Читать книгу Shaman's Dream: The Modoc War - Lu Boone's Mattson - Страница 62

Black Jim shoved on the door when the woman opened it just a little. When she screamed and backed away, he pushed in past her. The cabin was just one room, but it had everything in it: a cook place, a bed, some straight-up chairs, a table. The oil-cloth over the window cut down on the light, but he could still see it looked good in there.

“My husband’s not here now!” she shrieked. “Not here now! Not here now!” Shouting as if he would understand the words if she just made them loud enough, backing away from him.

He crossed to the fireplace, fingered the strange things on the mantle, and took down the crystalline ball. Inside it he could see the little cabin, the tree. When he shook it, the white ground swirled up in a snowstorm. Medicine of some sort, he thought. Maybe he would take it to Curley Headed Doctor. Holding it in his hand, he went over to the bed and threw himself on it. She should shut-up her screaming.

He rolled over on the bed so he could look at her where she had backed behind the table.

“Illahee good!” he said in Chinook jargon, passing the glass ball in front of him, holding it out so it encompassed all the land surrounding the cabin’s four walls. “Illahee good!” he repeated. But she only stared at him, frozen. “You cook,” he said slowly, repeating the new English word Boston Charley had just taught him. “Boston woman cook for Black Jim!”