by Richard Bell
Chapter 17
Late fall brought clouds piling upon each other and wind that swept icy cold from the north. I’d been among the Tsinuks more than a year. Nowamooks spent long hours with her Small Hawks bundle so it might grow to understand her. Four moons passed since getting the medicine bundle and already there were many seeking help.
“I haven’t forgotten my brother,” she told me as we stomped through the rain sodden leaves along the path leading to the oyster beds. Her brow furrowed.
I nodded without responding. She would tell me what she wanted.
“There are new rumors. The Klatskania and Willamettes grow angrier each moon…FAR worse than ever before.”
Komkomis and I had already discussed this. Their tit-for-tat attacks on boats and cargo had escalated into an ongoing battle. The hostility toward Tewaugh had soured into hatred and imagined revenge.
Nowamooks paused as if pondering how much I knew. “The Klatskania warriors are so bad no one wants to pass near them. They’re attacking everyone. The Willamettes want them to guarantee safe passage to and from Celilo, but they’re arrogant.”
She was giving an unrealistically light version. The Klatskania were ruthless and their praying on travelers had become a major problem. Since we were too powerful to take on directly, they attacked anyone they thought might be our friends.
“My mother mentioned rumors that the Willamettes bought some NuuChaNulth boats Uncle Tewaugh wanted. That the Willamettes threatened them into selling.”
I nodded and smiled. What she was sharing wasn’t significant. Besides being old gossip, the way she phrased it all but admitted that it wasn’t true. The story was unlikely at best since. The NuuChaNulth were great traders and boat carvers living far to the north. They were too wealthy and far away for the Willamette to threaten.
I’d watched her and her mother long enough to mirror their blank looks. Now I stared blankly into her eyes until she twisted her mouth into a pout. “I’m just telling you what she said. Do you want to hear it or not?”
I smiled and shrugged; she would tell me the parts she wanted to share. Nothing I said would increase or decrease that. I assumed there must be a reason she was being so obscure. In controlling the portage around that river’s falls the Willamettes controlled all the trade south of them, just as we controlled trade to and from the north. Between us, we ferried most of the cargo and trade on the lower river system.
I quipped, “If it’s true they do business like Tewaugh himself.”
“Hating Tewaugh drives them. The Willamette chief had cousins among the crews that are missing. They want revenge.”
That made sense…maybe now she was getting around to her real message. She glared so I hid my smile and leaned against her shoulder as we ambled slowly back to the village. Since she must know I’d already have heard it.
The rumor fit among other scraps, but crucial elements were missing. Controlling access to the Cowlitz River and raiding weak neighbors and strangers had brought the Klatskania a lot of enemies, but not a lot of wealth. Any alliance they made with the Willamettes would be built upon revenge and desire for plunder.
All those blaming Tewaugh would support revenge against us. That easily included the Klatskania. They’d risen from minor status with little but aggressiveness and were neither traders nor haulers. By themselves they were a local aggravation, but allying with the Willamettes would threaten trade.
Months passed and trade all but ended with the coming of winter. Our culture shifted into its winter mode as the days grew short and the rain settled in. Time was spent sharing tales of recent events, telling ancient stories and repeating jokes everyone knew. When asked to speak I almost always refused. But finally I resolved to tell a story the next time I had a chance.
Some days later, as rain beat buckets against the roof-planks, I had my opportunity. Komkomis was in Yakaitl-Wimakl while Nowamooks, Kilakota and I shared a meal at Tewaugh and Tzum’s.
Tzum passed platters of sweet camas, red-fleshed muscles and acorn mush and prodded the conversation with questions. As we finished, my stomach tightened and my palms grew damp. It was while lounging about after eating that people often shared stories. As things began I built up my courage.
At last I caught Tzum Tupso’s eye. She tilted her head in a question.
When I nodded her and gestured to myself, her eyes grew wide, then she waved her hands for quiet. “Our nephew Chaningsit has something to say. And if you need more fish, just ask.” She sat back graciously as I rose to my knees and looked around at the faces then I cleared my throat and began.
“This is a Chinese story handed down from the Tsinuk dream time.” I paused, straining to gauge the mood of the half-lit room. “In China, Grizzly’s name is Confucius and Coyote’s is Lao Tsu.” The crowd grew quiet and a sprig of confidence took root in my gut.
“Grizzly was a chief who loved rules and tradition while Coyote gave up being a chief because he thought rules and some traditions were out of harmony with the world. But both of them were very wise. Both were very wise teachers.
One stormy day, Grizzly’s cousin was killed when a tree toppled onto his lodge. Tradition demanded revenge, but he didn’t know who should pay. The sea birthed the storm; the mountains attracted it, yet the tree did the damage. It was very complicated. ‘Which of them is at fault?’ asked Grizzly.
“‘Well...’ Coyote rubbed his chin and used his politest Coyote voice, ‘The forest’s tree did the damage, but the real question is, What is tradition for?’
“‘Tradition weaves ties between families and clans,’ answered Grizzly with an impatient toss of his head. Grizzly was very traditional.
“‘Why is that important, Grizzly my friend?’ smiled Coyote.
“‘Well, because tradition teaches responsibility and unselfishness, it allows people to live together in harmony.’ Grizzly knew all the reasons for such things. He’d taught tradition all his life.
“‘Ahha...so there’s your problem.’ returned Coyote. ‘Revenge doesn’t teach responsibility or unselfishness so it’s a lesser tradition. Harmony is also tradition, but it’s a true tradition because it brings good to everyone. Lead your people to fight the forest if they demand it, but if you truly love tradition distract them from revenge, let them live with their grandchildren and grow old.’”
I nodded my head and bowed. There was a moment of silence as I settled to my mat, but then people called out, applauding and beating poles against the roof. I looked about flushed and happy even though Nowamooks caught my eye with a hard steady gaze before turning away with distain. I was sorry she found fault. But I intended my story to have meaning. It was okay that people didn’t roar like they did for Iskum Kaw. I skimmed through the evening, happy.
Nowamooks said nothing until we’d ducked out Tewaugh’s door-flap and scampered through the rain to the eves of Comcomly’s lodge.
“So now you question our traditions and meddle in politics?” she demanded angrily, stamping her foot and hissing the words through clenched teeth.
Still buoyed by the experience, I met her nose to nose. “I’m not concerned with politics. Besides, the story’s true…revenge might harm the family.” I smiled confidently, though I didn’t feel it.
She growled deep in her throat. “If we don’t take revenge, they’ll say we don’t have honor. How would you control the Klatskania?”
“Revenge demands hating enemies more than loving friends. Controlling trade is more Tsinuk.” It was a arrogant answer, but I felt clever, as she stomped away in a huff.
The next day, she took me aside. “My mother thinks your story was helpful.” The words came out resentfully. “But she asks if you understand how we will be seen if people don’t pay for what they’ve done?”
“Revenge against the wrong ones would be worse.”
She chewed her lip impatiently, “There are too many suspects. There a rumor the wedges were aimed at Tewaugh but they got the wrong boat.”
“Tha
t makes no sense. Aimed at Tsinuks…or Salish, it worked.”
Nowamooks tilted her head and gave me a wry smile. “How did you get so smart about things you don’t know about?”
“Learned it all from you…little bird.” I smirked and drew a finger lightly between her breasts.
She pushed me away, pretending to be upset and then leaned close and rubbed against me suggestively. “Then maybe I’ll make you even smarter…” Giggling, she pulled away and scampered inside, leaving me thinking a moment before following.
Happy with the way that storytelling went, I prepared another Buddhist story.
“Long ago a warrior traveling through the land of Coyote had a dream about hunting deer. When he woke, just like he dreamed, he chased a deer and killed it, but being afraid Coyote might be angry about him poaching, he dragged the deer to a crack in the rocks and hid it. But when he returned to bring the deer home he couldn’t remember exactly where he’d hidden it and after looking nearly everywhere, decided he must have dreamed the entire thing.
“He didn’t know it…but Coyote had been napping nearby and had seen the whole thing and soon as the warrior wandered off, he quickly took the deer and brought it to his wife, telling her, ‘Following a dream, the human shot the deer he dreamed of. When I woke from a dream I found the dreamed, real deer the human dreamed he shot then shot, but then thought he only dreamed he shot.’”
“Coyote’s wife replied, ‘Oh….you woke from a dream to see a dream deer, while the human hid a real deer he dreamed and really killed, but then thought he only dreamed. You awoke from a dream to find the real dreamed deer.
“Exactly,” Coyote said.
But then the human dreamed again and remembered where he’d really left the deer. When he went to get it, of course, the deer was gone and mice told him that Coyote had taken it, so the human appealed to Grizzly to settle the matter.
Being very wise, Grizzly heard both sides, burnt some sage and scratched his head. The human began with a dream deer, but found a real deer and ended up with a real dream but no deer. Then while waking from a dream, Coyote found the real deer, that was dreamed but was real and gave it to his wife…so she had the real, dreamed deer not a dream. Should Coyote keep the real deer and the human the dreamed one, or the other way around?
“…exactly…”
My audience held its breath, there wasn’t a sound for the longest period.
“My decision,” Grizzly said…. I drew the word out and stood magisterially. “…is…real or dreamed, the deer should be cooked and eaten here and now and that none of this deer, dreamed or real, should be taken from this circle except in our stomachs because in reality dreams and reality cross so often that distinguishing between them is foolish. Real or dreamed, we feast NOW. If all agree…then it’s decided.”
A moment of silence reigned and I thought I might have gone terribly wrong, then there was a sudden, guffawing roar of laughter followed by a swirl of chatter and cries for more food. Feeling proud of my accomplishment, I sat back with a glance to Nowamooks. She smiled at me. I felt enveloped by love. She smiled.
The depth of winter brought a string of storms set-off with icy fog and slush-tinged drizzle. Much of the time I stayed indoors, only collecting firewood when the rain thinned to an icy mist. Uncle Tanaka’s sweat lodge beside my little temple had become popular. Society and clan elders and visiting traders often chose it to discuss business. If I happened to be there, sometimes I inadvertently heard sensitive discussions for the wall of the sweat lodge was my rear wall; only a hide and a few reed mats thick.
Comcomly often brought visitors for confidential discussions as I meditated, occasionally leaving them to talk among themselves. He expected me to visit him later. It became a regular routine; then after meeting with Comcomly, Kilakota was liable to find me. It was all, so very Tsinuk.
Through much of that long dreary winter, in our imaginations the fire-lit lodges expanded beyond purely physical space. In the half-dark, historic vistas and mythic panoramas opened like endless palace rooms. Legends lived. Whispered confidences were shared while children played and old stories were retold and ceremonial prayers mumbled quietly. The noble posts of our lodge rose into the heavens while secrets puddled in corners and whispers leaked from behind ceremonial screens.
Nowamooks communed daily with the spirits of her Small Hawks bundle, meditating on each element and spending the evenings mumbling its songs. Trade was finished. It was time for rituals and ceremonies, of sacred dance and retelling legends. The very fabric of Tsinuk society changed. Again, instead of dividing by family and clan, we grouped by totem and the sacred songs of Bear and Frog and Salmon seemed to emerge from the walls.
Newly initiated into the Eagle clan and Ghost and Elk societies I was kept busy learning songs and lore. I memorized a story from Comcomly’s great-grandfather’s day, when the ocean was so angered by the disputes between men that in the middle of a winter night it sent giant waves taller than trees to destroy them. Nahcotta and all Willapa Bay’s villages were swept away. The ancient lodges of every village about the bay had been taken in retribution for human imbalance. Families of Yakaitl-Wimakl brought in lodge builders from far north to rebuild. It had taken years, but northern traders coming south needed help and for Tsinuks, trade of course, was life itself.
With the eventual return of spring the center of Tsinuk culture switched from clan back to family. As traders began arriving from the north, a dispute developed between the Klatskanias and Tewaugh over a stretch of beach used by both. Tewaugh’s freight had been thrown to the river and lost. A Klatskania boat was destroyed in retaliation and a Tsinuk had an arm broken. No lives were lost in the incidents and reparations were grudgingly paid.
After our winter confinement, visitors were as welcome as the sun; trade infused our lives with excitement. Our lodge was abuzz as the visitors descended and business was profitable. I was included in more of our inner family’s planning and plotting strategies Foremost in their plans for the coming year was obsidian.
Last winter, Comcomly and Tewaugh started quietly buying-up all they could find. Traders went far upriver sweeping up every piece not knapped into finished knives or points. Without drawing attention, their agents sent bundles of blanks and slabs of the stone to Nahcotta simply to keep them from moving north.
Buckskin parcels of it trickled irregularly. From the south and the high western plateaus small traders a few discrete packets. Small amounts were easy to carry and didn’t draw attention. It was an essential commodity with constant demand and limited supply. We would hoard the stones for a season, and sell quickly in the spring.
One evening, a runner arrived telling about Willamette canoes gone missing after an incident with Tsinuks. I sat close as Comcomly and Tewaugh talked with Kilakota, Nowamooks and Komkomis. On the river there was talk of war.
The next morning Nowamooks announced she would go on a spirit quest. Traveling up the snow capped mountain this side of the River she would try to win the guidance of the Frog Earrings spirit and bond with the powers of her Small Hawks bundle. I was taken by surprise, and with the reports of violence thought going off alone seemed dangerous. Without a moment’s consideration I muttered, “No. You can’t go.”
“What?” she laughed in shocked amazement. “You can’t forbid me anything. You think I’m a slave?” She threw her armload of blankets to the ground. Her chin lowered and she glared through narrowed lids. Her voice dropped to throaty growl. “Are wives in China slaves? I am Tsinuk and the daughter of a chief. Who do you think you are to deny me a spirit quest? What use is the medicine bundle if I don’t forge an alliance with Frog Earrings? Have you no business sense at all?”
Dismayed and confused I looked into the burning eyes of a wrathful demon and realized the wrongness of what I’d said.
“You have no decision to make regarding me.” she spat icily. “When my totems want me to quest they speak to me and I’ll decide. I was telling you, not asking approval. I
t is no concern of yours beyond wishing me success.”
She hissed a curse and her eyes flashed with fury as she spun away and left me sitting with my mouth agape and cheeks burning. I had stumbled headlong into it.
I wailed silently–such imprudence would ruin me.
Nowamooks would never be a Chinese wife. I knew she would never ask permission for anything. What was I thinking? With one ill-considered remark I alienated my closest friend, my one true vital ally. I raced about looking everywhere, but couldn’t find her.
She missed our evening meal and I slept alone that night.. The fact that no one mentioned her was proof everyone knew what had happened. That my imprudence draped me in shame was common knowledge.
I left the lodge the next morning at first light, ignoring Uncle Tanaka as he fell into step beside me. No explanations were necessary; he’d heard the gossip.
Nowamooks had continually encouraged me yet I repaid her with distrust. I was ignorant, stupid and foolish. It would have been so easy to give my blessing.
I saw her mid-morning carrying a small bundle across the village. But when I stumbled to greet her she granted only an icy stare.
“I’m sorry Nowamooks.” I pleaded. “I honor you. Please walk with me.”
She swept past as if I was invisible and I felt my face burning with embarrassment as people about us turned to listen.
I was so disturbed, I almost missed her whisper, “At your temple...after I bring this to Kilakota.”
I stood watching as she limped stiffly toward the lodge. Then, for the benefit of the gossips I stretched and yawned to feign indifference and slowly ambled off.
I smiled insecurely as she approached my temple. I reached to take her basket and we walked slowly through the trails circling the village. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled quietly. “I misunderstood.”
She sniffed and grumbled, but seemed to forgive me.
I looked up to the tattered clouds and breathed a long, deep breath. The unbearable weight was lifting from my shoulders.
“I have no choice, but to forgive.” Nowamooks replied solemnly. “The village could fly apart. Don’t you understand that people need my bundle? If I don’t go they will suffer.”
I smiled and nodded. She was wise and was correct. I leaned my shoulder against hers and listened to her plans. After fasting she would sit all night with the Small Hawks spirit so that it would lead her into the mountains in the morning. There, she’d find Frog Earrings and have a vision. Squeezing my fingers she insisted I take it seriously. The magic would be spoiled if we were not together in our intentions.
Tomorrow morning she would set off. I would have to fast here in Nahcotta, focusing my thoughts on Frog Earrings and supporting Nowamooks with all my strength. I nodded unhappily at her suggestion that I ask Tewaugh to explain. After she left I walked to the mouth of the bay and back, then sat in my temple a long while.
Finally I looked for Tewaugh, finding him sitting in the sun with his cronies.
He waved for me to sit as he stretched languidly against his lodge-front. His friends traded jokes and played lahal. It was a popular game; dividing sticks and betting tokens until the marked stick was finally flourished., But Tewaugh sat apart from the others, watching.
Once, I’d asked why he didn’t gamble. He laughed, “Gambling is only entertaining for those with few other interests. It’s a nice diversion, but I don’t need diversions. For real excitement…” he tilted his head and squinted, “Trade is far better. Traders risk far more and balance on cliffs. One wrong move and you fall. It’s far better than sticks.”
The man sitting beside him chuckled. “Unless you gamble with traders.” He slapped his knee. “Letting them win is like singing praises.”
I grinned and laughed with them.
Taking me inside to his alcove Tewaugh finally did talk about Nowamooks’ vision quest and how I had to focus my attention on the bundle’s spirit and open myself to Frog Earrings, lending the power of my totems to her quest. I turned from my Buddhist side and nodded humbly. I would follow his direction exactly.
I was willing to pay the price of having a shaman wife.