She looked down and away, changed her position so she once again faced him, then murmured, "Sir, I…I thought… I have been told Indians are humorless creatures and never take joy in anything but war and torture. I have been told this by those who know about the savage nature of the Indians—that the ideas of kindness and empathy are foreign to an Indian's heart. And, I have been told they treat their women as slaves."
Stands Strong couldn't help himself: he laughed aloud. "Who told you this?"
"The books I've read and the stories told by men and women around a campfire."
As was his tradition, Stands Strong paused a moment before speaking. Then, at length he asked, "Have you never thought to question the character and intent of those who would tell you such stories? Or wonder if the white man perhaps embellishes them? Has the white man never observed that those men who carry these bad tales are, in truth, speaking of themselves?"
"Sir!"
He couldn't help chuckling, though he supposed his frowning at the same time might seem odd to her. But, to correct her further seemed pointless. After a moment, he asked, "Would you sing again before you leave?"
"You heard me singing?"
"I did. It is one of the reasons I am here. I wanted to see the woman with the sad voice."
Once again, she looked away from him, and several moments of silence passed between them before she replied, "Yes, I will singfor you, but my songs are sad this morning. I cannot help it. Indeed, I have come here to pray."
"Then, we share this in common. It is my intention to pray, also. This is why I was climbing up these rocks in this early morning hour."
"Excuse me, sir, but I thought… I have been told… No, I read in a newspaper back East about Indians and praying and…" She hesitated, then continued, saying, "Never mind. It isn't important now. "
He simply smiled at her again. "Is this another 'fact' you learned from the white men who lie?"
She looked down and away from him. Then, quietly, slowly, she began to sing:
Jesu, Deus Filius, Dona eis requiem.
(Jesus, Son of God, Give them rest.)
Pie Jesu Domine, Requiescat in Pace.
(Pious Lord Jesus, May they rest in peace.)
Pie Jesu Domine, Requiescat in Pace.
(Pious Lord Jesus, May they rest in peace.)
Jesu, Deus Filius, Dona eis requiem.
(Jesus, Son of God, Give them rest.)
When she had finished the song, she took a step forward and, looking down, sang, "Amen."
Only the wind answered her prayer as her voice echoed over the prairie.
He didn't speak; neither did she. However, when it became apparent she would not be treating him to another song, he spoke quietly to her and said, "I am of the Pikuni tribe, although I thinkyou might call us the Blackfeet. By birth, however, I am Lakota, or as the white man calls us, the Sioux."
She nodded. "Thank you."
He responded in kind, bobbing his head.
"Sir, I cannot help but ask why, if you truly mean me no harm, have you come here this morning?"
He smiled a little. "This is my country and has been used and taken care of by my people for thousands of years. Would you take offense if I asked you the same question?"
She looked away as she answered, "I meant you no offense, though I realize now it sounded this way. I guess what I meant to say is why have you bothered to come here and speak to me? Truly, you could have continued on your journey without appearing before me." She paused, then, looking up at him in what might have been a speculative manner, she said, "Still, although perhaps you don't wish to answer my question, I wonder why you took the trouble to come here and have words with me."
He answered her honestly and said, "The beauty of your voice captured my attention. And, when I realized you were singing a white man's song, there were other questions I needed answered."
