The Moss Garden Journal Of Chan Wing Tsit

by Richard Bell

  Chapter 16

  That night I lay for a long time cuddled with Nowamooks listening to the rain’s heavy pounding. But when I ducked out the next morning the roof still dripped, but the sky was clearing. By the end of my meditation the last smudges of clouds were racing off and our party was gathering for the journey.

  Comcomly and Kilakota waited at the beach with Tewaugh, Tzum Tupso, Komkomis and his wives. I ambled down with Nowamooks.

  We set off with each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. At the portage, we carried our personal bundles, walking single file up and over the rise, under the moss-draped arms of ancient firs and red madrone, leaving the bulk of the baggage for our crew. Out path crossed a wooded ridge splashed with brilliant greens, then descended into a valley of ancient trees, dark shadows and a placid little river twisting south.

  Compared to Nahcotta’s scattered lodges, Yakaitl-Wimakl was a city. A dozen or more decorated houses stood on a low bluff above the shore, each hosting innumerable lean-tos and humbler shelters on the slopes beyond.

  The shore swarmed with boats. Certainly not the massive ships with their mountains of exotic cargo, but it seemed equally industrious with the unloading and departure of significant piles destined for dozens of destinations. Boats crowded the shore as workers sorted boxes and bundles amid the commotion of business and the clamor of so many people.

  Everywhere I turned, people chattered, argued and carried-on. Baskets of fish moved along crowded paths; bundles of reeds, stacks of bound hides and autonomously wrapped bundles waited on the banks and beside lodges. Idlers obstructed porters with boxes and baskets, children circled in roving packs and boisterous traders exaggerated expansively. Nearer the lodges groups gambled and gossiped. The air hung thick with the smoke of a hundred fires and the smells of food. Before it stretched a huge brown river fully as wide as an inland sea.

  Though I’d never before seen it, the Great River had been spoken of so often I myself used it as a reference. But before that first glimpse I had no idea how vast a river could be. The far, mist-shrouded shore seemed mysterious. The river itself looked as deep as an ocean and carried an ocean-full of water in a day. How could any range of mountains be vast enough to collect such flow?

  Well-used mats were spread in open space before the lodges displaying every manner of fo craft and commodity available in this world. I looked up from the small traders to see a procession winding toward us. Masked figures shook rattles and beat drums as they danced around two fish-headed dragons. The dragons circled and reared, writhing sinuously and driving onlookers into corners with gnashing teeth. Suddenly the world seemed to spin and I stumbled. Disorientated, I nearly went sprawling.

  I seemed to be dreaming. Somehow this village had become the neighborhood of my childhood at New Years. The crowds and smells of food and smoke I’d known, the people watching the dancing dragons. My childhood memories appeared reborn. I even thought my burned from the acrid smell of fireworks.

  “Gung hay fat choy,” I murmured, suspecting that it couldn’t be real. Except that clothes and buildings and language were different and that houses had painted symbols and the people were Tsinuk, I could have been a child in China holding the hand of my father watching the flaming dragon of New Years dancing through the streets.

  I was so transported that I stood transfixed. Nowamooks had to tug my cape and physically pull me. Confused and numbed, I stumbled after her to an impressive lodge-front. It had killer whale and salamander symbols. A small throng sang greetings before the doorway, but I stared blankly…my mind a world away.

  Nowamooks pushed me through the door as Comcomly and Kilakota smiled and exchanged pleasantries with those greeting us.

  “This is my father’s River lodge” Nowamooks whispered, her face a mask of polite indulgence for those sustaining the industrious bustle around us.

  I smiled politely without really seeing anything. Just outside the door, a handful of elders loitered, nodding respectfully to Comcomly. The visiting Salish’s trade goods had been piled under an open-sided shelter with one of their paddlers lounging as a guard. But I caught no sign of Kwun-num Tupshin, his daughter or the others of his crew. With all the commotion that wasn’t surprising.

  Tzum Tupso and Tewaugh slipped off to their lodge and Kilakota and Comcomly to visit friends. Komkomis followed us in, but retreated to his own screened alcove, leaving Nowamooks and me the sole focus for the household and their endless platters of food. After taking a few polite bites, Nowamooks dragged me into an alcove and pushed me onto a pile of blankets. “What happed Chaningsit? Did you see a ghost? Take off your clothes…you need to sweat.”

  Unable to explain I nodded vaguely. Stripping my clothes, I followed to their sweat lodge built discretely into a corner. We crowded among a handful of others, as grateful for the dark as the chance to sweat off the journey’s dust. Shutting my eyes. I leaned against Nowamooks and sat bemused, still thinking of the fish/dragon dancing before the lodge.

  Somehow, halfway around the world I stumbled into something that seemed familiar. Up until that moment I had focused far more on the differences between Chinese and Tsinuk, totems or Bodhisattvas, Master Lu and Comcomly, Komkomis and young priest friends.

  Surely the wisdom of Otter, Bear, and Raven was as edifying as Bodhidharma or the Tathagata’s. Chan teaches that the nuances of practices and traditions don’t matter. Despite the path, diligent practice brings enlightenment. I smiled at the idea of sweet-grass braids replacing incense.

  “So, Chaningsit...”

  Returning to the alcove, Nowamooks set a platter of food between us. Dressed and recovered, I sat leaning against the wall. “Want to hear about the sturgeon festival?” She pointed back over her shoulder.

  I jerked back to the present and nodded. I reached for some food to show I wasn’t as disturbed as she feared and tried to look attentive. Seeing fish/dragons had been a shock and in truth I was still disoriented. But I didn’t want to show it. The attention embarrassed me.

  She assessed me wryly and obviously found me wanting. But giving a shrug, she began to explain. “It’s a four day festival for fish and river bundles, but the whole village takes part…this is the third. For grandfather-sturgeon.”

  But her words touched off another time of strange detached awareness and I had to prompt myself to nod and meet her eyes as if I was paying attention. There were fish spirit festivals in China too. My memories began to overlap again.

  The fish/dragon had reared and danced. Chan priests invoked nature spirits and appealed to the gods of mountains and fertility despite revered teachings rejecting magical belief. Even we Chan, the least religious of Buddhists, consciously indulged some superstition. My Tsinuk half understood what my austere Buddhist half had found wanting.

  Was religion only rationalization against insecurity? Is the path to enlightenment really a thing apart from religious Buddhism? Challenging students and withholding reassurances, Chan is not an easy path. It passes along more comments from long-forgotten teachers than scriptures assumed to be essential wisdom.

  Seeking wisdom, I’d spent my youth studying religion. I’d found the Way. Master Lu must have sought truth as I have, but he followed a traditional path. If I wasn’t freed by the storms and shipwreck would I have clung to tradition too?

  When I feel a hint of Realization’s clarity watching a sunset I’m sure it is genuine. But I don’t try to re-capture it. We need to pass beyond mere form.

  That understanding swept through me in an instant. Nowamooks was still talking about the sturgeon festival, unaware that my attention had strayed. I’d missed her explanation and hoped she hadn’t noticed.

  The next morning I woke, alone and found Nowamooks by the bay, watching dawn spread like melting fat through the clouds on the eastern horizon. I stood beside her looking up the Great River, feeling awed as the morning light caught the tree tops. I was pleased to share the day’s beginning.

  We walked about the village without exchanging
a word. I peered about fascinated by all I saw, but within her silence was the heavy undercurrent of her thoughts.

  Raising her eyes to mine, her lips soundlessly whispered Yakala.

  I nodded. Wherever his spirits were, his death had strained the bonds of those still living. Our communities were divided and trade suffered. In this land, powerful spirits, sea creatures, coyotes and great bears ruled as gods, rivers flooded with magical fish and the ocean spit humans out like fish bones. This was not China, where the Tao reigned distantly and balance was assumed. Here, forces that dwarfed humanity roamed and wolves and puma and grizzly’s padded human trails in search of meat. Balance was a constant struggle.

  The power of spirits was immediate. In this land there was no evading such truths. Even in our strongest moments humans are frail. Even Yakala, who had hung from the rafters to heal the world, then danced with the whales and was gone.

  We ambled slowly as Nowamooks remembered her brother.

  I was still a bit giddy and disorientated, but sensed the pulsing of life in the throbbing of rocks beside us. I had awakened to mystic forces.

  Nowamooks’ voice wavered at the edge of my awareness. “He carries knowledge of human ways to the lodges of the spirits.”

  I nodded mutely and stared unblinking across the river. Whatever the ultimate truth; her imagery and beliefs were sincere. Both agreement and disagreement missed the point.

  “His name can not be spoken until Comcomly gives a feast to reclaim it.” She knelt to gather some pebbles and looked up as if measuring me. The distant tree-lined shore was masked in mist like a master’s painting, birds swooped, insects shrilled. Yakala was of this land, his passing was as natural as the salmon; whether he’d given himself or was taken seemed unimportant.

  “But before that feast there will be revenge…before that we settle debts.” Her eyes were motionless, but her cheek twitched. She tossed a pebble into the water.

  One by one, she fed her pebbles to the river. “Both we and the Salish are responsible. They’re eager to offer gifts.” She shot me a wry smile. “Kilakota’s revenge has to wait until our accounts are settled.”

  It seemed very Tsinuk. I blinked as I worked the logic out and offered a smile, “So both sides will give until it hurts, no matter who did what.”

  “Of course.” Nowamooks smiled crookedly. “For healing, it doesn’t matter who drove the wedges. First we find balance…then we’ll pick through the tangle.”

  The village was awakening. The sun burnt through the haze as we wandered. Nowamooks gave a shudder and touched my arm. “Trade, Chaningsit...trade is everything for Tsinuks. It suffers badly.”

  We walked another hundred paces. She nodded politely to the mistchimas loading a boat. The word meant ‘slaves,’ but they seemed little different than Guangzhou’s coolies; the very poor men, struggling for food and shelter.

  Once here at the river, the Salish decided it wasn’t worth the effort to trade at the famous upriver falls. Their hearts weren’t into it and without any chance to return with profit, the lure wasn’t enough. They too were sick at heart to go further. In two intense days of trading their goods were gone and new purchases agreed upon. Even knowing nearly everything would be given away, Kwun-num Tupshin seemed smug with the deals he’d found.

  I watched their tour of trading lodges, watched Komkomis throw himself passionately into bargaining, arguing and sometimes threatening to get better prices.

  I commented to Nowamooks that, “It seemed to go well.”

  She chuckled. “From one hand to another. They’re trading with Tewaugh’s second cousins and Tzum’s uncle. Komkomis insists they make enough profit to provide a bright spot in this darkness. Since traders expect bargaining, we provide it.” A proud grin split her face.

  Of course I knew that trade was a kind of theater, but I pretended to be shocked.

  She gave me a doubtful look. “It’s best if traders go home with more than they expected.”

  I tossed a stick into the river and watched it sweep toward the sea. Tsinuk ways still astonished me. Their hidden agendas and submerged plots seemed unending. Intrigue was as common as cabbage in China. We ambled back so Nowamooks could pass a message through a messenger who was leaving midday.

  Kilakota was meeting with visitors from far up river. Then, she’d meet with Tewaugh before he returned to Willapa Bay. Nowamooks sat beside me watching the river with an impish smile.

  It was obvious there were many things kept from me. Around me they often discussed trivia as if it that would distract me. Though not trusted with the details, through my hours sitting through meetings and councils I was wound hopelessly in Tsinuk intrigue. My karma was irrevocably intertwined with Nowamooks’ family. I would share Tsinuk karma whether the threads of Yakala’s murder were traced or not. Like a retainer in a feudal novel I was bound to her family’s fate.

  With the Salish’s trading completed we prepared to return to Nahcotta. The hostilities between Tewaugh and the upriver traders continued to heat. Each new piece of gossip fed my anxiety. I grew distrustful imagining sinister intentions.

  Then at last we set off for home.

  In an expansive if not cheerful feast, the Salish gave away all they had gained in trading, but they wouldn’t go home empty-handed because Comcomly gave lavishly in return. Both sides took responsibility for the tragedy and showed honor. Balance was restored but revenge still festered, unaddressed.

  The next morning after a careful inspection of each boat, the Salish set off for their northern home. More exactly, the Salish lieutenants, paddlers, warriors and minor traders left with the gifts they’d received. Strangely, Kwun-num Tupshin and his daughter remained with us without a single warrior/bodyguard. The brazen display of trust was shocking for I still felt the villages’ throbbing suspicion.

  Sharing our clam festival was their official reason. It sounded plausible until Nowamooks pointed out that they had an almost identical festival themselves. Something significant was brewing. Kwun-num Tupshin, Kilakota and Comcomly met daily. I sat behind Komkomis and Comcomly’s meeting with so many messengers that they tripped over each other coming and going. With Kwun-num Tupshin’s continued presence there was no doubt the Salish played a role.

  I maintained a steady life, stacking firewood neatly next to hearths before withdrawing to my temple among the trees. A week after our return, Komkomis sought me out wearing formal dress. He used a formal tone to tell me that Comcomly requested my presence at his fire. Assuming it was a council concerning the murder, I felt relief that progress might be at hand.

  But instead of a council, I entered the lodge to find the entire inner family waiting. Screens encircled Comcomly’s fire and new mats carpeted the floor. Everyone but me wore elaborate dress. I glanced about uncertainly. It wasn’t a casual gathering.

  Instead of my usual place behind Comcomly, I was directed to the vacant mat before him reserved for guests. I could read nothing in his expression. By that time of day the lodge was usually filled with an industrious commotion. But it lay strangely empty and eerily silent. There were none of the reassuring sounds of life.

  Comcomly opened a small elk-hide pouch and blew downy feathers over my head, then sat back with a confident smile. “Kilakota, my wife,” he explained in his most respectful voice, “has decided that you and Nowamooks should marry.”

  I glanced in alarm to Nowamooks, but she had somehow disappeared. Kilakota, sitting stiffly beside Comcomly showed no expression whatsoever. I had no illusions about her power; such decisions were hers alone. I’d heard from many sources how dismally far I was from what was expected of a chief’s son-in-law. This clearly made little sense.

  Slowly Kilakota lifted her eyes to mine. I assume my concern must have shown, because she blinked and offered an indulgent smile.

  My mind raced quietly. I had no wealth, no skills or ability as a trader, no position and no potential. I had no status and would never be a warrior, craftsman or healer; I wasn’t even trusted
to wield a paddle.

  I had been tolerated as Nowamooks lover, but what could Kilakota gain by allowing me to marry? Nervous, I touched my fingers and bowed respectfully low. Feeling impossibly awkward, I looked to my knees, then to smoke-darkened rafters. I had an unworthy fear that this was either a misunderstanding or an elaborate joke.

  Comcomly continued. “Of course she is a Raven, so you’ll join my Eagle clan. As your sponsor, I’ll buy you a name of prestige and privilege.” He preened; smug over the honor of bestowing such a name. Suddenly the significance of what was being suggested struck me. This was not a trivial thing, this didn’t seem to be a token marriage. Clan membership conveyed irrevocable belonging. It meant becoming Tsinuk. Instead of being a guest I would be bound not only to the family and all Tsinuks but to the Eagle clan of every village in the world.

  Joining Comcomly’s Eagle clan had both symbolic and practical importance, but even that was dwarfed by the honor of a prestigious name. Such a name would confer privilege and status. It was easy to understand Comcomly’s motivation; his wealth and prestige would be highlighted.

  But still, the decision was entirely Kilakota’s and she had traditionalist family and friends who would be so dismayed over such a marriage they would have to be placated with expensive gifts.

  Since I owned next to nothing Comcomly would pay for my Eagle clan adoption. Then, being a great chief, the clan would have to pay a handsome bride price back to him. The bride price of a chief’s eldest daughter, even an older one with a twisted foot, would bankrupt an average warrior. Even with the wealth shifting from hand to hand within the village the cost of the obligatory feast and potlatch would strain the family’s coffers.

  I counted my breaths only wishing to be alone with Nowamooks so she could explain what all this meant.

  Comcomly looked to Kilakota and raised an eyebrow.

  After glancing around for Nowamooks I took a breath and looked to Comcomly with a smile. “Thank you…ahha...thank you.” I stuttered. “I’m honored, Nowitka, thank you. I’m humbled. Of course…it would be an honor to marry Nowamooks.”

  Comcomly coughed politely. “I realize arranging both sides ourselves stretches respectful manners, but without family or clan to speak for you...” Our eyes met as he shrugged.

  I echoed the shrug. “An unusual situation…handled with honor.”

  Comcomly gave a quick glance at Kilakota before continuing, “You will be adopted as Tsinuk. I’ve spoken to the Ghost and Elk societies; each has a seat available…honored positions. Nowamooks assures us your totems confirm that that this is where you belong. You were drawn to us by the spirits and now will be Tsinuk until you die.” Comcomly held his fist in the air and all assembled let out a cry and suddenly the room erupted in chatter.

  The screens were whisked away and platters of food appeared. It seemed that the formalities were over. Without the slightest warning I had been accepted and soon would be made Tsinuk. My heart swelled, but all I wanted was Nowamooks.

  Kwun-num Tupshin and his daughter stood beside Kilakota. The lodge was suddenly crowded with the important families of both our bay and Yakaitl-Wimakl. Nowamooks appeared beside me as if she’d always been there, smiling in modest silence. Leaning against me, she nibbled at a bit of fish and blushed with pleasure at the congratulations and flow of bawdy teasing.

  The following morning I was given the Eagle name Kwan Mitlite, Quiet Sitting, and accepted in the clan. I carried a salmon through the village and presented it to Kilakota as a marriage pledge.

  I was given a new set of clothes and another handsome knife. Red ocher was daubed around my mouth, down my nose and across my forehead. Abalone necklaces circled my neck and eagle feathers were tied in my hair, then I was hoisted to the roof to pledge my commitment.

  My new Eagle clan presented Comcomly an impressive pile of gifts to meet Nowamooks’ bride price. The Ravens responded with gifts to express their honor of her marriage. Comcomly distributed presents to everyone who came and Kilakota passed out a great pile of blankets. Nowamooks’ cousins gave us enough housewares to equip a lodge as well as enough special charms to fill two boxes. Toluks Tyee, Tzum Tupso’s uncle presented Nowamooks the sacred otter robe of the malevolent spirit Frog Earrings. It was said to confer incredible powers to shaman strong enough to tame it. Then Tewaugh quietly set a Small Hawk medicine bundle before her before inexplicably turning away with tears coursing his rounded cheeks.

  “It is extremely valuable...” Nowamooks whispered, her eyes opened wide in amazement and her lips clamped in pleasure. “A powerful shaman’s bundle, Chaningsit…we’ll have to shower him with gifts for years.”

  Uncle Tanaka gave me an amulet of green jade with a smile that seemed to connect his ears. I slipped it around my neck and I bowed extremely low, returning the honor by presenting him an exquisite knife in a finely crafted scabbard.

  We received a huge number of gifts including the rights to fishing spots, the rights to a Ghost dance and special, secret songs.

  We sat upon an elk hide listening to stories of marriages between humans and totems. Komkomis produced two pipes of tobacco; handing them to Comcomly who passed them around for inspection before presenting the newer one to me.

  That evening Nowamooks and I moved to a prestigious alcove near the rear wall. And with that transfer, it was over. Looking more relaxed than he had since the murder, Comcomly rubbed the paint from my face and looked across at Nowamooks with obvious pride.