The Delight Makers

by Adolph Francis Alphonse Bandelier

While Tyope was prompted, by the grief and mourning that prevailed, to display fresh activity and resort to new intrigues; while at the same time his wife improved the occasion for her customary prying, listening, and gossip,—their daughter, Mitsha, on the other hand, really mourned sincerely and grieved bitterly. She mourned for the dead with the candour of a child and the feeling of a woman. When she, too, had gone to the house of the dead to pray, her tears flowed abundantly; and they were genuine. The girl did not weep merely on account of the deceased, for she could not know his real worth and merits; she grieved quite as much on Okoya's account. The boy had been to see her every evening of late. He was there on the night when the corpse was brought home, and they heard the wail and rushed out on the roof. At that moment Hannay had returned, full to the brim with the dismal news. Okoya forgot everything and returned home, and Mitsha went back to the room and wept. While her mother proceeded in her account with noisy volubility, Mitsha cried; for Okoya had often spoken of his grandfather, telling her how wise, strong, and good sa umo maseua was. She felt that the young man looked up to him as to an ideal, and she wept quite as much because of her feeling for Okoya as for the murdered main-stay of her people.

While she thus mourned from the bottom of her heart, the thought came to her how she would feel in case her father was brought home in the same way. Mitsha was a good child, and Tyope had always treated her not only with affection but with kindness. He gave her many precious things, as the Indian calls the bright-coloured pebbles, shell beads, base turquoises, crystals, etc., with which he decorates his body. He liked to see his daughter shine among the daughters of the tribe. With him it was speculation, not affection; but Mitsha knew nothing of this, and felt that in case her parent should ever be borne back to this house dead, and placed on the floor before her covered with gore, she must feel just as Okoya felt now. And yet the dead man was only his grandparent. No, it was not possible for him to be as sad as she would be in case Tyope should meet with such a fate. And then she wondered whether the whole tribe would regret her father's death as much as they regretted the loss of Topanashka. Something within her told that it would not. She had already noticed that Tyope was not liked; but why, she knew not. Okoya himself had intimated as much. She knew that the boy shunned her father; and her attachment to Okoya had become so deep that his utterances began to modify her feelings toward her own parents.

If she would sorrow and grieve for her father's loss, if Okoya was mourning over his grandfather's demise, how must the child of the murdered man, of such a man as Topanashka, feel? His only child was a woman like herself. A true woman always feels for her sex and sympathizes with other women's grief; and besides, that woman was the mother of the youth who had won her heart. Okoya had told her a great deal about his mother,—how good she was and how content she was to see him and her become one. The girl was anxious to know his mother, but a visit to a prospective mother-in-law is by no means an unimportant step. If it is accompanied by a present it bears the character of an official acceptance of courtship. That step Mitsha was afraid as yet to take; it was too early; there were too many contingencies in the way.

Still she longed to go to Say Koitza now. But visits of condolence are not in vogue among Indians as long as there is loud mourning, except at the house where the mourning is going on. How much Mitsha would have given to be permitted to go to Say, sit down quietly in a corner, and modestly and without speaking a word, weep in her company. At the same time she felt another longing. Since the night of the murder Okoya had of course not been to see her, and she naturally longed to meet him also in this hour of sadness and trial. Once when she had gone to the brook for water, Zashue had crossed her path; but he looked so dark and frowning that she did not venture even to greet him.

It was the last day of mourning, and nearly everybody at the Rito who could or ought had paid his respects to the dead. The Chayani of lesser rank alone returned from time to time to perform specially strong incantations in aid of the still travelling soul. Mitsha had gone down to the brook to get water. It occurred only once a day during these days, for the people of Tyame fasted, taking but one frugal meal daily. Everybody was very careful also not to wash, and Mitsha herself was as unkempt as any one else of her clan.

Bearing the huashtanyi on her head, she was returning, when as she passed the corner of the big house her eyes discovered a man standing with his back turned to her, gazing at the cliffs. He seemed to face the dwellings of the Eagle clan. As the girl approached, the noise of her step caused him to turn, and she recognized Okoya.

The youth stepped up to her; his eyes were hollow, and now they became moist. He attempted to control himself, to restrain the tears that were coming to his eyes at the sight of her; but he sobbed convulsively. When she saw it tears came to her eyes at once. The two children stood there, he struggling to hide his grief, for it was unmanly to weep, and yet he was young and could not control his feelings; she, as a woman, feeling at liberty to weep. She wept, but silently and modestly. It grieved her to see him shed tears.

He, too, felt for her; but it was soothing to his own grief that Mitsha mourned. He too was longing to meet her; the four days of separation had been very long to him.

"He was so good," Okoya at last succeeded in saying. Fresh tears came to his eyes.

Mitsha merely nodded and covered her face with a corner of her wrap.