The Silence

by Karen Lee White

  “I saw you got sadness way back in your eyes. You pushed it out of the way to have the happiness to show when you looked at me. I thought about that dream a lot after. And I wished you happiness.

  “One day, you’ll find it. You call it to you, like some people can call animals or birds. Only you don’t know yet. But you will. One time you’ll understand what those animals and birds say. You don’t know that yet too, but I see that. Always saw that.”

  She woke and lay immersed in all his words. As murky as her mind was, there was something as clear as the water in the creek up the hill that lay there deep within those words.

  l

  Miles away out on the land, Coyote chases his favourite meat. Beaver has rushed and dived into the lake, and now comes up far enough away to safely smack, smack-smack-smack its tail on the top of the water. It echoes across the lake where a moose’s head swings up.

  Coyote won’t get into the lake. He has been caught in a river current and knows that can take him; the scent of water speaks of danger.

  He picks up another smell, and wheels round to follow it. He weaves in and out, following a small game trail that sharply winds over the moss and through low brush.

  The wind shifts.

  Now upwind, he does not catch even a whiff of the other creature. He comes snout to snout with it, sneezes as the reeking thing snarls; attacks without hesitation. Coyote leaps, yelps, and tears down the path back in the direction he has come.

  Wolverine goes back to her search for grubs under the log she has been pulling apart.

  Coyote tears at top speed until he has crossed the entire forest, and into the meadows. It is then he feels the terrible pain and sees his paw is bleeding. He goes into his den, licks the raw wound. The throbbing is terrible now, but he knows to lick it as much as he can.

  For weeks he has trouble hunting; becomes sullen, bony, wracked by hunger. He can no longer run as fast as he could before.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Night had darkened the cabin. Leah lit candles. It was time.

  She picked the bundle off her bed. Placed it carefully on the table. Breathed in the fragrance of medicines.

  She ran her hand across the hide. It was darkened with age. Covered with delicate designs. Red ochre or, maybe, pipestone. Lightning shooting down from stars and moon to the ground. It was exquisite. Like something one would see in a museum.

  She opened it. Many little bundles. She took them one by one, carefully unwrapping each.

  A blade of sweetgrass. Old-style coiled tobacco. Sage. Cedar. Roots, and medicines she did not know, and yet were familiar. A little bag of charcoal. A piece in her hand, a flash of energy shot up her spine and back down. She vibrated.

  She carefully replaced it, stilled.

  A little bundle of stones. She could see how old this was. How carefully kept.

  She said a prayer of gratitude.

  Placed it all neatly back together, exactly as she had un-wrapped it.

  She left it on the table. Went to bed.

  l

  She was walking in the meadows, a beautiful woman was walking toward her dressed in old buckskin, with lightning designs, like the ones on the old bundle. She looked like a young Gramma Maisey. Leah stopped, watched as the Gramma approached.

  “Lightning!”

  “Gramma, I have missed you so much.” Leah embraced her, weeping. It did not seem odd to use the endearment with a stranger who was not unfamiliar. The grandmother held her out at arm’s length.

  “Lightning. I have been waiting a long time for you. It is time, now. You know who you are, do not ever be afraid. When you feel fear, say your name. When you are lost, say your name. When you feel you cannot go on, say your name.”

  Gramma bent and made fire. She heated small rocks in the coals. When they were red hot, she placed the stones in a tightly woven basket of medicine. She made tea. She took it off the flames, poured it into a tightly woven cup.

  “Drink this tea, Lightning. This will give you what you need. Nuh,” she said as she handed it to Leah.

  Leah sipped. It was fragrant. Tasted of berries and herbs. She drank it as it cooled.

  She looked at Gramma; she had transformed. She was slim and small and had the longest braid Leah had ever seen.

  When she bent to stoke the fire, her braid touched the ground.

  She looked up at Leah and said, “Do not cut your hair again; this is where your power is. As your hair grows, so shall your power.”

  Leah filled with gentle peace. She knew who this was. Light-ning Medicine Woman. Gramma Maisey’s grandmother. She did not want to leave this woman’s presence.

  Leah woke, in the still of darkness, still immersed in emotions evoked by the dream.

  Wide awake, she felt for the matches on the little stool beside her. Zip, hiss, the candle lit, and she sneezed from the sulphur and the scent of hot wax.

  She rose and drew water from the bucket by the door. Filled the coffee pot. Began to gently, carefully examine the small bundles until she found the one she recognized.

  She smiled, her heart rose. She made fire.

  She sang the prayers that knew themselves and rolled easily from her tongue. She made tea as Gramma had in the dream.

  She prepared an offering for Lightning Medicine Woman. Only then did she pour some for herself. The fragrance was familiar, bringing her back within the dream.

  Leah felt Gramma’s presence, here now. She slowly sipped the medicine tea until the sun rose and lit the lake with pink fire.

  l

  Coyote has not gone into the forest since his fight with the wolverine. Now he is hungry for fish, and a tingling tells him the fish are running in the creek he knows, down from the meadows. He runs, limping through the forest near to the lake. He trots down to rushing water, still favouring his sore paw. He raises it and lopes along the best he can.

  He jumps straight into the creek. This water he knows is safe enough and, though he hates the smell of it, the hunger wins out. Shivering in the cool, his head goes this way and that, watching the darting fish.

  Like lightning, he dips his head, catches one. Throws it far enough away that it will not be able to flip itself back into the water. He catches and tosses, until there is a good pile. Thirsty from the work, he drinks.

  He has not seen nor sensed Wolverine, who has quietly been eating the fish.

  He sees and yelps his surprise. Angered by the hunger tearing at his belly, he leaps out to chase Wolverine away.

  Too late, Wolverine sinks her powerful jaws into his throat and shakes. He feels fear and resignation, as his instinct tells him it is too late to fight.

  Helpless as he is flung back and forth, back and forth, the light that has always been in front of his eye’s fades.

  His body relaxes, he releases to the darkness. He is no more.

  l

  Leah walked the trail to the creek. Breathed the exhaled breath of spruce, pine, ripening berries. The breeze gentle on her cheek, the sun warm on her back. She felt part of the silence. She inhaled the exhaled breath of the land, deeply.

  She heard a raven pass above, and a squirrel whir its warning.

  Reaching the creek, she was amazed that it was a couple of arms lengths across and rushing by. It was no longer possible to straddle it as she once had.

  It was then she saw the blood, a small animal that smelled like skunk throwing the red-blond animal to and fro, blood streaming from its fur.

  l

  FIRE WITHIN

  There’s a fire within, sister, there’s a fire inside,

  It can sanctify you or burn you alive

  The fire inside, the fire inside, the fire inside.

  Choose to be blind or choose to see,

  It’s all just a matter of degree.

  Fuel it with fear or fuel it with love

  Fire within, fire below, fire above.

  I see the grace in the shadow

  I see the grace in the light

  I see the grace
in the sorrow

  And the grace in the joy

  The mystery that lies

  In the heart of all that is

  Forged am I in pain, cooled am I in weeping

  Forged am I in pain, cooled am I in weeping

  And here am I, oh here am I, oh here am I

  I’m an ocean inside.

  The ocean inside of me is uncharted territory

  Each island is unnamed

  Light upon light, strength upon strength

  Joy upon joy, and love upon love

  Absolute happiness, pray for this, pray for this, pray for this

  l

  My heart beats gently here. I am a reflection of this ancient landscape, patient, waiting, still. I am back in present time, with these ancient beings, the stone giants and sky and land below. The crags, peaks dominate everything, as if the humans are nothing within its enormity. I am surrounded by these mountains, in every direction that I look. I watch them, and they watch me. I feel the cooled air of their snow tops. The rock of their bodies. I breathe as they breathe; their breath redolent with spruce, fall leaves, snow.

  Haywire disturbed her reverie as he rose from his chair. He drew water, drank.

  Leah’s eyes fell on his hands; the most beautiful hands she had ever seen. Moving sculptures in the late morning light as he poured coffee grounds into the pot. Stoked the fire. Her skin hungered for his touch. Her desire rose. She looked back outside, willing the heat to dissipate. It did not.

  She heard the bloop, bloop, bloop of water boiling. The fragrance of tea reaching her where she sat.

  Her want spoke with a forgotten pang in her belly. He sensed her. Turned. His eyes touched hers.

  The heavy sweet fragrance of tea mingled with wood smoke. She stood; eyes on his; crossed to him before he willed her to. She put her arms around his neck. There was a knowing.

  They slowly kissed. A flame caught pitch on wood and roared in the stove.

  The feel of his tongue pulled a moan from her. Louder as the kisses crossed from her lips to her face, down her neck, lower where her shirt was open. She pulled him to the cot.

  His weight on her. In his jeans, now shirtless. Her breathing rapid, she buried her face in his neck. Her warm breath opened something within him. Behind his ear she found his familiar scent. She breathed him in and cried out loud.

  His face panting breath hot between her breasts, he raised his head, spoke in aching tone, “It’s been so long.”

  “Too long.” She could barely speak the words.

  “No; I mean for me…this has not been part of my life for a long, long time.”

  She moaned deep, low. The inside of her felt starved for him. She gripped him low from behind, on his now bare bottom, pulled him closer, hard.

  Now he cried aloud, “Leah!”

  Sweet curve of her lip; the fragrance of her breath.

  Skin to skin. Free. Their old together fire.

  He rolled her, and she called out, ecstatic, when he slow-kissed her across her back. She moved as her hand reached down for him, moved down so that her mouth could taste his salt with her tongue. She heard his quick panting as she spoke with tongue and lips to flesh, until he called out loud and begged her to stop.

  “Take me inside.”

  She straddles him and says, “Look at me,” as her hand moves to guide him within.

  Watching her face for signs, he moves with her. Free-riding like this, the heat of him inside her, her hands grasping him closer still.

  They speak in words they barely hear, banshee calling. Head thrown back, hair wild, Leah growls, howls.

  A lightning dance, writhing, convulsing, primordial. She feels an ocean within her roil, moil, surge. Ebb, flow. Ecstatic, joy-filled, Leah looks him full in the eyes and moves, the way he remembers, then collapses on him panting hard, wet with exertion.

  He waits. Knowing his waiting, she moves to where he lies on his back, looks with eyes of heat and want. With mouth and tongue she tastes and takes the sweet salt of each pulse of him.

  They lay entwined, warm.

  l

  Wolves – the electrifying song of calling sounds in the deep silence. There is nothing but a flicker of orange-red light from the grate.

  He says, “Look what your howling started.”

  Cathartic, her laughter comes from the same deep place as her sorrow.

  Haywire brings her coffee. She sits, smiles, drinks deeply and sighs. It’s perfect. And so is he.

  She puts the cup down. Still the old fire smoulders.

  Now they are slow. This dance different. Hands entwined, they will take their time. She slow-melts, honey, butter, cinnamon drip. Spring thaw; drops flow to creek, to river, thunder of white water. Their old together dance of joy.

  She runs her hand on him, then dances fingers over the ripples of granite abdomen. With her tongue she follows Sahara, dune contours.

  With her tongue she explores him, between his legs, then higher and he quakes. Afterward, they look at each other full in the eyes. Close eyes now to disappear within. Violet-blue, yellow, green, moving, river of colour behind lids.

  He calls her name, again, again she moans her response. Call and response, call and response. They explore old territory.

  He smiles with lusty, half-open eyes, she sees their fire flicker; she quietly laughs.

  With sweet tug of hair, they come together, fall apart, come together, fall apart.

  The fragrance of the coffee and smoke on their skin; she implores for his hands, heart, spirit.

  He loves her, again. When dawn slow-dances across the sky, she sleeps.

  “I am home, Leah; I am home with you,” he whispers. Leah stirs and smiles, moves yet closer. Her breath on his chest, a deep sweet pang in his heart.

  He holds her with all that he is, her unbearably sweet breath on his cheek as she sleeps.

  l

  In the deep of dark, Leah dreams. Cannot wake. This place is too familiar. She knows what is to happen next will be terrible.

  She sees, feels the heavy overcast sky rendered white, the trees stark black. Danger. No, no, no! Wake up! Wake up, now!

  In the dream Haywire and Coyote are stupid drunk. Leah trembles, outside the cabin, desperate to be somewhere, anywhere else.

  Coyote spits, “I can hit anything with one bullet, and I taught you how to shoot.”

  “No – Gramma never took you in until I was five. I was already bringin’ food for her.”

  Coyote is louder, harsh. His fetid booze stink reaches Leah where she stands. She wants to run.

  “I taught you how to hunt.”

  Haywire’s voice is harder. “My blood uncles taught me.” Coyote’s face reddens. His look is dangerous; she hears him grinding sharp teeth.

  Haywire’s shoulders go back. Unflinching, he glowers straight into Coyote’s eyes, takes one step closer. The click of the safety catch going off on a .30-30.

  She tastes fear, like the smell of gunmetal, in her mouth. Coyote turns to her. His eyes at her feet, slowly go up her, stopping at her breasts. She tries to make herself smaller; she feels nausea; sweat trickles between unwashed skin and dirty clothes.

  Silent, unmoving, tiny breaths, eyes to the ground, she flickers a glance up at Haywire. Her guts wrench as his eyes narrow and face tightens. His face hard as he stared at her.

  Tears start. She has not welcomed Coyote’s attention. She bolts like an alarmed rabbit from the two reeling, drunken men. Behind her, intermittent thunder of two rifles. Something moves on her scalp. She feels something at the back of her head. She hears herself say, “Sorry, Mama, I don’t want to die.”

  She tears open Doris’s door, ducks inside. It is only then she reaches up to find her scalp is still intact. She breathes a little when she sees wood chips and sawdust in her hand. She knows it must be from the bullets striking the doorway and leaving chips of wood in her hair.

  She cowers inside. There is no place to hide. She cannot fit under the bed. Oh, my God, they will shoot me
, or each other. She makes herself small, cowering in a corner of Doris’s room. Sobbing uncontrollably, she tries to stay quiet.

  Door crashing, slamming. Coyote’s voice, taunting. “Know what I’m going to do to you? Now your bastard boyfriend is dead, I’m going take what you want to give me, bitch.”

  His hands on her. A woman screaming. He slaps her hard. His hands are rough on her skin. Terribly familiar.

  She tries to wake up. Desperate, trying to get away, to fight. Coyote is stronger, his revolting lust. Rejected by her kicking, thrown into a hurricane force of blind rage, power lust.

  His hardness on her stomach goes soft. He raises his fist, she hears it strike. Everything goes black. Now she is a raven. From up high where she flies, she sees Haywire. He is crumpled on the ground. Like a discarded pile of his own clothes.

  He cries like a child alone in the world, devastated, betrayed, opened, raw. He knows now who Coyote is. From on high she can see the kicked-puppy look in his eyes.

  Now Raven watches. The woman is brave, biting, kicking, scratching. Fighting one more losing fight.

  Raven, looking through the window above that woman’s head, sits. Fluffing feathers, flit, flash of blue-black, flutter, small jump, cocking of head. The rotten booze breath drips from Coyote’s tongue, reaching Raven. His familiar ugly laughter.

  The woman on the floor locks eyes with that raven. She looks at that raven so hard she becomes the raven again; when a fist connects with the woman’s face, she does not feel it.

  Dizziness. The woman sobs. He laughs, a dry, ugly sound. Mocks her, again, tears her shirt wide open. Breasts spill out.

  She and the raven fly away. Far, far above the jack pines and spruce. Somewhere below, where the people live, she knows Coyote bruises a woman’s breasts. Again. She is a raven, so she does not, cannot feel the pain, feel her nipples hardening from fear, or hear the terrible words whispered in the woman’s ear.

  “You know you want it.” He is moaning, she flies, so she does not hear him unzip his pants; feel his hardness tear into her. Does not feel him biting her skin hard as he rams himself inside her over, and over and over. Does not feel the tearing of flesh, or the blood as it flows again.