Dances With Wolves

women whose current topic was obviously the white man wearing the bone breastplate. They were looking straight at him, and though he didn’t perceive it, there was a touch of the devil in their eyes.

Having been a constant subject of discussion for many weeks, the lieutenant was well known to them: as a possible god, as a clown, as a hero, and as an agent of mystery. Unbeknownst to the lieutenant, he had achieved a rare status in Comanche culture, a status that was perhaps most appreciated by its women.

He was a celebrity.

And now, his celebrity and his natural good looks had been greatly enhanced in the eyes of the women by the addition of the stunning breastplate.

He made the suggestion of a bow and stepped self-consciously into the firelight, intending to pass through without further interrupting their fun.

But as he went by, one of the women reached out impulsively and took his hand gently in hers. The contact stopped him cold. He stared at the women, who were now giggling nervously, and wondered if some trick was about to be played on him.

Two or three of them began to sing, and as the dance picked up, several of the women tugged at his arms. He was being asked to join them.

There weren’t many people in the vicinity. He wouldn’t have an audience looking over his shoulder.

And besides, he told himself, a little exercise would be good for the digestion.

The dance was slow and simple. Raise one foot, hold it, put it down. Raise the other foot, hold it, put it down. He slipped into the circle and tried out the steps. He got them down quickly and it was no time before he was in sync with the other dancers, smiling just as broadly and enjoying himself enormously.

Dancing had always been easy to embrace. It was one of his favorite releases. As the music of the women’s voices carried him along, he lifted his feet ever higher, picking them up and dropping them with newly invented flair. He began to drive his arms like wheels, involving more and more of himself in the rhythm. At last, when he was really going good, the still-smiling lieutenant closed his eyes, losing himself fully in the ecstasy of motion.

This made it impossible for him to detect that the circle had begun to shrink. It was not until he bumped the rump of the woman in front of him that the lieutenant realized how close the quarters had become. He glanced apprehensively at the women in the circle, but they reassured him with cheerful smiles. Dunbar went right on dancing.

Now he could feel the occasional touch of breasts, unmistakably soft on his back. His waist was regularly contacting the rump in front of him. When he tried to hold up, the breasts would press in again.

None of this was as arousing as it was startling. He’d not felt a woman’s touch in so long that it seemed a thing brand-new, too new to know what to do.

There was nothing overt in the women’s faces as the circle closed tighter. Their smiles were constant. So was the pressure of buttocks and breasts.

He was no longer lifting his feet. They were jammed too close together and he was reduced to bobbing up and down.

The circle fell apart and the women surged in against him. Their hands were touching him playfully, toying with his back and his stomach and his rear end. Suddenly they were brushing his most private spot, at front of his pants.

In another second the lieutenant would have bolted, but before he could make a move, the women melted away.

He watched them skip into the darkness like embarrassed schoolgirls. Then he turned to see what had frightened them off.

He was standing alone at the edge of the fire, resplendent and ominous in an owl’s-head cap. Kicking Bird grunted something at him, but the lieutenant couldn’t tell whether or not he was displeased.

The medicine man turned away from the fire, and like a puppy who thinks he may have done something wrong but has yet to be punished, Lieutenant Dunbar followed.

five

As it turned out, there were no repercussions from his encounter with the dancing women. But to his despair Dunbar found the fire in front of Kicking Bird’s lodge crowded with still-feasting celebrants who insisted he take first crack at the roasting ribs just coming off the fire.

So the lieutenant sat a while longer, basking in the good cheer of the people around him, while he stuffed more meat into his swollen stomach.

An hour later he could barely hold his eyes open, and when they met at Kicking Bird’s, the medicine man rose up from his seat. He took the white soldier into the lodge and led him to a pallet that had been specially made up for him against a far wall.

Lieutenant Dunbar plopped down on the robe and began to pull off his boots. He was so sleepy that he didn’t think to say good night and only caught a glimpse of the medicine man’s back as he left the lodge.

Dunbar let the last boot flop carelessly on the floor and rolled into bed. He threw an arm over his eyes and floated off toward sleep. In the twilight before unconsciousness his mind began to fill with a steady-flowing stream of warm, unfocused, and vaguely sexual images. Women were moving around him. He couldn’t make out their faces, but he could hear the murmur of their soft voices. He could see

their forms passing close, swirling like the folds of a dress dancing in the breeze.

He could feel them touching him lightly, and as he drifted, he felt the press of bare flesh against his own.

six

Someone was giggling in his ear and he couldn’t open his eyes. They were too heavy. But the giggling persisted and soon he was aware of a smell in his nose. The buffalo robe. Now he could hear that the giggling was not in his ear. But it was close by. It was in the room.

He forced his eyes open and turned his head to the sound. He couldn’t see anything and raised up slightly. The lodge was quiet and the dim forms of Kicking Bird’s family were unmoving. Everyone seemed to be asleep.

Then he heard the giggle again. It was high and sweet, definitely a woman’s, and it was coming from a spot directly across the floor. The lieutenant raised up a little more, enough to let his gaze clear the dying fire in the center of the room.

The woman giggled again, and a man’s voice, low and gentle, floated across to him. He could see the strange bundle that always hung over Kicking Bird’s bed. The sounds were coming from there.

Dunbar could not guess what was going on and, giving his eyes a quick rub, raised himself a notch higher.

Now he could make out the forms of two people; their heads and shoulders were jutting out of the bedding, and their lively movement seemed out of place for so late an hour. The lieutenant narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness.

The bodies shifted suddenly. One rose over the other and they settled into one. There was a moment of absolute silence before a long, low moan, like exhaled breath, swept into his ears, and Dunbar realized they were having sex.

Feeling like an ass, he sank quickly down, hoping neither lover had seen his stupid, gawking face staring across at them.

More awake than asleep now, he lay on the robe, listening to the steady, urgent sounds of their lovemaking. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and he could make out the shape of the sleeper closest to him.

The regular rise and fall of her bedding told him it was a deep sleep. She was lying on her side, her back turned to him. But he knew the shape of her head and the tangled, cherry-colored hair.

Stands With A Fist was sleeping alone and he began to wonder about her. She might be white by blood, but by all else she was one of these people. She spoke their language as if it were her native tongue. English was foreign to her. She didn’t act as if she were under any duress. There was not the slightest hint of the captive about her. She seemed to be an absolute equal in the band now. He guessed correctly that she had been taken when young.