When the tree flowered

by John G. Neihardt

“There were seven teoshpaiay [bands], seven council fires, and one of them was my people, the Oglala. They were all Lakota and had the same tongue, but they did not all say things in the same way, and when we got together, sometimes we boys would mock each other, because our way of speaking was the best. Each teoshpaiay was a hoop by itself, and could go anywhere it pleased, for it had its own tepee okige, the highest tepee where its chief lived, and its own tepee iyokihe, the next highest tepee, where its councilors made the laws for the people.

“When all the seven teoshpaiay, or most of them, came to live together, they would camp in a great hoop, which was more sacred than any of the smaller hoops that made it. And if there were laws to be made for all the hoops to obey or something to decide for all of them, then each teoshpaiay would bring its council tepee to the center of the great hoop; and with all these tepees they would make a big place for all the councils and chiefs to meet as one, and this they called tepee-thrown-over-together. It had no roof, only walls, because it was not needed very long.

“And it was here that four were chosen to be chiefs above all others—one wichashita nacha, who is highest, and three nacha, who were next.

“Also each hoop had its own akichita, and they were the keepers of all the laws. They were like relatives of the thunder beings, and theirs was the power of lightning. Nothing could stop them; and if any man broke a law, they took care of him, even a brother or a father. If the chief himself broke a law, the akichita could throw him out of the tepee okige, and a better man would be chosen. If any should go on a war party or a hunt when the council said, ‘no,’ the akichita could whip them and cut their tepees in pieces. And if any fought the akichita, they would be killed. If you broke a law, it was like breaking the sacred hoop a little; and that was a very bad thing, for the hoop was the life of the people all together.

“If an akichita did some bad thing or did not do what he ought to do, then the wichasha yatapika could throw him out before all the people; and it was better to die than to see shame in every face. Even little boys could mock such a man and no one would stop them. For the wichasha yatapika [men whom all praise] were stronger at last than all others except Wakon Tonka; and yet they did not make the laws. They chose the chiefs and the councilors and the akichita from among themselves; and any man could become one of them, but it was not easy, and it took a long time.

“It was like this. Maybe I am a young man and I think to myself that I want to be a chief sometime. I don’t say anything to anybody about this, but I know what I must do. First, I must be very brave. I have to kill an enemy, I have to count coup so many times, and I have to get a scalp. Nobody can say I was ever afraid. But that is only the beginning. I must never break any laws, I must be good to everybody in the hoop, so that afterwhile people notice this and talk about it until everybody is saying it. And that too is only the beginning, although it takes a long time. I must be very generous and always see that old people and the needy have meat. I do not do this once or twice. I keep on doing it until everybody notices and talks about it, and then I keep on doing it.

“Maybe some old men and women are sitting around under a sun-shade made of boughs. They are talking about the old days when everything was better. And, afterwhile, one of them, who can see a little better than the others, squints at a hilltop, and says: ‘A horseback is coming over there, and he is bringing something. I wonder who it is.’ Then they all squint at the horseback coming, and when he is closer, another one says: ‘Why, that is Gray Bear’s son, Eagle Voice, and I think he is bringing some meat.’ Then they all cry out together, ‘hi-yay!’ Because people have been talking about me, and the old ones know I will come to them first with the tenderest pieces. But if I am somebody else, and a stingy fellow, then the old people will say, ‘heh-heh-heh,’ and look down their noses. And if that is what old people say about me, I am never going to be a wichasha yatapika, even if I have killed a hundred enemies.

“After people have noticed these things for a long time, even the wichasha yatapika begin to talk about me in their meetings, and at last they say: ‘This young Eagle Voice ought to be one of us.’ So they have a big feast and a ceremony at the center of the hoop, with all the people sitting around. And before they take me to be one of them, the people are asked to say any evil thing they may know about me. But all the people cry out together, ‘hi-yay, hi-yay,’ and not even a jealous one can say anything bad at all. So they make me a man whom all praise, and before all the people they teach me what I must do, and they say I do not belong to myself any more, but to the people. Then I take the pipe they offer and smoke it; and that is a sacred vow.

“Now I am a wichasha yatapika, and I can be an akichita, or a councilor, or even a chief, if I keep on being brave enough and generous enough and good enough. It is hard to be any of these, but it is hardest of all to be a chief, because he must be wachin tonka [great minded] standing above himself, as he stands above others.

“When they make him a chief, they will say: ‘Maybe your favorite dog will come home with an arrow in him. You will not be angry, but hold fast to your pipe and remember the laws. Maybe some mangy dog will water your tepee in the dark [malicious gossip]. You will have neither eyes nor ears, but you will look into your heart, and go ahead. If anything you have is better for another than for you, it will be his. You do not belong to yourself.’