The Ravens (Minnesota Trilogy)

by Vidar Sundstøl

  “Yup.”

  Willy and Lance both laughed.

  “Have some more Coke,” said Willy.

  Lance wondered why Chrissy had asked him to drive her up here. There must be something particular she wanted to talk to Willy about. Or did she just want to meet him?

  “But what does it really mean to be part Ojibwe?” Chrissy asked as she dutifully took another sip of her Coke.

  “I don’t think I know. At least not any more than you do,” replied Willy.

  “It’s not like we can be members of the tribe, or whatever it’s called. Right?”

  Willy chuckled.

  “I’m afraid that would require a little more than a great-great-grandmother. But that doesn’t make your ancestry any less important. Your Ojibwe great-great-grandmother is just as much a part of you as your other great-great-grandparents. Or just as little. But what it does mean is that you come from a people who were here long before the whites arrived. So it’s up to you to decide what to do with that knowledge. It means whatever you choose to make it mean.”

  “But where I come from . . . ,” said Chrissy. “Two Harbors. It’s not someplace where you can really belong. So I was thinking that maybe . . .”

  “That you could belong here?” Willy finished her sentence for her.

  She nodded.

  “Don’t be sad if you feel like you don’t belong. That just means that your opportunities are elsewhere. Maybe you’re one of those people who creates her own world as she goes along. Otter Heart was like that. Have you heard of him?”

  Lance and Chrissy both shook their heads.

  “Otter Heart was a young man who plays a role in lots of stories,” said Willy. “He’s always traveling, and new worlds appear along the way. I remember a story my mother used to tell me when I was a boy. It was about Otter Heart, the great hunter.”

  Willy sipped at his coffee and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. His eyes took on a distant look, as if he were listening to his mother’s voice.

  “One day Otter Heart was out on a long hunting expedition in the woods to the northwest,” he began. “That night, while he slept, wrapped in his blanket under the stars, he dreamed that he had a wife and a son, and that his life with them was the best life any Indian could have. When he woke up, he was happier than he’d ever been before. But that lasted only a few seconds. Then he realized that what had seemed like an entire lifetime had been only a dream. Because that’s how some dreams are. Right?”

  Lance thought he noticed Chrissy’s lip quivering slightly, but it was so faint that he couldn’t be sure. He wondered whether Willy was telling this story especially for her.

  “All day long Otter Heart walked around with a heavy heart because he would never again see his wife from the dream,” Willy went on. “As dusk fell, he came to a beaver dam where he killed two grown beavers and a baby, but even that didn’t put him in a better mood. Then he noticed the smell of smoke. If there was a campfire, there would be other Indians. And after a while he came to a birchbark teepee with smoke swirling out of the vent at the top. Otter Heart didn’t know who lived there. It might be an evil sorcerer, for all he knew, so he crept over to the teepee to look through a crack. Inside sat a young woman doing handwork in the light of the fire. Since the situation didn’t seem dangerous after all, he made his presence known. It turned out that the woman lived alone, and she welcomed Otter Heart as her guest. She invited him to stay the night but apologized for not having any food to give him since it was difficult for her to get hold of any meat. Then Otter Heart went out and brought back the three beavers that he’d killed earlier in the day. If she would prepare and cook the food, he would make sure there was meat. Then the young woman blushed, because it almost sounded as though they were already man and wife.”

  At this point Willy winked at Chrissy, whose serious expression didn’t change. And now Lance could swear that her lower lip really was quivering slightly.

  “And you know what?” Willy looked from Lance to Chrissy. “Now Otter Heart saw that this was the same woman he’d dreamed about the night before. It hadn’t taken more than a few hours to find her again in the waking world! He was so happy he asked her right then and there to be his wife, and she nodded and smiled as she sat in the light from the fire. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, because he hadn’t yet learned her name. ‘My name is Sad Water,’ replied the young woman.”

  “Sad Water,” whispered Chrissy.

  “Yes, Sad Water,” repeated Willy. “She prepared the beaver meat, but only after first carefully examining the three beavers for a long time. She looked at their eyes and held up the big paddles of their tails to study them. When the food was ready, she made sure Otter Heart ate the biggest and fattiest pieces, which is what a good Indian wife always does for her hunter. She refused to eat any herself, no matter how much he coaxed her. No, she said, she preferred to eat at another time, and he shouldn’t mind her. During the night Otter Heart was awakened by some strange noises. It sounded like an animal gnawing on something somewhere inside the teepee. In the faint glow from the fire, he thought he saw Sad Water sitting on the ground, bowed forward and gnawing on several twigs. But when he woke up the next morning, he was sure that he must have dreamed what he saw.

  “His young wife served him warm beaver meat for breakfast, but she still refused to eat any herself. When Otter Heart was done eating, he asked her why she had examined the three beavers so thoroughly the night before. ‘To make sure they weren’t members of my family,’ she said. Otter Heart thought he now knew what those gnawing sounds must have been. Sad Water must have turned herself into a beaver. But when he asked her, she said it was more complicated than that. Her father had been a chieftain in a village about a day’s journey from there. One day a powerful medicine man had come to the village. The chieftain had had no choice but to invite him in and ask him to spend the night, even though he distrusted him. The medicine man, who was old and very evil, fell in love with Sad Water. He asked the chieftain for permission to marry her. But the young woman’s father refused. He would rather die than see his daughter married to such an evil man. As punishment, the medicine man turned the chieftain and his whole family, including Sad Water, into beavers, so that they would be forced to work and toil all their days. For no animal works harder than a beaver.”

  Willy paused to stuff a cookie in his mouth. Little crumbs sprayed from his mouth as he chewed. Lance tried to make eye contact with his niece, but she had lowered her gaze and refused to look at him, even though Lance felt sure she knew he was staring at her. After finishing the cookie, Willy slowly raised his cup to his lips, his hand shaking, and noisily slurped at his coffee before slowly and unsteadily setting the cup back on the table.

  “Well,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Where were we?”

  “The evil medicine man had turned the whole family into beavers,” said Chrissy quietly, still without raising her eyes.

  “Exactly,” said Willy. “They settled near a creek, where they built a dam and transformed a marshy area into a big, fine lake. Here they eventually built several beaver lodges. And since they still remembered many of the things they’d learned while they were human, they soon became the most powerful beaver family in the area. They could still speak the human language, and one day a highly respected medicine man came walking past the lake. The beaver father, who was the former chieftain, immediately recognized the man and began talking to him. Since this was a great and mighty medicine man, he was not surprised to meet a beaver that could speak the human language. He had undoubtedly seen these kinds of transformations before. The beaver father asked whether his magic would be strong enough to change them back into humans. But the medicine man said that wasn’t something he could do since evil magic had been used, and he himself was not an evil medicine man. But he could give one family member the chance to become human again. ‘Oh, then let it be Sad Water!’ exclaimed the beaver father. This was fine with the medi
cine man. He met the little beaver that had once been the chieftain’s daughter. He told her that she could become human again, but it would happen only if someone who had never seen her dreamed about her. And now this had finally happened. ‘Because you dreamed of me, didn’t you?’ asked Sad Water.

  “‘I dreamed that I was married,’ replied Otter Heart. ‘I had the most beautiful, kindest wife that any Indian ever had. How happy I was! And then I woke up and realized that it was only a dream. This was yesterday. All day I walked along with a terrible ache in my heart. Then I noticed the smell of smoke coming from your tepee. And here we are. Sad Water and Otter Heart.’ But Sad Water told him that there was one more stipulation. The medicine man had impressed on her that she must never get any running water on her feet. Rainwater was fine, as was the water she used for cooking. But she must never set foot in a creek or a river. ‘I will build a bridge for you over every river we have to cross,’ promised Otter Heart. ‘And every creek too?’ asked Sad Water. ‘Yes, every creek too,’ he assured her. ‘You will always have dry feet. I will make sure of that.’

  “Winter came, and they lived happily together. He was a brave hunter and she was an excellent wife, quiet and industrious, the way beavers are. She became accustomed to eating meat again, but she refused to touch beaver meat, and Otter Heart declined to kill any more beavers. In February she gave birth to a son, and on that very day Otter Heart made a bow for the boy. Sad Water shook her head and reminded him that it would be many years before the boy could use the bow. But in his joy at having a son, Otter Heart created one castle in the air after the other, each bigger than the last. Oh, how little it would take for those castles to come tumbling down!”

  Willy took another break. Lance had begun to wonder whether this story was intended more for him than for Chrissy. He had married Willy’s daughter, after all. The old man gave him an inscrutable look over the rim of his coffee cup, which trembled in his grasp.

  “Soon Sad Water decided they ought to pay a visit to her village,” Willy said as he set his cup down. “She had many friends there, and everybody knew who she was. She would be able to tell them what had happened to their chieftain and his family. Otter Heart didn’t like this idea. They’d been living such a good life in this remote tepee ever since they’d met, and now he feared things would change if they went out into the world and met other people. But no man of sound mind would refuse to visit his wife’s friends.

  “The day arrived, and they set off, with Otter Heart in the lead. Sad Water followed, carrying their son on her back. Since it was still spring, the creeks and rivers were swollen with meltwater, and the waterfalls and rapids were white with foam. But Otter Heart kept his promise. Each time they came to a creek or a river he would fell some trees and build a bridge so that Sad Water could cross without getting her feet wet. Then, late in the afternoon, as they neared the village, Otter Heart came to what was little more than a watery path, maybe a foot wide. Whether it was because he was lost in his own thoughts or because he simply didn’t want to fell another tree for such a small stream . . . whatever the reason, he merely stepped across and continued on as before. Soon he could no longer hear his wife’s footsteps or his son’s babbling. When he turned around to have a look, the narrow stream had become a wide, frothing river that could not be crossed, and on the opposite bank sat two beavers, one adult and one baby.

  “Otter Heart realized at once what must have happened. Tired from walking so far and from carrying the boy on her back, Sad Water had tried to cross the narrow stream, but she stepped in the water and was transformed into a beaver again. The same thing happened to their son, who now sat next to his mother, both of them beavers. This was what the medicine man had warned. Otter Heart called to his wife to swim over to him. Then he would find another medicine man who could change them back into humans. But his wife replied that the only one who was powerful enough was the evil medicine man who wanted to marry her. But she would rather live her life as a beaver. ‘There was only one thing I asked of you,’ she then said. ‘I asked you to build a bridge for me over every creek and river so that I would never get my feet wet. But you couldn’t do even that simple thing for me. From now on, the little one and I will live in the deep rivers and the shallow creeks.’ And the two beavers slid into the river and disappeared underwater while Otter Heart shouted his despair.”

  IT WAS LATE by the time they drove back south. Lance persuaded Chrissy to phone home and say that her dance practice had been delayed because the instructor’s car had refused to start in the cold. He was careful to emphasize that she shouldn’t tell her parents she was with him. He thought Andy was the one who answered the phone. It was impossible to make out his words, but the harsh, annoyed voice was unmistakable.

  “Good God, I said I’d be home in an hour.”

  Chrissy groaned as she stuck her cell back in her jacket pocket.

  “He thinks I’m with some guy,” she sighed.

  “Oh?” Lance was genuinely surprised.

  “Just because I put on makeup and dress the way I do,” she went on. “But you know what? I’ve only had one boyfriend, and what I miss most is holding someone’s hand.”

  “Lots of people miss that,” said Lance.

  “You too?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you miss Mary?”

  “I don’t think this is a topic the two of us need to discuss right now.”

  “You mean love?” said Chrissy.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Isn’t it the most important topic of all?”

  “But you’re my niece.”

  “So what?”

  “My seventeen-year-old niece.”

  “Almost eighteen.”

  “Regardless, it’s not appropriate,” said Lance.

  “You know what I think, Uncle Lance?”

  “No. What?”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “Scared of girls.”

  Lance laughed loudly, but he could hear how false it sounded. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, he sensed that Chrissy was sitting there in the dim light with a triumphant little smile on her face. He tried to come up with something that would put her in her place, but suddenly all he could think of was girls.

  Just after they’d passed through Grand Marais, his cell phone rang. Lance felt his anxiety rise like an ice-cold wave as the man on the other end of the line said he was calling from the Lakeview Nursing Home in Duluth.

  “Is something wrong?” Lance hurried to ask.

  “Nothing serious. Just the fact that your mother set off on a little expedition last night and went missing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Well, we found her after a while. It turned out that she’d gone into a janitor’s closet.”

  “What was she doing in there?”

  “That’s the question,” said the man.

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. But when we found her she was a little confused.”

  “And this happened yesterday?”

  “Yes. Yesterday evening.”

  “So why didn’t you call me before?” said Lance.

  “It was an oversight on the part of a staff member. You should have been notified earlier today. I apologize.”

  “Okay. I’ll drive down to visit her tomorrow.”

  “That would be good. I’ll let her know that you’re coming.”

  “But she’s all right now?”

  “Oh, yes. It was just a temporary confusion.”

  Chrissy didn’t say anything when Lance ended the call. He allowed a few minutes to pass before he spoke again.

  “That was Lakeview,” he said. “Apparently Inga decided to hide in a janitor’s closet.”

  Chrissy burst out laughing but quickly regained her composure.

  “So is everything okay with her now?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What really happened?”
>
  “A temporary confusion, they said. Probably nothing to worry about.”

  24

  AT THE TOFTE RANGER STATION everything was the same as always. Up near the ceiling the same bald eagle floated from its invisible strings, the big wolf over by the public entrance still had its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and the receptionist, Mary Berglund, had set the usual paper cup of coffee on the counter in front of Lance.

  “Did you go to Haugesund?” was the first thing she wanted to know.

  He shook his head.

  “My great-grandfather came from there. The one who drowned, you know.”

  “He drowned?” said Lance.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “He fell overboard and drowned in Lake Superior during a storm. I’d like to see Haugesund someday.”

  “Me too,” said Lance with a sigh.

  “When are you coming back to work?”

  “I’m not really sure. That’s what I was planning to talk to Zimmermann about.”

  “He should be here any minute. He said he just had to make a quick stop at the post office.”

  “There he is,” said Lance.

  Through the window they saw John Zimmermann park under the big birch, and shortly after he was standing in front of them.

  “Lance Hansen,” he said in surprise.

  Lance smiled.

  “Rested and ready for work?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Come into my office and we’ll have a chat, okay?”

  SITTING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES under the big map on the wall of District Ranger Zimmermann’s office, Lance felt a strong urge to pretend that nothing had changed. As far as he could see, his ruse hadn’t been discovered. The only people who knew he hadn’t been in Norway were Willy and Chrissy, and he could probably rely on both of them not to tell. So if he could just manage to put certain items out of his mind, things could go back to the way they were before. For the most part. It wasn’t too late. Maybe not even with regard to Debbie. Suddenly he felt like he had a whole life ahead of him, and all he needed to do was forget. In theory this was entirely possible. His family had spent a century perfecting the art of forgetting—that was proof enough. But Lance had become someone else during the seven months that had passed since he found the body of Georg Lofthus.