When the tree flowered

by John G. Neihardt

“She was a good woman, but not strong like other women, maybe because she had died once and come back for a while. No children came to us, and my mother said the women talked about this. I think they did not like her. Maybe they were afraid because of her yuwipi [spiritualistic] power. But sometimes when they wanted to know something hidden, they would come to her with little gifts.

“There were grasses and snows and the land was not strange any more. When Sitting Bull went back and surrendered to the Wasichus, we did not go back, for the stories that came to us from our people on White Clay Creek where their reservation [Pine Ridge] was were not happy stories, and we were used to the new land.

“There were more grasses and snows and more grasses. Then one day when the cherries were turning black Plenty White Cows did not get up in the morning. Her mother and mine came over to help and they made some soup for her, but she did not want to eat it. She did not talk to us, but sometimes she would talk to people we could not see. Afterwhile when she was sleeping hard and there was nothing to do, our mothers went home.

“When the sun was beginning to go down, she called to me, and I leaned close to hear. Her voice was far away. I thought she was dreaming and talking in her sleep. There were tears on her face, and she said, ‘A little girl is crying. Do you not hear her crying far away?’ And I said, ‘No little girl is crying. You are dreaming.’ Then she looked at me with a soft look from far away, and said, ‘It is the little girl you think about when you are alone. I hear her crying far across snows and grasses.’

“She closed her eyes and when she looked at me again, it was a far look that did not see me, and she was talking about a great water reaching to the sunrise, and a long road across it and strange peoples yonder in a strange land. ‘It is a long road,’ she said, ‘but you will come back home. The little girl will grease your feet beside the fire, and she will not cry any more.’

“I thought she had gone to sleep and I sat there awhile listening to her breathing, and wondering. I went outside and while I stood there, the sun went under. Then I heard her call me again, and I went in and leaned close to hear what she would say. ‘Cherries are getting black,’ she said. ‘They are getting black.’ And I said, ‘It is so; they are blackening.’ At first I did not know what she meant. Then she looked at me from far away, and her voice was far away too, and she said, ‘The young moon is low yonder. It is time to go. They are coming to take me home again.’

“Then there was a sudden wide look in her eyes, and I knew it was not for me. All at once I knew it was for her foster-parents, Against the Clouds and his woman. They had come for her in the Moon of Black Cherries, the way they used to do before they died; but I could not see them. I knew this all at once, and there was a big ache in my breast; but I said, ‘Plums are beginning to ripen too. Soon they will be good to eat We will go and pick some,’ I was seeing red plums in a fold of her blanket. She closed her eyes and lay still, but I could hear her breathing deep.

“I was sitting there in the dark wondering and thinking many things with the ache in my breast. Her mother came back, but I did not tell her anything because I must not talk to her. I could see the old woman was leaning down over her daughter, and I think she was listening. Then she cried out and began mourning.

“My mother came and others too. They made a fire in front of our lodge, and there was mourning all night.”

Eagle Voice was silent for a while, looking at the ground. At length he turned a squinting gaze on me and said, “There is a strange road ahead, Grandson, a road that leads far. Let us walk on it tomorrow. I want to sleep now.”