Three Days Before the Shooting ... (167 page)

“I only knew that I was there, and that by background, temperament, and what State folks term ‘history’ I had been destined to be there. I was of the People and a servant of the Eagle, but while I could ransack the past and the present for wisdom there’d be no turning back on the road I now wandered.

“Hickman, I had been chosen by the Old One to be there, and I believe that
if I’d tried to leave my legs would have refused their burden. Besides, where would I go? Certainly not to the place my parents had left to find freedom, because now in many ways it was worse than it was when they left it. No, I was of the People, a servant of the Eagle, and here was the cave. Here was the sick man, the fire, the smoke, and the Old One. So I lay like a man in a trance, or like a child whose eyes remain open long after sleep takes over his body. I don’t know how long I lay like that, but suddenly I was awakened by the Old One beating a small drum to which the sick man was now fitfully stirring.

“Because while my mind wandered between the past and the present—or what you’d probably call the gap between the Old and the New World’s dispensations—the Old One, the shaman, had removed the sick man’s gag. And now as he tapped on his drum the sick man responded with a strange confusion of voices which the Old One seemed to ignore. But since I had never heard such sounds from a single man’s mouth I was amazed and bewildered.”

“What was it like?”

“Sometimes it was like the fretful voices of a child and his twin, then the angry voices of men who were quarreling. Sometimes they barked and snarled like animals, and yet again they were the voices of a man and a woman—Yao! A woman full of discord and malice whose voice shrilled and attacked the ear like a boreworm. It was a voice that lacerated like thorns, and of all the voices that raged in the dark it was the most eerie. It was sinister. It shrilled and it scraped and it stabbed, and as I listened it finally took over. It dominated the others and became most obscene. It knifed and it slashed like a cougar attacking a stout cage of saplings. And as it raged the sick brave began shitting his britches and the sight and the stench were disgusting.

“But then, slowly, a new voice arose. At first I took it for one I’d heard earlier, but somehow it was softer and different. Then I looked at the Old One and realized that he had begun speaking, and as his voice grew stronger it seemed to issue from the mouth of the sick man. And as it wove between the earlier voices of the men, the child, and the woman it became calmer and soothing. Then it became an incantation which echoed in the cave like far distant thunder, only gentle and moist with the promise of rain.

“Hickman, Janey tells me that before you were a medicine man you were a musician, so tell me this: What do you know of the music of Spain?”

“Of
Spain?
Only a few military marches which I played with an Elks band in Chicago.”

“What about the music of Gypsies?”

“Only what I heard when watching them dancing in circuses.”

“So then you’ve heard the magic with which they can evoke landscapes and weather with no more than the sound of their voices. How a master of
cante hondo
can unroll the great spaces, the miles of fields and towns in the moonlight with the passion of his singing, and how he brings alive the prancing of bulls and
hoofbeats of horses with the rattling
stampada
he makes with his hands and his boot heels.”

“The pictures escaped me, but I’ve heard the sounds and seen the dancing, and after listening to you I’ll be more attentive.”

“You do that, because I have seen such scenes evoked many times by Chico de la Matrona, a Gypsy I knew when I rode for the 101 Ranch. Anyway, that’s the kind of magic the Old One produced in the cave with his voice. It was high-pitched and thin but in it I could hear the sound of peace and goodness, times of much game and droves of fine horses. And soon there was a kind of debate in progress between the Old One and the warring voices of the sick man’s spirits. I listened carefully so that I could instruct myself and soon, one by one, the others faded until only the voice of the woman was left. And as it ranted and raved the Old One’s voice grew more stern and warlike. Then the voice of the woman became defiant, blood-curdling and pleading. And that was its tone when the Old One called first upon the sick man’s spirits and then upon his ancestors. And as he attacked with his medicine a very strange thing took shape in the cave: As I watched I saw with my own eyes the figure of a two-headed animal that suddenly appeared above the sick man’s head….”

“You saw
what
!
”

“Yao! Two heads cursing and howling out of mouths that were foaming with blood! Up to then I had been lying stiff on my blanket, but when this strange thing arose I bolted erect, only to have the Old One order me down. And with that a turbulent mixture of nightmare and dream fell upon me.

“Hickman, I flew out of my body and found myself in places about which the only thing I remember is that they were bad. They were places of confusion in which every word meant its opposite, and where intended actions led to results unintended; places in which men in pain screamed screams that were soundless. Then I must have screamed myself, screamed in the flesh, because the next thing I remember I was being shaken by the hand of the Old One. So now he indicated that he was ready to begin and that I was to assist him. There were small deerskin bags to be arranged on a blanket near the sick man’s head. Then the Old One pointed to two medicine bags which sat near the wall behind him, and when I fetched them he removed a sharp knife and a small bow of the type used for drilling. It had a rawhide string and a short, wooden shaft which was tipped with a stone of great hardness. Then from the other bag he took out a branched twig of a tree that was covered with the thick webs of spiders and the polished horn of an animal which was filled with a powerful paste. Then at his instruction I placed all of these on the blanket and waited.

“Hickman, imagine the scene in your mind: The mouth of the cave is covered with blankets and the walls dancing with shadows cast by the fire that glows beneath the black kettle that hangs at its center. The sick man lies on the floor in front of the Old One, and except for the bubbling and steaming made by the kettle
the cave is as quiet as a tomb—Yao!—and the air’s become heavy and foul. So now as I wait for the Old One’s instruction the sick man wakes up, and all at once I’m listening to a free-for-all between his arguing voices and the soggy eruptions of his unruly bowels.

“Hickman, of all the strange sights I’ve witnessed that of the cave was the most revolting. But I had to endure it, because now the Old One kneels directly behind the sick man’s head and begins swaying to the words of an old incantation. Then he points to one of the bags, and when I open it he removes the kernel of a nut that’s green and round like a marble. This he holds between a finger and thumb of his six-fingered hand, and when the sick man’s mouth gapes wide with his screaming the Old One drops the nut on his fluttering tongue.

“For a second the sick man goes quiet in wild-eyed surprise, then he gags and the nut lands in the fire. So now the Old One waits patiently and tries it again, and once again the sick man spews it out and returns to screaming in a contention of voices, of which that like a woman is the most obscene and loudest.

“Then the Old One becomes rigid as a man made of stone, and after muttering an incantation of which I was ignorant he turns to me and says, ‘Now, Black One, as you would with a pony that’s sick— ‘ ”

“Why did he call you that?”

“Call me what?”

“Black One.”

“Hell, because I am black if not comely. Besides, what’s a better match between a man like me and his name? Among the People I’m known as Black One, among State folks as Love New, and for myself I have a name which they chose to ignore….”

“And what’s that?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s Part White One, because like you I share the blood of a slaver. Are you through?”

“Oh yes, and pardon the interruption.”

“Hickman, are you one of these State folks who’s ashamed of his color?”

“No, I’m not ashamed, but it does cause me trouble.”

“Sure, but that comes with the package, and the spirit’s what counts…. Anyway, when the Old One said, ‘Now, Black One, as with sick ponies,’ I understood, for I am a tamer of horses.

“So I took another nut from the bag and holding my breath against the stench of the sick man I forced open his mouth and dropped in the medicine. And when he spewed it out I waited for the Old One’s instructions—which came with a growl of impatience.

“‘Black One,’ he said, ‘you call yourself a man of the horse, so why are you waiting?’

“Which was a rebuke, and as he intended it shamed me. So I tried it again. But this time I crushed the nut with my teeth until it was soft like dried beef intended for babies, being careful not to swallow its sleep-making juice. Then I forced the sick man’s jaws open and passed the wet pulp from my mouth to his. Then I clamped his jaws tight between one hand and my knee while stroking his throat with the other. But still resisting, he refuses to swallow.

“So suddenly the Old One pushes me aside and calls out the name of the sick man’s mother, and with that his body contracts like a king snake downing a rabbit, and the medicine flies down to his stomach. And with that the Old One begins chanting again, and as his voice keens in the cave the sick man begins having visions, and with his body reacting it was a very sad thing to witness.

“First he was eating the tabooed flesh of wild animals, then nursing his mother. And then with great violence and foam on his mouth he’s eating of her body—which was most shameful to witness. And then he was singing the puzzling words of a song that’s so strange that I’ll never forget them:

This is the land and this is my mother
This is a hill and it is my father
This is a hole in the ground and the trees
And the blades of grass are the hairs around it
And I run in and out of the hole like a weasel
This is a hole with a lake in it, and I am a snake
in it—bass, pike, and petticoats!
Take out the legging and drop in the hammer
,
There are plums in it, blue plums are in it
This is the hole and I am a kingfisher
I dive in the hole and wiggle my tail feathers
As I dive for the fish in it
That makes the fish and the cornmeal bubble!
This is the land, and this is my mother…

“Hickman, that’s what he sang lying there bound on the floor of the cave. And in it there was a meaning for which I had no stomach. Something sick and most private even though it was a mix of things most us knew. Still, I was of the Eagle and it was my duty to bear witness and be of assistance to the Old One.

“And the sick man kept repeating himself as though he were trying but unable to remember the ending. Sometimes he was a bull among heifers, then a boar hog and stallion—and he went on and on until the Old One nodded and motioned for another of his strange little bags.

“In this one there was a dark paste in a piece of armadillo shell, and I watched him take up a porcupine quill over which he uttered a formula before dipping it into the paste. And then, making an incantation, he pricked the sick man in the
pit of his arm, the left one. And for a second the sick man became even more violent, winding his hips in barnyard motions and making smells that were truly disgusting. Then he became quiet, and when his breath had almost faded the Old One pointed to still another quill which he coated with paste. This time he stuck the quill into the skin at the back of the sick man’s neck, and it took effect like a bolt of lightning.

“And now as he chanted the Old One motioned for me to fill a calabash with the brew that steamed in the kettle. I thought he would drink it, but instead he leaned over the sick man and began bathing his face, neck, and head. Then he gazed at his face with deep concentration.

“Then he seemed to drift into sleep with his eyes wide open, and when he began shaking like a man with the palsy I knew that I was now in the presence of his totem, the source of his power. And with that he began singing, and as it grew stronger I realized that it was also coming from my lips as though of its own accord. You’d probably say that I was in a state of possession, but that is often the results of the People’s medicine.

“I had no idea of how long this went on, but when the Old One looked at me again he had become much stronger. He has released within himself some new store of energy like that which comes to those taking part in a powerful dance.

“So now he took up the knife and the small drill with the tip of hard stone, which he raised and asked for the blessing of his guiding spirit, his totem. Then, Hickman, my black State brother in medicine, I became truly frightened. I watched him measure a spot just below the sick man’s hairline and rub it with a powerful salve. And suddenly I seemed to know what he would want with no need for words or for gestures. It was as though I had helped him make such medicine before. So reaching into the fire I removed an ember and handed it over, then sat back and watched him press its glowing tip to a spot in the center of the sick man’s forehead. This brought a swift puff of smoke, but although I could smell his flesh scorching the sick man gave no sign that it pained him.

“Then the Old One looked at me and I picked up a long thong of leather, and with his eyes he instructed me to bind the sick man’s head at the temples. And into this I put such strength that I could see the thong knifing so deep that it ridged and puckered, as when boys tie strings around the skin of half-ripe tomatoes.

“And with that the Old One picked up the knife. Then things went swifter than the eye could follow: The blade moved along a course just beneath the sick man’s hairline, then down a straight line just above the center of his right eyebrow. All this was very swift and light, like a drop of rain flowing down the pane of a window. But the only blood was in the form of small welling drops in a fine straight line. Then as I weakened at the sight the Old One uttered some words, some formula, and leaning over the sick man he made a downward movement with his hands—Yao! And when I looked again a neat flap of flesh lay over the sick man’s nose.