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 And
as I took her hand, she said, “Joey, what’s that?”
I was tired of her foolishness, so I snapped, “What’s what?”
Pointing at the ground, she said, “Are you blind? Don’t you see
those two eye balls staring at us at the bottom of the tombstone?”
What I saw weren’t eyeballs . . . couldn’t possibly be eyeballs.
Annie’s imagination at that moment was so large and alive it needed
room to expand, and during those long seconds it took possession of
me, I truly believed a pair of decaying hands were about to reach
out of the grave and pull my baby sister under. I tried to grab her,
but I was too late as she quickly knelt down to get a closer look.
With the courage of a person who’s never been burned by a hot
skillet, she lightly touched the glowing objects and exclaimed,
“They’re fresh . . . they’re still wet.” I took a deep breath and
hunkered down beside her, and while placing a protective arm around
her shoulder, cautiously touched the source of her excitement. Yes,
they were moist. No, they weren’t eyeballs. Thank God. The glowing
eyeballs of Annie’s imagination turned out to be a pair of
tear-shaped, pearlescent buttons moist with dew and mirroring moon-
shine. Clutching the buttons, like they were priceless gems, she
said, “I’ll bet these belonged to Rain.”
I was tired of this silly game and let her know it, “That’s
impossible. That little girl died fifty years ago . . . . You’ve had
your fun now let’s go back.” I started off. Annie didn’t follow.
“Are you coming or you gonna stay out here all by yourself?”
“I wanna clean up around the grave,” Annie said.
“We can do that in the morning before Mom and Dad get here. Okay.”
“Alright!”
Next day after breakfast, I found a pair of sheep sheers in the tool
shed. On the walk through the meadow, Annie picked a bunch of Queen
Anne’s lace. When we got to the grave Yellow Cloud was there pulling
weeds. As is his way, he instantly put us at ease with his gentle
manner. “I got up this morning thinking it was a good day to clean
around her grave.”
“Yellow Cloud, see what I found.” Annie handed him the buttons.
“Don’t they look like teardrops?”
Yellow Cloud said, “Annie, where did you find these?”
She told him. Then while rolling the buttons around in the palm of
his hand he said, “When did you find them?” Annie mumbled
incoherently. Yellow Cloud looked at me. I zipped my lips. “You two
snuck down here last night.” We didn’t have to voice our guilt, the
looks on our faces was confession enough. “Don’t worry your secret
is safe with me. In fact I am not surprised in the least. Annie, the
fact you found these buttons is pretty strange. You’d think after
all the years I have tended Rain’s grave I would have found them
long ago.”
While Annie was filling Yellow Cloud in on our midnight adventure, I
was trying without success to decipher the epitaph. I finally gave
up and asked, “What’s the headstone say, Yellow Cloud?”
“It has been so long ago my mind has grown weak, but if you fetch a
large piece of butcher paper and a chunk of soft coal from the
house, I’ll demonstrate how to lift the inscription off the
headstone by rubbing it. Your folks will be here soon so hurry.”
Lift the epitaph off the headstone by rubbing it . . . sounded like
a magic trick, which added further to the spell he’d cast over us.
Except for maybe that time I shagged a foul ball at a Cubs’ game, I
have never run so fast in my life. My chubby legs felt like jelly by
the time I got back. Yellow Cloud told Annie and me to hold the
paper tightly over the stone while he rubbed the coal over every
inch of the inscription a number of times. The engraving gradually
began to appear. Annie said it was magic; indeed it seemed to be.
When I read the words aloud, I felt a tingling, like electricity,
course through my body. In
Loving Memory
Anne Celestial Cooper
Born: May 1, 1888―Died: June 19, 1896
The Sun Be Warm and Kind to You
The Darkest Night Some Stars Shine Through
The Dullest Morn a Radiance Brew
And Where Dusk Comes, God’s Hand to You
When I’d finished I noticed Annie had begun sobbing. Yellow Cloud
bent over and swept her up in one smooth, graceful motion.
Considering she was no small bag of potatoes, I was impressed with
the old man’s strength. He then said, “We best head back to the
house.”
“Our parents won’t be here ‘til one,” I said. Reading the epitaph
had made me want to linger awhile longer. While shading his eyes
with his free hand, Yellow Cloud glanced at the sun and declared,
“It is noon now.”
First thing I noticed upon entering the kitchen was the clock. It
read twelve-fifteen. How had Yellow Cloud guessed so close? Maybe it
wasn’t a guess. Who knows?
When Annie proudly showed Aunt Ellie her treasure, she exclaimed,
“Why I haven’t seen any of these teardrop buttons since I was child;
they look brand new. For heaven’s sake child where did you find
them?” Annie bowed her head and began curling her locks. However her
confession was put on hold when we heard Uncle Ned shouting
jubilantly from the back porch, “Hurry. Come look.” We all rushed
for the screen door at the same time―Annie and me getting wedged for
a second. Toward the southwest we saw thunderclouds developing and
headed our way.
Yellow Cloud was in the middle of a rain dance when Mom and Dad
drove up. As Dad walked by Yellow Cloud, I heard him say, “Think
that’ll bring rain?” Yellow Cloud, not missing a beat, looked at his
inquisitor and replied, “Can’t hurt.” Annie joined in the dance.
[to top of second column] |
Not to be out done by her, so did I, followed by Aunt
Ellie then Uncle Ned. Mom even added her energy to the circle, while
Dad stood by, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his
heels acting totally bored. Dad was a
physicist at the University of Chicago, so of course he didn’t
believe in such goings on. Twenty minutes or so later the heavy
clouds jettisoned their precious cargo. Everyone except Uncle Ned
and Yellow Cloud took cover on the porch. Then all of a sudden Uncle
Ned ran into the house and returned with a dusty brown jug. He
pulled the cork and took a long swallow, and passed
it to Yellow Cloud, who likewise took a long swallow. Then the two
of them began doing an Irish jig. Uncle Ned, in his green overalls,
looked like a leprechaun as he stomped and clapped and hollered,
“Halleluiah. Thank you Jesus.” A glance at my father suggested he
thought the two geezers had taken leave of their senses.
A few minutes into the performance, Aunt Ellie rang
the dinner bell. She’d cooked up one of her famous meals, and while
we ate, Annie, after getting Yellow Cloud’s nod of approval, told
Mom and Dad the story of Brings Rain. After dinner all of us except
Dad took turns cranking the ice cream maker. Aunt Ellie told him no
ice cream unless he helped. With that he jokingly pushed me aside
and began cranking like crazy. Right before the confection was ready
Annie added the ingredient that had started our adventure. At that
point, life could not have been sweeter.
When it came time to say our goodbyes, Yellow Cloud gave me a bear
hug. When Annie hugged him around the waist he said, “Tecihila,
Rain.”
“Yellow Cloud, you called me Rain.”
“I did?” Pointing to his head and laughing, he said, “Yep, the
mind’s going.”
It rained most of the drive home, and Annie―calling them Rain’s
tears ―collected droplets in the cut glass jelly jar Aunt Ellie had
provided for her treasures.
----- A month or so after we got back to
Libertyville a package addressed to both of us arrived. As I began
to open it, Annie, with clenched fists, screamed, “Lemme. Lemme.”
Conceding defeat, I surrendered. She then tore into it like it was a
Christmas present. Picking up a small box, looking it over, seeing
my name on it, she carelessly tossed it in my general direction.
Inside I found, wrapped in cotton, a two-inch flint spear point.
Next she found a manila envelope; inside was a note and an
age-cracked, sepia photograph the back of which read Anne Celestial
Cooper, age 8. For her age, Annie was a pretty good reader, so she
read it out loud, “The valley got a gentle rain for nearly a week
just like when Rain slipped into this world. The thirsty soil
swallowed it as fast it fell. One day the clouds parted for a time
allowing the sun to shine through and this brought us a rare double
rainbow. I believe it was Rain telling us she is happy in heaven.”
Wrapped in newsprint, Annie found a beautiful oak picture frame
containing a braid of hair shaped like a heart; in the center was
the epitaph we’d rubbed off the tombstone done in needlepoint
calligraphy. Later Mom told us it was the custom back then to make a
“hair picture” of the deceased.
Annie, while concentrating on the photo, said, “Joey, look at the
buttons on
Rain’s dress and tell me they aren’t just like the ones we found.”
They were so tiny I couldn’t tell, so I fetched my magnifying glass,
and sure enough . . . . Yellow Cloud had known all along. I also
noticed Rain was twirling her blond hair. The package also contained
a sealed envelope addressed to Annie. When I asked her what it said
she smartly replied, “That’s for me to know and for you to find
out.”
A short while later the opportunity presented itself to “find out,”
as I accidentally came across the letter while searching for my Lone
Ranger and Tonto wristwatch, which for some reason Annie had
acquired a fondness for.
Dear Annie,
I have sent you these things that you will always remember Rain.
They will help build a bridge between you and her, and as you grow
older listen to your heart. Tecihila.
Yellow Cloud.
It is now the season to be jolly, 1969. I’m still in Chicago and
teach middle school science. I like to say I get paid for playing
Mr. Wizard. And because of the spear point Yellow Cloud gave me, I
especially like introducing my students to archeology. After Annie
graduated with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts, she headed west and
got involved in the snowballing environmental movement. She’d kept
in touch with Yellow Cloud over the years, and one day, shortly
after writing him about her activism, he appeared at her commune on
Diamond Mountain in northern California. He told her the wind just
sort of blew him that way. He’s given up white man’s ways and
doesn’t speak much anymore, but when he does it is in the Lakota
tongue. Annie tells me his mind tends to wonder, but that doesn’t
matter because what he relates is fundamental truths. She tells me
he manages a few words at rallies, which she is able to translate
having picked up quite a bit of his language. The ancient man is
showered with respect and is considered a source of inspiration. His
sage advice always concludes with the same words: Listen to your
heart. Tecihila.
[By Henry Dewes] |
