by Sue Harrison
Blue Shell looked away. “No,” she said. “I have no milk. If you keep him, you can feed him more often.”
Chagak thought again of the hurt in Kayugh’s eyes as he had spoken about his son. No wonder Blue Shell did not want to keep the baby. Who would want to be the one holding the child when he died?
Blue Shell stood. “I must help Crooked Nose unpack our belongings,” she said, but then asked, “The old man, Shuganan, is he your husband?”
Chagak lifted her head. “He is my grandfather,” she said and, grasping awkwardly for words, added, “My son’s father is dead.” Then she busied herself with Kayugh’s son, waking him so he would eat again, and she did not look up to see if Blue Shell had any more questions.
THIRTY-FOUR
CHAGAK SAT IN THE ULAQ, a baby at each breast. Kayuch’s people had been with them for three days, and in that time the women had helped her finish slicing and hanging the whale meat and rendering the oil.
Their racks stretched the length of the beach, from one cliff to the other, each rack strung with lengths of dark whale meat, thinner than the blade of an obsidian knife, long as Chagak’s forearm.
In the ulaq, Chagak had hung floor mats as sleeping curtains, even dividing most of the large rooms into sleeping quarters.
The men had begun digging a new ulaq, one big enough for Kayugh’s people, and Chagak wished they would finish it quickly, for she felt out of place in the crowded, noisy confusion of Shuganan’s ulaq. In her own village, building a new ulaq was a time of joy, but the building of this ulaq was marred by Gray Bird’s constant complaints and his meanness to Blue Shell.
It was difficult, also, to see the other women using her supplies, her cooking stones. Earlier that day, at the cooking pit, Crooked Nose had used some of the whale oil to cook a herring she had caught. She cooked the fish on the large, flat stone that Chagak used for pounding seeds and dried berries, a stone that Chagak was careful to keep clean and without a trace of oil, so when she had finished with the berries and seeds, they were still dry and she could store them for months without worry that they would rot. But by the time Chagak noticed that Crooked Nose had heated the oil and stone, any protest was useless, the damage done.
Chagak had held her temper, thinking that she would search for a new stone after Crooked Nose and the others had moved to their own ulaq. Travelers could not carry everything, and perhaps Crooked Nose had left her cooking stone behind.
Chagak had tried to have food ready at all times, to explain how she liked to have food packed and stored, but it seemed that each woman had her own way of doing things, and the storage room was overflowing with spilled seeds and broken storage containers.
Gray Bird had found the remaining oil- and sand-stored eggs and had eaten more than half.
But most of Chagak’s worry was for Kayugh’s son. The child ate and slept, but she could see no change in the thin arms and legs. His cry was no stronger; he seldom opened his eyes, and when Chagak put her finger into his hand, he did not clasp it.
In the morning, as soon as Chagak was up, emptying night baskets, lighting lamps, Kayugh was beside her, his eyes tired and rimmed with red as though he had not slept. She would lift her suk, show him the babies, one fat and growing, the other like something dying. He would shake his head and the sadness in his eyes tore at Chagak.
“He eats well,” Chagak would say to Kayugh, and the first time she said the words, some hope had seemed to spark into his eyes, but now each time she showed him the baby, each time she commented on his eating, Kayugh made no response.
Chagak sang to the child as she worked, songs of seal hunting and strong sons, and she prayed to Aka. She even searched among Shuganan`s carvings until she found one of a father with a strong son on his shoulders, and, getting permission from Shuganan, she sewed it on the left side of her suk, just over Kayugh’s son.
Chagak had worked most of the day on the beach. She had caught two brown-winged jaegers that had floundered into the rendering pit and were eating bits of kreng left in the remnants of cooled and hardened blubber. She had thrown baskets down over the birds to catch them, then had twisted their necks and laid them aside to skin and boil later.
In the late afternoon she had entered the ulaq, hoping to be alone, but Blue Shell and Little Duck were inside, each working on grass mats for their ulaq. Chagak had placed Samiq in his cradle and jostled Amgigh so he would continue sucking. Then she sat down to help the women. But even in helping she felt out of place. They talked about people she did not know, of beaches that were unfamiliar to her. Chagak spoke only to ask for things necessary for her weaving.
Finally she left the ulaq. She carried two large loosely woven storage sacks with her and walked into the hills to gather heather. She would replace the grass on the ulaq floor with the heather. She hoped it would freshen the smell of the ulaq, rank with too many people.
When she had filled the sacks, she started back toward the ulaq, but then she saw Kayugh coming toward her. For a moment she closed her eyes. She was thirsty and had hoped to have time to refill her water skin at the spring near the ulaq, time to sit and drink without listening to anything except wind and sea, but she greeted the man with a smile, reminding herself that most women would be proud to have a strong hunter like Kayugh to talk to.
She set the sacks of heather on the ground and lifted her suk. The wind chilled her belly, and she shivered. Kayugh bent toward his son and the baby loosed Chagak’s nipple from his mouth. At first Chagak thought the thin cry was from Samiq, the child protesting the cold of the wind, but she saw the rounding of Amgigh’s mouth, then heard Kayugh’s laughter, the two sounds of crying and laughing blending to make one note, like a hunter’s sealing song.
She saw the tears that were on Kayugh’s cheeks, heard him whisper, “He cries.” And his voice carried the pride of a father announcing his son’s first seal kill.
Yes, Chagak thought, looking down at the child. He did look a little stronger, his arms and legs not quite so thin, and for the first time since she had started to nurse the infant Chagak felt a stirring of hope that he might live. But though the hope leaped within her chest like something close to joy, she also felt a thrust of pain, the knowledge that if the child did die her acceptance of the death would not be as easy.
But she smiled at Kayugh, and to her surprise he reached out and pulled down her suk. Then he picked up the bags of heather and walked with her back to the ulaq.
In the evening, after the men had been fed and the women had eaten, Chagak sat with a woven mat in her lap. She meant to finish the edges, but she was so tired, she could hardly make her fingers move. The noise of voices pulled at her from all directions and she wished that Kayugh’s ulaq was finished so that she and Shuganan could be alone again, so that she could nurse the babies in quietness, the thick ulaq walls shutting out even the sound of waves and wind.
The men had left the ulaq after eating, but soon they would be back, and Chagak would be expected to offer food and full water skins. It would not be a night that Chagak could excuse herself and go to her sleeping place early. She glanced down at the babies. Both slept.
Chagak kept a soft furred skin tucked around both children when she was in the ulaq, her suk off. Though Samiq did not need the skin, she had noticed that Kayugh’s son did not nurse as well without something tucked tightly around him.
Little Duck was beside her, the girl Red Berry on her lap. Crooked Nose squatted next to them. Suddenly First Snow slid down the climbing log into the ulaq. The boy sat down beside Crooked Nose and pointed at Chagak. “Your man, Shuganan, says he will make stories tonight.”
Chagak felt a quick happiness. There would be no long awkward evening, the men grumbling over too many children in a small place, Chagak trying to please everyone and feed babies, too. There would be no need for her to keep food ready for the men, lamp wicks trimmed and lighted. There would be only telling and listening. Quietness except for the storyteller’s voice.
Big Teet
h came in first. He sat between Crooked Nose and Little Duck. He ruffled First Snow’s hair. The boy grabbed Big Teeth’s hand and growled like an otter. Big Teeth exchanged glances with Crooked Nose and laughed. Chagak, seeing the look, felt like an intruder, and she dropped her head, pretending to study the weave of her apron.
Shuganan and Gray Bird climbed into the ulaq. Chagak had hoped Shuganan would sit by her, but he squatted beside Big Teeth, and the two men spoke about building the new ulaq.
Kayugh entered the ulaq last. He squatted beside Chagak and watched his son nurse. Knowing the gratitude that she would see in his eyes, Chagak found she could not look at him.
But soon Red Berry claimed her father’s attention, climbing into his lap, and Chagak found herself wondering about this man, a man who cared for his daughter as much as most men cared for their sons. A man who had not been able to leave a newborn son to die.
Chagak was sitting on her heels, knees raised, each baby in his sling resting against one of her thighs as he nursed. Chagak stroked the babies’ heads. They both had much hair, thick and dark. When she stroked Samiq’s head, he stopped nursing and stared at her for a long time. Amgigh did not stop nursing but clung more tightly to her breast.
“Granddaughter, bring me water,” Shuganan suddenly said, his voice strong enough to carry over the noise of the men and women talking.
Shuganan moved from his place beside Big Teeth and sat down on a pile of sealskins next to Kayugh. Chagak stood and untied a seal bladder water skin from a rafter and handed it to him. He drank, then set the skin down and rested his gnarled hands on his knees.
First he addressed Kayugh and spoke as if no one else listened.
“You have asked me the story of my people,” Shuganan said, “how I came to this place. Now I will tell you. This is the time to remember what has been.”
Chagak closed her eyes. She could relax. No one would care if the oil lamps flickered and died; no one would notice if she did not bring food.
She knew what Shuganan would tell them, mostly the truth, but also what was not true, the story they had decided to tell the Whale Hunters when they went to warn them. She knew she must remember what he said—to protect Shuganan and herself and, most of all, Samiq. But also she would give herself to the telling, allow herself to slip into the story, to feel anger and joy and wonder as Shuganan spun his words into the silence of the ulaq.
“When I was young,” Shuganan began, “I was trader for my people.” He stopped, and Chagak knew he waited for the murmur that would show everyone listened, everyone could hear him. Then he said, “I journeyed to the edges of the world where ice walls mark the boundaries of the earth. I traveled far into the sea, to islands few men have seen. I knew the Walrus Men and the people who hunt the brown bear. But mostly I knew the men some people called Short Ones, small, strong men who were known for their hunting skills and shrewd trading.
“In most of my journeys I traveled with Short Ones. We traded with people, bringing seal oil to the Walrus Men and walrus hides and meat back to trade for whale oil from the Whale Hunters.
“I learned to speak the Short Ones’ language and even stayed in their village. But the longer I stayed with them, the more I realized that they were a greedy people. They did not trade to provide food and clothing for themselves and bring joy to others. They traded so they could have more than they needed. It was this greed that opened the way for evil spirits to come into their tribe.
“A shaman came to them, one who knew evil, not good. He saw the many things the Short Ones had and decided he wanted everything for himself. He told the people he would make other tribes weak so the Short Ones could take without trading.
“They went to villages pretending to trade, and in the late night after a trading celebration the Short Ones rose from their beds and hid all weapons. Then they killed the people and took what they wanted.
“Finally they no longer pretended to trade but came to a village in the night, burned ulas and killed people.
“I was then, as I am now, a carver,” Shuganan said, pausing as the people murmured assent. “The Short Ones put great value on my carvings. If they were going to take a village of Walrus Men, they wanted walrus carvings to tuck into their amulets. If they were going to Bear Hunters they wanted carved bears.”
Shuganan lowered his voice, spoke not with the authority of a storyteller but as a man relating a dream. “There has always been something in me, some spirit that dwells in my head and hands, that urges me to carve.”
Chagak, realizing that Shuganan had departed from the story they had decided upon, opened her eyes and watched the old man. She hoped he would remember to talk with care about Samiq’s father.
“When I was small,” Shuganan said, “still sleeping in my mother’s sleeping place, I would wake in the night with a tingling in my arms and hands, and a desire to carve something I had seen that day. The desire was so great that my head felt as though it would break open with the need to release what my eyes had stored.
“The evil shaman saw great power in my carving, and at first I was flattered by his attention. But later I realized that my work was being used to hurt others.
“Though they tried to make me stay, I left the Short Ones. I knew they would search for me, so I could not return to my own village. Instead, after many days in my ikyak, I found this beach. I made a ulaq here and, after a number of years, took a wife from the Whale Hunters. We had a son who took a wife from the First Men’s village on the south side of Aka’s island. They both died and after many years my wife also died, but they left me with Seal Stalker, my grandson.”
Chagak, though she kept her eyes on Shuganan, knew the others were looking at her. She could feel their thoughts hovering near her. She pretended to adjust the babies’ slings.
The lamp wicks had burned down to the level of the oil and so gave little light, but when Chagak looked up at Shuganan, his face glowed as if lit by many lamps.
Then she heard the sea otter say, “Has it been so long since you have seen a story told? Do you not remember the power of words; so many people thinking the same thoughts, lost in the same dreams? Have you forgotten the power of that?”
But Chagak knew Shuganan had come to the part of the story she must not miss, the part about herself and Samiq, and so she blocked the otter’s whisper from her thoughts and listened to Shuganan.
“When my grandson was old enough, he took a wife from his mother’s village.” Shuganan looked across the ulaq at Chagak. “Now I claim her as my granddaughter, Chagak. But one day when Seal Stalker went hunting, he did not return to us. Chagak was ready to begin mourning, to call herself widow, but on the seventh day Seal Stalker returned. Our joy at his return was soon lost in sorrow, for he told of Chagak’s village destroyed, all her family dead. He had spent three days burying them and making death ceremonies.
“I knew it must have been the Short Ones. And later that summer two scouts from the Short Ones came to our beach. We killed one, but the other killed Seal Stalker and escaped, leaving Chagak a widow with a son who would be born in spring.
“Before he left, the Short One told us he would be back; he would bring his people to kill us and to kill the Whale Hunters on the island to the west.
“Chagak’s mother and my wife were both of the Whale Hunter people, so Chagak and I decided to make a journey to the Whale Hunters this spring, to warn them, and soon we will go.
“We do not ask that you go with us. It is not your people who have been killed and you owe no allegiance to the Whale Hunters. But we will go.”
Chagak sat very still in the quietness of the ulaq. She could feel the surprise of Kayugh’s people at the abrupt ending of stories. Stories usually lasted far into the night, one story’s ending spawning the beginning of another.
Did they believe Shuganan? There were few lies: only that Shuganan was not a Short One, that she was wife to his grandson, and the lie she wished was not a lie: that Seal Stalker was Samiq’s father.
But when she heard Shuganan say the words, it was as though they were true, as though his telling had changed the past and made Samiq Seal Stalker’s son. Her arm tightened around Samiq. What if they knew? Chagak thought. What if they found out about Man-who-kills? They would never let Samiq live. He would be considered a Short One, an enemy.
She squeezed Samiq to her chest, and the baby began to cry, his wail loud and startling in the quiet of the ulaq. Then Kayugh’s son also began to cry. And it seemed to Chagak that the babies had heard some whispering of spirits, that they cried for sorrows that Chagak and Shuganan did not see.
Chagak left the story circle and went to her sleeping place. She closed the curtains behind her and wished she could stay within the ulaq forever, both babies safe in her arms.
THIRTY-FIVE
CHAGAK SAT ON THE bare floor of the new ulaq, sorting through a sack of dried heather. She cut away bruised and frayed stalks, those parts of the plants that would rot quickly. The rest she would scatter over the ulaq floors to be covered by grass mats.
Crooked Nose and Little Duck worked beside her, finishing the last of the mats. The new ulaq was larger than Shuganan’s. Even with the sleeping places curtained off, there was enough space for many people to work comfortably in the main room.
Crooked Nose pointed out the largest sleeping place at the back of the ulaq and said, “Big Teeth will sleep here.”
Chagak frowned. “I thought Kayugh was head man of this ulaq.”
“Shuganan did not tell you?” Crooked Nose replied. “Kayugh and
Red Berry will stay in Shuganan’s ulaq. Kayugh wants to be with his son, and since you nurse him …”
Chagak’s stomach tightened. She and Shuganan would not be left alone as she had hoped. But she tried to hide her disappointment. Of course Kayugh would want to be with his son, she told herself, and so he would choose to stay in Shuganan’s ulaq. But would the ulaq still belong to Shuganan or would Kayugh now be head man? And what about Shuganan? He would be humiliated if he were no longer head man in his own ulaq. Perhaps Chagak should offer to come to this ulaq, drawing Kayugh back to his own people. But then who would care for Shuganan?