The Land We Dreamed: Poems

La Belle Riviere

35 La Belle Riviere I. On the tenth day having made my way down the Ouabachi, I reached its mouth and entered a beautiful river the Hiroquois call Oyo. Ducks and teal flocked feeding upon wild oats waving gently in the water. Bustards and swans without wings swam noisily together. Wild cattle lifted heavy heads from drinking. Water ran from their beards as they watched and snorted. I wished Father Jerome here to see this little piece of the Garden shining so peacefully before my passing. 36 Once a tremendous fish struck my boat like a log and threatened to break it. I saw also on the water a monster with a tiger’s head, whiskers and nose like a wildcat, sharp ears erect on its wide gray head. Around each bend floating flocks of geese scattered from my canoe, but I saw no signs of men, the Shawunogi who live along the river. If this is the way to the heart of this wild world I vainly hope the people here are like their river which flows so leisurely before me. I’m glad 37 to leave the hard North where Hiroquois are quick to chop and burn us for their pleasure. II. Like maskers at carnival they came, out of dark trees and the leafiest of shade. Some had painted black masks that ran from ear-to-ear around their eyes, their faces a fierce and brilliant red, others had noses blue or yellow, faces black halfway up their brows, halfway down their chins looking as if they could be peeled off at a whim, their skin the copper color of our French beggars roasted by the sun. 38 One wore a bearskin despite the heat, like pictures painted of John hesitantly baptizing Jesus down in the muddy Jordan. Others wore only hides hanging from their waists by cords twisted from dried intestines, the women modest in dresses of skins hanging to their knees. All had long black hair tied back in shining greasy strands. I sat still as they approached, then slowly stood and walked toward them holding out my empty hands, and, thus, in silent hesitation, everything began. ...