the tale of the indian scout
Nanz Aalund
A tall, handsome, 28-year-old young man returns home to his family after working a double shift. He is the daddy of three little girls and husband to a pregnant wife. His daughters, six, four, and three years old have been squabbling all day and his wife can take it no more. Daddy can see that the two older girls have been picking on the little one. Banana is his nickname for his littlest girl. Daddy picks up his three-year-old daughter placing her on his lap and to an audience of her older siblings he begins his tale.
“Way back, way back before I met mommy, before you other two were even born, Banana and I were Indian Scouts.”
“Naugh-aw,” cry the older girls, “that's not possible.”
“But, it's true,” says daddy, “I got caught once by Indians too, didn't I, Banana?” Giving his little girl a one armed hug and a wink he says, “isn't that true, Nan.”
Wagging her head in agreement “yeah, that's right, daddy's right.” Banana is in heaven breathing in the musk of her father's Old Spice cologne. She gazes lovingly at his strong face. Working double shifts to support them, his presence at home is a special and rare event for his children. Now, by selecting her as his comrade in his tale, he has made little Banana special too.
“You know, Banana here is the one who got me free from those Indians.” he adds, “Do you want to hear that story?”
“Oh yes, daddy, Please!” from all.
“You see Nan and I were riding our horses out on the open prairie. We’d been sent by the Cavalry to find out where the Indians were living. But now, it was getting dark. We had to set up camp, but we couldn't light a fire ’cause that would alert the Indians to where we were.”
With these words, Banana is out on the prairie. The walls of their family home dissolve and her whole universe is contained in the warmth of her daddy's arm around her and the sound of his voice. They had found the Indian encampment and were crawling to the top a hill on their tummies to spy on the Indians. Now, Banana and daddy had to decide what to do. Daddy said he needed more information so he was going to crawl down to listen in on the Indian’s conversation.
“But daddy,” interrupted the oldest, “you don't know how to talk Indian!”
“Oh, but I do.” he replied, launching into a recitation of ‘By the Shores of Gitchy-Goomie.’ After several stanzas from the poem he returns to his story. As he does, little Nan can now see a lake at the edge of the Indian encampment and in the light of a quarter moon, there is daddy sneaking down the hill behind the nearest tent.
“A teepee as they are called in Indian talk,” daddy adds with a wink to Banana.
“Yeah, that's right,” her little voice mimics “teepee.”
Just then the family mutt races in, Nan pulls back her legs up onto daddy's lap away from the ill-tempered dog. Pepper terrorizes Banana daily by nipping at her face. Daddy is enjoying his tall tale and adds Pepper to the plot.
“Pepper was there too,” he says, “he and Nan are waiting for me to get back from spying on the Indians.”
“No,” says Banana adamantly, “no Pepper, daddy, NO Pepper!” She squirms behind him in the chair to get away from the dog.
“Okay, okay,” daddy soothes as he gets a hold of her, straightening her out, and seating her back on his lap. Pepper has invaded the story now, but is under strict orders from daddy to be nice to Banana.
She earnestly searches her father's face for understanding as he shines a smile her way, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead. In her father's tale she is strong, brave, competent, and smart. Qualities, her lowly status on the family totem pole work daily to destroy. But, with his kiss she is back on the Prairie, totally trusting him in his special world, the one created by his words and her imagination. Sure enough the Indians see daddy and he is captured. Daddy wasn't worried because he knew Banana would know just what to do.
The next morning Banana walked right into the Indian encampment - disguise as a beautiful Indian princess with Pepper on a rope. She told the chief of the tribe that she has come to trade the dog for a pair of moccasins. The moccasins are to be a gift for her father. She shows the chief all the tricks Pepper can do. The chief orders all the new moccasins in the village to be brought out. The chief asks, “how big your father foot?” So, Banana asks to see all the Braves feet to find a pair that will match her father's. None of their feet are the right size, Banana shrugs her shoulders and starts to leave with the dog.
“Wait,” says the chief, “we have a prisoner may be his feet are right size.” The Indian braves bring out daddy all tied up and they hold up his foot.
“That's it,” Banana says, “try the moccasins on him.”
As the Braves tried all the moccasins on daddy, Nan secretly slips him her pocket knife. When the perfect pair of moccasins are found, Banana trades Pepper to the Indian chief for them and leaves the camp. Later that night when all the Indians are asleep daddy uses Nan’s knife to cut himself free of the ropes and escape. He finds Banana waiting for him on the other side of the hill with the horses saddled and a new pair of moccasins to boot!
“As a matter of fact they are the very same moccasins I am wearing right now!” Daddy says. All the children gaze in amazement at his old, disheveled, moccasin slippers; somehow their tattered age lends credibility to his tale.
“Okay now, everybody get to bed, let's go.”
“But daddy,” another sibling asks, “how come we got Pepper now if Nan traded him away?”
“Oh, Pepper ran away the next day and met up with us later to have more adventures. Isn't that right, Banana?”
“Yeah, that's right,” yawned Banana.
As he lays her in her bed he kisses her forehead. She grabs his hand tightly and pulls him close to whisper, “Please don't go, daddy, I miss you so.”
“I don’t want to go, but I have to. Now, go to sleep.”
“I love you, daddy,” is her reply.
Thirty years later - Banana sits by her father's bedside. They both have distended bellies. Her’s is full of new hope for a new life; she is 8-months pregnant with her first child. Daddy's belly is filled with the dread and despair of a life cut short by untreatable, inoperable cancer. They talk quietly until the baby starts to move. She grabs her father’s hand and places it on her tummy.
“Watch he’ll stick out his foot,” and sure enough a tiny outline of a foot appears on her belly. “Do you think I could get some moccasins to fit?” she asks wryly.
They laugh as tears begin to flow down both their faces. Daddy feels the baby, he will never meet, move in the womb of his baby girl. She kisses his forehead and whispers “Don't go Daddy, I’ll miss you so, please don't go.”
“I don't want to go, Banana” he breaks down, “but I have to.”
It is awkward and strange as they earnestly search each other's eyes for a long time, the last time, and then kiss on the lips.
“I will always love you,” he says as he gives her a hug, “my brave, little Indian Scout.”
“I love you, daddy,” is her reply.
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Nanz received her first recognition for jewelry design by winning a "Gold Key" Scholastic Art Award in high school for a silver pendant. She continued her training by serving an apprenticeship in Chicago. Some of Aalund's many professional jewelry design awards include: an AGTA Spectrum Award, two Gemmy Awards, two Platinum Guild International Awards, two Saul Bell Awards, and two DeBeers Awards. She received her MFA from the UW and her M.Ed. from Western Washington University and is currently the Certificate of Craft Coordinator at BARN.
About: I wrote this 20-some years ago when my son was born. My father died just shortly before my son's birth and this story was a means of grieving, celebrating my father's life and having the story for his namesake - my son. It is based in remembrances from childhood, grief of losing my father to cancer, and the joy of a new baby. Tears were the greatest obstacle to overcome as they smeared the ink from my fountain pen as I wrote.
Nanz received her first recognition for jewelry design by winning a "Gold Key" Scholastic Art Award in high school for a silver pendant. She continued her training by serving an apprenticeship in Chicago. Some of Aalund's many professional jewelry design awards include: an AGTA Spectrum Award, two Gemmy Awards, two Platinum Guild International Awards, two Saul Bell Awards, and two DeBeers Awards. She received her MFA from the UW and her M.Ed. from Western Washington University and is currently the Certificate of Craft Coordinator at BARN.
About: I wrote this 20-some years ago when my son was born. My father died just shortly before my son's birth and this story was a means of grieving, celebrating my father's life and having the story for his namesake - my son. It is based in remembrances from childhood, grief of losing my father to cancer, and the joy of a new baby. Tears were the greatest obstacle to overcome as they smeared the ink from my fountain pen as I wrote.