They slowly approached the line of people waiting to be painted, looking for a familiar face — the neighbor lady, anyone who could tell them the whereabouts of Mama and Grandma. Indigo’s dress did not reach her ankles so she huddled down, trying to keep the cold wind off her legs. Sister Salt was wrapped in a piece of an old rug the hotel man gave to Mama. The people stepped back so the girls could warm themselves by the fire, and Sister Salt recognized the Paiute woman who lived next door.
“Have you seen our grandmother or mother?” she asked. The woman nodded and pointed in the direction of the dancers in the circle. The girls started to go, but the woman shook her head and motioned for them to come to her.
“You must not disturb your mother or your grandmother,” the woman told them. “They are dancing. They won’t recognize you.” The woman looked at Indigo, who was shivering, and motioned for one of the men applying the white clay paint. The man reached down to a big bundle near his feet and pulled out a piece of white canvas. The woman helped Indigo adjust the shawl around her shoulders; the white cloth reached past her ankles; its warmth was delicious. The woman helped Indigo wrap it just as the people dancing had wrapped themselves.
“Now,” the woman said, “now you won’t freeze while we wait for the sacred paint.”
The painting and the wrapping in white robes took a long time, but the people were happy and excited. Later, right before the sisters went to join the other dancers, an old Paiute woman gave them each a handful of piñons, the sacred food of the dancers, and she gave them a gourd dipper of warm water to share. The white clay on Indigo’s hair and face felt odd when she moved her mouth or eyes; her hair felt stiff. The white canvas robe wrapped Sister Salt’s arms close to her body so she reminded Indigo of a big white crow. The twilight was blue-gray giving way to darkness.
Now the dancers were resting on the sand around the fire, drinking water and eating piñons. Indigo looked for Mama and Grandma Fleet among the dancers sitting on the ground by the fire but she recognized no one. Sister Salt pointed across the circle in the shadows where a small group of dancers gathered around a figure moaning and writhing on the ground. Was that Mama? Was that Grandma Fleet? Just then voices began to sing softly and the dancers stood up. They moved together and began to join hands in a circle around the fire. The voices of the dancers rose softly at first from low undertones, but gradually the singing seemed to rise out of the earth to surround them. Indigo held Sister Salt’s hand so tightly she expected her sister to pry it loose a little, but Sister Salt didn’t seem to notice. Indigo felt shy holding the Paiute woman’s hand, but she wasn’t afraid. So far the Paiutes had given her a warm shawl and warm water and piñons to eat.
Indigo watched the Paiute woman’s feet. She watched Sister Salt’s feet. They were careful to drag their feet lightly along the ground to keep themselves in touch with Mother Earth. They were moving from right to left because that was the path followed by the sun. Wovoka wanted them to dance because dancing moves the dead. Only by dancing could they hope to bring the Messiah, the Christ, who would bring with him all their beloved family members and friends who had moved on to the spirit world after the hunger and the sadness got to be too much for them. The invaders made the Earth get old and want to die.
Indigo wondered what the ancestors looked like — Mama’s sisters and brothers, Grandma Fleet’s teenage husband, and Mama’s little baby that died. Around and around they went, singing about the snow: “The snow lies there,” they sang, “the snow lies there. The Milky Way lies there, the Milky Way lies there.” Indigo looked up at the stars that were the road of the dead to the spirit world. She thought she could detect faint movement on the path of stars.
The dancers stopped to rest after the first song. Indigo and Sister Salt sat down with their backs against the windbreak, where the fire kept off the night’s chill. Warm water and handfuls of piñons were passed from dancer to dancer; Sister Salt looked at her but did not speak. When Indigo opened her mouth to ask about Mama and Grandma Fleet, Sister Salt shook her head.
More wood was fed to the fire as the dancers joined for the second song. The Paiute woman told Indigo the words to the second song, but Indigo was not sure if she heard the words correctly. Why sing, “The black rock, the black rock,” when they were dancing on white river sand? Why sing, “The rock is broken, the rock is broken”? Indigo was tired now, and the singing voices were so loud she couldn’t be sure what the Paiute woman said. Later on she would ask Sister Salt about everything that happened. Indigo kept singing with the others; she was cozy and warm with Sister Salt on one side and the Paiute woman on the other. “The black rock, the black rock, the black rock is broken”; she sang it and saw it with her eyes closed. “The black rock is broken and from it pours clear fresh water that runs in little streams everywhere.”
When Indigo opened her eyes again, she was covered with the quilt, alone in the lean-to; dozens of dancers circled the fire; the flames leaped high, crackling and popping loudly. “The wind stirs the willows,” they sang, “the wind stirs the grasses.” She wanted to see the Christ and his family arrive; they were coming from far away and would arrive just before dawn. She was so comfortable she wanted to sleep a little more. When she woke again, Indigo heard Mama’s voice and Grandma Fleet’s voice; Sister Salt was talking too, but when she opened her eyes, she saw strange figures wrapped in white. Then she remembered the dancers and the white clay paint.
“Mama! We couldn’t find you!” Indigo called out.
“She’s awake.” Indigo heard Sister Salt’s voice. A dancer in a white robe approached. Mama didn’t look like herself with the strange white paint on her face and her hands, but Indigo had never seen her look so happy. She knelt down and held Indigo’s face between her hands.
“You should see yourself,” she said. “Grandma Fleet and I thought we’d never find you girls.” They had to get ready because the Christ would arrive soon. Grandma Fleet had to urinate so they all went to the tamarisks to relieve themselves. Indigo pulled the shawl close to herself against the cold. The wind was increasing; clouds moved rapidly across the sky, so the light of the moon was partially obscured. As they returned to the circle the dancers were taking their places; everyone was whispering in excited voices, “He’s here! He’s here!” Indigo stood on her tiptoes but could see nothing. Here and there, a dancer helped others who had fallen to the ground with joy after their loved ones came down the Milky Way to visit them.
The singers began and the others joined in. “The wind stirs the willows, the wind stirs the willows. How sweet the scent! The wind stirs the sand grass. The wind stirs the sand grass!” the dancers sang. They had to dance; they must dance or the Messiah and the spirits could not come down to them.
The white clay protected her face and hands from the cold wind; the sacred white clay made the wind feel like a warm breeze. Sister Salt did not feel tired or sleepy. She had never felt so happy. Even the sick woman from their camp and the old Havasupai woman who lived with her were dancing and lively tonight. They were about to see everyone who had passed on to the spirit world — beloved family members and old friends. But that wasn’t alclass="underline" the gathering of all the spirits meant the arrival of the storm clouds as well.
The wind calmed and Sister Salt smelled moisture; a warm wet snow began to fall on the dancers. She kept her eyes on the big snowflakes falling into the flames. The voices of the others around her seemed to recede as she entered into the silence of the snow. Each snowflake was luminous and slowly turning as it fell. She saw every crystalline surface, every shimmering corner and bright edge of ice; she was enveloped in the light and then she herself was the light. She felt them all around her, cradling her, loving her; she didn’t see them but she knew all of them — the ancestors’ spirits always loved her; there was no end to their love.