The Fire Bird Part 3

She told me, her eyes burning deep into mine, How hunters in the forest had found Couy-ouy Fleeing like a doe before the furious black killer.

When she fell, her utmost strength exhausted, Over her raged the foaming black death.

Her beautiful breast and arms Were forever shorn of their smoothness, But she lived, and her hateful face of allurement Her trouble-maker face, was untouched.

I knew what my Mother knew When she turned from my doorway.

Medicine Man, the killer had not struck To the depth where life tented.

She had not sent my enemy to the Great Spirit.

She had only moved to compa.s.sion The heart in the breast of Mountain Lion, So that alone in his canoe he speared the rare fish, Alone on the mountains he sought the tender bird, Even the bright flower, the red leaf, To lay at her doorway--love's offering.

Well I knew that when she was healed He would stand tall and straight before her, And in his fierce pleading eyes She would find the great understanding.

Then, Medicine Man, despair settled in my heart; I shrivelled like the ungathered wild plum, I burned with a fierce, hot inward fire.

The day came when Couy-ouy stood forth Whitely robed in s.h.i.+ning wonder, Untouched in her courage and her beauty Save that she hid her arms with deep fringes.

In bitterness of spirit I turned from her, I followed the long lonely trail Through the fringed blue flower meadows.

I lay beside the small still waters of the flat lands, And I talked to my sister, the tall blue Heron While she hunted food among the water flowers; And I told the wise old Heron For the eas.e.m.e.nt of my torture, I told her, O Medicine Man, This same tale I tell you.

And then, Medicine Man, The Heron gave me a sure sign.

She stalked to where a great white flower Was resting in serene beauty, Like a sheaf of fallen moons upon the water, And from beneath the safety of its shelter She picked out my little frog brother so easily.

She tossed him clear and high in the air, And head first he shot down her long red gullet.

Then she looked at me questioningly And awaited my understanding.

So I slipped from my robe of doeskin, And fighting my way through the black muck, And the snares of the entangling round leaves, I gathered the white flower riding like a spirit canoe That had sheltered fatness for my sister Heron.

Clean and white as storm foam I washed it, Carefully on the home trail I carried it, Like a living thing to my wigwam I took it, And I put it in a cooking kettle Overflowing cold water from mountain torrent, Then I waited for the spirit to make me a sure sign.

That night, when Couy-ouy's shadow touched me, Like a star fallen from on high was her beauty.

Her eyes rested for the first time On the white flower of the still waters.

On her knees she made a little medicine over it; In her throat she chanted a hushed song Of exultation and wors.h.i.+p, Over the wonder beauty of the white flower That she had never known In the far, cold land of the Killimacs.

On her face there was a veiling breath mist Like the softest ray from the lovers' moon; All around her wrapped the blue light blanket That seemed to steal from her body Creeping through her white robe.

Then, Medicine Man, I told her this fair tale: That I loved a young Brave Son of the mighty Eagle Feather, The Chief of a high mountain tribe far north of us, And that when he saw me in the deep forest Holding up high the fair water flower The lure of its white magic Would make in his cold heart That strong medicine I needed, To bring him face to face with me In that great understanding Which is followed by union, among our tribes.

O Medicine Man, I told her by word And by convincing sign talk That if her heart ran soft as gold sweetness At the coming of any of our young Braves, And her roving eyes flew to them Searching for loving understanding, Until she feared they would betray her, And the tongue of her heart pled for them, And her willing hands thought sweet sign talk-- If she would hold aloft the white flower, That she had gathered from the water, Deep in the thickness of the forest Where none but her Brave could see it, It would surely make for her the great magic That would draw him straight to the flame Of the candle she set before her wigwam.

Long and long and long again She watched the white flower.

All her heart melted at its gold heart sweetness; And then she looked deep into my eyes, To spirit depths she searched me carefully, But pride would not let me quail before her.

She knew she had barely missed The peril of the death snake: She had sent hunters to bring its rattles for her.

She knew she had faced the red death By the black killer of the treasure cave; Yet was my spirit so strong over her doubting That once again in the chill of early morning She set her proud feet confidently On the forest trail I pictured for her.

She knew not how the white flower Of the still water lifted to the sun, She knew not the wind reeds and flute rushes.

I told her the path her feet must follow alone, That when she saw a white flower Like a rocking canoe cradled by soft wind, Riding on the breast of the blue water, She should leave her robe in the deep forest, She should run like the chased antelope, And leap from the sand sh.o.r.e To the resting place of the flower.

She should s.n.a.t.c.h it in her hand, hold it high, And swim back to the red beach of dawning.

But Medicine Man, O Medicine Man, I sent her not on the meadow path Where the war ponies fattened.

I sent her not to the still black water Of the singing reeds and rushes, Where the charmed spirit flowers With sun hearts and snow faces Spread in flocks like feeding gulls Over the breast of the dark waters.

Medicine Man, I sent her straight to that one spot On the sands of the great sea water in the deep bay, In the sheltered cove of the soundless depths Where every Canawac knew there crouched waiting The hungry Monster of the lazy sucking sands.

Again I watched all the moon time And in the gold red morning She slipped from her wigwam And entered the ancient forest.

Soft as flame ascending, swift as night bird flying, I circled past her among my familiar tree brothers.

Long before her coming to the bay of torture, I dropped the snaring white flower, Fresh and lovely, a convincing decoy, Far into the heart of the pitiless death pool Where the eager mouths of the swallowing sands Embrace and draw, quietly, but so surely That no strength of arm can lift, No power of spirit can save their victim.

Behind the rocks I hid and waited; In anguish I prayed to the Great Spirit That the luring white flower of wonder Might rest on the gently heaving water Until the time of the coming of my enemy.

As I waited with my eyes ever watching, watching The wave cradled flower white as swan feathers, Through the air shot the slim scarred form Of Couy-ouy, my hated enemy.

Her slender feet touched the water And went down softly as a diving bird, Her reaching hand caught the white flower surely.

She lifted her face to the face of the morning; The beauty that shone upon her Was like the beauty of the Great Spirit When he had first the vision of the flower world And the wonder of flower magic was sent to him.

Couy-ouy held the water flower in high triumph; She gazed at it, she laughed to it, she kissed it, She laid it against her glad face like a papoose, And chanted to it throaty words of lullaby.

Then with the other hand and with her quick feet She began swimming to reach the certain sh.o.r.e.

When her light feet would not lift to the surface And her strong stroke would not move her body, Slowly the dawn light faded from her face And a look like the look of a little hurt papoose Came over her in slow wonder-- A look of surprise, of doubt That her strength could be unavailing.

Then she struggled like an arrow stricken sea bird, For the sure sands grip their captive cruelly.

Then gray terrors came sweeping upon her, And her face was white, white as the white flower That she held at arm's length above her.

Her black oiled braids floated out on the water, While a cry, a shrill cry, a high screaming cry, The voice of a wounded mountain lion, Rang from her lips in quivering terror.

I knew who had carefully taught her To use that cry in time of trouble: I knew that for my Brave she was calling.

And I knew, too, how the wood and the water Carried sound far distances to wild ears.

I wondered if Mountain Lion were on the water Or if he were hunting the wide forest Or if he were drilling ornaments of blue sh.e.l.l Or weaving the sacred, singing fire bird A new wigwam of gold osiers.

Only once she screamed that awful wild cry, Then her struggles were the final battle.

Already her face of anguish was even With the treacherous water hiding death, Already her slender body was forever encased.

One arm slowly beat the fair bay helplessly; But even as the gray terror closed in upon her, The stealthy catlike death of the waves And the little famished mouths of sand, The slow mealy strangling sands, She bravely held aloft the white flower.

And then, Medicine Man, I cared not if he came, The Mountain Lion, my faithless man!

The utmost reach of his strength could not save her, He might go down to bottomless depths with her; He might strive and bear me down to her.

Come was my just and rightful hour of triumph!

I arose and went forth on the white sh.o.r.e I smiled like a mother upon her, Then I pointed my finger, I laughed in scorn, I made bad sign talk at her, I danced the Braves' triumph dance, with song, I cried to her in the exultation of victory: "He will not come again to you, The faithless Mountain Lion, my man, He who danced the sacred Mating Dance Of the Mandanas with me in the Council Lodge, He who read into my eyes the great understanding Even upon the night of your coming among us.

Go thou back to the evil spirits who sent thee!"

Until the last wave overran her eyes, The slim thing of bone hardness, Of arrow straightness, and sureness, Of bird swiftness, would not look once upon me, Would not plead with me for mercy Nor sign for help at my hands.

When she saw me she suddenly ceased to struggle, And with her eyes fixed upon the white flower, The fallen moon that rides the still black water, She went to bottomless depths silently; Slowly, slowly, Medicine Man, she sank, Until the flower again rested On the breast of the unconscious water.

Then I went into the forest on her trail, I hunted her precious robe of snow white doeskin, I rolled a heavy stone in its rich bead work: I carried it back swiftly, And upon the face of the white flower Slowly sinking beneath the water I threw it.