by Born, Jason
Yet if I did help, I would forever weaken the boy. Surviving would not be worth it if Hurit, Ahanu, and I knew he received aid out here in the wilderness. Kesegowaase too might even know if he came upon a squirrel with a freshly broken neck, a fresh trickle of blood from its nostrils. I decided it would be better for him to die with the type of true honor that comes from the trials than to live with shame of deception his entire life.
But what if he did survive without my help? Forever after and no matter what I said, Hurit and Ahanu would suspect that I may have helped the boy live long enough to become a man. Even if their words said they believed my pleadings, their minds might seize upon the idea that the whole trial was tainted. What should I do?
At the end of my struggle I sighed, calling out, “Kesegowaase. I am Halldorr, the Enkoodabooaoo. I am here, but will not help you. You came to this place as but a boy. If you expect to survive to manhood, you will rise up, feed yourself, and live. Take your place among the men of your people such as your father, Kitchi, your grandfather, Ahanu, and the countless other great men from your tribe.”
With a heart now confident in my decision I plunged deeper into the trees toward the village, not taking another glance back to see how he responded, if at all. Over my shoulder, I shouted, “I leave you now. Prove to yourself that you are worthy of one day leading this nation.”
. . .
Two young women had just finished washing every inch of Kesegowaase’s body – a body that was still very much alive! He survived his trials, returning on his own nearly one month earlier. When he came into the village for the first time as a man, I could barely recognize him. The skins he wore for clothes had been thoroughly cleaned so that not even a hint of the stench or soiling marks remained. Over top his clothes he wore the unmistakable hide of a newly killed bear. His face appeared as if it had filled out from when I saw him nearly starved to death just days earlier. The boy’s, well, the man’s gate looked forceful, purposeful, and confident. Kesegowaase had survived!
It was to be a full moon tonight and groups of unmarried women were preparing the newly made young men for the ceremony that would finalize their initiation into adulthood. There were six groups of twos scrubbing, scraping, and buffing the men. A seventh pair of women was unnecessary as the last lad had died while yet in his cage. His keeper said that the boy expired right before his eyes as he forced more of the paste into the boy’s mouth on the fourth day. The boy, I forget his name for it was so long ago, began thrashing all about in the tiny confines until all at once his body went limp. The guard’s ear immediately went to the small, thin chest where no heart beat was heard.
Kesegowaase used all the restraint he could muster to dampen his own enthusiasm so as not to appear childlike while telling me of the events that transpired since I last saw him dying next to the tree. I sat on a log absent-mindedly whittling a stick with my saex listening to his tale as the un-betrothed women wrapped pristine, newly tanned, buckskin leggings at his calves. “I was so tired Halldorr, exhausted like never before. I lay there not knowing it at the time, but I was probably going to die from starvation.”
I admired my handiwork which amounted to no more than a sharp wooden spike. “And what stopped you from dying? Other than just food, I mean.”
“That’s just it; it’s hard for me to say. I think that Glooskap spoke to me. It must have been him anyway. I heard words, but it took several of them before I could tell they were spoken to me and in my own language. They sounded far away, distant, as if a tree spirit spoke them to me.”
I smiled, now digging the point of the stick into the earth. My eye caught a flash of the side of one of the young woman’s breasts. It was a pleasant sight, plump, young and full for it was not sunken from the toll a child takes on a woman’s body. But then I thought that this woman may someday be Kesegowaase’s wife and such looks would dishonor him so I returned my thoughts to the yarn he told. “Could you not recognize the voice?”
“Yes and no. I mean it sounded familiar, but my mind was still half in the spirit world. I suppose it was a voice of the gods with whom I visited the previous days. I probably recognized it from that.”
“So you heard Glooskap speak to you. What did he say?”
Holding his arms out at his side while one of the women cinched a new breechcloth around his waist, Kesegowaase gestured animatedly with his hands, “He told me to be like my father and grandfather. They survived the trials! I should feed myself if I expected to do the same.”
“Sounds like fairly obvious advice.”
“No, no, no Halldorr. If your people do not have a ritual like this, then you don’t know what it is like to come out of the spirit world. I would have died without it.”
“We have a similar ritual, it’s called telling lies around the mead table. We usually come out of this spirit world the next morning with bruises on our knuckles and faces. So did food fall from the heavens like in the story of Moses I told you about?”
The man scoffed at me. “No. I stood up after Glooskap’s speech. My legs each looked like a quaking snake, they wobbled so much. I walked out of the clearing, tripped over a rock, toppled down a hill and landed on top of the largest tortoise I have ever seen!” The women rose to leave. They said nothing; rather, they gathered their cleaning implements and ducked out through the door. He watched the prettier of the two leave before continuing. “I held the armored beast in place with one hand, grabbed the nearest stick I could find, and shoved it between his plates into his neck. His large head popped out a time or two while he struggled to live, but in the end he died in a matter of moments. Killing him gave me knew energy. I tucked the beast under my arm and returned to the clearing to start a cooking fire. He roasted for over an hour while I gathered some roots to give me strength.”
“Have you told Hurit how close you came to death then?” I wondered this because when I returned I told the lie to both Ahanu and Hurit that the boy appeared to be in good health and was safely out of the wysoccan haze.
“Why would I?” the man asked.
“Because she is your mother.”
Kesegowaase shook his head, “She was my mother. I am a man and a man does not, should not run home and tell his mother of every little event of his life.”
I nodded for the young man was correct. The trials had seemed to achieve their aim with this one. “And the bear hide? I cannot believe you’ve shown restraint for an entire month and not told anyone how you came to wear it.”
For the first time ever, I then heard a laugh that I would usually expect to hear from his grandfather, Ahanu. It was mischievous, yet wise. “I am quickly finding it is sometimes beneficial to let the mysterious stories people tell suffice for an explanation. My own people are creating myths about me that may or may not hold any truth.” He was of his grandfather’s blood. My old friend Leif would like his wit.
“And what about me? Will you tell me the truth?”
“Of course I will! Tell no one else, though. What am I saying? You don’t really speak to anyone except for a few words here and there.” The man gave me a wink before beginning the story, “After my tortoise dinner I was asleep in the cage for protection, when . . .”
He was cut off by Nootau who poked his head into the mamateek, “Just because you are a man now does not mean you may arrive whenever you wish. Come to the ceremony.”
Nootau ducked back out. Kesegowaase gave a smiling shrug, “I’ll finish later,” and then he was gone. I held back a moment and resolved that I, too, would prefer to let the legend of Kesegowaase’s bear kill grow in my own heart. I decided I would not ask him again and if he tried to tell me I would steer the subject elsewhere.
. . .
The newly ordained men spent the rest of the evening hours receiving their first tattoos from the elders while the village feasted around a roaring fire. Kesegowaase soon wore several of the permanent markings which would obtain additional company over the years until much of his skin was covered like the other expe
rienced warriors and medicine men. His ears and the skin surrounding them were decorated like the shell of a tortoise, a reference only he and I understood. The animal’s forelegs extended at angles to his temple and onto his shaved scalp. The hind legs and tail protruded from the bottom of his ear across his lower jaw and neck. Jutting straight from the top of his ear, or the shell of the beast, was the neck and head of the tortoise. Its mouth was wide open on the side of Kesegowaase’s head and a stream of water came out, snaked up and over his crown, only to disappear into the mouth of the twin tortoise on the other side. He took the pain with all the stoicism I would expect from a man bent on demonstrating strength. Hurit looked on with a quiet pride.
The sun set long ago, but the fat, full moon drenched the area with light. The women danced for their men, until they finally sat in an exhausted sweat to let the men take over. Nootau dabbed the last of the blood from Kesegowaase’s finished tortoise tattoos. The boy rose, eager for the next phase of the ceremony, but Nootau pushed him back down, indicating he should lie length-wise on a long-fallen log. “We have agreed that you will receive another marking so that many generations will know of your triumph over the great bear during the trials.” And in truth, it was a feat. I had later learned that only one in five boys survive the trial given to Kesegowaase. Many died from the wysoccan or thirst or starvation long before the effects of the drug ever wore off. Others died from a beast or exposure once they escaped their prison. Hurit’s son did neither and came back with the hide of a bear as if to stamp out any doubts about the delay in gaining his manhood.
Another hour of tapping the burnt poplar dust and ink into the man’s smooth, shaved skin on the back of his head left Kesegowaase with the clawed paw of a bear just above the nape of his neck. When he stood and smiled at me, I was shocked to see that the young boy I knew just one month earlier had become a frightening warrior. He looked like someone with the will, mind, and muscling to kill a man. I thought of the battles I had had with his people not so long ago. I thought of the ferocity they showed. But I also remembered that they died just as well as our people when the steel of a blade or the iron of an arrow pierced their skull. I would have to train Kesegowaase so that the same did not happen to him.
A loud hacking sound interrupted the celebration as Ahanu stood with a great smile, even though he coughed away into the air. When he finished the fit and the onlookers had all settled, my friend wiped a dab of spittle from his chin, saying, “It is good that Glooskap sees that we replenish ourselves with new men because I fear I will split like shale if I cough like that again.” His people would not hear of such talk and to a person everyone grumbled loudly.
The old man tutted the crowd, “Oh, I am sure you are wise. I will likely live forever like no man before me, perhaps taking some of these young women for a bride or two in the coming years.” The village quickly laughed and returned to their good humor. “I would like those with the proven, necessary strength, those who passed the trials to come to me.” The implicit shame heaped on the family of the boy who died was lost on no one. His family sat, unmoving, on blankets brought out from their mamateek at the edge of the crowd. The dead boy’s father held his chin high, while the mother dropped tears onto their youngest child who nursed at her breast. To this day I would think he died honorably, but who am I to understand Ahanu’s people.
Rowtag stood next to Ahanu with a great wooden bowl in his hands. The man’s arms were bent and the muscles worked, rippling as the bowl teetered, filled nearly to the brim with the red ochre paint their people loved so. One-by-one Ahanu covered the bowed heads and faces of the six men being honored in the ceremony. He dipped his hand deeply into the red liquid while praising their god, Glooskap, even pleading for his mischievous twin brother, Malsum, to shift his form into the wolf of the wilderness and guide these men on their lives’ journeys.
I reacted to the prayer with a start for I thought of how similar to my old gods this brother of Glooskap sounded. Odin himself had a roguish opposite called Loki who could shape shift to any form or even either sex he desired. Many times he, too, appeared as a wolf. I dismissed my musing as thoughts for another time.
With heads and even the small tufts of hair on their crowns completely covered in red, Kesegowaase and his peers were given the distinct privilege of speaking their mind regarding any matter they deemed important for the tribe. My young friend spoke first, though I do not know if that was by design because he was the oldest or if he happened to be standing in the correct place. At any rate the crowd hushed and gave the young man respect, listening intently. The only sounds other than his voice were the great crackles and hisses spouting from the fire. The flashing, dancing light from the fire blended eerily with the blue light from the moon to paint a dreadful figure in Kesegowaase, but his words were drenched in peace and wisdom beyond his years.
“Fathers and mothers of my people, I honor and praise all of you living and dead for showing me the way in life. Just over one moon ago, I was like this creature before me.” He pointed to a young boy of about two years, who sat on his father’s knee, his enormous eyes fixed on the terrifying face of Kesegowaase. “But now you and our chief have seen fit to extend to me the right of manhood by allowing me the gift of the trials.” Some gift, I thought.
Etleloo, who sat to my left, leaned in, “If you could just see the trials, you would not think they are a gift.” I chuckled at him. This man, the man who at first tortured me, was slowly becoming a friend, though I do not know if he would have called me one at that time.
“Despite my serious words, our friend and captive, the Enkoodabooaoo, laughs.” The village gave a short gasp at the reprimand I received, but Kesegowaase tempered the remark. “Our chief laughs when others are serious so I suppose that may indicate that Halldorr is wise, like out leader.” My eyes met Kesegowaase’s and we nodded at one another. I then glanced at Hurit who watched her son, enraptured. She looked beautiful most times, but her silhouette appeared so strong that night with her prominent cheek bones catching every stray band of light, that I wanted nothing more than to stand and proclaim my love for her in front of the whole of the village.
My thoughts wandered for a time to more base subjects pertaining to Hurit and me and so I am not certain of what Kesegowaase said, only that he made reference to Ahanu over and again. He probably was just speechmaking. Any good speech must spend time ingratiating the speaker to the king, warlord, or chief. No matter how much the man in question seemed to be above such praise, everyone with power wanted to hear they were somehow wonderful. My friend Ahanu was no different.
“So, I propose to make an active alliance with the Huntsman and his band of men. May it be the beginning of a friendship and peace that will last generations. May our warriors and their men be as one body when the time comes to protect one another. May our blood be theirs. May their blood be ours.”
His speech caused a bit of a stir with muttering erupting all around. Etleloo shot up to his feet once Kesegowaase found his seat. “I will not hear of this. We, the al gon kin do not make alliances. That is what makes us strong for we are not bound to the whims of any man or village. Look at the angry people toward the late day sun. The Abenaki and the Maliseet have seen fit to ally themselves with countless other tribes. They now even call themselves the Wabanaki as if an alliance makes them a new people. They are the same. And what has this alliance gotten them in return? My father took me to trade with these Wabanaki when I was but a boy. They live in cages built of their own hands to protect themselves. They live in fear, hidden behind wooden fortress walls. The alliance did nothing but get them notoriety from the larger peoples. They are now a destination for siege and attack. Why would we ask for such trouble? Who are we to take advice from this boy?”
Ahanu screeched, “Etleloo! You will sit!”
The two men stared at one another, neither wanting to give in and show weakness. Whispers stirred around the great fire.
Nootau broke the stand-off by rising hims
elf and slowly walking to face the fiery Etleloo. He spoke in hushed tones so that neither Etleloo nor Ahanu would lose face among their people. But I was close enough to hear. “Etleloo, you have offended the way of our people, the very people you say you want to protect. Kesegowaase is no longer a boy, he is a man, but you’ve offended the very nature of the trials by calling him one. He was given the privilege to speak his mind. That is the way it has always been among the al gon kin as you now call us. You know the council will decide any such talk of alliance. Now, I will have you apologize to Ahanu before sitting. You may make peace with Kesegowaase at another time.” Before allowing Etleloo the chance to respond, he quickly spun around and raised his hands. “Our good warrior Etleloo has agreed to strike his words from our ceremony! He only wishes to hear more of the thoughts from his new companions in the ranks of warrior and hunter.”
Etleloo was stuck with no choice so he did what the older, wiser Nootau intended. After the applause from Nootau’s words died down, the angry warrior said, “It is as Nootau has said. Ahanu leads us with wisdom and I have allowed my words to tumble out thoughtlessly. I will listen to more plans from the other five . . . men.” He plopped down on the log next to me, huffing into the air, chewing on his cheek.
The next young man stood to speak, swallowing visibly at the prospect of creating a commotion like the one he just witnessed. He looked equally as horrifying in his red face, but his speech was not filled with the confidence of the first. In fact, none of the others had even a degree of the speaking ability of Kesegowaase. Instead, they droned on and on about making sure that the rivers still had ample fish. Fish! As if they controlled this. Another spent some time discussing how he’d like to make sure the Mi’kmaq never attack like they had so often in the past. I remember thinking that to ensure they never attack, it would be best to kill them all, these Mi’kmaq, whoever they were. This young man offered no specifics, though.
