The Translation of Dr Apelles

by David Treuer

  Bimaadiz picked up his bow and circled quietly into the wind and tracked the smoke toward its source. After a few minutes the smoke-smell grew stronger and Bimaadiz knew he was close. The land dipped toward a small creek. He heard the sound of water running over rocks. Smoke hugged the ground, and Bimaadiz could see a few small flames from a low fire flickering through the trees. The branches and brush were thick, and he could get close without being seen. As quietly as he could, he worked his way toward the edge of the camp. Soon, only a few branches and some sweet-fern separated him from these people, friend or foe.

  And who should he see raking the coals underneath a pot of pitch?

  Eta!

  It was all Bimaadiz could do to keep himself from rushing out of the woods and embracing her then and there. But her mother was sure to be nearby and who knows who else. So he held himself back and drank in the sight of her in her thin summer dress (work-worn and stained with pitch and soot—but Bimaadiz swore to himself he had never seen a more beautiful dress and a more beautiful girl), and he blessed his luck and offered silent prayers to the bunting that had led his body all this way to be unexpectedly reunited with his heart. Bimaadiz had had no idea he was so close, no idea that he had walked all this way to end up at the side of his sweetheart.

  Enough was enough. He had to stand and make himself known. He did.

  “Bimaadiz!” she said.

  Eta could barely contain her joy but she did; her mother was sitting only yards away behind a pile of firewood, softening spruce root with her strong teeth.

  Mary stood.

  “Hello Bimaadiz, hello. You’re far from home. Are you hungry? Sit.”

  Mary did not seem suspicious or surprised that Bimaadiz was there, and she asked him for news of life in the village. Eta was silent out of respect for her mother—she could not speak with Bimaadiz as she usually did. Bimaadiz related all that was new. The mill was still cutting logs leftover from winter. The Priest and local Agent had ridden south to meet the Governor and the village Chief had gone with them. There was still talk of war and the people were nervous. He told them of his bird hunting and drew out the bunting to show them. He gifted it to Mary who was very pleased to receive it.

  “Why don’t you stay,” said Mary eventually. “It is a long way back to the village and there might be marauders about. It would be safer for you here. Aantti will be back with the others soon, I think.”

  They had been away for the day cutting cedar.

  “I don’t want to be a burden. It’s a small camp you’ve got here and I’ll eat too much of your food.”

  “Nonsense. It isn’t safe in the woods at night right now. The enemy might even now be getting ready to create some mischief.”

  As it was, Eta’s family only went out in groups and they were always armed. So Bimaadiz accepted the offer, and when Aantti returned with his crew, they all passed the evening singing and telling stories. When it was time for sleep, Bimaadiz spread his blanket next to the fire, away from Eta and her mother. They made for bed in a makeshift lean-to covered with balsam branches and carpeted with cedar fronds that kept away the bugs. Aantti and the cousins pulled out their bedrolls and spread them around the fire with Bimaadiz. He did not mind. He was closer to Eta than he had been in weeks and for him those weeks had felt like months. Through the night Bimaadiz dreamt of kissing and touching Eta, and he woke to find himself hugging Aantti and he wondered if he had been kissing him all night, mistaking the father for the daughter.

  Mary left to gather more spruce root, and Aantti and the cousins left again to cut cedar. Eta remained behind to boil and strain the pitch. Bimaadiz and Eta had the camp to themselves, and once everyone was gone, they embraced and kissed and stopped only occasionally to stir the pitch and to talk.

  “I came for you, Eta.”

  “I know.”

  “It is because of you that I’ve been killing all these poor birds.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  And then Bimaadiz said what had been on his mind while he was separated from Eta and hadn’t had a chance.

  “I don’t want you to forget me.”

  “How could I? I haven’t forgotten you. And as soon as the canoe is done and the berrying starts we’ll be back together.”

  Bimaadiz groaned.

  “But there are hundreds of stitches to put in the bark, the holes have to be punched. The whole thing sealed. The longer it takes to put the canoe together the more I come undone.”

  “Bimaadiz. Cheer up. The berries will be ripe soon and you’ll still be in one piece then. It’s only a month away.”

  “Promise me then. Promise me that you will not find a new sweetheart, that you won’t want to kiss anyone but me. That you won’t forget me.”

  “I promise. I swear on the spirits and on the wolf, the one who raised me first, that I will always be yours and that if I am not true to you I will kill myself or you can kill me.”

  “I swear the same,” breathed Bimaadiz. “I swear on the moose, the one who helped me when I was found. I will have a heart as true and strong as hers and I will never abandon you or throw you over for another. If I do then I will kill myself or you can kill me.”

  Such were their childish promises. And as silly as they were, by exchanging them they were both calmed. Bimaadiz could leave in peace. He had promised Aantti and Mary that he would return once again with provisions. He kept his promise and so time passed more quickly than Bimaadiz thought possible and he was able to leave the birds alone and killed no more of them. They had brought him closer to Eta and for that he shared a generous part of his affection for Eta with them and even feasted them and thanked them formally.

  3. The long waiting period was over. It was just past the height of summer. All of the blooms of spring had faded, and only the hardiest of flowers now greeted one another with nods in clearings and fields. Gentian and yarrow swayed in the wind and paintbrush, shier by nature, shuddered and, as though with clasped hands, bent and quivered in the tall grass. But who wants flowers anyway? What good are they? Much greater and even more beautiful to the eye were the berries that had ripened. They hung everywhere.

  The chokecherries—gregarious and chatty, perched on their branches calling out to everyone to strip them off. Wild plums—sarcastic and timid at the same time—called out from behind their leaves only to retreat into the brushy brambles where they lived. Raspberries and blackberries—royal and corrupt princes—braved it out in the full sun of forest clearings. Gooseberries and huckleberries—reticent, tradition-bound and private—lived on un-bothered in the swamps. Cranberries and pincherries (those party-goers) draped themselves over the furniture of the branches and invited all passersby, birds and people, to join the party. The blueberries and wintergreen grew undisturbed—calmly bourgeois—in the carpeted hush of the big woods.

  In short, everything was fruiting, pregnant with life. And Bimaadiz and Eta were reunited. Once Eta’s family had returned from their canoe camp, Eta had wasted no time. She grabbed a pail and headed toward her favorite blueberry patch, but not without letting Bimaadiz know where she was going. They ran to each other and kissed on the lips, on the cheeks, on the eyes, and on the neck. Neither one of them could get enough of the other—it was as though they had woken from a long sleep and they each blinked and stretched, surprised by the bright light of the other. They picked berries and talked in a constant rush (equaled only by the constant hum of horseflies overhead and the rapid rain of berries in the bottoms of their pails) and would suddenly drop their pails and kiss. The whole world was ripe and ready for picking. Especially the two children, who were the most beautiful fruit of nature and time. They were young and healthy and in no way immune to life. Bimaadiz was especially vulnerable to the disease of plenty.

  He had had time to watch and think all the blessed season long, and so he asked Eta if she would lie down naked with him
as Kiiwenz had instructed (the one bit of advice they had not dared to follow and that might lead to the only remedy for desire that really worked).

  “What more could that do for us?” asked Eta. “What would we do when we were naked? What then?”

  Bimaadiz said that he had often seen deer and moose chase each other and then the buck or bull would get behind the doe or cow for a few seconds. When they stopped they grazed contentedly side by side as though they had shared some pleasure between them. There seems to be something sweet in it that takes away the bitter taste of desire.

  “But they do it standing up,” said Eta. “The bull, as you say, jumps behind the cow. But you want me to lie down and that doesn’t make any sense. And besides, you know the ground is never as soft as it looks. There are sticks and pinecones and rocks down there, and they will poke and scratch my skin.”

  She did not want to disappoint Bimaadiz, however, and in the end, agreed to do what he asked.

  They found a good patch of berries, away from the main trail. Intent on trying this new remedy, they undressed quickly without much thought, the way children undress in preparation for a swim. They took little notice of each other’s nakedness, and in doing so neglected to pick the ripest fruit of all—the fruit of the imagination. They quickly lay down side by side. It was a dream come true. While they waited for something to happen the dream evaporated like dew in the light of a new sun. Nothing happened, nothing was happening. Bimaadiz asked Eta to get on her hands and knees so he could get behind her, just as he had seen deer and moose do. She complied, and Bimaadiz positioned himself behind her. This was the farthest they’d traveled down the path of desire—but if you don’t know the destination it is difficult to know if you’re getting close. Once he was behind he didn’t know what to do next. Bimaadiz was confused and frustrated. He turned away and sat on the ground. The sticks agitated the sensitive skin on his scrotum and his back was being bitten by flies. He covered his face and cried in frustration. Even the moose and deer knew more about desire and its fulfillment than he did.

  4. There was at that time a man named Pajaagan who lived on the edge of the village, but separate from it. He came from a long line of Chiefs though he had no authority anymore. But he was still an important man, he had done well for himself. He had a fine cabin with two rooms and its own well, a shed, a corral, and two other outbuildings. He even owned a milk cow and raised chickens—eggs were eaten in his household year round. In addition to these holdings he had more supple and sensuous things to hold. He had three wives to keep him warm. Pajaagan, exhausted and happy in his riches, lived his life crawling from bed to bed. But he was advanced in years and he rarely made it to all their beds and so very rarely did he part the legs of his third wife, and if he did, it was usually only to sleep between them.

  This left Maanendamookwe (for that was her name) with a surplus of needs. She was young, barely older than Bimaadiz. She rarely got pleasure except by her own hand. She often saw Bimaadiz as he trooped out to hunt. When he came back loaded with game, she looked forward to the sight of his lean young body as it swam through the trees on the edge of her husband’s holdings. Maanendamookwe also saw Bimaadiz and Eta heading out together and sometimes ran into them on the trail. She had a suspicion that what had begun as a childhood friendship was turning into something else. She saw how they held hands and stole kisses when they thought no one could see them.

  On that day when Bimaadiz and Eta went berrying, Maanendamookwe had followed them into the woods and watched them. She had seen the children strip and lie down naked, had seen Bimaadiz move behind Eta, and had seen his tears of frustration. Maanendamookwe felt bad for the children. Pleasure was so near and they didn’t know how to bring it closer. But there it was! Buried in their own bodies, waiting, scratching to get out. If only they knew. She hatched a plan whereby she could help the children find their pleasure and in doing so satisfy her own cravings.

  A week after she spied on Bimaadiz and Eta, she set her plan in motion. She followed them out into the big woods where they were picking the last of the blueberries. After the innocent pair got settled, kneeling among the bushes and singing as they worked, Maanendamookwe messed up her hair and rubbed mud on the front of her dress and on her ankles. She then staggered into the berry patch making a great show of her distress.

  “Help! I need help!”

  Bimaadiz and Eta jumped up, worried about a possible attack from the band across the river. They were eager to help their neighbor. They knew her husband and wanted to help her in any way they could.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Bimaadiz.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Eta.

  “I set nets on a slough,” she said, “for ducks. And what should land but a flock of twenty geese. They were caught fast, but flapped and struggled away from shore. The muck and water were too deep for me. I could not reach them and they, being so strong, were ripping the nets as they struggled. What’s worse is that two eagles arrived and they swooped and dived trying to prey on the geese. It won’t be long before the eagles carry them off and I’ll have nothing to show for my efforts except ripped nets. I will have to return home with nothing and I will receive three beatings—two beatings from the other wives and one from my husband. It took all of us all winter to make the nets and they will blame me for the loss.”

  Bimaadiz and Eta tried to comfort her.

  “I’m sure we can find a solution,” said Bimaadiz. “and everything will turn out all right.”

  “Please help me, Bimaadiz,” said Maanendamookwe. “Come with me and help me rescue my nets. If you don’t, all I will receive back home is pain and humiliation. You might have a chance to shoot one of the eagles,” she suggested. “They are fearless and fly quite close.”

  Bimaadiz agreed immediately and left his berry basket with Eta. He walked with Maanendamookwe in the direction of the slough.

  When they were a fair distance away from the berry patch, Maanendamookwe slowed her pace, stopped, and turned to face Bimaadiz.

  “Bimaadiz,” she said. “I want to talk to you because I had a dream, surely the spirits sent it, because it was about you and Eta.”

  “Yes! About us? Please tell me.” Bimaadiz listened closely.

  “I was told by the spirits that you and Eta care about each other a great deal, the two of you are bound together. But the spirits also told me that something holds you apart—you lie down naked together only to taste frustration, not pleasure. The spirits told me this makes you terribly unhappy.”

  “It’s true! The spirits aren’t lying—we are very frustrated.” He was amazed she had been told so much by the spirits.

  “My heart goes out to the two of you,” said Maanendamookwe. “I hate to see people unhappy when they could be happy. This is why the spirits sent me the dream. The spirits told me I must help you. If you let me, I’ll be your teacher and I’ll teach you to taste pleasure instead of frustration. There is more than just kissing, embracing, and lying down naked together. There is more to the art of satisfaction than trying to do what the deer and moose do—it means a form of pleasure much sweeter than theirs because it lasts longer.”

  Upon hearing this Bimaadiz was overjoyed. He nearly cried with gratitude, dropped to his knees and made all sorts of promises: he’d give her whole honey-cakes, three deer, and as many tobacco twists as he could buy with the money he got from his hides.

  We all need teachers, and she was a good one to have.

  Maanendamookwe was encouraged by Bimaadiz’s innocent trust and instructed him to do as follows:

  “Sit down beside me on the ground, here I will put down my shawl so the ground will be as soft and smooth as my skin. And now that we are seated, kiss me. But don’t rush to my lips, don’t be in a hurry—you must build pleasure step by step,” she said (though she was starving for his thick lips). “Kiss one side of my neck,” she said, turning her head. “Use y
our lips and then yes, suck a little bit. You can even bite it a little, yes, and now my ear. Now do the same on the other side.”

  Bimaadiz did as he was told and Maanendamookwe assured him by saying yes yes yes that he was doing fine. She panted and sucked in her breath by the time he finished licking the salty lobe of her little ear.

  “Am I doing okay? Am I doing it the right way?” asked Bimaadiz, anxious to be a good student.

  “Yes. Very good. Now,” she instructed, “kiss my lips and as you kiss them you can touch me, softly, here, yes, here like you are rolling a raspberry off the stem, and then with more force.”

  Bimaadiz was anxious to learn and did as he was told and again, by saying yes yes directly into his mouth, Maanendamookwe let him know that he was doing it right. And now Maanendamookwe was barely able to form the words, but she was a committed teacher.

  With great effort she pushed her student away and said, “Start all over again from the beginning and as you touch me and kiss my neck, my ear, my lips, lift my dress over my head and take it all the way off.”

  He did as he was told.

  “That’s the way,” she breathed, “and lay me down on the shawl.”

  He placed stealthy kisses on her neck and ears, and on her lips, and as he kissed her with more energy, he lifted off her dress and pulled it over her head and took it all the way off, and then he guided her to the ground and hunted his way down her body.

  “Yes, but don’t stop, put it all together now, don’t stop kissing me. And kiss me here,” she said, guiding his head to her breasts.

  And after a while then she held his head and whispered, “and down here, too,” and she placed his head between her legs.