 The CBS Radio Workshop, dedicated to man's imagination, the theater of the mind. Tonight, Starboy, the legend of the two morning stars, as the tale is told by the medicine men of the great Blackfoot Indian nation. It is an ancient story of love, symbolizing the fact that in the clear morning skies of our western prairies, the planet we call Jupiter sometimes appears near the morning star like a smaller double or a sun. There are two bright stars which sometimes rise together in our morning skies just before the great sun begins his daily journey to the land of the endless waters. One is the morning star, the other is Starboy, the morning star's son, who once was known as Poyah, or Scarface. I, Natosin, keeper of the medicine of the great sun god, will tell you the story of these two stars, and of the Blackfoot, that is, Siksika woman, who was wife to one and mother to the other. And I will tell you of Swatsaki's sad fate, and of how Poyah, the fruit of her love for the morning star, finally joined his father in the skies and became a star himself. It was long ago when the people of the Siksika still used dogs instead of horses to draw their burdens, and long before the white man came. It was in those days, one night in the gentle spring, that our people were camped near the mountains, and two young maidens were sleeping in the fresh grass outside their teepee, breathing the clean air, dreaming of their lovers to come. One of them was Swatsaki, the feather girl, the other her younger sister, who was called Annatoki. And just when the dark of night began to take refuge behind the rim of the buttes, Swatsaki opened her eyes, and gazed at the morning star, who was just then rising over the prairie. Annatoki, wake up. How wise he must be. Annatoki? For a sleep, of course. There have been so many young men in the village who have wanted to marry me, but unless one comes along as beautiful as the morning star, I shall sleep. And Swatsaki went back to sleep, but in her sleep the morning star looked at her fondly. Swatsaki, Swatsaki of the Siksika, you are indeed beautiful. Who are you? Do not wake him. I heard your dreams. Is it really you? It is, feather girl, the morning star. I have watched over you from above and wish you could be mine. My morning star, my love. And Swatsaki awoke from her slumber with the golden flecks of the prairie sunflower in her eyes. And all that day, in the days that followed, she smiled and sang to herself like the meadowlark, as she fetched the wood in the water and scraped the buffalo hides to make winter robes for her family. But when the leaves began to fall from the sycamores, the people saw that Swatsaki was with child and they taunted her. Hey, feather girl, aren't you eating too much? Or is it something else? Whatever it is. I hear you are going to be a mother soon, Swatsaki. Where is your husband, dearie? Fighting the Cheyennes, I suppose. She is fighting braver enemies than that, I am sure. Swatsaki knew that she was pure, but she remembered the dreams she had had in the spring and knew that she now was the wife of the morning star. There was a great happiness in her, even while she shrank from the prying questions of the other women of the clan. And then, one day, Swatsaki returned with water from a spring in the valley and found a young man blocking her path back to the camp. Swatsaki modestly turned her face away. You are strange and let me pass. But I am not a stranger. You do not recognize me, reflection of my light? You are tall and straight. Your hair is long and glossy. You smell of the sacred sweet grass and of the pines that top our mountains. And a light shines from your eyes. I know you truly, but tell me yourself. You need to ask that of your husband, your lover, the morning star. Do you not remember that night in the month of the flowers when you slept on the dewy ground outside your family teepee and dreamed of your love for me? I do indeed. I do remember. I do, I do. I fell in love with you that night, and I have now come to ask you to accompany me to the sky. We shall live in my family's great lodge with my father the sun, my mother the moon, and you will be happy. Never again will you hear idle slander. All my life I have dreamed of this. It is happening, isn't it? Will you come with me? I shall have to say goodbye to my parents. There's no time for that. If you come, it must be now. I should not leave my parents without a farewell. They've been good to me. But then you are my husband, aren't you? I am your husband and the father of our child to be. You will come. I put this yellow feather into your hair and this juniper branch into your right hand. And in your left hand you will hold this finer thread. Now close your eyes. When Soatsaki opened her eyes again, she was in the sky at the lodge of the sun and the moon, who are the parents of Morningstar. The sun god was already gone on his long daily journey across the lands of the earth, but Morningstar's mother, the moon, had just returned from a night-long pilgrimage. She had followed her husband's daytime route, granting pleasures where the sun had neglected them, especially to the smaller animals and to the young lovers. This mother is Soatsaki, the feather girl. I saw her on the earth one night in the time of the bursting buds. She is my wife and she will soon have a child. My lodge is yours, feather girl, and my husband will rejoice as I do that you are bringing us a grandchild. Thank you, moon goddess. I am now your mother. Under the laws of the sun, it is not proper for your own mother to visit you, nor even to speak to your husband. So I shall have to act as your mother now. Thank you, moon mother. Come inside with me, feather girl. I will show you a soft buckskin dress, which I worked on for many seasons, against the day when Morningstar would bring home a wife. It is as soft as a cloud and has colored stitching around the neck and cloth you buy. The sun, the chief of all living things, returned to his lodge that evening, and he also welcomed the feather girl. And as time went on, Soatsaki became a true daughter to the sun and the moon, and the moon goddess gave her new daughter many gifts, including bracelets made of elk's teeth, cleverly joined. I give you these because you have made Morningstar happy, and so I've made my husband, the sun, and me happy too. And this is a magic digger for lifting roots. But there are secrets about this digger. Secrets? The digger can be used only by a pure woman. Pure I am. What other secrets are there? There is one plan. Feather girl! Yay, I'm home! In here. Feather girl, I... Your son's respect to you, mother. And to you, Soatsaki, you mother, to be. It is a great happiness to come home to you. How is... Everybody is fine, you fool. Your heavenly majesty, excuse us, mother. There is no need. I am leaving. I'm sorry, mother, but men can be so ignorant about life. I thought the gods, at least, would know how long it takes to bear the masonry. They do not. Goodbye. How can you be so sure that it will be a son? Oh, I know. Look, look what your mother gave me. The root digger? Did she also warn you? Warn me about what? That digger is magic. It will lift from the ground any root in the sky, except one. One? The large sacred turnip which covers the hole through which the North Star, the star of the states, put as your people call it, shines down to the earth at night. This hole is our window through which we can look down upon your land and your people. It is the hole through which I first saw you, Soatsaki. Yes, but the turnip... The gods use this magic root to close the hole during the day. Do not ever try to lift it. No, I won't. I won't. Do you know that as a husband you are very odd? You are so wise. You teach me so much. Yet you run off each morning for no other reason than to tell the world that your father the son will soon appear in my people's sky. Your people's sky? Yes, of course. Oh, I know the sky belongs to the gods, but we live beneath it. You wife no longer live there. Well, not now, but... even the gods cannot foretell the future. Mother girl, are you unhappy here with me? With you? No. I love you, my shining star. Still, this lodge... The lodge? What is wrong with it? Nothing, only it is your mother's lodge, not mine. Does that matter? No, not at all. Are we not all happy here together? Oh, yes, indeed, three gods and a woman of the earth, the sixika woman. Now I want to go out and try my magic root digger. You rest, my shining star. Everything here seems to be magical. In the proper number of passages of the Sun God, of course, the feather girl's child was born. It was a boy, just as Swatsaki had predicted. He was a straight, strong, and handsome boy. His skin was that of his mother, and his hair had the same soft texture as hers. But the sparkle in his large shining eyes was that of his father, the morning star. The boy was perfect in all respects, except one. He had a mysterious scar on his face, and as he grew older, the scar grew larger. And so he was called Poiya, which means scarface. While Poiya was still in his swaddling basket, his mother went out with him nearly every day. Out in the meadows, she would take Poiya from her back and put him on the ground while she used her magic digger to gather roots for the cooking pot. There were turnips and parsnips and rutabagas, and the feather girl collected them all, but she always avoided the biggest one, the one which the gods had forbidden her to touch, the giant root which closes the hole in the sky. But as the moons turned into seasons and the seasons into years, Swatsaki knew that there was a great pain in her heart, and there was a pain which would grow stronger each day. It was a longing for the green earth, a longing for her own kind, the siksika, and their way of living, and perhaps most of all, a longing for life itself, for the gods are immortal and it is not easy for a man or a woman of our world to live with the immortals. And so there came a day. Parsnip, you monster turnip, a monument to the gods arrogance. Have you no feelings? No, of course not. And you, you magic digger, you want any help to me either. Oh, grandfather of all roots, why don't you move? It's no use, the morning star warned me. I do so long to see, looking brave. You travel each spring to your nesting grounds in the north and then fly home again for the rest of the year. Can you not see I am like one of you? Help me, please. Thank you, wise ones. I think you've seen into my heart. I am a goddess, you know, at least I'm supposed to be. My husband is the morning star and I live with him and the sun and the moon in that great lodge over that hill. But I, I am a woman of the earth. I am of the siksika tribe and I must see the prairies upon which my people live and die. Or else I shall die myself. Will you not help me, poor? What's the matter with you? Oh, I see you're invoking the gods. Well, I understand that at least, but I don't know that it will do any good. This root digger is supposed to be magical, but I can't say that it's been much help. The two cranes who had remained with Sawatthaki strutted through a dance, nutting and trumpeting. Then took their places on opposite sides of the sacred turnip. And the male took hold of the leaves with his beak and began to pull back and forth until he had loosened it in its hole. And after that, when the two cranes and the feather girl pulled together, the root came out of the ground without a struggle and left a hole through which Sawatthaki could see the earth again for the first time in years. Our people and Sawatthakis were just then making ready for the wolf dance and there was much thinking and praying and laughter too. And Sawatthaki was sad and homesick for her people. She sat for a long time and watched the familiar scenes. Children, women are tanning buffalo hides and gathering berries. And there are the girls fetching water. Look at the rows of young men along the path. The insults are flying fast, I know, just as in my time. And Sawatthaki longed for the life she had once known. When she returned to the lodge of the fun god the morning star and his mother the moon saw right away that something important had happened to her. It was the morning star who guessed the secret. You look unhappy, daughter. I know. Yes, I know. You've dug up the sacred root. I did to my shame and to all our sorrows. I warned you not to do it. I knew it would cause great unhappiness. I love my son, feather girl, and I wish to protect him. And I love you too. But most of all, I love my grandson, Poella. I do not wish to lose him. It is true you warned me and I opened the hole anyway. But I longed for my home, for the bustle of daily life in my village for the yelps of dogs and the shouts of small boys and for the friendliness of many people around me. I'm not really a goddess, I suppose. When the sun god, the head of the household, returned from his long travels, he too was told that Soatsaki had dug up the sacred root. I am sorry, earth girl. I am grieved for my son. But you have violated the law. You must return to your people. But husband. Silence. There is nothing I can do. The law has been broken. But our grandchild. My son. I also sorrow. But this woman has broken the law and she must return to the earth. It would not be fair to the child to take him away from his mother. But I could. There will be no more discussion. The child will stay with his mother. My son. You will go and call on the spider man who brought the feather girl up here for you. Tell him that she must go back to the earth. Father. I regret it, Morningstar, but there is the law. But husband. The earth girl would no longer be happy with us. She has seen her own people again. And so Suwatsaki returned to her people. To us. The Siksika. She wanted only to bring up her child in familiar surroundings. But the people were unkind for which shame still attaches to the Blackfoot nation. And the boy Boyar suffered much from the cruel jibes of his playmates. Once Suwatsaki tried to return to her husband. She climbed to the top of the highest bluff in the land of the Blackfeet and prayed. Morningstar. Husband. I pray to you. Hear me as you once heard me. Before I became your wife and the mother of your son. I beseech thee, love of my life take me back to thee. I was at fault grievously at fault. But can you not forgive me? I longed to return to my home. The only home I have ever known as woman and wife. Morningstar, if this sighing of the breeze is your answer. But I know that unless you take me into your lodge again my life is ended. It was only the prairie that called me away from you, my love. We, the Siksika, have lived here and fought here and died here so long that this earth has become our home. Shining love, my only husband believe. Never have I loved anyone other than thee. And I shall die a pure woman. Please be a father to our son. And soon Soatsaki did die. Some say it was of a broken heart. Our forefathers tell us that on the night when she joined the Great Spirit the pines sighed again on the mountains nearby. But Soatsaki had left behind her Poiah, the Morningstar's son. And the Scarface boy fared even worse with the other children of the tribe than before. He's nothing but a Scarface. Did your mother give you that? Where was she when it happened? The son of a god, he says. With a scar across his face. And nobody knowing who his father was. It was the Morningstar. Poiah's life was not happy. And when he grew to manhood he fell in love. But his chosen maiden would have no part of him because of the scar on his face. Poiah, despairing, consulted an old medicine woman, the only friend he had left since his mother's death. What ails me, Second Mother? What ails me, Holy One? The scar. True, the scar. You cannot do anything about it yourself, Poiah. But I know who gave you the scar. Perhaps to punish your mother. He is the only one who can take it away. But who would? The father of the man who loved your mother, of course. The son god. He always hated your mother. And perhaps you too. Because he thought that your mother had robbed him of his son. But you, he loved as well. Because you're his grandchild. He may even have forgotten by now that he ever put the scar there. But I still have it. The son god put it there. Only the son god can take it off. Then I shall have to journey to the home of the son. Or I shall never find a wife. So Poiah set out and journeyed across the plains and over the mountains, higher than any man can imagine until he finally came to the big water which borders the sundown side of the world. When he reached the water's edge, he lay there for three days, fasting. And on the fourth day, a silvery trail appeared on the limitless water stretching far into the unknown. And Poiah rose to his feet and followed the trail until he reached the lodge of the son. Oh, oh, you! Who are you? What are you from the earth below? How dare you disturb the peace of my lodge? Don't you recognize me, grandfather? You might at least recognize the scar on my face. You put it there, didn't you? The feather girl. I suppose I did put that scar there. I must have resented your mother very much. Yes, sir. But I have the scar. Does it bother you? Yes, sir. I have found a girl, but... she will not even consider me as long as I have this mark. Oh, that is sad, isn't it? Well, we shall see. What is sad, father? Oh, morning, star, it is the boy's story. He claims that he is your son. Well, that would make me his grandfather, I suppose. Oh, yes, he also suggests that I have disfigured him and that he has trouble with girls. He does look a little gruesome at that, doesn't he? You are not... I am Poi, your father. They call me Scarface. Only sometimes they call me worse names since I have neither father nor mother. Your mother? She died many years ago, soon after you sent us back to the earth. What do you want, my son? Oh, he says that the girls don't like him. Or did I say that before? You did, father. But about that scar, sir, you will have to take it off. Meantime, son, you can live with us in the lodge. And so Poi lived with the gods, helping them with their hunts and other pursuits, some of which ordinary men may not even hear about. The morning star, meantime, taught Poi our many secrets, including those of the sacred Sundance and other ceremonies. In the end, after Poi's scar had finally been healed by the sun, the morning star gave Poi a magic flute to charm the heart of any girl he desired and a wonderful song to go with it. He also gave him a robe of soft-tanned leather decorated with sacred paintings and told him that none but a virtuous girl should ever be allowed to wear it. Such a maiden would be able to perform miracles, such as healing the sick, and bringing the robe over them. Morning star then sent his son back to Earth by the short route over the Milky Way. And when Poi had won his girl and the two together had worked many marvels among the sick of the Blackfoot Nation and neighboring tribes, the sun god relented. He took Poi and his wife to live in the sky forever. He made Poi almost as beautiful as the morning star, and he gave him a new name, Starboy. He also gave him a circuit across the sky. But now and then Starboy's path crosses that of his father, and when that happens, it is always a sign of good fortune for the sick sick are people. It is the meeting of the two morning stars. You have been listening to the CBS Radio Workshop and Starboy, the Blackfoot Indian legend of the two morning stars, as written by Henry E. Fritch, with music based on authentic Blackfoot and Siu Indian melodies, adapted and arranged by Alexander Steinert and conducted by Alfredo Antonini. Starboy was produced and directed in New York by Paul Roberts. Elspeth Eric was heard as Soatsaki, Louis van Rooten as Natasen the Medicine Man, Joe Helgeson as Morning Star, and Tom Ellis as Starboy. Others in the cast included Cliff Hall, Elaine Ross, Peggy Allenby, Nell Harrison, Ray Brown, Ruth Tobin. The calls of the hooping cranes heard on the program were recorded by the Laboratory of Ornithology, Cornell University. This is Bob Hyatt inviting you to listen again next week when from Hollywood the CBS Radio Workshop presents Subways Are for Sleeping. Edmund G. Love's fantastic story of a man in New York who has lived without a home for four years. America listens most to the CBS Radio Network.