The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  Growing tired, he halted by a nearby tree. The animal seemed frightened of something Emma could neither see nor hear. Anticipation of his next move consumed her as he became alert once more. Again, he ran, but his stride was cut short by an arrow puncturing his side. Blood spilled from his wound, but he pushed on until another arrow sealed his fate, piercing his heart.

  Sorrow for the animal's failed efforts filled Emma's heart as she watched him die. His death was quick, which was a blessing, but his will to survive got the best of her. As she wept, Emma heard footsteps coming from behind. Slowly the Native man, Wakiza, came into view, holding his bow and arrow at his side. In his other hand, he carried a spear that was as long as a man was tall. The brown shaggy dog Emma had met a day earlier was standing by his master's side, wagging his thick tail.

  Wakiza's hair was shaved on both sides of his head, leaving a strip of hair trailing down the middle of his back. The moccasins he wore were beautifully adorned with beads of many colors. His clothing was minimal but consisted mostly of animal hide and fur. Pieces of fur covered his shoulders, and a loincloth made from animal skins clothed his lower region. His leather leggings, Emma guessed, were made from the tanned skin of an animal, most likely a deer. He wore a leather belt around his waist, and a small pouch was attached to his side. Inside of the bag, Emma saw two dead squirrels and what appeared to be rabbit ears sticking out from the top.

  While Emma admired Wakiza's attire, he knelt beside the deer and bowed his head, paying respect to the animal. Afterward, he took the deer by the antlers and dragged it toward his horse. Effortlessly, he balanced its lifeless body over his shoulder and secured it on the back of his ride. Reaching to retrieve his spear, which was leaning against the tree, he lost his balance and broke the spear point from the lance. Distraught, Wakiza began searching for the broken tip. Despite the cold, frigid air, his face was drenched in sweat. The thought of losing the weapon seemed to terrify him greatly.

  Emma could see it clear as day, lying next to his foot. Desperate, he continued to search as Emma wanted to be able to tell him that all was well. The shaggy dog at his side seemed to refuse to help. Emma found it odd, considering he could have found it quicker than his human companion. She sensed the dog knew where the tip was, but chose not to retrieve it.

  It's to your left. Emma thought. Your left!

  Soon, Wakiza unknowingly buried it deep beneath the snow. He wept, punching the tree in front of him, causing his fist to bleed. If only she could speak, Emma could tell him the point was near. But it was too late. Wakiza, it seemed, had given up when he was so close. Something Emma had watched Griffin do on many occasions.

  Defeated, Wakiza mounted his horse and continued to cry. As Emma followed him, she longed to give him a simple pat on the back or maybe even a hug—even though she wasn't sure how his people comforted one another.

  Together, they traveled for miles. Taking a short break near a creek bank that looked vastly familiar to Emma, Wakiza approached the water and broke a hole through the ice. Slowly, he sipped the same cool water Emma's cousins and she had found pleasure swimming in during a hot summer's day when they'd been children. That very spot was her and the girls' swimming hole. If they'd been in Emma's time, there would've been a rope hanging from the massive cypress tree before the Native.

  Just as Emma realized how close she was to home, she heard a woman crying in the distance, but Wakiza didn't move or seem to hear it. The sound was only in her head. The woman's cries continued. A different, much younger girl began sobbing, seemingly thrown into a panic. Then it came to Emma: she was still alive in Roland's room.

  Turning her attention back to Wakiza, she watched as he began pushing forward, leaving her behind. Stuck by the creek bank, motionless and unable to follow, Emma watched, disappointed, as Wakiza's form disappeared as he gained more ground.

  Once Emma had been left alone, the crying stopped. Everything was still and quiet. Even the sounds of the forest were gone. Leaves that had begun to fall were frozen in midair. The only thing Emma could hear was the sound of someone breathing heavily. The feeling of Roland's breath brushing against her neck and chest disgusted her. The sensation only multiplied Emma's anger, making her wish she would snap from this coma and finish what they'd started.

  Again, everything was showered in darkness. Then suddenly, like flipping a switch, Emma was thrown from it. She stood in her own decade, in the middle of the Clerys' Indian dig. The tools Doolie used for finding artifacts were in their normal place, as were the mounds of dirt from all of the holes that had been dug.

  As she took in her surroundings, Emma's past self appeared alongside Tom. The day she had been transported to was the first day of their workout sessions. Only seconds later, Stella hopped from the brush and ran straight through her. Immediate tears welled up in Emma's eyes, from longing to embrace her again. The dog seemed to have her own agenda as she immediately began digging through one of the holes. Soon, her white coat was showered with dirt, but Stella seemed to have found what she was searching for. Stella climbed from the hole, and shook the dirt from her body, revealing Wakiza's lost spear tip.

  As Emma watched herself hold the artifact for the first time, she witnessed Wakiza appear behind her past self. The clothing Emma had admired earlier had been stripped from him, leaving him barefoot with only a loincloth. His facial expression suggested he was angry. The entire time, his eyes were glued to the spear tip and nothing else. Many times, Wakiza tried snatching it from Emma's grasp and seemed disappointed when he realized he could no longer touch anything that belonged to the living.

  As Wakiza pulled back, Stella began to growl. Emma's past self turned to see what was upsetting Stella, and Emma remembered being puzzled to find nothing there. Since she was on Wakiza's level now, she was able to see him clear as day, glaring at her dog.

  From there, Emma followed her past self, but stayed closer to Stella than she ever had before. Seeing her dog brought Emma the greatest joy, but along with it came the grief of never being able to embrace her again.

  Soon, her past self tired, and to Emma's surprise, Wakiza appeared once more, beckoning her toward him. He didn't seem angry like before. He bore the kindest smile and welcomed Emma as a friend. Offering his hand, Wakiza nodded just as she reached him, assuring her it was okay to touch him.

  Grasping his hand, they were launched from their current venue to another, which was foreign to her. Now they stood at the entrance to what Emma was certain to be his village.

  "This is my home, Emma," he said, gripping her hand tighter. "Where I come from." Clearly, Wakiza was speaking another language, but for some odd reason, Emma understood every word.

  "Your home?" she asked. "But . . . why are we here?"

  "I wanted you to see how Father reacted to me losing the spear." Seeming to notice the confusion written across Emma's pale face, he said, "This will make you understand."

  "Understand what?"

  "Don't speak. Listen," Wakiza commanded as his past self, alongside his dog, passed them by, carrying the deer Emma had seen him kill moments earlier. "This is important."

  All Emma could do was nod. She couldn't understand the reasoning behind why she was here, or even why Wakiza was here. For days he had haunted her dreams, and now more than ever, Wakiza was starting to test her patience.

  "What's your dog's name?" she asked, transfixed on the shaggy dog's tail.

  "Ahanu."

  "Can . . . Can he see us?" she asked, noticing the animal making continuous glances toward them.

  "No. Dogs can sense things we cannot."

  Wakiza's village was grand and full of a mixture of the oddest-looking people and the most beautiful people Emma had ever seen. The older women were weaving baskets from tall grass or grinding spices; some were even making tools. The stones they used looked familiar, because at the Clerys' Indian dig they'd found the exact same grinding stones in just about every hole they dug. Doolie had these finds sitting as trophies on his front porc
h's railing. The younger women were in the garden or preparing hides for tanning. Some were preparing arrows outside of their huts.

  During that time of day, every man able to hunt was returning home to his wife and embracing her with a hearty hug and a kiss. But no one approached Wakiza or Ahanu to welcome them. Most of his tribesmen shook their heads or flat out grimaced at his appearance. Griffin had always been able to get the same reaction. As far as Emma could tell, neither Wakiza nor her brother deserved that kind of treatment.

  Still, he dragged on, passing his kin without muttering a single word. Wakiza, it seemed, was ashamed. Apparently, everyone else was ashamed of him too, because they averted his gaze as though he carried the plague.

  Growing tired of their endless walk, Emma stared into Wakiza's eyes, begging for him to hurry it along.

  "Patience," he whispered, continuing to drag her through his antisocial tribe.

  No one acknowledged his presence until Wakiza and his dog reached the largest hut in the middle of the village. Many children and young women surrounded it, all giggling as they spotted him dismounting from his horse.

  What startled Emma was the prettiest girl of them all running toward him with her arms stretched out. As they embraced, they laughed as though they could not see or sense everyone's dirty looks and whispers. The girl was his sister, Ayita, the girl who had begged for his life to be spared in Emma's dream.

  Admiring his kills, she exclaimed, "Oooh, brother! You bring home a great bounty! Father will appreciate."

  "No, I think not. I've done something."

  "What could you have done that Mother and Father will not forgive?"

  "Ayita, you're so kind and good. You're beloved by everyone here. Maybe if you did what I have done, they would forgive you, but I am a constant disappointment."

  "Brother," she whispered. "Maybe I can tell Father to soften the blow."

  "No, sister," he said, shaking his head. "This is my misfortune, I must take responsibility."

  "What have you done?"

  "I broke our family's heirloom."

  "This is no problem. Together we can fix anything."

  "No, Ayita. Not only did I break it," he said, "I was not able to find it at all."

  Ayita said nothing. She didn't have to. Her facial expression was enough. All of the color drained from her beautiful, copper skin, and her chin began to quiver. As her left eye began to twitch, Wakiza took a whole step back, seeming to fear that she would be the first to strike him.

  "You lost Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Qaletaqq's spear?" she asked. "Brother, why do you do these things? You've done the one thing Father's forbid you ever to do. In Father's eyes, you have shamed the tribe."

  "I know, sister. Will you stand by my side?"

  "Yes, always." She smiled, reassuring him. "There is no one . . . no one who can tear us apart."

  Wakiza and Emma followed the brother and sister into their parents' hut, where there were no men of Wakiza's age. Emma's stomach turned as she realized all of these women and children belonged to their father, the village's chief. A man, Emma believed, to be in his late sixties.

  Seeming to notice the disturbed look on Emma's face, Wakiza leaned toward her and whispered, "You see? You and Ayita are the same."

  "The same? How?"

  "You love your family and would do anything for them. But your patience with their stupidity is thin."

  "Humph, yeah, that does sound like me."

  Ayita and Wakiza were the oldest of their father's children. Together, they walked side by side until they reached a line of eight boys and girls waiting to see their father. The chief sat upon a throne-like chair, and had a beautiful fifty-something woman sitting on the ground next to him. A little girl with dimples sat in her lap, allowing the woman to braid her hair.

  "My mother, Chitsa," Wakiza whispered, nodding in her direction.

  Emma recognized the chief's wife from an eerie visit in the night. She wore the same red shawl, but was missing the remains of her dead child, which Emma assumed had been the girl sitting in her lap.

  They waited for their turn, the same as the other children did, but they weren't smiling like the rest. Their faces were stricken with fear. Chitsa seemed to notice her children's worried expressions and immediately began fidgeting on the ground.

  "Are all these women his wives? The six behind him?"

  "Yes, all."

  "Why so many?"

  "Mother was only able to bear two children," he replied. "The rest of them died before birth."

  "What about the girl in her lap?"

  "Her parents died of sickness," he replied. "Mother took her in once she learned she was barren, and Father sought other wives to continue the bloodline."

  "That's cruel."

  "It is his way. But he treats Mother well. She is his first wife, the most important."

  Geez, men were scum back in the day, too, Emma thought. Scumbags.

  "Do not believe such things," he whispered. "I can hear your thoughts."

  Horrified, Emma began to apologize, but luckily it was Wakiza's turn to speak with his father. The look on their father's face wasn't welcoming. Once Wakiza stood before him, the chief's happy demeanor shifted. "Back so soon?"

  "Yes, Father," Ayita said, seeming annoyed with Wakiza's sudden fear of speaking. "Wakiza brings home a great bounty. Talulah is preparing the venison now."

  "By the looks of your brother, he has again asked you to speak for him."

  "No, Father," she replied, tugging on her brother's arm. "Go on, Wakiza! Tell Father!"

  Stepping forward, Wakiza stared into his disapproving father's eyes.

  "Father," he began, trembling, "I've lost our heirloom. I lost it during the hunt. I was unable to recover it. Please, Father, I beg your forgiveness."

  "The only company you are fit to keep is the dirty mongrel standing at your feet!" the chief exclaimed, rising from his throne.

  Chitsa rose from the ground and planted herself between her husband and Wakiza, taking the full brunt of their father's retaliation.

  "Chitsa!"

  "Wakiza is my son, Cheveyo!" she shouted. "I will die before I allow this injustice."

  "He has cursed us with his stupidity," the chief ranted, turning his enraged gaze back to his son. "You are banished. Leave here!" The importance of their heirloom was so great that Cheveyo would banish his eldest son.

  As Wakiza received the lashings of his father's cruel words, Emma could tell Cheveyo was tired of his son's constant failures, and this one had pushed him right over the edge. The scene reminded her of the many fights Doolie and Griffin had shared. Like Griffin's, Wakiza's gaze was aimed at the ground. It saddened her. Emma understood his pain deeply, as she had always been aware of Griffin's.

  "You are not to come here. You are not to see your mother, your sister, or set foot here again," Cheveyo said. "Our heirloom has been passed down for many years, and you are the one to lose it. Qaletaqq would be ashamed of you. Just as I am."

  Though Emma understood the importance of the heirloom, she did not understand how a father could banish his own son for losing something so small, even if it had been in their family for generations. In her time, a son was kicked out for skimping on rent or for doing drugs. To Emma, it seemed too harsh of a punishment.

  After Wakiza's banishment, Emma began hearing the same cries she'd heard previously from the women in Roland's room. They didn't seem as loud and terrifying as before. Both women's cries had decreased to a quieter weep, and Emma could feel Roland struggling to undress her.

  "I can feel him on top of me!"

  "Calm down."

  "You try being calm when you have no control over your own body!"

  "If I brought you back now, he would only kill you all over again. Best to return when he's most vulnerable."

  "Yeah, and when will that be?"

  "When he thinks he's won."

  "Oh, well, that's just awesome."

  Shortening the space between them, Wa
kiza latched his fingers to Emma's arm.

  "You chose to leave your home alone, chose to leave the ones you love. Be brave and accept the consequences of your actions. I'm trying to help you."

  Attempting to distract herself from the wickedness happening to her body, Emma asked, "How come I'm able to understand what's being said? You're speaking a whole different language."

  "It is in your blood, Emma," he replied. "Now you will understand why my family's heirloom is so important—because it also belongs to you. You summoned me when you touched it," he said. "I was able to appear because you are of my blood."

  "I don't understand. Pawpaw told us most of the Clerys came from Ireland. Y'all were never mentioned." Remembering the last story her Aunt Mary had told, Emma thought, Wait, that's not true at all. The boy, the boy whose hair turned from black to red, came from a woman who was like him. A Native American.

  "Here. Take my hand," he said. "I will show you." The scenery changed as Emma grasped his hand. Instead of standing inside of his family's hut, they stood in the middle of a cabin. There were no glass windows or fine furniture. Nothing about the dwelling screamed happiness; it was dark and weary.

  Slowly it hit her. The boy in the cradle, she thought. This is the cabin from my dream.

  He led Emma toward the room before them, and the door opened automatically. Inside, they found Ayita screaming, her legs spread apart. She was lying on a bed covered in blood. Sweat had glued her black hair to her shoulders. The man Emma recognized as Wakiza's killer was between her legs, and his hands were just as drenched as the sheets. Ayita was giving birth. The man they called MacClery was reaching inside of her, seeming to try and get the baby unstuck. Every time he went in, she shrieked even louder. It wasn't until the fourth try that MacClery emerged holding a newborn baby boy in his arms.

  Surprisingly, MacClery seemed overjoyed about the child. Ayita wept, but as he wrapped the screaming baby boy in cloth, she caught a glimpse of the child, which halted her tears. She held out her arms, and the man Emma only knew as MacClery sat next to her and embraced her tightly. The romantic gesture startled Emma because the only vision she'd had of him had been a cruel one.