by Heacox, Kim
Truman answered, “She’s behind Ruby’s house, playing. She’s expecting you.”
“Can I go see Rebecca?” Little Nancy asked her mom.
“You don’t want to spend time with me? I haven’t seen you in a whole week.”
“I know, I will, Mama. I’ve missed you, but I have to see Rebecca.”
“Of course you do.”
Anne put her down and watched her run across the clearing to the house.
“She’s a firecracker,” Vic said.
“She’s an only child,” Ruby said, and people laughed, Stuart included. He spoiled her and made no apologies for it.
Anne put her arm around his waist; he put his around her shoulder. “C’mon,” she said, “let me show you what we’re doing here.”
USED TO BE it was hard to live and easy to die. Not anymore. Nowadays it was the other way around. Anne smiled in Stuart’s embrace, walking through the shed, pointing things out, thinking, yes, there are many questions, some of them aching questions. We really don’t have a choice to participate or not, do we? We engage in the mystery and the wonder, the journey and drama, the living, loving, and dying. It’s a choice nobody gets to make. It doesn’t matter why it works this way. It only matters that it does work. If we want to inhabit wonder, we’d better learn as many languages as we can. We’d better meditate on light and leaves and birds and salmon and rain. And whales, of course. Always whales. The world is not ours to be mastered, only cared for. All in all, it’s a pretty good deal. This gift of guardianship.
“Hey, Stuart,” Jimmy called from atop a ladder, “could you hand me up that four-foot level, and that hammer and chisel?”
Stuart did, and said, “It’s looking really good, Bluefeather.”
“Oyyee . . . I think Gramps is here with us today, don’t you?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I have to get these joints just right.”
“Yes, you do.”
It’s all so mysterious, Anne thought. Some days are harder than others; that’s just the way it is. But on days like this, it’s very clear why we are here, why all of us are here.
TLINGIT GLOSSARY
The following is a list of Tlingit words in addition to those found in the story.
physical world
áak’w
pond
at gutú
woods, wilderness
dleit
snow
dís
moon
eech
rock
éil’
ocean, salt water
gagaan
sun
gus’shú
horizon
héen sháak
river, head of
héen wantú
riverbank
héen wát
river, mouth of
kagán
light
kagít
darkness
shaa
mountain
sít’
glacier
té
stone
tl’átk
land, earth
xáatl
iceberg
animal world
cháatl
halibut
dagitgiyáa
hummingbird
gáax’w
herring eggs
gooch
wolf
ishkeen
black cod (sablefish)
kaashaashxáat’
dragonfly
kageet
loon
kaháakw
fish eggs
kaax
merganser
kéet
killer whale (orca)
kichyaat
tern
k’wát’
bird’s egg
lugán
tufted puffin
nóoskw
wolverine
saak
eulachon (candlefish)
s’aak
bone
s’áaw
crab, Dungeness
s’eek
bear, black
shé
blood
s’ook
barnacle
t’á
king salmon
tayataayí
sea anemone
ts’ítskw
songbird
xóots
bear, brown
yaaw
herring
yáay
whale
yáxwch’
sea otter
yéin
sea cucumber
people
al’óoni
hunter
asgeiwú
seine fisherman
ashalxóot’i
sport fisherman
ast’eixí
troller
at layeixí
carpenter
at kach’áak’u
wood carver
du dachxán
his/her grandchild
du éesh
his/her father
du shagóon
his/her ancestor
du tláa
his/her mother
du xux
her husband
du yéet
his/her son
káa
man
kashxeedí
writer (scribe)
k’idaaká aa
neighbor
kóo at latéewu
teacher
sh yáa.awudanéiyi
respected person
shaawát
woman
shaatk’átsk’u
girl
yaa at naskwéini
student
yaakw yasatáni
captain of a boat
yadak’wátsk’u
boy
yanwáat
adult
carpentry/construction
jishagóon
tools
néegwál’
paint
shanaxwáayi
axe
sh daxash washéen
chain saw
tákl
hammer
téeyaa
chisel
xáshaa
saw
x’éex’u
shim
xút ’aa
adz(e)
yees
wedge
numbers
tléix’
one
déix
two
nás’k
three
daax’oon
four
keijín
five
tleidooshú
six
daxadooshú
seven
nas’gadooshú
eight
gooshúk
nine
jinkaat
ten
jinkaat ka tléix’
eleven
tleikáa
twenty
tléináx káa
one person
dáxnáx káa
two people
ceremony, spirit, life & death
at wuskóowu
witness
at shí
music, singing
gaax
cry
héixwaa
magic
íxt’
medicine man
kootéeyaa
totem pole
ku.éex’
potlatch (party)
kusaxán
love
laaxw
famine
latseen
power, strength
lékwaa
spirit (fighting spirit)
naná
death
sagú
joy
tá
sleep
tula.aan
kindness
yéik
spirit (Indian doctor’s spirit)
time
kutaan
summer
nisdaat
last night
seigán
tomorrow
táakw
winter
taakw eetí
spring
taat
night
tatgé
yesterday
yakyee
day, afternoon
yeedát
now
yeis
autumn
Author’s Note
Certain source materials were invaluable in writing this story: English/Tlingit Dictionary, Nouns, printed at Sheldon Jackson College, 1976; Tlingit Verb Dictionary, compiled by Gillian L. Story and Constance M. Naish at the Summer Institute of Linguistics, University of Alaska’s Alaska Native Language Center, 1973; Being and Place Among the Tlingit by Thomas F. Thornton, University of Washington Press, 2008; The Tlingit, An Introduction to Their Culture and History, by Wallace M. Olson, Heritage Research, Auke Bay, Juneau, 2004; The Tlingit Indians by George Thornton Emmons, American Museum of Natural History (#70 in the Anthropological Papers), 1991; Cedar: Tree of Life to the Northwest Coast Indians, by Hilary Stewart, University of Washington Press, 1984; Qayaks & Canoes: Native Ways of Knowing, by Jan Steinbright (photography by Clark Mishler), Graphic Arts Center Pub. Co., 2002; Tlingit Place Names of the Huna Káawu, a 2006 map by the Hoonah Indian Association with assistance from the U.S. National Park Service; Tongass Timber, A History of Logging & Timber Utilization in Southeast Alaska, by James (Jim) Mackovjak, Forest History Society, 2010.
At times I use outdated names. Winter wren versus Pacific wren, for example, given that Keb Wisting, as an old man, would probably be unaware of a new name, or unwilling to accept it. He’d have known the bird by its earlier English name (and of course its Tlingit name) for most of his adult life. While taxonomists often change the common names of species, indigenous peoples do not. For them, names—and the acts of naming and being named—are often sacred. As for the practice of using an adz cross-handed, I’ve seen it done only once, in Alert Bay, British Columbia. It so impressed me that I integrated it into Old Keb’s teachings for James, to set him apart from other carvers. Certain elements in the Pepper Mountain logging accident are contrived to make the plotline work. And certain clans and places within the geography of this novel I leave undiscussed (e.g. Mount Fairweather) as they have great Tlingit cultural and spiritual significance and are best addressed from that point of view exclusively by Tlingits.
Because languages represent the intellectual legacy of humanity, and are disappearing rapidly around the world, a percentage of the royalties from this book are dedicated to an organization devoted to preserving the Tlingit language.
Acknowledgments
It took twelve years and many revisions to write this book. George and Jessie Dalton (in Hoonah and Glacier Bay) introduced me to the power and beauty of the Tlingit canoe culture, and the importance of storytelling, seal hunting, and berry picking. Melanie, my wife, believed in Old Keb from the beginning. Dan Henry (in Haines), Wayne Howell, Greg Streveler and Hank Lentfer (in Gustavus), and Richard Nelson (in Sitka) offered sage and sincere advice. Carvers Nathan Jackson (Saxman), Tommy Joseph (Sitka), and Lou Cacioppo (Gustavus) inspired me with their artistry and skills. An additional nod to Lou for showing me the many exquisite details in a raven’s plumage. Ken Grant and Gus Martinez (both with the National Park Service in Glacier Bay) helped me: Ken with Tlingit sensibilities, Gus with law enforcement matters. Ben Stroecker (Gustavus) set me straight on commercial fishing. Dawn Morano, Jane Rosen-man, and Nick Jans made valuable suggestions. Elizabeth Kaplan, my wonderful literary agent, read Jimmy Bluefeather in three days and embraced it with great love and commitment. After many publishers said no (I’ve saved their rejections, laminated them, and intend to put them on the walls of my outhouse), Doug Pfeiffer at Alaska Northwest Books rescued this story from the wood-burning stove and gave it a good home, perhaps even a long life. Kathy Howard and Tina Morgan made valuable edits. Vicki Knapton and Angie Zbornik also made strong contributions. The Gustavus City Library provided friendly shelter and good Internet connectivity. Finally, several works of fiction inspired me to write a cross-cultural story with a protagonist whose life experiences and worldview were far different from my own: Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, The Milagro Beanfield War by John Nichols, The Confessions of Nat Turner by William Styron, The Help by Kathryn Stockett, The Century Trilogy by Ken Follett, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, and Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Imagine an Englishman writing about a tormented Danish prince. All things considered, he did well. Thank you friends, mentors, and exemplars. In the end, I believe our similiarities far outweigh our differences, and nothing matters more than compassion and love.
Kim Heacox
Gustavus, Alaska
21 December 2014
Jimmy Bluefeather Q&A
Q: Alaska roots this novel and plays a large part in the overall story line. How does the perception of Alaska as a kind of mysterious and remote place play a part in Jimmy Bluefeather? Why can’t the story have happened anywhere else?
A: This story is an after-image of the ice age. It’s set in a wild coastal world of storms, bears, mountains, whales, temperate rain forests, and tidewater glaciers. It’s set in Alaska, the America-that-used to-be, where rivers of ice run from the mountains down to the sea, and calve massive pieces of themselves into inlets and fjords, and create icebergs that provide nursery platforms for seals to give birth to their pups. It’s a land of eagles and ravens, of rebirth and resilience; a coming-back-to-life place in the wake of a massive glacial retreat. As such, that resilience infuses everybody who lives there, even an old man like Keb Wisting. The land itself, cut and carved by glaciers, is still youthful and wild, patterned by the tracks of wolves and bears. It inspires him to be young again, to finish carving his last canoe and take off, undaunted by the wind or rain. Such a thing could hardly happen in a cornfield or a city, in a shopping mall or a subdivision.
Q: What was your biggest challenge in writing about Keb? Is there another character you enjoyed bringing to life?
A: First, to endear the readers to him; make him likeable, believable. Second, to cross the age and culture barriers with accuracy and respect. I’m not Norwegian, Tlingit, or ninety-five years old. I’ve spent time with Norwegians (been to Norway several times) and with Tlingit elders (living as I do in Southeast Alaska) and always found them to be engaging, quick-witted (often with great senses of humor), soft-spoken, and wise; rooted in the past, yes, but also much more attuned to modern life than you’d think . . . knowledgeable about things like politics and basketball. I also enjoyed developing Anne as a character, since the novel moves from Keb’s point of view to hers. I enjoyed writing about her budding romance with Stuart, something I didn’t have in earlier drafts.
Q: What was the genesis of publishing Jimmy Bluefeather?
A: I began writing it in September 2002 and finished the first draft in three years, and put it away (thinking: Yikes, what have I just done?). Months later I reread it with new eyes, cut it by 20 percent, filled out a few characters and scenes, and tried to sell it. Rejections rolled in, many on beautiful letterhead (all rejections today come by e-mail and make less interesting keepsakes, unless they’re brilliantly written—few are). I hired a manuscript doctor, revised it again, tried selling it, hired another manuscript doctor, added a new epilogue, let it sit for another year, then found a literary agent—Elizabeth Kaplan—who read it in three days and loved it. More rejections. I let another year or two go by, and revised it again. Random House and Henry Holt came close to taking it. Then one day, almost as an afterthought, I sent the manuscript to Doug Pfeiffer at Alaska Northwest Books (“Hey, Doug, how are you? Look what I’ve been working on.”). I’ve known Doug for twenty-five years, but wasn’t sure he was interested in publishing fiction. He loved it, made an offer, and here we are. My advice to writers: writ
e for the joy of it, not to be rich or famous (whatever that is). Tell a good story. And never give up.
Q: Could you discuss the transformation of the relationship between Keb and James as the story evolves?
A: Through a profound experience (the canoe journey) they come to understand and trust each other, and develop great respect for each other. It’s not an easy transformation, just as travel by canoe is not always easy. It’s hard, and it’s the “hard” that makes it great. Early on, Keb dislikes much of what he sees in James. James in turn regards his grandfather as a relic waiting to die. They love each other, of course, but they don’t easily relate to each other. The canoe—and wild Alaska—changes all that. The story opens in May and closes in September, and a lot happens in that time. Not until a later draft did I land on the epilogue, with the rebuilding of the Keb Shed, and James (Jimmy) using his hands so artfully, beginning to show the mannerisms and speech of his grandfather.