Totem (6 page)

Gifts

Why does the chief want me?
Jonny asked himself as he stumbled across the floor.

Kalaku, sitting beside the chief, made room for him on the mat.

The speaker, holding a staff carved with the head of an eagle, spoke to those in the lodge. “Many moons ago,” he told them
.
“Spirits came down from the sky.”

The people in the crowd shifted to get comfortable.

“They trampled the trees and killed the animals. They chased the sun away. With no sun, the people could not tell the time of year. With no sun, the sky turned black and the air turned cold. Rain turned to sleet. Sleet turned to ice, and the world froze.”

Some of the listeners pulled their woolen cloaks closer to their necks.

“It was no longer a good place to be,” the speaker continued, “and so the spirits left.”

The guests glanced at each other and nodded.

“The stars crept into the sky knowing the spirits were gone,” the speaker told them moving his hand back and forth over his head. “They shone hard to bring the moon out of hiding. But it wasn't until the sun broke through the clouds, that the sky once again turned blue.” The speaker walked into the centre of the lodge and raised his hands. “The people came out of their cave, admiring the round ball of light that had changed the colour of their sky. The old ones told the children they could take off their hats and cloaks.” As the storyteller moved about the circle, he spoke and gestured with his staff. “Soon the grass turned green,” he said. “The trees grew tall and animals returned. The old ones taught the young ones the names of the seasons.” The speaker came to a stop directly in front of Jonny and the old man. “And how to live in this new world.” He handed the staff to Kalaku.

Kalaku indicated Jonny was to stand. Jonny looked into Kalaku's face. He had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Kalaku handed Jonny the storytelling stick and said. “One night there was much rain.”

Jonny understood. Kalaku wanted him to tell the story of the great flood. He gripped the staff with a sweaty palm and looked about the circle. All the eyes of the elders were on him. The children pushed their way to the front to hear the pale boy with the eyes of a wolf.

“One night there was much rain,” Jonny said. His voice came out like the squeak of a mouse. He looked about, but no one laughed at him the way they did at school. They all waited.

Jonny took a deep breath. “One night there was much rain,” he said in a louder, stronger, voice. “The sea rose and it reached the houses.” He pretended to see water oozing its way across the earth floor of the lodge and lifted one foot as if it were about to get wet. “It crept through the houses and out into the forest. The houses groaned and the great poles began to tremble.”

For the first time, the story he heard at another time in another place made sense.

Jonny told his story as if he were experiencing the flood right there and then. He made himself look tired and wet. He used the staff to show how he paddled with the rest of the village to safety. When he lowered his head and galloped like a mountain goat, Jonny caught the eyes of Tommy-Two and Ernie watching in utter amazement. Seeing Ernie, he remembered the words he was to add at the end. “These are the words of my people,” he said. He held the staff out to the speaker. “These are the words I have learned.”

The speaker took the staff and pounded the floor. The drumming and singing resumed.

The chief lifted the small carved box that sat at his feet and handed it to Jonny. “I thank you for your story,” he said.

Jonny nodded in appreciation. As he turned to sit, a woman lowered a patterned blanket of goat wool onto his shoulders. As the piles of carved masks, boxes, baskets, bowls, and blankets grew lower, no one could doubt this generous man's wealth. Each person accepted the chief's gifts with grace. Ernie received a club shaped like a fish. He smiled and danced his appreciation.

Jonny stared about the room, determined to drink in every detail of this important night, but his eyelids felt heavy.

Tommy-Two tapped him on the shoulder. “Come and bunk in with me.”

“What about Ernie?” Jonny asked.

“He's still dancing,” the chief's son said. “He'll probably go all night.”

Jonny made his way to the back of the great wooden lodge through the throng of people. So much had happened since they'd left the cave. He'd learned about the figures on the pole, watched dancers leap about the room, eaten his fill several times, spoken in front of a crowd, and received gifts. He placed the carved box at the foot of the platform bed. Then he lay down and covered himself with his new blanket.

“Aren't you going to look inside?” Tommy-Two asked.

“Tomorrow,” Jonny said. It didn't matter to him if the box was empty or full. He now had more possessions than he had ever owned in his life.

The Workshop

“It is time for me to leave the village,” Kalaku told Jonny a few days after the festivities ended. Even though his skin was leathered from years of working in the sun, his face looked young and full of excitement.

“Why?” Jonny asked, putting down the tool he was examining. It was similar to his hatchet, only with the blade set sideways. Inside the small cedar box, he'd found a whole set of carving tools: a wedge of antler, three different-sized stone chisels, a hammer, and the adze.

“I must return to my work,” Kalaku said.

“Let me come with you,” Jonny said. He often thought about making something with the wood he used to split and stack. He loved the idea of creating something beautiful from something plain, like the time he taught himself how to make a paper airplane — until the priests took the paper away. “I want to learn how to carve.”

“The making of a pole requires a strict, simple life,” Kalaku said. “Any bad thoughts or action will cause the wood to split or warp.”

Jonny looked past the heavy, wooden canoes to the endless horizon of water and sky. “I know that kind of life,” he said.

Kalaku placed his hand on Jonny's head. “Yes,” he said, patting it. “You do.”

That afternoon, Jonny sat with Ernie on a log near a small fire on the beach.

“Hiding out in that cave was a big mistake,” Ernie said.

Jonny knew Ernie wasn't happy living in the village. He couldn't use the two-pronged fishing spear with the same skill as the other boys. His slingshot wasn't the right kind of weapon for a mountain goat or big-horned sheep. His success with the harpoon wasn't any better than the youngest girl.

“We must have passed through some kind of gap in time,” Ernie said. He grabbed a handful of stones and threw them toward the waves in anger. “I'm going back.”

“How are you going to do that?” Jonny asked. “We don't know what caused it. How do you know it will happen again?”

Ernie put his head in his hands. “I don't know,” he mumbled. “I'll just go to the cave and wait. Maybe one day I'll wake up and find myself where I should be.”

Jonny never wanted to go back. For the first time in his life he didn't feel lonely, out of place, or hungry. “Good luck.”

Kalaku had fastened several saplings together with cedar ropes to make a skid. Tommy-Two and the chief's wife loaded it with his payment for the pole. They stacked baskets filled with berry cakes and smoked salmon onto a wooden box filled with oil. On top of that went finely woven wool leggings and tunics, a cedar-bark robe, and a fur cape. Kalaku wore a new wide-brimmed hat with a band of copper disks. His new pendant of abalone shell caught the sun and sparkled like his eyes.

Silver Cloud appeared at his side wearing a coat of bear fur. She carried a large lidded basket and a string of several small ones. “I am coming to harvest medicine,” she said.

Kalaku placed his bundle of carving tools on top with care. Jonny did the same. They fastened it all into place with cedar ropes.

Ernie kept himself busy fixing a pelt. After making small cuts on the feet of a marmot, he drew the pelt up over its head like a priest removing his cassock. Then he sheathed it over a pointed branch frame. His face remained rigid as he watched them cover the sled with large furs. He did not wave when they left.

The winds from the northeast churned the powdery snow as the three of them made their way along the beach. Each, slightly bent into the whistling air, helped to pull the laden sled. When they entered the forest, the trail was treacherous with roots and fallen branches trapped by ice. Jonny was thankful for his new bear-paw shoes, a gift from Tommy-Two.

They picked their way around the remains of a tree fallen across the trail. Silver Cloud broke off parts and piled it on the sled. Soon their only light came from the moon as they followed the frozen sandy track that led through the gorse and twisted stunted roots of windswept trees. When the path dwindled to a mere thread of sand they stopped in front of a small snow-covered hill, Jonny felt chilled to the bone. He looked about. There was no village, no building, not even a tent in sight.

Kalaku brushed the snow from his shoulders and removed his cape. Silver Cloud did the same. To Jonny's surprise, they pushed aside a heavy bough of spruce.

“Inside,” he said.

Jonny removed his blanket and shook it before creeping into a surprisingly warm shelter. As his nose filled with the fragrance of warm earth, he looked about in wonder. The walls and ceiling were saplings, lashed together with cedar fibre. Frozen sod filled the cracks.

Silver Cloud knelt beside a circle of stones and removed a small mound of hard clay from her cloak. She rapped it on a fire pit rock and cracked it open, like a large nut. The two halves of the shell fell apart, exposing some hot coals. She tipped the hot coals inside onto the dry grass in the stone circle and a small fire soon flamed. The little hut grew even more pungent with the smell of grass and cedar.

After unpacking the sled, Jonny collapsed on a bed of evergreen boughs. That night, swaddled in furs, listening to the soft snore of the man at his side, he felt happier than he had ever been.

During the first few weeks of life in the hut, Jonny's arms and legs ached from gathering wood and hunting. He learned to wipe his hands on a piece of animal skin to rid them of his human scent before setting a trap. He learned to jiggle a line of fibre up and down a hole in the ice along the shore just the right way to catch a fish. The soft skin on his hands often bled, but he didn't care.

Silver Cloud returned each evening with food from the forest. Once he watched her climb a tree, put her hand in a hole, and withdraw a handful of acorns. Later she shelled them, ground them, and mixed them with dried root to make a cake.

“When will you begin your new pole?” Jonny asked one day.

“When it is time,” Kalaku responded.

Jonny's hands grew tough, his arm muscles strong, and his legs sturdy. One day Kalaku beckoned him outside from the doorway. They tramped through the forest to a huge cedar next to a stream. Kalaku put his hand on the bark and his eyes sparkled. Jonny thought of the chief's story as he stepped into the melting world of blue sky. Jonny lifted his hatchet, ready to chop.

“The spirits must not be angry with us for killing this tree,” Kalaku told Jonny as he put his hand across Jonny's chest. “Before we cut we must first thank them and let them move on.”

After praising and thanking the tree spirits, Kalaku made a cut in the bark near the bottom. They took turns chopping the trunk of the massive red cedar to create a wide hinge. The tree seemed to pause for a moment before it toppled and cart-wheeled down the mountain.

Jonny raced after it, yelling with excitement.

Together they removed the top branches and gave the huge log a push. It skidded to the edge of the stream and shot across to the other side.

They laughed out loud as they pushed it backwards into the icy stream. The colossal tree trunk floated downstream to their camp, as they raced along the bank, tracking its way.

Kalaku used his wedge and stone hammer to split the bark. Jonny copied, cutting away the outer sapwood. He marveled at the straightness of the cedar's grain.

For days, they smoothed and scraped until only the heartwood remained. Soft cedar shavings carpeted the earth. Each morning began with Kalaku running his hand along the surface making sure it was free of knots.

“What part will I get to carve?” Jonny asked with enthusiasm.

Kalaku took a tree limb from a large pile of kindling. He looked at it from top to bottom then handed it to Jonny. “First,” he said, “you carve a paddle.”

Jonny worked at hiding his disappointment, remembering what Kalaku had said about bad thoughts. He squinted at the branch that was thicker than his arm, trying to figure out how to make it into the shape of a paddle. He turned it around and around. He walked to the paddles leaning against the hut and compared the two. He picked up his knife and pressed it into the bark. Jonny pried it off in long narrow strips, humming as he worked.

Days later, using charcoal from the fire, Jonny began to trace the shape of a paddle.

Kalaku took the coal from his hand and marked a line down the middle of the rough-hewn oar. “An out-of-balance paddle will dance in your hands,” he said.

Jonny nodded and adjusted his pattern to Kalaku's line.

Kalaku, having finished carving his miniature pole, was now ready to transfer his design to the log. He blocked the figures with charcoal, singing the song of each spirit as he worked.

Across from them Silver Cloud pounded cedar bark strips making them soft enough to weave. She looked up and smiled.

Jonny finished his pattern. He placed his paddle on the ground and stood up to stretch.

Kalaku shook his head. He picked up the wooden shape and made a small hole at the top of the handle. Threading it with sinew, he hung it from a branch of a shady tree. “If left on the ground, your paddle will warp,” he said and went back to his work.

Jonny watched as Kalaku worked with his long-handled adze, making short, precise chops. Soon the faces of the figures began to emerge.

Kalaku doused the log with water. “The wet raises the grain,” he told Jonny. Then, using his short-handled adze, Kalaku made many small, quick strokes.

Jonny doused his paddle and did the same. He scraped at the wooden surface again and again, stroking, touching, and squinting. When Kalaku handed him the sandpaper-like skin of a dogfish, Jonny knew it was finally time to polish.