John Gardner - Brokenclaw

He knew the real danger was only just starting, and after a mile, had that uncanny feeling that there were several pairs of eyes on him.

Slowly, the path flattened out, and then, quite suddenly, he was at the end of the treeline. The woods grew to the edge of an oval depression, about a mile long and half-a-mile wide. Smoke rose from camp fires, teepees were sited neatly in two long rows. At the furthest point, standing apart from the teepees, there was a large circular structure built of hides stretched over wood. It had a high curved roof and a totem stood directly in front of it. The ceremonial Lodge, Bond thought, bringing his eyes back down the lines of teepees. At the end nearest to him was a tent taller and bigger than the rest. ‘Buck House,’ he muttered to himself, stepping from the trees, his arms high over his head, his pistol held by the barrel, to show that he came in peace.

Women, and a few men, had been moving through the camp, doing the usual morning chores of any society, lighting fires, starting to cook. As they saw the white man approach, they stopped and watched, faces expressionless, as he headed on down to the large teepee.

He could smell the woodsmoke mingled with burned meat and expected to be called to a halt at any minute. But the men and women did not move. He realised that, after the initial interest, their combined gaze had now fallen on the teepee which he was nearing from the rear.

He moved slightly to one side, so that he could approach diagonally, and then reach the entrance flap at the front. As he moved, a figure stepped from behind the teepee.

‘Captain Bond, what a pleasure to welcome you to our camp; and what a pity you did not obey my orders two nights ago.’

‘Where is she, Brokenclaw?’ He stood stock still, holding eye contact with the huge man who was now dressed in buckskin and wore a long hunting knife at his belt.

‘Where is she?’ Brokenclaw’s voice was friendly. ‘She is safe, James Bond. She is here and she is safe. Why, do you wish to fight me for her?’

‘That was my intention. One to one, head to head, Brokenclaw. And I’m quite willing to do it on your terms. You choose the weapons, so to speak.’

Brokenclaw put back his head and laughed. ‘You think you’re man enough to be a chief? All right, Captain Bond. There is one way we can find out if you have the strength to be a leader of men. Come, I will introduce you to a little ceremony invented first by the Mandan nation. It was designed for just such a purpose – to choose leaders. It is called the torture rite of the o-kee-pa .’

19

CHALLENGE BY TORTURE

‘You see, when men and women from many different Indian nations sought permission to come and live here, adhering to the old ways, there were many things we had to decide as a community.’ Brokenclaw still maintained that perfectly composed manner, his voice never once indicating emotion.

They sat on skins in his teepee, with a young Indian woman serving them with a kind of stew made from rabbit, wild onions and other root vegetables. They ate with spoons, from bowls, both fashioned from wood.

‘It was necessary for us to have a mutual understanding regarding things like our religious beliefs, and the ways in which we chose our leaders. We had to agree on ritual and etiquette,’ Brokenclaw continued. ‘One of the terrible things the white man has done to those I regard as my people, is to introduce a different way of life – a way alien to our forefathers and a way which has brought great degradation on the proud Indian nations. You see it on the reservations, you see it in disease and the horrors of alcohol. This was one of the reasons I was a prime mover in bringing strong people from various tribes together.’

‘I understand that.’ Bond tried to remain calm in the presence of this man who sat patient, soft-spoken and reasonable. It was difficult, for he knew that here was evil personified, a monster who claimed two sets of ancestors, two traditions and could slip between them like someone inflicted with a multiple personality. He was a man who had held together the San Francisco underworld and ruled through brutality and fear. Listening to him talk, it was difficult to accept the truth about this appalling aberration locked within a human body.

‘Among the most important of our rituals, we agreed, was the appeasement of the spirits, particularly the spirits of earth, fire and the water which once covered the entire earth. You can understand this, Captain Bond?’

He nodded. Inside, his stomach churned as he waited for Brokenclaw Lee to come out with the real object of this little lecture.

‘Just as Christian peoples have their ceremonies which speak of death and rebirth – the rituals of Spring, the Easter rituals – so we had to look back to the old ways and resurrect our rites of appeasement, so that the spirits would not forsake us, so that we would live to see the crops ripen and be blessed with good hunting.

‘One such ritual which emanates from the Mandan Indians, the Plains People, is that of o-kee-pa . This is a long ceremonial period, in which there are spirit dances and sacrifice. Part of the ancient o-kee-pa rites concern the choice of future leaders.’ He paused as though waiting for Bond to show comprehension.

Brokenclaw maintained that the o-kee-pa , when first discovered by the white man, had offended. ‘They considered parts of it so brutal and degrading that when an explorer from your own country, Captain Bond, took back evidence of the ceremonies, the Victorian British maintained that the poor wretched explorer’s mind was filled with bizarre and morbid fantasies. That was rich coming from the Victorians who exploited their workers, and who brutalised the poor, don’t you think?’

Bond merely nodded.

‘We decided that part of the o-kee-pa was ideal for choosing future leaders from among our people here. The torture ritual had long been used to weed out the strong from the weak. So, some twelve years ago, we performed the ceremony again. Out of eight men, only two of us passed the test, and I have scars to prove it to you. See!’

He rose, stripping off his buckskin jerkin to display his back. Below the shoulder blades there were long, thick ugly scars. ‘There are two more.’ He rolled up the loose trousers to show that there were jagged, rough scars on both of his calves as though a bullet had passed through the flesh and exploded, leaving torn and ragged wounds.

‘You tell me that you will fight me on my own terms, then these are my terms. I shall explain.’

Bond listened with mounting horror, knowing that this man had already been through this vile and obscene test and won.

‘Those who would seek to be leaders were first taken to the Sacred Lodge and there smooth, strong pegs were driven through their flesh, one on each side of the back, below the shoulder blades and another two deeply through each calf. To these skewers, rawhide ropes were attached. At the end of the ropes leading from the calves, buffalo skulls were tied as weights, then they were suspended from the ropes tied to the skewers in their backs.

‘There are intricate, special chants which are sung during this phase,’ Brokenclaw continued. ‘The pain is intense, but you must remain conscious. If a man loses consciousness, then he is cut down and must drag himself to the Medicine Man, who will chop off one or two of his fingers.’ He played his own hands, one palm forward, the other twisted so only the back showed. ‘As you see, I have all my fingers intact. There are six men in this village who are without fingers.’ The smile was of intense pleasure melded with evil.

Those who sought leadership, he said, were required to hang through the length of the chant. ‘In modern time that is about twenty minutes. Then we are lowered to the Lodge floor and the pegs are removed from our backs, but not from our legs, for the next phase is a race. The course is prescribed, around the village, and the buffalo skulls remain in place. This means that participants are hampered by the weight and sometimes have to be assisted around the course. Inevitably, the buffalo skulls drag the pegs from the calves which causes more pain but allows you to run faster. That, James Bond, is the torture rite of o-kee-pa . It is also my offer of a single test, one on one, though there must be a final decision in the unlikely event of us both completing the ceremony. So far, do you accept my terms?’