“Good. I know ‘June.’”
This struck the other women as amusing. They laughed over the circumstance of Snakewater and Swan trying to identify the season by the bloom of a flower, when both knew the white man’s name for it.
But she was not satisfied. There must be some way in which she could learn …. Ah! Maybe…
The next time she had an opportunity to be alone, she looked carefully around her to make sure.
Then, “Lumpy, can you help me with this—the plants?”
There was a long pause, and she spoke angrily this time.
“You are no help at all! You are teasing me. You do know these things, and won’t help me!”
Another pause, and she spoke again.
“I’m sorry. Don’t cry…. Damn you, Lumpy, you’re still teasing me! Fine Little Person you are. I should… oh, I don’t know what!”
She shook her head sadly.
“Yes,” she said finally, “I know. Everything is new here. I have to learn, though. Maybe you do too. Do you have Little People here whom you could ask? Oh, yes, I know. If you do, you wouldn’t tell me …. Oh, all right—‘couldn’t ’ tell me. But I’m still not sure. Maybe you’re still teasing me. Anyway, you might do a decent thing. What decent thing? Well, to begin with, you could stop laughing. You know how that irritates me.”
With the vast numbers of oaks in the area of the winter camp, it was apparent that there would be acorns. In some adjacent woodland within easy walking distance there were also other nut trees: walnut, pecan, hickory, and an assortment of larger oaks, each bearing its own crop of acorns. It was a natural haven for any creatures that could utilize the harvest of nuts available each autumn. This season seemed to have a bountiful crop. It made Snakewater think once again of the tradition that a season with heavy harvest of nuts and berries predicts a hard winter. Squirrels store larger numbers of acorns because their instinct tells them to do so.
Snakewater had long suspected this to be a questionable assumption. Possibly, she reasoned, there was simply more food—just as, with the recent successful hunt, the prairie people had stored more jerky and pemmican. Still, it does not pay to fly in the face of conventional wisdom, she reasoned. A hard winter may logically follow a good growing season.
Regardless, she was impressed by the numbers and the size of the squirrels around the camp. They were of a type not familiar to her, much larger than the gray squirrels near Old Town. They were also of a different color, a reddish brown much like that of a fox. In fact, the first of these animals she had seen had deceived her for a moment. She had thought that it was a fox, running across a distant open space.
She wanted a chance to examine one of these creatures, and this seemed to be a good opportunity. Besides, a stew of squirrel might be a good contribution to the lodge of Far Thunder. Even with the bountiful supply of buffalo meat, sometimes a change is good. Especially when there is a chance for fresh meat rather than dried or cured.
Among these people small game was not hunted seri ously by adults to any extent. A real hunter is after larger game: buffalo, elk, or deer. It would be beneath his dignity to seriously hunt the quarry of a child, such as squirrels or rabbits. It would be on such game that a youngster would make his first kill. Sometimes, however, a woman would take a bow and, for a pleasant return to the joys of her childhood, go on a short hunt. These observations had caused Snakewater to take out her blowgun and think of trying her luck.
“What is that stick?” asked Fawn, daughter of Thunder. It was she who had reminded Snakewater of Little Pigeon back at West Landing.
“That stick,” she told the child, “is my weapon.”
“Who will you hit, Grandmother?”
“Nobody, child. I will use it to hunt squirrels.”
The little girl laughed and clapped her hands. “You cannot climb in the trees, Grandmother.”
“Huh! How do you know? But, no, I would not hit them, but shoot them.”
This brought an even greater laugh from the child, and the other women joined in.
“Really, how is this?” asked Swan.
“It shoots these,” Snakewater explained, showing one of her darts.
This brought forth even more laughter.
“I think not, Grandmother,” said Swan. “But wait—this is part of your medicine, no?”
Snakewater thought for only a moment.
“Yes!” she said. “That is it. It does not work with many eyes watching. But, look… I will take Fawn, here, and she can tell you how it goes. Come, Fawn. We will hunt squirrels, no?”
Snakewater and Fawn sat with their backs against the trunk of a giant old sycamore tree. Somewhere in the canopy overhead a squirrel barked, unseen among the huge leaves. It would be one of the big red squirrels that had astonished Snakewater in this new country. In the mountains back around Old Town she had known two kinds. The one most sought after was gray, and the other was much smaller, reddish, and often a nuisance, robbing birds’ nests in addition to gathering nuts.
But these big red squirrels were like none she had ever seen. They appeared to be considerably larger than the grays, and easily twice the size of the little red squirrels back home.
Shoot it, suggested Fawn in hand signs.
Snakewater had instructed the girl not to speak once they arrived in the area to hunt. They would use only hand signs.
No, she signed now. That is their scout. If he is not harmed, others will come.
Now there was a flash of motion above… a glimpse of reddish fur…. Snakewater slowly lifted her blowgun, already fitted with a tufted dart. She could not see her target clearly yet …. There!
A bright eye poked around the side of one of the chalk-white branches high above. She carefully adjusted the aim of the blowgun and waited. Patience was important, above all. Now the squirrel moved on around for a better view, showing head, neck, and shoulder. Snakewater placed her lips on the mouthpiece …. A deep breath and a puff…
The fat squirrel tumbled to the ground, its upper body transfixed by the tufted hardwood skewer. Wait, cautioned Snakewater, as Fawn started to move toward their prize. There may be another! She quietly inserted another dart in the tube.
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then the sentinel resumed his scolding bark. Almost immediately another squirrel appeared, scampering with what seemed impossible agility through the branches of a big white oak nearby. There was a short jump to the sycamore, and the newcomer paused to stare. A moment too long, an almost inaudible puff … Another fat squirrel lay kicking, and Snakewater reloaded. The scout continued to bark the alarm.
Five in all that day Snakewater procured for the lodge of Far Thunder. There were many jokes about the prowess of the Squirrel Grandmother and her strange weapon. She had been able to furnish meat for the family with whom she lived. They all enjoyed the rich stew and picked clean the purplish bones. For her, however, it was a special time. She had made a contribution to the family, over and above her stories and her medicine. And it was good.
34
Snakewater awoke sometime in the night, unsure what had roused her. She could hear the soft breathing of the lodge’s other inhabitants, who seemed undisturbed. Maybe she should go and empty her bladder, though it did not feel urgently full.
She lay there in the darkness a little while, enjoying the warmth of her blankets, thinking of recent events. She could hardly believe that over the past couple of seasons her life had changed so much. Here she lay, in a tent made of skins and poles, surprisingly comfortable. She was accepted, respected, and most of all, she felt that she was loved. In all her life there had probably been no one except her old namesake mentor who had actually loved her. Some had helped her, looked with favor upon her, but this was an entirely new feeling. She was part of a family.
Yes, that was it. There was something about being in a family group that imparted a feeling of warmth and security that she had never had before. She had often looked with scorn on people who put mu
ch importance on such things. Who needs it? she sometimes thought. But there was a fullness and completeness in her own heart that told her: Everyone needs it, and it was a warmth that she had never found until now. She smiled to herself in the darkness.
Of course, she realized, there had been a reason that she had never found such a relationship. She had not been a lovable person. It had been easier to follow the example of the old conjure woman with whom she lived—bitter, withdrawn, apparently hating everybody, and, over all, teaching her young companion to do the same. It was no wonder that the little girl had never had a friend. A tear formed in her eye and trickled down her cheek. Old Snakewater had formed in her own image, probably unconsciously, and it had not been an attractive image.
Now, this person, Grandmother Snakewater, had broken out of that image. She felt a mixture of resentment and pity for her long-departed mentor. Had the old conjuror ever had a friend? What had been in her early life to have made her so? Some tragedy, a disappointed love? She was only now realizing that she had known very little about her teacher. And now, never could.
Her thoughts drifted back to her own situation. She had never felt self-pity. She had been taught not to do so, to reject and deny such feelings as being unloved. And she had to admit, it had been successful. She had been unloved because she was not very lovable. She smiled a wry smile in the dark lodge. Which came first? No matter …. Now she had found her way, late in her lifetime. She was loved because she had learned to love, and was now a different person. She rolled that thought around in her mind, playing with it, enjoying the comfort in it for a little while. She was, truly, a different person, one who could love and be loved, who could respect and admire and relate to others, to have fun and face each day with pleasure, to enjoy. It was a new experience.
Suddenly the implication of those thoughts descended on her like a thrown blanket, plunging her into a despair that was mixed with something much like terror. Where had this different person come from?
All the stories and whispered rumors and accusations came crowding back, bringing dark thoughts that had been forgotten for a long time. Thoughts of the Raven Mocker ….
She knew that she had never intentionally tried to acquire such status, and that she was totally innocent of the charges laid against her back at Old Town. But there had been a time when she wondered, Does the Raven Mocker’s ability to steal fragments of other lives have to be intentional? If not, maybe she had been using the life-years of others for a long time. She had been present at many deaths, and of many different kinds of people. Some had been infants, some older. Did she now have a pleasant attitude because she was feeding on the life-years of some lovable young person? Her entire attitude, her approach to life, was so different …. It must be true.
“Ah, Lumpy!” she muttered into the darkness. “What have I done?”
“Are you ill, Grandmother?” asked one of the children.
“What? Oh, no, child. Just thinking.”
But the change was obvious. She could not conceal her worry.
“Is there something I can do?” asked Swan, concerned.
“No, no. It is nothing. Maybe I just need to get away and think a little while.”
“A vision quest?” asked Swan, half joking.
“No, no, nothing like that, Swan. I don’t know…. I lived alone for many seasons, back with my own people. This is different, among so many. It is good, but… ”
“Ah, yes,” laughed the other woman. “I feel that way sometimes. It is good to be alone for a little while. Go on, take a walk. Let your medicine work, no?”
It seemed like a good idea. Snakewater ate nothing, but brewed herself a bowl of tea with selected herbs and berries and sipped it slowly.
She took her blowgun and a pouch of darts. She did not really expect to use it, but it would give the impression of purpose, which she really lacked.
“May I go with you, Grandmother? asked Fawn brightly.
She smiled and patted the girl’s head. “Not today, child. I… well, there are things I must do.”
“It is a medicine journey,” suggested Swan. “One must do such things alone.”
“Yes—yes, that is it,” agreed Snakewater. “I must go alone. I will be back tonight.”
She wished that she had some clearer goal. She was nearly as confused as little Fawn. She put a few strips of dried meat into her pouch and started somewhat aimlessly out of the camp. People nodded or waved to her and she returned their greetings. It was a good feeling to be so accepted, but she had the sense that it was undeserved, that she was living a falsehood. Her heart was very heavy.
She headed south, for no better reason than that the geese were flying that direction. Their wild and free course across the bright autumn sky seemed a marked contrast to her mood. At the top of a wooded ridge some distance from the camp, she found a bald, rocky summit, where she could sit and see in all directions.
Back to the north was the winter camp of Far Thunder, its lodges scattered among the thickets of scrub oak. It was a peaceful scene. Lazy spires of smoke rose from the apex of each lodge—straight up for some distance, then layering out horizontally in the still autumn air. From her vantage point Snakewater found that she was looking down on this layer of smoke. She recalled, as a child in the mountains, that she had seen fog below her in a similar way. But that had been misty white among the treetops, and this smoke effect was gray, and much higher above the ground. It was a pleasant distraction, which in the end led her nowhere. It gave her time to be alone, to think, to worry more as she tried to solve the mystery that now seemed to hang over her life.
She wondered if it would help to fast for a day or two, and decided not. She chewed some jerky and gazed at the land, while enjoying the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. She watched a couple of bull elks in the far distance as they met in combat over a trio of cows.
The Moon of Madness. Maybe that was part of her problem. Or all of it. Was she going mad, with this worry hanging over her? Maybe it was that. Still, she was unable to escape the nagging doubt that in some way she was living someone else’s life. Maybe more than one. If she were really a Raven Mocker, she might be living on parts of many lives. Would it work that way? Mixed fragments of life-years, so stirred together that they were indistinguishable from one another? That could explain some of her confusion. Also some of the mixed feelings she occasionally had about people and events.
But how did it happen? She still had doubts that one could become a Raven Mocker without knowing it. She certainly could not recall any one incident that would indicate a change in her status. Her life had been a continuous line. Well, except for the past two years… Was that when it had happened? No, that was when she had been accused. But … Her head whirled in confusion. Had she been accused because others had seen the change when she had become a Raven Mocker?
Assuming that there was such an entity, and that the possibility might exist that she had become one, how could she tell? When the transfer to the lifetime of another occurred, how would it feel? Would the Raven Mocker simply wake one morning to find that he/she was someone else? Would there be any memory of a previous lifetime, a different person in the same body? She surely had no such memories, and that was encouraging.
What could be expected to happen, though, if a Raven Mocker died suddenly, or was killed? Would some of the life-years available to the Raven Mocker transfer spontaneously, or must they be invoked? And again, would there be a memory?
What if she threw herself from this red boulder where she sat, down the face of the hill, to land on the jumble of rocks below? If she were the Raven Mocker, would her life as Snakewater be replaced by another? Would she be aware of it? That would certainly answer her questions ….
“What?” she spoke aloud. “Why, no, of course not! I could never do that.” Her voice became softer. “But thank you, Lumpy, for your concern …. Yes, I’d better be getting back.”
The sun was setting as she made her way back to the lodge o
f Far Thunder. She wondered if she had actually accomplished anything. She had had an opportunity to think and had not arrived at much understanding. She wished that she could talk about her questions with someone who could understand. Someone like her old namesake mentor, Snakewater the elder. But among these, the Elk-Dog People, there was no one who could help her. Even talking to one of the holy men they had mentioned would probably be futile. They had never heard of the Raven Mocker. No one here, as kind and generous as they had been to her, could possibly understand.
No one except Lumpy, who would usually, or at least she suspected so, rather tease than help her.
But who knows what the Little People think?
35
The first of winter’s storms swept down on them during the Moon of Madness. At that time all creatures go a little bit crazy. Days are growing shorter, and there is an uneasiness that falls over everything. The beauty of autumn is behind, fallen away during the Moon of Falling Leaves, like the bright leaves themselves.
It is the rutting season for the deer. They are ranging far, searching for satisfaction of the basic urge to reproduce the next generation of their kind. The bucks rub the fuzzy covering from their antlers by attacking young trees. Their newly acquired weapons are polished and ready for combat. They go forth to fight for the favors of the most attractive females, who watch, trying to appear unimpressed. In the distraction of the primal urge safety is forgotten. It is a time of madness. The battle-ready males sometimes attack not only trees and each other, but predators, including Man. It is a dangerous situation.
The bugling call of the bull elk echoes across the land as he, too, searches for mates, only slightly less irrational than the deer.
Smaller creatures are ranging far, now separated from their mothers and searching on their own for places to winter. Larger predators are actively hunting, many of them for the first time on their own. Bears prepare to hibernate, and gorge themselves on nature’s bounty, both plant and animal, to provide fat for insulation and for nutrition during the long sleep.
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