The next morning just after sunrise Animikiins shook his boys awake with excited whispers.
“They came! They came! Get your ponies. You’ll ride behind us in the hunt!”
He and Shield were the first scouts of morning and across the vast grass of the prairie they had seen a large herd of thousands. It could be glimpsed now as a dark wavering line across the horizon. Animikiins held his boys to him, and told them that they had done a good thing. He was proud of them. Their grandparents, and their ancestors in the spirit world would also be proud of them. Many of the hunting camp would tell and retell how the twins had called the buffalo. Makoons and Chickadee had helped the people.
When the hunt began, Gichi Noodin nearly spoiled it again by lunging forward and shooting before the party had come close enough to the herd. But the speedy hunting ponies were so eager to run that they quickly closed the gap. Makoons and Chickadee fastened the red sash around their buffalo’s eyes and tied him to a tree. Then they mounted their ponies and followed the hunters into the roil of massed buffalo. But their own little buffalo seemed to sense his kindred. He threw his head up. He broke free and with a bleating snort he followed his people blindly. The boys saw him at the same time, running fast as he could. Their buffalo, whom they’d loved and raised, was loose among the others. The red sash might save him from the hunters, but it was tied over his eyes! He couldn’t see where he was going at all.
The herd was a rushing thunderous roar. Makoons’s and Chickadee’s ponies copied the older horses. They rode at breathless speed, trying to catch their buffalo friend. In the chaos, the blindfolded buffalo was seen again and again, bounding with great agility among the others. The boys rode close behind, managed to nearly snag him once, but the power of the moving herd swept them off.
Another amazing sight was seen. It was Gichi Noodin again. In his zeal to be first and kill the largest number of beasts, he steered his horse too close to a great bull, who turned around and charged. The bull knocked into Gichi Noodin’s poor horse. It hit so hard that the horse was flung in the air. The horse landed on the ground. So did a pair of new pants. But the owner of the pants, Gichi Noodin, was still going up, up, up, without those pants. He landed on the back of the great buffalo bull, who started in shock, and then went crazy bucking and twirling to release himself from this hateful presence. Somehow Gichi Noodin held on, his bare buttocks flying up and down. It was life or death. His horse had run free. If Gichi Noodin fell, he would be trampled by the buffalo. Panicked, he didn’t even realize he’d lost his pants. But then the herd began to slow. Gichi Noodin was able to slide off the bull. He did not know whether he was luckier to have survived the hunt, or luckier to have worn a very long shirt. Unfortunately, his horse was still running, ever more distant, so Gichi Noodin passed among the weirdly quieted animals, raced his way back to camp and dived into his tipi. On the way there, everyone saw him. They would have laughed until they wept, were it not for what happened next.
The strangeness of the animals’ behavior stopped the hunters. The animals walked, even turned toward the hunters, as if allowing themselves to be killed. The hunters cradled their guns and stayed their bows. They walked their horses among the milling beasts, who would not leave their dead brother and sisters. An ominous quiet descended. All of a sudden, the buffalo began to paw madly at the earth.
The buffalo snorted in rage—that was bearable. They gouged at the earth and plowed it with their horns—that was also bearable. But then the buffalo began a slow moaning sound, a low anguished huffing that rose to a wail of pain. Unbearable! The noise swelled and became a vast reverberating cry that raised the hairs on the necks of all the hunters. Now the people in the camp heard it and ran forward, terrified. Makoons and Chickadee cried out. Tears sprang into their eyes, and into the eyes of the older people, for they knew what it was.
“The buffalo people are taking leave of the earth,” cried Animikiins, who stood transfixed, beside his sons. “Soon the generous ones will be gone forever.”
It took a long time for the herd to disperse, away from the dead they stood near, disconsolate and disoriented. The buffalo walked off, together or alone, a few here or there, until only one buffalo was left. He wore a red sash over his eyes and stood among the dead with his head bowed. Makoons and Chickadee walked up to him, gingerly, fearfully. Before they removed the red sash they turned him so that he would look forward, after his retreating people, not upon so many carcasses. When the sash was pulled off he stared into the distance, as in a trance. Makoons had tears in his eyes. Chickadee petted his friend, trying to console him. But their buffalo didn’t acknowledge the brothers or respond to them in any way. He had seen the truth of things. This was how things really were. So he just began to walk. Leaving the dead behind him, and the humans who lived off his people’s flesh, he went to be with his own.
That night the feasting was subdued—that is, until Gichi Noodin was dragged from his tipi into the camp. Then it got ugly. The hunters had been talking, and Little Shell and Shield had decided. Gichi Noodin had once again nearly stampeded a herd, nearly cost them the hunt, because of his greedy ways. He would not be allowed a third time. Two men brought him into the circle, near the fire. Another two men left his aunt and her family weeping, but perhaps secretly relieved, and brought all that Gichi Noodin owned. His gun was taken from him and given to a man with a very large family to feed. His bow was given to Two Strike, who broke it between her thighs and threw the halves down at Gichi Noodin’s feet. He gulped. His clothing was divided up. His shield was burned. His hair was in a long braid. A woman sawed off the braid with a knife. Gichi Noodin took the braid in his hands and stared at it, in shock. He was wearing a pair of leggings, a breechclout, and his second-best sash. A woman removed his sash. He had to beg to keep his shirt and one old blanket. Contemptuously, Two Strike kicked her knife to his feet. He had violated one of the tribe’s strictest laws. A law that could mean starvation, were it not followed. Everybody turned their backs on Gichi Noodin. Everyone except Makoons.
Gichi Noodin slowly bent over and picked up the knife. His hair stuck out in a bush. He seemed small, suddenly, and lonely and plain. As he stood up, Gichi Noodin saw Makoons, who held out the fine red sash.
Makoons gave the sash to Gichi Noodin, who saw in it the failure of his charm, and Zozie’s rejection. But also, well, it was a beautiful sash! Makoons could see that the sash cheered Gichi Noodin slightly. At least he had something attractive to wear as he was banished to wander alone.
THIRTEEN
THE PATH OF SOULS
During the butchering this time, the flies were terrible. They came down in sheets and bit viciously. They covered the drying meat. They covered the carcasses, laying their eggs, crawling in black waves over everything. The women lighted smudge fires to drive them off, and smoke the meat. Omakayas, Angeline, and Zozie tied pieces of cloth on their heads because they hated the feeling of flies crawling through their hair. The sun superheated the earth, and more flies, of every sort, hatched and arrived to torment the camp. The butchering had to be done swiftly, and everyone worked through the nights. Still, some of the dead buffalo had to be abandoned to the vultures, the ravens, the crows, and the wolves. This waste went against everything that Animikiins believed, and he regretted killing so many. At night, stained with blood, covered with biting flies, he prayed for forgiveness. Beside him, Omakayas also spoke to the Gizhe Manidoo, and Makoons and Chickadee, Opichi and Angeline, Fishtail and Uncle Quill listened. They were too exhausted to speak, so they just bowed their heads.
At last the hunting party, with as much meat and as many skins and robes as they could dry or save, made their way back to Pembina. The wind rose and swept up the flies in a droning cyclone. The days cooled and the air was crisp in the morning. A tremendous relief lifted people’s spirits. The buffalo berries, Juneberries, and chokecherries were ripe. Makoons and Chickadee picked as many berries as they could whenever they stopped to camp. The women took turns driving the
oxcart, sometimes riding horses or walking. As they rode along, there was always a skin covered with berries drying in the cart behind them. They would add the dried berries to the pemmican. They’d add dried berries to everything! Although Yellow Kettle always scolded the twins when they ate berries while they picked, she wasn’t there, so they disobeyed. Omakayas didn’t stop them. The journey was good, but still, they couldn’t wait to get home. They wanted to see how Nokomis’s garden had fared, to rest a little, to be all together again.
“Let’s ride ahead!” Makoons called, pressing Whirlwind into a gallop.
Chickadee was riding Sweetheart. Both horses pricked up their ears and the boys raced for the cabin, where Nokomis and Yellow Kettle waited under their shady arbor. Even with her poor hearing, Nokomis knew the sound of the oxcarts. She saw the boys through cloudy eyes and hobbled forward.
Nokomis’s garden was full-grown! The boys staked their horses in the grass and walked through the gate of sticks. There was corn, nearly ripe. A sunny little field of it. The spotted beans bulged in their green cases. Squash vines with giant leaves twined across the earth. Here and there a green squash ripened to gold. There were hills of potatoes with spiky leaves blanketing hidden treasure. So much food!
“When will the corn get ripe?” asked Makoons, his mouth watering.
“Soon,” said Nokomis. “You boys must help me guard it. I’m getting tired of sitting here with my stick handy!”
They had to tell her what happened to their buffalo, and she said that she was sad to hear it, even though he had wanted to eat her garden. Deydey sat down and asked them to tell everything.
“Lots of things happened,” said Makoons.
He and Chickadee told about Gichi Noodin and then, in a halting way, for it hurt to even remember, they told how the buffalo had behaved after the hunt. They told of the buffalo’s wild and lamenting sounds, a crying that had chilled their hearts. Nokomis was quiet—she understood.
Omakayas and Nokomis picked the corn, talking of the old days when they had guarded the fields on Madeline Islands from the crows and blackbirds, and how Omakayas had saved one crow and made it her pet. They braided some of the ears of corn, and hung them to dry. This would be winter food. They ate stews of squash and beans, but dried the beans in the sun, too, and cut the squash into strips and packed it. All of this made Nokomis so happy, each day, that her eyes sometimes watered with the sheer joy of it.
“Just think,” she said, “this is my own garden, come to life again, after all the years we have spent wandering.”
“Giizhaawenimin, Nokomis,” said Omakayas, touching her grandmother’s cheek. Grandmother’s skin had become extremely soft. She was frail now, but pushed herself to work every day because of the plants. She peppered Omakayas with advice, with knowledge, with teachings about the plants she grew and wild plants, too. Nokomis was proud that she, an old woman, was providing for her family. This gave her rich pleasure. Every morning, she was out at sunrise, sometimes smoking her little pipe, pulling weeds, always smiling. By the time the boys sleepily rose from their blankets and went outside, she had a small cooking fire going and tea, from her bee balm plants and wild mint, would be ready for them to drink. Sometimes she also crushed rose hips, or wild raspberry leaves. Everyone drank her teas to help them stay strong.
One morning, just after sunrise, Omakayas heard her grandmother go out. She closed her eyes and fell back into a light, comforting sleep. Nokomis walked into her garden. Nokomis greeted the sun, her palms out, smiling. Then she lay herself carefully down between the rows of gentle plants—it was comfortable there. As Nokomis lay on the earth, she felt a lightness in her body. She had no aches, no pain in her body at all. Suddenly, to her surprise, she felt herself rise out of her old body. She looked down at her old body, lying peacefully on the ground.
“At last, my time has come,” she said in wonder.
She said good-bye to her sleeping family. Good-bye to this world.
Peacefully, she turned to the west. A path opened before her. She saw someone familiar and laughed. Her old friend Tallow! Nokomis stepped onto the path. She looked down at her cane, dropped it, and began walking lightly away.
Shortly after Nokomis had departed on her journey, Omakayas woke up. She came out into the garden and found her grandmother. The diamond willow cane lay beside her. She looked as though she was asleep, dreaming, but Omakayas knew that she was not. She took her grandmother’s hand and sat on the ground beside her. She thought of all that they had been through together. Nokomis had endured it all, never complaining, never losing her temper, never taking out her anger on her children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren. Nokomis had taught her with every action how to exist.
“Journey well,” Omakayas whispered. “I will try to be like you.”
Deydey lighted the ceremony fire, and for the next four days it burned to light the way for Nokomis’s spirit along its path. Omakayas cut her long hair and offered it in mourning. Chickadee cut his braid off too. Weeping, he threw it into the fire. Makoons fingered his hair but during his illness it had become so thin and crackly that it wasn’t a very good offering. Still, he sliced his braid off. As he threw it into the fire, he whispered to his grandmother.
“Nokomis, I don’t have much. This is all I have to give.”
“Journey well,” said Deydey. “Your loved ones will watch out for you every step of the way.”
Everyone took turns feeding the fire, bringing wood, staring into the flames. As they sat alone, one or the other looking into the flickering light, sometimes her face would appear. Sometimes they saw her walking, her step light, never looking back.
The family took all the seeds from the garden and then they buried Nokomis there, deeply, wrapped in her blanket with gifts and tobacco for the spirit world. They buried her simply. There was no stone, no grave house, nothing to mark where she lay except the exuberant and drying growth of her garden.
Nokomis had said:
“I do not need a marker of my passage, for my creator knows where I am. I do not want anyone to cry. I lived a good life, my hair turned to snow, I saw my great-grandchildren, I grew my garden. That is all.”
FOURTEEN
THE PATH OF LIFE
It was hard to admit. The people were reluctant to understand. But it was true—the buffalo were moving west. The great herds would avoid the settlements, the river with its screaming steamboats. After Nokomis was buried, the family decided to stay with Little Shell’s people and talked of leaving Pembina. But Angeline and Fishtail wanted to stay in the cabin with Opichi. When Makoons heard this, it troubled him. He did not know why.
Several times Makoons spoke with Fishtail, begging him to come along, to bring his family. Fishtail smiled at his nephew and reassured him that they would be together next summer, when the buffalo came. But they would winter here, in the cabin. Makoons didn’t know why this was so important to him. But every time Angeline stoked his hair, reassuring him in her own way, saying that they would travel, they would see them soon, they would surely bring Opichi, Makoons turned away with tears in his eyes. He didn’t know why.
They had made friends among the Michifs, Fishtail explained. The family of Antoinette, a friend of Quill’s, was going to trade their hides in St. Paul. They might join them! Fishtail had followed Quill’s instructions and made an oxcart. As a young girl, Angeline had learned to read and write in a school back on Madeline Island. She wanted Opichi to learn as well. There was a small school in Pembina.
“Please, please come anyway,” begged Makoons.
He didn’t know why.
The rest of the family, along with Little Shell’s people, decided to travel to a place farther west. It was an area of low hills, surrounded by the plains. These hills were rich with oak and birch trees, with every sort of game. There was shelter from the wind during the long harsh winters of the great plains. This had long been a coveted stopping place, a center for trade, with lakes to fish and nuts and berries to gather
.
This place was called the Turtle Mountains.
The nights were getting cold as the family started out. With Deydey’s knowledge to guide them, they would build a log cabin there before the snow fell. As they crossed the plains, they came to a deep but gradual ravine and an old riverbed. From it rose the highest hill they had ever seen—they had heard of mountains, farther west, that parted the clouds. Those mountains were rumored to be covered with snow. They climbed this hill to see how far they could see—they stayed there looking into the distance, at what would be their new home in the west. Makoons still had a troubled feeling every time he looked east, back toward Pembina. He told his brother about this feeling and Chickadee was silent, for he remembered his brother’s dream.
On and on they forged their way, passing among sloughs rich with migrating ducks, geese, and every sort of wild bird. There was frost in the grass now, in the mornings, and even the afternoon sun held only a hint of warmth. They hurried. Then one day as the ox plodded and the cart rocked and shrieked, as the horses walked, laden, as the dogs slunk along behind, Omakayas had a feeling. She sensed something before them—trees. They scented the air. The fragrance of leaves and forest earth reminded her of all she’d left behind well before she saw the green oasis on the plains. It reminded her of home.
The family found a good piece of earth with water and dense groves of oak, birch, poplar. They cleared brush and cut down the straightest birch and popple trees, skinned off the bark and leaves. Two Strike, Animikiins, and Quill notched the ends with hatchets and fitted them together, and Omakayas, Yellow Kettle, and Zozie followed with gobs of clay dug out of the water and beside the stream. They mixed the mud with dried reeds and grass, and pressed the mixture between the logs. When the mud dried it would form a seal to block out the wind.
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