THAT NIGHT ANGIE could not sleep because of the many images flooding her brain. Beautiful scenes of the village hand painted on pottery came drifting through her thoughts. Handsome young braves astride their horses and beautiful Indian maidens washing their clothing in the river. Peaceful fires lit near the teepees and older women grinding corn, the elders speaking wise words around the campfires and two hunters returning with their kill. Ospreys soaring above in the spring air looking for their next meal in the river below, and green trees full of fresh new leaves, and the soft grass of the valley. All were images Angie had come to know as home.
The very next morning Angie set out to collect clay from the riverside and began working it with her hands, molding and forming the shape she had seen in her mind. She added more water, smoothing the sides and working the clay until it began to hold together into a pleasing bowl of ample shape. But the bowl was too big and one side began to fall. She began again and again, each time being careful to add a little more dried reed grass until her bowl finally held its shape. She smoothed more clay around the sides and then set it out to dry in the hot sun.
She realized she had spent the entire day working on the bowl and began to panic when she realized she forgot to do her chores and prepare Halona’s midday meal and now it was time for the evening meal. She hurried back to their teepee and quickly began preparing the food when Halona came out of the teepee and gave Angie a suspicious glare, but didn’t utter a word, nor did she strike her. Angie was surprised that Halona had nothing to say and Angie vowed that she would not let that happen again.
The next morning, after preparing a meal for Halona, Angie hurried down to where she set her bowl out to dry.
Chocheta was picking the bowl up in her arms, preparing to take it back to the village.
“Look what I have found,” Chocheta smiled.
“Put it down,” Angie said as she approached, “It might not be dry yet.”
“Is this bowl yours?” Chocheta asked as she carefully set it back down on the ground.
“Yes, I made it yesterday,” Angie answered her, fearing her bowl may have cracked.
“What are you going to do with it?” Chocheta asked her.
After carefully examining the bowl, Angie answered, “I want to paint a picture on it, a very special scene of our village. I need to make some colors but I’m not sure how to make the paint. I think I can use berries and… ”
“I can help you. I have seen my father paint,” Chocheta offered excitedly, “I will ask him what we need and we can collect it.”
Chocheta ran to find her father, Maska, with Angie close behind her. When they reached Chocheta’s teepee, the girls quizzed Maska about how to make paint. Maska laughed at his daughter’s earnest plea and not being able to refuse her anything, he set about helping the girls collect just the right plants to make their colors.
Maska showed the girls how to find minerals in the earth, such as iron that makes a red color, and zinc that makes a white pigment. Ochre turns yellow and charcoal from the fire makes gray. He showed them which plants were best, like the Indigo plant that makes a medium blue color, leaves that are green, and berries that make a pink tint.
Even insects were gathered. Maska explained how the cochineal insect makes a deep red color and ground beetle shells can be used for black.
After gathering all the items they would need, Angie ran back to her teepee and prepared Halona’s noon meal and then checked on her bowl. It was drying nicely and Angie was excited to begin her artwork.
When she returned to Chocheta’s camp, Maska was grinding their collected items into powders.
Maska showed the girls how the minerals were ground into a powder, the insects boiled, dried and mashed into a powder, and the leaves were dried and ground into a powder of their own. Maska then gathered some eggs and used the yolks and some water to mix with the different powders. Maska explained to the girls that the egg yolks helped the powder to bind and stick to the surface they’d be painting on. To help the white powder to bind, Maska used some melted animal fat that he had saved from his other paintings. The yolk would turn his paint yellow, and he wanted a pure white color.
Angie was fascinated with all the different colors Maska was making and imagined where each color would be used on her bowl, picturing the scene in her mind.
Maska showed them his paintbrushes he had made by using carved wooden handles and horsehair tied with sinew to the handle. He then showed the girls how to properly make brush strokes in order to make the images appear, using a large rock as his canvas. Maska then smiled and gave each of the girls a paintbrush for them to start their creations with. Angie was very excited and thanked him repeatedly.
As Angie and Chocheta walked back to the river to check the dryness of her bowl, they noticed Enyeto examining her work of art. Elsu was with him.
“Please do not touch it!” Angie yelled so he could hear her as the girls approached.
“I will not break it,” Enyeto rebuked her.
Angie knelt down and examined its texture, feeling the smoothness of the sides and gliding her fingers around the inside.
“It looks good,” Enyeto told her. “Did you make it?”
“Yes,” she answered, still examining the round piece of clay.
“I’m going to make one too,” Chocheta added as she coyly smiled at Enyeto. Her growing affection for him showed on her face.
Seeing the brush in Angie’s hand, Enyeto asked, “What are you going to paint?”
“This bowl,” she answered him, “I want to paint a picture of our village on it.”
“Where is your paint?” Elsu asked her and then added, “I will teach you to make it.”
“Chocheta’s father has already taught me,” Angie told him and then picked up the bowl and carried it to Chocheta’s teepee. There, Angie began to paint her images on the sides of the clay bowl.
Angie had seen very little of Kimana in the past month. Kimana wished to spend her free time with Dyami, which added to Takhi’s pain. Takhi felt she had lost her son, and now she was in danger of losing her husband. Kimana would marry Dyami this spring during the Sun Dance ceremony and Takhi feared the competition for Dyami’s attention. She waited many years to learn that she was with child, and was afraid she might have to wait many more years to offer Dyami another baby. She didn’t understand why the Sun god did not hear her prayers for many children. She knew a child would be a huge source of pride for Dyami and she wanted to please him. Her feelings of failure were beginning to drive her into a deep depression.
Without Kimana coming to see Angie, Leotie seemed to stay to herself and rarely left her family’s camp.
Each day, Angie went to Chocheta’s tent where she spent her free time working on the bowl, and each day, Chocheta’s family gave her their approval of her progress. Maska was patient, teaching Angie the secrets of his art, and she absorbed his words like a sponge. Chocheta never did make a bowl of her own, but she loved to watch Angie paint and encouraged her creativity.
Several weeks later, Angie’s bowl was finished. She set it down to dry and admired how it turned out. The women who lived nearby came to view the beautiful painting and Amitola was proud to show them, as if Angie were her own daughter.
That afternoon Angie came into the teepee and nervously set her completed work of art down in front of Halona. The old woman looked up at Angie in bewilderment and after just a few moments, Halona got to her feet and left the tent.
Angie sat down, trying hard not to cry. She had tried so hard to please Halona. She wanted to give her something from her heart.
No matter what I do, she thought to herself, I cannot please her. God, why is she so difficult? All I want to do is make her happy. I love her with all my heart, just the way I should. Will she ever be able to love me in return? Will I ever be able to please her? Ever?
It was at that moment that Halona appeared through the opening of the teepee. In her arms she held the massive balls of yarn. Halona l
aid them down in front of Angie and then promptly left the tent again.
Angie’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened as she slowly reached over and touched her yarn. A smile spread over her face. Her heart flooded with elation and waves of emotion flowed through her.
“My yarn,” she told herself, “My yarn!”
Tears of happiness began to flow as she held each ball of yarn.
“Thank you, God!” she said as she looked up imagining Him towering over her in the teepee. “Thank you so much!”
The Marriage Day