Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
He didn’t move to join her. However, he did say, “I do not know if I can speak to you of it, for I have never told another living soul about the full burden I carry. There is one who knows, but he does not know the full story.”
“But you will tell me?”
“Hau, yes. And this is odd, for men and women are often antagonistic to each other, even in marriage. It is often to be seen that a man amongst the Lakota might try to count coup on a woman and steal her virtue, and a woman might often feel put-upon by men. But with you, I feel…it is different.”
“Yes, I too believe this to be. But, let us go back to what you said only a moment ago, for I do not understand it. What do you mean by counting coup?”
“It is what we call a deed which is either hard to do or involves danger,” he explained. “It is a deed of honor against an enemy.”
“So by counting coup on a woman, you mean the men look upon a woman—any woman—as an enemy?”
“It is often so.”
She shook her head. “This is a very strange viewpoint to me.”
He didn’t say a word to defend the practice; he merely shrugged.
“So tell me what it is which plagues you.”
“Again, I hesitate, for you will think the sun has gotten into my mind. I have never confided the full extent of this to anyone.”
“Then let it be me whom you trust to tell. After all, I am your wife.”
He smiled. “So you are, when it suits you.”
She overlooked this last statement. “Very well. I do not mean to pry, and if you are not at your ease, do not feel obligated to tell me. But I promise that if you do, I will listen.”
“And will you promise me this, as well? You will not think I am mad?”
“I promise. Besides, in my society, husbands and wives share their hopes and desires, and their plights. Because we are husband and wife, it is only fitting I should be the one you tell.”
Even in the dark, she could see he eyed her suspiciously, as though he would like to read her mind. She could feel the intensity of his scrutiny, and she lifted her chin a little because of it.
At length, he said, “Very well. The truth is I am at war with he who has ruined my life and the lives of my people. It is he whom I fight, he who is the Thunderer.”
For a moment, Suzette felt as though she had left this world for another more mystical place, so strange were the images his words invoked. But she had promised not to think ill of him, so she merely said, “You do battle with the Thunderer? Who is the Thunderer?”
Black Lion was silent for so long Suzette began to wonder if he would ever answer.
In due time, he paced toward her and came to stand above her.
It seemed again as though he debated with himself, and it was a long moment, indeed, before Black Lion sank onto the ground beside her.
“It is hard for me to tell you what you are asking me to disclose to you, even though you are my wife, for this war I fight is dear to my heart. But if I do share with you what troubles me, which you say is often the way of married people, I would ask you not tell another soul what it is I relate to you.”
She didn’t answer. Her throat had become suddenly tight, for it did appear she might have earned his trust.
“Do you think you can do this? That, with this secret I am about to tell you, you will keep it forever in your heart?”
She swallowed. “Yes. I promise.”
“And do you, like the real wife you speak of, seek to relieve my spirit and share my troubles?”
Suzette nodded. “I do. Though I may never lie with you in the marriage bed, I will try to be a wife to you in other ways. In truth, it seems the least I can do. You are, after all, sharing my troubles, and you have relieved my burden. If I could do the same for you, I would try.”
He paused. “Waste, good. Give me your hand, then, for it is dark here, and if I am to tell you the secrets of my soul, I would know the touch of she with whom I have entrusted my heart.”
Suzette hesitated barely a second, then dutifully held out her gloved hand to him, which he took within his own. His hand was bare, and the knowledge of his touch, as well as his warmth against her, sent her pulse into an erratic beat.
He said, “May I slip off your glove so my skin may touch yours?”
It was no more than one hand against another, nothing to excite her. Except that it did. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
One finger at a time, he pulled the glove completely from her hand.
The action was seductive, whether he meant it to be or not.
He offered the glove back to her, which she accepted immediately.
As soon as her bare palm touched his, she knew she was in trouble, for a cascade of lightning-fast charges surged up and down her nerves.
And the place most private to her, there between her legs, answered in the age-old feminine way. She ached there.
Holding her hand with both of his, he said, “Very well, I will tell you of my people and of the Thunderer. I warn you again about my fear you will not believe me. You will say I lie. Yet, every word from my mouth will be the truth.”
She nodded. For the moment, her voice failed her.
He continued, “It happened long ago, many thousands of years ago.”
“Thousands?”
“Shhh. I have already said you will not believe me. Let me tell you the story without interruption, for there will be many times you will wish to do so.”
Again, she nodded. Staring up at the handsome image of him, as the moon and shadows washed over the hills and valleys of his complexion, she found herself not only seduced by his nearness, but enchanted with the vitality which was his alone.
“It happened long ago,” he started again, his voice low and soothing.
He went on, telling her of the being he referred to as the Thunderer, speaking of his own people who were imprisoned in a mist, telling her of the Creator’s promise to give his people a chance to end the curse, and of the boys chosen to go out into the world to do so.
When at last he finished, she was silent as she tried to digest what he had said. She realized he was right. She didn’t really believe him.
But it didn’t matter what she thought. The point was that he believed it…and she had come to trust him. “Are you one of those boys who was chosen to end the curse?”
“I am.”
“And so the task, the one which imperils you, is to free your people?”
“Hau, yes.”
“And how do you seek to do it? You must have some idea?”
“A little, perhaps. But this is why I ask for guidance and power from my spiritual helper. Without this guidance I would be lost, for as you can well see, the traditional enemies of the Lakota no longer make war.”
“Yes, I can certainly understand what you are saying. And how has this spiritual helper aided you?”
“I cannot speak of it. To do so would be as to make it powerless.”
“Oh, I see. Well, then,” she said, “is there anything you can tell me about it?”
“I can only say this one thing: My spirit protector has given me a song.”
“A song?”
“It is a good gift, for it is a sacred song.”
“A sacred song to help you on your task. Well, I think I should like to hear it. That is, if I may?”
“Hau, though this song to help me belongs to the mountain lioness, she has given me permission to sing it freely.”
“Mountain lioness?”
“She is my spirit protector, and this is her song.”
With his free hand, Black Lion began to beat out a rhythm against the denim that covered his legs. Nodding to the rhythm, he sang:
“Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Come run with me.
Come feel the air rush quickly over your back
Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Come sit with me on this rock
In the sunshine.
Come feel the warmth of he who rises in the sky
Each day.
Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Come share the fresh meat I have brought you this day
Come sink your teeth into it and fill your stomach.
Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Come nestle close to me. Feel my warmth.
Come, my children. For you, I do all this. For you, I love.
Haye-haye, hey, hey.
Haye-haye, hey, hey.”
His voice had been low, barely audible, the song a mixture of minor and major keys. When he said, “Come, sing it with me,” Suzette was unprepared.
“Sing it once again,” she said.
He indulged her, then, “Are you ready to lift your voice with mine?”
“I think so. At least I will try.”
And so they sang together.
He helped her with the words when she stumbled. When it was finished, they sat still, each taking the measure of the other.
After a moment, she asked softly, “Does haye-haye mean anything?”
“It means to be glad, usually because of a gift. The mountain lioness is happy because she has her children. They are a gift to her from the Creator, and so she made this song to sing to them and to the one who made them, so they all might appreciate her love.”
“It is all very beautiful,” said Suzette.
“And so is your voice.” His fingers squeezed hers.
His touch was unlike anything she had ever experienced as far as its effect on her. Her breasts swelled, a portion of her body most private ached, and her nerve endings were on fire. Indeed, she found herself saying, “Please, do it again.”
“What?” he asked. “Sing the song with you?”
In truth, this was not what she had in mind. But she wasn’t certain she could admit her deepest yearnings to him. Did a woman talk of her need to a man, even if the man be her husband? And if she did mention these longings, what would he think of her?
Confused, she uttered the only words she felt she could. “Yes, let us sing it again.”
They did so, and when the song was over, they stared at each other.
At last, he said, “At this moment, I feel as though I know you very well.”
“I too.”
“I would very much like to kiss you.”
“I would like it also.”
Pressing her hand, which he still held firmly within his own, he brought it up around his neck. Then, bending toward her, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
“You taste of honey and nectar,” he said against her mouth as he pushed himself a little closer to her.
“And you taste of mint,” she whispered, then she frowned at him. “Why do you taste of mint?”