The sky over Plymouth was as pale as paper. The air was chill with the promise of winter. Still the people had come. It was a day of celebration. It was a day of mourning. Gray Antelope stood, dressed in deerskin, wearing new mocassins, at the foot of the statue. He looked up into the face of Massasoit, the great chief of the Wampanoag tribe, the people of the dawn. The chief had signed a treaty with the white men called the pilgrims. The treaty held powerful words, it spoke of respect, equality and living in harmony. Massasoit, the sachem, also known as Yellow Feather, had brought peace and dignity to his people. He died in 1661.
The memorial had been built in his honor. The artist had sculpted a face that was strong and proud. Looking into his eyes, Gray Antelope wondered what Massasoit would think of his people, of all the native peoples and their place in the world of the white man today. There had been other treaties, other words on paper but the words had not been true. The promises had been broken.
The people had gathered and had waited in silence, both Indian and White
present on this day. They formed a ring around the statue, around what was to become the dancing ground. Then the drumming started, a slow steady beat. After a moment, Antelope began to dance. He made his way around the circle. Sometimes he sang in his native Tewa, sometimes he was silent but continued dancing. Sometimes children joined his dance in the circle, wearing the traditional costumes of their people. Their feet pounded the earth as the sound of drums beat the air. Groups of drummers played, one following another, drumming with intensity, drumming the ancient rhythms. Singers took turns, their voices ringing with pride, sadness and defiance. Each sang in his own tongue, the traditional songs filling the day with a keening, wailing sound. Antelope danced through it all.
The sun shone like a pale ghost in a white sky. The bare branches of the trees shook and chattered in the wind like the rattling bones of skeletons. The drums, at last, grew silent. Antelope came once again to stand at the foot of the statue. When Antelope looked up into the statue's face, tears fell from the eyes of Massasoit. Tears fell like rain upon Antelope's deerskin shirt, striking his shoulders and turning the leather dark. Antelope felt the weight of those tears and knew that at that moment all the people were joined together. He knew that they had regained something that had been lost. It had been a good dance.
When Antelope left the dancing ground, he took off his new moccasins. He looked at them before he wrapped them up to store them in his car with the rest of his ceremonial clothes. They were worn through in places on the soles. There were jagged holes in the soles as if he had walked many many miles, as if he had walked the long trail.
The dance at Plymouth had been several years earlier and Antelope shared the story with Ross one evening after dinner. He still had the moccasins. He kept them in a special place in the medicine room. He handed them to Ross. They were tied together with a piece of leather thong. Ross inspected the holes in the soles, ran his finger around the worn edges.
"It's very important for the people to wear their moccasins sometimes. It
reminds us of who we are. You can feel the earth through your moccasins," Antelope told him.
"The government men used to come in a big truck to hand out their give-aways to the people. They would give us food and clothes and shoes. The shoes were these big black Mickey Mouse shoes with laces. They had hard soles and round toes; you could not feel the earth. It was hard to remember who you were in those shoes," Antelope explained. "Maybe that is why they gave them to us," he added.
"One time they brought us buffalo. We all went to see them. They had been herded into a little corral. It was like seeing old friends, like distant relatives had come to visit. My nephew was young and he was very excited. He got as close as he could to the fence. He looked one old buffalo right in the eye. That buffalo looked right back at him. They knew each other, the old one and my nephew. Seeing the buffalo made my nephew very happy. That night, someone shot that buffalo and killed him. No one knows why or who did it. My nephew was very sad. Now he is learning the buffalo dance. He wants to honor his connection to the buffalo. Sometimes even these bad things teach us a lesson. They reconnect us with who we are," Antelope said. "The moccasins help us remember."
He paused for a moment and took the moccasins from Ross. Turning them over in his hands he said,"There is medicine in these moccasins." Then without warning, he struck Ross on the chest with the moccasins three times. "Take the moccasins and tap against the heart," he said. Ross was startled by Antelope's unexpected action and his body jerked as if he had been awakened suddenly from a deep sleep.
"Tap against the heart," Antelope repeated as again he slapped the moccasins
against Ross's chest. Antelope waited until Ross placed his hands on the moccasins then he stepped away. Ross held the moccasins, felt the leather, worn and smooth. He felt the dance that still lived in them. He felt them moving against the earth, making that ancient connection. He felt centered and alert. He smiled at Antelope and then handed the moccasins back.
"In this day, it is easy to forget who you are and where you come from. In these times, it is easier to close your heart, it is easier not to feel because feeling can hurt. We need to keep the heart open, that's where all the powerful medicine lies. Moccasins open the heart. Moccasins remind you of who you are. They will make you strong. They will keep your heart open."
He placed the moccasins in Ross's hands.
"There is medicine in these moccasins."
