In spite of the ground being parched and re-parched, I found a bluebonnet today! There it was...all by its lonesome...having fought the plant-strangling drought to declare that it's springtime in West Texas. I was reminded of She-Who-Who-Has-No-Name...
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago in Texas, there was a young Indian girl who had no name.
The tribe knew her as “She-Who-Has-No-Name ” …and while not necessarily shy, she seldom joined in normal activities around their village.
She could be found typically standing just outside the circle of various groups of her tribe, whether they be children or adults … watching …holding her beloved doll.
About that time, there came a drought that struck the land and its native people with such a devastating blow that even the medicine men worried for the future.
Season after season came and went with no clouds …no rain …no early-morning fog …no snow.
The Fall had no color since the trees had no leaves.
And the winters that followed were bitter and cold …with howling winds strong enough to suck the breath out of anything that lived.
Countless Spring times had come and gone when the promise of fruitfulness and abundance was answered with nothing but stinging dust to swirl across the land as winds pushed it this way and that …no grass blades, bushes or trees to shield the soil.
Summers, too, bent such a powerful, parching heat upon the country that the animals - Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Buffalo, Mr. Deer, Mr. Raccoon and the others left the countryside to find sustenance and reprieve elsewhere, leaving the bleached bones of their less-lucky brethren behind.
Even Mr. Rattlesnake sought different places.
There were no streams, no lakes, no ponds …no water. No grass, no flowers, no berries, no fruit.
Only Mr. Coyote stayed, although he frequently wondered to himself about his decision to do so. He knew his ribs showed clearly beneath his, now shaggy, coat of fur. But he stayed, because the People stayed.
Just the land …and the endlessly, cloudless sky.
Large cracks shattered the thirsty soil and each day, they widened and lengthened into dark, black chasms that seemed to drop into an endless blackness below. Mothers were careful not to let their babies get close …for fear that there might be demons below who would snatch them from the crevice edge.
The People suffered, and many died.
It became clear to them that the Great Spirit was unhappy.
So… the medicine men danced to the drums in supplication …and the People danced with them, sending their cries in unison heavenward to the Great Spirit, begging for respite … pleading for rain …begging for mercy.
Courageous warriors, overwrought with their condition and that of their tribe, cut themselves with their razor-sharp flint knives so that their own blood flowed onto …and into the earth …hoping the Great Spirit would notice their plight.
Watching all this silently from the shadows of her tepee, She-Who-Has-No-Name clutched her beloved doll that had been fashioned from bleached buckskin.
Even though she felt the stab of hunger in her belly, there was something that made her love this doll as much as she loved her own family.
It was finely decorated with eyes, nose, mouth and ears painted with bright red berry juice. It had leggings beaded with polished bone and seeds.
From a braided buffalo-hair belt hung the teeth of a bobcat. And upon its head was a war-bonnet made from the bright blue feathers of the bird that cried “Jay! Jay! Jay!”
It had been a special gift from her grandfather … who had died in the early days of the drought.
Suddenly, the medicine man fell to the earth, in a cloud of dust …exhausted.
The drums ceased. The people froze in amazement.
What sweat remained in his body glistened on his skin in the flickering of the fires.
Looking up at the others beneath a star-speckled sky he announced that he had a message from the Great Spirit.
The message was that the tribe must make a sacrifice. They must make a sacrifice of their most prized possession. It must be a burnt offering, said the medicine man. And once made, the ashes must be scattered to the four points of the compass … north …east … south …and west. Only then would the Great Spirit’s annoyance with his people be put to rest.
The medicine man looked at his chief … then at his people.
Long, silent moments passed, and a low murmur arose amongst the People.
Quietly, they questioned one another …what was their most prized possession?
After years of drought and hardship …they hardly had anything at all.
It was late and all decided to take the question to sleep with them …and find an answer in the morning.
The crowd dispersed to their tepees, still murmuring to one another ...heads bowed from exhaustion or consternation.
In the shadows, outside the flickering light of the tribal fires, sat Mr. Coyote.
He watched the girl called She-Who-Has-No-Name …and saw her glance at her doll and clutch it a little more tightly to her body.
He smiled to himself, turned, and loped off to his den in the rocks about half-a-mile away.
She-Who-Has-No-Name knew. She knew what the most prized possession was. While the others talked about it, and wondered …she knew. It was in her arms. It was her doll.
She loved that doll like nothing else. While the other children giggled and laughed and played games, she tended to the warrior doll that was given her by her grandfather.
She ate with it, slept with it, and had there been water, she probably would have bathed with it.
She was the last one standing near the circle where the tribal fires were turning to embers. She looked at her doll …then at the dying fire, then suddenly turned and peered into the darkness at the very spot where Mr. Coyote had sat just moments before.
In spite of a heavy heart, She-who-had-no-name knew what she had to do.
She-Who-Has-No-Name returned to her father’s tepee and lay down on her buffalo blanket. She held her beloved doll tightly …and waited for the others fall asleep.
Night sounds were all around her. They seemed more defined than other nights.
She heard to footfall of a neighbor’s dog, there were cries of geese far overhead returning to their northern home and the hoot of a hunting horned owl.
There was the slow, rhythmic breathing of her father and mother, and brother and sister as they fell slowly into a deep but troubled sleep.
Then …in the distance, she heard the sharp bark and long, wailing howl of Mr. Coyote …as if he were making the sound, just for her.
She waited until she knew her family was truly asleep.
Quietly …furtively …with the silence of a cat, she arose. Quickly she retrieved a stick of wood still smoldering in the tepee fire, its heat still glowing on one end. Then she stepped out into the night, with the smoldering stick …and her doll.
The stars were out …sprinkled across the dark heavens …but there was no moon. And it was quiet …very quiet. Tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks.
Moving well away from the camp, but not too far, she gathered small sticks and twigs with which she made a mound and lit it with her ember from the tepee.
As the little fire grew, She-Who-Has-No-Name took her most prized possession and thrust it into the fire. By now, her tears were gone. She watched as the fire consumed her doll. She could smell the burning of the dried leather and the feathers of its headdress.
She nudged it now and then with a stick until the whole doll was burned, and then waited until nothing but ashes were left.
Then, as she had seen her father and other men do, she scooped up the ashes and cast them in four different directions …to the north …to the east …to the south …and finally, to the west … the acrid smell of the ashes filling her nose.
That done, she sat where she had stood. She was exhausted. Soon she fell asleep …but not for long.
She awakened just as the eastern sky turned ever so slightly brighter. Her hand swept against something …soft? Then she smelled something fragrant …sweet. What was this?
She couldn’t tell in the darkness, but she wasn’t afraid. But, she scampered back to her tepee and awoke her mother.
She tugged her sleepy mother by the hand to the spot where she had made her own personal sacrifice and slept amongst the ashes she had spread.
As the coming sun brightened the world around them enough to see, She-Who-Has-No-Name and her mother gazed upon a little lake surrounded by blue flowers … blue as the feathers of the raucous bird that cries “Jay! Jay! Jay!”
Both stood, hand-in-hand, amazed.
When her mother looked at her, told her of her sacrifice. Her mother told her father, who in turn told the chief and medicine men, who told the rest of the tribe.
The whole tribe came to see the little lake surrounded by thick, blue flowers. They spoke quietly to each other, some coming to She-Who-Has-No-Name to say “thank you.”
Even as they did, clouds formed in the sky and a soft, rain began to fall. The tribe, every man, woman and child stood in the rain, many with uplifted arms, as it soaked into the ground and kissed their skin.
It rained many times like that over the several seasons, and the trees and bushes grew back their leaves …grasses grew in the fields and berries on their vines …flowers added themselves to the growing carpet of bluebonnets that spread even more around the growing lake. The animals returned, including Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Buffalo, Mr. Deer and even Mr. Rattlesnake.
The tribe changed the young girl’s name from She-Who-Has-No-Name to She-Who-Dearly-Loves-Her-People and the little girl …as she grew …would sit on a hillside and watch as the bluebonnets spread further and further across the land, mixing with the red and pink of wild phloxes and the orange and rose of the Indian paintbrush.
Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of Mr. Coyote who seemed to wink at her just before disappearing into the nearby brush.
So today, as Texas emerges each year from Winter …and Spring begins to stretch into life, the bluebonnets roll out their royal carpet for all of us … and She-Who-Dearly-Loves-Her-People.
[this is a story I tell to youngsters around a campfire during the spring season]
The Cactus Hotel is an icon in San Angelo and is a vestige of a bygone era in Texas history that warrants attention and recognition even though the hotel is getting a little frayed around the edges.
