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Man Behind Cuyama Valley Indian Massacre (12 pages)
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Page: of 12
VOLUMEI2/NO 3
THECALIFORNIANS
PAG
“A fiasco. A drunken brawl. There
was no E agle. No dead people with secrets to tell. Just a bunch of drunks flopping around in the dust.’
“No.”
After five nights of dancing and five days of hungry children
complaining, the sixth night was different.
“Men of the Yokuts and Paiute,” the tall Telamni man called.
“Bring your horses to the dance tonight. Some will ride and the
rest will dance. Tonight Eagle will listen. Tonight our ancestors
will speak with the tipni. Tonight they will return from the dead
and tell us what we must do.”
The crowd stared at the tall Telamni man with large tired eyes
and empty guts, but at dusk the dancers moved to the left — step
and drag — while the owners of horses rode to the right. Everyone
sang a new song:
“Ya a ya e hai'ya kawai’ yo
Ya a ya e hai'ya kawai’ yo”
“What do you hear, José Jesus?”
“A new song that’s sillier than the other.”
“Nothing from the dead spirits.”
“No, no, a thousand times no.”
The winatun whispered into my ear. “A troop of white men are
coming.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They think we will cause them trouble. They come with rifles
and dogs to chase us back to our villages.”
I looked up into the eyes of this winatun. “The whites think that
this bunch of women and children and old men will cause them
trouble? Where is the trouble for them? What is their concern?”
i
=
“Chief Joijoi wants everyone to leave now? In the dark? He wa
women and children and old people running down hills ;
crossing flooded rivers in the dark?”
The winatun held up both his hands. “Listen, José Jesus. The
woman speaks.”
The cousin of my mother stood in the center of the circle. T
dancers bumped to a halt. The singing stopped. The horses wi
reined still.
“The whites are coming!” the old woman screamed. “They ha
guns and dogs and long knives.” Her voice was the winter wi
through a bare oak tree. “They will shoot the men and rape t
young women. The white men will slit the bellies of children a
pull out the intestines for their dogs.”
“Run! Run for your lives!” the old woman yelled.
Screams from horses and children filled the night. Sparks e
ploded from the fire and drifted toward the stars and the de:
ancestors. Gunshots echoed from the canyon walls with the thu
der of huge foot drums. Screams and gunshots through the da
night. Screams and gunshots. Screams.
I, the fall of 1870 Takac organized another ghost dance in h
own Eshom Valley. “Give it one more try,” he said. “We have som
singers who have witnessed the return of dead people.”
“Go to hell,” I said. aie
“We need you, José Jesus. You’re the supreme tipne of the Peop
\ ‘ : vor i inks al Ye be Ms ad Eagle will only speak to one such as you.
“eh ae trom hetie!
ee