Norseman Chief

by Born, Jason

  Kesegowaase instantly beamed with pride showing both rows of young, unworn teeth. Ahanu noticed this saying, “You may not be so satisfied when you are close to exhaustion and failure during the hardships young Kesegowaase. Show this woman who bore you and even now tends to your wounds from foolish blustering, the respect she commands and do not say another word on this subject.”

  Hurit wanted to protest the chief’s decision and interference into her own family’s business, but she respected his conclusion too much. Instead, silently overcome with emotion, Hurit rose, walking outside saying that she was going to retrieve firewood despite the small heap to the side of the lapping fire.

  When her steps told us Hurit was out of earshot, Kesegowaase said to Ahanu, “Thank you dedenaan for your words on my behalf.” Ahanu nodded while smiling thinly, returning to his quiet picking at Right Ear’s filthy coat.

  I was unfamiliar with the word “dedenaan” that the boy used in their tongue and thought it was a term of respect for a chief or elder. I tried to use it myself next, “Thank you dedenaan for demonstrating patience with my constant affronts to your people, especially this woman who has been most kind. My intention is to disrespect neither she, nor you.”

  Both he and the boy laughed at me then, raising their eyebrows at one another. Ahanu reached out his strong tattoo-covered arm, slapping my knee, “Halldorr, you are welcome for my patience. I fear I must have a sea full of it when working with you my friend, insulting us as you often do. Please do not call me by dedenaan which means grandfather, as I am only old enough to be your father. I prefer if only my own family calls me by this word.”

  I listened and then understood my mistake. “I am sorry again for misspeaking. But if you are the boy’s grandfather, then Hurit is your daughter and you’ve never spoken of one.” Then I finally fully comprehended their relationship, “No, she must be your daughter-in-law! She is Kitchi’s widow!” I was correct because at the mention of his name Kesegowaase’s face showed despondence. “Which means she was also forced to marry the Segonku!” Turning to the boy’s grim face, I said, “Kesegowaase, have you ever been told of all the events surrounding your father’s death?”

  “I have not. But the village whispers constantly. If you know of how my father was killed, that means you had a hand in it and I do not care to hear from you any longer. You are never to speak his name again.” Kesegowaase carried his anger just a hair’s breadth from the surface of his skin, ready to erupt with just a hint of trouble. He abruptly jumped up to walk out, but Ahanu placed a firm hand on his wrist, causing him to halt in his grandfather’s grasp. The old man’s eyes told the boy to sit back down without a spoken word. Kesegowaase did so, but his disposition was sullen as he stared to the ground.

  “Thank you again, Ahanu and thank you Kesegowaase. I met your father on the day of his death. I did not know any of your language at that time, but tried to trade my comb as a sign of friendship.” I fumbled in my nearby pack, eventually pulling the two-sided ivory comb out to let him hold it. He studied it and the runes inscribed across the walrus tusk spine, running a gentle finger along the length of the teeth and foreign words. “Your father had wisdom inherent in his mind and we spoke, him and me, neither understanding the other’s language, but talking nonetheless. My hope was that I could forge a new friendship between our peoples, but it was not to be. Fate came down hard that day as it so often does. The one you call Megedagik was there and shot an arrow toward my chest. Your father, brave and true as he was, stepped into its path. He died in my arms.”

  The boy fiddled with the comb while the only sounds in the hut were Right Ear’s new snores and the licking flames from the fire. I grew impatient, but Ahanu smiled at me, indicating with his thin, muscled hand that I should remain silent. At last the boy spoke, “And then the man who killed my father used his power as the then-chief’s son to take my mother as his wife, to abuse his power on her and on me.”

  “It is as you say, Kesegowaase,” answered Ahanu. “I have not told you these things because I did not want to dishonor the dead. Knowing this aspect of the past would not have changed your life. But now it is important that you know the truth since my friend Halldorr has come to us.”

  “What does he have to do with it? His people killed many of our men! Men I knew and hoped to become.” I looked down at the earthen floor, unable to meet his intense stare. “I am overjoyed that Megedagik was eventually killed by a woman of the fair-haired giants, but I had plans to do that myself. Why should Halldorr’s presence be important to my life at all?”

  Ahanu, which means “he laughs,” lived up to his name, chuckling softly. This infuriated his grandson, but the boy showed great strength and remained silent, looking back and forth between the two of us. I waited for an answer too, because I did not know why my being in their company would have an effect on whether or not Kesegowaase should know the truth. “Oh, young people are a delight,” said the chief. “Do you find the young enchanting, Enkoodabooaoo?”

  “I do, especially the young women,” I said trying to bring some levity to the heavy room.

  Ahanu chuckled more, “I too, like to watch the young women walk away from me, as they are wont to do. But I mean all the young. They think that I know the whys.” He then laughed himself into a small fit, coughing once or twice before regaining his composure. The boy’s face flushed as his grandfather laughed at his questions. “Kesegowaase, I do not know why the truth had to be revealed to you in this way, only that it was. I do not know why Halldorr is important in your knowledge of it, but he is, for he brought it to you. Halldorr has a place in our world because he is here! Without him I would have remained silent and you would have had the whispers of women around the cook pots to bring you knowledge of the past.” Seeing his grandson still carried anger, the old man added, “I don’t laugh because you are foolish. I laugh because young people have all the promise that the old do not. Perhaps you will grow to know more of the why’s than I have ever been able to know.”

  “My people have killed your people, at times with no provocation. That has happened. Perhaps the opposite occurred in Thorfinn’s pasture. I do not know. I am here as a friend of your people to learn and live. Perhaps we can work together to build understanding so that we may trade combs instead of arrows,” I said.

  The boy again looked at the comb, considering the words he heard from the two older men in the room. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers along the teeth on each side, one set fine, the other coarse.

  “Do these symbols have any meaning?” Kesegowaase asked, scratching a thumb along the Norse runes.

  “Aye, they do,” I smiled. “They proclaim the mighty Thor to be god.”

  The three of us talked long into the night about the gods I had known and compared them to those they had known. I spoke about the One God and my encounters with him and his son, the Christ in my dreams.

  The conflicts of the past were forgotten.

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time winter settled in to its full depth around the tribe, I had fully recovered from the damage Etleloo and his men saw fit to inflict upon me when I first came to their beach in the autumn. Most of the wounds and bruising healed completely, however, the old hag left her mark as a permanent scar of seared flesh on my chest where she dumped the hot embers. The skin was pulled taught with melted permanent lines set into my hide. No hair would even grow in the burn’s wake. I had seen the woman several times carrying buckets to and from the creek since that day, but she would not even meet my eyes, clearly fearing my friendship with the chief. I never spoke a word about it, though I dreamed of seeing her accidentally drown in the river nearby.

  I was given the task of working with the women. It was a source of much laughter from the men as they watched me assemble with the bands of females for their daily tasks, but Ahanu commanded it and so it became true. My fate – I was once again resigned to it. Etleloo took great happiness in openly scoffing at my predicament. The women, too, th
ought the idea strange that a man would be thrust upon their heretofore orderly labors. Only Kesegowaase and Right Ear seemed to be firmly on my side, not shunning me with the disdain so quickly given by the others.

  The women worked in bands at various tasks important to the village. I saw early on that they performed their duties in family groups, only coming together among greater, extended families when a task was large enough to benefit the entire tribe. Much of their duties involved acting as porters, carrying heavy loads of firewood or water-filled buckets all over the village. So robust were they that their strength and vigor put some of my old Norse comrades to shame.

  A typical day for me began early, before the sun crested the horizon, Hurit calling unpleasant words from outside my mamateek. In the winter mornings, upon rising with Right Ear at my side and eating the dried leftovers from the previous evening which were kept warm over the dwindling fire, I walked outside as the women prayed to the sun to bring back its bounty in the coming year, reminding me of my youth when my father and I celebrated the Yule and rejoiced at the sun changing its path to portend longer days were in the making. More than once, I gave a personal prayer to the One God to celebrate the birth of Jesus, who, in a vision, had assured me of my vast progeny one day. I often huffed at the last thought. An old, lone Norseman serving with hearty small skraelings, how would I marry?

  At any rate, the men would soon rouse themselves and form two or three hunting parties to head farther inland during the daylight hours in search of game. I learned that when the summer was upon them they claimed most of their food from the creeks and sea, but risked the forests and hills of the inner country when the waters were ice-filled. Ahanu, Nootau, and other men of similar age stayed behind along with the boys who had not yet passed the trials. Kesegowaase was the oldest among those boys. I was the only man of my age, who was not maimed or disabled in some way, forced to remain close to the village. I dearly missed the companionship and exhilarating thrills of the hunt each day as I watched Etleloo, Hassun, and Rowtag organize their bands, gathering weapons and small bits of dried meat for the journey.

  Mostly I worked the hides with a group of women. We had a constant supply from the game the men brought home each day so that there was always a batch in some stage of work. My chores were mostly spent in silence as the women ignored me even when I attempted to talk with them. They became more comfortable chatting among themselves, pretending I was not there, to pass the time.

  One chilly afternoon with bright sunshine reflecting off the crystallized snow heaped around us, Hurit was tugging on a string of tendons from a recent kill to separate it into sinew-thread for sewing aprons, leggings, and other articles. I scraped the hair off a hide that was a day or two old and asked, “Do you think I could buy some of the hides from your people to make parchment?”

  It was not a particularly interesting question, but I remember it vividly because for some reason Hurit chose to respond, despite showing total indifference to all my previous attempts at conversation. “I am not sure it matters what I think. My opinions are not valued.” She kept her strong fingers busy, her eyes fixed on the work.

  I sat back on my haunches, straightening my cracking back while exhaling audibly, taking the woman in. The love or lust I felt when I lay near death under her care had faded due to her distaste for me, but she was a beautiful woman despite the hard life Providence chose to lay upon her. Lost in thought for a moment, I considered that maybe when the Christ came to my dream, he led me to her. Perhaps Hurit was to be my wife and the mother of my children. Leif told me I needed to stay behind in Leifsbudir all those years ago in order to find my woman – he had a vision that told him this. Maybe she would find a way to look past the pain and anger in her heart toward my people and be drawn to me. “My people do not value daydreaming Enkoodabooaoo.”

  I stirred from my reverie, thinking of the name they had given me. It meant “he who lives alone.” Suddenly, I was certain I was to be an old bachelor forever, never again knowing a woman’s body in the best way. I banished the thought more quickly than I ever could have when I was young, saying, “You are wrong, Hurit. Your people value your thoughts. Your word saved my life.”

  She shook her head, “No, you are wrong. My word did not save your life. The honor my people owe their chief saved your life. I merely mentioned him and his station.”

  “You may think this way if you wish, but had you not opened your mouth that day, I would be dead. No one else showed interest in intervening.”

  Hurit gave a half-hearted nod, with begrudging acknowledgment that I had a point. In a mere heartbeat I could tell the silence would settle around us again. The other women chatted idly all along the main village path as they tended to their duties. Children followed them, helping where they could. Kesegowaase was organizing a group of young boys to gather firewood from an area of the forest that had not yet been picked clean. They pulled simple flat sleds to aid their gathering. One of them, a boy aged about seven years named Pajack, repeatedly tossed snowballs and taunts at Kesegowaase, telling Hurit’s son that he would be a man before Kesegowaase even though Pajack was younger and smaller. Kesegowaase ignored the boy as he led the troupe into the trees. Hurit watched him go, hurt in her eyes.

  “So do you think I will be permitted to buy some of the deer hides to manufacture parchment? You never answered my question.”

  She smiled then. It was a sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless. “Why should I start answering your questions now? Ignoring you has become a fine way to pass the time.” Hurit returned to her tugging.

  I smiled then too. “Because I will continue asking them until they are answered. Talking to me will be the single, best way to silence me.”

  She caught herself just as she was letting out a laugh, regaining her composure, snatching another tendon. The other women working nearby looked at her with surprise after her outburst, but only shook their own heads while returning to their labors.

  I asked a third time before she exclaimed, “Enough. I will answer your question though you must talk with the men on trading. First, I cannot imagine what you have that my people would value. Your weapons are fine and made of a material I cannot understand, but I have been told your people will not trade weapons. Second, I do not even know what this parchment of which you speak of is or is used for. I have not heard of it, so again, you will have to talk to the men so they know what you want to do with the hides.” When she finished speaking, Hurit’s wide eyes looked at me, silently asking if I was satisfied.

  I crawled on all fours to where another hide was stretched out wide under the sky and began scraping away its hair. “It’s used for books.” I saw her confusion so added, “Parchment is used to make the pages of books.”

  “You act as if you are helping me, but I think you mock me. I know you speak our language like someone who has learned it since childhood and then you use these words, parchment and books. I think you make the words up to make me look foolish.”

  “I don’t make them up. I just don’t know the words in your language. I’ve never heard any of your people use them. It would be best if I went to my home and brought a book to show you what I mean.”

  Now the old hag, my nemesis who burned my chest, piped up, “You won’t go anywhere until we get this work done. You are to be a woman of the tribe and our women don’t go running off to their houses during the day to gather beads or other nonsense. That sort of carelessness is for men.” She gave me a squinting glare.

  Thankfully Hurit broke the tension as I thought I might walk over to the woman and cuff her head. “You may show Kesegowaase and me these books tonight after the evening meal.”

  . . .

  Shouts from one of the returning hunting parties interrupted our work shortly thereafter. Etleloo’s men called for the older council members left behind as they bound from the forest. Heads and eyes throughout the village craned toward their cries.

  Etleloo was at the head, three of his warriors dragging deer
carcasses on slabs of wood through the snow came at his heels. He strode to where I stood, propping his hands at his waist in a wide stance, “Leave the beasts for this hearty woman to clean by herself,” pointing at me with a gesture of the head. “The men of the village have real business to discuss.”

  His three soldiers obediently rolled the dead deer from their sleds, sprawling them out against me, turning the snow red when the blood clots shifted loose. Without a word all the men marched to Ahanu’s humble bark house, entering the low door. Each woman, all of my helpers scattered toward the thin bark walls so they could hear what news Etleloo brought to the chief. Bands of children abandoned their play or chores in the waning winter light to see if they too could discern what was said around the council fire.

  Immediately I heard shouts of all sorts of agitated men, each trying to talk over the other to air his opinion on some matter of importance. I remembered many war councils where King Olaf’s commanders all had differing opinions. Sometimes it was the loudest whose path was followed, other times it was the quietest with the wisest solution. Which would Ahanu and his people take in this case? What did they discuss? I did not know, but wished I did. I longed for them to send a young warrior to retrieve me, pleading for all the knowledge or experience I had gained on the countless strandhoggs and battles I had seen. My fingers tapped out an old tune on the ribs of one of their prey while I waited, but the messenger never emerged so I set about butchering the animals like the woman I had become.

  Midway through the third beast, the door of the chief’s residence popped open, surprising the women and children gathered around. The young man who came out ignored them, striding straight toward me, “The chief wants you to come to his home.” The man was halfway back to the council before I was on my own feet, my knees creaking like never before, my age showing itself.