Dakota Dream by James W. Bennett

Author:James W. Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

CHAPTER SIX

The second day of the hanblecheya turned out to be a wholesale bummer. Actually, it was Friday, so it might have been the third day, depending on how you look at it.

Thursday went pretty well. I just mellowed out on all the Dakota history represented by my surroundings, and made notes about the time I spent at Gates House. But Friday morning after I got up, I went out of the cave and climbed up to the high ground overlook. I left my journal behind.

Up on the peak of Mount Black Elk, which was my name for this place, there was that view in front of me. As far as the eye could see, the Black Hills, and the vibes of glorious Sioux history.

But all of a sudden, I didn’t feel good. I felt hungry and dizzy. I drank some of the water, but it didn’t help; I just kept feeling more and more light-headed until I was real woozy.

I laid down on my back to try and make it pass. It didn’t altogether pass, but I must have slept through some of it, because it wasn’t until the afternoon that the bad thoughts and the bad vibes began to come.

I tried to fight it off. Here came this picture of Mrs. Bluefish: “You can’t become an Indian, Floyd, you have to be born an Indian.” I rolled over on the ground. Not only was I woozy, but she pissed me off. What right did she have to intrude on my hanblecheya?

Then I saw my conversation with Chief Bear-in-cave, in his trailer. He was telling me the story of Two-Claw and the bear that became like a pet. I rolled over again, but there was Donny Thunderbird. “A writer can do a lot of good for Indians, Floyd. A reservation is a thing of the past.”

I kept trying to fight off these bad thoughts; I wanted to drive them out. But even though I was dozing in and out, sort of floating on the edge of being delirious, there was a warning in a corner of my brain: You don’t manipulate the hanblecheya. You take what comes.

The chief summed up the meaning of the Two-Claw story: “It’s a lot like that when you’re an Indian on a reservation.”

Donny Thunderbird: “A reservation is a thing of the past.”

Mrs. Bluefish: “You can’t become an Indian, Floyd, you have to be born an Indian.”

I kept rolling over, right and left. It was like a conspiracy, the way these same words and pictures kept busting into my brain. I saw myself the first day I got to the reservation; I was walking around the campground picking up Pepsi cans and Styrofoam cups. What did I think I was going to do, live on the reservation and pick up litter for the rest of my life?

I don’t know how long the bad vibes package lasted. Over and over, the same pictures and the same words. I was semiconscious part of the time, half asleep. When I was conscious, I was like partly delirious.

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