It’s flawed,
this crude attempt,
the work of a beginner,
yet Kimi lifts it in the early moonlight,
holds it to her cheek.
“Iacháwanes,” she whispers.
“Montoac.”
My voice breaks.
KIMI
There are so many words
I do not have for her:
Nothing
to speak of comfort
to speak of courage
to speak of hope.
What I have is so little
but I give it still:
“Alis,” I say.
Her eyes seek mine.
“Come home.”
These are words she does not know.
Still she follows.
KIMI
We push forward
through the fast approaching darkness,
enter a clearing where
the moon hangs overhead.
And
then
they
come.
Hastily painted,
they storm
from the forest.
Bows,
quivers,
arrows,
they rush
to the English.
Alis cowers at my side.
Alis
We are surrounded!
Men painted in fearful patterns,
more threatening in these shadows,
arrows at the ready!
Is this how it
will end for me?
KIMI
From the ring of men around us,
this time Wanchese
calls to me.
“Kimi?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
I tell my heart to steady.
Fear cannot rule me now.
“I have someone with me.”
I step aside
so that all might see
Alis.
“An English girl?” he says.
“Alis. My friend.”
She hears her name,
turns to me,
such trust in her eyes.
I will do everything
to keep her safe.
What strength it takes,
just being here.
Have I led her
just to bring her harm?
Wanchese
hates the English.
“Your friend.”
His face hardens.
Alis
The man who speaks with Kimi
approaches me,
his face,
his arms,
his chest
awash with color.
He wears skins about his waist,
a chain of shells and copper beads.
I cannot help
how my body shakes.
He lifts his hand.
I duck,
expecting him to strike.
It is the rope of pearls he touches,
speaking to Kimi with words
I don’t yet understand.
KIMI
“You gave this to her,”
Wanchese says.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“You offered her protection.”
He knows it to be true.
“What made you do this?”
What do I tell him?
Above,
two birds slip from a hollowed tree,
dance across the heavens.
Never have I seen iacháwanes
as the dark begins its path across the sky.
They’ve come to help me
make things plain.
Alis lifts her eyes to them.
A smile lights her face.
“Iacháwanes,” I say.
The word is not an answer,
but something changes in him
as he watches us together,
something
tells me he sees:
Alis
belongs
with me.
Alis
Iacháwanes.
How gracefully they wing above,
how joyfully they scold,
they flit,
they chase.
The man studies the birds.
His sounds
bend, change shape
to words I understand.
“Many times Manteo has come,
asked for patience with your people.
He’s promised they would leave
in the spring."
I stare.
This man speaks English?
“Is this when the English will go?”
Manteo speaking with this man,
is this what George saw?
KIMI
Manteo.
The Croatoan
so like the English.
Why does Uncle speak his name?
Alis
“They leave much sooner,” I tell him.
“Days from now.”
I focus on his eyes,
not on his fearsome paint.
“Most to Chesapeake.
Perhaps later,
some will go
to Croatoan with Manteo.”
If he is released,
if they let him leave the prison.
KIMI
“This girl,” Uncle says.
“Alis,” I answer.
“Alis.”
She hears her name,
reaches for my hand.
I squeeze it.
So often I longed
to tell Wanchese of her.
Now the moment has come.
“She is dear to me.
Please let her stay.”
“You miss Alawa.”
“I miss her every day.”
“This girl,”
he pauses,
“Alis,
she’s the one
who told you go.”
“Yes.”
Alis
The man turns to me again.
“Why should I trust
what you say about the English?”
“Because I’ve left them.”
Though my voice wavers,
I must finish what I have to say.
“But I cannot leave Kimi.”
These words finally make it true.
He looks to Kimi,
to me,
he speaks
to all the men.
They retreat.
Alis
These men
raced to destroy my village,
but Kimi
stopped them,
my words
turned them away.
KIMI
“Take Alis to your mother,”
Wanchese says.
Alis
Kimi insists on washing my feet,
leads me through the palisade
into her village.
The women sit about a fire,
follow us with their eyes.
Alis
KIMI
A woman
holds her arms out,
pulls Kimi to her breast.
“Mother.”
I see how
she strokes Kimi’s cheek,
as my mother
so oft touched mine.
“I didn’t know where
you’d gone,” Mother says.
“And with Chogan dead . . .”
I lift my eyes to hers.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I’m so grateful
I can offer comfort.
“I have brought you someone.
Your daughter,” I say.
“My daughter?”
Mother turns to Alis,
stares at this girl
with faded hair,
with water eyes.
I want Mother to see as I do.
“You were weaving.
You told me I was strong.
Do you remember this?”
“Yes,” Mother says.
“I did not lose my pearls.
I gave them away.”
“Why would you do
this?” Mother says.
“I chose to keep her safe.
Alis has left the English.
She has no one now.”
Mother looks again to Alis,
pulls me close once more.
“My daughter,” Mother whispers,
“you have made me proud.”
Now,
with Kimi,
I am also in the woman’s arms.
Great sobs rise up within me.
I have forsaken
Mother, Father, Samuel.
But I’ve protected them this way.
She kisses my hair,
tucks me under her chin,
makes the gentle noises
all mothers use
to soothe
a child’s pain.
Their tears run together.
I cling to her,
this woman,
as I would my mother.
I weep
for all I’ve lost,
all I’ve given away.
Alis
They gather at the beach,
so ready for another place.
Have only two days passed?
Time is equal to forever
since I was last with them.
Father stands near the tree line
with Mother and Samuel.
One last time he calls to me,
though his face says
he expects no answer.
Mother wipes her eyes
on Samuel’s swaddling bands.
Father pulls a knife from his waist,
uses it to mark the sand.
Mother lines the pattern with shells,
sobs as Father leads her
to the pinnace.
It is final,
my staying here.
The weight of my leaving
and all I have rejected,
this uncertainty
I will claim.
Kimi and I run to where they were,
examine what they together made.
A bird,
like Uncle’s parting gift.
It is farewell and sorrow,
a final blessing,
hope and heartache.
A new beginning.
I belong
on Roanoke,
where Uncle lived
his final days.
The place
that brought me Kimi.
She clasps my hand.
I use the fist we’ve formed
to wipe my cheeks,
whisper my thanks
to her,
this girl who calls me sister.
Alis
I learn the rhythm
of the morning fields,
sunshine ripening
burnished corn,
the stillness
of the afternoons,
the coolness
of the shimmering stream,
the melody
of the evening—
mealtime voices,
the thundering fire,
the silent song of moon and stars
spread across the heavens.
How is this way of living new to me?
Its music
I have somehow
always known.
August 1590
Alis
It has been three summers
since English boats
have huddled near the beach
as they do now.
All night,
the men aboard
call to the shore,
their voices rise together.
Summer is a-coming in
Loudly sing cuckoo
The song,
it puzzles me.
Groweth seed and bloweth mead
and springs the wood anew
Sing cuckoo!
A memory
from another time.
“We are here!” their noises say.
“We’re searching for our countrymen.”
My mother worries
when I tell her I want to see them,
but Kimi understands.
——
At dawn they come ashore.
I crouch behind reeds.
Their dark backs bob like driftwood
as they trudge from the beach.
How hot they must be
with such heavy clothing,
how odd to see again
whiskers on men’s faces,
not smooth cheeks plucked clean.
Though curiosity sparks within me,
there’s no desire to call to them,
show them I am near.
For this I fully understand:
The English are no longer mine.
The Governor is frailer now.
“Someone’s been here.
These recent tracks
were left by Indians.”
I see the marks he speaks of—
no impressions made with English shoes,
just footprints in the sand.
My own.
I follow the men to the village,
knowing rubble is all they’ll find.
Those who went to Chesapeake
broke down houses,
barracks, forge
to use again.
Those few who went with Manteo
took all else left behind.
“They’ve disappeared,” the Governor says,
“lost like the fifteen men.”
Lost.
The word sounds strange,
for it doesn’t speak of me.
Once,
I was a part of these people.
Three years have passed.
It was not long ago.
At times I ache
for Samuel,
Mother,
Father,
even George,
yet it is hard to remember
before Kimi was my sister,
Roanoke m
y world.
The men search the village.
“Croatoan!”
The Governor traces the letters
he finds on the palisade,
hope alight in his voice.
“Let us go to them.”
I watch them
until I can no longer see,
inspect my naked feet,
brush the dirt from my soles,
in haste run to my village,
hurry to the place
I belong.
Glossary
Algonquian is a language family with over two dozen dialects. The following words from a now-extinct dialect would have been used by the Croatoan and Roanoke peoples.
iacháwanes—Eastern bluebird. John White’s watercolor of iacháwanes is now at the British Museum and can be seen online:
http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_detailsaspx?objectId=728253&partId=1&people=103070&peoA=103070-2-23&page=1
Blue Birds Page 14
