sunlit world.
One sickly clouded eye challenged my steps;
Half-living emblem of a trampled race,
That cur lay in my path, as if to make
The film of outward sight itself prophetic:
He bared his teeth, but lacked the strength to growl.
[He sits on his bundle, which he has already dropped.
Enter BULL BEAR, stretching himself. Notices the other.
Takes a long look.]
Bull Bear
Would you be Kicking Bear, the Minneconjou?
Kicking Bear
Yes, friend. Is Sitting Bull lodged hereabouts?
Bull Bear
If stubbled fields deserve the name of corn,
As our great benefactors seem to think,
These tents you see around you are his camp.
Another day, you would be better met,
If to be gaped at by a hungry, limping,
Toothless crowd, is to be better met,
But most, since dawn, are at the agency.
Once more we hear provisions are to come,
And none but those who are not fools are here.
Kicking Bear
Your chief, I would suppose, is one of them.
Bull Bear
The other one. Shall I go fetch him for you?
Kicking Bear
No, no. I'll go to him myself. But first,
It would be well if I could learn from you
What spirit he receives this visit in.
Bull Bear
It would be easier to know which way
The smolderings of windless fires will curl
Than any counsel he keeps nowadays.
I cannot tell. Did he not send for you?
Provided you are not a treaty man,
Which every rumor seems to clear you of,
I think his fire will spit no sparks at you.
Kicking Bear
He knows, then, of my kind, and of our mission?
Bull Bear
As much or little as the rest of us.
And yet he may know more, for all I know.
What we have heard, is how you preach that death
Is life, and life is death, or some such thing.
Kicking Bear
And though you now make light of it, my friend,
You soon shall see the dead walk with your eyes.
Bull Bear
Indeed, I do already, every day.
And when our old scarecrows come limping back,
You'll see no need to preach that gospel here.
No, friend, what Sitting Bull might have in mind,
And whether out of curiosity,
Or other reasons, he invites you here,
He does not tell me, so I cannot say.
So long as you don't mention circuses
Or treaties, he won't bite you.
Kicking Bear
Circuses?
Bull Bear
Or agents, elders' councils, land, or corn.
Yes, good thing that you speak of other worlds,
For there is precious little in this one,
Since he came back from touring with that show,
That you can make come sweetly to his ears.
While he was out riding the hooting crowds,
And cutting capers to their caterwauls,
Was when our treaty men sewed up their work.
He thought that tour a way to save the land,
Since whites, he said, though greedy otherwise,
Spare nothing for that sort of foolery,
And kiss the feet of ones they would ignore
Had no one thought to make them pay to see them,
But these old fools, he never reckoned with.
While he was here, none would have dared to sign;
Till three in four had signed, the land was ours;
But certain paper chiefs the whites had made
Persuaded them we'd lose it anyway:
"Why not get gold for what you can't but lose?"
And you could see the gold dance in their eyes.
So now - behold the mighty Hunkpapas.
And Sitting Bull, the only real one left,
Save for the man you're talking to, is like
A hornet quivering in that tent of his,
Which none but me will poke his head into,
And even I, if you would know the truth,
Grow weary of that steady angry eye
With which he looks out on the coward world,
And all his late-night talk of little birds
That sing of how the people wish him dead;
For after all, we still must live together,
Were our life worth less even than you say.
[Enter SITTING BULL behind. Kicking Bear
rises hurriedly.]
Kicking Bear
Forgive the manner of this meeting, chief.
I had put down this load of mine just now,
And was inquiring of your lodging place.
Bull Bear
And I was telling him, to get there soon,
He need but follow where the tracks are thin.
Sitting Bull
Your journey was a long one, we hear tell.
Kicking Bear
It was, my chief; most long and wearisome.
And yet had it been many times as long,
I would not grudge that for the gift I bear.
Nor would my eyes have been enlightened more,
I fear, for everywhere it is the same:
The aged face of earth is fading fast.
Her old four-legged broods are put to slaughter,
And what two-legged ones still live, corralled
Like cattle. But the cattle have it better.
For they at least are fed. We are forgotten.
[Sitting Bull is silent.]
Bull Bear
Yes, now we envy those who can be eaten.
Sitting Bull
So, will it feed us then, this gift of yours?
Kicking Bear
With nourishment that never perishes,
From One who makes the withered wind bear fruit,
Should you and yours but lend ear to His call.
Sitting Bull
Well, fruits like that were never to my taste.
But there are people here, as you will see,
Who have already shown their eagerness
To put their faith in them, and hold indeed,
By certain revelations of their own,
That nothing's more superfluous than land,
Since their providers, human or divine,
Will always show their grace to those that beg.
And lest it ever should be said that I,
Their one-time chief, denied them anything,
They will have leave, now that you visit us,
To taste these withered wind-fruits that you bring.
Kicking Bear
And it may come that you yourself, my chief,
Less darkly seeing, will amend your view.
A thing that looks but bitter in the bud
May gain a sweeter power when unfolded.
Sitting Bull
Then I will give you leisure to unfold it.
This creed, from what I hear, involves a dance?
Kicking Bear
A dance that staggers heaven in its power.
Sitting Bull
And one the whites find most displeasing, no?
Kicking Bear
The men who fear our sound, have reason to.
Bull Bear
Some places they forbid it, I have heard.
Kicking Bear (to Bull Bear)
They might as soon forbid the wind to blow,
Or stop the roaring horse-charge of your chief
On Little Bighorn's banks, a chief, I'm sure,
Who'd not shy from a dance because of them.
Sitting Bull
Oh no; to those who love to see me prance,
Why should I grudge a spectacle like that?
Bull Bear
Indeed. Indeed. Shall we not go inside?
I see our nimble elders down the road,
And though those loaded baskets weigh them down,
The way they walk, we'll soon have company.
Sitting Bull
Come, then; we three will smoke a pipe together.
I may, as you say, see this darkly now.
Give me the full account, and afterwards
The others, be assured, will hear you out.
[Exeunt, leaving Kicking Bear's bundle onstage.
The CHORUS enter, very slowly, with some supporting
others or leaning on sticks. They carry baskets, and
during the following lines they drop them, one by one,
in a pile at the corner of the stage.]
Chorus
With tired hearts, shrunken bellies
empty as our baskets
come we to the camp, friends,
to sing again awhile.
Oh, the weariness of waiting
for a grudging man's dole!
Who would not sooner chase the herd
through half a world of dust?
Or if waiting is a must,
in a shivering snowdrift lie
till the elk's icy antlers
cross the hunting bow's sights?
But old ones wait, and old we are,
with few of our young to help us now;
their hunted herds all turned to bone,
and many of them lie there among;
bright earth herself, our lush mother,
is picked down to the skeleton,
while those who take the fat
will not deign to fill our baskets.
[They slowly begin seating themselves in a rough
circle beside the bundle.]
(sundry voices)
Sit, grandfather.
Steady with the stick, now.
Oh, that sun...
Don't stretch, don't stretch.
Did it ever beat so when I was young?
How could it, grandfather? It's not that old.
What?
Pay no heed to him.
And the dust.
Oh, the dust.
Yes, everything is dust now.
Can you remember leaves?
Leaves? What are they?
And the grass?
What grass?
Yes, I saw a blade today.
Oh no, you must be joking.
Did you pick it?
No.
Why?
A white man beat me to it, brother.
Ha.
Come, a song.
[As they settle down the light changes to
a warm, rich color.]
What age-blown eye can now image the face
that yearly then ravished us all?
When wildfire bloom on the prairie sea
flickered over the calving herds,
and the clamoring unseen chorus within
made sweet the winds with cries;
while day by day, pouring up from the south,
in skylong arrows and singing clouds,
beating the bright-lit trumpeting air
came the never-spent nations of birds.
Oh quivering dream that it was!
(sundry voices)
Yes, it was.
Oh, that's old.
Like a film on the eye.
[The lighting grows harsher.]
For then came one
with an inward-gazing eye;
an eye that merely counted
without seeing what it saw.
With his myriad feet
tight-shod he forged forth,
and to him all those graces were but booty.
To the axeblade thud
and the crack of rifle shot,
from its sleep the frighted land
heard the gnawing of its dreams,
as he laid cold steel to her,
mounted her with fire,
and oh, then there was no end to his coming.
Like the flocks of startled birds,
where his gaze fell, Earth's beauty fled,
and where his boot trod
life's fresh grass withered,
while tainted by his breath
mighty tribes sickened and vanished
or with devastated hearts
nursed a blind, pitted brood.
(sundry voices)
Stop.
No.
Not this one, friends.
What other do we know?
It always comes back.
Like a piping little bird.
I wonder where is Sitting Bull.
I hope far away.
He'll say we're fools.
We are fools.
I don't want to hear it.
Hush.
Why?
Hush.
Enough.
[Some of them notice Kicking Bear's
bundle beside them.]
What's this here, now?
A travelling pack.
Say, someone's in the camp, folks.
Who?
Is it food?
[They rummage in the pack.]
No, shirts of some kind.
Shirts?
What's the good of shirts?
Ha.
Must be seeing Sitting Bull.
Better leave it be, then...
[Enter Sitting Bull, Kicking Bear and Bull Bear.
Some of the chorus make an effort to rise, but
Sitting Bull motions them to stay.]
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