The Thing That Makes Me a Man

By Montiville B. Wellman and John B. Wellman, Jr.

This is a novel that celebrates the power of the human mind, where the lines are removed separating what is real and what is imagined. It is the story of Tall Bull, an 18th century Cheyenne warrior. It is also the story of Monivul, a white man from the late 20th century who is magically able to travel back and forth from his world to that of Tall Bull. The exchange of cultures results in an epic journey in the lives of both men, who turn out to be more alike than either man could possibly imagine. In the end, the true identity of both men is revealed, along with the source of power that brought them together. We learn that reality contains more than what we think is real, and not everything in the imagination is imaginary...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359867387

Book preview

The Thing That Makes Me a Man

The Thing That Makes Me a Man

Montiville B. Wellman

and

John B. Wellman, Jr.

Copyright

The Thing That Makes Me A Man

By Montiville B. Wellman and John B. Wellman, Jr.

© 2019, John B. Wellman, Jr.

Cover design by Sarah Martin

ISBN  978-0-359-86738-7

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher

To my Family

Foreward

"John, I want you to know that, if anything should happen to me, I want you to finish my book. I think that you understand what I am trying to say, and can continue my thoughts, language and style.Will you do that for me?"

I will, Pop. It would be an honor.

It was Christmas-time, 1991. We were at my Uncle Mike and Aunt Diane’s house. I had no way of knowing that in less than 3 months, March 16th to be exact, I would be called upon to fulfill that agreement. 

I remember well the phone call from dad to my work, telling me that my Poppy was gone. He said that he was going to his house shortly, and wanted to know if there was anything in particular that I wanted. Two things immediately came to mind—the black portfolio containing the book manuscript, and a picture that I had drawn for my grandfather. The picture was that of the Chapel of the Transfiguration in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and was the only thing that I had ever given him that made him cry. He kept it on the wall right above his favorite chair. Spoiler alert—that chapel is in the book.

It was only when I opened the portfolio that I truly began to understand the scope of what I had agreed to. Some of the pages were organized quite well, with chapters labeled clearly in spiral bound notebooks. Other chapters were paper-clipped together, and the rest was loose-leaf—of that there was quite a bit. What lay before me were literally hundreds of pages.

The first thing I did was to try to read the parts that were organized, to get a taste of the book. I say try, because there were many, many words that had to be deciphered. I knew from conversations with Pop that he many times would write all night long, and there were plenty of examples where I could tell when he was doing that. The writing would be hurried and sloppy, like he was struggling to get the words on the page as fast as he was forming his thoughts. He told my dad once that his thoughts were like a bunch of little men in his head chattering at once, saying pick me, pick me.

I sat on the book for awhile, quite frankly overwhelmed by it. I typed out a couple of chapters over the next couple of years, on a dot matrix printer with no way to save my work.  Shortly after that, life happened. I got married. Then came children. This once ambitious project was now assuming a lower priority. As the children grew, so did my responsibilities, and time management became a survival skill. The book, however, was always in the back of my mind—I had made a promise to Pop, and I intended to keep it.

By 2009, I had only typed ten of the twenty-one chapters. I came into some computer software called OCR, which is Optical Character Recognition. When scanned, the software could read the typed page and then digitize it. All of the work that I could not save before was now in my computer. Again, life’s busyness intervened, and the project was once again shelved. 

Around 2018, with one child grown and the other nearly so, I suddenly found that I had more time to pursue different activities—like typing a book. I set about organizing all of the loose-leaf. It was quite an undertaking, and I employed various strategies to put together the puzzle pieces. Oftentimes I would look for similar ink colors—he went through several pens. Some of the pages were numbered, others not. I would look at the first and last sentence of each page, and try to match them with the others. Eventually it all came together, but to this day there are several pages where I haven’t a clue about where they go in the book!

In early 2019, I finished typing the book from the manuscript. Now came the time for proof-reading it. This in itself was a major chore, as I soon learned that the 2009 OCR technology was not as accurate as I had first believed. There were many spacing, punctuation, and spelling errors. A couple of times I caught Pop contradicting himself or saying something that didn’t make sense. Staying up all night writing will do that, I suppose.

After the proof-reading was done, I published several copies in hardcover to be distributed to members of my grandfather’s family. This edition contained the manuscript of his words only, with very minor additions from myself to make the book more readable. When my great-aunt Blanche, the sole surviving sibling of my grandfather, expressed to me the happiness and emotion that she felt when receiving her copy, I realized with much regret that I should have been much more diligent in completing this project.

Pop did not want me to merely type his book, he wanted me to finish it. So with a new sense of urgency, I set about doing just that. To start with, everyone who read the book, myself included, thought that the ending left a lot to be desired. It will not take the reader long to realize that there is an element of the supernatural woven throughout this story, and in my opinion the ending was way too natural and anticlimactic. The book deserves a supernatural ending, and so I have endeavored to provide that, with a nice little twist at the end.

Pop had no way of knowing how he would die—none of us do. But I know how he died, and I can tell you that the similarities between my grandfather’s and Tall Bull’s death are shocking. Because of this, I have written my grandfather’s actual death into the book. His thoughts during his last evening are speculative on my part, but where and how he died is factual. My grandmother’s name really was Ann, and Pop really did work for a gas company. By the way, the events mentioned in the book that took place after his death are factual as well—with the exception of the medicine bag, of course.

To the reader, please understand that this is not a historical novel. It does not strive for historical accuracy, although much of what my grandfather wrote was very accurate. If you want everything to fit nicely into its own place, there are plenty of books available that accomplish that. Please see this book for what it is—a fanciful story from my grandfather’s mind combined with a smattering of his own life experiences. For example, the fishing in Seven Mile Hole in Yellowstone Park—that really happened.

To my family, I am sorry. I am sorry that it took me 27 years to complete this project. I have always carried the guilt of not fulfilling my promise to Pop, but no more. It is finished, and I hope that you enjoy this extraordinary work from Montiville Byron Wellman, an extraordinary man.  

To my Poppy, the most intelligent and well-read man I have ever known—thank you for allowing me to be a part of your world. One would think that you left me a treasure with your book. A treasure it is, that’s for sure, but the greater treasure is the memories that I have of my time spent with you. I will take them with me when it is my turn to ride into the light. I think about you all of the time and miss you very much. I can’t wait to see you again!

I love you, Pop.

– John Byron Wellman, Jr.

Clarksville, Ohio

March 30, 2019

CHAPTER 1

We ride slowly across the dusty short grass plain.  There are three of us—I, Running Boy, White Elk, our Medicine Man, and my Wise Uncle.  We are of the People.

When a boy child is born to the People, a trusted friend or relative gives him his first name; he also is the one entrusted to guide him to manhood.  My Uncle is my mother’s father—my grandfather.  He it was who named me Running Boy, made my first small bow, and taught me its use.  He taught me to ride and all the necessary things a man of the People must know.

My Wise Uncle is a prophet—he sees things other ones do not.  I am very fortunate to have been guided by him.

Now I have seen ten and four summers, and it is time for me to seek my vision, to enter into manhood, to gain a new name.

We ride across the flat plain in the direction of a low line of hills, and the two warriors stop.  White Elk points to a flat-topped hill on the left side, and says, Go to the top, do as you have been told, seek your vision of manhood.

I get off my horse, and Wise Uncle gives me a small packet of food and a gourd (gotten from the Planters of Water).  I give the lead rope of my mount to him, and with no other word, they turn to go back to the village.

I watch as they ride at a gentle lope, and they are soon gone from sight.  I have never felt so alone; but this is the thing, the time I have longed for, and I turn and march toward the flat-topped hill.

The top of the hill is only a small place, and I cover the food and water with some rocks to keep birds and small animals out, and prepare myself for the vigil I have undertaken.

Only after my vision will I be allowed tobacco, so instead of smoking to the four directions, I face each direction in turn, and raise my hands high.  Then I dance in a small circle, chanting my request to the Great Spirit and Sun Boy to favor me with what I ask.

I dance until the sweat drips from me, and on until my legs begin to waver.  I had arrived at this place just as Sun Boy was overhead—now his lower half is out of sight in the West.

Soon after Sun Boy was gone from sight, the hot wind from the South stopped blowing, and a chill settled over the plains and small hills. I knew it would be actually cold before morning.

When Sun Boy had made his circle of the Earth Mother, I rose from my cramped position, and stretched and stamped circulation and some small warmth back into my body.

Although I had been without food and water since the morning meal the sun before, I seemed to be stronger this sun. I faced each of the four directions in turn, and prayed to each for my vision.

I danced and prayed until Sun Boy had made the half circle, and again was gone, then I collapsed to the ground.

I lay there during all the long, cold night, but did not sleep. When Sun Boy showed his face in the East I again rose to my feet, made the prayers to the four directions, and again began to dance and pray.

I knew not when Sun Boy passed overhead, for when next I knew anything, he was already three fingers travel past the overhead position.

When I became aware, I was yet standing and facing the north.  There seemed a different light on the earth, which made everything in sight seem brighter and clearer!  I turned slowly to the east toward the village, then to the south.

Then was I astounded!  Standing only a lance length from me was a buffalo bull which was big enough to be the grandfather of all buffalo bulls!

At ten and four summers, I am already taller than any man in our Band; I run faster than any, and no boy my age beats me at the wrestling game; no junior warrior bests me every time.

This bull was much taller at his shoulders than I; so tall I knew he was a spirit bull, my medicine animal; knew I was receiving the vision I had sought.

The bull gazed long into my eyes, into my heart, then spoke. I am your medicine animal, your prayers have been heard.  You are the youngest of your people to receive his vision, now listen to what I have to say to you.

Continue to be guided by your Uncle, for he is very wise, and sees visions.  Develop your many skills and learn more, and there will be no end to what you can do.

I bowed my head low to thank the medicine bull, but when I raised my head, he was gone.

Was I only dreaming?  I did not know.  The buffalo bull was so big I had seen his hooves sink part way into the hard ground.  When I looked, I saw no tracks.

Suddenly, a harder gust of wind picked up an object from the place where the bull had stood.  Frantically I ran to catch the blown fragment—it was a wad of buffalo wool as large as my fist. Reverently, I held the wool in my cupped hands—it would be the first object to go into my medicine bag.

Then I went to where I had cached the food and water, but before I drank, I untied the thong that held my breech clout (my only clothing), and used half the gourd of water to bathe my body, then drank sparingly from the gourd.  The south wind soon dried me, and I replaced the breech clout, then drank more deeply, and ate some of the pemmican.

Soon strength came back to me, and I prepared to start back to the village, but first I must check once again the earth where the bull had stood.  It did not seem possible that I had missed anything of importance when I checked for tracks, but plainly in site where I had checked, lay a stone of a darker blue than the bluest sky!  Hastily I picked it up, turned it in my hand; it did not seem possible I had not seen it before.

One side of the stone seemed to have been broken off, leaving a flat surface which appeared to have been rubbed against something to give it a higher luster than the other sides.  Most remarkable, there were small dark spots randomly displayed on the shiny side.  As I stared at it, I seemed to be aware of looking at the deepest of blue skies as a flock of blackbirds passed overhead.

I knew this stone had been left to me—it would also go into my medicine bag. It would be a bit sad that no one else would ever see this stone—no one of the People had ever seen a rock such as this.

I ate the small bit of food remaining, then put the stone and the buffalo wool into the pouch and started the long walk to the village.  Before I was completely down the hill to the level plain, I saw my Uncle riding toward me, and leading another horse.

This seemed a very strange thing, for many young men waited much longer for their visions—how did he know I was ready?

When I had reached the base of the small hill, I stopped and waited for Uncle to approach.

Uncle, I said, how did you know it is time for me to return to the village?

There was only a gentle smile as my Wise Uncle answered, Were you not visited by a great medicine bull?

Once more it was made clear to me the visionary powers of the man who was really my grandfather; there are many times he knows what events will take place before they happen.

As I gratefully mounted the horse and rode by Uncle’s side, I told him of my vision—the great bull which spoke to me, of the wool, and the stone.

Uncle spoke not as we rode to the village, but seemed deep in thought.

As I dismounted at my mother’s lodge, Uncle spoke to me.  I shall speak to White Elk, then tonight there will be a meeting of the Council to discuss your vision, and to give you a new name.  Purify yourself and be ready—I shall send for you.

I entered the lodge to be greeted by my mother, Bright Sky Woman.  I told her of my vision, and that now I must go to the creek to purify myself properly.  She offered a new breech clout and new moccasins.

I returned from the creek, wearing my new breech clout and the new moccasins with the quilled design on the toe. As I walked back to the lodge, I stopped to pick handfuls of the sweet grass.  Once in the vacant lodge, I gathered coals from the cooking fire, carried them to the side of the lodge where my sleeping robes were spread on the willow wand bed, and dropped a mat of the grass onto the hot coals.  Soon the fragrance of the smoking grass rose to my nostrils as I sat and prayed to the spirits for their favors.

The grass was burned and the coals dead when a junior warrior called for me at the door of the lodge. I still sat on the ground before the dead fire, but had no knowledge of the time since the grass was burned.

When I went out of the lodge to join the young warrior I saw the fire, and I stopped respectfully when I reached the edge of the Council circle. Our Chief looked up to notice me, then invited me to stand in the center of the circle by the small fire.

White Elk joined me as sponsor for manhood, and made a short speech telling of my readiness and of my vision.  His words were received by the members of the Council, sometimes with exclamations of approval, and sometimes of wonder.  Then White Elk reached his hand for the ceremonial pipe which was held by a junior warrior standing behind him. He stuffed the pipe with kinnikinnick, the mixture of tobacco and dried red willow bark, took the offered coal, and puffed the pipe into life.  He blew the smoke to each of the four directions, to the earth and to the sky then passed it to Uncle on his left.

The pipe made the round of the Council circle, each member making the customary offering to the four directions, asking for wisdom to decide my worthiness. My father, Shoulders, sat at the Chief’s right side.  When the pipe was passed to him, he puffed to the four winds, then held the pipe before him with both hands, and looked at our Chief.

White Elk did not hesitate, but nodded his head in agreement.  Shoulders rose smoothly to his feet, then brought the pipe to stand before me.  He looked long at my face, then with a small smile of approval and pride, held the pipe to me for the ceremonial offering.

The junior warrior who cared for the pipe took it from my hands, then slipped quietly from the circle to stand behind White Elk.  Then our Chief asked if I would speak, and gave permission.

I spoke first to Shoulders, thanking him for life and the care shown for that life, then in turn to each of the warriors beginning at Shoulder's right side.  Each of these men had seen to a part of my training—with the horse, the bow, the lance, strength and skill games, and all the things a warrior of the Plains needs to know to make him a contributing member of the People.  I thanked Wise Uncle for the wisdom and spiritual guidance which had helped mold me, to White Elk just for being White Elk.

Then I asked the Chief if I might make a request, and when he nodded, I asked the thing which have been much on my mind; I asked if it were possible for me to be a candidate for the Sun Dance ceremony at the soon to come Summer Meeting of the entire Tribe of the People.

There were exclamations of wonder.  White Elk did not change expression, but seemed in deep thought, then motioned to Wise Owl.