Читать книгу Payacita - Jeanne Follett - Страница 6

Chapter One

The Journey Begins

Clank, clank, rumble, clank.

“Payacita, sit down,” her mother, looking back over her shoulders, spoke abruptly.

A few moments passed, and she went on to say, “I don’t think this wagon was such a great deal after all. When we traded our sheep with Mr. Gibbs at the trading post, I didn’t bargain for the terrible dust that clouds our eyes and the sore bottoms we get after a long ride. It sure makes the day more tiring. I am sorry, my daughters!”

Frustration was felt in her tone of voice. She turned the long driving reins over her knees to rest them.

Then looking straight ahead at the horse, she said, “You see, he also grows tired easy.” The horse stopped to rest. “Perhaps the load is too much for him. He’s old. We might think about turning him out to run with the other horses up at Red Rock Canyon. He’d like that. He has been a hard worker and deserves to roam free with a herd. Come this fall we can trade blankets for a younger horse.”

Payacita giggled. She knew her mother was tired from driving the wagon. She was glad to hear that the old horse was to be retired. She loved horses. It seemed that most animals had a place in her heart. In the old days, before they acquired the “new world’s” transportation, it would take days walking to reach the fort.

Oftentimes the goods they traveled there with would become damaged or spoiled. They would bring along perishables, sweet potatoes, or carrots and other vegetables removed from the earth after the last late winter’s storm. You see, living out in the nomadic land of their ancestors was difficult. It was hard to survive if you didn’t raise the sheep and at least try to grow a garden. In the good years, if the rains were plentiful, they could even grow corn, like the neighboring “Zuni” pueblo people. After all, it was important that the spring trading at the fort went well. That would assure the next winter’s survival.

Payacita sat down as her mother requested. Her sisters walked alongside, herding the sheep. They could see her bouncing from side to side in the wagon. They began to giggle. As she attempted to grab hold of the back of the wooden seat, the old horse began walking again, pulling the load they now would bring.

At that moment, Ninleh, the oldest sister, shouted out to her, saying, “Baby sister, sing, sing one of your dream songs!”

“Yes, yes,” everyone agreed with enthusiasm.

“Please, Payacita,” her mother asked, encouraging.

Not shy at all, the young girl of five years smiled and agreed.

“But Mother”—taking a deep breath—“I must stand up so everyone can see me,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

“All right then, but be careful not to fall out of the wagon,” her mother replied reluctantly.

Payacita jumped to her feet. She made her way toward the goatskin flask of water that was hanging nearby. Grabbing it, she pulled the cork out and proceeded to take a big gulp.

“It’s always good to clear your throat before you sing,” she declared boldly. At that moment she turned herself toward the awaiting audience. “You know,” she said, stumbling over the pile of rugs protruding from underneath the seat where her mother sat, “the raven at home does this every morning in the cliffs before she soars and sings!” Payacita said this in an attempt to justify her theatrics!

As she stood there, facing her sisters, she looked out toward the towering red rocks. She saw the bountiful blue sky above them. The slight breeze of an early morning wind rippled her soft, velvet sleeves, colored in a deep maroon that complimented her thick, dark hair. She noticed the smell of desert sage filtering the air among them and suddenly, taking a deep breath, realized she didn’t know what dream song she would sing. Still thinking, she turned to her mother and, gently wrapping her arms around her neck, placed a tender kiss on her cheek as her mother continued to drive the wagon.

Then Payacita spoke up to say, “What dream song shall I sing, Shamason? Shall I make something up?” She then hesitated for a moment.

“Or what, Payacita?” her mother asked.

“Should I sing of the blue butterfly dream?” Payacita’s voice rose as she stood up. Then she let go of her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck.

Silence filled the air. The only sounds that could be heard were those of the old horse huffing and puffing as he walked along and the clanking of the wagon.

Payacita, waiting patiently—which by the way wasn’t one of her better traits, threw her arms up in the air—stating aloud, “Well, well,” interrupting her mother’s train of thought.

Then with a small chuckle, Shamason looked back for a brief moment at her daughter and said, “Again, again, Payacita? Oh, you little clown! All right then. Go on and sing so that all of the canyons and the mountains may hear of your dreams. Only you have this same dream over and over again. Let your spirit speak!”

Filled with joy and excitement, Payacita turned once again to her attentive sisters and immediately began to sing.

She bellowed out the notes of a dream song that was really a dream, but a little made up too. They all listened.

At one point, one of the sisters interrupted, saying, “You and your long-winded imagination! You’re making up that dream! We’ve never heard this one before!”

The sisters again all giggled because no matter what, the child was entertaining, to say the least, and they all welcomed that. It was a long ride to the fort. Listening to Payacita was fun and helped the time pass rather swiftly. For this they were all glad.

Soon all the noise quieted down, the wagon stopped clanking, the sisters’ tired feet stopped walking, and the mother announced, “Straight ahead. I see the fort! Daughters, bring the sheep in closer to the wagon!”

Soon they entered through the tall wooded gates.

You could hear the soldiers saying as they passed through, “More Injuns bringing goods to trade.”

This did not alarm them. It didn’t even offend them. Tired of the white men, they simply went there to trade.