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| Becoming American �--� By Troy D. Smith�--�Copyright 2000 The wind blew in from the East River -it was a chilling wind, no worse than many the old man had known on the prairie. The civilized surroundings, though, made the wind seem harsher. The old man pulled the blanket closer as he walked. He thought of his tribe and their reservation so far away -did they have blankets this winter? But they had chosen to follow new chiefs, the old man reminded himself. Let those younger men take on the worries as well as the honor. Footsteps approached the old man from behind. He did not need to turn to know that the children had sought him out. At a different hour, in a different section of this sprawling white men�s settlement, a gathering crowd of youngsters would signal a chance for the old man to sell autographed pictures of himself. But that was not the case this time, he knew -the ragged children were looking for handouts. He had toured enough of these Eastern cities with Longhair to recognize the desperate tread of poverty. They had almost caught up with him; the old man smiled. Once he had been young and swift. Fifty-odd winters had made his bones more brittle, though. And his spirit. The old man, who was Hunkpapa Sioux, was named Tatanka lyotake -in his youth he had simply been called Slow. His actions had been fast, it was his thoughts and attitudes which were deliberate then. Now, as he shuffled down the darkened streets of New York City, his childhood nickname was more literally true than ever. Tatanka Iyotake's mind traveled back through the winters to his fourteenth, the last season he had worn the name �Slow". The men of the village -his father included -were departing for a raid against the hated Crows. Only a few moons before, Slow's uncle Four Horns had fallen in battle with them; his body was stripped naked and left lying on the field. "It is better to lie naked on a field of honor," Slow's father told him, "than to rot on a pallet of sickness." The raiding party left the village with neither acclaim nor fanfare. Those things were unnecessary; after all, any man of the tribe could go out to make war. Honors were for those who returned victorious. Slow intended to go on the raid, too -whether he was given permission or not. For days before the party left the lad had avoided his mother and sisters for fear they might detect his anxiety and question him about it. Custom did not allow a man to refuse any request of a relative, and he would be forced to reveal his plans. He rode his gray pony barebacked, rushing to catch up with his father and the others. He took with him a calf-skin robe and a quiver of blunt-tipped arrows -suitable only for killing small birds. As soon as Slow rode up to the war party he could feel the disapproving stares of the warriors piercing him like a lance. Only his father's face showed the faint trace of a smile. Slow patted his pony. "We are going too," he said. "We have already killed our first buffalo, and today I shall count my first coup." Slow's father trotted his pony next to that of his son. "Your horse is fast,� he said, "and will carry you to the front of the battle. Do something brave when you get there." He handed his son the long coup-stick. The Sioux rode northwest, to where Red Water empties into Muddy Water. Their scouts reported that the enemy was close by. The party's leader, Good-voiced Elk, gave the command to prepare for battle. The men stripped and uncovered their shields. Slow was naked except for moccasins and breech-cloth. His entire body was painted bright yellow, and his gray pony was now red. Good-voiced Elk ordered his men to advance on the Crows slowly. The eager youth was unable to rein in his excitement, however, and galloped toward the Crow camp. The other Sioux, not wanting a stripling to take all the first coups, followed close behind him. The Crows were taken by surprise. Not knowing how many attacking Sioux there were, they turned and ran. The hindmost Crow realized that he could not escape, so he decided to sell his life dearly; he turned, dismounted, and aimed an arrow at the foremost Sioux -Slow. The young Hunkpapa was too anxious for his first coup to acknowledge the danger. Slow whacked the bowman�s wrist with his father's coup-stick, spoiling his aim. Following the custom for counting first coup on an enemy, Slow yelled out: "on-hey -I, Slow, have conquered him!" The red-painted pony knocked the Crow archer flat. Those who followed could kill and scalp him -the greatest honor of his defeat already belonged to Slow. Many other Crows were killed that day. The Sioux party headed back for their village, holding aloft their bloody trophies. It was after dark when they arrived -Good-voiced Elk instructed them to make camp just outside the village. Their triumphal entry would wait until dawn -when more people would be awake to appreciate it. Slow was the hero of the hour, for he had counted the first coup of the battle. His father placed him on a fine bay, and covered him with the black paint of victory. �He is brave," Slow's father said. "He is a man now. I name him Tatanka Iyotake -Sitting Bull." Much had happened in the forty winters since then. The war with the whites, victory at the Little Bighorn, the flight to Canada. The bitterness of being replaced by younger men, followed by the offer to accompany his old friend Longhair -Bill Cody. Since then he had met the white men�s presidents and kings and queens, sold autographs, and discovered the delicacy of oyster stew. And he had seen countless hundreds of half-starved white children, such as the ones following him now. This saddened him greatly. If the whites were unwilling to feed their own children, how likely was it they would provide for their Indian charges? Tatanka Iyotake took out the leather bag in which he carried the brightly-colored coins Longhair gave him often. He pulled open the drawstring and plunged his hand inside. The children were gathered all around him now; he pressed coins into eager palms until the sack was empty. He did this in every city the show toured. The markswoman Longhair called "sureshot" commended his almost-Christian attitude, but rarely followed his example. While a pleasant woman, she was like all the other whites -they held onto their coins and other goods as if they were important somehow. They had learned to make many things, but had never learned how to share them. In earlier years, when the old man held council with the whites, he had told them, "we do not want your gold or your things. We only want to be left alone.� He was branded a "non-progressive", and the whites chose to deal instead with those Sioux leaders who were willing to "become American�. This process included learning how to love possessions, as the whites did. Looking at the departing crowd of ragged youths, the old man knew that he actually beheld the future results of his people becoming American. These white boys could benefit much from a wild charge at the Crows, earning honor for themselves instead of begging for charity. He thought once more of his father's long-ago words about the defeat of his uncle Four Horns, and changed them to apply to his own circumstances. "Better to die an Indian," he muttered, �than to live as a white man." Perhaps it was time to leave Longhair's company and return to the reservation. Perhaps it was time to take back his authority, and give his people the courage to hold on to the old ways -to recapture the time of honor. He had heard about a cabin, near Wounded Knee� Tatanka Iyotake turned and walked back toward the hotel, his face toward the numbing wind. He started to re-tighten his sack, and found that it was not entirely empty -a single coin remained. He briefly examined the image that was stamped on it -that of an eagle. He hurled it into the river. Eagles should be free. It was beginning to rain. |
