It seems likely that sex-neutral tasks, at least of an interesting nature, do not exist. We shall suppsoe, however, for the purposes of argument, that there do exist such tasks. Let us suppose, for example, that the cutting of leather for moccasisns is such a task. Now among the red savages this task, supposedly sex-neutral, for the purposes of argument, is always, or almost always, performed by females. This calls attention to an interesting anthropological datum. The performances of even tasks which may be "sex-neutral," tasks that do not seem to have an obvious biological rationale with respect to gender, tends to be divided, in culture after culture, on a sezual basis. Similarly, interestingly, whether for historical reasons or not, these cultures tend to be in substantial agreement on the divisions. For example, in almost all cultures, though not all, loom weaving is a female task. This tends to suggest that it is important in these cultures that sexual differences, in one way or another, be clearly marked.
The blurring of sexual differences, with its attendant deleterious consequences on sexual relations and identity, the reduction of male vitality and the frustration of female fulfillment, is not, for better or worse, encouraged. The denial and frustration of nature, the betrayal and subversion of sexuality, it is possible, may not be in the long-term best interest of the human species. Sexism, thus, in a sense, may not be a vice, but the hope of a race. Unisex, not taken for granted as an aspect of a pathological culture, but understood, in depth, could be of interest, it seems, only to somewhat short-sighted or unusal organisms.
I saw a white, female slave walking by. She was in someone's collar. She was stripped.
I had not been given a quirt, a permission quirt, beaded, such as might give a male slave power over such women. I looked at her. She was luscioius. I could not so much as touch her.
"What are you going to do?" asked Cuwignaka.
"I think maybe I will go look for Wasnaphodi," I said.
"I thought you might," said Cuwignaka.
I looked about.
"Have you seen Grunt?" I asked. Wasnapohdi would presumably be somewhere in his whereabouts.
"I saw him this morning," said Cuwignaka. "He seemed troubled."
"Why?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Cuwignaka.
"Bloketu and Iwoso are in the vicinity," I said. I had seen them, when I had looked about. "It seems they are visiting,"
"Of course," said Cuwignaka, working the hide.
"How is it that Bloketu hates you so?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Cuwignaka. "Once we were friends."
"They are coming this way," I said.
Cuwignaka bent even more closely over the hide. Thee seemed now a subtle anger in his movements.
It is common, of course, for women to mock one such as Cuwignaka. Bloketu, on the other hand, seemed to take a malicious and peculiar delight in doing so.
"I had a dream last night about Bloketu," said Cuwignaka.
"Oh?" I said.
"That I collared her and owned her," he said.
"And when she was stripped did you put the quirt to her well?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, "and then I much pleased myself with her."
"A good dream," I said.
"Yes," said Cuwignaka.
"Oh, Iwoso," called out Bloketu, coming up, "here is that pretty girl we met on the prairie, you know, the one in the white-womans dress."
"I remember," said Iwoso.
"She had cut so much meat! The poles of the travois even bent!"
"Yes," said Iwoso. Iwoso looked behind her, as if she expected to see someone.
"But she was such a naughty girl," said Bloketu. "She disobeyed the Sleen Soldier and she lost all that meat."
Iwoso laughed.
"What is her name? It is Cuwignaka, isn't it?" laughed Bloketu.
"Yes," said Iwoso.
"Ah, Cuwignaka," said Bloketu, "you are fortunate that you are not the woman of a Kaiila warrior. If you were he might have taken that white dress off your pretty little body and lashed you well. Thus might learn your lesson, not to lose meat again that way."
"It is he again," whispered Iwoso to Bloketu, looing behind her.
"Oh?" said Bloketu. She turned about, angrily.
On his kaiila, in his breechclout, his hair braided, without feathers, sat Hci. He looked down on the two girls, afoot.
"Are you following us about?" asked Bloketu.
"It is rumored that there may be peace with the Yellow Knives," said Hci.
"I have heard that rumor," said Bloketu.
"They are our enemies," said Hci. He looked at Iwoso.
"If you wish to court Iwoso," said Bloketu, "you may come to the lodge tonight and sit outside, cross-legged, playing the love flute. I will then decide whether or not I will permit my maiden to leave the lodge."
"You have not yet taken away her leggings, nor put her in a short dress and collar," said Hci.
"It is not necessary to floow Iwoso about like a panting sleen," said Bloketu.
"It is not for such a purpose that I follow her," said Hci. "If I want her, I will come to your lodge. I will offer a kaiila for her and bring a rope."
"That you are a Sleen Soldier does not permit you to speak so!" said Bloketu.
"This morning," said Hci, "Watonka, and you two, left the camp of the Isanna."
"He was spying on us," said Iwoso.
"You met other riders," said Hci. "I found the traks. What did you do?"
"Nothing," said Bloketu.
"Who were the other riders?" asked Hci.
"You are an expert tracker," said Bloketu. "You tell me. Surely you examined the dust for the print of moccasins?" Different tribes have, usually, slightly different moccasins patterns, resulting in subtly differnt prints. To be sure, it usually takes a sharp print to make these discriminations. There is no difficulty, of course, in distinguishing between boots of the sort common with white riders and moccasins, the almost universal footwear of the red savages. They are worn even in the winter. In the winter they are often lined, for insulation and warmth, with hair or dried grass.
"None dismounted," said Hci.
"There were Isanna hunters," said Bloketu.
"No hunting parties of the Isanna left camp this morning," said Hci.
"Oh," said Bloketu.
"Watonka himself had so ordered it," said Hci.
"They were Wismahi," said Bloketu.
"They were Yellow Knives," said Hci. "Three of them."
"You cannot know that," said Bloketu, angrily.
"It would be for such a reason that you would take the Yellow-Kife slave with you," said Hci, looking at Iwoso, "to converse with them."
"Slave!" cried Iwoso, angrily.
"Yes, slave," said Hci.
Bloketu looked about. "Do not speak too loudly," she said. "You are right, Hci. They were Yellow Knives. And Iwoso has been very helpful. She can speak to them, other than in sign, which we cannot. They contacted Watonka. They wish to make peace with the Kaiila."
"That is wonderful," said Cuwignaka.
"Attend your work, Girl," said Hci to Cuwignaka, "or I will put you to sewing."
Cuwignaka, angrily, sat back on his heels. In sewing, commonly, among the red savages, a roll of rawhide string is held balled in the mouth, and played out, bit by bit. The warmth and saliva in the mouth keeps the string moist and pliable. The thrusting end is twisted and wet. It is then thrust through holes punched in the leather with a metal or bone awl. The moist thread, of course, as well as being easier to work with, tends to shrink in drying and make tighter stiches. With the ball of hide string in the mouth, of course, it is difficult to speak. When a woman, then, finds herself being advised by her man to attend to her sewing, she understands, well enough, that it is now time for her to be silent. She has been, in effect, ordered to put a gag in her own mouth.