The Lonesome Trail. John G. Neihardt

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      II. THE LOOK IN THE FACE

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      It was after one of the Saturday night feasts at No-Teeth Lodge that I drew my old friend, Half-a-Day, to one side where the shadows were not broken by the firelight.

      “Tell me another story, Half-a-Day,” I said.

      He grunted and puffed at his pipe in silence.

      “Have I not given much cow meat to the feast and did I not throw silver on the drums?”

      “Ah,” he assented.

      “Then I wish to hear a story.”

      “You are my friend,” he began with majestic deliberation, speaking in his own tongue; “for we have eaten meat together from the same kettle and looked upon each other through the pipe smoke. It will therefore make me glad to tell you a story about buffalo meat——”

      “Ah, about a hunt?”

      “And a me-zhinga [girl]——”

      “Oh, a love story!”

      “And a man whom I wished to kill.”

      “Good! And did you kill him?”

      “My brother is like all his white brothers, who leap at things. Never will they wait. If I said yes or no, then would I have no story.”

      “Then give me a puff at the pipe, Half-a-Day, and I will be patient.”

      Half-a-Day gave me the pipe and began, with eyes staring through the fire and far away down the long trail that leads back to youth.

      “Many winters and summers ago I was a young man; now I am slow when I walk and my head looks much to the ground. But I remember, and now again I am young for a little while. I can smell the fires in the evening that roared upward then, even tho’ they are cold these many moons and their ashes scattered. And I can see the face of Paezha [flower], the one daughter of Douba Mona, for my eyes are young too. And Douba Mona was a great man.

      “Paezha was not so big as the other squaws, and could never be so big, because she was not made for building tepees and bringing wood and water. She was little and thin and good to see like some of your white sisters, and there was no face in the village of my people like her face. Her feet touched the ground with a light touch like a little wind from the south; her body bent easily like a willow; I think her eyes were like stars.”

      I smiled here, because the simile has become so trite among us white lovers. But Half-a-Day saw me not; he looked down the long trail that leads back to youth, leading through and beyond the fire.

      “And I looked upon her face until I could see nothing else—not the sunrise nor the sunset nor the moon and stars. Her face became a medicine face to me; because I was a young man and it was good to see her. And also, I was a poor young man; my father had few ponies, and her father had as many as one could see with a big look.

      “But I was strong and proud and in the long nights I dreamed of Paezha, till one day I said: ‘I will have her and I will fight all the braves in all the villages before I will give her up. Then afterwards I will get many ponies like her father.’

      “So one evening when the meat boiled over the fires, I went down to the big spring and hid in the grass, for it was the habit of Paezha to bring cold water to her father in the evenings, carrying it in a little kettle no bigger than your head covering, for she was not big.

      “And I lay waiting. I could not hear the bugs nor the running of the spring water nor the wind in the willows, because my heart sang so loud.

      “And I heard a step—and it was Paezha. She leaned over the spring, and looked down; then there were two Paezhas, so my wish for her was doubled and had the strength of two wishes.

      “I arose from the grass. She looked upon me and fear came into her eyes; for there was that in my face which wished to conquer, and I was very strong. Like the tae-chuga [antelope] she leaped and ran with wind-feet down the valley. I was without breath when I caught her, and I lifted her with arms too strong, for she cried.”

      Half-a-Day reached toward me for the pipe and puffed strongly. His eyes were masterful, with the world-old spirit of the conquering male in them.

      “Then as I held her, I looked upon her face and saw what I had never seen before: a look in the face that was sad and weak and frightened, begging for pity. Only it was not all that; it was shining like the sun through a cloud, and it was stronger than I, for I became weak and could hold her no longer. A little while she looked with wide eyes upon me; and then I saw what makes the squaws break their backs carrying wood and water and zhinga zhingas [babies]; also what makes men fight and do great deeds that are not selfish.

      “Then she ran from me and I fell upon my face and cried like a zhinga zhinga at the back of a squaw—I know not why.”

      Half-a-Day puffed hard at his pipe, then sighing handed it to me.

      “Have you seen that look in the face, СКАЧАТЬ