A Woman of the Iron People

by Eleanor Arnason

  “The Trickster is the same one who goes to meet women in the spring, when it is mating time. He looks like the best kind of man, large and strong and self-confident. He establishes his territory close to the village. No other man dares to confront him. When the women come out full of lust, they meet him. Some of them meet him, anyway. Each woman who mates with him thinks, What an excellent father! My child will be hardy and resourceful. Good-looking, too.

  “But the mating produces no children. Or if children are born, they are sickly and bad-tempered. They cause nothing but trouble.

  “This is usually so. But the Trickster is never reliable, even in the evil he does. Once in a while a woman mates with him, and the child who comes out is like her father, large and strong and self-confident: a true heroine.

  “One of these was my ancestor, the Ropemaker. But first I must tell how the Trickster stole the ivory comb.

  “He was in the far north, cold and hungry. There was nothing around except the wide plain covered with snow. After a while he came to the tent of the old woman. It shone above him, white and yellow and green. He took off his snowshoes and stuck them in a bank of snow. Then he climbed up into the sky.

  He entered the tent. The old woman was there, sitting in the middle of the floor. Her fur was gray with age. She was combing it with the ivory comb.

  “The Trickster sat down. He watched greedily. The old woman was pulling the comb through the fur on her left forearm. Out came animals. They were little and dark. The old woman shook her comb. The animals tumbled down. When they reached the floor, they vanished. They were going into the world, into the deep burrows of the builders of mounds.

  “ ‘Grandmother,’ the Trickster said. ‘Give me some of your animals. I am hungry, and they look delicious.’

  “The old woman stared at him. ‘I know who you are. The Trickster, the One Who Tells Lies.’ She gave the comb a shake, then she caught one of the animals in midair. It sat up on her hand. Its tiny nose twitched. Its whiskers quivered. It looked at the Trickster with bright dark eyes. ‘These animals are part of me. I give them to people who treat them with respect. But you—O Evil One—you misuse everything you get hold of. There is no respect in you. I will give you nothing.’ She turned her hand over. The animal fell to the floor. It was gone.

  “The Trickster ground his teeth. ‘Grandmother, have pity.’

  “ ‘No,’ the old woman said. ‘You can starve for all I care. And let it be a lesson to you.’ She turned around so her back was to the Trickster.

  “He leaped up. ‘You will regret this, you old biddy!’ He ran from the tent. He climbed down out of the sky and sat next to his snowshoes in a heap of snow. There he waited till the old woman went to sleep. The sound of her snoring filled the plain. The Trickster climbed back up. He crept into the tent. The walls shone as brightly as ever, and the tent was full of a pale flickering light. He saw the old woman stretched out on her back. Next to her was the ivory comb. He picked it up.

  “ ‘But where am I going to hide?’ he asked himself. ‘When the spirits hear that this is gone, they will search the whole world. What place is safe?’

  “Then he had an idea. He made himself small—and the comb as well—and crawled into the old woman’s vagina. She groaned and scratched herself, but she did not wake.

  “ ‘This is not the most pleasant place that I have ever been,’ the Trickster said. ‘I’d like more light and a bit less moisture. But no one will think of looking here.’

  “The old woman woke and reached for her comb. It wasn’t there. She let out a scream. All over the world the spirits leaped up. ‘What is it?’ they cried. ‘What is going on?’

  “Then the search began. Up and down, back and forth, in and out. The spirits searched everywhere. But they didn’t find the comb.

  “ ‘What will I do?’ the old woman said. ‘The comb is irreplaceable. There is none like it, and without it I cannot comb my fur.’

  “The spirits had no answer.

  “Spring came. Vegetation appeared. The hills and the plain turned blue. The people of the world noticed that something was wrong. In every village they went to the shamaness.

  “ ‘What is going on?’ they asked. ‘Fish thrash in the river as they do every year. But no one has seen any fingerlings. The birds build nests as usual. The nests are empty. As for the little animals, the builders of mounds, they puff up the sacks in their necks. They scream and moan and carry on. But they produce no young.’

  “The shamanesses ate narcotic plants. They danced and had visions. They said, ‘The Trickster has stolen the ivory comb. Without it, no more animals will come into existence. We will all starve because of that malevolent person.’

  “All the people cried out. They beat their chests and thighs. They prayed to the spirits. But what could the spirits do?

  “Now the story turns to the Ropemaker. She was a woman of the Amber People. She was large with glossy fur. Her eyes were as yellow as fire. Her arms were strong, and her fingers were nimble. Most people believed she was a child of the Trickster. She had the look.

  “Her craft was making rope out of leather. She was very skillful at this. Her ropes were narrow and flexible. They did not stretch. They were hard to break, and they lasted for years.

  “In any case, the time for mating came. The women of the Amber People felt the spring lust grow in them. But this year they were unwilling to go out onto the plain. ‘What is the point of leaving the village?’ they said. ‘Why should we bother to go and find a man? The children we conceive will die of starvation.’

  But the lust grew stronger. Each woman packed the gifts she had made during the winter. Each woman saddled a bowhorn and rode out onto the plain. The Ropemaker was among them. In her saddlebag was a fine long rope. It was her mating gift.

  “Now the story turns back to the Trickster. By this time he was getting restless. There was nothing to do in the old woman’s vagina. He knew it was spring. He wanted to go out into the world and play a mean trick on someone. He waited till the old woman was asleep and crept out. He left the comb behind. Off he went toward the south. After a while he came to the land of the Amber People. He found a territory close to the village. There was a man there already: a big man with many scars. The Trickster went up to him and said, ‘You’d better leave.’

  “ ‘Are you crazy?’ the big man said. ‘I got here first. And anyway, I’m bigger than you.’

  “The Trickster stretched himself till he was taller than the big man. He glared down. His yellow eyes shone like fire.

  “ ‘Well,’ said the big man. ‘If you put it that way.’ He mounted his bowhorn and rode off.

  “The Trickster shouted insults at his back. The big man did not turn.

  “After that the Trickster settled down and waited. A day passed and then another. On the third day a woman rode into sight. It was the Ropemaker. The Trickster felt satisfied. This was an impressive woman. This was a person worth misleading.

  “As for the Ropemaker, she liked what she saw: a big wide man. He was standing on the plain with his feet apart and his shoulders back. His fur was thick and glossy. He wore a fine tunic, covered with embroidery. On his arms were silver bracelets. They were wide and bright.

  “When she got close, she noticed that he had a peculiar aroma. ‘Well, no one is perfect,’ she told herself.

  “When she reached the man, she dismounted. They lay on the ground and mated. Afterward she said, ‘I have some bad news.’

  “ ‘Oh, yes?’ said the Trickster.

  “ ‘The Old Woman of the North has lost her comb. Because of this, she cannot comb her fur, and no more animals will come into the world.’

  “ ‘So what?’

  “ ‘If we have a child, it will die of starvation.’

  “ ‘So what? It’s no concern of mine. As long as I am able to mate, I’m satisfied. Who cares what comes of the thing we do together?’

  “ ‘I care. And anyway, if this situation continues, we’ll all die. Fo
r how can we live without the bowhorns and the birds in the air and the fish in the rivers?’

  “ ‘If you want to die, then go ahead and do it. I’m not worried. I intend to go on living, no matter what happens to the rest of the world.’ The Trickster rolled over and went to sleep.

  “The Ropemaker looked at him. His fur shone like copper, and there was a glow around his body. This was no ordinary man, she realized. It was a spirit. A nasty spirit. The Trickster.

  “She got her rope and tied him up. Then she waited. He woke and tried to stretch. He could not. ‘What is this?’ he cried.

  “ ‘You are caught,’ said the Ropemaker. ‘And I will not let you go until you give me the ivory comb.’

  “The Trickster ground his teeth. He thrashed and rolled. One heel struck the land and made a hole. Water rushed up and made a lake. The lake is still there. It is wide and shallow and full of stones and reeds. It is called the Trickster’s Lake or the Lake of Bugs and Stones.

  “The rope did not break. The Trickster continued to struggle. He rolled away from the Ropemaker. He beat on the earth with his bound hands. He made another hole, deeper than the first. Hot mud rushed up. It seethed around the Trickster. He was boiling like a bird in a pot. His magic was powerful. He took no harm. The rope, however, could not survive the heat and moisture. It began to stretch. The Trickster pulled free. He jumped up. He shouted:

  “ ‘I am the Trickster,

  oh, you foolish woman!

  I cannot be held.

  I know no obligation.

  “ ‘I am the Trickster,

  oh, you foolish woman!

  No one can hold me.

  No one can make me stop.’

  “After that he ran off across the plain. He went north, back to his hiding place. The Ropemaker watched him go. She bit her lip and clenched her hands. ‘He is a great spirit, and he may be a relative of mine. But I won’t let him get away with this.’

  “She mounted her bowhorn and rode north. For a long time she traveled, and she had many adventures. But I don’t have the time to tell you about them.

  “At last she came to the place where the old woman lived. It was midsummer. The plain was yellow. The rivers were low. The Ropemaker dismounted. She tethered her animal. Then she climbed into the sky.

  “ ‘Grandmother,’ she called. ‘Will you let me in? I have come a long way in order to see you.’

  “ ‘Come in,’ the old woman said. ‘But I can’t help you. I have lost my comb. I have nothing to give.’

  “The Ropemaker entered the tent. The old woman was there, sitting in the middle of the floor. She was naked and scratching her belly with both hands. ‘I am going crazy,’ she said. ‘My fur is full of animals, and I can’t get them out. I can feel them crawling in the folds of my belly. I can feel them in my armpits. I can feel them on my back. Granddaughter, I beg you. Be kind to me! Scratch me between the shoulder blades.’

  “The Ropemaker scratched her back. The old woman kept on complaining. ‘I can even feel them in my vagina, though I have no fur there. They stir from time to time and tickle me. Oh! This is terrible!’

  “The Ropemaker frowned. She remembered the way the Trickster had smelled. All at once she knew his hiding place. ‘But how will I get him out?’ she asked herself. ‘And how will I catch him and hold him, once he is out?’

  “She decided to go to sleep. She lay down and closed her eyes. The old woman sat next to her, scratching. Soon the Ropemaker began to dream. Three spirits came to her. One was a woman of middle age with a big belly and noticeable breasts. She wore a long robe, covered with embroidery.

  “The next spirit was a man. His fur was blue-green, and he had wings instead of arms. He wore a kilt of the same color as his fur. His belt buckle was round and made of gold. It glittered brilliantly.

  “The third spirit was a young woman. She was large and muscular. She carried a hammer, and she wore a leather apron. Her eyes were orange-red.

  “The Ropemaker knew them. The first was the Mother of Mothers. The second was the Spirit of the Sky. And the third was the Mistress of the Forge, who lives in Hani Akhar, the great volcano.

  “ ‘O holy ones,’ the Ropemaker said. ‘Help me out! I know where the Trickster is. But I need a way to get him out of his hiding place. And once he is out, he will try to run away. I need a way to catch him.’

  “The Spirit of the Sky spoke first. ‘I will keep watch. If he tries to run away, I will see where he goes. He won’t be able to find a new hiding place.’

  “The Mistress of the Forge spoke next. ‘I will make a rope out of iron, forged with magic so it will never break. It will be self-fastening and able to move. The Trickster won’t escape from it.’

  “The Mother of Mothers spoke last. ‘I know how to get the Trickster out of his hiding place.’ She leaned forward and whispered into the Ropemaker’s ear.

  “In the morning the Ropemaker woke. There was a rope lying next to her in a coil. It was dull gray in color, and it had a peculiar texture, like the scales of a lizard. The Ropemaker took a close look at it. It was made of many tiny links of iron fastened together.

  “ ‘Good morning, grandmother,’ she said to the Old Woman of the North. ‘I’ve had an idea. You said that your vagina tickled, even though it has no fur.’

  “The old woman made the gesture of agreement.

  “ ‘I don’t think there’s an animal in there. I think you need sex.’

  “ ‘You’re crazy!’ the old woman cried. ‘It’s the wrong time of year. And anyway, I’m too old to feel lust.’

  “ ‘Remember,’ the Ropemaker said. ‘A woman doesn’t grow old easily. The feeling of lust doesn’t vanish all at once. Often a woman becomes irritable and uncertain. Her behavior changes from day to day. She feels lust at the wrong time. At the right time, in the spring, she feels nothing at all. She cannot understand what is going on—any more than a young girl can when she becomes a woman. I think this is what has happened to you.’

  “ ‘No!’ cried the old woman.

  “ ‘In any case, try sex. I will go and find a young man for you. If I’m right, and you are feeling lust—a bit late, I will admit—then the young man will respond to you. And maybe you will feel better afterward.’

  “The Ropemaker got up and left the tent. She took the iron rope with her.

  “The Trickster heard all this. He became uneasy. ‘If that crazy woman can find a man willing to mate with this old biddy—well, my position will not be comfortable. I am likely to take a terrible beating. I’d better get out of here.’

  “He waited till it was night, and the old woman was snoring. Then he crept out. The comb was in his hand. He stole to the door. Out he stepped. The Ropemaker was waiting there. The Great Moon was up. It lit the sky and the plain. It lit the man as he came through the doorway.

  “ ‘This is it, you nasty spirit!’ the woman cried. She threw the iron rope.

  “It twisted in midair. It wrapped itself around him. He stumbled and fell. The comb flew out of his hand. The Ropemaker caught it. As for the Trickster, he fell out of the sky and landed on the plain. He rolled back and forth. He yelled. He struggled. But the rope would not break. After a while he gave up. He lay still, breathing heavily.

  “Three spirits appeared around him. He looked up at them. ‘I can tell that you are responsible for this.’

  “ ‘Yes,’ said the Mother of Mothers. ‘This is the end of all your malevolent tricks. We are going to take you far from here and drop you in the ocean. You’ll cause no further trouble.’

  “ ‘Don’t be sure,’ the Trickster said.

  “They picked him up and carried him through the air. In the middle of the ocean they let go of him. He splashed into the water. Down and down he sank. At last he hit the bottom. Aiya! It was dark and cold! Deep-sea fish nibbled on his toes. He twisted and tried to yell. Instead he swallowed water. But he could not drown. His life was everlasting. He stayed there for more years than we can count. He gave his nature to th
e ocean. It became changeable and unreliable, impossible to trust. In the end he broke free. But that is another story.

  “As for the Ropemaker, she went back into the tent. She woke the old woman and gave her the comb.

  “ ‘Oh! This is wonderful!’ the old woman cried. She began to comb her fur. Animals came out, hundreds of them. They tumbled out of the sky and filled the world. All the people rejoiced.”

  Inahooli stopped talking. I unfolded my legs and stood. By this time it was noon. Sunlight poured down.

  The air was still and hot. I was sweating.

  “Well,” said Inahooli. “Are you impressed? Do you think my ancestor is great?”

  “Yes.” I turned and looked at the tower. A trickster god, like Anansi the Spider and Coyote and B’rer Rabbit. There were other odd similarities. The Old Woman in the North reminded me of a character out of Inuit mythology. Was there such a thing as a universal archetype? Would we find the same characters on planet after planet? I imagined a collective unconscious that extended across—or maybe under—the galaxy. What an idea! But I was moving too fast. I didn’t have the data. I stretched. “I have to go.”

  “No! Don’t leave. I have other stories.”

  I made the gesture of polite refusal, followed by the gesture of extreme regret. “Nia is waiting.”

  She stood up, frowning. “There is something about that name…” Her eyes widened. “I remember! Nia the Smith. The woman who loved a man.” She used the word that meant familial affection, the love between sisters or between a mother and her daughters. “They told us about her, the Iron Folk. They said the man died. But she was still out on the plain. A big woman with the look of bad luck. They warned us about her. They said, ‘If she comes to your village, let her stay only as long as is decent. Then tell her to move on. If you let her move in, she’ll sour the milk in your pots. She’ll make your fires go out.’ ”

  “Nia does no harm,” I said. I kept my voice low and even. A confident voice. The voice of sanity.

  Inahooli was silent, still frowning, obviously thinking. “She hasn’t given up her old behavior. When she mentioned your friend she wasn’t using an ending from your language. You said the name differently. I heard. I didn’t understand. She gave the name an ending from her own language or from the language of gifts. In either case it is a male ending. Your friend is a man.”