“Now,” the woman said, “now you won’t freeze while we wait for the sacred paint.”
The painting and the wrapping in white robes took a long time, but the people were happy and excited. Later, right before the sisters went to join the other dancers, an old Paiute woman gave them each a handful of piñons, the sacred food of the dancers, and she gave them a gourd dipper of warm water to share. The white clay on Indigo’s hair and face felt odd when she moved her mouth or eyes; her hair felt stiff. The white canvas robe wrapped Sister Salt’s arms close to her body so she reminded Indigo of a big white crow. The twilight was blue-gray giving way to darkness.
Now the dancers were resting on the sand around the fire, drinking water and eating piñons. Indigo looked for Mama and Grandma Fleet among the dancers sitting on the ground by the fire but she recognized no one. Sister Salt pointed across the circle in the shadows where a small group of dancers gathered around a figure moaning and writhing on the ground. Was that Mama? Was that Grandma Fleet? Just then voices began to sing softly and the dancers stood up. They moved together and began to join hands in a circle around the fire. The voices of the dancers rose softly at first from low undertones, but gradually the singing seemed to rise out of the earth to surround them. Indigo held Sister Salt’s hand so tightly she expected her sister to pry it loose a little, but Sister Salt didn’t seem to notice. Indigo felt shy holding the Paiute woman’s hand, but she wasn’t afraid. So far the Paiutes had given her a warm shawl and warm water and piñons to eat.
Indigo watched the Paiute woman’s feet. She watched Sister Salt’s feet. They were careful to drag their feet lightly along the ground to keep themselves in touch with Mother Earth. They were moving from right to left because that was the path followed by the sun. Wovoka wanted them to dance because dancing moves the dead. Only by dancing could they hope to bring the Messiah, the Christ, who would bring with him all their beloved family members and friends who had moved on to the spirit world after the hunger and the sadness got to be too much for them. The invaders made the Earth get old and want to die.
Indigo wondered what the ancestors looked like—Mama’s sisters and brothers, Grandma Fleet’s teenage husband, and Mama’s little baby that died. Around and around they went, singing about the snow: “The snow lies there,” they sang, “the snow lies there. The Milky Way lies there, the Milky Way lies there.” Indigo looked up at the stars that were the road of the dead to the spirit world. She thought she could detect faint movement on the path of stars.
The dancers stopped to rest after the first song. Indigo and Sister Salt sat down with their backs against the windbreak, where the fire kept off the night’s chill. Warm water and handfuls of piñons were passed from dancer to dancer; Sister Salt looked at her but did not speak. When Indigo opened her mouth to ask about Mama and Grandma Fleet, Sister Salt shook her head.
More wood was fed to the fire as the dancers joined for the second song. The Paiute woman told Indigo the words to the second song, but Indigo was not sure if she heard the words correctly. Why sing, “The black rock, the black rock,” when they were dancing on white river sand? Why sing, “The rock is broken, the rock is broken”? Indigo was tired now, and the singing voices were so loud she couldn’t be sure what the Paiute woman said. Later on she would ask Sister Salt about everything that happened. Indigo kept singing with the others; she was cozy and warm with Sister Salt on one side and the Paiute woman on the other. “The black rock, the black rock, the black rock is broken”; she sang it and saw it with her eyes closed. “The black rock is broken and from it pours clear fresh water that runs in little streams everywhere.”
When Indigo opened her eyes again, she was covered with the quilt, alone in the lean-to; dozens of dancers circled the fire; the flames leaped high, crackling and popping loudly. “The wind stirs the willows,” they sang, “the wind stirs the grasses.” She wanted to see the Christ and his family arrive; they were coming from far away and would arrive just before dawn. She was so comfortable she wanted to sleep a little more. When she woke again, Indigo heard Mama’s voice and Grandma Fleet’s voice; Sister Salt was talking too, but when she opened her eyes, she saw strange figures wrapped in white. Then she remembered the dancers and the white clay paint.
“Mama! We couldn’t find you!” Indigo called out.
“She’s awake.” Indigo heard Sister Salt’s voice. A dancer in a white robe approached. Mama didn’t look like herself with the strange white paint on her face and her hands, but Indigo had never seen her look so happy. She knelt down and held Indigo’s face between her hands.
“You should see yourself,” she said. “Grandma Fleet and I thought we’d never find you girls.” They had to get ready because the Christ would arrive soon. Grandma Fleet had to urinate so they all went to the tamarisks to relieve themselves. Indigo pulled the shawl close to herself against the cold. The wind was increasing; clouds moved rapidly across the sky, so the light of the moon was partially obscured. As they returned to the circle the dancers were taking their places; everyone was whispering in excited voices, “He’s here! He’s here!” Indigo stood on her tiptoes but could see nothing. Here and there, a dancer helped others who had fallen to the ground with joy after their loved ones came down the Milky Way to visit them.
The singers began and the others joined in. “The wind stirs the willows, the wind stirs the willows. How sweet the scent! The wind stirs the sand grass. The wind stirs the sand grass!” the dancers sang. They had to dance; they must dance or the Messiah and the spirits could not come down to them.
The white clay protected her face and hands from the cold wind; the sacred white clay made the wind feel like a warm breeze. Sister Salt did not feel tired or sleepy. She had never felt so happy. Even the sick woman from their camp and the old Havasupai woman who lived with her were dancing and lively tonight. They were about to see everyone who had passed on to the spirit world—beloved family members and old friends. But that wasn’t all: the gathering of all the spirits meant the arrival of the storm clouds as well.
The wind calmed and Sister Salt smelled moisture; a warm wet snow began to fall on the dancers. She kept her eyes on the big snowflakes falling into the flames. The voices of the others around her seemed to recede as she entered into the silence of the snow. Each snowflake was luminous and slowly turning as it fell. She saw every crystalline surface, every shimmering corner and bright edge of ice; she was enveloped in the light and then she herself was the light. She felt them all around her, cradling her, loving her; she didn’t see them but she knew all of them—the ancestors’ spirits always loved her; there was no end to their love.
Later, Sister Salt and Indigo used to talk about the four nights of the dance. So much happened, so many amazing sights. Sister Salt told Indigo about the snowflakes: “They let me know how beautiful we are, how beautiful we will become.” Later she told Indigo she died that night so she wasn’t afraid to die anymore. Indigo was disappointed to learn that no ancestors showed their faces to Sister Salt—only the snowflakes. Grandma Fleet said the family spirits didn’t bother to put themselves in human forms because Sister Salt would not recognize them anyway—they were all gone or killed off before she was born. Indigo complained that she had seen nothing.
“You are too young to see such things,” Grandma Fleet said. “When you get to be a young woman like your Sister Salt, you will understand.” The dancers began to rise to their feet. Indigo started to get up to join them but Mama shook her head and smiled while she tucked the quilt around Indigo.
“It’s getting too cold. Dawn will be freezing. You stay curled up here where it’s warm,” Mama said.
All the others were sleeping when Indigo awoke. The sun was already climbing high, and Indigo felt too warm under the quilt with Sister Salt and Mama on either side. The fire the dancers circled had burned down to whitish red coals in circles of ash and mud mixed with the sacred red ocher dust. Indigo checked the position of the sun in the sky once more. It was almost ti
me to take the baskets to sell to passengers on the westbound train. She woke Mama, but Mama said the dance was far more important than selling baskets. Indigo needed her rest so she could dance all night again. They all must dance four nights to move the dead, to help them to return.
While the others slept, Indigo walked around the camp looking at the strangers who had come from all directions for the dance. She heard Grandma Fleet say most of the visitors were Walapai and Havasupai, and of course Paiute; but a few traveled great distances from the north and from the east, because they heard the Messiah was coming. Indigo reached the edge of the encampment and was about to turn back when she heard white people talking. She saw the horses first, hobbled and grazing in a clearing surrounded by willow and tamarisk. Then she saw the wagon with bedding spread underneath, with people still asleep; but standing around a small campfire she saw a white woman and a white man. So the Paiute woman’s story about the Mormons was true! Small groups of Mormons came because the Mormons had been waiting for the Messiah’s return; they became very excited after they heard Wovoka preach. Mormons began to dance hand in hand with the other dancers; these Mormons who believed in Wovoka were generous and donated meat for the dancers. The white canvas for the dancers’ shawls was donated by the Mormons.
The second night more dancers circled the fire. Indigo counted eight Mormons—six men and two women; painted with white clay and wrapped in white robes, the Mormons looked like all the others. Indigo watched them that night and wondered if Mormons saw their ancestors when they danced. Watching the Mormons kept Indigo awake; she wanted to see one of them fall to the ground and moan from a visit by the old Mormon spirits. Try as she did, Indigo fell asleep after a few hours, and she had to rely on Sister Salt to tell her all that happened.
Early on the final night, Indigo got to see for herself what happened to a Mormon visited by his ancestors. The young man suddenly fell to his knees with his face in his hands, babbling and weeping before he slowly sank to the earth and lay quietly on his side, no different from any of the other dancers who visited with the spirits. Indigo was wide awake. This final night was the night the Messiah and his Holy Mother would come.
“The whirlwind! The whirlwind! The snowy earth floats before me! The snowy earth floats before me!” Grandma Fleet sang loudly even after dancing hard four nights straight. She squeezed their entwined fingers together firmly—Sister Salt on one side, Indigo on the other. They must sing hard if they wanted the Christ and his eleven children to come down from the mountains at dawn.
Around and around they danced, lightly caressing the Mother Earth with their feet. “Dust of the whirlwind, dust of the mountains in the whirlwind, even the rocks are ringing! Whirlwind in the mountains, rock dust rings. Rock dust rings,” they sang. The whirlwind would transform the Earth, the Paiute woman said. When the wind scoured away all impurities, then the Earth’s rebirth would follow.
On this final night, more dancers were visited by spirits than on previous nights. Indigo watched Mama stiffen, lean her head back, and sink to the ground shivering, without a word. They carefully stepped around Mama and they kept dancing. “Cottonwood! Cottonwood, so tall! Lush green leaves! Lush green leaves! Cottonwood so tall!” The voices of the dancers rose above the river. Indigo closed her eyes: the sound of the hundreds of voices was not human but mountain, as if out of the depths of the mountains a great humming rose. The Earth announced her labor; the ground must shudder and heave before she could be reborn. Indigo felt the Earth’s breathing through the soles of her feet; the sound gently carried her along, so she did not tire dancing. She was determined to stay awake; everyone seemed more alert. Sister Salt said the Messiah and his family were close by, waiting for the right moment to come to them.
As the dancers began the final song, the wind began to stir and the air smelled damp. The waning moon rose but soon disappeared behind the clouds. Big snowflakes began to hiss in the flames of the fire. The clouds and mist reflected the glow of the big campfire and illuminated the hills above the river and cast strange, giant shadows of the dancers. Later Grandma Fleet blamed those odd shadows for the townspeople’s fears, which brought the soldiers and Indian police.
Although scattered snow flurries remained, the mass of storm clouds drifted east; the buffalo horn moon was still visible as the morning star appeared on the horizon. While the others danced with eyes focused on the fire, Indigo watched the weird shadows play on the hillsides, so she was one of the first to see the Messiah and his family as they stepped out of the darkness into the glow of the swirling snowflakes. How their white robes shined! Indigo glanced around quickly to see if the others had noticed. She watched the Messiah and the others, who seemed almost to float as they descended the high sandy hill to the riverbank. How beautiful he was, just as the Paiute woman said. No wonder he called himself the morning star!
The others saw him now, but they all kept dancing, as they knew they must, until the Christ reached the middle of their circle. Wovoka the Prophet came too. He walked beside the Messiah’s mother; behind them came the Messiah’s eleven children. They all wore white robes but their dark faces were not painted. Now the dancers gathered around the Messiah and his family. Indigo held Sister Salt’s hand tightly and stood on her tiptoes so she could see between the dancers crowded around.
“You are hungry and tired because this dance has been going on for a long time,” the Holy Mother said. Then she opened her shawl, and the Messiah’s wife opened her shawl too, and Indigo was amazed to see plump orange squash blossoms tumble to the ground. The Holy Mother motioned for the dancers to step forward to help themselves to the squash flowers.
Now it was so quiet only the fire’s crackle could be heard; no one spoke as they waited their turn to take a squash flower. Later, when Indigo and Sister Salt discussed that night, they remembered with amazement that whenever the Messiah or the Holy Mother spoke, all the dancers could understand them, no matter what tribe they were from. The Paiutes swore the Messiah was speaking Paiute, but a Walapai woman laughed and shook her head; how silly, the Messiah spoke her language. When Grandma Fleet and Mama knelt to pick up blossoms, the Holy Mother blessed them in their Sand Lizard language. When the Mormons approached the Messiah, Sister Salt stayed nearby to listen for herself; she was amazed. As the Messiah gave his blessing to the Mormons, Sister Salt distinctly heard the words he spoke as Sand Lizard, not English, yet the Mormons understood his words and murmured their thanks to him.
When Sister Salt excitedly told Mama and Grandma what she had heard, a Paiute man standing nearby smiled and nodded his head. In the presence of the Messiah and the Holy Mother, there was only one language spoken—the language of love—which all people understand, he said, because we are all the children of Mother Earth.
The sky went from dark to pale gray, then from milky to pale yellow as dawn approached. Indigo left the others and went to their lean-to as the dawn lit the sky in flaming reds, yellows, and golds. Away from the people and the campfires, the air was cold and damp though much of the snow had melted. Indigo pulled her white robe closer to her body. She was careful not to crush the squash flower; she wanted to keep it as long as she could.
At home, with the big quilt all around her to keep warm, she sat propped up, facing the east; orange-gold light from the rising sun shined between the lattices of willow and tamarisk branches. Inside the lean-to, everything the sun’s light touched turned warm and golden. Indigo took the big orange flower in both hands and held it to her face, with her eyes closed. She inhaled the old gardens after a rain when the edges of the dunes were crisscrossed in all the brightest greens—moss green and grass green and the green of the big pumpkin leaves.
As Indigo drifted off to sleep, she heard one voice and then another voice address the dancers. Wovoka led the dancers in the final rituals of the dance: they all must clap their hands and shake and wave their shawls vigorously to repel diseases and sickness, especially the influenza. They had just completed the final rituals when
the alarm was shouted. The dancers remained calm because the Christ was with them and his Mother had already told them the soldiers would come.
The next thing Indigo knew, Sister Salt was shaking her, telling her to get up! Get up! She heard horses’ hooves, the sound of wagons clattering, excited voices and shouts. Indigo felt so tired, just sitting up gave her a sick feeling in her stomach; but Sister Salt jerked her to her feet. She was breathing hard as if she had been running.
“Hurry! Hurry! No! You can’t take those! We have to run!” Sister Salt pulled her along by the hand while Indigo tried to look back to see what was happening. She saw white men on horses and white men on foot seizing the Mormons, who put up no struggle; she saw dancers running in all directions with Indian policemen chasing them.
The girls ran south into the tamarisks and willows along the riverbank. The deep sand was tiring to run through, and when the sounds of the shouting grew faint, they stopped in the cover of the willows to catch their breath. Indigo knew the rules: when they were on the run, no one must speak even one word; but she wanted to know what had happened to Mama and Grandma Fleet. And the Messiah and his family—were they able to escape?
When Indigo was rested, Sister Salt stood up and pulled her to her feet. Off they went again, not running now but still walking fast; they no longer heard any shouts behind them. Sister Salt followed a game trail down the bank to the river’s edge, where the cattails hid them while they drank.
They no longer ran, but they walked steadily until the sun went down; then the cold air from the snow on the mountains drifted down to the river. In the side of a sandy bank above the river, they scooped away the sand with their hands to make a trench; then they wrapped themselves together with both shawls. They laughed at how they must look—two-headed, with four legs; they laughed at how awkwardly they moved wrapped together. They got down into the trench and arranged themselves comfortably before they began pulling sand into the trench over their legs for warmth.