A Council of Dolls by Mona Susan Power

Author:Mona Susan Power [Power, Mona Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2023-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

I thought the journey to Carlisle would be the hardest part of leaving home, being jostled on endless tracks a constant reminder of the growing miles between my parents and me, a warning that I was getting closer and closer to the strange new life still hidden behind a mysterious blanket of miles. But the performance of arrival was so much harder. How we were herded together and made to stand perfectly still for a group photograph, nearly everyone clutching something precious from home, some item pressed into our hand at the last minute as a talisman against disease or other harm. Most of us dressed in traditional garb or a mix of wašíču clothes in our own style. Except for Jack, who showed up dressed as a cut-hair, hands empty but for the nicks and scratches. Then the shock of a new baptism, more violent than the one my family agreed to in order to pacify our local mission. Girls and boys pulled apart into separate buildings where we were made to drop our clothes and step into cold baths where matrons with scrub brushes tried to wash the Indian brown off our skin. Scratchy new clothes awaited us as we dried, and everything we’d carried across the country, everything we’d worn and hidden in pockets or moccasins, each belt and dress and shirt, each medal and feather and bead, was taken away, loaded into baskets. We had the appearance of strangers, even our hair clipped short while the boys’ was shorn to the skin. We looked like a village in mourning. So now we are all cut-hairs, against our will. One girl tried to rescue her long braids from the ground, wound them around her fist. But a stern woman rapped her hand with a wooden brush. I could hear the crack against her knuckles, and her braids fell to the floor like dead snakes.

Before we were allowed to eat and rest, we were marched onto the parade ground, made nervous by a constant bark of orders for us to get in line and not be such a ragged lot! I understood the sharp commands, but most of my fellow students staggered in a daze, the words a meaningless drone. I attempted to translate for the younger ones around me but was shouted down. I quickly learned that the utterance of a single Dakhóta word, even offered to be helpful, is a serious offense. They treat our language like a sickness so contagious it must be cut from our tongues and minds. So, I marched for a while in silence while children faltered around me, begging me with their eyes to please explain. Eventually I used my hands to indicate what they should do, careful to keep the movements subtle to avoid detection from the ones doing all the shouting, fellow students who appear to be of high rank and responsibility and seem to be constantly angry with us. Many children are familiar with the hand language we

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