We were thinking of stewing up our own makazinan one day, and eating the tough leather, when I went out alone, without my grandmother, to check a snare where I had had luck before. Sure enough, as I approached I saw a rabbit. However, he was sitting by the snare just waiting for me, too smart to go inside.
“My child,” he spoke to me as I looked at him, weak with hunger, “do not set your snares so carelessly. Also, watch my tracks.” He bounded off and I resolved that in spite of my dizzy head I’d take more care with my nooses from then on. I looked down, expecting to follow rabbit tracks, but instead and to my surprise I saw that the tracks that the rabbit left were the tracks of a tiny person.
Of course, I followed them.
I followed those tracks deep into the bush, unafraid of getting lost. With the snow on the ground, I could always backtrack. Besides, even weak as I was I wanted to see my friend again, to speak with my memegwesi, my little helping spirit. But he eluded me, stayed ahead of me, never quite let me see him, and after a while of tough going I began to understand that he was leading me toward something.
Many times, I fell to the ground in my weakness, to rest. I ate a handful of lichen once, gathered more for a soup that my grandparents could share, stuffed my blanket full. I was nearly at the end of my strength when, with great excitement in his voice, my memegwesi called me from the top of a mound. I looked, saw the little man waving at something on the ground, and by the time I had clambered up to where he crouched, he had disappeared. There, however, right where he had pointed, was a thin swirl of steam. A little melted spot where breath escaped. The sign of a sleeping bear.
That bear was easily killed in its deep sleep, my girl. The meat and fat saved us that winter, and the skin of that bear kept me warm in our lodge. I still carry one claw of that medicine bear in my pouch. I have seen my little memegwesi helper once since—another story. Mi’iw minik. That is all.
Only much later, returning with Grandmother and the makuk full of puffballs that would help in her healing work, did Omakayas remember that Nokomis told stories for a reason. This one she had told, about her helping spirit, was a clear message. The message was, of course, that it was time for Omakayas to go and seek instruction and protection from her own spirits. But not yet, thought Omakayas, not yet. Please? Soon. Not now!
ANGELINE’S ZHOONIYAA
Omakayas, worn out, sat onshore watching her sister toil with the net. Even though it was late afternoon and the sun was low, the air chilled, and they had been fishing all day, Angeline was setting the net out once more in the hope of another catch. If this kept on, they would be cleaning fish by the light of a bonfire!
“You’re crazy,” Omakayas grumped, knowing her adored older sister was too far out in the water to hear her. “And I’m all tired out and cold. I’m leaving.”
Just as Omakayas rolled over and tried to sneak around the rocks into the trees and undergrowth, down the path home, Angeline swooshed to shore and with a loud call apprehended her little sister. But the taste of freedom was too much for Omakayas. She barely paused at her sister’s shout.
“Get back here!”
The order from her sister only hardened Omakayas. All day, she’d been helping her sister with the fishing. Angeline was doing something extra, to get money for some private purpose, other than her family’s needs. Without asking a single question, Omakayas had helped. Now all she got in return was an angry shout. She plunged for the branches of the first trees.
“Please, oh please,” Angeline hurried after. “You know I can’t do it alone.”
“Well you sound like you can do it alone!” Omakayas turned slightly, frowned at her sister, and went on.
“I can’t, really, oh please. I mean thank you. Meegwech.”
“What did you say?”
“I said thank you. Meegwech, sister.” Humbled, Angeline stood beside Omakayas now. “You’ve been working right beside me all day, You’ve helped me, sister.” There was an awkward pause as Omakayas waited for Angeline to tell her the reason for her mysterious flow of energy.
“What do you need the zhooniyaa for?” she finally asked.
“Something…” Angeline’s voice trailed off vaguely.
Omakayas turned away again. She was hungry. She was annoyed. Angeline did not follow. Did she think that she was keeping a secret about her love for Fishtail? No doubt, she wanted the money from the extra fish in order to buy something nice for him. Maybe she wanted to make him a jacket like the chimookomanag wore, or some new makazinan. Maybe she wanted to buy beads. It was obvious that it had to do with Fishtail. Why couldn’t Angeline just come right out and say so?
“I’m not a baby, you know,” yelled Omakayas.
“I know you’re not. You really helped me. Look. Two bales dried.” She waved her hand back at the packs of fish they had caught together, skinned and filleted together, smoked and dried together, and now argued over together. Omakayas had accepted that they wouldn’t get paid together. But for her pride’s sake she decided now that she wanted to know her sister’s secret.
“Tell me what the zhooniyaa is for, or I am leaving our fish camp. Going back to Mama.”
The light was a deep and mysterious shade of blue and the water had pink edges. The waves were gentle and the fish, no doubt, were swimming close to shore, right into their net. Omakayas was surprised to see, in her sister’s eyes, a glint of amusement. Surprised, and then angry!
Angeline had no right to laugh at her little sister, no right to keep a secret that wasn’t much of a secret at all! No matter what she did for Angeline, it seemed, she was never her sister’s equal.
“Gigawaabamin, I’ll be seeing you!”
Omakayas spoke firmly, and then, with a hop as broad as her namesake’s, she was gone into the woods. She knew that she could run swiftly, and also that Angeline wouldn’t leave the dried fish behind. So what if the net was heavy? So what if Angeline couldn’t pull it in herself? So what if Angeline had to stay there all night and guard her little fish camp and smoking fish on racks? Omakayas fairly flew toward the fragrant stew that Yellow Kettle surely had warming over the fire. She hurried toward the sight of her grandmother and mother and her baby brother. The only good thing about working with Angeline was that she hadn’t had to put up with Pinch.
Omakayas heard voices as she ran. She stopped and sneaked forward. The voices were coming from a low clump of bushes. As she got nearer to their source there was no mistaking the bossy voice of her cousin Two Strike. Omakayas couldn’t make out all of the words, but Two Strike was yelling out one of her rousing, angry speeches. Omakayas jumped into the clearing and saw that several boys surrounded her, among them, both Pinch and the Angry One.
“Ahau!” Surprised, they were all silent, Two Strike included. As the silence went on and on, and they just stared at one another, Omakayas had an odd feeling. They were waiting for her to leave! A confused hurt clogged her chest, and for a moment she was speechless.
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Her face heated up. She didn’t know what to say, or do. Two Strike was muscular, lean as a fox, her face set in a snarl. The boys were intent, disturbed, almost guilty-looking.
“Why don’t you go away, back to your woman’s work,” Two Strike said.
If Omakayas hadn’t just done a hard day’s unappreciated work, and felt an angry frustration with her sister, she might have walked off. But Two Strike’s arrogance, ever since she killed the moose, was worse and worse.
“Women’s work is hard!” Omakayas yelled.
“Oh?” Two Strike sneered and struck a warrior’s pose, fists on her hips. “Shall we see who’s tougher?”
Omakayas had to fight back, even though she knew she wasn’t as strong as Two Strike. If it came to a contest of strength, she would lose. Two Strike was meaner and better at fighting. Omakayas had already decided that when it came right down to it she couldn’t hope to beat Two Strike that way. No, there had to be another way. She stalled.
“You’d better run away,
” laughed Two Strike.
“I won’t,” Omakayas answered, and held her ground.
“No? You dare to say no?” Two Strike sauntered close. Her muscles were hard as iron bars, and her belt held two skinning knives. Her bow, as usual, was around her neck and a full quiver of perfect arrows decorated her back. A shooting contest was out of the question, too. The only option Omakayas could think of in which she might stand a chance was running.
“I’ll race you,” she said simply.
“Too easy,” laughed Two Strike.
“Fine,” said Omakayas. She had a way out now and seized it. “Then catch me!” Whirling, she darted off into the brush, and for a few bounds she imagined that Two Strike had actually taken her up on the challenge. When she realized that no one was behind her, and when she stopped, and heard no footsteps behind her, only laughter, she quit. She began to walk, her face burning now with embarrassment. After a while, she was aware of footsteps. She turned, imagining that Two Strike had either thought better of her mean words or reconsidered her offer to race. But no, it was the Angry One. He caught up with her and walked alongside. Suddenly, he spoke.
“She’s trying to start up a war party with the little boys as her warriors. They want to go against the Bwaanag. It’s stupid.”
Omakayas suddenly felt much, much better. She could breathe easily. Her eyes did not sting. Her throat didn’t pinch. She had thought that he was part of Two Strike’s war gang. Before she could even stop to think why she felt so much better, he jumped out ahead of her.
“Maybe Two Strike is scared to race you, but I’m not!”
They both started running. At first it was only a pretend race. Then, as Omakayas drew even and then slightly ahead of the boy, he speeded up and raced her in earnest. They were both swift runners, and flew down the path so evenly matched, so intent, that they ran straight into the clearing around the cabin and startled Bizheens. He was propped next to a tree in his cradle board, playing with some pinecones and a little piece of maple sugar tied to the head guard. He was so surprised by their sudden appearance that he started to cry. With a swoop, Omakayas was with him, comforting him, patting his tiny face, and cajoling him into a tearful smile. As usual, she tried to make him laugh but, failing that, she managed to soothe him and comfort him until he pressed his face into the curve of her neck and sighed away his last little sobs. The Angry One watched her efforts and Omakayas smiled at him over the baby’s head. He smiled back, then frowned, looked around quickly. He’s checking to see if anyone saw the frown drop off his face, thought Omakayas. The Angry One seemed relieved to find nobody was watching him and soon he backed away, stepped out of the clearing, and left, melting off down the path.
THE SWEAT LODGE
After Omakayas and her family moved into the cedar cabin, close to town, where they would live all winter, they cleaned and set up their winter sweat lodge. The lodge was a tough frame of curved young branches. It was set just a little behind the cabin and it looked like a nest placed upside down upon the ground. In the center, a pit was dug to receive hot stones, the asiniig, the grandfathers. When water and healing medicines were placed on the hot stones, a healing steam hissed up and filled the little lodge. Everyone had a job that would contribute to the maintenance of the lodge, for the lodge kept them healthy in the winter, and clean, and when they used it the spirits heard their prayers.
Omakayas was required to pick and clean the cedar with which she would carefully line the earth floor. It was Pinch’s job to gather the right kind of asiniig for the sweat lodge. Every morning, Yellow Kettle shushed his grumbling and sent him out to the place near the point of the island where he could pick those rocks from the beach. He was supposed to gather the firewood, too, but for days he’d skipped out very early, before dawn, to range the shores with Two Strike.
“Where is that boy?” Yellow Kettle was exasperated. There were fewer and fewer days in which to prepare for winter, and everyone’s help was important. There was a low growl of irritation in her voice. Angeline raised her eyebrows at Omakayas, and they exchanged a look that said “Let’s not bother her!” Omakayas took the copper pail to the side of the lake, to fetch water, and quietly set about stoking the outside cooking fire.
“He hasn’t gathered any wood! He should be helping clean the house! I have to keep this fire going hot today! Where is he!” Yellow Kettle muttered as she poked at yesterday’s stew. Omakayas hoped she’d dip some out and eat it up, quickly, in order to improve her morning outlook. Nokomis put a twig broom in her hands and together they swept out the floor of the cabin. They continued outside, sweeping the debris of leaves, twigs, dried mud, and burnt bits of charcoal away from their cabin. Nokomis brought out the blankets and they hung them in the trees to air. They would beat the dust out, keep the blankets in the sun for days to make sure they were clean and free of lice. Both Nokomis and Yellow Kettle were very fussy about keeping everything around them neat. There was a place in the cabin for everything that they used. Pegs in the wall for coats. Iron hooks for the stew pots hung near the little fireplace. Antlers over the door held Deydey’s precious gun. There were shelves built into the wall to store boxes of medicine and even their blankets. Stretched beaver skins and otter skins hung on hoops along the sides of the wall. Everything had to be put back into its place before the family went to bed every night. Omakayas loved the little cabin. She never wanted to leave it. They would never be able to build a cabin this neat and snug anywhere else. Mama’s irritated voice broke her thoughts. “That Pinch is supposed to help clean the sweat lodge! Gather the wood!”
Yellow Kettle was holding Bizheens. The baby was so plump now that he wore little ankle rings of fat and his arms were creased and dimpled. His round cheeks glowed. Mama fed him tiny bits of meat that she chewed for him until it was very soft, then pressed into his mouth. Luckily, Bizheens was good at melting her anger. He ate eagerly, smiling at his new mother with an alert interest. Bizheens loved Yellow Kettle and was not in the least intimidated by her moods. After she finished feeding him, the baby watched Yellow Kettle with amused interest as she stomped around the cabin. When she hoisted him onto her back, in his tikinagun, the jerky anger of her movements only made him smile. He grinned so happily up into the tops of the trees that Omakayas almost thought he might laugh. But no, he was distracted by Andeg’s appearance as the crow floated near for his morning scraps. Omakayas fed her bird quickly and then ducked back into the cabin.
Four great bearskins, hunted two summers ago by Deydey and Old Tallow, made the sleeping area on one side. She rolled these up to bring them outside to shake. Omakayas’s doll had its own bed, too, next to hers. She had woven a small sleeping mat and pieced together a blanket from clothing scraps. Omakayas tidied up her doll’s bed, too, and smoothed its clothes down. She tucked her doll into its tikinagun. Then she brought in the eight trade blankets and the three made of woven rabbit skins and carefully piled them on top of new cedar boughs. The cabin filled with the sharp fragrance of the cedar. Omakayas set down the water and then took more of the cedar that Nokomis had cut and spread it across the floor of the sleeping area. Everyone slept on top of the fresh, blessed cedar for softness, to ensure good dreams, and because it smelled good every time someone moved and it was crushed.
At last, Pinch appeared.
“Oh, so you’re back!”
Mama’s eyes lighted on her son, returning dirty with sticks and leaves in his hair, not the slightest bit embarrassed to find everyone else at work so early.
“Eya’, ningah,” he said in a cheerful voice. “What’s to eat?”
Fortunately for Pinch, his new little brother had succeeded in softening his mother’s mood. Yellow Kettle was just stern—not furious anymore. Knowing that he was lucky, he set to work gathering and hauling wood. He worked for a while picking up kindling and pulled big branches home from the woods. He was eager to use Deydey’s ax to cut a branch into burnable lengths. Deydey had taught him carefully how not to chop his own leg, b
ut still, Mama sent Omakayas out to supervise him in his work and make certain he didn’t have another accident. Pinch had a small, messy pile of wood cut by the time Two Strike came looking for him.
The girl strode into the clearing like she owned it and frowned.
“Izhadah. Let’s go,” she ordered him, abruptly, just as Yellow Kettle came around the corner.
“I’ll say when to go,” Yellow Kettle told her niece. Omakayas was busy helping Pinch heap his pile high, and she turned to see Two Strike glaring at her mother.
“He’s coming with me,” said Two Strike imperiously. She was carrying a short lance, decorated with seagull feathers, and this she thrust into the ground. “He’s needed for the war party!”
Now, there were times that Omakayas felt angry at her mother, times that Yellow Kettle put her to work when she wanted to play, or times when Omakayas thought she was short-tempered and unfair. But that didn’t mean Two Strike had any right to insult her mother! Yellow Kettle didn’t think so either. When Two Strike put her lance in the ground, Yellow Kettle froze in place, as though to contain her immediate wrath. She seemed to get bigger, taller, and then she hardened like rock. Omakayas immediately shrank back. Pinch dropped his mouth open, then winced and kept his face screwed up. Even Bizheens stirred a bit and his little brow furrowed. Yellow Kettle continued to grow, and harden, bigger and bigger. That was when Omakayas realized that when her mother was mad in times past, she hadn’t been really mad. In fact, Omakayas saw that she had never really known her mother mad, even at Pinch. For when she became angry with Two Strike now, she was really angry.
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