46
– I am sick, but I am not too sick, said Catherine Tekakwitha’s uncle.
– Let me baptize you, said the Black-Robe.
– Do not let any of your water fall on me. I have seen many die after you have touched them with your water.
– They are in Heaven now.
– Heaven is a good place for Frenchmen, but I wish to be among Indians; for the French will give me nothing to eat when I get there, and the French women, will not lie with us under the shadowy firs.
– We are all of the same Father.
– Ah, Black-Robe, were we of one Father we should know how to make knives and coats as well as you.
– Listen, old man, in the hollow of my hand I hold a mystic drop which can snatch you from an eternity of woe.
– Do they hunt in Heaven, or make war, or go to feasts?
– Oh, no!
– Then I will not go. It is not good to be lazy.
– Infernal fire and torturing demons await you.
– Why did you baptize our enemy the Huron? He will get to Heaven before us and drive us out when we come.
– There is room for all in Heaven.
– If there is so much room, Black-Robe, why do you guard the entrance so jealously?
– There is little time left. You will surely go to Hell.
– There is much time, Black-Robe. If you and I should talk until the weasel befriends the rabbit, we would not break the rope of days.
– Your eloquence is diabolic. Fire waits for you, old man.
– Yes, Black-Robe, a small shadowy fire, about which sit the shades of my relatives and ancestors.
When the Jesuit left him he called for Catherine Tekakwitha.
– Sit beside me.
– Yes, Uncle.
– Remove the blanket which covers me.
– Yes, Uncle.
– Look at this body. This is an old Mohawk body. Look closely.
– I am looking, Uncle.
– Do not weep, Kateri. We do not see well through tears, and although that which we see through tears is bright it is also bent.
– I will look at you without tears, Uncle.
– Remove all my garments and look at me closely.
– Yes, Uncle.
– Look for a long time. Look closely. Look and look.
– I will do as you say, Uncle.
– There is much time.
– Yes, Uncle.
– Your Aunts are spying through the spaces between the bark but do not distract yourself. Look and look.
– Yes, Uncle.
– What do you see, Kateri?
– I see an old Mohawk body.
– Look and look and I will tell you what will happen when the spirit begins to leave my body.
– I cannot listen, Uncle. I am a Christian now. Oh, do not hurt my hand.
– Listen and look. What I tell you cannot offend any god, yours or mine, the Mother of the Beard or the Great Hare.
– I will listen.
– When the wind is no longer in my nostrils my spirit body will begin a long journey homeward. Look at this wrinkled, scarred body as I speak to you. My beautiful spirit body will begin a hard, dangerous journey. Many do not complete this journey, but I will. I will cross a treacherous river standing on a log. Wild rapids will try to throw me against sharp rocks. A huge dog will bite my heels. Then I will follow a narrow path between dancing boulders which crash together, and many will be crushed, but I will dance with the boulders. Look at this old Mohawk body as I speak to you, Catherine. Beside the path there is a bark hut. In the hut lives Oscotarach, the Head-Piercer. I will stand beneath him and he will remove the brain from my skull. This he does to all the skulls which pass by. It is the necessary preparation for the Eternal Hunt. Look at this body and listen.
– Yes, Uncle.
– What do you see?
– An old Mohawk body.
– Good. Cover me now. Do not weep. I will not die now. I will dream my cure.
– Oh, Uncle, I am so happy.
As soon as smiling Catherine Tekakwitha left the long house her cruel Aunts fell on her with fists and curses. She fell beneath their blows. “Ce fut en cette occasion,” writes P. Cholenec, “qu’elle declara ce qu’on aurait peut-être ignoré, si elle n’avait pas été mise a cette épreuve, que, par la miséricorde du Seigneur, elle ne se souvenait pas d’avoir jamais terni la pureté de son corps, et qu’elle n’appréhendait point de recevoir aucun reproche sur cet article au jour du jugement.”
– You fucked your Uncle! they cried.
– You uncovered his nakedness!
– You peeked at his tool!
They dragged her to the priest, le P. de Lamberville.
– Here’s a little Christian for you. Fucked her Uncle! The priest sent away the howling savages and examined the young girl stretched bleeding on the ground before him. When he was satisfied he drew her up.
– You live here like a flower among poison thorns.
– Thank you, my father.
47
Long ago (it seems) I awakened in my bed
