Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 657 This is a calculated scheme, a poisoned bait!
On May 30, 1884, the open-air theater of the "Wild West" theater company was deserted on the East River in Brooklyn, New York.

The New York season is over, and tomorrow the troupe will take down their tents and head to Philadelphia by train for a tour.

As soon as Lionel dismounted from his carriage and stood at the theater entrance, Buffalo Bill came out of his tent to greet him.

"Mr. Sorel! You've arrived! Mr. Morgan said you were leaving the day after tomorrow. I thought you must be very busy and wouldn't have time to see that old charlatan, but I didn't expect..."

Lionel interrupted him: "Where is the chief?"

Buffalo Bill pointed to a row of tents in the distance: "They're in those tents over there. Mr. Sorel, are you really going to see him?"

"of course."

Buffalo Bill shrugged. "Fine. But ever since he saw you last time, he's been sitting in his tent all day, just spacing out, and he hardly ever signs autographs anymore."

When he told me yesterday that he wanted to see you again, I thought he had gone mad. Your status is so noble, and he is, after all, just… just…”

Although Buffalo Bill had limited education and little interest in literature, after staying in New York for so long, he eventually heard of Lionel's reputation.

Lionel waved his hand: "Take us there quickly, I have other things to do this afternoon."

Buffalo Bill reluctantly shut his mouth, but still lowered his voice: "Don't mind them, they just love to play tricks. Just give them a few casual replies and don't take it seriously."

Lionel didn't reply, but urged Buffalo Bill to take him there quickly.

The group quickly arrived at a tent. Jumping Fox was sitting on a wooden box. When he saw Lionel, he immediately stood up.

"Mr. Sorel!"

"Is the chief here?"

"Yes. I've been waiting for you."

The fox lifted the curtain. Lionel bent down and slipped inside.

The bull was sitting cross-legged on the blanket, still wearing the deerskin coat, but the eagle feather crown had been removed and placed beside him.

Lionel didn't stand on ceremony and sat down directly opposite the bull. The bull glanced at him and nodded.

The ox spoke, its voice low and slow.

After listening, Jumping Fox turned to Lionel: "The chief said thank you for coming. He knows you're busy, but he still sent word because he just couldn't contain his curiosity."

Lionel nodded: "I understand. I'm going back to France the day after tomorrow, and if we don't meet today, it may be difficult to have the opportunity again."

After listening to the translation, Zuo Niu smiled slightly. He then said a few more words.

The fox translated: "The chief said that he has been thinking about this ever since you told him that people of other skin colors would defeat the white people."

He couldn't help but want to ask you more, but he was also afraid of offending the Great Spirit, and also afraid of offending you.

Lionel laughed: "So you're also asking which skin color defeated the white people?"

The cow shook its head and said a few words. The fox translated: "The chief said he wasn't that 'extravagant.' He didn't dare think that far ahead. What he wanted to know was—"

The fox paused, then lowered its voice: "Will we, our people, perish?"

Lionel did not answer immediately, but fell silent; the bull looked at him calmly, without urging him on.

After a long silence, Lionel finally spoke: "In the future I can foresee, you and your people will not perish."

The fox translated. The cow, after listening, visibly relaxed, and then asked another question.

The chief asked, "Does 'not perish' mean only preserving the bloodline, or does it mean that our descendants can still hunt and perform sacrifices as they do today?"

Lionel did not hesitate this time: "The bloodline has been preserved, the culture has been preserved, and the reservation has been preserved."

When Jump Fox translated, his voice trembled slightly. He himself could hardly believe it was real.

After listening, Zuo Niu stared intently at Lionel, as if trying to see right through him.

Lionel did not flinch, but calmly and openly met the gaze of the sitting bull, without any fear.

After a very long time, Zuo Niu finally looked away, lowered his head, and whispered a few words.

As the translator spoke, his voice was filled with gratitude: "The chief said, 'Thank you, young white prophet. Thank you for telling him this.'"

Lionel did not answer. A strange smile appeared on his face, as if it were mockery, or perhaps something else entirely.

He said, "Even so, is this really a lucky thing?"

After hearing the translation by Jumping Fox, Sitting Bull was stunned and looked at Lionel in confusion.

"Do you think it's enough that you and your people have preserved your bloodline, your culture, and your reservation?"

The ox didn't speak, but its eyes seemed to ask: Isn't that enough?

Lionel shook his head: "When you accepted the 'reservation,' you swallowed the poison that the white people fed you. Although you had no choice but to take it."

The cow frowned. After translating, the fox asked on behalf of the chief, "Why poison?"

Lionel said, "It is precisely because of the option of reservations that you will be forever trapped in ancient myths and dreams, and never make any real progress again."

After listening to Jumping Fox's translation, Sitting Ox looked puzzled.

Lionel lowered his voice: "Do you think that the most cruel methods white people use are now being stripped of their land, their people being killed, and even their scalps being ripped off?"

The cow sat staring at him, waiting for what would happen next.

What if the future is like this?

“White people will tell you and your people—we will no longer discriminate against you, we will no longer hunt you down, you can live, work, and vote anywhere in the United States. Legally, you are equal to us, and you can even become the president of the United States.”

After translating, Jumping Fox looked surprised and couldn't help but interject, "Isn't that a good thing?"

“White people will also condone your ‘crimes’ on the reservations, and you can even do all sorts of businesses that white people can’t do. Your people will get rich from this and become wealthy.”

When Jumping Fox was translating, his eyes widened – could tribal people commit crimes, but white people couldn't?

"White people will not interfere in the internal affairs of the tribe. The chief is still the chief, and the prophet is still the prophet. They can do whatever they want with their people's land, property, and even lives."

"White people don't care, or they just let your own police force handle it."

The fox's translation grew softer and softer, and he kept stealing glances at the cow's face, as if he was thinking of something.

"The white people will not only send food and money to the reservation so that you can eat your fill without working, but they will also give you subsidies, food and clothes every year."

Your people can survive without doing anything.

"White people will also praise your feathered headdresses, face paint, and tattoos. They say these are treasures of American culture and should be preserved from generation to generation."

They will invite you to perform, give lectures at universities, and exhibit in museums. Every tradition of yours will be recorded and included in books.

"The white people will build schools for you on the reservation. The teachers will teach your children to speak Lakota, to sing Lakota songs, and to dance the Lakota dance."

The school walls will display photos of your ancestors, and the textbooks will tell their stories. Every child will know who they are and where they come from.

After finishing the translation, Jumping Fox was stunned. He murmured, "This...isn't this perfect? ​​Isn't this everything we wanted?"

The ox remained silent. He lowered his head and remained silent for a very long time.

Then he looked up at Lionel: "Like Jumping Fox said, these are all good things—so why do you say they are cruel?"

Lionel shook his head: "Each of these points, taken individually, is merciful. But put them together, and they become the cruelest poison."

You think white people only plot in secret, but little do they know that our most brilliant schemes are all out in the open, so no matter which option you choose, you're wrong.

The tent was deathly silent. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks, casting shadows on the cow's face, making his expression unreadable. He was lost in thought, a state he had never been in before.

Jumping Fox couldn't understand at all. He looked at Lionel and his chieftain, his face full of confusion.

Lionel looked at the young translator and asked, "Your English is so good. If everything I say comes true, will you choose to stay in the tribe?"

The fox jumped in surprise. He glanced instinctively at the sitting bull, then at Lionel.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, "I...I will stay in the tribe, stay by the chief's side."

The cow turned its head and looked intently at the young tribesman without saying a word.

Lionel didn't refute. He simply nodded and stood up. "You are a great chief. But even the greatest chief is only great in the eyes of the tribe."

For the whole world, the tribal era is gone forever. By accepting the white people's reservations, you are agreeing to leave your souls forever in the tribe.

The bull raised its head, its eyes glazed over. But it knew it couldn't get anything more from Lionel today, so it stood up and said a few words.

The chief said he couldn't fully understand what you were saying. But he could sense that you weren't hiding anything and had no ill intentions.

What you've said is the truth as you've seen it, and that's enough.

Sitting Ox said a few more words. Jumping Fox's translator's voice also became more solemn:
“From this day forward, you will be the most honored guest of the Sioux tribe. Your name is ‘Mato Vikosa Wakpa’—meaning ‘Eye of the Eagle.’ You will be our friend forever.”

Lionel looked at the sitting bull, nodded, turned around, lifted the curtain, and went out.

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On the carriage ride back, Lionel's mind was still replaying the conversation.

He knew what the reservation would eventually become, and he knew about the casinos, subsidies, museums, franchises, and the chiefs and prophets who were preserved...

What will ultimately become of the Sioux people?

This "open conspiracy" by the American elite will eliminate any possibility of internal change among the Native Americans, leaving most of them to rot forever on the reservation.

Every promising young Native American like Jumping Fox would seize every opportunity to leave the tribe and sever ties with it.

A century later, American politicians used this tactic again—tacitly approving "zero-dollar purchases" to resolve the nation's historical debt to Black people in the cheapest way possible.

Essentially, it's because white people don't want to repay what they owe their ancestors, so they came up with a dirty trick: having the police personally protect Black people so they can eat and dash.

Firstly, it saves a huge amount of compensation—both economic and political; secondly, it allows you to broadcast live every day to others that your bloodline is indeed inferior.

After that, any Black politician with any ambition would be swayed by the votes of their compatriots who had participated in the "zero-dollar purchase" movement, making it almost impossible for them to become leaders again.

But even if he knew all this, what could he say to Sitting Bull? Without the flour, salted meat, and blankets sent to the reservation by the whites, they would soon starve, die of disease, or freeze to death.

There are no more bison, no more game, and no more land to support so many people on the reserve.

So even if these are poisons, they have to eat them. That's what he meant by "cruelty."

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On June 2, 1884, Lionel and Sophie finally ended their month-and-a-half-long trip to New York and boarded the Perel again to return to Paris.

The dock was still packed with people seeing him off. He and Sophie held onto the railing of the ship and waved goodbye again and again.

This time, he not only left New York with an alternating current system, but also a novel, the final installment of his "sea tales"—

Life of Pi.

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(End of this chapter)