Bear Who Cries

Previously:

The Traveler has come to Arizona.

Chapter 24

Bear Who Cries said, ”The Great Spirit lives in the mountains and throws lightning bolts down to kill people He doesn't like.”

He was too old to cry anymore. He had seen so many disappointments that he had run out of tears a long time ago. “My heart is nothing but dust now. The spirit has left me. Humankind is The Great Spirit's biggest mistake. I am certain all of the good people are dead. If there is a good person left on earth, it is an Indian who has had no contact with white people. Wherever white people go, death follows.

“Once, the buffalo herds were so vast you could walk across them. A man could travel from one end of the prairie to the other without his feet touching the ground. Indians kill buffalo for food and hides, and they only take what is needed. White men slaughter buffalo for sport, and to starve the Indians into submission. A white man will kill a thousand buffalo to make life hard for one Indian. Now, the buffalo herds are growing small in number. When the last buffalo is dead, the earth will end.”

Bear Who Cries had more wisdom than anyone I ever met. For my money, he was smarter than Chief Joseph, though it would have been a close race. He tried to teach me, but he said my head was filled with white man's foolishness, and I could never see things like an Indian.

Bear Who Cries showed me his talking stick. A talking stick was used in council meetings. Only the Indian holding the stick could speak. Each Indian made his own stick and the various things he used gave different powers to the one possessing it.

He explained his stick to me. “My stick is made of elm and gives me the wisdom of an old tree who has lived a long time. See this turkey feather? It is to give me the ability to settle disputes. The rabbit fur wrapped around it will help me to listen with big ears.”

Bear Who Cries had put time and thought into his walking stick. These were the qualities he thought were needed in an elder. I thought they should pass talking sticks out at every town hall in the country.

Bear Who Cries told me about creation and dreams. He said, “The Great Spirit, in a time not known to us, looked about and saw nothing. No colors, no beauty. Time was silent in darkness. There was no sound. Nothing could be seen or felt. The Great Spirit decided to fill this space with light and life.

“From His great power, He commanded the sparks of creation. He ordered Tolba, the Great Turtle, to come from the waters and become the land. The Great Spirit molded the mountains and the valleys on Tolba's back. He put white clouds into the blue skies. He was very happy. He said, 'Everything is ready now. I will fill this place with the happy movement of life.' He thought and thought about what kind of creatures he would make.

“Where would they live? What would they do? What would their purpose be? He wanted a perfect plan. He thought so hard that he became very tired and fell asleep.

“His sleep was filled with dreams of his creation. He saw animals crawling on four legs, some on two. Some creatures flew with wings, some swam with fins. There were plants of all colors, covering the ground everywhere. Insects buzzed around, dogs barked, birds sang, and human beings called to each other.

“When The Great Spirit awakened, he saw a beaver nibbling on a branch. He realized the world of his dream became his creation. Everything he dreamed about came true. When he saw the beaver make his home, and a dam to provide a pond for his family to swim in, he then knew everything has its place and purpose in the time to come.

“The story has been told among our people from generation to generation,” Bear Who Cries said. “We must not question our dreams. They are our creation.”

I have to admit, I didn't understand everything about the story, but it was as good account of creation as any.

The Indian way of life was dying out, and the white man's way of life was taking over. We call it progress. Bear Who Cries decided he had seen enough progress. He sat alone one day and died.

I cried when he died. I loved him like a father. I beat on my drum and rocked back and forth. I started dancing. This time I had the spirit of dance. My movements were fluid. I had suffered great loss and danced like an Indian.

This was the west for Bear Who Cries, a proud Shawnee Indian, a victim of progress.
 

To be continued . . .