George carries a bucket of water
across the square.
The skin under his eyes is smudged,
as though last night
withheld from him its rest.
We walk together,
silent.
I don’t know how
to speak of yesterday,
but I must say something.
“Which is yours?” I ask,
when we reach the cottages
on the other side.
“We lived there.”
George points to a home
three doors down.
“But I’ll be in the barracks now.”
His words
hint at the awful way
his life has changed.
I cannot help myself.
“It’s not the same
as losing your father,
but my uncle’s missing.”
His eyes shine with tears.
Abruptly he turns from me.
Water sloshes from the pail’s edge,
drenching my feet.
Like the water,
this truth washes over me:
Mr. Howe is gone forever.
Perhaps my uncle won’t be found.
Alis
The men arrive back in the village
when the sun burns low.
Manteo’s tribe has promised
to tell the Roanoke we mean no harm.
The Croatoan will invite them
to talk peace with our men
ten days from now.
“To restore the friendship we once had,”
the Governor says.
What sort of friend
slays an innocent man,
I wonder,
but I am comforted to know
something has been done.
“Did you hear of the soldiers?” Father asks.
“Were they with the Croatoan?”
I reach for my bird, remember it is gone.
The Governor shakes his head.
At his sides
Father’s hands
curl into fists.
“My mother says they traveled north,” Manteo says.
“Toward Chesapeake?”
“Yes.”
His head’s still bare,
and now he wears
a chain of shells about his neck—
every day more Indian.
“If we could, we’d go to them at once,”
Governor White says.
“But it would take weeks
to move the cargo to the pinnace,
take it north,
trip by trip.
By then,
summer would be too far gone
to plant and harvest.
There’d be no time to build
before cold weather settles in.”
“But is it safe here?” someone asks.
“A man was murdered yesterday.”
“I understand your worry,” the Governor says.
“But we are trying to set things right.
I believe it’s best to stay.
We’ll be reunited with the missing men next spring,
once we pass the winter here.”
His words cover all of us
assembled in the twilight.
It is the first mention of leaving
since we arrived a week ago,
and though Uncle’s whereabouts are unclear,
I will not lose faith.
“To Virginia!” someone shouts,
“to the City of Ralegh!”
and all around
we join
in jubilee.
“How are you sure they’re still alive?”
Father’s words cut through the celebration.
“There is no certainty,”
the Governor admits,
“but we hold hope close.
We have no other choice.”
“Ferdinando should take us north.”
someone says.
“Ferdinando should take us home!”
another answers.
The Governor’s face grows red.
“Do not speak of that man to me!”
He spits the words.
“Do you know why
he agreed to bring us to Virginia?
So that he might plunder
Spanish ships along the way.
Throughout our voyage
he spoke of nothing else.
It took weeks to persuade him
to wait until he’d brought us here.
Such raiding as he hoped for
risked losing our cargo,
perhaps even our lives.
Once our goods are unloaded,
Ferdinando will be gone.”
“Come.”
Father grabs my hand and Mother’s.
His tone holds an edge.
When talk turns to the missing men,
how quickly his emotions
bend and shift like heated iron.
Alis
Father shuts the door.
His face is drawn,
his dark eyes heavy.
“Alis.”
He says my name
so gently,
it frightens me.
Why does he sound as though
he offers comfort?
“Something’s
wrong,”
my words come slowly,
“something’s
happened.”
Father nods,
his thick, dark hair,
the squared shape of his chin,
so much like Samuel’s.
Mother puts her arm about me.
I steel myself to say the words.
“It’s Uncle, isn’t it?”
Those lurking thoughts,
the ones I’ve tried
and tried
to push away
come roaring back.
“Sweet Alis,” Father says,
“it’s time for you to understand.
Even if Samuel
wasn’t killed by the Roanoke,
with a hasty departure
in foreign waters,
what is the likelihood
the soldiers reached Chesapeake,
where none had ever been?”
This can’t be.
“Samuel’s strong!”
I picture him,
his head thrown back,
laughter ringing forth.
So close he feels,
so vibrant.
I cling to Father,
bury my head in his chest.
“How I’ve wanted to keep faith,” he says.
“But each day has left
more room for doubt.
Samuel's gone.
Now Howe is dead.
How can I still believe
my brother's safe?
He’s lost
and I
could not
protect him.”
Mother strokes my hair.
I cry until my tears are spent,
Father’s jerkin damp beneath my cheek.
KIMI
The Croatoan journey to our village.
They touch their heads and chests,
clasp hands with our men.
Mother and I bring pumpkins,
bowls of fish and berries
as the weroansqua,
Manteo’s mother,
speaks with Wanchese.
They s
ay the English came to them yesterday,
have asked for peace.
A fish slips from the bowl I hold.
Wanchese scowls,
but I know he thinks as I do.
Do they not realize
that time passed long ago?
Alis
I chew a mouthful of bread,
but it is
nothing,
feel the shock of heat
from the open door,
but it is
nothing,
hear the chatter of birds
racing above,
all nothing,
for Uncle
is gone.
August 1587
KIMI
I tell Mother I harvest berries
and return with enough
that she won’t suspect
I deceive her.
Two days pass
and the girl doesn’t come,
my wooden bowl less full
each time I enter our village.
The attack
has taught her
to keep her distance.
I should do the same.
Turn from her now,
I tell myself.
The English only know
to take from us,
add to our sorrow.
Our seed corn they ate,
stealing from a future planting.
Our families crushed with disease,
then stripped away.
Alawa.
Wingina.
Even Uncle
they took and changed.
But I am like a moth
dancing near a flame.
Though there is danger,
I’m drawn ever closer.
The girl.
I hope she comes again.
Alis
I haven’t left the settlement
since Mr. Howe was found.
Only those
collecting wood,
hunting game,
unloading cargo from the ships
may now leave through the gate.
So many worry
we’re unsafe,
even here in the village.
I cannot escape the memories
of Father and the others
holding Mr. Howe’s limbs,
his back riddled with arrows,
the pain
of losing Uncle Samuel.
The Roanoke are the only tribe
who live on the island as we do.
They are responsible
for my grief,
the fears that fester here.
Yet I have not forgotten the girl.
I circle the village,
go no farther.
Hemmed in,
safe and staid.
KIMI
If I could ask Wanchese
I’d say:
Why do they dress as they do?
To speak their language,
does it feel as it sounds,
like sharpened rocks on your tongue?
What makes their skin
the color of a snake’s underside?
Why do the men
not keep their faces smooth
but grow hair from their cheeks?
Do they ever bathe?
For their strong odor lingers
long after they’ve gone.
Though they
have brought us heartache,
must all of them
be enemies?
KIMI
I go to the place
where we first met
and wait,
until the shadows lengthen,
until the sun dips low.
Before leaving,
I pick flowers,
lay them at the base of a tree.
She will come
and see them,
know I’ve been here.
Alis
Once,
Joan whispered
she longed to sleep amongst the clouds,
like the moon when it rests
in the sky’s cupped hands.
I tried not to laugh
at her outlandish ways.
And yet,
how ordinary life is
without a bit of fancy,
without a pinch of daring
to fill our days.
Alis
I have managed not to wake my parents.
I am not needed for another hour.
At first,
I walk along the perimeter of the village
but it is not enough,
merely skirting the border.
My thoughts return
to the marsh grass trek
when we first came,
the dappled tree trunks
where the shoreline ends
at red bark stretching high.
A breeze dances around me.
I hold my damp plait from my neck.
Everything has been so still for days;
this welcome breath of air
entreats me to follow.
I could go back for just a minute,
just one small snatch of time.
Governor White’s warnings,
the sun-bleached bones,
Mr. Howe’s arrow-pierced body
press into my mind,
the Indians that surely lie in wait.
And Uncle,
always Uncle.
But the green world calls,
cool and inviting.
He would understand.
Uncle’s bird is out there.
The only piece of him I possess
I have managed to lose.
I check
recheck
for any movement
in the guardhouse,
breathe a silent prayer,
fight against my worries,
and rush forward.
I keep
the settlement at my back,
the forest ahead.
The girl in the wood.
Will I see her again?
Alis
She is not here
amidst the branches full of fragrant needles
made richer in this sprinkling rain,
the red trunk dressed in moss,
its bark a bolder hue in dampness,
but at my feet
a wilted posy
of starflowers.
I lift them to me,
bury my face in their petals,
this offering.
It is too early.
Usually I’ve seen her
past mid-afternoon.
I take the ribbon from my plait,
weave it around the stems.
I will come back,
the flowers say.
Alis
I wonder what Joan would think
of the Indian girl,
how my loneliness has lessened
in knowing she is somewhere near.
KIMI
After the rain
I find them.
The flowers
still rest at the base
of the moss-covered tree.
Though storms have pounded
many petals away,
there is a red ribbon
wound about the stems.
Alawa,
my joyful sister,
danced with colored ribbons
streaming from her hands.
They were a gift from the Englis
hman
in Wingina’s time.
This ribbon is for me.
I twist it about my fingers,
marvel at its elegance,
wish I could adorn my skirt
with its grace.
But this treasure
cannot be displayed.
I hide the ribbon
in my skirt’s deerskin folds
with the wooden bird.
The girl has told me
she will come
when she is able.
I will be here,
waiting.
KIMI
Alawa,
I remember
stroking your cheek, round as a pumpkin,
pushing back your tangled hair,
your face clenched in pain.
I stayed with you,
brought the water gourd,
covered you when the cool air taunted,
promising hatred
for those who brought this illness
that was your end.
Sister,
forgive me.
I have not kept my word.
Wingina,
I see
what you first embraced.
Though their appearance is foreign,
at times in them I glimpse something familiar.
Though their montoac injures,
it is also capable of marvelous things.
Father,
I am sorry
I did not seek your wisdom.
Wanchese,
I feel
your hatred,
know you reject their ways.
Uncle,
I ask your pardon,
for I cannot think as you do.
There is one among them
I long to understand.
KIMI
Her montoac
is not a thing
for me to keep.
It is right
to return what is hers.
Alis
It has been days
since I’ve seen her,
yet this time when I go
she is there.
She smiles,
extends her hand to me—
cradling Uncle Samuel’s bird!
Where did she find it?
I kiss it,
clasp it to my cheek,
and for a moment,
it is as though
he’s with me.
Her other hand is heaped with berries.
I shove them in my mouth,
hardly chewing,
their sweet goodness
dripping off my chin.
Blue Birds Page 5
