The Old Indian

For Dad

                        

The legend of Tatanka Takoda began as many legends do with a stranger traveling through a strange land.

William Bradford was driving down a rural road in Lakota country when a tire on his pick-up blew out. He pulled over and got out of the truck to replace the tire with a spare when he spotted the remains of a wolf on the road. He removed a shovel from the bed of his truck. He scraped the young wolf’s remains from the road and apologized to the animal for the selfishness and stupidity of the human that caused it’s demise. Sitting Bull appeared to him as he tossed the animal’s remains into the ditch and said, “Welcome home Tatanka Takoda. Our people have been waiting for you.”

William looked at the newcomer and then looked back at the dead wolf. He set the shovel upright pushing the sharpened point of it into the ground and held it there. “My name is William.” He said. “I have no people.”

“Your presence is strong. Your spirit is Lakota. The people need your help.”

William looked at the stranger standing before him. He looked like the pictures that William had seen of Sitting Bull, the man spoke as he imagined Sitting Bull would. Sitting Bull was dead. If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, he thought to himself. “If you are Sitting Bull then you are dead.”

“You are still talking with me.” Sitting Bull pointed out. “I noticed your spirit when you entered the county and have followed you many miles waiting for the opportunity to appear to you. If you stay here other spirits will appear to you. Spirits who have lost their way. Spirits that have grown restless and are looking for loved ones. Many need a bit of company and a moment to see Mother in the way that they remember her again.”

“I don’t talk much.” William said.

“You are kind, patient, and have a presence that these spirits will come to. There is an abandoned farm nearby. It was purchased by the tribe when the previous owners left the area. The fields are cared for but the house and gardens need someone. The spirits will find you easily there. You are a man who cares for others. Let me send you others to care for.”

William looked at something above Sitting Bull’s head then, looked back at him and nodded.

“Meet me in this spot with your things in two days.”

“Two days.” William answered. By the time he had changed his tire, put away the damaged one along with his jack and tools William was alone again. He got into his truck and drove away.

Two days later, William returned in the pouring rain and sat. He waited. He watched the rain, closed his eyes and listened to the rain. He looked at the world around him and imagined what the land would look like when the rains had stopped and the sun returned. He heard an audible thump as a car raced past on the road behind him. He put on his hat, opened the door to the truck, and got out. He made his way for the bed of the pick-up and quietly retrieved his shovel from underneath a tarp. He looked and listened for other cars before he stepped out on to the road. He scooped up the dead possum with his shovel.

At least this one didn’t suffer. William thought to himself as he walked the possum to the ditch, said the words and tossed the remains in.

“May you rest peacefully little one.” Sitting Bull said from behind William’s left shoulder.

William turned and looked at Sitting Bull.

“Welcome my brother. Let me show you to your new home.”

Sitting Bull sat down on the passenger side of the truck and guided William down one side road and up a lane. At the end of the lane was a small house, cleared out farm land with woods skirting each field, two abandoned chicken houses, an old barn, and an empty root cellar. William thought that it was one of the most beautiful sights that he had ever seen.

The house was simple but clean and in good repair. There was running water, electricity, food in the pantry, and a few cooked meals in the refrigerator. A note was set on the dining table with a phone number listed.

“That is Roberta. She is a local historian and friend of the tribe. She will help you settle in.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” William asked.

“I will be here today. I must travel this world in brief visits. I will disappear with the sunrise. I will send many to welcome you. Roberta will help you. Then the work will begin.”

That was how it went. Day after day, people stopped by. Sometimes one or two, other times, several. These people introduced themselves and said, “Welcome” or “Thank you for coming.” Many times, they left food or other small gifts.

Roberta helped William learn who everyone was, who their ancestors were, and showed him places of historical and spiritual significance. William found work, settled into the small home, and was happy. He was also restless. No spirits had visited. William felt uncomfortable accepting so much from so many kind people without giving anything in return. Roberta reassured him that his time would come. His job was to continue getting to know his new home and the people around him. William worked, took care of the house and the out buildings, planted a garden, and tended the yard. He waited. One summer afternoon while he was mowing the roof of the root cellar visitors arrived in a truck. It was loaded with covers, pins, ropes, pegs, poles, and a message, “Sitting Bull sent you this.” He nodded, turned off the mower, and walked over to the pick-up to help unload.

The tipi was set up on top of the root cellar. Sometimes William sat in it and other times, outside it. He would admire it as he worked outside. One afternoon, as he worked in the garden he looked at the tipi and noticed a warrior was sitting next to it. The warrior’s legs were crossed, eyes closed, his lips were moving as if chanting in prayer. The warrior must have felt William looking at him because his lips stopped moving and he opened his eyes.

William put down his tool, stood up, and slowly walked across the yard to greet his first non-living visitor.

“Hau.” He said, squatting to face his visitor.

“Hau Tatanka Takoda.” The warrior greeted him in return. “You made a face when I used your Lakota name. Do you not like it?”

“Names are a tool for identification.”

“There is some other reason I think.” The warrior teased.

“Sitting Bull is ‘Tatanka’. I don’t know what it means.”

“You are uncomfortable being regarded with great respect.”

William gave the warrior a nod.

“Tatanka means buffalo or bison. As you know the buffalo holds great significance to us so it has been used for leaders. Sitting Bull was a great leader. Takoda means friend to everyone. You hold significance for the tribe because you are a friend to everyone, both the living and the dead. Tatanka Takoda.”

William nodded. “Thank you. Now, what can I do to help you?” He asked.

“You thought I was coming to you for help? Sitting Bull sent me. He said that you needed help with something.” The warrior grinned.

William looked at the warrior without saying a word.

“I died suddenly in battle. As you can see I was very young. I had no wife or children. No one here. I miss the sun, watching the breeze blow through the trees. The smell of a fire.” The warrior shared.

“You need company?” William asked.

The warrior nodded.

William looked around the yard. He spotted what was left of a tree. The parts that were too small or damaged to salvage. “Do you see that pile over there?” He asked and gestured to the pile with a nod of his head.

“Yes.”

“I have to burn that on Saturday.”

“I will return on Saturday.” The warrior announced. “Thank you Tatanka Takoda. You have been most helpful.” He disappeared.

William grinned, laughed for a minute, said, “I’ll be damned,” and returned to his garden. Many years have passed since he met that first warrior. As the number of spirits he has helped grew so did his story. The tales that are told go something like this:

If you go out to the edge of Lakota territory and travel down the only side road, at the end of a lane there lies a farm. Tatanka Takoda’s farm. On the night of the Harvest Moon all of the spirits of all that Tatanka Takoda has helped appear. Human and animal alike. They glow with stardust and light the fields as if it were day.

Tatanka Takoda has grown older. He is strong and healthy. He can work longer and harder than men decades younger with little strain, which has helped the legend grow. The number of visitors have increased. Many non-Indians come now too. They wonder at his strength, health, and patience in his advancing years. When they do a breeze whispers, “Some journeys are longer than others. His is an exceptional one.”