Indecent Proposal

Ehawee looks confused by the man's words, having no understanding of hanging as a means of corporal punishment. To her, the statement that the men will be hung tomorrow merely prompts the question, "Hanging them from what?"

"They are going to put ropes around their necks and hang them from a height until they're dead."

She looks appalled. "They brought them here only to kill them? Why didn't they just kill them in battle, then?"

"Because they want to kill them the white way, which is hanging from the neck till dead. An honorable death is not a punishment."

She looks angry, her hatred for these people rising up within her again. "What is your proposal?"

"I'll help you, if you help me. I'll help you wipe out this entire camp and save your people, then you'll help me kill someone. Interested?"

She looks troubled. "Why do you need my help to do such a thing? What have they done to you?"

"They are in a position to destroy me like the whites are destroying your people. As I said, we are quite alike. And since you are like me, the two of us together should be able to deal with the white man and his protectors."

She is silent for a bit, staring at the floor, terribly torn over this proposal. She does not like the idea of killing someone, despite the fact that she killed so many whites a few days ago. That was in the heat of battle. This, she senses, would be different. She isn't even sure she is capable of doing what he asks, and she suspects there is much he isn't telling her. It may even be that what he asks will be dishonorable. Under normal circumstances, she would never agree to such a thing. But now, here, what choice does she have? She would choose death instead of her own dishonor, but this would not be just her own death, but that of all the men in her tribe. And who knows what would happen to the rest of her people?

Eventually, after running this all through her mind, she looks back up at the man again. "After my people are free, I would have to go with you?"

"To kill the white man? Yes, you would have to come with me to the Arizona Territory."

"Is that a long way from here?"

"A week or so, depending on the weather."

She bites her lip. "This white man, what is his reason for wanting to destroy you?"

"Other than it being his nature? The same thing the whites here want, land and power."

"You have land he wants?"

"My people have lands his people want. It's a situation you should be very familiar with. I am fighting for my way of life, much as your people are fighting for theirs. I don't think I can make it any simpler than that."

She nods. "I know I'm asking a lot of questions. I just...what you ask may be hard for me. I do not want to promise to help you and then find that I cannot." She takes a deep breath, hesitates for one long moment, then says, "I agree to your proposal."

"Good, good. And here's your first test."

He produces a key from his pocket and slowly unlocks her, ankles first, and then wrists. Still moving slowly, he fills a tin cup with water and holds it out to her. She reaches for it slowly with her right hand, her muscles stiff from disuse. She lifts the cup to her lips, still watching him, and begins to drink, slowly at first, and then more quickly as it hits her how desperately thirsty she is. He keeps filling her cup, and once she is more sated, he crosses the room to a hutch and takes out bread, jerked meat and a strange yellow substance that is round, firm, and smells oddly appealing. "Here. You'll need to eat too, or those wounds won't heal in time."

She takes the food from him and eats all of it, wondering as she shovels the food in how she can possibly feel so incredibly hungry, and why she didn't notice it before. She eats every scrap of food, down to the last crumb of bread, then looks up at him feeling a bit embarrassed by her behavior. "I was very hungry," she admits, as if it wasn't obvious.

He pours the remaining water out into a bowl and pulls a clean handkerchief from his vest. "We should probably get you cleaned up a bit, just to avoid infection."

She nods. "There were three shots, I think," she tells him. "One on my shoulder, one on my arm, and one here." She motions to her chest where she thinks the second shot hit.

"Shall I avert my eyes while you make the locations accessible?" he says with a smile.

She looks around the room for a blanket, or something similar. "I need something to...cover myself with," she explains, her face darkening a bit.

He stands and takes off his long coat. "I'm afraid this is the only thing I can offer, ma'am," he says, holding it out to her.

She takes it from him and then motions for him to turn around. She pulls her dress down far enough over her left shoulder to expose her wound there, then pulls her dress up high enough to expose her chest wound, using his coat to cover herself from the waist down. Then she tells him, "You can turn back now."

He wrings the hanky out in the bowl and turns to inspect her wounds. She sits stiffly, feeling very uneasy about being this exposed in front of a stranger. He's much closer to her than she feels comfortable with, but his touch is gentle as he dabs at the dried blood around the bullet holes.

"Hm. Looks like I got you fed just in time. Much longer and you would have had a hard time with these, damn Johnson all ta hell."

She does her best not to wince as he dabs at her injuries. "Who is Jon-sun?" she asks curiously, stumbling a bit over the strange word. "And what does eating have to do with my wounds?"

"Johnson is the dumb bastard you ran down. I had to clear this interview through him. As for eating, well, it takes an incredible amount of energy to heal wounds and change your shape. If you don't eat enough food, you can't do either."

"Jon-sun," she repeats, a look of hate in her eyes. "I wanted to kill him before I died. If I'd still had my pony, I would have, too." She pauses as a thought occurred to her. "How did you happen to be here? And why didn't Jon-sun kill me?"

"Johnson's one redeemable trait is that he refuses to kill women and children. Not all of his men abide by that ultimatum all of the time, but repeat offenders are usually shot themselves," he answers, rinsing the hanky out and applying a little more pressure to the wound in her chest. She feels one of her ribs give a little.

Her snort of disbelief turns into a bit of an "Ah" when that happens, although she quickly cuts it off. "They were shooting at women, and children, and the old ones among us," she argues. "That was when I decided I had to fight them." She shivers involuntarily at the memory, the scene still vivid in her mind.

"As I said, his orders aren't always followed, and this is a relatively new brigade. You'll have noticed there's a whole lot more women and children alive than men."

She nods a bit reluctantly, not wanting to conceded anything favorable about her enemies. "They still attacked us, though. And killed many of our men. And plan to kill the rest of them. What are they planning to do with the women and children?"

"Now, now. Your tribe did attack a brigade not too long ago, which is why you were attacked. It's a vicious circle really, and the more primitive of the two clashing sides always loses in the end."

"Our warriors attacked armed men who were advancing on our camp! We did not seek out a settlement of whites and attack them all." She grows more angry as she thinks about it. "I wish there were no more white men. They destroy everything."

"Well, here's your chance to do just that," he says, finishing up his ministrations. He opens the door to an adjoining room, and Ehawee sees a bed inside. He draws the shades in that room as well, and lights a lantern.

"Now that you've eaten, you'll need to sleep. No one will disturb us, as the rest of the men believe I'm taking my liberties with you."

That doesn't improve her opinion of the whites at all, and she looks alarmed as a thought occurs to her. "What about the other women of my tribe? Are there men doing such things to them now?"

"Here and there, I'm afraid. Not more than one or two, so far."

She clenches her fist. "Is that what they were going to do with the rest of us, after they killed our men?"

"Hardly," he says, lighting another cigarette. "You'll be packed off to the new reservation, I suppose. Oh, that's a parcel of land the government has drawn up for the Indians to live on."

She frowns. "We already have land to live on. Why not send the whites who are invading our land to live in this place?"

"Because your people are currently losing, and to the victor goes the spoils."

She considers that. "Maybe you can teach me what we need to do to win while we are traveling," she says as she rises to go into the bedroom, careful to keep his coat wrapped around her waist as she does so.

"If this place goes like any of the others around here, you've already lost."

Her face falls at that. "No," she insists. "That can't be. There must be something we can do."

"Die, or run away to Canada. Not that you'll get much better treatment there, but there are fewer whites. Not unless, of course, you've got a direct line to the Great Spirit?"

"I don't think so. Maybe if I truly was partly a spirit myself, but you said that's not why I can do the things I do." She looks rather depressed, as the true hopelessness of the future he's painting begins to sink in.

"Go get some sleep, young lady. You're young, and it's the nature of our kind to adapt. You will survive."

"Deadwood"
Ehawee's Page | Ehawee's Story

All text on this page is © 2001 by Kris Fazzari.

Last modified on June 8, 2001 by Kris Fazzari.