© 1997 by Kathy. May not be reproduced without permission
Running Buck lay on the bed, wide awake even though it was very late and he was tired. The moon shone in through the open window. In the few hours since he had arrived at the convent his whole life had turned upside down.
"What have I done?" he asked himself. I had no other choice, and I have to do this, but...
It seemed that from his arrival he had done nothing right. Svenson, the elderly gardener, had shown him to a room filled with beds and directed Running Buck to the one which was to be his. Under each bed was a box, to be used for storing the private possessions of the orphans. They were locked to prevent theft. "These people steal from each other?" he asked Svenson.
"Ja, sometimes. It does not happen often that ve have a thief, but sometimes."
Running Buck shook his head in wonder. "We took things from other tribes in war, and from whites, but not from our own people."
"Never?" Svenson was interested. This boy, he knew, would have a hard time in the convent. He would have to change so much, so quickly.
"Never."
"Vy not?" The Swede's accent was still noticeable, even after spending many years in America.
"Because, because..." There was no answer. Theft from another Kiowa was simply unthinkable. If it had happened, no doubt the penalty would be severe, banishment perhaps, or death. "We don't take things from our own people."
"Running Buck, you vill find many things very different here. I tink perhaps you know this, but maybe you don't know this like you vill. When I came to this country, it was very different for me too."
"Are you from a different tribe?"
"Ja, it is a bit like that." Svenson smiled and nodded. "I am from Sverige, Sveden, you call it here."
"Where is that?"
"It is far away. It took many veeks to get here in a ship."
Ship? Weeks? Already there were words Running Buck did not know. A sense of the difficulties ahead came to him. Should he ask what the words meant? Or was it better to keep the conversation going? Svenson seemed like he would be a friend and he would need friends in the future. He sure didn't have many from the past.
Just then, a woman wearing clothes like Mother Superior's came in, carrying a bundle of bedclothes. "Svenson?'
"Ja, Sister?"
"Would you introduce us, please?" The nun looked at Running Buck. She didn't smile though. Instead, her eyes had the same hard look in them that he knew from his life with the Kiowas. Prejudice didn't necessarily disappear just because one took the veil.
"Ja, of course. Sister Mary Catherine, this is Running Buck. Running Buck, this is Sister Mary Catherine."
"Hello."
"Hello." The words came out abruptly, as if she didn't want to say them. "You are to come with me."
That was the end of the good times. Running Buck had gone with Sister Mary Catherine, who had introduced him to soap and a hot bath. Not bad things in themselves, he decided, even though the soap got in his eyes and stung them. It smelt funny, too. Sister Mary Catherine was not impressed when he commented on that, though, nor on anything else he said.
After the bath, during which he had thankfully been left alone, Running Buck had to dry himself. The only way to let the sun in was to open the big sheets of material over the window. He did so, and stood naked waiting for the sunshine to dry him. There was only one problem. The window opened onto a small courtyard, beyond which was another window; the classroom window.
The nun who taught school was stunned by the sight of a naked Indian standing in full view; then she became furious. She stormed out of the classroom and came around to the bathroom, while Running Buck stood quietly with his back to the window innocently enjoying the warm sunshine. What had followed was not something Running Buck ever wanted to endure again. Sister Elizabeth had quite a way with words, and she used them to full effect.
Sister Mary Catherine had come in then and between the two nuns Running Buck had no chance at all. He did learn what a towel was for, though!
After that, Svenson was called to show Running Buck how to dress white-man style. A good thing too, I'd never have worked out all those buttons. The clothes were hot and itchy - but he didn't dare take any of them off.
Then came perhaps the greatest indignity; the cutting of his hair. The Kiowa people took pride in their hair and it was often decorated with fur, shells or nowadays, ribbons from the traders. To have it cut short was painful; yet once again, Running Buck knew that he had to try this way of life. It was different, yet maybe it was the way he was meant to live; the spirits had been silent on the matter, as they'd been silent on so much lately.
That night, at the evening meal, supper, Running Buck was introduced to the orphans and other religious; though the grins from the faces of the youngsters showed that they all knew about his mistake earlier that day.
Mealtime was a disaster.
"You will sit here, Running Buck. This is Billy McCleary and Jonathon Wilkins. They will help you through the meal." Sister Mary Catherine indicated his seat and a bowl filled with soup was placed in front of him. That was the easy part. He took the spoon in his left hand and began to eat hungrily. Another mistake.
"Psst! Psst!" Billy nudged him in the side. "Not yet, Injun!" Running Buck looked up and saw everyone staring at him, their hands to their sides. "We have to say Grace first!"
Running Buck straightened, and silently watched while everyone closed their eyes, put their hands together and prayed. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful, Amen." That made sense - sort of. Kiowa warriors always asked the spirits for help in finding food; doing it when the food was on the table made sense. But why did they ask the Lord to make them thankful? Weren't they grateful for the food?
When the main course arrived things got hard again. The knife he could manage, though he couldn't use it in his right hand as he was told he was supposed to. Eventually he used it in his left as everyone at the table was too busy laughing at his attempts to use the fork to care about the knife. Still, he persevered. He had often been made the butt of jokes in the village; at least this time no-one was laughing at his parentage, just his clumsiness. He could cope with that.
And the food! These whites threw away the good parts like the liver, tongue and brains and ate the tougher meat - cooked! They insisted that he ate the vegetables too - also cooked until their flavour had disappeared. Fortunately, Mother Superior allowed him to escape before dessert - it had simply been too much to take in for one day.
He went to the bedroom, ready for bed. There was a bundle of materials on the end of his bed - he simply unfolded them, stripped and wrapped them around him as he would his buffalo robes. Wrong again!
There were four other beds in the room, one each belonging to Billy and Jonathon; one which stayed empty all night and one which belonged to a bald, silent boy whose name Running Buck didn't know. Billy and Jonathon came in chattering while the bald boy went immediately to his bed and started to remove his clothes. They all stopped and stared at the Kiowa. Then the laughter started again, loud raucous and definitely derisive.
"He don't even know how to sleep properly!" Billy's loud voice brought others from the adjoining rooms. They joined in the laughter, the noise growing until another nun, whose name Running Buck didn't know, came in. She took one look at the pointing fingers and came straight to Running Buck's bed.
"Out! Out of bed! This instant!" Running Buck didn't know what an instant was, but the tone of voice alone made the urgency clear. He untangled himself from the bedclothes and stood up, only this time he held on to a corner of one of the pieces of material, covering his intimate parts. There was no doubt, however, that he was wearing none of the clothes provided for him.
"You're naked! Again!" The young nun was shocked, although not quite as surprised as she would have been had this happened 24 hours before. As soon as she heard of the escapade earlier in the day she had tried to prepare herself for anything. She pulled herself together and spoke to the children from other rooms. "Go on, back to your rooms, now!" When they hesitated, she threatened "No breakfast for anyone who is not out of here in ten seconds. Now move!" They did.
Turning to the now-blushing Running Buck, she asked quietly "Where are your pyjamas?"
"Pyjamas? What are pyjamas?"
"Pyjamas - er, clothes for bed. Like he's wearing." The nun indicated the bald boy across the room, who had quietly ignored all the commotion .
"There were, er, pylamas?"
"Py-ja-mas."
"There were clothes at the end of the bed but I didn't know what they were for. Should I put them on now?"
"Yes, I think you should." She turned away, glaring at Billy and Jonathon, giving Running Buck the chance to dress himself. The two boys followed suit.
"Are you dressed?"
"Yes, Sister." The handsome young Kiowa looked straight at her. The blush was gone and he was trying very hard to remain dignified. His eyes betrayed him, showing the embarrassment he felt. Sister Agnes could only admire his courage. "Now, I'll show you how to make a bed and how to sleep in it."
When she had gone, uttering dire warnings to the other boys as to what would happen if she heard them even whispering together, Running Buck lay in the bed, trying to get comfortable. The quilt was lighter than the buffalo robes he was used to and he felt like he should be cold, but instead it was hot and he felt hemmed in.
Eventually his eyes closed. Tomorrow was another day. It wouldn't be easy, but he had learnt a lot already. Maybe tomorrow would be better...
On the other side of the room, the green eyes of Ike McSwain remained open. The arrival of the Indian meant that for once, he wasn't the butt of the teasing. Maybe tomorrow would be a good day for him, too.
