in each and every one of us. This is the magic of the “blue butterfly dreams,” at least to Payacita and the belief of her mother.
Many early mornings would arrive, and the young girl would crawl into her mother’s bed and lay next to her, telling her of the beautiful blue butterfly that would visit her in the night. But always Payacita was left questioning its flight. The reason she oftentimes would make up endings to the dreams was because, in the dreams, the butterfly never was seen landing. It simply flew around and around, circling Payacita as she walked, or played in what appeared to be an open area. Seeing this in her dream, she knew that it was somewhere close to home, not far from her or her family; and yet it was nowhere that she could yet recognize. This often would bring tears to her early morning awakenings. Which is why she would crawl into her mother’s place of dreams.
There her mother would again say the same old thing, “Wait, my child. I believe that someday the blue butterfly will show you many things. Don’t cry now. Maybe you’ll find answers in the next dream.”
Somehow Payacita always found comfort in this. Only her mother’s love made her feel a sense of being complete. The new world was challenging. Payacita knew in her heart that there was a place where life would end as it had begun; a place filled with hope. She continued to believe in herself and to believe that in all life around her, there is purpose and meaning.
Payacita stopped briefly to look inside the barber’s shop window. She found it silly that the soldiers were so shorthaired. As she turned to leave the barber’s front window, she noticed outside its front door opening on the boardwalk that there was a giant red-and-white like pole. She was tempted to approach it and take a swing around it. As she geared up her run toward the pole, a man just at that moment began to ascend up the stairway from the street. She accidentally caught with the topside of her shoulder his sleeve.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, little soldier?”
“Whoa,” she said as she abruptly caught herself flying around the pole in full swing then stopping, holding on still with her little hands, balancing on the roadside steps on her tip toes. “Little, little, soldier,” she exclaimed, raising her voice. “Do I look like a little soldier? Do you see yellow stripes on my soft, clothed sleeves? Do you see yellow painted stripes running down the sides of my nizhoni, beautiful new skirt that my grandmother, the Shanasani, has made for me? You see”—she pulled her skirt forwarded in a swing—“that I am wearing here today? No, I think not. I am the daughter of a brave warrior. His father was a great medicine man.”
“It’s just a term of endearment when I call you li’l soldier!” stated the man.
“A what?” spoke up Payacita, dragging out the sound of the A. “Hmm, this is something to think about,” she slowly stated to him as she now in a slower pace moved toward the soldier, swaying her whole body, with her hands on her hips. She went on to ask, “What does this mean?”
The soldier then replied, “Why, term of endearment,” pausing for a moment, not sure he really wanted to engage this conversation any further. Oh well, he thought, I have a few minutes yet. What would it hurt to take time to talk to this mischievous child? “It means I like you!”
“You like me, you don’t even know me!” said Payacita now, looking up, square into the soldier’s eyes, at the same time grabbing on to his shining US military-issued belt buckle. Then she pulled herself upward so she could continue to speak. By now she had also made her way onto the top of his boots with her tiny feet, and the soldier was now looking downward at her.
“My, you have such beautiful brown-button-colored eyes. Do you know they twinkle when you speak?” commented the soldier.
“Yes, they are, aren’t they? My father says that they are the same as the beauty of the brown cubs that are born in the spring.”
Somehow, with a daring tone in her voice, that might differ with the soldier’s belief.
“I believe he is right.” But he didn’t accept the dare in her voice; he took time to think. At that moment he knew that she was a handful at best.
Payacita, her energy once again rising, also had taken a moment to think.
“Well, Mister, what is it that you said, a term of endearment?”
“Term of endearment,” the soldier repeated. “It means I like you!”
“You like me,” Payacita said. “You don’t even know me,” she declared with a huff in her voice.
“No, I don’t know you, but when I saw your twinkling eyes and that smile on your face, and you were in such a hurry, you reminded me of my puppy I have tied up at the other side of the fort.” The soldier pointed toward the gates. “I staked him out so that he wouldn’t run away. He is so cute I can’t help but like him. Why shouldn’t I like you?”
“You mean to say I look like a dog, Commissary Master?” Payacita, raising her voice, exclaimed.
“Why, no, I don’t mean you look like a dog, and how did you know that I was the commissary master?” Now he was looking down at her, raising his bushy eyebrows.
Payacita said, “Because I saw you at the storefront when we came through the gate, and you were handing out what looked to me like something good to eat. How do I remind you of that puppy?” she insisted on knowing.
“Well, he’s a swell lil’ guy, lil’ soldier. He thinks for himself, has a lot of energy, and likes to play. It seems to me that you’re the same kind of little girl, rushing down this sidewalk, in such a hurry with that big smile on your face.”
By now Payacita was putting together her own thoughts about this man and his puppy. After all, she was on the way down to see that pup, anyways.
“Mister,” she was hesitating to say, “why is it that you have that puppy staked, especially if you say you have that term of endearment for him?”
The soldier responded, “Because like you, he’s full of energy, and if I am working and he goes off and gets into some trouble, I’d have to get rid of him probably. I sure would miss him!”
“You would?” asked Payacita.
“Why, sure, I would. I brought him here all the way from Albuquerque!”
Payacita had longed for a puppy of her own for some time now. The dogs that were back at home were used to help work: rounding up the sheep and watching over them when needed. Her father had told her that perhaps in the spring he would bring her one, the father being hopeful that a puppy would keep Payacita out of trouble. Many times she was known to be found at quite a distance from the hogan. Sometimes she would be seen far out in the canyons, and at the red rock cliffs you could hear her singing to the ravens, or just seeing how far she could throw a stick into the cliffs. “Perhaps a dog could alarm us if she ever did get into trouble,” the father would tell Bah, Payacita’s mom.
The commissary master was a tall, lanky man. His hair was kept tucked under his blue military hat, but it was a little longer in the back. As the years would pass, what Payacita would remember was the color of his hair; it was red. Also that he talked with a funny accent. It turned out he was Irish. But most of all, she would remember he made her feel special.
Payacita became quiet. Her mind began to drift off from what the soldier was speaking. She was daydreaming about having her own puppy. She then remembered her mother saying, “Be careful who you speak to
