by Mimi Milan
Thank all the first spirits her grandmother was not like the others. While the woman did want to see Kela married, she did not mock her for wanting to learn medicine.
“Eta Noochoo,” she said as she approached their camp. “I have returned from my walk.”
The elderly woman gently motioned towards the food she had prepared—a generous portion of deer atop fresh bread made from the acorns the women had gathered, with a small bowl of berries to finish the meal. “And what have you learned?”
Kela nodded her head with appreciation as she slipped the suta off her shoulder and sat beside the fire, resting the bow beside her. She graciously accepted the food. “I’ve learned the setting sun does not last long enough. I wish it could hang in the sky forever.”
Eta smiled sadly. It was the kind of smile that suited a mother named for weeping rivers. “Only one born from death can feel as you do—cling to the place between worlds. It is no wonder Tuketu Wene has chosen you to take his place.”
The women fell into silence as they ate. Kela knew that her grandmother was thinking about her daughter—Kela’s mother, Mulamsi Kikku—the one who “fought the current.” She wished she could share in the old woman’s grief. How could she, though, when she had never met her own mother? It was a story she had heard since childhood—one that helped her learn how to make words and the medicine of sympathy. Heavy with child, her mother threw herself in the river when she heard of her husband’s death—a fierce warrior who had searched many months for the man who had violated his wife. However, he was no match for the settler’s rifle when he finally found him. He fought and died live the brave he was. Her mother, on the other hand, could not be as strong. Tuketu found her barely clinging to life. With her last breath, she demanded he “take the child.” He did as requested, delivering Kela into the world, and the tribe’s disparaging remarks that she looked like a pale fat rat. Of course, Eta would not allow her granddaughter such a moniker. She said she was a rare treasure and named her for the snowy owl.
Kela noted how her grandmother picked at the food, her appetite apparently lost in memories. Kela took another bite of her own food. Perhaps she could not feel sorrow for the events that had happened, but that only made it easier to provide comfort for others wallowing in their melancholy. “You should take up the pipe,” she advised. “It will ease your mind and encourage new hunger.”
“I do not like the way it smells,” Eta complained. “Besides, I am too old to care for new hunger. I have tasted all of life—more than most.”
Kela knew better than to argue and let the woman be.
Too bad others couldn’t do the same for her.
“What have we here?” A hand stretched past her, making a grab for the food in front of her. Kela reached into the suta, pulled out an arrow and smacked the man’s hand with the back of it. “Ow! What was that for?”
She ignored the question. “Your words slur, Ukchuu.” She pointed at the bottle in his other hand. “I’ve told you before the white man’s angry spirits don’t mix well with ours.”
“They don’t mix well for anyone.”
“Worse for you,” she countered. “You do not dream. You drink.”
The man plopped down beside her, his limber legs crossing as he did so. He sighed heavily. “Perhaps you should marry me. Then you could cure me of my illness.”
Kela snorted, but couldn’t help grinning. “And deprive you of your name?”
Her response made Hennet Wente Ukchuu frown. As a child, he had been known as Runs Like Feathers because he never made a sound when he moved. That made him valuable on hunts and raids. However, then he began hanging out in surrounding towns and making friends with the settlers—if friends were what they could be called. They convinced him the best way to make money was the fast way, and the fast way meant gambling. Of course, Ukchuu was a lousy player. It didn’t matter what the game was. He always managed to lose. Then he would take whatever little bit of money he had left and drink away his sorrow for having lost his dream once again. Yet there he would be the next week, betting whatever he could in the hopes of earning enough money to buy the kind of life the townsfolk had—the kind of life that would attract the kind of wife he wanted.
Kela had tried explaining to him that a wife did not need fancy things in order to be happy, but Ukchuu easily dismissed her words. What would a miwwə know of such things? She couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. What did a single woman like herself—one with no great desire to settle down—know of married life?
“You don’t have to make fun of me,” a surly Ukchuu complained. “I have no desire to marry a woman who believes she is a man.”
Much like his namesake, Creeping Cougar, Tuweeyu Hiliicha quietly approached the group. Chastising his brother Ukchuu, he stated calmly, “Be nice.”
“Who are you to say what I should do?” Ukchuu demanded. “You forget you are not father.”
Tuweeyu ignored his brother’s false rage. He lazily shrugged before crouching down beside the fire, his body swaying like the river, causing the muscles to ripple like small waves. Kela couldn’t help but think—not for the first time—how incredibly tall he was. In fact, he was one of the few men Kela never could intimidate. How was it possible these two men were so different from one another?
Tuweeyu nodded at the elderly woman first. “Oppun towih, Eta Noochoo Wakaale?”
“I am well,” Eta replied. She motioned at Kela. “As is my granddaughter. See how she grows.”
He smiled at Kela. “Like the trees she enjoys climbing.”
“Yes,” Eta agreed. “She would make a good wife for a worthy warrior.”
Kela sighed. “Ama.”
“Do not ‘grandmother’ me. You know I’m right.”
“That is not the path I am meant to walk.”
“You don’t know that,” Eta said. “Your fear keeps you from speaking with Yeka.”
The mere mention of the tribe’s seer was enough to silence Kela. Her grandmother was right. She liked the idea of becoming the tribelet’s first medicine woman, and was concerned that Yeka’s words would change that.
Besides, she didn’t much like the idea of discussing such matters so openly in front of others.
“I suppose this is not a conversation to be having right now,” her grandmother suddenly said as if able to read her thoughts. “It would be best saved for when your warrior arrives.”
“I suppose that means not me,” Ukchuu interjected. He took another swig from his bottle.
Kela slapped him with the back of her arrow again. “Stop drinking. It makes you act like a mule.”
“Smell like one too,” Tuweeyu added.
Ukchuu dropped the bottle and dove for Tuweeyu. “I don’t smell!”
The two men wrestled around like children. Tuweeyu clamped a large arm around his brother’s neck, his face rubbing into Tuweeyu’s neck.
“Ugh! Talk about stinking. You smell like a dead fish.”
Tuweeyu threw his head back with laughter, releasing his brother then. “Stop drinking or my smell will be the least of your concerns… and stop pestering Kela, too. You know she can’t marry you anyway. Did you not hear Eta Noochoo? She is going to marry me,” he flexed his muscles and kissed one of his biceps, “the greatest warrior the Miwok tribe has ever known.”
Kela laughed. “You mean the most boastful.”
“And the sneakiest,” Ukchuu added. “I know it was you who snuck into my hut last night and stole all my fish. That’s why you smell like that!”
“Ah, but you have no proof. There’s a reason they call me Creeping Cougar!”
“That! That right there is my proof.” Ukchuu turned to the two women, hoping to gain their support. “Was that not a confession? Admit it, brother. You are a thief.”
“The only thing I admit to is forgetting to tell Kela that Tuketu is looking for her.”
“What?” Kela growled. She jumped up and swung the arrow once more. Tuweeyu laughed and jumped out of the way.
“Lepani!” Her grandmother demanded and they all quickly settled. “Grown adults acting like children. No wonder the village has suffered so much.”
Properly chided, they all hung their heads. They knew that it had less to do with them and more to do with the fact that the settlers had simply outnumbered them. Of course, no one was willing to say such to the elderly woman—not after all she had lost.
Ukchuu, suddenly sober, was the first to speak. “I have much work to do.”
The other two agreed. Tuweeyu set off in the same direction as his brother.
“I will go see Tuketu,” Kela said. “You do not have to wait up, Ama.”
“I do not try to wait up for anyone. Sleep does not wish to visit anymore.”
She had offered her grandmother various herbs before, but the woman refused—always coming up with one reason or another for not taking them. She couldn’t force the woman to take them anymore than she could force the sun to sleep on the horizon.
Kela sighed. “I will return soon.”
She picked up her suta and swung it back over her shoulder, then snatched up the bow. It seemed silly to walk about the village with them, but it had become common practice for some as settlers continued to move into the area. There always seemed to be someone interested in their land. In fact, the only town that didn’t cause them trouble was the one directly across the river—the place the people called “Blessings.”
Kela made her way through the village mostly unnoticed. The others were too busy with their lives. Women sat together, their heads drawn close as they wove baskets and exchanged secret giggles quickly masked by solemn smiles. Men sat around small fires, eating and laughing carefully with one another. The boys ran around, pretend fighting with sticks. The girls sat with their mothers, quietly learning their ways. It all looked like a nice dream, but a heaviness hung in the air. Change lingered on the soft evening breeze like a promise of more to come. What that “more” was Kela could not say. Would it be more of the same they had experienced before? More loss of land and people? She turned the question in her mind until coming upon Tuketu Wene’s hut. The door to his bark hut was thrown wide open, allowing any who wished to enter.
“Oppun towih, Tuketu.” She raised her bow in greeting at Bear Making Medicine.
“Oppun towih,” the elderly man responded as he finished tying a row of rosemary together. He strung them between two poles in the ground so that they could dry, and removed other herbs that were ready from another string. “What have you studied today?”
“Many things,” she proudly said. She began listing that which she saw on her walk. “There were the usual plants—trees, shrubs, herbs, flowers, as well as many animals. I saw frogs, bees, birds, turtles, a fox—”
“This is all you have to tell me?”
His obvious disappointment startled her. “What else do you wish me to say?”
He sighed. “Once more, you have not actually seen anything.” He waved away any possibility to ask what it was she should have seen—both of them already knowing that she could not force what was not there. She was afraid he would say she didn’t have enough perception to do the job of a shaman, but he did not speak further on the subject. “How is your grandmother? I sense she is not as well as she would like others to believe.”
She relaxed into the easy talk. “I think you are right. She says sleep doesn’t come to visit her. She seems greatly troubled by something. I think that’s why she…”
Kela drifted off.
“Go on,” Tuketu encouraged her. “You think that’s why…”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to continue, though. What if she told Tuketu of their conversation—the one Tuweeyu and Ukchuu had overheard—and he agreed with her ama? What if he said that she could ease grandmother’s fears and bring back the old woman’s lost sleep if only she would settle down into the way of village life?
“You worry too much what others think,” Tuketu admonished her.
Kela grunted. “How is it both you and Eta are able to do that? How do the two of you always seem to know what I’m thinking?”
Tuketu chuckled. “You may be able to hide your feelings amongst the others, but we have each had a hand in raising you. You have inherited our ways—our expressions. We can read your face even when you think you don’t have one. It is something we’ve learned to do with each other as well—a reason we could never be more than friends.”
Kela relaxed a little. There was a strange comfort in knowing that two individuals could come to know one another so intimately. The thought was fleeting, though, with her mind landing elsewhere.
“Why could you not be more than friends? I think I would have liked to have had a grandfather like you.”
Tuketu clucked his tongue at her, ignoring her question. “Just because I’m not of blood, does not mean I cannot be your grandfather. At your age, you should know this by now.”
Her age was another thing she didn’t want to think about. Twenty-five summers had passed and she was still wandering around like a child without hair on her legs. It was no wonder some of the other women in the tribe ridiculed her. Many of them had settled down into tribal life years ago. In some ways, she could understand why they still called her “girl” – even though she was older than quite a few of the married ones. However, some of them had even been promised to their husbands since childhood. Others were married shortly after nature’s cycle had declared they were officially women. These were ways she did not agree with. That made her strange and, in some aspect, undesirable to most of the men in camp.
“Eta Noochoo believes I should marry.”
There. It was said.
She waited for his response, attempting to study the old man’s expressions the way he had studied hers. However, they hid within the wrinkles of his withered brown skin. His eyes betrayed nothing as he continued on with his task of separating dried herbs into various pouches.
“What is it you believe?” Tuketu finally asked. “What is it you wish to do?”
Kela sighed. “Honestly, I am not sure. I know that I wish to help my people. I feel that is what I’ve been called to do. However, I am less certain on how to go about doing it. They do not seem interested in my medicine, and that makes sense. Why should they when they can come to you?”
“Ah, but I will not be around forever.”
Kela clucked her tongue at the shaman. “I do not like when you speak like that.”
“Then you do not like the truth,” Tuketu simply replied. “It is the way of life. Death is a journey we must all take. The question here is whether or not you will be the one to replace me when I make that journey.”
She knew then he was concerned with the future, and it was a legitimate worry to have. How would the tribe continue on without him? Several individuals wished to take his place. However, none of them seemed prepared to do so.
“I have a difficult choice to make,” Tuketu continued. “My heart wishes to see you take my place. However, my head tells me I should not choose by desire.”
“But it is my desire as well.”
“Is it really?”
“I have already told you. I wish to help my people.”
“There are other ways to help them.”
“By marrying and making more warriors, or producing more women to serve them?” she asked angrily. “I am not a servant.”
“You are wrong, eselu. We are all servants.”
Unlike the woman who had referred to her as “girl,” Kela didn’t mind when Tuketu called her child. There was a softness in his tone; a comforting way in which he addressed her. Besides, he was an old man and had seen many things. He had earned the right to speak as he pleased. What she wished was that he would say the thing pressing him most. She sensed there was something he wanted to share with her, but it was like pulling sap from a tree—so slow in coming that it could try the patience of even the most good-natured spirit.
She was not so longsuffering.
“Wh
at is it you hide?” she impatiently asked.
Tuketu turned to her with a sigh. His eyes studied her for a moment. Shoulders dropping, he finally unleashed the truth. “The elders have met with Hi’eema Mo Heesa.”
“Why?” Kela demanded. The look on Tuketu’s face made her immediately regret her question. It was not her place to question why the elders would meet with their chief.
“A couple of them have sons they wish to take my place at the appointed time.”
“Which elders?” A foreign sense of foreboding rose within Kela’s spirit. If she did not become shaman, then she really would be forced to marry. It was that, or become an outcast—tolerated but not truly welcomed. Her voice climbed in panic. “I can assure them I have learned more about your ways than any of their sons ever could. Tell them to put me to the test.”
Tuketu raised a hand to silence her. “It has already been decided. I am to test each of you.”
“Then let this test begin now. I know all the herbs—which ones to use and when. I can extinguish the fire that visits with sickness and—”
Once again, Tuketu lifted his hand. “Shhh. Calm yourself. It has already been decided that each individual will be tested in how best to serve the people. That will mean a different task for each one.”
Kela’s mind raced. “I have studied with you for many years—learning that which grows from the earth to heal and help. I’ve even done as many of the men, and have been on my own spirit walk. What task could they possibly set before me that I have not done before?”
The most solemn look she had ever seen settled into Tuketu’s features. “The task of befriending those who invaded our lands.”
She felt as if the world had been pulled from beneath her feet. “What? How could you ask such a thing? They are the cause of much of our sorrows. How am I to befriend them?”
“The same as I did years ago. The same as I still do.”
“That is different,” Kela objected. She knew that Tuketu and some of the other men occasionally went into towns to trade—or to drink, as was the case with Ukchuu. However, she was not one of the men. She was…
One of the women.