Brother Wind

by Sue Harrison

  Kukutux took a long breath, let it out in a sigh. How many nights had she lain awake in her sleeping robes trying to recall something she had done, some impoliteness, some disrespect, that might have brought a curse to those she loved. How many times had she asked herself why she of all the people in the village had lost everyone—husband, child, parents, brother, sister—everyone but her brother’s wife, and her brother’s wife was a selfish woman.

  “You are sure you did not eat puffin meat?” Many Babies asked. “It is taboo for women at the age of bearing children.”

  “I did not,” Kukutux answered. Each time she was with Many Babies, the woman asked questions, as though in proving Kukutux at fault, she could restore the village to what it once had been.

  “You did not step across your husband’s weapons? You did not touch his food during your bleeding times?”

  “No,” Kukutux said softly. There was a strong jerk on her line. She waited a moment, then set the hook, felt the satisfying weight of a fish on the line.

  “You are sure you did not …”

  “I have a fish,” Kukutux said.

  “Another?”

  Kukutux let herself smile at the frown on Many Babies’ face. “Another,” Kukutux said. “It is big.”

  She struggled with the fish, winding the line in slowly, letting it out again as the fish made a quick, hard run toward the shore and then turned back out to sea. It was a halibut. She was sure of it, but she was afraid if she said the words out loud, some spirit would think her too proud and turn the fish into something smaller. So she sat as though she fought against pogy or cod, and for a long time let the fish tire itself against the line.

  Kukutux’s arms began to ache, and she flexed her shoulders. Her breathing was jagged and short. The catcher’s share of a halibut—if the fish was as big as it felt on her line—would give her meat for several days. Kukutux made herself take a long breath, but the hope in her chest seemed to take up so much space that she did not have room for air.

  I want the fish too much, she thought. But what was better than rich thick slabs of halibut, boiled with lovage and dipped in oil? You are foolish, she told herself. What better way to lose a fish than to see it in your boiling bag before it is in your ik?

  Many Babies coiled in her line and set it aside. From the corner of her eyes, Kukutux could see the woman twisting her hands, moving as though she fought a spirit fish on a line made of wind. Then Many Babies reached over, clasped Kukutux’s hands.

  “It is a halibut. It must be a halibut,” Many Babies said.

  Kukutux, arms and chest muscles aching, only nodded. Why waste strength on words?

  “Let me take it. I will take it,” Many Babies said. “I am stronger than you.”

  “No,” Kukutux said. “No,” she repeated, though it was difficult to find breath enough for words.

  “Lean forward,” Many Babies said, then after watching for a moment shouted out, “Lean back.”

  Kukutux did not listen. She knew she must think only of the fish and of the line that brought the fish’s movements to her hands.

  “I was catching halibut when you were only a baby,” Many Babies said. “I was catching halibut when you knew nothing more than to make messes in your own bed.”

  “The fish is tiring,” Kukutux answered. “Paddle us closer to shore. Perhaps we can pull him up with us on the beach.”

  Many Babies snorted, but she picked up the paddle and, nodding toward Kukutux’s line, said, “Tell me the next time it heads toward shore.”

  Many Babies held the paddle just above the water until Kukutux called out, “Now!” Then she plunged the paddle into the water, moving the ik with quick, powerful strokes toward shore.

  Kukutux wound the slack line, working as quickly as she could. The fish pulled back, slipped under the ik and again out to sea. Kukutux let out a little more line, then allowed the fish to fight. She called again when it headed toward shore.

  Many Babies paddled, and finally Kukutux heard her cry out, “We have a halibut!”

  Then there were men—Tall Hands and Fish Eater and two of the traders—in the water with gaffs and leisters, and Kukutux watched Fish Eater, that old man, as he plunged his leister into the fish. Tall Hands and Fish Eater brought the thrashing halibut to shore, and Tall Hands clubbed it until it was still.

  Kukutux, the line still in her hand, climbed out of the ik. The halibut was as big as a large man. With the catcher’s portion, Kukutux would have enough to dry and save.

  But then Many Babies was beside Kukutux, pushing Kukutux away. “I caught it,” Many Babies said. She ran to Fish Eater. “Fresh meat today!” she said to him. “You will have a double share for your help.”

  Kukutux opened her mouth to protest, but for a moment she had no words. She looked at Many Babies, raised the driftwood stick wound with fishline that ran to the halibut’s mouth. “I caught it,” Kukutux said, her words soft. Fish Eater turned and looked at her.

  “Many Babies …” he said, then narrowed his one seeing eye and looked away from Kukutux.

  “I caught the fish!” Kukutux said, her words louder. “It is my fish.”

  Tall Hands and the traders turned and stared at her.

  “You lie!” Many Babies said. “I caught it.”

  Again Kukutux held up her hand. The driftwood stick was painted with her mark, two circles side by side. She pointed to the circles. “See? My line.”

  Tall Hands shook his head, and the traders looked away, shuffling their feet against the beach gravel.

  And Kukutux thought, How can they stand against Many Babies when she is wife to the chief whale hunter? But Many Babies had a hunter to bring her food, and Kukutux had only what she herself could find. If she stood against Many Babies, what would the woman tell Hard Rock? What if she asked Hard Rock not to take Kukutux as wife? Then what would happen?

  Can I hunt seals myself and so have enough oil for the next winter? Kukutux thought. She had almost starved through the last winter, even with sea lion bellies of oil from her husband’s hunting.

  “We fished together,” Kukutux said. “The fish took my line, but Many Babies helped me.” She looked at Many Babies, hoped the woman would agree, but Many Babies threw back her head and stared hard at Kukutux.

  “I caught the fish with my line,” Many Babies said. “You think my husband will not believe me?”

  “Look,” Kukutux said. She coiled the kelp line around her stick until her hands were only an arm’s length from the halibut’s mouth. “My line,” she said, and again she held the stick so the men could see the marks.

  “What is her mark?” one of the traders asked.

  “Two circles,” Kukutux said, holding the stick toward him.

  “Her mark is two circles?” the trader asked and looked at the men around him. Tall Hands shrugged, coughed, and turned away, but Fish Eater nodded.

  “Then it is her fish.”

  Kukutux looked up, boldly met the trader’s eyes. “Many Babies should have an equal share,” she said, but Many Babies had turned her back on all of them and was walking toward the ulas. Kukutux looked after her, but then said, “More for the rest of.us.”

  She took her woman’s knife from its packet and squatted beside the fish, ready to give shares. “Tell your wives and sisters to come,” she said. “Everyone will have fresh fish today.”

  Fish Eater went up toward the ulas, and Kukutux began to slice the fish into sections. Tall Hands took a portion. But as he was carrying his share to his ulaq, Many Babies came back and stood beside Kukutux.

  “I have come for my share,” Many Babies said.

  “The head and half of what is left after the dividing is yours,” Kukutux said, giving Many Babies more than what she should expect.

  Many Babies laughed, a snort that blew out from her nose. “You think that will make me tell my husband to take you as fifth wife?”

  And Kukutux knew that Many Babies’ arguing was not about a fish, but about a husband.
So Kukutux said, “You know the fish is mine. You know that I have just offered you the catcher’s share. What more do you want?”

  “You think I care about a fish?” Many Babies said. “No. My husband is a good hunter. I have food enough to eat, for myself and my children and grandchildren.” Her voice was loud, and Kukutux, looking up from her knife, saw that other women of the village had begun to gather, each with a carrying net to take a share of the halibut.

  “I do not want this fish,” Many Babies said. “I only want you to know what it is like to have someone else take something that is yours. What is that fish compared to my husband?”

  There was murmuring among the women, and Kukutux’s face began to burn.

  “You think I do not see the way you look at my husband? You think he needs another wife to feed? You think I want to share my children’s food with a woman who cannot even use both arms?”

  Kukutux bent her head over the fish. She held some hope in her heart that one of the other women would speak for her—Night Woman, who had also lost a husband and was now third wife to a man too old to hunt, or Long Wood, an old woman known for her wisdom. But the women were silent, so finally Kukutux lifted her head and stood up. Her woman’s knife, red with halibut blood, was still in her right hand, and she moved it, only slightly, so that the sharp edge of the blade was out, ready to slice any false words Many Babies might say.

  “Your husband is a strong hunter,” Kukutux said. “He is a leader among our people. If he asks me to be his wife, then I will be his wife. If he does not, I will find some way to live through this next winter without a husband. I do not try to dishonor him or you by my actions.” She moved her head toward the halibut. “Though I caught the fish, I have offered you the catcher’s share, and you know that I need the meat more than you do.”

  “I will take the catcher’s share,” Many Babies said and pushed through the women to grab a large slab of meat and the halibut’s head. The women made loud sounds of disapproval, but Many Babies took the meat and did not look back.

  “Make our shares smaller,” Long Wood said.

  Kukutux shook her head. “I do not carry a child, I do not nurse. I need less meat. Who knows, perhaps Many Babies carries a child in her belly, one so small we do not yet know about it.” And though Kukutux said the words with gentleness, all the women laughed. Who did not know that Many Babies was past the years of bearing children? Who did not know that Many Babies would eat the fish herself?

  CHAPTER 27

  MANY BABIES SCRAMBLED DOWN the climbing log and threw a slab of halibut meat on the floor between Waxtal and Hard Rock.

  Waxtal looked up at the woman. She was Hard Rock’s first wife. Waxtal remembered her from long ago, when the Whale Hunters and the First Men were preparing to fight the Short Ones. She had been beautiful, though loud and sometimes rude. But what Whale Hunter woman was not rude?

  Even now, though most of the men and women of the Whale Hunter village were thin, their eyes dull with need of meat, Many Babies’ face was still sleek and round, her hair shining with oil. She squatted beside the fish, and Waxtal could see that it was the catcher’s share, the head with meat and belly fat still attached.

  “I caught it,” she said and pointed at the fish with all the fingers of both hands. “I did,” she said again, and her words were broken with hard breathing as though she had been running.

  Hard Rock looked at her, his eyebrows raised. “Good,” he finally said.

  “Ha! You say ‘good’!” said Many Babies and coughed out a harsh laugh. “You do not know how hard I had to fight for my share—my share of a fish that I caught!”

  Hard Rock cut his eyes over to Waxtal, a look that Waxtal understood. Why did women argue over things not worth argument? Why did they cry for things not worth tears?

  “Who tried to take it?” Hard Rock asked, his words coming slowly.

  Many Babies pressed her lips into a small circle, and Waxtal could see what she must have looked like as a child, her smile hidden behind a pout. “Kukutux,” she said in a tiny voice.

  Waxtal cut off another chunk of the dried meat Hard Rock had given him, chewed it slowly, and tried to remember a Whale Hunter woman named Kukutux, but he could bring no face to his mind.

  She must be one of the younger women, he thought. One who was a baby or perhaps not yet born when the Short Ones came so many years ago.

  “Perhaps Kukutux needs the food. She has no husband,” Hard Rock said.

  Many Babies set her mouth into a frown and drew back her lips to show her teeth. Waxtal looked away. It was not good to be here with Hard Rock when he and his wife were fighting. If a man’s face always brought remembrance of embarrassment, why spend time with that man?

  Waxtal stood. He picked up the harpoon head that lay on the floor mats between Hard Rock and himself. “Remember. Three more,” Waxtal said. He did not want to leave without the other harpoon heads, but more than that, he wanted the trade completed before Hard Rock could talk to Owl or Spotted Egg. Who could expect those two, barely more than boys, to see the worth in Hard Rock’s broken harpoon heads? And Waxtal did not need Hard Rock to think that he was trading out of pity.

  Hard Rock raised one hand toward Waxtal. “Wait, do not go,” he said, then turned to Many Babies. “I will see that Kukutux is punished. Even if she needs meat, she cannot take what belongs to someone else.”

  Many Babies nodded, and raising her chin she said, “She can have my share. What is one fish to the wife of the alananasika?”

  “Yes,” Waxtal said. He opened his mouth to praise Hard Rock’s strength, his honor. But Many Babies, lowering her voice so her words were almost a whisper, leaned toward her husband and said, “Kukutux needs a husband. Perhaps one of these traders will give something for her.”

  The words were cold in Waxtal’s chest. What trader wanted a woman in his ik? Someone to feed, someone who would want beads and feathers? Someone to complain in hard weather, to whine during long days of paddling? Then he saw the smile on Hard Rock’s face, the sudden straightening of the man’s shoulders.

  “Kukutux is a good worker and a young woman,” Hard Rock said. “She will give some husband happy nights and many sons.” He laughed, and Waxtal joined his laughter.

  “Ah, a Whale Hunter woman!” Waxtal said, but he remembered Samiq’s woman Three Fish, who ate as much as any man and did less work than most of the women. Owl and Spotted Egg might leave him here if he took a Whale Hunter woman for wife. And how could he bear to live in this ruined and cursed village? Who did not know that a curse like that could enter a man’s soul, could bring illness or death? As a trader, he had some protection. He did not belong to this village, to this island, but if he lived here, even though he was not a Whale Hunter, could he expect to remain untainted?

  Waxtal closed his mouth on his laughter and smiled at Hard Rock. “What man does not hope for the blessing of a Whale Hunter wife?” Waxtal said, the words coming warm from his mouth. “But it is difficult for a trader to have a wife with him. Dangerous. This Kukutux, has she no father, no uncle, to worry about her safety?”

  “Everyone in her family is dead,” Many Babies said, and she moved to sit beside Hard Rock as though she were one of the men.

  “Perhaps then her family is cursed,” Waxtal said, his words careful, slow.

  Hard Rock frowned. “She is one of the strongest women. She carries no curse.”

  “She does not even cough,” Many Babies said.

  Waxtal pulled at his long, thin chin whiskers, raised one eyebrow, and turned to Hard Rock. “This is true?” he asked.

  “It is true,” Hard Rock said.

  Waxtal shrugged. He opened his hand and looked at the harpoon head. “I will show this to Owl and Spotted Egg,” he said. “I will speak to them about Kukutux, and then we will decide whether or not to take a woman. She would have to ride in the ik with them, since I have only an ikyak. If they do not want her …” He shrugged.

  “Two bellies of oil for t
he harpoon heads, you promised,” Hard Rock said.

  “Yes,” said Waxtal, “for this and three more.” But he felt a shrinking inside as he thought of telling Owl how much he had promised for a few broken harpoon heads.

  Waxtal climbed from the ulaq, stood at the top for a moment, and looked down toward the beach. A young woman was carrying a slab of halibut meat in a net bag strung from her arm. She was tall and thin and moved with quick grace, her feet small and brown under the edge of her birdskin suk. As she passed the ulaq, she looked up at him, her dark eyes large in a too thin face. She looked away, and Waxtal felt the blood rush to his loins. How many nights since he had been with a woman?

  He looked at the harpoon head in his hand, focused his eyes on the broken barb until his thoughts left his needs. He was glad he had asked Hard Rock for a woman. Another man would only have to see the bulge at his crotch to know that Waxtal could be easily bought with the promise of a woman.

  He watched as the young woman climbed up a ulaq. Waxtal brushed his hand across his hardening man part, then heard Many Babies’ voice rise in a wail of complaints from inside Hard Rock’s ulaq. Waxtal shook his head. What woman was worth the misery?

  CHAPTER 28

  The Walrus People

  Chagvan Bay, Alaska

  KIIN STOOD ON THE SHORE until Raven’s trade ik and White Fox’s ikyak were only small dark spots on the blue water of the bay. She looked away as White Fox’s wife pulled her hair over her face to hide her tears. Kiin held prayers in her heart for the traders’ success, but if she hid her eyes from other women, it was not because of tears. There had been too many days of packing and preparing food, of carving and listening to Lemming Tail’s complaints, too many nights in the Raven’s bed, for her to feel sorrow at this parting.

  Soon the other women turned back to the lodges, but Kiin walked out on the tide flats, using her walking stick to find sea urchins between rocks and in tide pools.