On Indian Time

The Sioux and the Chippewa Indians didn't get along. In the mid-1700s, many Sioux migrated westward across the Missouri River to get away from their enemies. The Teton Sioux, the largest branch of the Sioux nation and Billy's people, went the farthest west to the Black Hills region of western South Dakota where they followed the great buffalo herds, living in tepees scattered across the Great Plains and smoking long-stemmed peace pipes.

The history fascinated Billy and he couldn't fill his head enough. He read everything he could find on the culture and traditions of his people and the land they occupied. With help from his uncles and cousins on the reservation, he learned more than he ever could from reading, though, and was able to experience it first hand, or at least some of it . . . like the ceremony his uncle invited him to.

In the room it was dark. The bitter cold from outside seeped through the cracks around the walls where the dirt once invaded, unnoticed. Kathy couldn't remember when she had ever been in such absolute darkness, not even able to see her hands in front of her face.

The medicine man chanted in his Lakota tongue while the drummer drummed a deep, mysterious beat that pushed hard, but tender, against her chest. Spirits entered the dark room, becoming a part of the ceremony that Billy had been lucky enough to be invited to. He told Kathy that she should feel honored to attend with him, since few whites are ever invited.

Kathy didn't know what she felt. She wasn't even sure what to think of the lights when they danced across the ceiling, snapping and glistening like fireflies. She thought of the fireflies she saw late at night as a kid. They scared her then.

While the spirits visited and the drummer drummed, a lizard smaller than her hand rested on her wide ankle. She could feel it settle between her socks and her pant leg, and when the lights on the ceiling flashed . . . the lights of the spirits who had come to visit . . . she could briefly see the lizard's shiny eyes, like tiny stars on a black night. She wondered what it was doing out in such cold weather. Everything in the ceremony seemed surreal though.

When the ritual was over and the drummer was quiet, the medicine man still sat in the center of the room surrounded by his sage, pipe and gifts . . . presents from those who sat around the inside wall of the empty basement. A jug of water was passed around; it tasted cool and fresh like river water. Kathy drank some and passed it on to Billy, wishing that once they were outside, he would explain this complex ceremony to her, but knowing that he probably didn't understand much more than she did.

When they first arrived in South Dakota, a blanket of new snow covered the Great Plains area. Air was still and thick with the smell of sage and earth, and land stretched out tight like a rubber band, making its way to surrounding hills. The beauty of the land astounded Kathy. Although it was bare and insignificant in every way, there was no mistaking the beauty of the landscape. She knew right away why Billy wanted to be here.

Billy drove cautiously in his pickup, knowing that the bald tires wouldn't grip a road half covered with slush. When they got closer to the town where his relatives lived, he took back roads to show Kathy all the small houses that were otherwise hidden.

"People here don't have anything fancy," Billy said when he saw the look of sadness on her face. The puny houses sat back off the road, some missed windows and others missed doors.  Graveyards of cars and trucks decorated yards like garden sculptures.

"Indian landscaping," Billy said, followed by laughter.

Driving slowly, Billy tried his best to recognize his cousin's house, a tiny shack that sat alone like a forgotten stick of wood. He could see now that there were many forgotten sticks of wood tucked away here and there.

The last time Billy visited the reservation, it was summer and the heat was relentless on the tired little houses, parching the land and houses, sucking moisture from everything, including him. He spent a lot of time that summer in the hills, hunting fossils and drinking beer.  Sometimes the mixture of beer and sun fried his brain so much he could barely remember getting back to the little house. Now all the houses looked the same to him, partially covered with snow and partially falling down.

Billy pulled over and stopped when he saw an old woman outside her house sweeping a thin layer of snow from the dirt porch. Her body was short and round like a bowling pin, and the red sweater that was buttoned across her middle threatened to rupture any moment.  Billy pushed open his door and jumped out.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm lost, looking for my cousin, thought you might know him. His name's David Yellow Feather, but they call him Doc." Kathy moved her face closer to the steering wheel so she could hear what was going on.

The woman quit sweeping when she heard the name Doc. She looked up, squinting at this young man who was standing in her yard. A smile crept across her face uncovering a mouthful of missing teeth. She waddled across