Babies In The Stars
Pendleton Round Up, September 1996
It was still warm, but a lot cooler than the sweaty confines of Happy Canyon just through the doors. We were sitting on a couple bails of hay drinking some bad American beer that somehow always tastes okay after a long, hot day. She was well into her cups by now and I was doing my best to catch up.
She was a Yakima Indian and I was guy sporting a somewhat new straw cowboy hat and a pair of worn boats. We couldn't have been more different and yet we weren't that different at all. There was probably a universal truth in that, but at the time I never thought about it.
She had already paraded her three daughters by me in hopes of making a match, but since that didn't go anywhere, she was willing to just settle in for a talk.
"You see them stars?" she asked, pointing up.
"Yeah," I answered.
I took a sip of my beer and waited. This is how our communication had been going all night. She took her time that's for sure. The slow pace went well with her Northwest Indian accent - she sounded nearly identical to the Marylyn character from Northern Exposure. Her grandmother had been a medicine woman she told me, but she had lost most of the knowledge her grandmother had shared with her.
"You know what they are?" she asked.
"No, I don't."
"Well, I'll tell you," she said. "Can I have another one of them cigarettes?"
I handed her a Marlboro Light and lit it for her. It seemed like a timeless act - sharing tobacco - that goes well with tales. She took a drag and held it in and then looked at the slowly burning end for a few moments, as if pulling together some old memories. When she started to speak, it was with a slightly lowered voice.
"Those stars up there, all the stars, my Gramma told me what they are," she said. "She took me out one night and explained it to me. All those stars are the souls of the unborn babies. They're just waiting to come down here and be born. That's what she told me."
I looked up and had to wonder if it couldn't be true. It sure sounded nice.
"Really?" I asked.
"That's what I told my daughters when they was little. I told 'em those stars are all unborn babies waitin' to come down here... And you know what?"
"What's that?"
Then she nudged me with her elbow and said, "And they believed it too..."
She let out a hearty laugh and coughed on the smoke of the cigarette. I burst out laughing too, but in the midst of it I knew I would go on believing it anyway.
It was still warm, but a lot cooler than the sweaty confines of Happy Canyon just through the doors. We were sitting on a couple bails of hay drinking some bad American beer that somehow always tastes okay after a long, hot day. She was well into her cups by now and I was doing my best to catch up.
She was a Yakima Indian and I was guy sporting a somewhat new straw cowboy hat and a pair of worn boats. We couldn't have been more different and yet we weren't that different at all. There was probably a universal truth in that, but at the time I never thought about it.
She had already paraded her three daughters by me in hopes of making a match, but since that didn't go anywhere, she was willing to just settle in for a talk.
"You see them stars?" she asked, pointing up.
"Yeah," I answered.
I took a sip of my beer and waited. This is how our communication had been going all night. She took her time that's for sure. The slow pace went well with her Northwest Indian accent - she sounded nearly identical to the Marylyn character from Northern Exposure. Her grandmother had been a medicine woman she told me, but she had lost most of the knowledge her grandmother had shared with her.
"You know what they are?" she asked.
"No, I don't."
"Well, I'll tell you," she said. "Can I have another one of them cigarettes?"
I handed her a Marlboro Light and lit it for her. It seemed like a timeless act - sharing tobacco - that goes well with tales. She took a drag and held it in and then looked at the slowly burning end for a few moments, as if pulling together some old memories. When she started to speak, it was with a slightly lowered voice.
"Those stars up there, all the stars, my Gramma told me what they are," she said. "She took me out one night and explained it to me. All those stars are the souls of the unborn babies. They're just waiting to come down here and be born. That's what she told me."
I looked up and had to wonder if it couldn't be true. It sure sounded nice.
"Really?" I asked.
"That's what I told my daughters when they was little. I told 'em those stars are all unborn babies waitin' to come down here... And you know what?"
"What's that?"
Then she nudged me with her elbow and said, "And they believed it too..."
She let out a hearty laugh and coughed on the smoke of the cigarette. I burst out laughing too, but in the midst of it I knew I would go on believing it anyway.
posted by Shawn at 7:55 PM
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