Centuries of June (3 page)

When the waters had receded, but still weeks before his final daughter’s birth, the father-to-be traversed the forests to the village of Hoonah in search of spawning fish. The salty memory of roe on his lips enticed him like the smell of a woman. A few men had built a stone fish trap
in the sea, and late that night, Yeikoo.shk’ stole out under no moon, to borrow a few eggs. Even in the darkness, he could feel the slippery bodies wriggling in the rocks, and with delicate fingertips, he sensed the telltale bulge of a gravid female. He teethed his knife to free the huge fish. As he grabbed it by the belly, the fish snapped like a whip and with one quick blow from its tail, it knocked the blade deep into his tongue. Swearing through the blood and pain, he slipped and dashed his head against the stones as the salmon swam off. The men of Hoonah found him next morning, his blood and life drained through the mouth, running off with the tide.

“A
sad story,” the old man said. “Bad luck to the man who never meets his offspring, and sadder still for the daughter who never claps eyes on her old man.”

I placed my index finger against my lips and indicated with a nod for the woman to continue uninterrupted.

A
fter her father left it, the world welcomed his final daughter. Dropped to the earth from between her mother’s legs, she was wet and slick as any fish. When wrapped and swaddled, she was perfect. Her parents had thought they were through with having babies and, in fact, had named the child that had been born before this baby Youngest of the Daughters. This child, when it came time to give her a name, was called Shax’saani S’ee—or Youngest Daughter’s Doll, for she looked just like a doll, bound in her cradleboard, eyes wide and searching the cloudy cold sky as if waiting for someone to return. The four older sisters and five older brothers always thought of her as simply S’ee, and they spoiled and babied her all of her life, becoming little parents themselves, so that poor S’ee had to contend not only with five mothers and five fathers, but
with her mother’s people in the Frog clan, who treated her as a communal doll, perhaps out of sympathy for the widow with ten children. More than the others, she was a child of the village, but that does not belie the possibility that even villages can be as dysfunctional as a family isolated and on its own. She may have been better off with a little less attention.

When she came to know the true story of her father, S’ee laughed at the punch line of the man caught by the salmon. She had no fond memories—not even the sound of his voice or the smell of his skin—so he was no more than an illustrative figure in a moral tale, and thus of no consequence to her. Days and nights were spent at her mother’s side, with her sisters hovering nearby and all the Frog clan at potlatch or beading blankets for their doll, a life in idleness, tempered only by the bitter rains of winter and the blackflies of short summers. As one by one the girls were married off, S’ee grew closest to Shax’saani Keek’, the next youngest daughter. They went everywhere together from the beginning, and through the years Shax’saani led her doll over the hurdles of childhood, beckoned her into adolescence.

So it goes that these two sisters, young women of sixteen and thirteen, ventured forth one late summer morning to gather berries and talk of boys. A pair of dogs, Chewing Ribs and Curly Tail, accompanied them through the wilderness, trotting ahead to chase hares flushed from the brambles. The sun rose and brightened the sky to yellow, and the sisters soon wearied of their task and escaped to the shade, popping sweet berries into their mouths while they dreamt of their futures.

“They say you are destined for Man-in-the-Moon, who everyone calls just plain D’is, for his face is round as the very moon,” S’ee teased her sister.

“Like an owl with a man’s nose,” Shax’saani replied. “Like a plate with two eyes and a bump in the middle.”

“The moon in the man. He’s not for you, sister. For you, someone handsome, but for me, someone strong.”

“Someone like our father. Yeikoo.shk’.”

Each girl fell silent at the mention of his name, as speaking of so foolish a man might disturb his spirit. Birdsong and the humming of insects relieved the silence. Far off Chewing Ribs barked at a passing curiosity, and had they been attuned to the other world rather than to their own emotions, they would have heard an ursine shuffling at the head of the trail.

“What was he like? Besides strong and stupid?”

Shax’saani glared at her and munched a handful of salmonberries. “Not stupid. He had charm. He would sing, and mother would swoon. How do you think we are five sisters and five brothers? Every time they heard that singing, the brothers and sisters watched for the furs and blankets to rustle, and if you counted the moons from the night of the song, you would only have to count nine months. And there you were, last time, little doll baby.”

“So he was a great lover, but not so wise.”

“Headstrong. Determined. When his father died, he stayed up three weeks straight to carve the totem. He would set his mind on a task, and it was done as he wished.”

S’ee picked up her basket. “Like our brothers. Prideful.” She was speaking not only of her natural brothers, but of her aunt and uncle’s sons, the brothers of the clan.

Her sister rose and straightened her skirts. “Like us all.”

They continued to forage, searching for the telltale flash of crimson or yellow among the green leaves, not paying any attention to where they were walking, when S’ee stepped, barefoot, in an unmistakable softness. From the smell of it, the pile was fresh and ripe with berries.

“Bearshit,” she screamed. “Stupid stinking bears. Why do they have to take a dump right where people are walking?” She scraped her foot on fallen pine needles and sank to the ground. “Do they think they own the world? Bearshit, wherever and whenever.” Snapping some leaves
from a raspberry bush, she swiped at the excrement and swore under her breath. “Don’t you know there are people here?” S’ee shouted, and her voice echoed through the trees.

Clamping a hand over her baby sister’s mouth, Shax’saani grunted for silence, scanning the forest for any movement and listening for the slightest sound. “You have no sense, Dolly. What if the bear should hear you?”

“I hope he does,” she shouted. “Then maybe he won’t shit where people might step.”

“Some respect, okay? It’s their world, too.” Struck by the moment, she giggled and said, “Come on, sister, we’ll find some water to wash off your stink, or our mother will think I’ve brought home a sow.”

“Who are you calling a sow, you fat, lazy bear?”

They ran off hand in hand to a stream, pulled off their clothes, and jumped in the cool water. Gnats circled in crazy clouds above their heads, and the sunlight shone in radiant waves across the rippling water. The two dogs came crashing through the brush, barking and yapping at the girls. From the bank, they whimpered and paced impatiently, not daring to jump in. Shax’saani yelled at them to scat, and S’ee splashed handfuls of water at the mutts until they gamboled away. Moments later, the leaves stirred again and S’ee thought the dogs had returned. But when the branches parted, she shrieked at the figure approaching out of the greenness, as if emerging from her dreams into the bright northern day.

“Cover yourself,” she called to her sister, and they dipped in unison until the water rose to their waists.

The man strode to the edge and showed his empty hands in greeting. He paused to consider them, as if he could not find his tongue or was perhaps fearful that speech might break the spell. The sisters watched him watching them, and he was a fine, handsome man. Young
and naked to the waist as they were, his skin darkened by the sun, and his features carved like a totem. He did not seem of this world, not Tlingit at all, nor of any tribe they had encountered in their travels or those from inland who had chanced upon Hoonah. S’ee looked into his eyes and, for the first time, felt her heart betray her mind.

“Don’t be afraid, sisters. I heard laughter and splashing in the water and only came to see what fun I was missing.”

Shax’saani scolded him. “You’ve seen what there is to see, now go. On your way. We are not your sisters.”

“Aren’t we all children of the earth? How is it that you bathe so early in the day?”

Before she could be stopped, S’ee trumpeted her explanation. “My feet were dirty, and you know why? Stupid bear doesn’t know to leave the trail to take a dump.” She stood, water dripping from her body, and held out her foot so the man could better see where she had stepped.

“A clean foot now, and beautiful. What is your name?”

“I am called S’ee.”

“Come with me, little doll, for there is something I want to show you about that bear.”

Her sister’s hand grabbed her arm, holding her back, but the man on the shore kept talking in the honey voice, and she was sorely tempted.

“You can both join me. There’s nothing to fear. I’m as harmless as a marmot.”

“I wouldn’t go with you if you were a marmot talking to us. Shoo. Go away.”

“I’ll turn my back and you can put on your clothes. It’s just that I heard you before, shouting insults at the bear, and there is something you should know.”

S’ee wrenched free from Shax’saani. “I want to go. Nothing ever
happens to me.” Drawing near, she whispered into her older sister’s ear, “Besides, have you ever seen such a man before?”

“A man is a man is a man. Don’t go, Dolly. What will I do without you?”

“He has cast a spell—”

“I will not let you go. I will send the Tlingit men after you.”

“No need to send out the search party, for I will be back by nightfall. Aren’t you the least bit curious about the world?”

They turned to the man, who stood with his back to them, as promised. He pawed the ground with one foot as if to keep his eyes from wandering back to the women. S’ee waded over and slipped into her clothes in one swift motion, the wetness of her skin already spreading patches where her body curved. From the cover of the stream, her sister watched, dumb and helpless, as S’ee climbed ashore and went to the man’s side, touching his arm to alert him to her presence. Glancing back once, she followed him into the brush, and when the leaves ceased moving, Shax’saani muttered a prayer that she might one day see her sister again. As she dressed and gathered their baskets, she heard Curly Tail and Chewing Ribs return from the opposite direction. The dogs worried the spot where the man had stood, noses mad at the scent, whimpering softly to each other.

W
ith the point of an elbow, the old man caught my attention through my ribs. “Do you know,” he whispered, “the single biggest regret of old age?”

I glared at him, encouraging silence.

“It’s nothing to do with making more money or taking better care of the old body, nothing like that. The old folk say their biggest regret is not having taken more risks. Can you beat that?”

“Will you let her tell her story?”

“That girl wasn’t the least bit afraid.” He smiled and shook his head. “You’ve got to admire her chutzpah.”

E
very step of the way, he hummed or sang to her, keeping two paces ahead through the dense woods and walking shoulder to shoulder as they crossed open land. The sun blazed in front of them as they began their journey, hung above their heads at their midday repast, and followed their backs as they climbed into higher country, the cedars tall and so thick that S’ee no longer smelled the salt water. She had never known the air without the sea, and its sweetness among the pines frightened her, but she marched on, enchanted by the man’s songs. They made camp when the sun dipped below the timberline, and while S’ee gathered dry sticks for the fire, the man disappeared into the brush. As she warmed her hands over the new blaze, she was startled by his return. He held up a rabbit by the hind legs and grinned at his own prowess. While the dinner cooked, he told her stories, starting with the traditional tales of how the Tlingit came into the world, but stranger stories, too: “The Man Who Killed His Sleep” and “The Salmon People” and, strangest of all, “The Woman Who Married an Octopus.”

“And it was the eight arms that convinced her to live under the sea and marry the octopus. Two arms to hold her feet, two to hold her hands.”

He circled her wrists with his fingers and then let her go.

“One arm to stroke her hair.”

She felt his hands comb her hair but averted her eyes from his.

“Two arms to hold her breasts.”

With the lightest touch, he cupped her breasts and smiled when she did not flinch. The crust of the rabbit skin blistered over the crackling fire. S’ee looked at his eyes. “And where went the eighth arm?”

He put his left hand between her legs and drew spirals along her
skin, pressing lightly when he reached her lap, but despite the gentleness of his touch, he frightened her with the heat radiating from his palm. He withdrew his hand and began another story, and after they had eaten, he bade her lie near the fire while he retreated to the opposite side for the sake of modesty. As they rested beside it, the fire gave up its spirit and breathed its last as embers. But S’ee could not sleep.

Darkness weighed more heavily amid the tall trees. No starlight, the moon missing from the sky, and the firs pressed all around, their branches palpable against her skin when a breeze chanced by. The typical sounds of home were absent. No gulls crying out in their dreams. No ocean sighing upon the shore. No sisters tossing in their beds. She heard the man rise, creep across the needled ground, the heat of him preceding his body’s arrival. Clamping shut her eyes, she could tell he was directly above her, waiting. She willed him closer. Shivered when his hand touched her hair, then her face, but she waited, wanting and dreading the moment, and only when he said her name did S’ee open her eyes and rise to his embrace.

Her first cognition of the act had come from watching the village dogs casually mounting one another out in the plaza, but still she did not understand its purpose and only thought they were at play. Once walking home with her mother, she spied a bull moose fresh from his rutting, and when she asked her about the huge erection between his legs, S’ee’s mother could only laugh. “Reminds me of your father,” she said and steered her away. Her older sisters talked about sex in general terms, as some abstraction to keep men happy. In reality, she had no idea of what was about to occur.