osc.am2.redprophet-第52部分

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le　thing；　Harrison　planned　it　all　along。　The　Reds　are　innocent。　You're　killing　innocent　people。〃
　　Miller　stood　up　from　the　bloody　field　and　raised　his　hands　high　over　his　head；　thick　blood　running　from　his　scarlet　hands。　A　cry　was　wrung　from　his　throat；　forced　out　by　anguish；　by　despair。　〃What　have　I　done！　What　have　I　done！〃　The　cry　was　echoed　by　a　dozen；　a　hundred；　three　hundred　voices。
　　And　there　was　General　Harrison　on　his　prancing　horse；　out　in　front　of　everybody。　Even　his　own　soldiers　had　thrown　down　their　guns　by　now。
　　〃It's　a　lie！〃　cried　Harrison。　〃I　never　saw　this　boy！　Someone　has　played　a　terrible　trick　on　me！〃
　　〃It　ain't　no　trick！〃　shouted　Measure。　〃Here's　his　kerchief　　they　stuffed　it　in　my　mouth　yesterday；　to　gag　me　while　they　broke　my　bones！〃
　　Miller　could　see　the　kerchief　clearly　in　his　son's　hand。　It　had　the　WHH　embroidered　in　large；　clear　letters　in　the　corner。　Every　man　in　that　army　had　seen　his　handkerchiefs。
　　And　now　some　of　Harrison's　own　soldiers　spoke　up。　〃It's　true！　We　brought　this　boy　to　Harrison　two　days　ago。〃
　　〃We　didn't　know　he　was　one　of　the　boys　they　all　said　the　Reds　had　killed！〃
　　A　high；　howling　cry　floated　over　the　meadow。　They　all　looked　down　to　where　the　one…eyed　Prophet　stood　on　the　solid；　scarlet　water　of　the　Tippy…Canoe。
　　〃e　to　me；　my　people！〃　he　said。
　　The　surviving　Reds　walked；　slowly；　steadily　toward　the　water。　They　walked　across　it；　then　gathered　on　the　other　side。　〃All　my　people；　e！〃
　　The　corpses　rustled；　moved。　The　White　men　standing　among　them　cried　out　in　terror。　But　the　dead　were　not　riging　up　to　walk　　only　the　wounded　who　still　breathed；　they　were　the　ones　who　rose　up；　staggered。　Some　of　them　tried　to　carry　children；　babies　　they　had　no　strength　for　it：
　　Miller　saw　and　felt　the　blood　on　his　own　hands。　He　had　to　do　something；　didn't　he？　So　he　reached　out　to　a　struggling　woman；　whose　husband　leaned　against　her　for　support；　meaning　to　take　the　baby　from　her　arms　and　carry　it　for　her。　But　when　he　came　near；　she　looked　into　his　face；　and　he　saw　his　own　reflection　in　her　eyes　　his　face　haggard；　White；　spattered　with　blood；　his　hands　dripping　with　blood。　Tiny　as　it　was；　he　saw　that　reflection　as　clear　as　if　it　had　been　on　a　mirror　held　in　front　of　his　own　face。　He　couldn't　touch　her　baby；　not　with　hands　like　his。
　　Some　of　the　other　White　men　on　the　hill　also　tried　to　help；　but　they　must　have　seen　something　like　what　Miller　saw；　and　they　recoiled　as　if　they　had　been　burned。
　　Maybe　a　thousand　wounded　got　up　and　tried　to　reach　the　creek。　Many　of　them　collapsed　and　died　before　they　got　there。　Those　that　reached　the　water　walked；　staggered；　crawled　across；　they　were　helped　by　the　Reds　on　the　other　side。
　　Miller　noticed　something　peculiar。　All　those　wounded　Reds；　all　the　uninjured　ones；　they　had　walked　on　this　meadow；　they　had　walked　across　the　blood…red　river；　and　yet　there　wasn't　a　spot　of　blood　on　their　hands　or　feet。
　　〃All　my　people；　all　who　died　e　home；　says　the　land！〃
　　All　around　them；　the　meadow　was　strewn　with　bodies　　by　far　the　majority　of　those　who　had　stood　there　as　living　families　only　an　hour　before。　Now；　at　the　Prophet's　words；　these　bodies　seemed　to　shudder；　to　crumble；　they　collapsed　and　sank　into　the　grass　of　the　meadow。　It　took　perhaps　a　minute；　and　they　were　gone；　the　grass　springing　up　lush　and　green。　The　last　of　the　blood　skittered　down　the　slope　like　beads　of　water　on　a　hot　griddle　and　became　part　of　the　bright　red　creek。
　　〃e　to　me；　my　friend　Measure。〃　The　Prophet　spoke　quietly；　and　held　out　his　hand。
　　Measure　turned　his　back　on　his　father　and　walked　down　the　grassy　slope　to　the　water's　edge。
　　〃Walk　to　me；〃　said　the　Prophet。
　　〃I　can't　walk　on　the　blood　of　your　people；〃　he　said。
　　〃They　gave　their　blood　to　lift　you　up；〃　said　the　Prophet。　〃e　to　me；　or　take　the　curse　that　will　fall　on　every　White　man　in　that　meadow。〃
　　〃I　reckon　I'll　stay　here；　then；〃　said　Measure。　〃If　I'd've　been　in　their　place；　I　don't　figure　I'd've　done　a　thing　different　than　what　they　did。　If　they're　guilty；　so　am　I。〃
　　The　Prophet　nodded。
　　Every　White　man　there　felt　something　warm　and　wet　and　sticky　on　his　hands。　Some　of　them　cried　out　when　they　saw。　From　elbow　to　hands；　they　dripped　with　blood。　Some　tried　to　wipe　it　off　on　their　shirts。　Some　searched　for　wounds　that　might　be　bleeding；　but　there　were　no　wounds。　Just　bloody　hands。
　　〃Do　you　want　your　hands　to　be　clean　of　the　blood　of　my　people？〃　asked　the　Prophet。　He　wasn't　shouting　anymore；　but　they　all　heard　him；　every　word。　And　yes；　yes；　they　wanted　their　hands　to　be　clean。
　　〃Then　go　home　and　tell　this　story　to　your　wives　and　children；　to　your　neighbors；　to　your　friends。　Tell　the　whole　story。　Leave　nothing　out。　Don't　say　that　someone　fooled　you　　you　all　knew　when　you　fired　on　people　who　had　no　weapons　that　what　you　did　was　murder。　No　matter　whether　you　thought　some　of　us　might　have　mitted　some　crime。　When　you　shot　at　babies　in　their　mothers'　arms；　little　children；　old　men　and　women；　you　were　murdering　us　because　we　were　Red。　So　tell　the　story　as　it　happened；　and　if　you　tell　it　true；　your　hands　will　be　clean。〃
　　There　wasn't　a　man；　on　that　meadow　who　wasn't　weeping　or　trembling　or　faint　with　shame。　To　tell　of　this　day's　work　to　their　wives　and　children；　their　parents；　their　brothers　and　sisters；　that　seemed　unbearable。　But　if　they　didn't；　these　bloody　hands　would　tell　the　story　for　them。　It　was　more　than　they　could　bear　to　think　of。
　　But　the　Prophet　wasn't　through。　〃If　some　stranger　es　along；　and　you　don't　tell　him　the　whole　story　before　you　sleep；　then　the　blood　will　e　back　on　your　hands；　and　stay　there　until　you　do　tell　him。　That's　how　it　will　be　for　the　rest　of　your　lives　　every　man　and　woman　that　you　meet　will　have　to　hear　the　true　story　from　your　lips；　or　your　hands　will　be　filthy　again。　And　if　you　ever；　for　any　reason；　kill　another　human　being；　then　your　hands　and　face　will　drip　with　blood　forever；　even　in　the　grave。〃
　　They　nodded；　they　agreed。　It　was　justice；　simple　justice。　They　couldn't　give　back　the　lives　of　those　they　killed；　but　they　could　make　sure　no　lie　was　ever　told　about　the　way　that　they　were　killed。　No　one　could　ever　claim　that　Tippy…Canoe　was　a　victory；　or　even　a　battle。　It　was　a　massacre；　and　White　men　mitted　it；　and　not　one　Red　raised　a　hand　in　violence　or　defense。　No　excuse；　no　softening；　it　would　be　known。
　　Only　one　thing　remained　　the　guilt　of　the　man　on　the　prancing　stallion。
　　〃White　Murderer　Harrison！〃　called　the　Prophet。　〃e　to　me！〃
　　Harrison　shook　his　head；　tried　to　turn　his　horse；　the　reins　slipped　from　his　bloody　hands；　and　the　horse　walked　briskly　down　the　hill。　All　the　White　men　watched　him　silently；　hating　him　for　how　he　lied　to　them；　stirred　them　up；　found　the　murder　in　their　hearts　and　called　it　forth。　The　horse　brought　him　to　the　water's　edge。　He　looked　downward　at　the　one…eyed　Red　who　had　once　sat　under　his　table　and　begged　for　drops　of　whiskey　from　his　cup。
　　〃Your　curse　is　the　same；〃　said　the　Prophet；　〃except　that　your　story　is　much　longer　and　uglier　to　tell。　And　you　won't　wait　for　strangers　to　e　along　before　you　speak　　every　day　of　your　life　you'll　have　to　find　someone　who　has　never　heard　the　story　from　your　lips　before；　and　tell　it　to　him　　every　day！　　or　your　hands　will　drip　with　blood。　And　if　you　decide　to　hide；　and　live　with　blood…soaked　hands　rather　than　find　new　people　to　tell；　you'll　feel　the　pain　of　my　people's　wounds；　one　new　wound　each　day；　until　you　tell　the　story　again；　once　for　every　day　you　missed。　Don't　try　to　kill　yourself；　either　　you　can't　do　it。　You'll　wander　from　one　end　of　this　White　man's　land　to　the　other。　People　will　see　you　ing　and　hide；　dreading　the　sound　of　your　voice；　you'll　beg　them　to　stop　and　listen　to　you。　They'll　even　forget　your　old　name；　and　call　you　by　the　name　you　earned　today。　Tippy…Canoe。　That's　your　new　name；　White　Murderer　Harrison。　Your　true　name；　till　you　die　a　natural　death　as　an　old；　old　man。〃
　　Harrison　bent　onto　the　mane　of　the　horse　and　wept　into　his　bloody　hands。　But　his　were　tears　of　fury；　not　grief　or　shame。　Tears　of　rage　that　all　his　plans　had　gone　awry。　He　would　kill　the　Prophet　even　now；　if　he　could。　He　would　search　far　and　wide　for　some　witch　or　wizard　who　could　break　this　curse。　He　couldn't　bear　to　let　this　miserable　one…eyed　Red　defeat　him。
　　Measure　spoke　to　the　Prophet　from　the　shore。　〃Where　will　you　go　now；　Tenskwa…Tawa？〃
　　〃West；〃　said　Tenskwa…Tawa。　〃My　people；　all　who　still　believe　in　me；　we'll　go　west　of　the　Mizzipy。　When　you　tell　your　story；　tell　White　men　this　　that　west　of　the　Mizzipy　is　Red　man's　land。　Don't　e　there。　The　land　can't　bear　the　touch　of　a　White　man's　foot。　You　breathe　out　death；　your　touch　is　poison；　your　words　are　lies；　the　living　land　won't　have　you。〃
　　He　turned　his　back；　walked　to　the　Reds　waiting　for　him　on　the　other　shore；　and　helped　an　injured　child　walk　up　the　far　slope　into　the　trees。　Behind　him；　the　water　of　the　Tippy…Canoe　began　to　flow　again。
　　Miller　walked　down　the　slope　to　where　his　son　stood　on　the　bank　of　the　creek。　〃Measure；〃　he　said；　〃Measure；　Measure。〃
　　Measure　turned　and　reached　out　his　hands　to　embrace　his　father。　〃Alvin's　alive；　Father；　far　to　the　east　of　us。　He's　with　Ta…Kumsaw