Salt (8 page)

Pa says,
I hope that's true.
No one is sure of anything. Two soldiers went out

four days ago and just got back; they barely managed to run past everyone

outside the fort on their way in. What did they find out?
The Americans

are closer than the British, but we still don't know when either army will arrive.

There's enough meat left for tomorrow. Maybe one more meal after that.

This is cooked the way I like it—juicy and hot, exactly the right amount of salt.

I hold it on my tongue—and the salty taste makes me ashamed. (Salt in the barrel,

pelts on the counter, empty salt scoop in my hand.)
Pa,
I say,
they need salt
.

ANIKWA

Wedaase

doesn't know we gave them meat.

Will James's family keep it for themselves,

or share it with the soldiers in the fort

so they'll all have enough

food to survive?

Either way,

I'm not sorry we helped.

About a hundred people in the fort, and

more than seven hundred gathered here in Kekionga,

surrounding them. Kwaahkwa agrees with Wedaase:
Let's

attack now, while we outnumber them, before either army arrives.

Most of the young men agree. They take turns running

past the fort all day and all night, checking

to see if a sentry has fallen asleep.

So far no one has. I'm not old

enough to join them, but

I'm doing my part

by catching fish.

The ducks and geese

swim back and forth—they're

staying close to shore, quiet, as if they're

waiting with us, to see what

will happen next.

JAMES

The burned part of the stockade is still smoking. Pa grips my shoulder,

trying to hide us both behind a blackened post where our house used to be.

I point into the trees.
Over there, Pa. That's where Anikwa left the deer meat.

We look down the trail, off to the side, up into the trees. We don't see anyone.

It's quiet. But that doesn't mean no one is around.
Too dangerous,
Pa says,

his hand still on my shoulder. He turns to go back into the fort. But we're

so close! If we just leave the salt here, Anikwa might not find it. I pull away

from Pa and run fast, to the hollow oak. Pa won't follow or shout after me;

he'll stay here watching, and if something happens, he'll help. But nothing

happens. I hide the salt in the tree, take out my whistle, and make the sound

of a blackbird. I listen closely. Not too far away, another blackbird answers.

I go back to Pa. We turn toward Ma, watching from a doorway in the fort.

When we get to her, she pulls us inside and asks,
Where was Anikwa hiding?

As soon as you left, he came out of nowhere, took the salt, and disappeared.

SALT INSIDE THE WORDS

Salt on the tongue

the pleasure

of shared meals

the words

formed in our mouths

the taste of words

on their way

into the world:

salt inside the words.

ANIKWA

Most years, this is

my favorite season—when the corn

is almost ripe, I stand on a platform to scare off the birds.

Then we pick the golden ears, braid the husks

together, and hang the braided corn

to dry. In the evenings, I go

fishing, and Mink

and Grandma salt and dry the fish.

We store the corn and fish, and all the meat

and berries we have dried, so we'll have enough food

to last all winter. But this year we haven't had enough salt

to dry the fish, and the corn will not have time to ripen before

the armies get here. Everyone is working fast, staying up

late to bring in as much food as we can, but now these

hard questions: Can we feed all the people here,

and still have enough food for ourselves?

How much will the armies eat?

Where can we hide food so

they won't take it?

About ten more days—

that's how long we need for the corn

to fully ripen. But we won't have that long.

We have to find a way to hide

the food we have.

JAMES

Ma helps the cook find ways to make the deer meat last three days. They boil

the bones for one last pot of soup. After this, there's no more food. Can't even

go out to the pump for water. Rupert says,
The American army could be here

tomorrow.
Mr. Briggs:
Next day for sure.
When I see Mr. Briggs, I think of Isaac.

Wonder what he's doing right now. Molly throws her pinecone on the floor.

I pick it up. She laughs, throws it down again. Wish I could be her age again.

Two soldiers try to guess how many men are in each army.
More Americans

than British,
says one.
But how many Indians have joined the British?
asks the other.

When the American army gets here, will the soldiers know who's always lived

in Kekionga, and who came here just to fight against them? How could they?

High in a tree, on a branch that hangs over the fort, a squirrel chatters at us.

It's a real squirrel, not a tricky friend.
Shoot it, Pa,
I say. But he won't.

This whole place is like a tinderbox,
he says.
A gunshot could set off the fighting.

I aim my slingshot.
No,
Pa says,
we don't know who might be hiding in that tree.

ANIKWA

The armies

could be here tomorrow.

We sent a runner who has just returned,

bringing news that both armies

are almost here—and the

Americans are closer

than the British.

We had to pick the corn

too soon. It isn't dry. Where can we

hide it? Toontwa helps me dig holes to bury

what we can, but it's hard to cover them completely, and

if soldiers find these holes in the forest, they'll guess that food

is hidden in them. Rain Bird keeps on braiding corn faster

and faster, thinking hard. Now she looks up and offers

an idea:
Could we wrap our dried food and bury it

under fire pits? If we make new fires, the ashes

will cover the holes—soldiers might not

think to look there
. Everyone

stares at her. Grandma

smiles for the first time since we picked

the first ear of unripe corn. Now Rain Bird is wrapping

food as I put out our fire and start digging. Mink goes around

to all the families in Kekionga, telling everyone

Rain Bird's brilliant idea.

JAMES

Through the gap where the stockade burned down, we see people running

back and forth, around the fort. A lot of people. Kwaahkwa is the only one

I recognize. I'm looking for Anikwa or Old Raccoon, when I notice something:

it's almost all young men—no women or children. Not many older men.

Someone shoots a burning arrow toward the fort, and Mr. Briggs runs out

to stamp on it. Another arrow, not burning, flies toward him and barely

misses. He runs back to the fort. We're almost out of water—if another fire

starts, we won't have any way to quench it. Will we even have enough to drink?

Everything gets quiet. Five warriors go past, walking, not running, back

toward Kekionga. I see Kwaahkwa again—I want to run and ask him:
What

is happening? Where's Anikwa? Old Raccoon? Are Rain Bird and Wiinicia safe?

But then he's gone. A hawk swoops in, kills a squirrel, and takes it to a tree.

After that, nothing happens for a while. No one comes near the fort. No more

flaming arrows. One flash of lightning in a blue-gray sky. Distant thunder.

ANIKWA

The elders talk all night,

and when the sun comes up, they've made

a hard decision: The American army is too big. The British

are too far away. There aren't enough of us. It's time

to leave, before this war begins.

Don't carry too much,

Mink says.

A fishing spear, a knife, a blanket.

Kwaahkwa is staying:
If we all leave, they'll think

we're afraid
. His mother's hardest questions and Rain Bird's

sweetest smiles haven't changed his mind. I'm almost as tall as he is.

Father,
I say,
maybe I should stay here, too.
He rests his hand on my shoulder,

swallows hard, then asks,
Who would catch fish for everyone along the way?

So now I can leave without shame. We pack a few canoes and horses,

but most of us are walking, going west to our relatives. They

will make room for us—it's what we always do—but we

don't want to eat the food they've gathered

for their own winter days. Father

picks up his fiddle,

sets it down.
Ready?
I ask Toontwa.

It's time to go
. We circle around the fort in silence.

Inside, a baby cries—must be Molly. In the pond, a muskrat

watches us, dives deep—I wonder where

he will come up.

JAMES

No more lightning, but the thunder's louder. Ma tilts her head.
It's from

the east,
she says, squeezing Molly so tight she busts out crying. We go out

to look. Is that a huge cloud on the horizon? Or dust rising from the road?

That's not thunder,
says Pa,
it's the army marching in.
The Americans are here.

The fort rings with cheers, and soldiers pour outside. Someone shoots a rifle

into the sky. From the east another gunshot answers. Where's Pa going?

I start to follow him, but Ma holds me back.
No,
she says
. We don't know

what will happen. You stay here.
She thinks I'm still a baby—makes me mad

and a little bit glad at the same time. The thunder sound comes closer

as soldiers here line up to meet the army coming in. Isaac would be

cheering along with them—he'd know for sure which side he's on.

I wish I did. Where is everyone from Kekionga? Are they getting ready

to start fighting? Old Raccoon didn't want a war, but he might fight in one

if he has to. I listen for unusual birds or animals. No—I don't hear Anikwa.

ANIKWA

The morning sky

was still dark when we walked away

from Kekionga. The top branches of the oak tree

cradled the half-moon, and stars whispered

their sky-stories like old friends:

We will still be here

when you return
.

Now the sun is high, the sky

is blue. Behind the steady song of
Cricket!

Cricket!
we hear thunder rumbling, but there's

no rain or lightning.
Stay quiet and listen,
Father says.

That's not thunder—the American army must be here.
Toontwa

opens his eyes wide and stays close to my side. I tell him,

Not much farther. When we get to where siipiiwi goes in

two directions, we'll play tossball with our relatives.

I'll help you look for flints beside the water.

We walk all day, and arrive before

the sun sets, but we find

no friends, no cousins.

Cornfields stretch to the horizon,

some corn already picked, drying in the sun. Beans,

pumpkins, apples left in baskets say to us:
Welcome, friends.

Rest here, please eat well.
But why is no one here?

Where have they gone?

JAMES

Rupert made Molly a puppet on a stick that dances when I tap it on a board.

All morning I've been trying to keep her happy: tap, tap, tap—it dances, she

laughs, like everything's the same as usual. Ma wishes there were women

she could talk to, or someone to tell us what's happening, but we're stuck here

with the cook and a few soldiers who stayed to guard the fort. It's not as loud

as I thought a war would be. A few gunshots, a lot of hollering, another shot.

Soldiers we've never seen before come marching into the fort looking for food.

Cook shows them our supplies—that is, where the food would be if we had any.

The soldiers shake their heads and leave. Ma says it shouldn't be too long

before Pa can go out hunting—he'll get us a turkey, a goose, maybe a deer.

Pa made it clear that I can't leave the fort “until this is settled.”
When will that be?

I asked.
I don't know,
he answered.
It depends on where the British army is.

Where are they? I look toward Kekionga. What's that, above the trees? Smoke—

fire! Houses burning. Whose houses? Flames rise high, then higher, wider.

ANIKWA

We eat our food,

not theirs. Grandma says,
Our friends

and relatives will probably return tomorrow. No matter

where they've been, they'll come home hungry.