She got up slowly, not wanting to disturb her friend’s slumber and knowing that with a wrong move her stiffened body would lock up and refuse to go farther. A smile hovered around her lips as she thought of how she and her friend had complained loudly and often of their minor aches and pains a few days before, and of the walking sticks they had used until forgetting them at the camp the day before. Slowly stretching in the chilly air, she made a mental note to remind her friend of this when the right time came. They could laugh over the fact that for years they had carried those sticks around to help them walk better and now, somehow, they had managed many miles without them. Putting on her snowshoes, Sa’ walked about to loosen the stiffness in her sore joints.
From within the snow pit, Ch’idzigyaak looked up at her more agile companion who slowly circled the shelter. Ch’idzigyaak was still tired and feeling miserable. But she knew she must do her best to stand beside her friend through this hardship. She had lived long enough to know that if she gave up, her friend would give up, too. So she forced herself to move, but the pain that filled her body made her lie back down, and let out a deep sigh.
Sa’ saw that Ch’idzigyaak was having a hard time, so she reached down to help her climb out of the pit. Together they grunted, struggling to move. Soon they were walking again, and kept right on going until they reached the edge of the lake. There, they built a fire and, after eating some of the rabbit meat they had carefully rationed, they returned for their sleds and resumed their journey.
The frozen lakes seemed endless. Struggling through the many spruce trees, willow thickets, and thorn patches that lay between the lakes wore the women out until they felt as if they had traveled many more miles than they had. Despite having to make many detours around obstacles, the women never completely lost their sense of direction. Sometimes, fatigue clouded their judgment, and they found themselves straying slightly off course or going in circles, but they soon found their way again. In vain, they hoped that the slough they sought would appear suddenly. Indeed, there were times when one of them would fantasize that they had reached their destination. But the constant reminders of the intense cold and aching bones brought them quickly back to reality.
On the fourth night, the women almost stumbled onto the slough. Everything around them stood shrouded under silvery moonlight. Shadows stretched beneath the many trees and over the slough. The women stood on the bank for a few moments, resting as their eyes took in the beauty of that special night. Sa’ marveled at the power the land held over people like herself, over the animals, and even over the trees. They all depended on the land, and if its rules were not obeyed, quick and unjudgmental death could fall upon the careless and unworthy. Ch’idzigyaak looked at her friend as Sa’ sighed deeply. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Sa’s face creased in a sad smile. “Nothing is wrong, my friend. We are on the right trail after all. I was thinking about how it used to be that the land was easy for me to live on, and now it seems not to want me. Perhaps it is just my aching joints that are making me complain.”
Ch’idzigyaak laughed. “Perhaps it is because our bodies are just too old, or maybe we are out of shape. Maybe the time will come when we will spring across this land again.” Sa’ joined in the joke.
Such musings were meant only to lift their spirits and the women knew that their journey was not over, nor would their struggle for survival become easier. Although they had grown soft in their old age, Ch’idzigyaak and Sa’ knew they would pay a high price of hard toil before the land yielded them any comforts.
The two women walked down the winding slough until they came upon a large river. Even in times of cold weather, the swishing undercurrents of the river eroded the ice and made it thin and dangerous to walk on. The women realized this as they carefully inched their way across the quiet river, keeping their senses alert for the sound of cracking ice or any hint of steam rising from between the ice chinks.
When they finally reached the other side, the tension and fatigue left both women mentally and physically drained. With what little energy remained, they numbly set to the task of building yet another overnight shelter.
CHAPTER 4
A painful journey
Nights past when they had managed to build shelters were nothing compared to this one, for the women were so tired they could barely move. In blind determination they stumbled about gathering spruce boughs for their beds and large chunks of wood for the campfire. Finally, they huddled together and stared as if hypnotized into the large orange blaze they ignited from the live coals carried from the first campsite. Soon they slipped mindlessly off to sleep. They did not hear the lonesome howl of a distant wolf, and before they knew it the cold air of morning brought them back to their senses.
They had fallen asleep leaning against one another and somehow managed to stay in that position all night. Because they were sitting up on their legs, the women knew getting up would not be easy. They sat still for a long time. Then Sa’ made an effort to rise, but her legs had lost their feeling. She grunted and tried again. Meanwhile, Ch’idzigyaak closed her eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep. She did not want to face the day.
Sa’ gathered a little courage to force herself to move, but the aches in her bones proved to be too much for her this time. Again they had pushed their bodies beyond their limits. Without meaning to, Sa’ let out a painful moan, and she felt a great urge to cry. She hung her head, defeated by all they had been through these past few days, and the cold made her feel even more despair. As much as she wanted to, her body would not move. She was too stiff.
Ch’idzigyaak listened lethargically to her friend’s sniffles. She was amazed that she could sit and listen to Sa’ cry and feel no emotion. Perhaps it was not meant for them to go on. Perhaps the young ones were right—she and Sa’ were fighting the inevitable. It would be easy for them to snuggle deeper into the warmth of their fur clothing and fall asleep. They would not have to prove anything to anyone anymore. Perhaps the sleep that Sa’ feared would not be so bad after all. At least, Ch’idzigyaak thought to herself, it would not be as bad as this.
Yet, for as little will as her older friend had, Sa’ possessed enough determination for both of them. Shrugging off the cold, the pain in her sides, her empty stomach, and the numbness in her legs, she struggled to get up and this time succeeded. As had become her morning habit, she limped around the campsite until feeling slowly began to course through her bloodstream. When the circulation returned, there was more pain. But Sa’ concentrated her attention on gathering more wood to build the fire. Then she boiled a rabbit head to make a tasty broth.
Ch’idzigyaak watched all this from between narrowed lids. She did not want her friend to know that she was awake, for then, Ch’idzigyaak felt, she would be obligated to move, and she did not want to move. Not now and not ever. She would stay exactly as she was, and perhaps death would steal her quickly away from the suffering. But her body was not ready to give in just yet. Instead of slipping blissfully into oblivion, Ch’idzigyaak suddenly felt the urgent need to relieve her bladder. She tried to ignore this, but soon her bladder could wait no more, and with a loud grunt she felt her bladder letting go. In quick panic she jumped up and headed for the willows, startling her friend. When Ch’idzigyaak came out of the willows looking slightly guilty, Sa’ tilted her head in wonder. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Ch’idzigyaak, feeling embarrassed, admitted, “I surprised myself by how fast I moved. I did not think I would be able to move at all!”
Sa’ was thinking of the day ahead. “After we have eaten, we should try to move on, even if we go only a little way today,” she said. “Each step brings us closer to where we are going. Although I do not feel good today, my mind has power over my body, and it wants us to move on instead of staying here to rest—which is what I want to do.” Ch’idzigyaak listened as she ate her portion of the rabbit head and broth. She, too, felt like staying there for a while. In fact, she desperately wanted to stay. But after puttin
g aside her foolish thoughts, she felt ashamed and reluctantly agreed they should move on.
Sa’ felt a slight disappointment when Ch’idzigyaak agreed to resume their journey, wondering if deep within her she had hoped Ch’idzigyaak would refuse to move. But it was too late for second thoughts. So both women tied the ropes around their thin waists and pulled onward. As they walked, they kept their eyes open for signs of animals, for their food was nearly gone, and meat was their prime source of energy. Without it, their struggle would be over soon. Sometimes, the women stopped to discuss the route they had chosen and to ask themselves if it was the correct way. But the river led in only one direction from the slough, so the women walked along the riverbank as they kept a lookout for the narrow creek that would lead them to a place remembered for its plentiful fish long ago.
The days dragged on as the women slowly pulled their sleds across the deep snow. On the sixth day, Sa’, who had grown accustomed to staring dully only at the path ahead, happened to glance up. Across the river she saw the opening to the creek. “We are there,” she said in a soft, breathless voice. Ch’idzigyaak looked at her friend, then at the creek. “Except we are on the wrong side,” she said. Sa’ had to smile at her friend, who always seemed to find the negative side of a situation. Too tired to offer a lighter point of view, Sa’ sighed to herself as she motioned to her friend to follow.
This time the two women did not worry about hidden cracks beneath the ice. They were too tired. Mindless of the danger, they crossed the frozen river and kept right on going up the tributary. The women walked until late that night. The moon slowly emerged over the trees until it hovered above them, lighting their way along the narrow creek. Although they had walked more hours than they had on earlier days, the women continued on. They felt sure the old campsite was near and they wanted to reach their destination that night.
Just about the time Ch’idzigyaak was ready to beg her friend to stop, she saw the campsite. “Look over there!” she cried. “There are the fishracks we hung so long ago!” Sa’ stopped and suddenly felt weak. It was with great effort that she stood on her shaking legs, for a feeling of somehow coming home suddenly overwhelmed her.
Ch’idzigyaak moved closer to her friend and gently placed an arm around her. They looked at each other and felt a surge of powerful emotion that left them speechless. They had traveled all this way by themselves. Good memories came back to them about the place where they had shared much happiness with friends and family. Now, because of an ugly twist of fate, they were here alone, betrayed by those same people. Because they were thrown together in hardship, the two women developed a sense of knowing what the other was thinking, and Sa’ was usually the more sensitive one.
“It is better not to think of why we are here,” she said. “We must set up our camp here tonight. Tomorrow we will talk.” Clearing the bitter emotion from her throat, Ch’idzigyaak heartily agreed. So, with slow, dragging movements, the two women climbed up the low bank of the creek and walked to the campsite, where they found an old tent frame that they used for shelter that night.
Though their clothing shielded them from the awful cold, the caribou skins did a better job. Coals from the fire pulsated amidst the ash all through the night and kept the shelter warm. Finally, the morning cold seeped through, and the women began to stir. Sa’ was the first to move. This time her body did not protest so much as she moved about the shelter, placing the wood they had gathered the night before on the tiny embers still burning in the fireplace. After a few moments of softly blowing the dried sticks, a flame began a gentle dance as it spread onto the bundle of dry willows. Soon the shelter was warm and glowing.
That day, the women worked steadily, unmindful of their aching joints. They knew they would have to hurry to make final preparations for the worst of the winter, for even colder weather lay ahead. So they spent the day piling snow high around the shelter to insulate it and gathering all the loose wood they could find. Then without resting, they set a long line of rabbit snares, for the area was rich in willow, and there were many signs of rabbit life. Nighttime had arrived when the women made their way back to the camp. Sa’ boiled the remains of the rabbit’s innards and the women feasted on the last of their food. After that, they leaned against their bedding and stared into the campfire.
The two women had not known each other well before being abandoned. They had been two neighbors who thrived on each other’s bad habit of complaining and on sharing conversations about things that did not matter. Now, their old age and their cruel fate were all they had in common. So it was that night, at the end of their painful journey together, they did not know how to converse in companionship, and instead, each woman dwelled on her own thoughts.
Ch’idzigyaak’s mind went immediately to her daughter and grandson. She wondered if they were all right. A surge of hurt streaked through her as she thought about her daughter again. It was still hard for Ch’idzigyaak to believe that her own flesh and blood would refuse to come to her aid. As the self-pity overwhelmed her, Ch’idzigyaak fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and her lips formed a thin, rigid line. She would not cry! This was the time to be strong and to forget! But with that thought a huge single tear dripped down. She looked at Sa’ and saw that she also was lost deep in thought. Ch’idzigyaak was perplexed by her friend. Except for a few moments of weakness, the woman next to her seemed strong and sure of herself, almost as if she were challenged by all of this. Curiosity replaced her pain and Sa’ was startled when Ch’idzigyaak spoke.
“Once when I was a little girl, they left my grandmother behind. She could no longer walk and could hardly see. We were so hungry that people were staggering around, and my mother whispered that she was afraid that people would think of eating people. I had not heard of anything like this before, but my family told stories of some who had grown desperate enough to do such things. My heart filled with fear as I clung to my mother’s hand. If someone looked into my eyes, I would turn my head quickly, fearing he might take notice of me and consider eating me. That is how much fear I had. I was hungry, too, but somehow it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was because I was so young and had my family all around me. When they talked about leaving my grandmother behind, I was horrified. I remember my father and brothers arguing with the rest of the men, but when my father came back to the shelter, I looked at his face and knew what would happen. Then I looked at my grandmother. She was blind and too deaf to hear what was going on.” Ch’idzigyaak took a deep breath before continuing with her story.
“When they bundled her up and put her blankets all around her, I think Grandmother sensed what was happening because as we began to leave the camp I could hear her crying.” The older woman shuddered at the memory.
“Later, when I grew up, I learned that my brother and father went back to end my grandmother’s life, for they did not want her to suffer. And they burned her body in case anyone thought of filling their bellies with her flesh. Somehow, we survived that winter, though my only real memory of that time was that it was not a happy one. I remember other times of empty stomachs, but none as bad as that one winter.”
Sa’ smiled sadly, understanding her friend’s painful memories. She, too, remembered. “When I was young, I was like a boy,” she began. “I was always with my brothers. I learned many things from them. Sometimes, my mother would try to make me sit still and sew, or learn that which I would have to know when I became a woman. But my father and brothers always rescued me. They liked me the way I was.” She smiled at her memories.
“Our family was different from most. My father and mother let us do almost anything. We did chores like everyone else, but after they were done, we could explore. I never played with other children, only with my brothers. I am afraid I did not know what growing up was about because I was having so much fun. When my mother asked me if I had become a woman yet, I did not understand. I thought she meant in age, not in that way. And summer after summer, she would ask me the same question, an
d each time she looked more worried. I did not pay much attention to her. But as I grew as tall as my mother and just a little shorter than my brothers, people looked at me in a strange way. Girls younger than me already were with child and man. Yet I was still free like a child.” Sa’ laughed heartily as she now knew why she received all those strange looks from people then.
“I began to hear them laugh at me behind my back and I became confused. In a way, I did not care what people thought about me, so I continued to hunt, fish, explore, and do what I pleased. My mother tried to make me stay home and work, but I rebelled. My brothers had taken women, and I told my mother she had plenty of help, and with that I would escape. When my mother turned to my father to discipline me, I would show up with a huge bundle of ducks, fish, or some other food, and my father would say, ‘Leave her alone.’ Then I grew older, beyond that age when women should have man and child, and everyone was talking about me. I could not understand why, for although I was not with a man and having children, I was still doing my share of the work by providing food. There were times when I brought more food than the men. This did not seem to please them. About this time in my life, we experienced our worst winter. It was cold like this.” Sa’ motioned with her hand.
“Even babies died, and grown men began to panic, for as hard as they tried they could not find enough animals to eat. There was an old woman in our group whom I rarely noticed. The chief decided we had to move on in our search for food. There was a rumor that far away we would find caribou. This excited everyone.
“The old woman had to be carried. The chief did not want this burden, so he told everyone that we would leave her behind. No one argued, except me. My mother tried to stifle me, but I was young and unthinking. She told me that this was to be done for the sake of the whole group. She seemed like a cold, unfeeling stranger as she tried to talk me out of my protest, but I angrily brushed her off. I was shocked and furious. I felt that The People were being lazy and were not thinking clearly. It was my job to talk some sense into them. And being who I was, I spoke up for the woman whom I hardly knew existed until then. I asked the men if they thought they were no better than the wolves who would shun their old and weak.
Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival Page 3