The seven acts of the drama The First Day are set in the Kingdom of the Great Spirit as this Kingdom might have been imagined by Crazy Horse, the legendary war chief of the Lakota Sioux who was assassinated by the U.S. government in 1877, after he had surrendered. The action occurs on January 5, 1960 when Crazy Horse welcomes the French philosopher and writer Albert Camus to the Kingdom. Camus had been killed in an automobile accident the night before. Following introductions, the two begin a walk that lasts from dawn to dusk and traverses a variety of landscapes. Periodically they stop to converse with others in the Kingdom. These include Native Americans Chief Joseph and Chief Seattle, Jesus, and the poets Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman and Federico Garcia Lorca. Walt Whitman is accompanied by a young friend named Jimmy, and Jesus finds himself leading a band of some twenty children. The travelers discuss various subjects, personal, historical and philosophical. Their principal interest, however, is the mysterious Almighty Power whose grace makes possible their eternal life. Considering this mystery, they also discuss justice and injustice among mortals, why men who struggled to do good often suffered at the hands of those who did evil, and whether poets and poetry are an influence for good in the affairs of mortals. At the end of the day, having bid good day to their fellow travelers and sitting on a mountain ledge overlooking expansive valleys as the night sky is illuminated by an astounding show of lights, Crazy Horse and Camus are joined by Socrates. Socrates explains why it is no evil on Earth can ultimately hurt a virtuous person and how it is the Almighty is revealed to humans during their mortal lives.
THE FIRST DAY: ALBERT CAMUS MEETS CRAZY HORSE IN THE KINGDOM
(A METAPHYSICAL DRAMA IN SEVEN ACTS)By LEN BLANCHARDAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Len Blanchard
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-4931-4 Contents
Prologue January 5, 1960.....................xixACT I.........................................1Scene 1.......................................3Scene 2.......................................10Scene 3.......................................19Scene 4.......................................29Scene 5.......................................37ACT II........................................49Scene 1.......................................51Scene 2.......................................54ACT III.......................................73Scene 1.......................................75Scene 2.......................................85ACT IV........................................93Scene 1.......................................95Scene 2.......................................103Scene 3.......................................112ACT V.........................................117Scene 1.......................................119Scene 2.......................................132ACT VI........................................149Scene 1.......................................151Scene 2.......................................164ACT VII.......................................179
Chapter One
ACT I THE FIRST DAY
SCENE 1
There are mountains in the distance, a range of sloping hills the summits of which are veiled by clouds, diaphanous, and tinged with a golden light as if by a honey-tinted sun. Still, no sun is visible. As the two men walk with a reflective pace toward the horizon Crazy Horse drops his arm from around Albert Camus' shoulders. They continue walking side-by-side as they begin to consider the power of human love and the effects of injustice in the affairs of men on Earth.
CAMUS: Those hills in the distance, they remind me of mountains I sometimes wandered on earth. In the Auvergne. Where I frequently recuperated from attacks of tuberculosis.
CH: I am not surprised. When I first arrived, I thought I was looking at the Black Hills. Or the foothills of the Rockies. This kingdom is like that. However, your bouts with tuberculosis are over now.
CAMUS: Really? I know I feel wonderful just now. But such salubrious feelings were generally simply a temporary respite, an illusion of health. Up till now!
CH: The wound in my side made by that drunken Private Walker when he ran his bayonet through me wasn't so much as a scar when I entered the realm of Wakan Tanka.
CAMUS: This seems to be a kingdom of miracles!
CH: No. It's really not. Here, the miraculous is the norm.
CAMUS: Exclaiming, but reflectively. No more tuberculosis. Or Private Walkers. How truly wonderful! But tell me, why did this drunken soldier stab you? What was going on? I confess, the legend of Crazy Horse I know well and, certainly, I am familiar with the injustice and cruelties committed by the invading Europeans against the natives of America as they marched across the continent, claiming the land as if it had been created for them alone. However, I am ignorant of the event that delivered you to this kingdom of the Great Spirit.
CH: You say so much with your many words, Albert Camus.
CAMUS: Please, si vous plait, call me "Albert." Simply "Albert."
CH: And you, you shall call me "Tushunca Uitco."
CAMUS: Is that your name in your native tongue?
CH: Indeed. In the language of the Lakota Sioux my name means "horse whose spirit cannot be broken," and you are one who should call me by my true name. Not the name meaning a loco horse, what the white man called me.
CAMUS: Merci.
CH: But you asked me how I came to be fatally injured, so I shall tell you. But not before I ask you how it is you, a Frenchman, can talk of the Europeans as you do. Are you not loyal to your people? Do you not realize that the French were like the English, and like the Spanish, and like the Americans who first were English?
Albert Camus speaks, but only after he and his companion have walked several steps in silence. As they walk, Albert Camus realizes—probably unconsciously—that their steps make no noise. They walk in silence, as if on air, and yet the surface on which they tread appears solid.
CAMUS: You mean, I suppose, that the French, like the English, like the Americans, invaded occupied lands, subdued the residents of those lands, and claimed them as territories of France.
CH: Yes. Of course, you understand. Even today, Albert Camus (then, correcting himself quickly), Albert, your countrymen rule in the Southeast of Asia, in North Africa, in West Africa. So how is it you speak with opprobrium of the bluecoats of the U. S. Army when what the government in Washington did is much like what the government in Paris does today? Were you, yourself, not a patriotic citizen of your tribe?
As he asks this question, Crazy Horse glances at the man walking on his right, beside him. Albert Camus feels the eyes of Crazy Horse upon him but stares at the surface of the road directly before him as if he had not noticed his companion's glance.
CAMUS: Perhaps I can best explain myself by asking a question of you?
CH: I will answer any question you should ask since you are a man of good faith.
CAMUS: You were loyal to your tribe. I do not question that. And yet, did you not nearly bring the Oglala to civil war, and all for the love of a woman?
Despite himself, Crazy Horse's pace suddenly quickens. While he had been walking slowly, befitting the nature of his conversation with Albert Camus, he suddenly begins to stride. His companion matches him, stride-for-stride. When he does speak, he does so clearly, forcefully.
CH: You remind me, Albert. Eighty years in the kingdom of wonder and praise may be but an instant, but it is long enough for me to have forgotten the force of human love. But I am not certain how my feelings as a man are relevant to what your nation does as a people.
CAMUS: My loyalty was not, is not now, to the government in Paris. It was to people. To people I loved. To people I might have loved had I known them. To people whom those I loved, loved in turn.
The two men continue to stride at a quick pace for a few more yards when Crazy Horse gradually, unconsciously, begins to slow his pace to a walk.
CH: Yes. Yes. I can understand. You are my brother, Albert. Wakan Tanka in his incomprehensible wisdom must have understood this. Hence, I am walking and talking with you now. And thus it is I will tell you about the event that delivered me to this kingdom back in 1877.
Now it is Albert Camus who glances at the man to his left and, as he does so, smiles.
CAMUS: But first, you must tell me about the power of human love. Is this power so easily forgotten in the Kingdom of the Great Spirit?
CH: No. No, that is not quite what happens. (Pausing, as if to consider his words.) Rather, it is human love, the love that certain men and women on earth feel for their fellow creatures that, more than anything else, transports these men and women to the Kingdom of the Great Spirit when their mortality is shed. And, once here, it is as if we are love, each of us a word spoken in love by the Great Spirit. When one is love, one has difficulty remembering what it was like to love in a world in which love seems irrational, almost self-defeating. Indeed, in which to love often means to die.
CAMUS: I'm not sure I understand.
CH: You will. You need to pass enough time here to forget. Then you will understand, Albert.
CAMUS: You speak with confidence of my understanding, Tushunca Uitco, so I am happy to trust in what you say. Now, then, what precipitated the drunken Private Walker's bayonet strike?
Crazy Horse walks in silence for a few seconds, as if he has not heard Albert Camus. Then he begins to speak, his voice sounding somehow heavy, as if his memories are a burden, even here in the Kingdom of the Great Spirit.
CH: Walker, that little man, simply acted as he was conditioned to act. Along with Little Big Man, he who had once ridden beside me into battle, he was in the small party of bluecoats ordered to arrest me and to throw me into a cell. I did not resist when the soldiers and Indian police first surrounded me. I thought perhaps they were going to escort me to the office of the adjutant, or even to General Bradley himself. However, when we approached instead the building with the cells in which the bluecoats kept their prisoners I became apprehensive. I stopped walking and the soldiers had to shove me forward. When someone opened one of the cell doors, I bolted free of the hands holding me. From under the cloak I had thrown over my shoulders, I pulled out a knife a friend had slipped to me in case a situation like this should arise. I slashed at the air around me with this knife in an attempt to hold the bluecoats at bay. I was not thinking, for there was no where I could run. I only knew I would rather be dead than caged like an animal. Like an animal fighting for its life, I waved my knife in front of me when, suddenly, a piercing pain in my side forced me to look down where I saw my blood beginning to flow from me. I grew faint and collapsed. When I became conscious again, I saw I was lying on a bed in the adjutant's office. My friend and fellow chief Too Tall and my father Worm were sitting at the bed side observing me, in silence.
After Crazy Horse completes this narration, the two men walk without speaking for a few minutes, their steps soundless, as if they were walking on clouds.
CAMUS: Albert Camus breaks this silence, asking, You died soon thereafter?
CH: I was conscious long enough and had just enough strength to thank my friends for their caring, and to let them know they should be happy for me for my suffering was about to end.
CAMUS: So Walker was obeying orders. But why did his commander order you arrested?
CH: Crazy Horse laughs out loud, one boisterous guffaw. Ah, my friend. To explain that is to consider the lengths to which the unjust are willing to go to perpetuate their injustice, to ponder the ironies the just must endure to survive in an unjust world.
CAMUS: I wish to do both, to consider and to ponder. In fellowship with you, Tushunca Uitco.
CH: This is good, for you were one to ponder injustice and suffering in the world you have just departed.
CAMUS: Yes, yes, that is true. But how do you know? Have you read my writing?
Crazy Horse laughs another boisterous laugh, one much like that he had laughed only a few moments earlier.
CAMUS: You think my question is humorous? Or, perhaps, my art?
CH: Oh, no, Albert! You misunderstand. You will find that here one can learn to read any truth which emanates from the mind of a man who was honest on earth.
Albert Camus glances quickly at his companion as they continue walking. Crazy Horse returns the glance and notices in this moment the bewildered look on the features of Albert Camus.
CH: It will not be long before you yourself begin to sense that in the kingdom of Wakan Tanka truth told, truth thought, truth sung or played, all these, emit a certain fragrance not unlike the fragrance of honeysuckle on the breeze in the spring, or that of tall pines in the wind straining for the sun, or that of the salt spray tossed by ocean waves at the shoreline. Crazy Horse glances at Albert Camus. Can you understand what I am trying to say, Albert?
CAMUS: Yes, I think I can! Albert Camus exclaims in obvious excitement. So, then, you know I was one to consider the suffering the just experience on Earth and to protest the cruelty men do unto other men?
CH: I do.
CAMUS: And, therefore, you will tell me why the American soldiers came to lock you up at Camp Robinson?
CH: I will! But let us sit down beside this stream and stretch our limbs beneath these trees while I tell my tale of the dilemma of a man who wanted justice, who swore to live in peace, and who, nevertheless, was killed.
Albert Camus suddenly sees the stream and trees Crazy Horse has referred to just off to the left of the path they've been walking, and he willingly follows his friend's lead to the bank of the stream where both he and Crazy Horse recline on the lush grass growing like a thick carpet of green beside the water.
SCENE 2
Lying on his side, his left arm planted on its elbow in the grass and his chin cupped in his hand so that he is facing Albert Camus, Crazy Horse explains the actions which resulted in his arrival in the Kingdom.
CH: My people, all those peoples native to the Great Plains, had views about how society should be organized which were very different in many ways from the views of those who invaded our lands and killed us or took us captive. A chief, a big man in the village, was a chief only so long as others chose to follow him. This was especially so of a chief who had to lead braves into battle against an enemy. No brave would follow a chief into battle if he had no confidence in that chief. No brave was expected to follow the lead of any man whom he thought unworthy of the life he might lose following that man's commands.
CAMUS: That certainly is a difference between the customs of your people and the military rules of European armies.
CH: Yes, I know. And what this means is that, among my people, a leader was a leader only if he commanded the hearts of his people. With the wasichus, the bluecoats who arrived in numbers as numerous as the stars high above Bear Mountain in the black sky of a clear spring night for the purpose of conquering and robbing, a leader must be obeyed because the Great Father in Washington says he must be obeyed. It was of no consequence if that leader proved to be incompetent, or vain, or weak. A bluecoat who did not follow orders could be imprisoned, even killed, even if his refusal to follow orders was due to his believing a victory could not be achieved and would cost him his life.
CAMUS: Do you have any particular bluecoat leader in mind?
Crazy Horse smiles, but his smile is prompted more by a sense of communion with his companion than of any true happiness.
CH: Ah, Albert, perhaps you read my mind. That Custer, the one we called Golden Hair, he was a vain and stupid man. He led his men into battle at the Greasy Grass—the river the Americans called the Little Bighorn—thinking only of his own glory. You know what this cost the men who followed him, and he himself.
CAMUS: I believe you massacred Custer and all his men?
CH: We did. Nearly three-hundred armed bluecoats perished that day, falling at the hands of our brave warriors carrying their spears, their tomahawks and knives, their bows.
CAMUS: I believe you were one of the those who led your braves into battle?
CH: I was, but there were others. Gall, Red Cloud, Sitting Bull. Yellow Knife, from among our allies, the Cheyenne. The warriors followed these leaders confident they were well led, knowing well just what it was for which they fought, risking their lives.
CAMUS: I understand.
CH: Good. So you may be able to understand how it was at Camp Robinson.
Albert Camus stares at Crazy Horse quizzically.
CH: Noticing Albert Camus' incomprehension, Crazy Horse explains. I surrendered my arms and came into Camp Robinson in May of 1877 only because I saw how the women, the children, the old and feeble, those injured in battle among my band, were suffering. Many had died, not only the warriors in combat, but women and children, too, from the cold, from starvation. So it was that with a heavy heart I resigned myself to the truth I could no longer ignore at the expense of those who had trusted me to lead them. The wasichus were too numerous, too well-armed, for us to be able to defeat them, to drive them from our lands. Having acknowledged the inevitable, I could no longer ask my people to suffer. With all hope of victory gone, I could not continue to resist the invaders without my spirit becoming sick with pride. So it was I swore to live in peace among the Americans for the remainder of my life. And my people followed me, even the young men, the braves, many of whom would have continued to fight beside me had I asked them to do so.
CAMUS: Ah, I think I begin to see ...
CH: Crazy Horse interrupts, smiling. You are a wise student of human nature, Albert. I have confidence you do begin to see!
CAMUS: Were conditions at the Camp deplorable?
CH: Laughing. You see, you do understand. Indeed, the government began to forget its promises or to change its mind almost as soon as it had taken our weapons and our ponies from us. When I agreed to come into the Camp, I had been promised my own agency. I had been told that my braves and I would be free to do some hunting now and then. To bring back some good meat for the women and children. However, that was not to be. The Great White Father, I was told, did not think it was a good idea I should have my own agency or that my braves should ride free, and armed, hunting what few bison might still be found grazing on the plains, trailing deer and other game one might still discover along the creek and river banks. Instead, we were made to sit like women and the feeble old around our fires, and to watch our people in their despair try to eat the rotten meat with which we were supplied, to hear the women tell of the flour filled with maggots they were supposed to use for baking. This was not food which nourished but food which made our children sick!
CAMUS: I see there are some things you have not forgotten! Albert Camus interrupts, looking with concern at his companion whose features have grown increasingly somber during the course of his narrative.
In return, Crazy Horse simply stares at his auditor in silence for several moments, as if his mind had been elsewhere and he is trying to remember where he is and to whom he is speaking. Finally, his features relax and he speaks, quietly now.
CH: You understand the injustice, Albert?
CAMUS: I do, Tushunca Uitco.
CH: And yet they called us savages. They ordered us to pray to their god who, they said, loved all men, even the redman. Crazy Horse smiles ironically. They did this while they broke their promises and secretly sold to traders for profit the good food the government had sent to the Indians on the reservations, substituting for this real food bone and gristle, that which a dog should not have to eat. And they grew angry if we complained. I think they also worried, though.
CAMUS: Albert Camus glances questioningly at Crazy Horse. Worried about what? What could they possibly have had to worry about?
CH: Crazy Horse looks directly at Albert Camus where he is lying on his back on the blanket of grass, propped up on his elbows, and he smiles. Albert, my friend, you disappoint me.
CAMUS: In response, Albert Camus stares at his friend who is now sitting with his legs crossed before him in a yoga-like position. But you had no weapons, he speaks, hesitantly. You yourself have said all your weapons had been confiscated.
CH: Indeed, they were.
CAMUS: And still the soldiers worried?
CH: Indeed they did. Crazy Horse continues to smile, as if he is presenting his companion with a riddle or a puzzle he believes he should be able to decipher or unravel without assistance.
CAMUS: Suddenly, the face of Albert Camus lights up with understanding. Oh. But of course! The U. S. government feared the influence you had among the other Lakota braves simply because you were Tushunca Uitco!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE FIRST DAY: ALBERT CAMUS MEETS CRAZY HORSE IN THE KINGDOMby LEN BLANCHARD Copyright © 2012 by Len Blanchard. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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