The People: And Other Uncollected Fiction by Bernard Malamud Page A
Authors: Bernard Malamud
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sub-chiefs agrees with me at least to ask you to become chief of our people. I know your qualities. You must help us to go on living our lives. You must protect us from the evil the white men lay on us. We cannot live without air. We love this valley. It is our place of freedom. You must help our people to live as the Great Spirit says we must.”
He coughed gratingly, holding his fingers against his head.
Yozip gazed at the withered, whispering man.
“Who wants me here? I come also from Quodish, but what can I do for the People. What do I know?”
“I trust you to learn what you must know. I want you to become Chief Joseph. I have chosen you in my place. I believe you will make a fine leader.”
“Why? How? What can I bring to the tribe?”
“You are a protector. Those who can must protect those who cannot protect themselves. These are the words of the Great Spirit in the open sky.”
“But why me? Indian Head would be better.”
“Indian Head speaks twelve words when there are six to say. You must teach him to protect himself. And you must help One Blossom, who does not always help herself. She is not as serene or wise as her gentle mother.”
“Indian Head will take care of her. He is her lover. What can I tell her if her lover says no?”
“You must look after my child as well as her lover.”
Yozip told the old man he would protect his children as best as
he could. “I will try, but I don’t think they will like it if a stranger says he will protect them.”
“Keep them together,” whispered the dying man. “Teach them to be disciplined. Tell them to respect our leader, and whom to respect. And they must honor their ancestors. My father lived his life in love of peace.”
“I will mention to them your father, also I will mention my father that he died in Zbrish.”
“Now I must begin my journey into the sky.”
Two red tears rolled down his cheeks of parchment.
Chief Joseph coughed harshly once and breathed quietly. He then stopped breathing.
Yozip wept for the old chief.
Indian Head and One Blossom entered the tepee and she began wailing over the dead chief as she tenderly arranged his feathers.
“Now I know what solitude means,” said Indian Head.
One Blossom, the youthful daughter of an aged father, kissed his eyes and wept in silence.
Now the warrior chiefs and the medicine man drifted into the tepee and stared at their dead chief.
The purple-flowered medicine man gave out a cry and, addressing the Great Spirit through the sunny opening at the top of the tepee, lamented the chief’s death.
The braves looked on silently.
Indian Head spoke to them, saying that their chief was dead, their new chief was Jozip, who had been initiated into the tribe according to their ancient customs.
Some of the Indians in the tepee uttered a noise of protest, and Yozip shrank to the wall of buffalo hide; but Indian Head addressed them eloquently, and soon each of the braves and warriors approached the new chief and touched his head with warm and cold fingers. Yozip memorized the faces of those whose fingers were cold.
“Your name also Joseph,” Broken Ear said, and again they welcomed him into the tribe.
“Jozip,” said the new chief.
SEVEN
The Burial
JOZIP MOVED among the mourners of the old chief at his burial as though he were a close relative. Lately he had become more facile in the language of the People, saying his words without excessive grunting. It was an easier language to acquire, he thought, than Russian, a difficult language, yet he had spoken Russian well.
“One day you will be a smart chief,” said Foolish Eyes.
“How can somebody who is not smart be smart?”
“You will find out.”
“I have too much to find out,” said Jozip.
For a time the body of old Chief Joseph, dressed in ancient garments and decorated with bone necklaces, lay under the open sky by the pine trees. The medicine man with the purple headdress had painted his face white with pink stripes,
He coughed gratingly, holding his fingers against his head.
Yozip gazed at the withered, whispering man.
“Who wants me here? I come also from Quodish, but what can I do for the People. What do I know?”
“I trust you to learn what you must know. I want you to become Chief Joseph. I have chosen you in my place. I believe you will make a fine leader.”
“Why? How? What can I bring to the tribe?”
“You are a protector. Those who can must protect those who cannot protect themselves. These are the words of the Great Spirit in the open sky.”
“But why me? Indian Head would be better.”
“Indian Head speaks twelve words when there are six to say. You must teach him to protect himself. And you must help One Blossom, who does not always help herself. She is not as serene or wise as her gentle mother.”
“Indian Head will take care of her. He is her lover. What can I tell her if her lover says no?”
“You must look after my child as well as her lover.”
Yozip told the old man he would protect his children as best as
he could. “I will try, but I don’t think they will like it if a stranger says he will protect them.”
“Keep them together,” whispered the dying man. “Teach them to be disciplined. Tell them to respect our leader, and whom to respect. And they must honor their ancestors. My father lived his life in love of peace.”
“I will mention to them your father, also I will mention my father that he died in Zbrish.”
“Now I must begin my journey into the sky.”
Two red tears rolled down his cheeks of parchment.
Chief Joseph coughed harshly once and breathed quietly. He then stopped breathing.
Yozip wept for the old chief.
Indian Head and One Blossom entered the tepee and she began wailing over the dead chief as she tenderly arranged his feathers.
“Now I know what solitude means,” said Indian Head.
One Blossom, the youthful daughter of an aged father, kissed his eyes and wept in silence.
Now the warrior chiefs and the medicine man drifted into the tepee and stared at their dead chief.
The purple-flowered medicine man gave out a cry and, addressing the Great Spirit through the sunny opening at the top of the tepee, lamented the chief’s death.
The braves looked on silently.
Indian Head spoke to them, saying that their chief was dead, their new chief was Jozip, who had been initiated into the tribe according to their ancient customs.
Some of the Indians in the tepee uttered a noise of protest, and Yozip shrank to the wall of buffalo hide; but Indian Head addressed them eloquently, and soon each of the braves and warriors approached the new chief and touched his head with warm and cold fingers. Yozip memorized the faces of those whose fingers were cold.
“Your name also Joseph,” Broken Ear said, and again they welcomed him into the tribe.
“Jozip,” said the new chief.
SEVEN
The Burial
JOZIP MOVED among the mourners of the old chief at his burial as though he were a close relative. Lately he had become more facile in the language of the People, saying his words without excessive grunting. It was an easier language to acquire, he thought, than Russian, a difficult language, yet he had spoken Russian well.
“One day you will be a smart chief,” said Foolish Eyes.
“How can somebody who is not smart be smart?”
“You will find out.”
“I have too much to find out,” said Jozip.
For a time the body of old Chief Joseph, dressed in ancient garments and decorated with bone necklaces, lay under the open sky by the pine trees. The medicine man with the purple headdress had painted his face white with pink stripes,
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