The Long Journey Home Read Free Page B

tweaks. Since it was hard to tell what might be expected, the safest way was to show no emotion at all. A flat, stone-faced appearance was usually acceptable. At least, it avoided pain.
    There was another problem, too, one he had not anticipated. If he appeared too cooperative, he was resented by the other boys. More than once during recitation, he would make an error intentionally, to stay in the good graces of
his fellow students. This sometimes brought frowns and mild criticism from Old White Horse, but avoided resentment from his classmates. Very quickly, John Buffalo, né Little Bull, was learning survival skills in this new world into which he had been thrust.
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    The holiday season came, with the celebration of Christ’s birth to a virgin. Of course, a part of their instruction was religious. That, perhaps, was the strangest of all the white man’s strange customs. Everyone was expected to think exactly alike, it appeared, ridiculous as that seemed to John Buffalo. How could anyone tell another what he must think? There was no room at all for the fact that it might conflict with the advice of one’s own spirit-guide. In fact, the teachers seemed to have no guides of their own. Their thinking was based only on the secondhand telling by the missionary of what had been told to him. How sad, he thought, for one not to have his own guide. He considered that perhaps the relationship of the whites with the spirits was not as well formed as among the People.
    He made the mistake of asking Miss Whitehurst about it, and was astonished at the reaction. He had expected almost anything but this … . Anger , in return for a mild suggestion about how to please and attract the help of the spirits! All he had suggested was that the spirits might welcome the scent of a pinch of burning tobacco.
    â€œBlasphemy!” snorted the woman. “You were sent here to overcome such savage heathen notions. Now you must pray to be forgiven!”
    But John Buffalo had learned an important lesson. The whites—at least, these—did not want to hear more about the realm of the spirit. This, too, brought a feeling of sadness to him: that anyone would feel that there was nothing more to learn about the Creator and the grandfathers of the spiritworld.
    But having been rebuked severely added to his determination. He would not attempt to discuss such things as one’s relationship to God. In such situations, he could always retreat into the emotionless stoicism that was becoming easier with each use. The other students, too, found it useful in many situations. If in doubt, it was always safe to show no feeling at all. It was becoming a trademark in dealing with whites, and was now almost expected by the teachers. It was a safe barrier behind which one could retreat at any time.
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    The students were allowed a short visit at home during the holiday season. It was given grudgingly, and with the admonition that they must not backslide into the old uncivilized ways of the heathen while with their parents.
    â€œThat is a life which you must rise above,” Miss Whitehurst warned, shaking a forefinger in warning.

    She was met with the emotionless stoicism that she had come to expect. Sometimes she scolded, doubting that any of her charges might be able to rise above the handicap of their savage heritage.
    John Buffalo, his friend Charlie, and another boy, now called “Thomas Evans” for no reason that the boys could see, walked home together. It required a full day. Tom’s name, like John’s own, should have been good enough. The family of Wolf Dung, Tom’s father, had a proud tradition, like that of Yellow Bull. Somehow the whites did not seem to appreciate the pride in family that was expressed in the heritage of the Wolf Dungs.
    The day was cold and snowy, and the trip took most of the day. John’s feet were numb when he reached his mother’s lodge. She insisted that Thomas and Charlie