On this night, the conference of the eight representatives went on for a long time, so long that people began to look at them curiously. A few years before, when conferring over how to deal with the foreigners on the east coast, they had not been able to come to a unanimous view, and nothing then had been done. By accident or design, Fromwest had brought up again one of the most important and unresolved problems of their time.
Now it was somewhat similar. Keeper called a halt to the conference, and announced to the people, “The sachems will meet again in the morning. The matter before them is too large to conclude tonight, and we don’t want to delay the dancing any longer.”
This met with general approval. Fromwest bowed deeply to the sachems, and joined the first knot of dancers, who led with the turtleshell rattles. He took a rattle and shook it vigorously side to side, as oddly as he had swung his lacrosse bat. There was a fluid quality to his moves, very unlike the Hodenosaunee warriors’ dancing, which looked something like attacks with tomahawks, extremely agile and energetic, leaping up into the air over and over, singing all the while. A sheen of sweat quickly covered their bodies, and their singing was punctuated by hard sucks for air. Fromwest regarded these gyrations with an admiring grin, shaking his head to indicate how beyond his abilities these dancers were; and the crowd, pleased that there was something he was not good at, laughed and joined in the dance. Fromwest shuffled to the back, dancing with the women, like the women, and the string of dancers went around the fire, around the lacrosse field, and back to the fire. Fromwest stepped out of the snake, and took ground tobacco leaves from his pouch and placed a small amount on the tongue of each passer-by, including Iagogeh and all the dancing women, whose graceful shuffling would long outlast the leaping warriors. “Shaman’s tobacco,” he explained to each person. “Shaman gift, for dancing.” It had a bitter taste, and many drank some maple water afterwards to dispel it. The young men and women continued dancing, their limbs blurring in the bonfire’s light, more robust and burnished than before. The rest of the crowd, younger or older, danced slightly in place as they wandered, talking over the events of the day. Many gathered around those who were inspecting Fromwest’s lacrosse-ball map of the world, which seemed to glow in the firelit night as if burning a little at its heart.
“Fromwest,” Iagogeh said after a while, “what was in that shaman tobacco?”
Fromwest said, “I lived with a nation to the west who gave it to me. Tonight of all nights the Hodenosaunee need to take a vision quest together. A spirit voyage, as it always is. This time all out of the long house together.”
He took up a flute given to him, and put his fingers carefully on the stops, then played a sequence of notes, then a scale. “Ha!” he said, and looked closely at it. “Our holes are set in different places! I’ll try anyway.”
He played a song so piercing they were all dancing on the sound of it together, like birds. Fromwest winced as he played, until at last his face grew peaceful, and he played reconciled to the new scale.
When he was done he looked again at the flute. “That was ‘Sakura’ “, he said. “The holes for ‘Sakura’, but it came out something else. No doubt everything I say to you comes out changed in a similar fashion. And your children will take what you do and change it yet again. So it will not matter much what I say tonight, or you do tomorrow.”
One of the girls danced by holding an egg painted red, one of their toys, and Fromwest stared after her, startled by something. He looked around, and they saw that the cut on his head had started to bleed again. His eyes rolled, and he slumped as if struck, and dropped the flute. He shouted something in another language. The crowd grew quiet, and those nearest him sat on the ground.
“This has happened before,” he declared in a stranger’s voice, slow and grinding. “Oh yes — now it all comes back!” A faint cry, or moan. “Not this night, repeated exactly, but a previous visit. Listen — we live many lives. We die and then come back in another life, until we have lived well enough to be done. Once before I was a warrior from Nippon — no — from China!” He paused, thinking that over. “Yes. Chinese. And it was my brother, Peng. He crossed Turtle Island, rock by rock, sleeping in logs, fighting a bear in her den, all the way here to the top, to this very encampment, this council house, this lake. He told me about it after we died.” He howled briefly, looked around as if searching for something, then ran off to the bone house.
Here the bones of the ancestors are stored after the individual burials have exposed them long enough to the birds and gods to have cleansed them white. They are stacked neatly in the bone house under the hill, and it is not a place people visit during dances, and rarely ever.
But shamans are notoriously bold in these matters, and the crowd watched the bone house needling light through the chinks in its bark walls, sparking as Fromwest moved his torch here and there. A huge groaning shout from him, rising to a scream, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” and he emerged holding his torch up to illuminate a white skull, which he was jabbering at in his language.
He stopped by the fire and held up the skull to them. “You see — it’s my brother! It’s me!” He moved the broken skull beside his face, and it looked out at them from its empty eye sockets, and indeed it seemed a good match for his head. This caused everyone to stop still and listen to him again.
“I left our ship on the west coast, and wandered inland with a girl. East always, to the rising sun. I arrived here just as you were meeting in council like this, to decide on the laws you live by now. The five nations had quarrelled, and then been called together by Daganoweda for a council to decide how to end the fighting in these fair valleys.”
This was true; this was the story of how the Hodenosaunee had begun.
“Daganoweda, I saw him do it! He called them together and proposed a league of nations, ruled by sachems, and by the tribes cutting across the nations, and by the old women. And all the nations agreed to it, and your league of peace was born in that meeting, in the first year, and has stayed as designed by the first council. No doubt many of you were there too, in your previous lives, or perhaps you were on the other side of the world, witnessing the monastery that I grew up in being built. Strange the ways of rebirth. Strange the ways. I was here to protect your nations from the diseases we were certain to bring. I did not bring you your marvellous government, Daganoweda did that with all the rest of you together, I knew nothing of that. But I taught you about scabbing. He brought the scabs, and taught you to make a shallow scratch and put some scab in the cut, and save some of the scab that formed, and to go through the smallpox rituals, the diet and the prayers to the smallpox god. Oh that we can heal ourselves on this Earth! And thus in the sky.”
He turned the skull to him and looked inside it. “He did this and no one knew,” he said. “No one knew who he was, no one remembers this act of mine, no record of it exists, except in my mind, intermittently, and in the existence of all the people here who would have died if I had not done it. This is what the human story is, not the emperors and the generals and their wars, but the nameless actions of people who are never written down, the good they do for others passed on like a blessing, just doing for strangers what your mother did for you, or not doing what she always spoke against. And all that carries forward and makes us what we are.”
The next part of his address was in his own language, and went on for some time. Everyone watched attentively as he spoke to the skull in his hand, and caressed it. The sight held all in its spell, and when he stopped to listen so raptly to the skull speaking back to him, they seemed to hear it too, more words in his own birdlike speech. Back and forth they spoke, and briefly Fromwest wept. It was a shock when he turned to speak to them again, in his weird Senecan:
“The past reproaches us! So many lives. Slowly we change, oh so slowly. You think it doesn’t happen, but it does. You —” using the skull to point at Keeper of the Wampum — “you could never have become sachem when I knew you last, O my brother. You were too angry, bu
t now you are not. And you —”
Pointing the skull at Iagogeh, who felt her heart skip within her
“You would never have known before what to do with your great power, O my sister. You would never have been able to teach Keeper so much.
“We grow together, as the Buddha told us would happen. Only now can we understand and take on our burden. You have the finest government on this Earth, no one else has understood that all are noble, all are part of the One Mind. But this is a burden too, do you see? You have to carry it — all the unborn lives to come depend on you! Without you the world would become a nightmare. The judgment of the ancestors’ swinging the skull around like a pipe to be smoked, gesturing wildly at the bone house. His head wound was bleeding freely now and he was weeping, sobbing, the crowd watching him open-mouthed, travelling out now with him into the sacred space of the shaman.
“All the nations on this island are your will-be brothers, your will-be sisters. This is how you should greet them. Hello, will-be brother! How fare you? They will recognize your soul as theirs. They will join you as their elder brother, showing them the way forward. Struggle between brothers and sisters will cease, and the league of the Hodenosaunee will be joined by nation after nation, tribe after tribe. When the foreigners arrive in their canoes to take your land, you can face them as one, resist their attacks, take from them what is useful and reject what is harmful, and stand up to them as equals on this Earth. I see now what will happen in the time to come, I see it! I see it! I see it! I see it! The people I will become dream now and speak back to me, through me, they tell me all the world’s people will stand before the Hodenosaunee in wonder at the justice of its government. The story will move from long house to long house, to everywhere people are enslaved by their rulers, they will speak to each other of the Hodenosaunee, and of a way things could be, all things shared, all people given the right to be a part of the running of things, no slaves and no emperors, no conquest and no submission, people like birds in the sky. Like eagles in the sky! Oh bring it, oh come the day, oh oooooooooooohhhhhhh . . .”
Fromwest paused then, sucking in air. Iagogeh approached him and tied a cloth around his head, to staunch the bleeding from his wound. He reeked of sweat and blood. He stared right through her, then looked up at the night sky and said “Ah,” as if the stars were birds, or the twinkling of unborn souls. He stared at the skull as if wondering how it got there in his hand. He gave it to Iagogeh, and she took it. He stepped towards the young warriors, sang feebly the first part of one of the dance songs. This released the men from the spell cast over them, and they leapt to their feet, and the drumming and rattling picked up again. Quickly the dancers surrounded the fire.
Fromwest took the skull back from Iagogeh. She felt as if she was giving him his head. He walked slowly back to the bone house, weaving like a drunk, looking smaller with every weary step. He went inside without a torch. When he came out his hands were free, and he took a flute given him, and returned to the edge of the dance. There he swayed feebly in place and played with the other musicians, tootling rhythmically with no particular melody. Iagogeh shuffled in the dance, and when she passed him she pulled him back into the line, and he followed her.
“That was good,” she said. “That was a good story you told.”
“Was it?” he said. “I don’t remember.”
She was not surprised. “You were gone. Another Fromwest spoke through you. It was a good story.”
“Did the sachems think so?”
“We’ll tell them to think so.”
She led him through the crowd, testing the look of him against one maid or another who had occurred to her as possibilities. He did not react to any of these pairings, but only danced and breathed through his flute, looking down or into the fire. He appeared drained and small, and after more dancing Iagogeh led him away from the fire. He sat down crosslegged, playing the flute with his eyes closed, adding wild trills to the music.
In the time before dawn the fire crumbled to a great mound of grey coals, glowing orangely here and there. Many people had gone into the Onondagas long house to sleep, and many others were curled like dogs in their blankets on the grass under the trees. Those still awake sat in circles by the fire, singing songs or telling stories while they waited for dawn, tossing a branch on the fire to watch it catch and blaze.
Iagogeh wandered the lacrosse field, tired but buzzing in her limbs from the dance and the tobacco. She looked for Fromwest, but he was not to be found, in long house, on meadow, in the forest, in the bone house. She found herself wondering if the whole marvellous visitation had been only a dream they had shared.
The sky to the east was turning grey. Iagogeh went down to the lakeshore, to the women’s area, beyond a small forested spit of land, thinking to wash before anyone else was around. She took off her clothes, all but her shift, and walked out into the lake until she was thigh deep, then washed herself.
Across the lake she saw a disturbance. A black head in the water, like a beaver. It was Fromwest, she decided, swimming like a beaver or an otter in the lake. Perhaps he had become an animal again. His head was preceded by a series of ripples in the water. He breathed like a bear.
She had been still for some time, and when he put his feet on the bottom, down by the spit where it was muddy, she turned and stood facing him. He saw her and froze. He was wearing only his waist belt, as in the game. He put his hands together, bowed deeply. She sloshed slowly towards him, off the sand bottom and onto soft mud.
“Come,” she said quietly. “I have chosen for you.”
He regarded her calmly. He looked much older than he had the day before. “Thank you,” he said, and added something from his tongue. A name, she thought. Her name.
They walked onshore. Her foot hit a snag and she put a hand on his offered forearm, decorously, to balance herself. On the bank she dried herself with her fingers and dressed, while he retrieved his clothes and did likewise. Side by side they walked back to the fire, past the humming dawn watchers, through the knots of sleeping bodies. Iagogeh stopped before one. Tecarnos, a young woman, not a girl, but unmarried. Sharp-tongued and funny, intelligent and full of spirit. In sleep she did not reveal much of this, but one leg was stretched out gracefully, and under her blanket she looked strong.
“Tecarnos,” Iagogeh said softly. “My daughter. Daughter of my eldest sister. Wolf tribe. A good woman. People rely on her.”
Fromwest nodded, hands again pressed together before him, watching her. “I thank you.”
“I’ll talk to the other women about it. We’ll tell Tecarnos, and the men.”
He smiled, looked around him as if seeing through everything. The wound on his forehead looked raw and was still seeping watery blood. The sun blinked through the trees to the cast, and the singing back by the fires was louder.
She said, “You two will bring more good souls into the world.”
“We can hope.”
She put her hand on his arm, as she had when they emerged from the lake. “Anything can happen. But we —” meaning the two of them, or the women, or the Hodenosaunee — “we will make the best chance we can. That’s all you can do.”
“I know.” He looked at her hand on his arm, at the sun in the trees. “Maybe it will be all right.”
Iagogeh, the teller of this tale, saw all these things herself.
TWO
Thus it was that many years later, when the jati had again convened in the bardo, after years of work fighting off the foreigners living at the mouth of the East River, fighting to hold together their peoples in the face of all the devastating new diseases that struck them, making alliances with Fromwest’s people embattled in like fashion on the west coast of their island, doing all they could to knit together the nations and to enjoy life in the forest with their kin and their tribes, Fromwest approached Keeper of the Wampum and said to him proudly, “You have to admit it, I did what you demanded of me, I went out in the world and fought for what was right! And we
did some good again!”
Keeper put a hand to the shoulder of his young brother as he approached the great edifice of the bardo’s dais of judgment, and said, “Yes, you performed well, youth. We did what we could.”
But already he was looking ahead at the bardo’s enormous towers and battlements, wary and unsatisfied, focused on the tasks ahead. Things in the bardo seemed to have become even more Chinese since their last time there, like all the rest of the realms, perhaps, or perhaps it was just a coincidence having to do with their angle of approach, but the great wall of the dai’s was broken up into scores of levels, leading into hundreds of chambers, so that it looked somewhat like the side of a beehive.
The bureaucrat god at the entryway to this warren, one Biancheng by name, handed out guidebooks to the process facing them above, thick tomes all entitled ‘The Jade Record’, each hundreds of pages long, filled with detailed instructions, and with descriptions, illustrated copiously, of the various punishments they could expect to suffer for the crimes and effronteries they had committed in their most recent lives.
Keeper took one of these thick books and without hesitation swung it like a tomahawk, knocking Biancheng over his paper-laden desk. Keeper looked around at the long lines of souls waiting their turn to be judged, and saw them staring at him amazed, and he shouted at them, “Riot! Revolt! Rebel! Revolution!” and without waiting to see what they did, led his little jati into a chamber of mirrors, the first room on their passage through the process of judgment, where souls were to look at themselves and see what they really were.
The Years of Rice and Salt Page 36