White Hair
What is all this commotion in the camp?
Has every last Lakota lost his senses?
Such a cacophony of shrieks and howls,
Such mind-numbing demented hollering
Was surely never heard by living ears.
It seems you aim to wake the dead indeed.
So, it comes on us like a spreading sickness.
First Pine Ridge, Cheyenne River and now here.
And yet I'd not have thought, my friends, you'd fall
Such easy prey to this delirium.
It is not many months since I had hopes
To see you bury your old bitter dreams
And work to wrest a living from this land.
For many of you worked with a good will.
The harvest was a poor one, certainly,
And no one can gainsay your disappointment.
Next year, with new seed, stock and plows, God willing,
Your young cornfields will sprout as thick as grass.
Meantime you need provisions, and do not think,
With news of your new madness running wild,
A snap of fingers will suffice to get them.
For there are those, with longer memories,
Perhaps, than even the bereaved should bear,
To whom your every outcry smells of blood.
And even the Great Father in the East,
Should he now hear, as doubtless soon he will,
How little heed you pay to coming years,
Would scarcely be inclined to grant your needs
For this one, let alone, I hate to say,
That same seed, stock and plows you need for next.
And what could I contrive in your defense?
"They say their new Messiah will provide."
"Well, then. I wash my hands. Let Him provide."
"They say a tide of earth will bury us."
"Then surely they will have no need of plows."
You see, my friends? This cannot do you good.
Go home then; think on what is needful for you.
And none will blame a momentary weakness
In times that have been such a trial to all.
[Kicking Bear approaches and begins circling
around him as he had Bull Head, though a bit
more cautiously.]
Kicking Bear
O listen to the wicked white man's tongue
That clouds the clearest wisdom into folly.
He riots like a drunkard through the land.
He gashes out its heart. Whatever grows,
He cuts it down; whatever moves, he shoots it.
Now that, with bleary eyes and throbbing head,
He sees no spot upon the barren earth
That does not groan with his rapaciousness,
He blinks and says: take heed of coming years.
The coming years are gone for you, white man.
All those you trod upon shall be revenged.
Their sacred Cry, which you call shrieks and howls,
Will wake the dead more truly than you think.
The earth herself, and not your evil plows,
Shall turn her plucked and ravaged surface under,
And you and all your kind shall serve as seed.
What need have we of fathers in the East,
When our Redeemer in the West will rise
To smite their devil white heads with his thunder?
White Hair
You, Kicking Bear. My men told you to leave.
You'd best not wait to hear it from my mouth.
Kicking Bear
From your mouth I will never hear but evil.
White Hair
And yours, I see, we cannot hope to stop.
But we can send it back where it belongs.
Kicking Bear
And who are you to say where it belongs?
White Hair
Were I to say indeed, you'd like it less.
Kicking Bear
Who tells me where to go in my own country?
White Hair
You have no country, but where trouble is.
Kicking Bear
And you have none, but what you stole from us.
White Hair
I think you men had better help him leave.
[The policemen seize Kicking Bear.]
Kicking Bear
O sacred dancers, see how he replies!
Does he not always reason with you thus?
His talk is like the clucking butcher's tongue:
It leads you oh so slowly to the knife,
But if you talk back, watch out for the blow!
White Hair
Escort this trickster off the reservation.
[Exit Bull Head and policemen with Kicking Bear.]
I needn't ask you, Sitting Bull, what hand
You have in this. You're always playing possum
With me. You have no influence, you say,
No voice to overrule the rest in council.
Why is it, then, wherever you are present,
No Indian will raise one ear of corn,
Or send his children to the mission school,
Or work, or stir a limb for any purpose
But to draw provisions and to thwart me?
Oh, not that you believe that devil's preacher.
No one sees Sitting Bull among the dancers.
It would not suit the sly old warrior
To mingle in the foolishness that serves him.
Would you be chief? Then speak to them as one.
And mind that others do begin to share
Your admirable level-headedness.
Sitting Bull
Does White Hair not remember who it was
That said I was no longer to be chief?
And how am I to exercise a power
That you yourself assure me I have lost?
But even if I were still chief, I couldn't
Interfere with those who wish to dance.
No chief of ours could have such power as that.
As to this new religion, it may be true
Or it may not. How can I say for sure?
Not only Indians believe in it.
White Hair
Believe in what? What are you trying to say?
Sitting Bull
I mean this business of a Savior.
White Hair
Enough. Your mockery I won't abide.
You say you have no power to interfere.
Why then did you interfere with those
Who had my orders to remove that man?
Sitting Bull
He was my guest. I saw no harm in him.
White Hair
And since you saw no harm in him, you took
The liberty to countermand my orders?
Is this what you call forfeiting your power?
And do you fail to see the harm in it
When hundreds barricade their doors at night,
And lie with loaded rifles at their sides,
Their eyes held wide by an eternal howling
Thanks to the mouthings of your harmless friend?
Sitting Bull
Why should a little dancing frighten them?
White Hair
I marvel how a man of leadership,
Intelligence, whose wily ways it cost
Our government unnumbered guns and soldiers
To subdue, can willingly make his judgment
Seem so slight, that one might think he did not
See that dry grass in a prairie drought
Is not such perfect tinder to a spark,
And not so apt to kindle to a frenzy,
As overheated, half-delirious crowds
Fanned by the foolish wind of some delusion.
And how long will they be content to dance?
Once they have baked their brains in the autumn sun,
Forsaking food, sleep, harping day and night
On wrongs they fancy have been done to them,
How long before they take it in their heads
To resurrect themselves by insurrection,
And have by force what heaven will not grant them?
Nor will they need look far, in that event,
To find one willing to let that spark fall,
That he might vent his spite on all of us,
And bring things to the bloody end he longs for.
Sitting Bull
You may indeed have reason for concern.
White Hair
May I indeed? And what would you propose?
Sitting Bull
I know little of the ways of Saviors.
When I was young, no word of one was heard.
Year after year we pitched our pleasant lodges
In the high grass, shot the buffalo,
And year on year the buffalo returned.
And though we killed our enemies, and they
Killed us in turn, our camps were never empty,
Nor did we dream the dead could revived.
Now that the buffalo are wiped out like
So many flies, our enemies and friends,
Whole tribes of them, no longer to be heard of,
And the kind earth who nursed us all become
One vast and stinking cradle for their bones,
Why, in such a world as this, who might not be
Persuaded that dead men could walk the earth?
Since we have seen what seemed so deathless die,
Why should we not believe the dead shall live?
Go then yourself, or send your trusty soldiers;
Seek out this man among the Fish Eaters;
And when you find him, question him carefully:
Maybe you can show us he lies. But if
He is indeed the man he claims to be,
I have no doubt that it could prove to be
A matter of importance to your people.
White Hair
I warned you once now, Sitting Bull, don't mock me.
What anyone believes is not my quarrel.
This dance is a disturbance that must cease.
And then, for all I care, let them believe
The sun will rise tomorrow in the West,
That fire will freeze or water burn or birds
Hatch from the stones: I will not hinder them.
But I refuse to give their folly leave
To drive good sense out of the heads of all.
Sitting Bull
If they believe, they cannot help but dance.
It is the gift their Savior gave to them.
White Hair
Don't speak to me of saviors and gifts.
No one could give a gift more worthless to them.
Sitting Bull
And yet as worthless as you think it is,
You, with all else, would gladly take it from them.
White Hair
Oh no, not I. You will. And like a kind
Father, keep it where it will not harm them.
Sitting Bull
Among them you see many who are my elders.
Would you have me speak to them like children?
White Hair
When grown folk act like children, treat them so.
Sitting Bull
Yes, that's your way, I know. It isn't ours.
White Hair
Your ways don't interest me. They give me headaches.
Sitting Bull
I say again: I cannot interfere.
White Hair
And I say you not only can: you will.
Sitting Bull
I will not interfere. I say no more.
White Hair
That's fine. I have no wish to hear you talk.
Oh do not think your name, that circus crowds
Make such a murmur at, and silly boys
Spend coins to see you scrawl, will help you here.
For there are those who still remember it,
And well they should, as one for treachery.
How many rings could you have safely entered,
To pose for those whose soldiers you had slaughtered,
Scalped, and served up to the prairie birds,
Had not our government, when you laid down
Your arms, seen fit to pardon you completely?
From now on there will be no further pardons.
I give you grace till nightfall; after that,
If I hear one more murmur of a dance,
Or any more disruption in this camp,
I will not ask what sort of preacher is
Behind it this time: I'll know who to look for.
[Exit.]
Chorus Leader
Oh Sitting Bull, perhaps we'd better stop.
Sitting Bull
Bull Bear!
Chorus Leader
We wouldn't have you bear the blame for this.
Sitting Bull
Bull Bear! My brother! Come to me at once!
[Enter Bull Bear.]
Ride your pony round the reservation:
Say Sitting Bull wants all the world to dance!
If any are afraid, I'll come and join them!
And all who still hold back are fools and cowards.
Cowards and fools! Go!
[Exit Bull Bear.]
Sing! Dance till you drop!
Let dancing deafen every white man's ears!
[Drumbeats in four.]
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