The Porcupine Year Read online

  Deydey and Old Tallow hunted for their meat, as did Animikiins and the old chief, Miskobines. Quill even brought back a partridge or trapped a fish from time to time. But though they could hunt, too, and set snares every morning, the women loved gathering the new fruits and berries of the spring. They could spend hours picking, eating enough berries to keep their strength up, of course, and filling their makakoon.

  Now as they bent to their work in the sun of the new summer, the women talked. Omakayas told her grandmother, once again, about the little person she had seen at the rapids. Another memegwesi had once helped Nokomis when she was lost, long ago, when she was very young. These helping people, small and sometimes hairy, were friendly to the Anishinabeg and it was a special honor to see one. Grown people rarely did. The memegwesiwag usually showed themselves to children.

  “Why is that?” Omakayas asked her grandmother.

  “Children have open eyes, and open hearts. They see things that we cannot. Look at Bizheens.”

  Her little brother was staring across the meadow of strawberries, past Mama, at something in the woods. Every so often he would stare into the leaves, then go back to eating the berries that he carefully picked from the low plants.

  “Does he have a single berry in his makak yet?”

  “No,” said Omakayas, laughing.

  She put a few of her own berries in his gathering basket, and he smiled at her, plucked them out, and ate them, too.

  “He sees something,” Mama said.

  Although she was bent low to the earth, picking with great speed and industry, she had noticed that her baby was watching something. Omakayas always marveled at this quality in her mother. She would seem absorbed by some task—say, cooking or sewing—and yet she could immediately tell when Omakayas was taking a break from tanning a hide, or when Quill was cooking up some mischief in his brain. She would bark at Omakayas—Get back to it! Or at Quill—Put your mind on something useful! It was as though Mama had an invisible hat made of eyes that noticed everything on all sides of her head. Nobody got away with anything around Yellow Kettle.

  “Maybe he’s watching a little bird,” said Mama. “A little gijigijigaaneshiinh. I hear one calling.”

  Omakayas heard the gijigijigaaneshiinh, too. The tiny bird with the black cap sang, Shii-me, shii-me.

  “Looking for its little sister,” said Nokomis. Last winter, she had told a story about how those little birds had once been boys who lost their little sister in the woods. Omakayas wanted to ask for the story again but knew that Nokomis would only tell her to wait until the snakes and frogs were sleeping. The Ojibwe told stories only in the winter.

  Shii-me, shii-me, sang the birds, hopping from branch to branch.

  They were singing at something, thought Omakayas, standing up suddenly. They were calling out a warning, perhaps, or just scolding at something in the woods with them. Birds are always giving notice of intruders. It is hard to hide in the woods when wings have such watchful eyes. Omakayas took a step after Bizheens, who had toddled toward some particularly juicy berries, and then she saw the bears, as they materialized suddenly from the light shield of leaves.

  When bears are still restoring their lost winter fat, they can be dangerously hungry. They usually respect humans. But a small human, a little fat one like the boy tumbling toward them, might be tempting. The two bears had lingered, hungry for berries, their stomachs aching. The longer they waited to get back to the berries, the more their bellies hurt. And then that juicy little animal came ambling right toward them. A treat! They were just deciding whether to jump forward and grab the tender young creature and speed away, when another human was suddenly before them. This one was bigger, unafraid, and definitely more difficult to deal with. It made an awful noise. A surprising noise.

  “Gego! Gego! Gego!”

  Omakayas ran forward and jumped in front of Bizheens.

  “Saa, shame on you bears! He’s my little brother!”

  Omakayas held Bizheens back with her legs and waved her arms at the bears to make herself bigger. She let them know they wouldn’t get to the sweet little morsel behind her so easily.

  “Majaan!” She shouted at them to shoo, to get out of the way. Mama ran up too and began to bang on her pail. Nokomis yelled as loudly as she could. Bizheens began to whimper, surprised and frightened at the commotion. Then he screamed, and his scream was as loud as his namesake’s, the lynx’s, or even a bigger cat, the cougar. That did it! The startled bears stepped backward and then panicked, tumbled over each other, whirling to get away from these furious beings who had just moments before seemed so calm and vulnerable.

  Omakayas had to laugh—they looked almost embarrassed by what had happened. She had been close to bears many times, and although she respected them, she was somehow not afraid of them. That was because when she was very little she had had a dream in which bears were her protectors.

  “There they go,” said Nokomis, fanning the heat from her face.

  Scooped into Mama’s arms, Bizheens stopped crying and began to play with her bead necklaces. After this, although the three women continued to pick, they kept themselves in a circle around Bizheens. At last, his belly tight, his mouth, cheeks, and face red with berry juice, he tumbled over and slept. Mama hoisted him onto her back and tied him to her with a cloth. Now he would be safe.

  Nokomis sighed, looking at him.

  “There was a girl who was a bear, once, in the old times,” she said.

  “Really?” said Omakayas, and in spite of herself she asked for the story.

  “I can’t tell you about it until the frogs and snakes are sleeping,” said Nokomis, predictably. “Don’t forget to ask me once the snow falls.”

  Omakayas stood up, grumpily wishing for that story. But she knew that if underground and underwater creatures heard the stories, they might repeat them to the powerful underwater spirits, or the great spirits of the animals, who might be angry at the Ojibwe for talking about them. But her disappointment melted at the sight of her little brother’s rosy, stained face. She loved him so dearly and she’d never let the bears steal him away!

  They were soon done, except for a patch by the place they had seen the bears.

  “We should leave them some,” said Nokomis.

  “After all,” said Omakayas, “they didn’t bother us much.”

  “Huh, what we left them is hardly a mouthful to a bear,” said Mama.

  “Still, they’ll know we thought of them,” said Omakayas, staring thoughtfully at the place the bears had vanished.

  WORKING HIDES

  When they returned to the camp on the shores of the wide, calm lake, Mama added some of the berries to the stew that she was making and spread the others out to dry on a big piece of birchbark. She sat down near the berries to work on reed mats for the floor of their wigwam, and to shoo away birds. Nokomis had one hide draped over a log and she was working on it with a thick piece of wood. Using a sharpened deer’s horn, Omakayas began to help her sister, Angeline, scrape and work a deer hide stretched out between two trees.

  She sighed deeply. When the family had left the island, she’d also left the special scraper that her father had made for her out of an old gun barrel. Perhaps she’d imagined that she’d get out of the constant hide-scraping. No such luck! Now she wished she had the old scraper, which was better. It was boring work, and stinky too. But doing chores with Angeline was not so bad anymore, because ever since they’d left home, they’d been homesick together. As they worked, they often spoke of their island.

  “Remember that funny old trader, his big belly?” asked Omakayas.

  “You are still wearing the dress we bought from him with that dried fish!”

  “And the chimookoman girl, the Break-Apart Girl—do you think she’s taking good care of my dog?”

  “She is feeding him her own food,” said Angeline kindly. “I’m sure she’s being good to him.”

  “I hope so,” said Omakayas. “Do you ever think of the school
you went to?”

  “I practice the chimookomanag writing,” said Angeline. “I keep trying to teach Fishtail, but his hands are big and clumsy! Do you want a lesson?”

  Whenever Angeline was in the mood to teach, Omakayas always took the chance to learn from her. Angeline had written the chimookoman alphabet on a piece of birchbark. Omakayas had tried to impress her sister by memorizing it. When they took a break from working on the hides, Angeline helped Omakayas with the letters.

  “Your S letters look better than mine,” said Angeline. That was all it took for Omakayas to try even harder to follow and remember the squiggles and dots that held meaning.

  Later, they put the birchbark down and went back to working the hides. They moved together, talking of Nokomis’s garden back on the island, and of Omakayas’s pet crow, Andeg. Shadows lengthened, the light deepened, and soon there was the crackling sound of the hunters coming through the brush—two of them at least, Animikiins and his father. The old man appeared first, and Animikiins came after him, carrying a couple of fat rabbits. Though the two had gone out with the hope of killing something bigger, the snares set close to camp had paid off.

  “It’s not a bear, but at least we have something,” said Animikiins.

  Omakayas smiled at him—he never teased her the way Quill did. He was taught to be careful and respectful, and he tried to listen to his elders. She could see it. But Animikiins also had an explosive temper, like Mama’s, and he was easily hurt or shamed. He could not always contain his feelings. He scowled and glared if he thought he was being teased. Omakayas was always careful around him, and she didn’t talk very much.

  “Miigwech,” she simply said now. She didn’t dare say much else, for one never knew. Animikiins might take offense.

  “Huh.”

  That was his answer. He nodded his head abruptly and turned away. But there was something in the way he’d looked at her, almost with admiration, that made Omakayas feel unexpectedly warm. A soft, tingling blush rose and crept around her face.

  Later, Omakayas skinned the rabbits with a few slices of her knife, and with a few quick jerks she peeled off their fur.

  “You do that well,” said Nokomis.

  Her praise was sweet, and Omakayas smiled. The night was warm, and after eating everyone slept outside, around the campfire. The first mosquitoes had hatched, but the smoke from the fire confused the zagimeg. They couldn’t torment the family with their fierce, annoying whines and stings. As Omakayas drowsed, she heard Quill and the porcupine, just beyond the circle of the campfire. The little porcupine breathed quickly, in light panting gusts, and made soft chirrups in its sleep, as if it was dreaming a delightful dream. Omakayas stayed awake just to listen to the comical and charming way it breathed and even lightly snored, but then her attention was caught by talk from the grown-ups.

  GOING NORTH

  They were not laughing at old times, as they did so often, or reviewing the day in low voices, either. After leaving the island, they had stayed close by the great lake, unwilling to leave it entirely. But the two winters had been very difficult. Now the family wanted to find land where they could settle. They had expected to meet up with relatives, but had missed them.

  “We should continue north, giiwedin,” said Old Tallow. “Few chimookomanag have made their homes in the great woods and lakes. We don’t want them to kick us out again!”

  “I still think that my brother might come through this way,” said Deydey. “This is our old stomping ground. We hunted here long ago. But now…”

  “Game is getting scarce.”

  “There is always good fishing on this lake. But I think we are camped close to the big path of our enemies, the Bwaanag. If their warriors come across us on their way back to their homes, after a raid—mad that they got nothing, howah!—we’d be in big trouble!”

  “At least we know where my aunt Muskrat is,” said Angeline. “We can’t miss if we have to move on, north. We’ll end up at her camp.”

  “Without her annoying husband, I hope,” said Mama. Yellow Kettle had never liked Albert LaPautre, and believed that he tended to drink the ishkodewaaboo, the white man’s water that sent people out of their minds. “Both Muskrat’s and Fishtail’s people live up there now. We could stay with them. They’re all relatives. I miss those little girls, too.”

  “Two Strike probably rules the islands by now,” laughed Nokomis, remembering Two Strike’s imperious ways and ferocious scowl when crossed.

  “She’ll be surprised to see my dogs,” growled Old Tallow. “She’d best beware! My dogs have endless memories! They will never forget how that girl made war against them. They know as much as, or even more than, humans. Their ancestors speak to them in their dreams and tell them which humans to trust. They trust my Omakayas, who is always kind to them.”

  Omakayas warmed to the rough approval from Old Tallow.

  It seemed long ago that Omakayas’s cousin Two Strike Girl had made war on Old Tallow’s dogs and ended up receiving a thrashing from the fierce old woman. Deydey laughed, remembering how poor Pinch had gotten out of that jam—caught between his duty as a warrior answering to Two Strike, and his loyalty to Old Tallow and her dog tribe.

  “I want to plant my garden,” said Nokomis. “The seeds in my bark packs are longing to be set in the earth and sprout!”

  “We need those northern berry patches,” said Miskobines. “An old man gets a longing for berries.”

  “An old man needs his sweets, for sure,” teased Nokomis. “I think you want to see Auntie Muskrat because your tooth hurts for sugar!”

  “Aiigh!” Miskobines swiped at Nokomis, but it was true that he had admired the round and capable Muskrat and praised her cooking to the skies. He’d made no secret of his disappointment when Muskrat’s husband had returned.

  “We need wild rice beds, for sure,” Yellow Kettle insisted. “We can’t depend on these men to get lucky hunting all next winter. We don’t want to starve. We’ll have to make a cache to keep us going this year.”

  Miskobines reminded them that at their last stop, Sandy Lake, they’d heard that the government had a plan for the Anishinabeg.

  “There is talk of making one big home for all of us, over near the land of the Bwaan, where we get the white clay.”

  Deydey did not trust the white people, the chimookomanag. He did not trust the chiefs. He did not trust the one they called “great father” off in Washington. He is not my great father, Deydey would say. I have seen him starve our people. I have seen him take our land. No father kills his children and leaves them homeless! So Deydey did not trust the idea of one big homeland for all of the Anishinabeg.

  “That place where they get the white clay is beautiful,” said Old Tallow, “but once we are there will the agents keep their promises?”

  “No home would be big enough. We do things very differently, even though we speak the same language,” said Nokomis.

  “There could be fighting,” Miskobines agreed.

  “And not enough food,” said Yellow Kettle.

  “Yes, we should go north, way north, giiwedin, to where my Muskrat lives,” said Nokomis. “We should live near Muskrat.”

  Omakayas’s heart jumped. Her Auntie Muskrat had traveled north to the big lake, the one with the many islands. The French called that place Lac du Bois, but the people there had many names for its bays and points and narrows. Omakayas wanted to go there, too; her favorite playmates were there—her cousins Twilight, Little Bee or Amoosens, and even Two Strike. She missed them awfully, and the thought of going to live with them was so wonderful to her that she shouted out loud from her blankets.

  “Geget, izhaadah! Let’s go!”

  “Was that a ghost?”

  Deydey’s rough voice hushed her up. But as she fell asleep she smiled at the thought of seeing her beloved cousins.

  Omakayas woke to the delicate patting of tiny paws on her face. Quill’s porcupine was curious and hungry, but gentle. He tugged on the end of her nose, as
if wondering whether it was permanently attached. His hard, wet, little nose burrowed under her hair, along her neck. At last, he stuck his nose in her ear and snuffled. That got results. Omakayas turned over and shrugged him off, careful to avoid his quills. Frowning, she surfaced out of a dream. She had dreamed of her cousin Two Strike Girl. As usual, Two Strike was taunting her. Two Strike held a huge fish she’d caught, a beautiful silver-white fish. The fish turned to Omakayas and cried, “Guess who caught me? Hah, hah, hah! You’ll never be as powerful as Two Strike!”

  This was not a dream that Omakayas wanted to continue, anyway. She rolled out of her blanket and laughed when the porcupine tumbled at her feet and groaned softly as it righted itself. In spite of her dream, Omakayas hoped that the elders had decided to travel north toward the vast islanded lake where her cousins lived. No matter how hard it might be to live in the shadow of her strong cousin, Two Strike, she missed them all. Omakayas could almost smell the fish stew her Auntie Muskrat might be cooking. Soon, oh how soon, they would all be together, just the way they had been back in the golden days on the golden island, when she was small.

  FIVE

  PRAYER FEATHERS

  Today, Deydey had a job for her and Omakayas was relieved to hear that it was not tanning hides. He asked her to make his favorite traveling food—venison pounded dry with berries and covered with boiled fat. This food could be carried in hide pouches, over great distances, and it always tasted good when boiled with whatever could be found to add. A deer carcass, which Deydey had brought to the camp the day before, had hung the night in a tree. Now Nokomis helped lower it and they took it out onto the shore.