The Moss Garden Journal Of Chan Wing Tsit

by Richard Bell

  Chapter 18

  Six days later Nowamooks returned, noticeably thinner, but filled with quiet self-confidence. “My path is clear Chaningsit. I have a new salamander totem and fought with Frog Earrings until she taught me a Small Hawks song. I am filled with that spirit. Remember your dream of the old man and Coyote?” She looked steadily into my eyes and pursed her lips.

  I nodded cautiously.

  “Frog Earrings insisted that the three green stones are this world’s three realms and that she welcomes you home…here.”

  I suddenly felt surrounded with warmth. And so overwhelmed I almost cried.

  Spring at last came to warm our lives. I spent long days learning Raven stories and translating sutras. Nowamooks was a shaman and I was a priest and together we walked the Way. I envied the ease with which she lived hers role, for I struggled endlessly with mine. She assisted with practical and spiritual problems, suggesting rituals and offering advice while it seemed I did little but listen.

  One afternoon I mentioned my doubts about helping anyone.

  Nowamooks just scratched her ear. “What difference does it make? All true shaman know how little they have to work with. Are they genuine or frauds? Which is real Chaningsit? Which is you? What you are, or what you think you are? Is your Buddhism different from life? People talk with you because you do help. Have you no compassion for yourself?”

  Surprised at her tone, I bowed deeply. I pulled my blanket close and leaned against the wall to think. She was right of course; I had slipped away from what I was and she corrected my errant course.

  I was truly blessed. She, who appeared as a Tsinuk barbarian, was a true teacher of the dharma…one who pointed me toward enlightenment.

  Through the warm season, traders appeared almost daily. It was just after the full of the moon that a party of Wapakyt, including Kilakota’s second cousin arrived. From every stop along their way, updates of their progress preceded them. Our village was atwitter with preparation. The singular cause for all the excitement was Raven’s Heart, a tall, dignified woman with long, gray streaked hair, elder sister of a major Wapakyt trader and daughter of Kilakota’s mother’s cousin. I had never fully grasped the subtleties of Tsinuk families, but knew she was far more than a simple relative. The respect she was awarded was remarkable. Before she arrived, a messenger slipped into our lodge and specifically asking for Nowamooks, asked if time could set aside.

  Nowamooks and her mother chattered excitedly as the boats ground up on our beach. Raven’s Heart took Kilakota by both arms and whispered something that earned a blush and a smile. Then giving waves of acknowledgment to friends she moved through the throng and disappeared into Kilakota’s alcove.

  Emerging some time later, the two women shared a wordless nod and set about their separate ways. At the evening meal she sat with Comcomly and Kilakota, with Komkomis, Nowamooks and myself behind them. The next morning Raven’s Heart had a long, hushed meeting with Tewaugh, then with their arms linked in chummy companionship, took a leisurely walk with Tzum Tupso. After that she closeted herself with Kilakota again. Hours later, they called in Komkomis and Comcomly.

  But since arriving she hadn’t glanced Nowamooks way.

  Concerned that there might be a problem I asked Nowamooks, but she simply hissed that I should learn patience and stalked away shaking her head.

  The next day, amid the commotion after our morning meal, Raven’s Heart asked Komkomis to ferry her to the Naselle and Chetlo villages to visit an elderly aunt, then casually turned and asked if Nowamooks and I might be free come. Nowamooks said we had plans, but might be able to make it…she’d have to see.

  I knew of no plans. But kept a straight face and said nothing.

  Though about average height, Raven’s Heart held herself so erect she appeared taller. She was striking. With her hair pulled back at her neck she was elegant and radiated unstated power. We set off as if on a picnic. Chattering of weddings and the sweetness of the year’s early berries, Nowamooks and Raven’s Heart ambled to the canoe. Paddling languidly, Komkomis took a leisurely route southward along the edge of the bay as if sightseeing. At the southern end of the bay we idled, floating beside the tules and the maze of tide-stranded islands topped with thick, rough grass.

  Raven’s Heart looked around and her lighthearted chatter fell away. “The Klatskanias and the Willamettes have made a public vow to bring down Tewaugh. They’d like to end all Tsinuk’s hauling on the river.”

  Komkomis’ paddle paused and there was a moment where only birdcalls and insects filled our ears. Raven’s Heart listened a moment before listing the latest thefts and conflicts. She knew things I hadn’t even heard in gossip and had a grasp on details more intricate than anything I’d yet heard. The story was the same; each incident spurred revenge and reprisals, going back and forth with the slightest excuse. Sabotage was increasing. Occurring almost daily, it went far beyond threats; stolen boats and trade goods, vandalism, some reported though usually not. Still each side made outlandish claims of wrongdoing. Comcomly, Komkomis and I discussed it every few days, but her insights lent it all a far more sinister tone.

  Not only had murder become common, threats to burn our lodges were repeated. Komkomis and Nowamooks appeared completely absorbed as Raven’s Heart listed the names of the eager allies on both sides responsible for most of the mayhem. All seemed from inland, most upriver. I knew none of them myself.

  On the subject of Yakala’s death, she said, “There were angry rumors before the Salish came…long before your brother went whaling. It’s likely it had little to do with the northerners.”

  That was a new perspective. I shifted to study her face. She looked past Nowamooks to catch my eyes then twisted around to Komkomis. “We suspect someone at Tewaugh’s plays mouse, sneaking information to the Willamettes and Klatskanias. They certainly know more than general rumors.”

  “Is the mouse Tewaugh himself?” I asked. “He throws nets over nets.”

  There was a shuffling, a cough, and then an uncomfortable silence. “I can’t talk about Tewaugh.” Raven’s Heart’s voice held a quiet warning. “But you must move cautiously now. There are greater treacheries than wedges.”

  I stared out over the water, knowing she knew far more than she was saying. Knowing they’d talked for long hours, I wondering how much came from Kilakota. Raven’s Heart fingers brushed a wisp of hair from her face as she glanced from Komkomis to Nowamooks. With her presence and competence I could picture her persuading councils, but couldn’t guess her role among us here in Nahcotta. Why would she insert herself within this unsteady sphere?

  Suddenly stopping mid-phrase, Raven’s Heart abruptly went silent and held up her hand. I hadn’t heard a thing, but a bare moment later half of the insect sounds about us stopped and a flight of ducks rose a bit unsurely from the tules before wheeling and resettling a stone’s throw away. Nowamooks and Komkomis looked startled and glanced about with concern. Without comment, Komkomis thrust his paddle deep and brought us around the island with quick firm strokes.

  A dragonfly hovered at the edge of the bank and a water animal slid with a plop into the slough beside us. Only the wind in the treetops and the chirping of unseen birds could be heard. Just beyond our little island two small boats stacked with cattails floated serenely. Tzum Tupso’s niece and nephew greeted us cheerfully. As if they had simply been cutting stalks, they pretended to be surprised to see us. But they were furtive and uneasy.

  I lifted a hand in greeting, but no one else bothered. Everyone understood the gravity of the matter and there was nothing to be said. At least Tewaugh was an ally who would hear almost everything anyway. Nowamooks wished them luck before we continued on up the eastern shore, but her voice had taken a dangerous edge.

  The reed-gatherers’ nonchalance was an obvious sham. There had been no sound of cutting and piling rushes, no scraping reeds against their hull, no chatter or sounds of paddling. For at least for a moment they had been close enough to hear and I trie
d to remember just what had been said. There seemed nothing Tewaugh might not already know, but Komkomis looked grim and Nowamooks returned my questioning stare without expression. Only Raven’s Heart seemed amused.

  We headed up the bay without speaking, swinging around the end of the long, wooded island. Only then did we coast along quietly to hear the end of Raven’s Heart’s tale.

  “Now there’s talk of murder. I know for fact that something is planned, but not exactly what. Taking his head was how it was put; Tewaugh has out maneuvered them so often they’re frustrated. Tewaugh brushes them off like annoying flies, so they feel they’ve made no impact. Hearing a rumor he’d sent valuable goods in new boats they attacked, but found only leaky old canoes carrying brush. Tewaugh’s revenge cost them truly valuable trade goods. Since he seldom takes boats or kills crewmembers, he looks honorable and restrained. It drives the Willamettes crazy.”

  “Evidently the Klatskania now only speak of counting coup and revenge. Tewaugh has undermined the little trade they once did…so they’re hungry and hurt. Unable to take revenge honorably, they sour and curdle. Their side has been outsmarted so often, they don’t care about honor. The situation is well past desperate. The Willamettes risked a lot vowing to elbow Tewaugh out of transport, but came off so badly, their allies now grumble.”

  “Just six days ago, five large Willamette canoes, cargos and crews simply disappeared; not even the bodies of the two Black Mouths guards with them were found. Of course Tewaugh’s suspected, but without witnesses or evidence, what can be done? Now there is open discussion of hurting us.”

  “With their loss Black Mouths, their brethren grew angry. If there was any evidence, Tewaugh would be dead now. He claims river spirits or vengeful totems are the cause. Now the Willamettes and Klatskanias want war and the Black Mouth’s have vowed revenge.” Raven’s Heart scanned the water around us. “Everyone assumes Tewaugh is guilty of something, but without proof, the Willamettes have trouble convincing allies. But if something gets their allies angry….”

  We sat in silence. The new information fit what we’d known. It was worse than I’d imagined. In my ignorance I’d thought of the Tsinuks as only those of us in out lower river villages. It was obvious Raven’s Heart felt equally Tsinuk. Nowamooks’ jaw was set hard. In the end, little had changed; certainly nothing shifted for the better.

  Komkomis slowly looked around. He carefully scanned the edges of the bay before straightening and looking stonily past me. Digging his paddle deep, he moved us quickly toward the Naselle village beach.

  A crowd of naked children ran to greet us, leaping about with a hundred questions. I followed behind uneasily, impatient with socializing when important things needed consideration, but Nowamooks, Raven’s Heart and Komkomis bubbled inconsequential chatter easily, gossiping and laughing as if no dark clouds blew about us and we’d not just discussed a coming war. I hung back troubled and edgy, struggling to compose myself, fearing someone might read my face. Evidently I had not become Tsinuk at all.

  Days sped by and we careened through rumors of breathtakingly complex scheming. Hundreds of plausible rumors swirled. Tsinuk’s convoys were escorted by so many warriors it would take an army to attack them. Since traders wanting to avoid conflict chose to sell in Nahcotta Tewaugh was protecting his own goods. Raids continued sporadically, though the number of incidents went down their violence increased. There uneasiness was palpable. Worst of all, our mourning continued without even speculation about redeeming Yakala’s name.

  Things teetered precariously. I again tried to tactfully inquire, “If we could heal without revenge?”

  Nowamooks simply stared haughtily at me before demanding, “How can spirits rest with their murders unavenged?”

  I sat confused; I’d assumed trade was the essential thing to Tsinuks. But if so, why favor revenge over trade? It didn’t fit my understanding of things. I was forced to question whether trade was really as important as people claimed. The threats hung over our heads like a darkening cloud. Talk of burning our lodges and stealing goods and boats had to be taken seriously. But we talked of revenge on them while ignoring our own intimidation and retaliations. I seemed alone thinking that what was acceptable for one side should be for both. Rumors continued as thick as gnats over marshes. None I’d heard held proof or knowledge. Our world trembled precariously.

  Northern traders were eager to sell their cargos cheap. But the joy and excitement of trade seemed lost. Through the winter and the whirling rumors Comcomly and Tewaugh kept buying-up every scrap of obsidian they could find. Sources of obsidian were scattered and few were large. The supply barely trickled. Small traders would be vulnerable targets if they carried much. It was said that at trading sites three and four times its usual price was offered without drawing-out more than a few broken scrapers. No one realized it was being purposefully swept from sight.

  Comcomly and Tewaugh had spent the winter debating when to sell. The original plan was to unload all that was gathered with the spring, but now they were delaying that. I worried about losing face if others found out. Tewaugh laughed at that until he choked, but he wouldn’t explain why it was funny.

  Instead of selling rough blanks, Tewaugh figured fashioning knives and half-worked points would multiply profits many times. So he quietly brought Raven clan knappers from Yakaitl-Wimakl on the pretext of a family reunion and kept them working night and day. Though they worked nonstop, the store of un-worked stone outgrew their effort.

  The rain stopped and the first salmon brought spring warmth. Kilakota announced that Tewaugh and Comcomly started assembling wealth for Yakala’s potlatch. She added incidentally that Nowamooks and I would accompany Komkomis on a journey north. We were to trade obsidian for dentalia and prime-quality crafts, jewelry, boxes and soft sea otter skins. Kilakota wanted exquisitely carved bowls and inlaid boxes for the potlatch—to highlight the quality of Tsinuk taste.

  Tewaugh counseled, “It will be obvious what you’re after, but try to imply you also want boats. It still serves for people to think I want them. Look at boats, then let them offer dentalia to console you.”

  Releasing a little obsidian along the way would spark gossip and increase the demand further north. He wanted to sell all we could and liquidate our stock well away from our local market.

  Going north or south, all northern trade traveled one of three routes. Two crossed mountains or demanded difficult portages. The one we’d take would be by boat, up the coast to the villages of the Quileute and Makaha…then on.

  The mere thought of being on the ocean again made me physically ill, but I would rather risk death than challenge Kilakota. It took Komkomis weeks to choose six great canoes and assemble our forty-some paddler/warriors. Trade was not an undertaking for the unprepared; the details were daunting. Simply providing food would be expensive.

  Meanwhile all of the drama along the Great River continued. I was assigned to review all new rumors, while Komkomis, his mother and Tewaugh chose goods and argued endlessly over strategies for each stop along the way.

  Tewaugh personally approved each crewmember. Chosen both to paddle and defend us, each was paid in advance and promised significant bonuses. Mountains of dried salmon, goat horns, elk hides and bundles of hides grew within our lodges. Each length of rope was inspected, bows restrung, arrows re-tipped, fresh edges were honed on tools and weapons, water containers readied, duplicates assembled, boats repainted and spare paddles stored away.

  The warriors were assigned boats. Their throwing spears and weapons stored within reach. Colorful shields were readied to set on gunwales should they be needed. Komkomis pressed a beautifully inlayed and polished war club on me. Initially refusing it, I immediately regretted the action, for he turned away, embarrassed at my lack of spirit.

  Bags of dried herbs and heavy boxes of salmon and berry paste filled two alcoves. Nowamooks, Tewaugh and I divided piles of finished knives into smaller piles. Eighty well-worn buckskin parcels of obsidian were hidde
n among our belongings.

  The afternoon before we left, Tzum Tupso assembled a feast and Nowamooks gave each crewmember an Ecahnie talisman that ensured the salmon spirit’s protection. Each canoe was inspected and re-inspected. Two were replaced at the last moment. Every shaman and spirit bundle owner within reasonable distance was paid to bless our voyage and our crew spent an evening in a purifying sweat.

  Our canoes were loaded in the dim light of dawn. They were taken out to test their balance and returned for fine adjustments. But then just before leaving, Kilakota insisted Nowamooks and I to go to Yakaitl-Wimakl, even though it meant losing a day.

  We set off immediately. Once at the river Nowamooks disappeared, meeting inland messengers on Kilakota’s business. We spent a brief hour laughing with friends before returning. Back in Nahcotta Nowamooks closeted herself with her mother. That night, we made slow love, feeling closer and more committed than I ever could have imagined.

  Looking up with a languid smile, she rolled her belly erotically and smirked, “You turned out to be a good investment.”

  The sky was almost cloud-free as the next morning’s morning sun touched our bay and we set off, cutting through the surf at our bay’s mouth and turning north with the songs of friends echoing in our minds. For hours afterwards only the sound of subdued chanting, the occasional scrape of a paddle and the screeching of birds smudged the silence. The crew was exuberant and Komkomis and Nowamooks seemed pleased. I alone was wary and uncertain; silent in my foreboding, but committed to showing resolve.

  We coursed over swells at an even pace; skirting rocks and cutting so close to cliffs their screeching birds and crashing surf seemed deafening. There was little for me to do but eye the distant mountains or endless horizon. I meditated unnoticed; heightening my senses for hour upon hour until I soared with keen awareness.

  That first day’s journey to the Chehalis villages was short…purposefully, so the boat’s loads could be rechecked. As the Chehalis were our closest neighbors, trade was not our agenda. After receiving our gifts, they set out a feast. In the morning, baskets with small gift-bundles were given-out to Quileute friends.

  The next day was one of hard paddling. Swinging into the cove of the first Quileute village, it seemed their lodges were much like our own, though more elaborately painted and with carved, painted logs about. We stayed two nights, visiting neighbors and strictly following Tewaugh’s script. We showed no obsidian and didn’t ask about dentalia, but did ask about boats. Such details would surely reach both the northern traders and the Willamettes.

  In the next series of stops, starting at the villages at the mouth of the Hoh, Nowamooks’ warm anticipation showed that our connections were still more social than commercial. After exchanging gossip, using a special messenger she sent a small gift-doll to Kilakota using a code more complicated than I could make sense of; the doll had strings with special knots and braiding about it’s limbs. A dozen small, reworked knives were quietly traded for matched dentalia; a gesture of friendship that would speed northward quickly.

  So that I might more easily hover among our host’s “second row” and quietly listen to background chatter, Komkomis asked our crew to occasionally comment on my not understanding much of our language. At each stop Komkomis and the village’s leaders would sit apart to talk politics, leaving Nowamooks and me to tour small traders and listen to conversations.

  Two days later we paddled hard under leaden skies with the wind whipping the surface into choppy wavelets. When we at last pulled our canoes onto the rocky beach in front of the first Makaha village, we hadn’t even stowed our paddles before a steady rain began.

  The downpour certainly didn’t discourage anyone. Singers made us welcome as we stood about the shale-littered beach, then came a round of speeches. Komkomis presented a box of salmon to our host as our crew constructed a shelter between our boats. Their bonuses were tied to keeping our cargo secure and they took their duty seriously.

  This was simply the first a large array of villages in the area. Business here was transacted in trade jargon. The Makaha were important traders and vendors of their NuuChaNulth cousins’ big canoes. Knowing that we’d traded obsidian with the Quileute they claimed interest in nothing but unfinished blanks.

  Tewaugh had anticipated the ploy. Our large bundles with blanks were reserved for northern traders and dentalia. Komkomis simply ignored them and was will to not trade at all. They relented and admitted that they might have use for knives and scrapers. Based upon Tewaugh’s prediction of who would pass-on our goods, some villages were offered shards and reworked tools while others were shown newly knapped knives.

  It became a comfortable pattern. Visiting lodges, Komkomis talked politics and weighty issues and Nowamooks gossiped with small traders. It left me to hover casually without arousing suspicions, close enough to overhear things. It left our crew their task of watching our boats and cargo, keeping their weapons close to hand.

  The Makaha had numerous canoes available. We could have paddled any of them away had we wanted. Komkomis complemented their quality and made polite excuses.

  Meanwhile, Nowamooks and I sought the most beautiful and well made jewelry, boxes and tools we could find, quietly skimming-off the best at each location. The crew was already reloading our boats, readying to leave when we were shown five strings of large, brown dentalia.

  They were unusually dark, with unique reddish-brown markings, but perfectly matched of the largest size; except for their color, perfect.

  “Nice, but of course not valuable.” their owner grieved. “Since they paid-off a small debt I could hardly refuse, but who would want them?”

  His friends clucked in commiseration.

  Nowamooks handed them back and changed the subject to Raven clan loyalty before slipping in a stray comment about obsidian.

  The trader with the shells looked up expectantly, but politely shook his head, conceding there was little to be had.

  Glancing up at me as if asking permission, Nowamooks affected shy embarrassment. “I have a few old scrapers with me, Brother Raven. They might be re-fashioned…” she smiled coyly and lowered her eyes.

  It was my cue to go back retrieve a small parcel. When I returned Nowamooks unrolled it with a flourish and set six broken scrapers and ten chipped arrowheads in an artful pattern across the skin. “I suppose since you are Ravens I might trade two or three.”

  Inlaid bowls and cleverly carved boxes were immediately offered. When she didn’t respond, abalone-inset jewelry appeared. The man with the brown dentalia sat quietly, glancing one-way and then another as the traders’ offers nudged the obsidian’s worth higher.

  When the offers slowed Nowamooks looked over to the man with the dentalia and asked, “Raven brother, you don’t want to trade?”

  “I have nothing of value,” he admitted, a bit abashed.

  “But trading honors our clan. Perhaps we could find something appropriate.”

  “I’m Raven too.” three others shouted, but the man with the dentalia had already set his shells before her and was choosing among the scrapers. Nowamooks allowed him a broken scraper and two chipped points for his five brown strings and two more with perfect color but of slightly smaller size. From the others she got an elaborately carved pipe, a handful of abalone jewelry, four exquisite bowls and a squat, inlaid box cleverly carved with killer whale symbols.

  Once the business was completed, she tossed the soft skin wrapping to her Raven clan friend and got to her feet. Komkomis appeared, insisting that we had to go. She had gotten a wondrous amount in return for a few old tools bought for a pittance, yet under the circumstances the traders felt they had gotten a bargain. Once out upon the rolling ocean swells I teased her about the strings of brown shells.

  “Worthless here, but far up the Great River things are different.” She chuckled. “I’ll tell inland traders that they’re unique and demand three times the usual price.”

  I sat conflicted. Something felt wrong, but with
both sides happy, what could be said? Manufacturing the obsidian shortage would earn the admiration of other traders. By the rules of commerce it was just fine.

  Nowamooks snickered, “All for a few broken scrapers.”

  We stopped at every village we saw. Doing so, our cargo shrank in size but gained in worth. Tewaugh’s strategy shaped expectations ahead of us. We never revealed much obsidian, and traded for dentalia when we could.

  Komkomis and Nowamooks tutored me on trading theory. “Trade is a constantly re-braided rope. Desire drives value, so we hide what we want beneath things we don’t. They want obsidian and we want dentalia, but we first trade salmon and hides. When we’ll get to the north, we’ll have already gotten dentalia and be looking at boats. But they have dentalia they’ll want us to take.”

  Here, it was we that the traders indulged and manipulated…just as we treated traders in Nahcotta. Playing the opposite role was revealing; of course we weren’t as pliable or naïve as we acted, which implied that traders visiting Nahcotta weren’t either.

  Occasionally, only a veneer of politeness clad the hostility of old feuds. Being from Nahcotta meant we were assumed to be Tewaugh’s agents, which was true enough to be embarrassing. Even at the friendliest villages, our crew casually flourished their clubs from the moment our boats pulled onto a beach. They handled their weapons with a openness that implied an eagerness to use them.

  Day after day, village after village, we followed the same routine; eating, talking and returning to our boats. Klallam villages followed the Makaha. It was a world of islands and protected bays set within a maze of inland seas; all water and dark mountains often overlain with foggy mist.

  Somewhere among the bays was Kwun-num Tupshin and Oluck Kiya’s village. We had entered the land of the Salish traders who invited Yakala to kill a whale. Komkomis and our captains must have known exactly which one, but they wouldn’t tell me and they had no intention of visiting. To me, Kwun-num Tupshin remaining in Nahcotta argued for Salish innocence and seemed to give a reason to visit.

  We visited three more Chemakum villages before cutting across the wide gray bay to the rivers of the Snohomish. They spoke a very different version of Salish, Komkomis knew a bit of it, but we did business in the trading jargon. They were considered friends, but the longer we lingered the more unease we felt and the more caution we took. It would only take a few handfuls of warriors to overwhelm us. Our warriors stayed close against a sudden need to leave and our boats were never completely unloaded.