Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 647 The Prophet Among White People! (Seeking votes at the beginning of the month)

After a while, the "Sitting Bull" chief was brought over.

This legendary chief had his long hair braided into two thick braids, his face was deeply lined, and his eyes were deep and calm.

Only upon closer inspection can one discover that his deerskin coat is quite old, and his eagle feather headdress has lost its luster.

He had a strong, heavy, pungent tobacco smell that permeated his clothes and skin, and could be smelled from several steps away.

Immediately, "Buffalo Bill" smiled, clapped his hands, and a young Indian warrior walked over from the tent.

The soldier was about twenty years old, with a strong physique, two red paint stripes on his face, and his hair was also braided into two plaits.

“This is ‘Jumping Fox.’ He speaks English and Lakota. Many of the Sioux in our group rely on him for translation.”

Jumping Fox nodded to Morgan and Lionel.

"Buffalo Bill" said to Jumping Fox, "Tell the chief that this is Mr. John Pierpont Morgan Jr., a very important businessman, and his family..."

He thought for a moment and then put it more simply: "He has a lot of wealth and can do a lot of business."

The Leaping Fox spoke a few words in Lakota to Sitting Bull. Sitting Bull's gaze swept over Morgan's young and handsome face, and he nodded very slightly.

Native Americans are no strangers to merchants—whether they are fur traders, grocers, or land speculators, white-skinned people carrying goods or contracts have always been an unavoidable part of their lives.

“Buffalo Bill” then pointed to Lionel: “This is Mr. Lionel Sorel, from France, and he is the most distinguished guest in all of New York, and indeed all of America. He is a… uh…”

He paused for a moment, seemingly searching for the right word, “A writer. Very famous, who has written many books and screenplays.”

Jumping Fox turned to Sitting Ox and began translating. But when he got to the word "writer," he paused noticeably, and his brow furrowed.

He said a few words in Lakota, then stopped, seemingly trying to find the corresponding words.

The cow sat calmly watching him, waiting for an explanation.

Jumping Fox looked troubled. He turned to Buffalo Bill and stammered in English, “'Writer'... what does that mean? We don’t have that word.”

The white men who came in the past included those with guns, those with measuring tapes and axes, those who herded cattle, and those who brought goods to trade for furs… but what about the 'writer'?

The air in front of the tent fell silent. Morgan was momentarily at a loss for words, while "Buffalo Bill" looked impatient.

Just then, Lionel took a small step forward and said, “You can tell the chief this: I make a living by telling stories.”

The fox suddenly understood, turned to the cow, and said a few words in Lakota. This time his expression was much more fluent.

After listening, Sitting Bull carefully examined Lionel, his gaze moving from Lionel's face to the cane he was holding, and then back to his eyes.

Then, the cow spoke, uttering only a short sentence.

The fox translated, “The chief says you are the ‘prophet among the whites.’”

Morgan gasped in surprise. Lionel was also taken aback; he hadn't expected such a comment.

"Buffalo Bill" let out a short, snickering laugh, as if he found it utterly absurd.

Seeing Lionel's surprise, the bull said a few more words.

The fox continued translating: "The chief said that in our Lakota culture, only those who know 'stories' can foresee the future. Stories of the past, stories of our ancestors, stories of the gods, stories of the animals…"

Stories hold the laws of the world and the trajectory of fate. Those who understand the stories best are those who see the farthest.

At this point in the translation, Jumping Fox glanced at Sitting Bull, then added, "The chief is also our prophet. He is the one among us who knows the most stories of our ancestors and gods. Therefore... he can foresee the future!"

"Buffalo Bill" let out another low chuckle beside Lionel and Morgan.

Although he quickly stopped, the meaning was all too clear—he was simply mocking Zuo Niu for his charlatanry.

He was thinking to himself: If someone has precognitive abilities, why is he working here, earning fifty dollars a week, and having to sign autographs and take photos for people?
He didn't want to waste any more breath on the old man and began to greet Lionel and Morgan: "Gentlemen, it's windy outside, please come into my tent! I've prepared some fine whiskey, and we can have a good chat about business in New York and Paris!"

He went to great lengths to invite Morgan Jr. for the sake of his business, so how could he let an Indian interrupt him?

He turned to the side, making an inviting gesture, while glancing at Sitting Bull, his eyes indicating that Jumping Fox could take the chief back.

In his experience, Sitting Bull rarely interacted deeply with the white members of the troupe; his role was simply to make an appearance, greet the audience, and act as a "mascot" to attract them. He assumed this time would be the same, with Sitting Bull going back to his little tent after greeting everyone.

Unexpectedly, Sitting Ox suddenly spoke again, saying a few words to Jumping Fox. Jumping Fox looked surprised and even a little bewildered after hearing this.

He glanced at "Buffalo Bill," then at Lionel, before hesitantly speaking, "The chief said... he'd like to speak with the 'Prophet among the Whites,' if the gentleman has the time."

This statement stunned everyone present.

"Buffalo Bill's" smile froze, while little Morgan's eyes widened in surprise, his face filled with envy—that was a "riding bull"!
The legendary "Sitting Bull" chief actually asked to talk to a white man? How many people spend 25 cents just to get a completely incomprehensible autograph from him!
Lionel snapped out of his daze and readily nodded: "It's my honor, Chief."

He then looked at "Buffalo Bill," smiled, and said, "Mr. Cody, it seems we'll have one more guest. You don't mind, do you?"

Faced with this situation, "Buffalo Bill" could only force a smile: "Of course...of course I don't mind! It's an honor for my tent that the chief is willing to grace us with his presence!"

He was probably cursing under his breath, but he had to keep up appearances. He could only wave at the fox, "What are you all standing there for? Invite the chief in!"

Jumping Fox quickly whispered a few words to Sitting Bull. Sitting Bull nodded slightly, took a step, and entered "Buffalo Bill's" large tent, decorated with the Stars and Stripes and a bull skull.

Lionel and Sophie followed, Morgan Jr. came close behind, and Buffalo Bill brought up the rear.

He muttered something under his breath that no one could hear, then lifted the tent flap and went inside.

The tent was covered with a thick carpet, furnished with a wooden table and several folding chairs, and some performance props and boxes were piled up in the corner.

"Buffalo Bill" gestured for everyone to sit down and loudly ordered his assistant outside the tent to bring some wine.

For a moment, no one spoke in the tent, except for the faint neighing of horses and the shouts of staff cleaning up the area.

The atmosphere was somewhat heavy until "Buffalo Bill's" assistant came in carrying bottles and glasses, pouring a glass of brandy for everyone.

All eyes were on Lionel Sorel and Chief Sit Bull.

The bull stared at Lionel for a while before slowly speaking in Lakota.

Jumping Fox immediately translated: "The chief said that they heard you are a person from the other side of a very far sea, but you are the most honored guest in this city, and even the country."
This was the first time I'd ever heard of white people showing such respect to a 'prophet' from another country.

Lionel shook his head: "That's an exaggeration. I'm not a prophet. I'm just... a lucky person. Most people's respect for me comes either from misunderstanding or from self-interest."

Sitting on the cow, listening to the translation, his expression remained unchanged. He didn't care about Lionel's denial.

His gaze shifted to "Buffalo Bill," then swept over young Morgan, and finally settled on Lionel.

He spoke again, and Jumping Fox hesitated for a moment, but still translated: "They were once our guests too. Many winters ago, white men came in large ships from the eastern sea."

They were thin, cold, and had no food. Our ancestors gave them corn, gave them meat, and taught them about the land and the rivers. We shared the fire, we shared the tobacco…

"Jumping Fox's" voice trembled slightly, and the air inside the tent seemed to freeze.

"Later, more guests came. They wanted land, they wanted to grow things, they wanted to raise their cattle. Our ancestors thought, the land is vast, the sky is high, we can share it."

We pointed out the rivers and valleys to them, telling them where they could settle down. We thought this was the guest's respect for the host, and the host's generosity towards the guest.

The bull raised its head, looking at "Buffalo Bill," then at little Morgan. But there was no anger in its gaze, only deep weariness.

"Now, we are the ones who need food relief. We need the flour and bacon you send from Washington to keep the old and the children from starving."

We became a tribe that needed to have land 'allocated'. Reserves. Land that we used to point out to guests, now the guests draw lines on it and tell us, 'Now, you can live here.'

Food and land, once our gifts to the white man, have now become his gifts to us.

At this point, Zuo Niu slowly shook his head, the eagle feathers on his head trembling slightly: "The guest has become the master. The master has become... someone who needs the master's permission to live."

"O prophet of the white people, you are one who knows stories. Did your ancestors tell you such stories? Do your myths record such stories?"

After translating the last sentence, Jumping Fox pursed his lips, stared at the ground, and dared not look at any of the white people in the tent.

The air inside the tent seemed to freeze, and the firelight cast flickering shadows on everyone's faces.

(First update, thank you everyone, please vote with monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)