Prairie in Colorado, United States – 1863 (2)
The holy forest desecrated
Colorado.
Just before dawn, Kicking Bird leaves the tent encampment on his brown spotted pony. He has a long ride ahead of him, but the true reason for leaving so early is that he longs to be alone. Alone with his thoughts. A few days ago, he had had such a terrible dream about a barren plain full of bleached bones in the sun. They were the bones of his friends, his family, his people. A chilly, bleak wind blew across the plain. Death was reigning.
Kicking Bird is a Comanche Indian of about fifty years old, with a broad, round face. He is serious by nature, it is evident in his glance. He is the medicine man of the community. It's his role to always keep his mind attuned toward the Great Spirit. For the past few days, Kicking Bird has been troubled, almost confused. That's why he is going today to the Holy Forest of the Comanche.
Colorado.
When Kicking Bird has ridden a few hours over the endless prairie, he indeed has calmed down. With the birds, the clouds in the blue sky, a fox that darts away, and the fragrance of the grassland, his mood brightens considerably. Perhaps he has worried too much.
At last, Kicking Bird arrives at the Holy Forest. He vividly remembers coming here for the first time with his father, when he was still a child. How his father has told him that the Great Spirit had brought here life on earth. How he then has sensed himself the power of the Great Spirit, as young as he was.
When Kicking Bird rides into the forest, he again is impressed by all those different majestic trees. He breathes deeply in and out, and feels how a serenity takes possession of him. But not for long. The forest is quiet, too quiet. The atmosphere is oppressive. He smells something, it is not fresh. The place reeks of death. Then he arrives at a large, sunlit meadow in the forest. There, to his shock, he sees a pile of dead deer, from which the heads are crudely chopped off, and the legs also. Squirrels and skunks lie on the ground, shot dead. Trees lie scattered on the grass, cut down without removing the branches. Why? Then he sees two makeshift huts. All sort of rubbish lies nearby, including a lot of empty whisky bottles. Kicking Bird understands. Hunters have been here, whites. They don't know how to deal with the gifts of the Great Spirit. He has seen that before.
Colorado.Disheartened, Kicking Bird rides back to the encampment at a trot. He urgently needs to speak with Ten Bears, the old chief.
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Source
The book Dances with wolves (1988) from the American writer Michael Blake tells about an American sergeant who comes into contact with Indians. It keenly portrays Indian life.
Go to:
= part 1: Bison hunting - Prairie in Colorado, United States – 1863 (1), story 20.
= the next page: Almost drowned - a village in Victoria, Australia – 1866 (1), story 22.
= the Table of contents, story 21.
