Chapter 4 #3
Haiya, haiya, time grows short, and my people await their freedom.
Haiya, haiya, is there not some clue? Some spirit guide who will help me?
Haiya, haiya, have pity on me, Old Man.
Haiya, haiya, haiya…”
Red Hawk’s voice droned on and on. Always he asked the same thing. Always there was no answer, no sign to point him toward the right path.
Was A’pistotooki, the Creator, listening? It was a difficult thing to determine, for in all these many years, there had been nothing to guide Red Hawk, nothing to show him the path he must take, if he were to aid his people and end their curse. In this quest, Red Hawk was floundering.
Still, the cloudy morning beckoned, and though he meant no dishonor, Red Hawk’s mind wandered off the matter at hand. Perhaps the morning vapors were at fault, for it seemed to him at times as if the mist itself were pulling him in a certain direction.
Where was she? What was she doing?
Had the girl married by now? Did she have young ones? Did she love her husband?
“Ehh-fee,” he said her name aloud.
He had never seen the girl after that one day, though he had stayed by the pool, waiting for her to return.
But she had not come back, and he…he had a mission of importance to attend to.
Besides, the elders had awaited him. There had been more counseling to be done, rituals to be adhered to, plus there had been Grandfather’s needs to placate.
Alas, when the sun had advanced beyond the midday point, Red Hawk had left their lagoon.
Taking in a deep breath, he tried to drag his attention back to the present moment, and looking forward, he smiled, as though she stood before him. Sometimes, the mist simply had that effect on him.
Hunching over, he began to prepare for his daily bath, and he drew off his moccasins and breechcloth that he might stand naked, trusting, before the Creator. Opening his arms in welcome to the early morning fog, he started to sing:
“Thank you for the new day, A’pistotooki,” his voice rang out, though this time he spoke his prayer.
“Thank you for your wisdom. But I would ask your pity. I come to you humbly, for you see before you a desperate man. I have but one full winter remaining to discover the way in which to end my people’s curse.
And, A’pistotooki, I have no better knowledge as to how to end this enchantment now than I did when I was but twelve years old.
As you know, I have sought out the enemy in fight after fight.
Always have I shown my foes mercy. I have even abandoned my desire to revenge myself against the Thunderer.
“A’pistotooki, I have little to offer you. My needs are simple. I ask only this. I seek a helper, A’pistotooki. Some sign as to what I must do. Will you not take pity on me and hear my plea?”
Red Hawk paused, but when nothing happened, he continued.
“Creator, why do my prayers go ignored? Why is it that in all this time, there has been no sign to guide me, no vision, no teacher pointing me in the right direction? Have I not done all I could? Have I not continued on this path alone? Creator, I am but a simple man. I would ask for a helper, a sign, anything.”
However, as always seemed to happen, there was nothing but the silence of the countryside to respond to him.
“A’pistotooki,” continued Red Hawk, “is it because I was the last choice as a champion? If this be so, I ask your patience. For whether my people desired to have me as their defender or not, I am yet here, and I am doing all I can to help my grandfather’s people.
I would see them again, I would be reunited with Grandfather if I could.
I yearn for his wisdom. I ask only this: Send me a message, a messenger, anything, so that I might learn how to end the curse of my people. That is all.”
With this said, Red Hawk wasted no time, and he executed a dive out into the middle of the stream, the water little more than shoulder deep.
One strong stroke after another, and he could sense the blood beginning to flow within him.
At last, he reasoned that he was warm enough to stand on both feet.
He reached down and picked up a bit of sand from the riverbed to scrub his arms, face and neck.
This done, he felt clean, and, expecting nothing more than a good rinse, he dove underwater, his strong legs kicking out to propel himself forward. On he swam, out toward the deepest part of the river. It was then that it happened.
Suddenly, he stopped mid-stroke.
It was she. There before him.
Using his hands to keep himself beneath the water’s surface as well as to hold him steady, he stared.
What was this? A vision at last? Or was she here with him now? Smiling at him, tempting him?
Ehh-fee? He mouthed her name, watching as a bubble of oxygen formed. He rubbed his eyes. But when he gazed forward once more, no one was there.
His spirits sank. However, a deep voice spoke up from behind him. “Seek out the water being. Seek what the water being seeks.”
Red Hawk spun around in the water.
Who was it that addressed him? He looked outward, then swam forth gently.
“Seek out the water being. Seek what the water being seeks.”
Red Hawk rubbed his eyes yet again.
Was it a fish or a monster that confronted him? If it were a fish, it was the largest one he had ever seen, bigger even than he was. If it were a monster, it might be one of the sea dogs that were rumored by the Blackfeet to exist. Whatever it was, it was about seven feet long from head to tail.
Mouthing the words, Red Hawk asked, “Are you my helper?”
But the monster/fish didn’t answer. It said instead, “The Creator has given you many clues, but you have not recognized them.”
“What clues?”
Again, the sea dog did not answer, except to say, once more, “Seek out the water being. That which you must find is that which the water being seeks.”
“Water being? Is that you?”
“Four golden images, when all in a row, slaves your people will be, no more.”
“I don’t understand. What images? All of what in a row?”
“Seek out the water being. That which you must find is that which the water being seeks.”
Red Hawk’s lungs were almost at the bursting point, and he knew he required air soon. But he was unwilling to surface. Not yet. He mouthed again, “I don’t understand.”
But the sea dog had nothing more to say, and with a flip of its tail, it spun around and swam away.
The water being? Who was the water being? He knew of no water being.
What else was it the sea dog had told him? That the Creator had already given him many clues.
What clues? Red Hawk was aware of no earlier hints given him that would indicate what he must do. Unless…
Could it be that the early morning mists were the Creator’s way of giving him help? It was certainly a time of day that he loved most, for always it reminded him of her.
Could that be the sign for which he hungered? If it were, he had been foolish, indeed, to have ignored it these many years.
He carried his conjectures further. Pretend for a moment that the mists were the Creator’s way of speaking to him, what would they have shown him?
That the mists raised his mood? That they allowed him to feel closer to…something. To her, perhaps?
Was she the water being? What if all those years ago, the Creator had sent the young girl to him on the very day he had been picked as champion? What if she had been more than a girl whose company he enjoyed? If she were his vision come to him in the flesh?
At last Red Hawk’s lungs protested too much, and the need to breathe blocked out further thought.
He surfaced at once, gulping down the life-giving air.
But his attention was as far removed from concern over his physical well-being as if his body no longer existed.
Instead, he heard again the words of his spirit protector, who appeared to be a sea dog:
“Seek out the water being. That which you must find is that which the water being seeks.”
Ehh-fee.
Could it be? Had he not thought at first that she was part fish? Had not their entire encounter occurred in or near the water?
Effie. All at once, as though struck, he was certain of it. It was she.
Odd, how the realization calmed him, until another thought struck him: Where was she?
It was seventeen winters since they first met…a long time in which to have gone their separate ways. She could be anywhere.
Treading water to relax his muscles, Red Hawk closed his eyes, letting his mind drift, searching, if possible, a spiritual connection with this girl whom he had never forgotten. With his mind, he asked, “Where are you?”
No response.
He inhaled deeply, then again, silently, he asked, “Where are you?”
He waited, then, faintly, came an answer. “I am here.”
Red Hawk’s heart lifted.
It was good. Time and distance faded. They were, at this moment, as attuned to each other as though their time together had been yesterday.
Perhaps it should be said here that one, in another culture, might express doubts, wondering if this were all Red Hawk’s imagination, that he only thought he heard her speak because his was a desperate soul.
But then one would not be taking into account that such things as conversations with the spirits, with the Above Ones and with all of creation, were commonplace to the American Indian’s heart.
“Where is here?” thought Red Hawk.
No answer, except to say, “Here.”
Short. Sweet. Nonetheless it was enough.
Red Hawk smiled, for she had answered him in the best way possible—with a vivid image of her exact location. What was more, it was a place he knew vaguely.
Opening his eyes, Red Hawk realized it was time to bring his meditation to an end, while at the same time beginning his journey. With this purpose in mind, he swam toward the shore.
Though life might have thus far handed him a good bit of disappointment, Red Hawk was, at this moment, happy. Effie had returned to this country.
He would go to her.