We walked up the grassy hill in silence and with the exception of a patch of poison ivy, we didn’t run into anything that posed a danger. When we reached the rocky ledges, I could see that her assumption had been right in the fact that these would be easy to climb. There were plenty of handholds and footholds, not to mention the fact that it rose gradually at an angle, making it much like climbing a hill.
She reminded me to remain alert for snakes as we started up the wall. I followed close behind, impressed to see how agile she was in spite of the fact that she was wearing what could only be compared to slippers.
We’d made it up to a nice stone shelf that offered a smooth flat walkway along the canyon wall. She cocked the shotgun and hunched down in a crouch as she started along the walkway. I had no idea what had alerted her, but it was enough to make me draw my sidearm and chamber a round.
She called out something in her language as she veered around the corner. I followed her, concerned now over the fact that the shelf was only as big as our feet. Earlier we could have comfortably sat down on the shelf and had room left over, but now it seemed a stiff wind could knock us off the canyon wall. She called out something again and then finally said it in English.
“White Papa!” she called, “Are you in there?”
Just then, I realized what she was referring to. Up ahead of us, the shelf widened again and led straight into a natural cave. In spite of her calls, no one responded.
“I will shoot if anything jumps out of the cave, so if you’re in there, you’d best respond,” she hollered as we cautiously approached the cave.
She knelt down outside the cave and picked something up. She sniffed it and then handed it to me. It was a cigarette butt, bleached to a pale orange by the sun and the rain. I could barely make out where it once read Marlboro. My grandfather smoked Marlboros.
As we got closer, we could see the bottom of a modern man’s slipper. I hollered for him, but there was still no response. I located several more cigarette butts imbedded in the cracks of the rock, so it confirmed that this was probably his home. As we got closer, we noticed that the cave didn’t have a sufficient roof, so a good sliver of light made its way to the cave floor. I saw the tattered bathrobe a moment before I noticed the skeletal leg reaching down into the slipper.
“I’m sorry, Maddox,” she said, kneeling down at the mouth of the cave, “The bones are still here because the wolves couldn’t get to this cave. It looks like the rats and the birds had no problems getting to him though.”
“Why… how did he die?” I asked, slipping past her into the cave, “I wonder if he even tried to survive once he showed up here.”
He had obviously not come prepared since he was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. He must have had a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with him. I could see the charred remains of a small bonfire that he built inside the cave. There were some fish bones nearby as well as the bones of some small creature I couldn’t identify. Nevertheless, the man died up here and it seemed like he never even gave it his all.
“It was winter,” she said, examining what remained of his body, “He had tucked himself into the corner of the cave, hiding from the elements and probably freezing to death at the time.”
“But this is so far away from home. He had to have walked for miles like we did today. Surely he passed some Indians along the way,” I said.
“So he lived in the same place as you and your father?” she asked.
“No… wait…” I thought for a moment.
My grandfather had lived in Cuyahoga Falls. He lived fairly close to the same river I did, except he lived near the dam. About a hundred years ago, the Cuyahoga River had been dammed in order to generate electricity for the city. This dam was a towering wall of concrete that created a deep river that didn’t seem to move on the back side of it and a trickling river on the other. For all I knew, I was now standing in a portion that would be submerged due to the dam. There would be no gorge or canyon on the Cuyahoga River in my time except for the area that existed after the dam.
“He did live somewhere close to this cave,” I said, “So he wouldn’t have met the Shawnee unless he chose to cross the river and climb the canyon on the other side.”
She took the bathrobe and opened it up. It was torn in some spots, most likely due to the rats or the vultures.
“The frightening thing is the fact that my dad was already here by the time my grandpa arrived. He’d been here for several years, yet your people speak of seeing the White Papa as recently as two years ago,” I said.
She grabbed what remained of his bones including the skull and laid them out in the center of the robe. It appeared that an arm was missing completely as well as one of his feet. This was probably due to portions of the body being carried off by the scavengers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“He deserves a proper burial and besides, your dad may need evidence or he may always wonder,” she said.
She rolled up the bones along with the empty lighter and the crushed pack of cigarettes. Then she tied off the robe, making sure that none of the rips in the robe were out in the open.
“Thank you, Wildwood,” I said, “And thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re part of the tribe now, Maddox,” she said, “And we take care of everyone. If we’d have known he was struggling to survive when he was spotted all those times before, we would have done something to help. Even if we didn’t know he was related to your father.”
She handed me the rolled up robe which I then tucked under my left arm. She stood up and looked around the cave, sadly taking it all in. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was, but I doubt that. Mine were all those cocky statements that insisted “If it were me, I’d have built a door and a roof to the cave, leaving just enough gap in the ceiling for the smoke to escape” or “You had a cigarette lighter and enough trees to build the world’s largest bonfire to ward off the winter.”
If she was thinking such things, it would have made sense given her supreme survival skills. For me to think such things was completely hypocritical.
She led the way along the shelf as we headed back home.
P’sikthi
Outside of a few minor slips and struggles on our way up the canyon wall, we made it back to the woods with no problem. We hadn’t been in the woods for even five minutes before she stopped suddenly and grabbed an arrow from her quiver. She still had the shotgun at her side, but apparently this particular situation called for an arrow.
She stealthily slid the bow off her arm and notched the arrow into it. I still couldn’t tell what had startled her, but it was enough to cause me to grab for my sidearm. Suddenly, she let the arrow loose, firing it into the ground near one of the trees. It took me a moment to realize that she had just shot a rabbit from nearly thirty feet away.
“Dinner,” she said.
She retrieved her arrow which still had a large rabbit impaled upon it. She held it up as though I’d find it to be mouth-watering. I simply smiled and nodded.
“Help me grab some firewood and we’ll look for a good place to cook this little guy,” she said.
It didn’t take long at all to find some good firewood considering the amount of dead limbs littering the forest floor. I forfeited both of my arms as I carried a nice-size stack of firewood through the woods. Wildwood finally located a nice little opening in the forest canopy where we could build a fire.
She removed a flint knife from her belt and started skinning the rabbit. I could hear the sick wet sounds of whatever was happening to the rabbit, and didn’t want to see what was going on. So I chose to focus on building up the logs into a nice pyramid for a fire.
She was done preparing the rabbit before I could even turn to her to tell her I was ready for some fire. The bunny now looked no different than a chicken waiting to be put in the oven.
“I don’t know how to start a fire,” I admitted.
“I know,” she said, “We’ll change
that, don’t you worry.”
She placed the rabbit on a rock and then located some sticks that she found satisfactory for her purpose. She then grabbed some dried leaves and came over to where I knelt.
“First of all, that pile won’t work. I like to cook on rocks, so I thought about building the fire around that rock over there,” she said, pointing toward a small boulder that was no larger around than a dinner plate, “Let’s pile up the wood in a circle around that rock.”
I followed her direction and then sat next to her as she grabbed her choice sticks. She piled the dried leaves and the smaller sticks around the area where she was going to create some friction. I knew what she was going to do before she did it because I’d either seen it on a movie before or learned about it at one of the various camping trips I’d been on. She held the stick between her two palms and spun it rapidly, keeping the end propped against a knot on a dried piece of wood. She continued spinning it over and over again, giving no time for the area of the friction to cool down.
To my surprise, a flame appeared after less than a minute or two. She moved some of the dead leaves closer, getting them to ignite. Then she moved some smaller sticks over the flame. Eventually, she slid the miniature fire underneath the logs around the rock. She continued to feed the fire with small sticks and leaves, making sure it didn’t go out. About two or three minutes later, it ignited some of the more significant logs in our fire.
At that point, the fire would keep itself going, so she grabbed the rabbit and placed it on the rock in the center. She then explained to me the various ways people in her tribe cooked meat. Her favorite way was to cook it on a rock either in the middle of a fire or overtop one. Like me, she preferred her meat cooked well, or as she described it, “almost burned”.
“I always thought it would take a long time to make a fire,” I said, adding another dry log to the fire, “I want to try making the fire next time.”
“Certainly,” she said, poking the rabbit through the flames with a stick, “And I’ll teach you how to stuff a rabbit with the right fruits and herbs to give it the perfect sweet flavor. We don’t have everything available here or I’d have done that.”
I laughed and then she gave me a curious glance.
“Another misconception about your world. We figured your people just killed the meat and cooked it with no regard for enhancing the flavor,” I said, “And here you are talking about herbs to give it the perfect flavor. You’re no different than us.”
“Is that good?” she asked.
“I think so,” I chuckled, “Sometimes we think we are so far advanced or so much better than those of the past, yet in cases like this, we’re no different. Who knows – your fruit-filled rabbit might be better than anything my generation has ever tasted.”
“Then I’ll take that as a challenge! When we get back, I intend to make you rabbit the way it was meant to be made,” she said.
The meat was sizzling on the rock now. The overhanging portions were already turning black as the flames rose higher and licked them. She used two long sticks to move the meat around. One stick caught fire, so she just left it to be consumed. After a few more minutes of watching it cook, she managed to hook the meat by using two sticks and lifted it from the fire. I followed her as she carried it over to large rock and then set it down.
“Have you eaten rabbit before?” she asked.
“Never,” I said.
“Seriously? We eat rabbit so often that we tend to pass it up in favor of larger game,” she said, “The kids often hunt rabbit or geese, so it’s usually not in short supply.”
“We mostly eat chickens or pigs in my world,” I said, “And beef of course.”
“I’m not sure I’ve heard of those before, but maybe it’s just a matter of translation,” she said.
She used her knife to help tear into the meat. She handed me a leg and took the other one. It looked no different than cooked chicken and when I tasted it, I discovered another similarity to it. It was good and surprisingly juicy.
“This is really good,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, “I think that-”
She was interrupted by some angry words I didn’t understand. Startled, we both turned to discover White Owl and an adult Indian bearing toward us. The words had been spoken by White Owl. The other man now said something that also sounded like a reprimand. She replied to them rather casually and then cut a portion of the rabbit. She stabbed a chunk of meat and then held the knife out to me.
“Did you just say you found White Papa?” White Owl asked.
Suddenly the Indian turned to White Owl and said something in the form of a question. White Owl replied to him with many words. I took the piece of meat Wildwood offered and then watched as she cut herself a portion from the rabbit.
“So, then where is he?” White Owl asked.
“Here,” she said, reaching over and taking hold of the tied-up bundle.
She tossed it to him which he barely caught. He felt the bundle and then set it down on the ground next to me. The adult Indian was now heaping dirt on the fire which still burned a few meters away.
“Are you sure it’s him?” he asked.
“Positive,” I replied.
“Do you think Deer Tracker will tell the others?” Wildwood asked of White Owl.
“Well, he seemed pretty upset that we can even speak the language of the spirits,” White Owl said, kneeling between us, “None of this would have happened had you not run off. If he tells, he tells.”
Wildwood hollered something to the other man. He finally had the fire put out and was now watching us from a distance. He replied to her, maintaining something of a stern expression. She rose from her spot, speaking rapidly as she approached him. He screamed, shouting something at her and then ran off into the woods. White Owl leapt to his feet and shouted at Wildwood. She was still facing the woods where Deer Tracker had just run.
White Owl shouted more angry sentences at Wildwood. She turned slowly and nodded to him. White Owl screamed just the same as Deer Tracker had. He turned to look at me and all I could see was a look of disgust on his face. He screamed again and then ran off in the same direction as Deer Tracker.
I rose from the ground suddenly and saw now that Wildwood was crying. I rushed over to her and she willingly fell into my arms. I held her for a moment before I gathered the courage to ask what had happened.
“They know,” she muttered, “They know that I will never belong to Rain Walker. They know that I belong to you now.”
“Oh no,” I breathed out, “What are they going to do?”
“There’s nothing they can do to change the spirits,” she said, “They set the spirits against me now. My own brother…”
She shuddered in my arms. I kissed the side of her head and held her close.
“What does that mean?” I asked, “About the spirits?”
“I have dishonored the ancestors, so the ancestors will dishonor me,” she said, “Or so says White Owl.”
She wiped her eyes as she broke free from my embrace. She looked at me and then cracked a smile.
“I wouldn’t change anything, Maddox,” she said, kissing me tenderly on the lips, “Why don’t we gather up our belongings and find out if the village is in an uproar. Could be interesting.”
Hatito
As we’d expected, trouble was brewing and it all came to a head the moment we returned to the village. Grey Wolf had been waiting for us near the center of the village. His wife stood next to him as she appeared to be fighting off the tears already forming in her eyes. She was the first to approach us, sending her verbal pleas to us as she took a hold of Wildwood’s hand. Her mother didn’t so much as look at me as she chided her daughter.
Wildwood argued with her mother, but this didn’t seem to make matters any better. I had no idea what was being said, but the moment Wildwood took hold of my hand, her father snatched a hold of her wrist and took her away from me.
I felt like I sudde
nly didn’t belong, but nevertheless, I was part of the situation. I rushed toward them, but my father suddenly interjected from several meters away.
“No!” he hollered, seeing that I was about to take hold of my fleeing girlfriend, “Get over here, Maddox. It’s a domestic thing and you have no part in it.”
I turned to my father and saw more than a dozen angry faces looking at me. I suddenly felt like crawling back into my tattered house in the woods and staying there for the rest of my days. At least my bed was still in one piece even if the walls were all shattered.
“Seriously, kid,” he said, “You’ll see her again soon enough.”
I dodged several disgruntled Indians until I reached my father where he stood alone. Without saying a word, he gestured for me to follow him into the woods. We walked along the trail that led to the river. I wondered suddenly if he was bringing me back to the remains of my house after all. I wouldn’t have argued with him if he was.
“You’re making life very difficult here and you barely even had time to settle in,” he said, “You’re going to make it especially difficult for me considering that I did the same thing you did. It will stir up memories.”
“She didn’t love Rain Walker, Dad,” I countered, “Shouldn’t she be able to decide what she wants?”
“No, not when she has already been committed to him,” he said, “It’s the same as adultery in their eyes. Can you imagine what that does to these people especially as you go around wearing her father’s vest?”
“I’ll take it off then!” I said, doing just that.
I tossed it to the ground. My father turned around and looked at me.
“This isn’t just some childhood spat, kid. They may very well excommunicate her and you alongside her. Even if they don’t, I’m going to recommend that the two of you go to the neighboring Shawnee village a few miles away,” he said.
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