The Game of Silence Read online

  Angeline loved Fishtail. She sighed over him and missed him and wanted him to return. The recognition of her sister’s feelings swelled Omakayas’s heart. Her blood raced and she felt just a little faint. Love! It was a powerful thing, a grown-up and mysterious thing. The very idea of it made Omakayas instantly lonely. One day, she would lose her sister to Fishtail. Until then, this love that her sister felt didn’t seem to make her happy. In fact, this love was a huge and serious weight on her shoulders. A worry. A nagging dream. Something that took her away from the present life.

  Still, Nokomis smiled about it and indulged it, so it couldn’t be a bad thing, could it?

  Omakayas took up her scraper again and continued working on the hide. Her thoughts turned inward. Just that morning, she had dreamed that a voice told her, “Take the charcoal!” The voice was familiar, but the speaker was hidden. Take the charcoal. But how could that be?

  Children who were ready to go off alone in the woods and fast for a vision took charcoal from the fire and blackened their faces with the crumbly ash. That way, people could see their intentions. When a boy or girl did this, a relative took that child into the woods and left him or her in a special place for four days and nights, sometimes more and sometimes less, with no food. The relative checked on the young person from time to time, for safety, but the child fasted in the hope that the spirits of the animals or of the winds, of the waters, the sky, the trees, would have pity on him or her.

  A spirit who took pity on a child would choose to guard and protect that child all of its life. That spirit would speak in dreams. It would help the child when times were harsh. Looking for a guardian was an important thing, but frightening, too. Omakayas had already dreamed of her protector, the bear. Her bear spirit had come to her after the terrible winter when she lost her brother. She didn’t need to fast. She was sure that she had suffered enough! Omakayas knew it was wrong, but she decided not to tell her mother or Nokomis about the dream. What if it meant that she must go back to the woods, alone?

  “Ahneen, my sister!”

  It was Pinch, returned from his supposed hunting trip with the other boys from the village. These days they often took off in packs to pretend they were mighty hunters. Once in a while they brought back a rabbit, more often only the exaggerated tale of a brave encounter. Along with their unreliable stories, they brought back a sack of berries or hard nuts, and so much energy that it spilled into the clearing with an abrupt explosion. But today, Pinch was strangely subdued. He walked casually toward his sister and even gave her a smile, nodding pleasantly.

  “That looks nice,” he said, pointing to her work. The unusual politeness of his remark should have warned Omakayas immediately, but she didn’t react quickly enough. With a swift movement Pinch reached into his shirt as he passed his sister, and with an even quicker jerk he grabbed the back of her dress and dropped something down it, something warm and cold all at once, something squirmy and panicky.

  “Your namesake!” He crowed, darting from the clearing, glee in his shout. “Frog! Frog! Frog!”

  Omakayas untied her belt and did a quick dance to free the huge frog, which landed, dazed, in an abject heap, then gathered its wits and leaped with one bound into Nokomis’s lap.

  Startled, Nokomis jumped up and knocked over a makuk of stew by her foot. The puppy, springing forward helpfully to lap it up, tangled himself in the fishing net, which had been hung to dry. Fighting to free himself, he rolled it into a tangle and then collapsed a rack hung with dried fish. When another dog, a strange dog attracted by the ruckus, hurled itself forward to grab the meat from the tumbling rack, the angry cries of Nokomis and Omakayas roused Yellow Kettle, who rushed from the birchbark house in confusion, dragging the belt she’d been weaving on a stick behind her. The stick caught in the doorway, slammed Yellow Kettle to the ground, and tore the birchbark.

  Seeing what a mess his prank had caused, Pinch ran.

  Omakayas didn’t stop to help Nokomis pick the meat up or put the frog in the woods, or certainly to face her mother’s wrath. She leaped forward to chase her brother, and Makataywazi jumped after her with a puppy eagerness. Andeg, too, crowing with excitement, gave chase from tree to tree high above them. Omakayas darted down the path with vengeful joy. When she caught her brother she rolled him on the ground and threw handfuls of sticks and leaves into his face. Andeg flew down and attacked the puppy, poking, pecking, and flapping. The frightened puppy hid under a prickly bush and Andeg hopped furiously above in the leaves. Omakayas was unstoppable. She did not quit until she felt she’d got even. But by then she’d so thoroughly trounced her brother that his face was red, his lower lip trembled, he looked both proud and about to cry. She took pity on him.

  “Ombay,” she got up and beckoned to him to follow. She helped Makataywazi from his hiding place while Andeg croaked in protest. Even though Omakayas and Pinch were usually at war, there were moments of truce—now was one. They took off, kept on running into the woods until they were far enough away from home that they could say and do whatever they wanted.

  “How come Old Tallow didn’t give me a dog?” asked Pinch, looking enviously as Makataywazi. “Or Two Strike, either? She’s mad about you getting a dog, you know.”

  “Neither you nor Two Strike found their den,” said Omakayas, but she knew that the truth was different. In the first place, Pinch, well, he was Pinch—bold, selfish, loud, thoughtless. He was a bad bet to take care of the children of Old Tallow’s precious friends, and Two Strike the same. Besides that, Omakayas and Old Tallow had a special feeling between them. It was a cross between the feeling that Omakayas had for her mother and the way she felt about her grandmother. There was a little of the way she felt about her father mixed in too. Yet because Old Tallow was, unlike them, fearsome and unpredictable, the feeling was different. As a baby, Omakayas had been found and rescued by Old Tallow, and then adopted by Yellow Kettle and Mikwam. So besides the fact she owed her life to the tall hunter woman, Old Tallow was the first of the family she’d known. Around Old Tallow, she felt safe. Nothing could harm her, but of course, when Old Tallow was watching she had to do things right.

  Do things right. There was always to much to do, and a proper way to do it. Would she ever live up to the perfections of her mother or Nokomis or her big sister, Angeline?

  “I wish I was bigger,” she mumbled to her brother.

  “What?”

  “You know. I wish I was better at everything—snaring, weaving, beading, dancing, making canoes, everything, like Angeline.”

  “Nah,” said Pinch sturdily, “you’re good like you are.”

  Then, because his words were too friendly for a fierce warrior such as himself, he frowned and looked angry. That didn’t last long. He thought of something he wanted to talk about.

  “You’re always having dreams,” said Pinch. “What’s it like?”

  Omakayas looked suspiciously at Pinch. How could he know that she’d dreamed this morning?

  “What are you saying?” asked Omakayas.

  “Dreams,” said Pinch. “Dreams, sister. I don’t want to have a spirit dream. I don’t want to go out in the woods alone.”

  Omakayas now listened to her brother closely. Pinch looked at her with solemn consideration. Would she laugh?

  “I don’t think I’ll ever do it,” he whispered.

  “Why not?” said Omakayas.

  “I hate getting hungry,” he said at last, in a very little voice. “It reminds me of that winter.”

  Besides living through the sickness during the terrible time two winters ago, food had been scarce. The whole family had got so hungry that they went to bed with their bellies stuck to their backs. They had walked around dizzy, and in their constant itching desire for food, they had chewed on bark and lichen. They even gnawed on pieces of old leather. Poor Pinch. He loved food more than anything ever after that. He grabbed food wherever he could and now his little belly was tight and round, and stuck out above the tie of his britches.

/>   “Sometimes I think if I eat all I can, all summer, I’ll store it up and I won’t get hungry in the winter.”

  Omakayas couldn’t help but smile, though Pinch was very serious. Pinch was such a mixture of brave and scared, of pretend warrior and his mama’s baby. He irritated her to pieces and then, sometimes, he was the only friend whom she could trust.

  “Me, I’m scared too,” she said. “When I was given my dream about the bears, I was scared but, brother, it turned out well. I had more courage after that. Well, a little more, anyway.”

  Pinch was quiet. He sympathized with his sister now and took her very seriously. He was thinking.

  “Sister,” he said at last, gathering himself bravely, “do you think the spirits will get mad if you sneak some food to me out there?”

  “I don’t know,” Omakayas said, gloomily, “but I know for sure Nokomis would be mad.” She thought some more. “I can’t do it,” she said with regret. “Besides, it’s not so bad going without the food. It’s something else….”

  “What?”

  Pinch only dreamed about ordinary things, about the kind of fish he might catch, about helping his father build a new jeemaan, about things he’d already done that day. Mainly, he dreamed about food. He didn’t have dreams that upset him or frightened him, except sometimes he dreamed he’d tripped, fallen off the jeemaan, out of a tree, down a cliff. He was always getting into accidents, even while he slept. In the morning, when Nokomis asked his dreams, he usually said something like “I dreamed there was another pot of stew” or “I was climbing that same tree and the branch broke again.”

  “I’m afraid of what I might dream,” said Omakayas now, and from the look of incomprehension on Pinch’s face she knew that her confession did not mean a thing to him. He couldn’t be frightened of the bowls of corn or manoomin in his dreams, or the little bumps or scrapes he endured. Those were normal, and even better, when he woke he was always pleased to examine his arms and legs and find no bruises. There was no reason for Pinch to ever be afraid of his dreams.

  FIVE

  THE CANOE MAKERS

  Now it was time to make jeemaanan. The whole family was working on the canoes that would carry them through the year. Birchbark jeemaanan were a big part of their livelihood. Sometimes the family sold them to the French voyageurs, or traders, who would pay a handsome price. But the jeemaanan they were making right now were for the family’s use. Near Old Tallow’s cabin two smooth cleared spaces held the makings—birchbark, cedar wood, jack-pine roots, pails and makakoon of water to use in soaking the roots. The cedar boat forms, like ribs, were weighted to the bottom of the jeemaanan with heavy stones. The long, wide strips of bark, taken from the oldest and smoothest birch trees, would soon take on pointed canoe shapes. Deydey and Old Tallow were hard at work today, gathering and softening enough jack-pine roots to sew the sides.

  When he found the right jack-pine tree, Father offered a little tobacco, with thanks. Then he began to dig in the shade of the pine with Nokomis’s iron hoe—the one she was proud of and guarded jealously. The roots followed the shape and direction of the tree branches, only they went under the ground. He lifted the roots up with his hands and a sharpened stick. When he had a nice long length, Father used his sharp hatchet to chop off the root. He took only a few roots from each tree so as not to hurt the tree. It was Pinch’s job to gather the roots behind his father and to bring them to the bucket to soak.

  Of course, that wasn’t a manly enough job for Pinch.

  While his father was down at the beach filling the pails, Pinch stealthily took the hatchet and with great whacks began to chop at a tree root. He used all his strength, but he couldn’t sever the root. His efforts grew wilder, he chopped harder and harder, until at last in his frustration the hatchet slipped and Pinch gashed his own leg.

  “Aaaaaroooooooh!”

  Pinch’s howl was earsplitting. Everyone heard it and came running. Omakayas gasped when she saw the blood running down his leg, but instinctively, as though she’d practiced, she did the right thing and made him lie down right where he was. Nokomis was there instantly. Gently, she rolled up Pinch’s pants leg and directed Omakayas to fetch her medicine bag. As soon as Omakayas gave her the bag, Nokomis took out a small, tightly woven sack of powder and showed Omakayas how to press pinches of gray stuff to the side of Pinch’s leg. He did not suffer in noble silence, but raved and kicked and howled on and on. Through it all, Omakayas stayed calm and pressed the powder on the wound until the bleeding stopped.

  “There.”

  “Am I going to be a one-legged boy?” Pinch asked fearfully.

  “Of course not.” Omakayas and her grandmother exchanged a glance, trying not to smile. Pinch had such a wild imagination and always feared horrible outcomes to ordinary problems.

  “You’re going to stay a two-legged boy,” his grandma assured him.

  “Unless you steal your Deydey’s hatchet again! If you do, I’ll chop those legs off myself!”

  It was Yellow Kettle. Fear often aroused her temper and to think what might have happened to her son terrified her into a rage. “You sit right there and don’t you move!” That, usually, was the worst sort of punishment for Pinch. But his leg must have hurt, for he only smiled with a wan grace and lay himself back against a soft hummock of grass where he’d had the good luck to choose to collapse.

  “I’ll just watch,” he said in a weak little voice.

  Omakayas couldn’t help but think that in spite of the pain, and now that he had squeezed the situation for all the sympathy possible, Pinch was enjoying the fact that he wouldn’t have to help. Angeline was already hard at work again, softening and splitting the roots that she and Nokomis would use as the wondrously tough thread that would hold the jeemaanan together. Deydey was pounding stakes into the ground in the shape of the jeemaan. As he finished each stake, he bent the bark up into the form. This was crucial. Many a time he stood back with a narrowed eye and regarded the would-be jeemaan with a critical intensity. Old Tallow shared his solemn, thoughtful air. Every so often she filled her pipe and stared at the progress of the work. After long scrutiny, she made some tiny adjustment. They all worked equally on each of the two canoes. One was developing into the classic canoe shape, but the other, which would belong to Old Tallow, had a little roof in the stern of the boat.

  “How come you’re making your canoe like that?” asked Omakayas.

  Old Tallow looked down at her, squinting one sharp eye. She said nothing. Omakayas knew her well enough to understand that when Old Tallow didn’t want to answer a question, she did not evade or apologize. She didn’t act as though she hadn’t heard the question. And of course, she never lied. She just said nothing. Nothing. She let the silence between them fill the air. Unlike other people, Omakayas had noticed, silence did not make Old Tallow uncomfortable.

  Now the warrior lady simply stood and smoked her pipe. The smoke drifted serenely in wavering fangs from each corner of her mouth. She was thinking. Omakayas did not ask the question again. Still, she wondered. Why the odd addition to her jeemaan? All around them, dogs sat panting in the shade, watching as the humans did yet another of the mysterious things they liked to do. Makataywazi was glad to get together with his puppy brothers and sisters, and they growled and mock-fought up and down the beach. All day, stopping only for a handful of rice or to douse themselves with icy water from the lake, the family worked. By the end of the day the stakes were in place. A huge amount of root was soaking, thanks to Yellow Kettle, who was even better than Mikwam at digging up the long, snaky jack-pine roots.

  Omakayas and her grandma went down to the beach to haul in the net Yellow Kettle had set out that morning. They brought in a load of shining fish—jack fish, pike, a few trout with beautiful mottled skins and red gills.

  Some of the fish they put on a basswood stringer and left in the water, away from the dogs, to clean and dry tomorrow. The other plump fish Nokomis immediately split open with the sharp knife she kept in a she
ath at her belt.

  Now it was getting dark. The fire danced up, shooting sparks into the night, reflecting in tiny moons of glitter on the waves. Nokomis tested one of the long green alder sticks, well peeled by a grumpy Pinch, who had thought he shouldn’t have any chores at all. She poked the stick through half of the fish, then gave the fish to her granddaughter. Omakayas roasted her fish, the fat dripping in the fire and curling away from the meat in delicious black strings. Everyone did the same. They ate one fish after another, and then some more. Yellow Kettle even fed Bizheens tiny morsels. He cooed and smacked his little mouth. They picked every last bit of flesh from the bones, and then threw the spines and bones back into the water. That was to show respect for the fish so that they would allow people to keep catching them. Afterward, everyone lay back in the sand.

  The air cooled quickly. It was a little cold to sleep outside, but Deydey spread out the fire and built it up to a huge blaze. When the fire had all burned down to a bed of coals, he spread out the coals and then all of the family heaped sand on top of the big spread-out remains of the fire. They were making their bed. The soft, comfortable sand was their mattress. Underneath, the coals would continue to give off a gentle heat. They all lay down under the stars. There were no mosquitoes or flies when the air was so chilly. Yet the warmth from underneath kept them comfortable. Deydey made this sort of sand bed often on his trips, and the children loved for him to make it for them.

  As she lay back and looked into the shining blackness of the sky, Omakayas felt a huge sleepy comfort take hold of her. Makataywazi slept close enough for her to touch, fur soft and breathing quiet. Andeg roosted in the nearest tree and would wake her by gently tugging her hair in the morning. Their stomachs were full of roasted fish. Their minds were at peace. Underneath Omakayas, the sand radiated a soft warmth. She snuggled into it, her head pillowed. Those she loved were arranged around her, quietly talking or already asleep. The world felt whole and quiet, calm and safe. Omakayas drifted into her dreams.