The Game of Silence Read online

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  SIX

  THE RICING DISASTERS

  It was time to go ricing again, and Omakayas was excited because this year she would knock rice—manoomin—while her mother used a long pole to push the jeemaan through the rice bed. All the years before, Mama had teamed up to rice with Angeline or Auntie Muskrat. But this year she told Omakayas that she was old enough and strong enough to help her, and Omakayas was very proud. The new jeemaanan were finished, the seams in the bark sealed with spruce gum, the last touches fussily applied by Deydey. Before they were launched for the first time, Nokomis burned sweet grass and fanned the smoke over them, praying softly. Omakayas knew that her grandma was praying that the jeemaanan would carry the family safely where they wished to go.

  The canoes were loaded with sleeping blankets, rice knockers, new never-worn rice makazinan to use when dancing on the rice, and the beautiful mats and birchbark fanning baskets that Nokomis had made early that summer. Though so many of the men were traveling, the trip was still joyous. All the way to the ricing camps, Deydey, Yellow Kettle, and Nokomis sang traveling songs. Angeline struck the beautiful hand drum that Deydey had made for her. The beat helped them make good time by coordinating the strokes of their paddles, and they fairly flew across the water between the island and the rice camp. Andeg flew beside them, landing from time to time on the bow of the jeemaan for a rest on the crossing. Makataywazi had not been allowed to come and had stayed back with one of Mama’s friends, who promised to feed him well. This made Andeg very happy. He had Omakayas all to himself, and he made the most of it by sitting on her shoulder, running his beak through her hair, and delicately accepting tidbits of food she took from the string bag at her waist.

  Once they arrived at the rice camp, Omakayas tried to contain her excitement. There was so much to do. The place was a bustle of activity with everyone settling in and putting up their bark lean-tos, kindling cooking fires, gathering wood, rolling out blankets and sleeping mats. The cousins were hauling water for their mothers, and as usual, Two Strike Girl was angry about the fact that she was asked to do women’s work.

  “I’m too strong for this!” She spoke with derision. Although in fact carrying the water was a heavy job, she wanted a more exciting task. “Sorry, girls, I’m going off to hunt,” she growled. She adjusted the bow she always carried now, slung around her neck, already strung. She touched the arrows that she carried on her back in a deer-skin quiver. She had made herself a special pair of britches and no longer wore a skirt. Omakayas and Twilight were stung by the arrogant ways of Two Strike and annoyed that she wanted to leave them with more work to do. They blocked her way.

  “You think you’re so important, Two Strike,” Omakayas said, angry, “Mama asked me to knock rice this year, like a grown woman. What do you think of that?”

  Two Strike just made a bored face. It was Twilight who reacted. She looked at Omakayas with both envy and annoyance. This was desertion! If Omakayas was knocking rice out on the water, she, Twilight, would surely be left behind. She would have to babysit, to take care of the little ones. Still, she stuck by Omakayas as Two Strike struck a warrior’s pose and spoke. “What of it? I’m going to get meat. What do I care what you little ladies do?” Two Strike stalked off with great determination, and for a while they could hear her tramping through the brush.

  “She won’t get anything that way,” said Twilight, “she’s too loud.”

  Omakayas laughed as they hauled the water toward camp, but the dismay on the face of her dearest cousin had upset her. She felt selfish leaving Twilight back with the babies, and in her guilt she got an idea.

  “Let’s go out ourselves, before the grown-ups, and surprise them.”

  “What?” Twilight was so shocked she put down her water pail. “We can’t do that. Nobody can start until the rice boss says to start. We’d get in trouble!”

  “If we were just coming back with a jeemaan full of manoomin, do you think they’d really scold us? They’d praise us because we proved how hard we can work!”

  Omakayas was carried away with the romance of her idea. In her mind’s eye she saw only triumph, a return in which she was the center of attention.

  “We’ll get in trouble,” Twilight repeated stubbornly.

  Their arguing went back and forth through the day, and on into the evening, until finally Twilight gave up. She told Omakayas that if she really had to do this thing she’d help, even though she didn’t agree.

  “I suppose,” she said unwillingly, but loyal, “if you’ve made up your mind to get in trouble, I should get in trouble along with you.”

  By then, Omakayas was beginning to doubt that her idea was really all that good. When Twilight finally gave in, her victory didn’t make her as happy as it would have made her at the beginning of the day. Still, she accepted her cousin’s generosity and they agreed to meet at the shore, by Old Tallow’s jeemaan, just before Sagachiwe, the red and glowing spirit who comes up every day to make sure the world is safe for the sun, appeared at the end of the lake.

  Only the very earliest of morning birds were calling when the two girls woke. Stepping carefully, they sneaked away from the banked fire and made their way down to the shore. Omakayas held a pair of bawa’iganakoog, or rice knockers, very nice ones that her father had made. Twilight carried a long pole made from a straight, thick sapling that had split at the top into legs; it would help the girls to push along the mud bottom of the shallow lake. Without a word, the two launched Old Tallow’s jeemaan. She favored the two of them and wouldn’t get angry if things went wrong. Not that Omakayas let herself think of failure! They shivered in the chill air, and the laden rice stalks brushed stiffly against them as they made their way from camp. When they were far enough out, just where the rice was thickest, before the sun had even risen, Omakayas began. With one wooden rice knocker, she bent a few stalks over the boat. With the other, she stroked and lightly struck the plants, dislodging the rice grains that clattered softly onto the bark bottom.

  Very soon, the bottom of the boat was covered with rice and Twilight, poling carefully, brought them quietly to another area of the lake, where they continued their work. The sun’s rays now sprayed a fierce radiance over the horizon, and touched them with the first light. Omakayas had just bent a fresh bunch of stalks over the jeemaan and began to knock when the boat rocked wildly. The rice plants surged, a great dark form rose beside them dripping weed and water.

  Too shocked to even gasp, the two girls froze in place. A huge bull moose, with grand, heavy, curved antlers, stood in silhouette against the dawn sky.

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  Passing them without notice, as though they were bugs on the water, it heaved itself along and then suddenly, thwock. The girls heard the sound of the arrow released, and the sound of its striking force as one. The moose reared forward onto a sand bar in one immensely powerful lunge, then collapsed.

  Howah!

  It was Two Strike’s unmistakable, shrill, triumphant shout.

  Quickly, the girls poled to shore and beached the jeemaan. Their work went unnoticed, for the entire camp now was roused by Two Strike’s thrilled dancing energy. She couldn’t contain herself. She waded out to check her moose while the men of the camp were still rubbing the sleep off their faces.

  “One arrow!” Two Strike crowed so all could hear. “One shot.”

  And it was true, her arrow had entered the eye of the moose at the exact right angle to strike deep into its brain.

  “Could anybody but Two Strike be so lucky?” Omakayas muttered to Twilight under her breath. At the same time, she was ashamed not to make more of her cousin’s unbelievable feat. It was just that she’d been so determined to gain respect for her work, much humbler though it was, more predictable. And now that Two Strike had killed the moose, there would be talk of nothing else.

  Or so she soon wished.

  For after the moose was dragged to shore and with great amazement and laughter Two Strike’s family began to skin it
right there, Mama and Auntie Muskrat discovered what their daughters had done. They weren’t happy. As a matter of fact, it was worse. They were furious.

  “You will not be helping me at all this year,” said Mama, her face tight. She was controlling her temper, Omakayas could see, and she was glad there were so many others around right then. Deydey came to her.

  “Namadabin.” Omakayas sat at his command. Her father sat across from her and a stillness grew between them, not a pleasant stillness. She knew that he was thinking, choosing his words carefully, and they would not be words of praise.

  “You struck the manoomin too green into your boat,” he said abruptly, “ruining the plants. My daughter, there is a way we do things. We do it to take care of the rice. We listen to the old people—they who check the rice and watch for the exact right moment for us to humbly accept the gift. You went against the way things are supposed to go. You didn’t listen to your old ones, your own grandmother among them.”

  Deydey frowned, and Omakayas’s face burned. Her heart was stuffed with prickles of shame. Tears pushed against the backs of her eyes and she held her breath against them. She wouldn’t cry and she wouldn’t say she was wrong. The rice had fallen easily from the stalks, the lake was generous. She believed that her grandmother wouldn’t be so harsh with her, nor would Old Tallow.

  And it was true. Nokomis did not scold her. Old Tallow didn’t say a word or ever acknowledge that the two girls had taken her jeemaan and filled the bottom with rice. She emptied the boat. As the girls saw her doing it they pitched in and helped without a word. Nobody else spoke harshly to them, either. Perhaps it was obvious to all in the camp that their cousin’s triumph was punishment enough. Two more days passed before the elders said that the rice was ready to be picked, and in those two days Two Strike Girl was given such a feast that it would be talked of for years. This sort of thing just didn’t happen—a girl making a grown male warrior’s shot. And there were those who predicted unusual things for Two Strike. Those who insisted that she was blessed in some way.

  Omakayas was ashamed that she resented Two Strike. All she heard was Two Strike did this and Two Strike did that. Pinch followed Two Strike around like a puppy. Even Twilight seemed impressed by Two Strike’s feat. When she overheard Nokomis say something admiring about Two Strike, a hollow place formed in Omakayas’s heart. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Two Strike had shared her glory, or at least been kind. But she was more arrogant than ever and now, for sure, nobody expected her to do women’s work. Not anymore. Two Strike was free. Free to hunt while Omakayas turned rice over a hot fire. Free to fish while Omakayas hauled water and stacked wood beside the cooking fire. Free to do whatever she liked while Omakayas looked after the littlest children and made sure they did not burn themselves or wander off. As the days passed, Omakayas looked forward for the first time to leaving the rice camp, and heading back to the island.

  The wind changed, and Old Tallow said new weather was sure to follow. Sure enough, the next morning there was a storm on the horizon. Everyone decided to leave quickly. The camp broke up in haste. Reed bags, makakoon, all sorts of containers filled with rice were shoved into piles. The babies were quickly bundled into the jeemaanan, the blankets rolled and stuffed around the youngest.

  Deydey and Angeline left first, carrying the newly harvested rice. Everyone was worried that the rice would get wet, for mold would spoil it. Deydey and Angeline went ahead to race the wind and rain to pack the rice away. Soon everything in Old Tallow’s and Mama’s jeemaanan was ready. Nokomis and Omakayas had wedged in the last bundle. They were ready to go, but Pinch was nowhere to be found. He answered no call, and Mama’s yells were very loud. Everyone assumed that he had jumped in along with Deydey and Angeline. By now, he was already back at the island.

  The jeemaanan shoved off while the sky was still clear. As soon as they were on the water, they could see the ominous tinge of yellow-green just northwest that meant the storm was blowing off the land. It was tough to paddle across. The wind rose and the waves broke rough, white-capped, angry-looking. Several times, Omakayas was jolted with a thrill of fear when the jeemaan, pounded by an especially big wave, twisted and bucked high, then smacked down. They plowed on.

  As they neared shore, Yellow Kettle put tobacco in the water in thanks for a safe crossing. All of a sudden there was a great pause as though the earth itself took a breath. A low stirring of thunder sounded. Nokomis, too, took from the pouch at her waist a pinch of tobacco and began to pray. Omakayas saw Deydey’s jeemaan on shore, but no Pinch.

  “He’s probably helping pack away the rice at the house,” said Mama. What a look of despairing shock crossed her face when they arrived at the island, pulled their jeemaan to shore, and Angeline came hurrying down to help.

  “Where’s Pinch?” she said.

  “We all thought he was with you!” cried Mama.

  “Oh yai!” Nokomis clapped her hands to her face and Omakayas immediately began to throw their cargo from the boat. Mama gave Bizheens to Nokomis and pulled the jeemaan back into the water. “He’s left behind! I’m going back there!”

  Deydey was at the cabin, caching the wild rice, and to fetch him back to travel across now would waste precious time. Usually, nobody argued with Yellow Kettle once she made up her mind, but Omakayas and Angeline tried. It was useless.

  “Get away from me,” she said.

  Old Tallow growled louder than the thunder. “You can’t go!”

  With that, the ferocious old woman actually tried to yank the paddle from Yellow Kettle’s hands. She had no luck. Yellow Kettle’s eyes caught fire and she wrenched the paddle away.

  “Daughter,” Nokomis ordered, her voice stern. “Our friend Old Tallow is the only one who can make it across now. You have your baby to think about. Give her that abwi—now!”

  Omakayas and Angeline gaped. Never before had they heard Nokomis order their strong-minded mother around, and never before had the voice of their kind grandmother sounded so forbidding. Her words got through to Yellow Kettle. With a worried look, she handed the carved cedar paddle to Old Tallow. Overhead, the sky had gone entirely blue-black and the binesiwag, or thunderbirds, were flashing their eyes and clapping their wings just over the trees of the mainland. Going back onto the water was dangerous.

  “If anyone can make it, Old Tallow can,” said Nokomis. “Let her be.”

  “I’m going too!” Omakayas yelled this with all the purpose she could muster. She thought of how Pinch’s face had looked when he told her how frightened he was of being alone in the woods. What would he do when he returned to the camp and found no one there? Her heart squeezed painfully in sympathy for him. Even through he drove her crazy, she could not let him stay in the dark woods. Old Tallow got into the jeemaan, and Omakayas pulled herself in as well. As she did so, she caught a glance from Old Tallow that signified admiration, she was sure of it. She was so hungry for approval from Old Tallow that her heart swelled and she hardly noticed the paddle coming. But as Old Tallow expertly turned the boat and started off, she managed to cup the abwi under Omakayas. With one powerful movement, she neatly flipped Omakayas right out of the boat into the water!

  More shame! Wading to shore, miserable, Omakayas helped carry rice bundles and would not meet anybody’s eyes. Nokomis kindly said to her, “Omakayas, you are a good sister, but we wouldn’t have let you go.”

  The clouds rolled closer and darkened. Omakayas turned and saw that already Old Tallow had moved past the farthest spit of island land, paddling as expertly as the strongest warrior. All of a sudden a rough gust of wind plucked the old woman’s hat off and sent it whirling. Omakayas saw it bounce across the waves and hit shore. She ran after it, picked it up, and was afraid. The little flicker, or moningwanay feather that represented the strength of Old Tallow, had blown out of the hatband and into the rough, cold lake. The sharp black and yellow feather held as much power in it as an eagle feather. Omakayas watched Old Tallow disappear. She watched the storm approa
ch. Holding Old Tallow’s hat, she asked the binesiwag for pity.

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  “Don’t strike her with the flashes from your eyes, don’t pitch her over with your breath. Protect her and protect my little brother,” she begged as she sprinkled tobacco on the shore.

  Then, in spite of the threatening sky and thunder, she went looking for the little feather. The waves swooped in furiously, raised an angry green foam. Still, Omakayas searched. It seemed to her a sign from the binesiwag when, riding the tip of a wave, she saw the small black arrow of the feather. She plucked it from the water before it swirled back. Almost immediately, the brilliant yellow bands on its sides dried clear. Beneath the black clouds a shaft of sun pierced the sand with a sudden and fierce radiance. Then the cloud moved and the light went out. The storm was upon them.

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  The violent weather continued all day, and Old Tallow did not return. In their birchbark house, Omakayas tended the central fire. Many storms passed over. The southern thunderbirds were very powerful and Omakayas imagined them, flashing eyes and great crashing wings, as they approached through the darkening sky. Usually, she loved storms and never feared them. But today she was terrified for Pinch and Old Tallow. Nokomis covered the shiny pails and the little mirror, so as not to accidentally attract a binesi. The thunderbirds liked shiny things, but if those things were covered and tobacco was offered, they would pass over without hurting the Anishinabeg. Omakayas had to go outside at last, so she and Nokomis cut a few hemlock boughs, laced them tightly, and sat down against the trunk of a large birch tree. It was well-known that the birch tree was never struck by lightning because it was blessed by the great teacher of the Ojibwe, Nanabozho.

  Omakayas also took care of Bizheens. As though he knew there was something wrong, he often reached out to touch Omakayas’s face with his tiny hands. He patted her as though he were trying to comfort her, and he smiled at her hopefully.