To Stand By the Moon
When I was a child, my mother told me a story. This story had been passed down from my great, great grandmother, who lived the same days my hero did. The story is about a man who was wise enough to stand out about his feelings. This one brave man saved two tribes, and many cultures. His name was Muraco, and he is my grandfather.
The story always started when the sun was right above the Comanche tribe. The women were preparing for dinner, the men and children playing or relaxing after a hard day’s work. Everything was well. The tribe was living with full pleasure and ease. All their crops were growing wondrously; they had plenty of water and meat, and didn’t have to strive to get it.
This day was the last they would ever live like that. When the sun moved closer to the mountains, young Muraco would set out and explore. It was the time of day where everyone was feeding and putting down little ones. They wouldn’t notice at all if he left. He got his knife, which his father gave him when he had lived sixteen winters and summers. He packed his pouch with bread, and was all ready to set out when he heard a familiar call.
“Muraco!” She cried. She was Lomahongva, and she was the most beautiful and loathed woman in the tribe. She had silky black hair that never tangled. She didn’t even need a brush. She had the lightest brown eyes, and they reminded Muraco of the amber which hung on a necklace around his father’s neck. She had the perfect fingernails and no matter how much she planted or picked, they never got dirty. She was perfect in his eyes, and she had loved him ever since she could talk.
“Lomahongva, what are you doing here?” He smiled to let her know he wasn’t opposed to her fallowing him.
“I just, I don’t really feel like being around anyone else but you right now.” She looked up at him through her long, dark eyelashes.
“Well, you can come with me, if you can keep up.” He smirked, and she smiled back. They walked for a while in silence. The only noise was there moccasins pushing aside tall grass as they walked.
The sun was setting, and Clouds were starting to form in the horizon. The sky turned the clouds a beautiful assortment of pinks and purples, and Muraco admired them as he walked. He then found a nice spot to sit, and ushered her to sit along him. “Lomahongva? You know what I’ve been thinking?”
“I don’t. What have you been thinking?”
“Do you see those clouds, up in the sky? I wonder how they change color. I also, wonder, how an already beautiful thing, can become more beautiful every day…” He looked at her, “That is why, Lomahongva, those clouds, they remind me of you.” He smiled. She sat there, wondering what to say. She had always wanted to hear those words, but not so sure from him. You see, Lomahongva had a secret that she had never told anyone before this day.
Finally, she grinned back, “When my mom was giving birth to me, she was in deep pain. She knew she would have to give up her life to save mine. She looked out the door to her hut and saw clouds just like those. She then told my father: Lomahongva. That was her last word, and how I got my name. Lomahongva means ‘beautiful clouds arising’, so says my father...” She looked down, not wanting to see his face when she spoke her next sentence. “Sometimes I wonder if I love you just because you remind me so much of my mother.” She didn’t want to feel like that, and certainly didn’t want to tell him.
After much silence and curiosity, Muraco decided on what to say next. “I don’t believe you think that. You only know about your mom what has been told to you. Maybe your mother was a lot like me. There are a lot of maybes in this world, Lomahongva. All I know is I love you.” He touched her chin and tilted it so she would look at him again. “I love you for you, not your mother or father. I love you because you are like those clouds. You are so beautiful, and so hard to reach. You chose this night to show your true colors, and you chose me to show them to.”
Her eyes started to moisten and redden. She kept on staring into his eyes though. She could see through his big brown eyes, his stare. She could see he was telling the truth, he loved her. She wanted so badly to tell him she felt the same way. She knew she loved him, just not in which way.
They were sitting there quietly, looking at the setting sun. That is when they first heard them.
To be continued
