Map courtesy of the Forest Health Protection, SP, USDA Forest Service
The Dead Go to Seattle
Copyright © 2017 by Vivian Faith Prescott
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner.
Book design by Selena Trager
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Prescott, Vivian Faith, author.
Title: The dead go to Seattle: stories / by Vivian Faith Prescott.
Description: Pasedena: Boreal Books, an imprint of Red Hen Press, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017011412 | ISBN 9781597099042 (softcover: acid-free paper) | ISBN 9781597095822 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3616.R465 A6 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017011412
The National Endowment for the Arts, the Los Angeles County Arts Commission, the Dwight Stuart Youth Fund, the Max Factor Family Foundation, the Pasadena Tournament of Roses Foundation, the Pasadena Arts & Culture Commission and the City of Pasadena Cultural Affairs Division, the City of Los Angeles Department of Cultural Affairs, the Audrey & Sydney Irmas Charitable Foundation, Sony Pictures Entertainment, Amazon Literary Partnership, and the Sherwood Foundation partially support Red Hen Press.
First Edition
Published by Boreal Books,
An imprint of Red Hen Press
www.borealbooks.org
www.redhen.org
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“A Boat Named Coffin” and “Escape from Planet Alaska” appeared in Cold Flashes: Literary Snapshots of Alaska, edited by Michael Engelhard (Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 2010); “Alien Stories,” appeared in Cirque: Journal of the North Pacific Rim 2, no. 2 (Summer 2011); “The Man Who Married a Tree” appeared in Weird Year (August 2010); “Salmon Woman” appeared in Tidal Echoes (2010); “Daughter of the Tides” appeared in Altered States: Sci-Fi and Fantasy Stories about Change, edited by Amy Locklin (Charlotte, NC: Main Street Rag, 2011); “Men’s Stories” appeared as a poem in Punkin House Digest: Family Issue (2010) and as a short story in Cirque: Journal of the North Pacific Rim 2, no. 2 (Summer 2011); “House Falling into the Sea” appeared in Alaska Sampler 2015, edited by David Marusek and Deb Vanasse (Running Fox Books, 2015), and read by Frank Katasse on 360 North’s Writers’ Showcase (November 13, 2015); “52-Hertz” appeared in 13 Chairs: A Literary Journal (#1); “Can I Touch Your Chinese Hair?” appeared in Building Fires in the Snow: A Collection of Alaskan LGBTQ Short Fiction and Poetry, edited by Martha Panschar Amore and Lucian Childs (Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 2016). “The First Assimilated Sámi in the World” and “The Girl Who Paid Attention” appeared in 13 Chairs: A Literary Journal (#2); “Deadmans Island” appeard in Cirque: A Literary Journal of the North Pacific Rim 8, no. 1. (Winter 2016).
Although these stories are works of fiction, I would like to thank my father, Mitchell Prescott, for contributing his stories (fictional retellings of family stories) to the characters Nillon Hetta, Isak Laukonen, and Charlie Edwin. Several other characters are historical people: John R. Swanton, John Muir, S. Hall Young, and my great-grandfather, William Binkley. I would also like to recognize my sisters, Joy Prescott and Tracey Martin, and my daughter, Vivian Mork, for their input and insight into the Wrangell myths and thank Lorna Woods for her story that inspired “Men’s Stories.” I extend my appreciation to the T’akdeintaan (Tlingit), my family’s clan and my adopted clan, and to Aan gux, Wooshkeetaan, for allowing me to reference his clan and name. I especially acknowledge the Shtax’heen Kwaan, the people of Wrangell Alaska, Kaachxaana.áak’w. In addition, I am indebted to John R. Swanton’s Tlingit Myths and Texts, for the inspiration for this book.
I am very grateful to Peggy Shumaker and everyone at Boreal Books and Red Hen Press for the opportunity to share these stories. Likewise I’d like to thank my editor, Andromeda Romano-Lax, whose expertise helped shape these stories into a better manuscript and Joeth Zucco for her copyediting work.
I also want to acknowledge the members of two Sitka writers groups—Blue Canoe Writers and the Wednesday Writers Group, fellow writers who have encouraged me along the way. Above all I want to thank my husband, Howie Martindale, and my children for their support and encouragement. Without them this book would not be possible.
“The Woman Who Kicked over a Frog” is a modern retelling of the Stikine Kiks.adi story “The Man Who Kicked over a Frog,” recorded in Tlingit Myths and Texts. “The Boy Who Shot the Star” is a retelling of a story of the same name. The song “Tsu Héidei Shugaxtutaan” (“We will open again this container of wisdom”) was inspired by the words of George Davis, Kichnáalx—Lk’aanaaw, and written by Harold Jacobs for public domain.
“The Woman Who Married a Bear” is a Sámi story recorded in Finland. It is also found among the Kolta Sámi. In the original story, the woman does not transform into a bear but remains fully human. Several versions of this story are known among the Inland and Coastal Tlingit, the Athabaskan, and the First Peoples of Canada.
There are real events in The Dead Go to Seattle: Lituya Bay’s first contact, John Muir’s bonfire, Wrangell’s fire (1952), my great-grandfather’s boat named Coffin, the Presbyterian Church fire, the landslide and flooding of Wrangell’s cemetery, and Deadmans Island lore. In addition, the Stikine River, Petroglyph Beach, Institute Beach, Sitka, and most of the islands and landmarks are actual places.
The community of Wrangell on Wrangell Island in Southeast Alaska is a real place and is where I was born and raised; however, all the characters in The Dead Go to Seattle are figments of my imagination and other than the aforementioned, any relation to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
These stories are dedicated to my children—Vivian, Mitch, Breanne, and Nikka—and to my wonderful multicultural family representing many nations: Norwegian, Finnish, Sámi, Tlingit, Hawaiian, Irish, German, Aleut, Dutch, English, Chinese, Filipino, Potawatomi, Chippewa, and Russian.
CONTENTS
Letter of Transmittal
Introduction
Myths Recorded in English at Wrangell
The Girl with Pink Hair
His Spirits Kept Turning Back
The Drowning Ceremony
The Man Who Married a Tree
First Contact in Lituya Bay Revisited
A Boat Named Coffin
Old Men Who Speak of Bears
The Woman Who Married a Bear
The Girl Who Paid Attention
Wrangell Town Fire Story
Ceremony after the Wrangell Fire
The Boy Who Loved Sparks
In a Light Fantastic
A Blanket on the Sea
Deadmans Island
The Terrible Wild Children
Men’s Stories
The Woman in the Final Frontier
Escape from Planet Alaska
The Girl with Demons All Around
Girls with the Sun in Their Eyes
The Boy Who Shot the Star
Charlie Edwin’s Trapping Stories
Salmon Woman
The Man Who Saves the Dead
The First Assimilated Sámi in the World
The Switching Season
52-Hertz
The Woman Who Governs the Tides
The Man Who Loved Indians
The Woman Who Kicked over a Frog
The Woman Who Shushed
Can I Touch Your Chinese Hair?
Big Jon Keats
The Man Who Saw the Light
The Girl with the Porcelain Face
Two-Spirited
Muskeg Swallows Restaurant
Year of the Fire Dragon
Daughter of the Tides
House Falling into the Sea
The Dead Man Who Swam Away
The Flood Story
We are all given one thing by which our lives are measured …
Mine are the stories which can change or not change the world.
It doesn’t matter as long as I continue to tell the stories.
—Thomas Builds-the-Fire
LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL
Smithsonian Institution
Bureau of American Ethnology
Washington, DC
Sir: I have the honor to submit herewith for your consideration the manuscript of Wrangell Myths and Texts by Dr. John R. Swanton, assisted by Tooch Waterson, with the recommendation that it be published in this Bureau’s series of Bulletins.
Yours respectfully,
S. D. Harstead, Chief
The Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution
Washington, DC
WRANGELL MYTHS AND TEXTS
Recorded by
John R. Swanton
Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 39.2
Introduction
The following myths and texts were collected at Wrangell, Alaska, beginning in 1908 and ending thereabouts in the late 2010s CE. John R. Swanton was assisted with the translation by Interior Tlingit Tooch Waterson, although the Interior Tlingit dialect is slightly different from Coastal and Wrangell dialect. Mr. Waterson was eager to assist. Swanton claims the Wrangell Island folk were reluctant to tell their stories to an outsider, and they rejected the common term “informant.” Tooch Waterson introduced Swanton to a few of Wrangell’s storytellers—Nillan Hetta, Charlie Edwin, and Isak Laukonen—who proved to be capable informants. Nillan and Isak are not Tlingit but from a migratory population of unusual people from Scandinavia who have intermarried among the Tlingit. At this time Swanton does not categorize them, except to say they are “indigenous,” but certainly not from Alaska, let alone Wrangell. They call themselves “Sámi.” There were also a few younger informants who participated in the interviews: Mina Agard, the daughter of Isak Laukonen, and Mina’s daughter, Tova Agard. It is important to note Swanton discovered a subject repeatedly skirted during the interviews. It is also curious that the Sámi shared with the Tlingit a similar belief in a maleficent entity, Stallo, but were less reluctant to name it. Therefore, so as not to upset the locals and those who still hold the superstitions, Swanton does not mention the name Lutra canadensi–Homo sapien in the text. But he does, however, use the English word, which is not considered taboo by the Wrangell folk.
Thereabouts the stories are not organized according to a linear timeline, but instead as Mr. Tooch Waterson suggested, to make sense of life “on an island flying to the riverflats.” Note that the date recorded and when the story actually occurred may vary.
Although Swanton collected many stories throughout his time in Wrangell, this collection is the only one to have been received and documented by the Bureau of American Ethnology. Due to unknown circumstances, a majority of the stories did not make it to our office. Though it is not a complete collection, the collection is nonetheless exceptional, providing an examination of life on an isolated island in the Alexander Archipelago of Southeast Alaska.
MYTHS RECORDED IN
ENGLISH AT WRANGELL
Date: 2000s
Recorded by John Swanton
Assisted by Tooch Waterson
The Girl with Pink Hair
Tova’s coming-out party was not a celebration—she flew four feet through the air and slunk down against the wall. Her father, Karl, came at her again, and she raised her arm over her head to shield his next blow. As his hand came down, she jumped up and moved sideways and headed to the front door. Her father leaped to the door and blocked it with his large body. She turned and ran across the living room carpet and down the hall to the side door, slamming it open and running across the yard toward the woods.
Her dad ran after her. She turned slightly, saw him fall in the soggy grass onto his hands and knees. “Fuck!” he yelled. She turned back and her spirits followed her into the woods, crashing through the alder behind the houses. Soon she found the old deer trail leading to the roaring stream beside the Wrangell Institute, the old abandoned boarding school. There she sat on a rock in a large culvert beneath the road that had been her favorite place to play while growing up. Here she was a troll screeching at the occasional car speeding along the highway. She was a sprite, a stallo, and a Landotter-Woman—all the taboo creatures from her mixed heritages. No one talked openly about those creatures. They whispered their stories around town like they whispered hers.
Tova sensed she was part creature, or something she couldn’t name. Her Grandma Liv assured her she was two-spirited, had been since she was born and that was nothing to be ashamed of. By that count, she would have three spirits. Berta, her other grandmother, said she was “that way” because her daughter-in-law, Mina, didn’t dress Tova in enough pink, nor enough dresses, when she was growing up. She remembered her mom defending herself, claiming Southeast Alaska was no place for dresses.
They said her two spirits were the Old-Woman-Who-Lives-Underneath, who lives along the Fairweather fault line, which extends along the Alaskan coastline. The other was Káa Litu.aa, a man and sometimes a monster, who lives at the entrance of Lituya Bay. His slaves shapeshift into bears. They shake the water like a blanket, causing large tidal waves.
Several times the spirit shook the ground and the Fairweather fault split and cracked and the mountain came down. In the fifties, the Man-of-Lituya shook his blanket and her great-uncle rode the tidal wave, the largest on record, and survived to tell about it. This was also the place where her ancestors encountered the first white man in Alaska.
Two spirits? Female and Male. If she were an old man, and at the same time, an old woman, then what about her own spirit? Maybe that’s why she was a bit unsteady on her feet. Grandma Liv said everywhere she went the ground shook slightly. It must be true because when she flew across the room, the hairs on her arms stood up, and when she landed, the ground beneath her body formed a fissure and the waves on the water in front of town rippled.
It had all happened so fast, Tova thought, dipping her hand into the cold stream and scooping up a drink. She was twenty years old and living on her own for a couple years. She was working her way through college—long shifts all summer at the canneries. She’d been staying at her parents’ house. Her mother had handed her a letter she’d intended on mailing to her girlfriend, inviting her to come up and work in the cannery for the summer. It wasn’t really a love letter. She’d written something about remembering the way her friend’s skin tasted, like new spruce tips in the spring. Her mother had shown the letter to her father and that’s when all hell broke loose.
“Queer, lesbian, gay, dyke,” they’d questioned, but all she could do was shake her head no. She was no more than what they called her. Now, she took off her shoes and set them on a nearby rock. She stood, her head brushing against the top of the culvert. If she were going to live in the woods, she’d have to have food. Her father, when he wasn’t commercial fishing, worked at the waste water treatment plant and he’d be gone all day. Her mother worked at the deli. Perfect time for a raid.
Tova snuck back into the house through the same door through which she’d fled. She rummaged through the refrigerator, taking anything edible, even her father’s wasabi and his Frank’s Red Hot. She was the Grinch, stuffing her backpack full with several tomatoes, a can or two of green beans, a can opener, a small pot, some tea, wilted lettuce, and a banana. She left a banana for her mother. It was one of her favorites. She took a package of bologna, the half loaf of bread, the mustard, the leftover meatloaf, and a pack of presliced Velveeta. Her dad would call the cops once he figured out she’d been in the house.
Later that night, she slept under a brown plastic tarp in a sleeping bag she’d also stolen
from the shed behind the house. In the morning, she left the tarp tied to a tree and traces of her campfire. She squirted the wasabi out on a flat rock nearby: “Fuck You,” it said. That was the last thing she did before she packed up her backpack, hitched a ride to town, and headed off on the ferry to anywhere.
Tova set up her sleeping bag on the white plastic lawn chair. The heaters in the solarium roof warmed her despite the chill on the back deck of the ferry. The Taku ferry ran the southern route because the Columbia sat in dry dock again. She lay down on the sleeping bag as the boat ran across the straits, making its way past Bushy and Shrubby Islands. It would sail around Etolin Island, heading to Ketchikan and then on to Bellingham, Washington, where it would stop for a half day, load up, and then turn around and head back to Southeast Alaska.
Tova stared out at the waves when a man said to her, “Looks like you might need some coffee.” She hadn’t noticed him there. He sat on the plastic chair near her holding up a silver thermos in one hand, a stack of paper cups in another. She nodded. He doubled up the cups, poured a cup of coffee, and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sorry, no cream or sugar.”
“That’s okay.”
“Do I know you?” the man asked.
Tova shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Everyone knows someone on the ferry.”
“I think I saw you in Wrangell.”
He didn’t look like law enforcement, although she hadn't done anything wrong. Hidden in a tree, she’d watched two cops look over her camp back in Wrangell. They were talking about dykes and how one said he could make her change. Just give her some of this, he’d said, grabbing his crotch. She’d almost thrown pinecones at him, the creep.
“I’m an ethnographer,” the man said, interrupting her thoughts. “My name is John Swanton. I’ve been in Wrangell collecting stories for the Bureau of American Ethnology at the Smithsonian.”
The Dead Go to Seattle Page 1
