Day after day my father climbed Look-out Hill. Every day he stood there for a long while. He felt the wind against his cheek. He watched the birds flying over the marshes. He gazed towards the Sunless Sky, looking far-off through the Narrows to the place where our River meets Open Sea.
My father told us that the sea would soon be ready to let us through. We let the wind speak softly to the sea until the swell went down. The day we left, the sky was the colour of the bluebells under the birches, with swirly streaks of cloud high up, like blown smoke. We covered the hearth at River Mouth Camp with turfs. We left dry firewood inside the winter house. We stretched our arms up to the spirits who’d watched over us at River Mouth Camp. We explained to Bear and Boar that we were going away for a while. We gave our clearing back to the Animals, and told them that if we were still alive we’d like to come back to River Mouth Camp in Yellow Leaf Moon.
We floated our big boat. We loaded it with hides and birch-bark, furs, baskets of roots, bundles of bone and antler, and meat and water for our journey. Life is usually easy at White Beach Camp, but we take plenty of work with us, and do it outside during the long days when the Sun gives us as much light and warmth as he possibly can. We paddled downriver through reeds and grasses taller than a man. Our boat slipped past the birch that overhangs the stream – the tree with the mossy fishing-place where we lie along the trunk dangling our lines. We glided past our fish traps. The River widened and went mud-coloured. Reeds and bullrushes hid its banks. Moorhens paddled out of range as we slid past.
We came into open water. Geese grazed in the salt flats. The sea flooded into the estuary, pushing the River backwards as it tried to escape towards the sea. Brown river-water was lost in the flood like smoke in mist. In the Narrows the flood would be too strong for us. We paddled out of the current, between rafts of floating seaweed, towards the Morning Sun shore. It was almost the middle of the day. We laid our paddles across the lip of the boat, and waited for my father to say the word. At last the Sun climbed as high as the young Year would let him. My father stared at the sky. He smelt the wind. He watched the water lapping higher up the shore. Now the tide was wetting the stones four fists below the line of dead leaves and seaweed which marked the height of the spring flood. Three fists . . . nearly two fists . . .
‘Now!’
In a heartbeat Amets leaped into shallow water and pushed us away from the shore. He scrambled over the stern as the current caught us. The tide still flooded through the Narrows, but it was getting weaker. We paddled as hard as we could. Now we were into the Narrows. The sea ran swift and deep between low cliffs. The rocks on each side rose sheer as if the land had been sliced open with a knife. The tide grew weaker. The River grew stronger. Now the River was helping us against the tide. The Narrows opened out between rocky islets. Through our boat-hide we felt the pulse of the Open Sea.
Waves lapped our bows. The boat stirred at the familiar taste of salt. Its winter sleep was over; we felt it waken under us.
The men sat on the bundles of furs to paddle, with the spears and harpoons lashed alongside. Everyone smelt of seal blubber because Alaia had rubbed so much of it into our sea cloaks. She’d made me help her. I’d said I didn’t think we need do all the cloaks every Year. But she was right as usual: we were soaked with spray long before we reached White Beach Camp. The dogs crouched uneasily on top of all the things. Alaia was our fire guardian now my mother was Go-Between. The fire guardian has to be someone who stays in this world and isn’t likely to suddenly go away or forget all about it. Alaia carried the fire in a leather bag lined with damp moss, arranged so the oak embers wouldn’t burn through the hide. We knew that whatever the weather brought us, our fire would be safe with Alaia.
The sea crinkled and sparkled under the Sun. Seals slept on the skerries beyond River Mouth, wet bodies gleaming. One or two raised their heads to watch us pass, but they didn’t move. They knew that no Seal had agreed to give itself that day. The wind from the Sunless Sky touched my right cheek with its cold finger. We met it head on, paddling as fast as we could into the slackening flood.
I knelt in the bows between my father’s knees. I paddled on one side and he paddled on the other. I’d made myself a new paddle because my old one was too small, and my father let me think that my hard paddling helped us along. When we’d cleared River Mouth and turned towards the Evening Sun Sky, Amets raised the mast. Soon the wind filled our sail. My father said I needn’t paddle any more, although he never broke his own stroke for as much as a heartbeat. I dabbled my fingers in the shining water and watched Fierce Point grow nearer.
White gulls wheeled overhead. Rafts of auks in their new spring feathers slid over the waves. I felt that old Aurochs’ hide come alive against the soles of my feet when he felt the sea against his skin. He saw how the Auks let the sea slide away under them, and he did the same. He hadn’t forgotten he was Animal. Through his skin I felt the sea ripple against my skin. I flexed my toes against his frame, and I felt the strength in the hazel wands as they remembered to bend with the sea. Small waves made slapping sounds against his side. Our boat was Auk. We – Aurochs, Hazel, Willow, Dog and People – were Boat-Animal. We were Auk.
Slowly River Mouth country turned from grey-green to blue under the High Sun Sky. The cliffs of Mother Mountain Island were like rows of teeth snarling at us. White water curled over the reefs off Fierce Point: we kept well away. Now we were coming into different water. The tides met, tossing our boat to and fro between them. At the foot of each swell we couldn’t see over the crest. Amets’ young dog started whining. But the flood was slackening. My father had been too clever for it, and its strength was almost gone. We rounded Fierce Point at slack water into the great groundswell of the Open Sea. Now, far off under the High Sun Sky, we saw the soft blue shadow of White Beach Island.
The ebb tide swept us forward. The sea settled into a slow swell. Looking back under the sail, I saw the snow-capped mountains of the lands that lie under the Sunless Sky. Beyond those mountains Amets’ family have their summer Camps. That’s Esti’s country, although our Esti hasn’t been there in her present life. Ahead of us, White Beach Island turned from a hump in the blue distance to firm land with green grass and thickets of trees. Between us and the island lay islets surrounded by stretches of gleaming seaweed and drying reefs.
‘Take down the sail!’
Amets obeyed my father at once. Our boat rocked in the swell. Seaweed rose and fell beside us, so close I tried to reach out and touch it.
‘Stop that, Haizea! Amets, listen to me! We’re coming into the channel. No, you can’t see it yet. As we go through I’ll tell you the sea-marks. B . . . my son . . . he knew the marks as well as I do. Now it’ll be up to you. I’m not saying these women mightn’t know something about it. Women are always listening to what doesn’t concern them! But if you rely on your wife to tell you your sea-marks, you might as well cut off your balls now and be done with it. So listen, and remember!’
We all had to paddle as my father steered us through the seaweed-covered rocks that guard White Beach Island. My arms were so tired! But my ears were busier than my arms. White Beach Island was my Birth Place, long before Amets ever came among the Auk People. I listened just as hard as Amets to every word my father said. Some of you have every reason to be glad I did – but that’s another story.
The sea turned from grey to green as our boat slid in with the waves over sandy shallows and waving forests of brown weed. Starfish scuttled away from the shadow of our boat. Shafts of evening Sun slanted across the island. Long shadows reached towards us from every rock and hummock, as if the island were stretching out its arms to its returning daughter. I stood up in the bows, eagerly scanning the shores of my Birth Place. As we slid into the bay the shadow of the island swallowed us. A cold finger of onshore breeze touched my shoulder. Then I saw a small boat in the hollow at the top of the beach. Whose was it? I caught my breath in excitement. But now the sand was growing so close I could see the ripple
s in it under the water, and little coils of worm cast. A wave caught us. We rode in on the curve of it and landed on firm sand.
As soon as we grounded I leaped ashore, clutching the hide-tail to pull the boat in, but I could hardly wait to hand it to Alaia, who jumped on to the sand after me, Esti bouncing on her back. I could see the camping place. I scrambled joyfully up the slippery dunes.
‘Haizea, come back! There’s work to do!’
‘I’ll be quick!’
It was at White Beach Camp that I came back into this world, and it’s there I’ve been happiest ever since. I love the long days, and the nights that grow just dark enough to show the stars in their courses. I love the bright Moons of the still-young Year. The sound of the Open Sea was in my ears when I drew my first breath, and whenever I go back to White Beach Camp I greet it as my friend. I love the changing moods of the sea, and the rough days when there’s no path back to where we came from. When the boats can’t put to sea the island of White Beach Camp is the whole world, and when I first came back to it I thought it was just the right size: not large and difficult, but contained and perfect. Yet the thing that makes White Beach Camp the place that it is – the very reason why I love it so – is that even in the best Years of all we’re only there from Auk Moon to Seed Moon. We come after the auks have arrived, and we leave before they do; otherwise there’d be nothing to eat on days when the sea’s too angry to let us fish or seal.
After that long winter on our own I was excited about seeing our family again. And someone was here already! I ran past our shell heaps – the oldest ones were almost covered over with bright green turf – on to the soft turf of the Camp, still barely trodden. A small fire simmered in the hearth. Someone had laid wet seaweed over the whitened drift-logs to keep it in.
And someone had pitched a tent – a small hunting tent with a wolf-fur flap over the door. Using wolfskin for a door flap! That was showing off! I knew who it was. It would be like him to arrive early, maybe with one of his younger brothers. The hide was hooked back from the door to let in the morning Sun. But the Sun was looking the other way by now.
‘Haizea is here!’ I shouted. ‘And my father’ – I called out his name – ‘and Amets! And Nekané, and Alaia! And Esti! We have a new cousin for you! We have ESTI!’
No one answered. I pushed the dogs aside and peered into the dim tent. When I looked into the small space I felt the boat still rocking inside my head. A big bearskin was spread in the sleeping place. I knew that bearskin! I remembered very well how six men had carried that bear into Gathering Camp, and I also remembered the great feast, the Go-Between’s chant to Bear – which had really frightened me – and the dancing that had followed. There were no baskets inside the tent – that meant they’d gone out for food.
I ran back to the top of the beach. Already our gear was piled up on the sand. ‘Father! Mother! Alaia! Cousin Sendoa is here! With someone else, but I can’t tell who! It’s SENDOA!’
‘Haizea, come down here at once! D’you think there’s no work to be done?’
I went down to help with the loaded baskets.
‘Perhaps your daughter thinks she’s already one of the Wise,’ said Amets, laughing. ‘She thinks she doesn’t have to carry gear like the rest of us!’
‘She’s no good,’ agreed my father. ‘You’ll bring yours up better. Give her a good beating sometimes. It’s never too soon to start with these women!’
My mother and Alaia were laughing, but I wasn’t. I was at the age when I was beginning to want some sort of respect which my family weren’t prepared to give me. All this talk of beatings made me feel like a child. It was stupid, anyway. My father had never beaten me, nor Alaia either, and he never would. I’d heard enough stories at Gathering Camp to know that in some families it was different. The trouble was I’d grown old enough to pay attention to what the men and women were always saying to each other, and to realise that I would have to be a woman too, quite soon, so all this was going to have something to do with me. But I was still young enough to resent it when the joke seemed to be against me.
Amets said:
I was pleased to find Sendoa at White Beach Camp! Sendoa is one of the best hunters of the Auk People. We pulled up the boat, and carried up the gear. Alaia dumped her baskets, went straight to Sendoa’s tent and disappeared inside it. I wondered what she was doing. When she came out she said nothing, but her mouth was set in a hard line.
‘Ah,’ said my wife’s father, as he stood at my shoulder. ‘She was hoping to find some sign . . . Young men, travelling together . . . Sendoa’s winter Camp is on the Long Strait . . . He could have gone that way . . . But no, she’s found nothing.’ He turned away. ‘Ah well . . .’
We all stood round the hearth while Alaia put our fire with the one that was already there. Our spirits saw our fire and came to join the others who were already at White Beach Camp. We held up our arms to them and thanked them for bringing us safely across the sea. Then Haizea was sent to gather shellfish to eat with the rush roots we’d brought across. Alaia and I went to find our old tent poles in the dry hollow above the dunes, while Nekané peeled back the turf from the inside hearth. The poles were in good condition. I lashed twine around one weak place, just to be sure. Then I helped Alaia put up the frame, and I tied the wands together at the smoke hole. I’m telling you this because I want you boys to know that I’m not ashamed to help women with their work sometimes. I hope you’re all listening to me: you don’t always have to do nothing, just to show a woman how clever you are! Anyway, Alaia’s shorter than I am so it’s easier for me to reach. I unrolled the birch-bark round the smoke hole and tied it down. Only then did I leave Nekané and Alaia to lash the rest of the frame. My wife’s father and I carried the heavy rolls of hide up from the beach, and dumped them by the tent frame.
We strolled back to the beach. The tide was at the turn, lapping the stern of our boat. ‘It’s enough,’ said my wife’s father. ‘When Sendoa comes he’ll help us pull her up further in case the weather changes. Like this, she’s all right.’
I felt I must speak, and called him by name.
‘Yes, Amets?’
‘Alaia – when she went to look in Sendoa’s tent just now, you said . . . You mean she’s still hoping for some sign of her brother? She doesn’t make any fuss about it. But Nekané – before, in the winter, she was always looking. And now . . .’
‘And now – she’s not? That’s what you’re asking me, isn’t it? You’re asking why Nekané has stopped searching for our son.’ ‘Because – forgive me if I’m upsetting you – because—’
‘Because she knows she’ll find nothing.’
‘I’m sorry, I – I . . .’
‘You don’t upset me, Amets. I knew it long ago. I’m not one of the Wise. I never needed to struggle after knowledge as Nekané has had to do. What someone has to go through to become Go-Between – no, I never had to worry about any of that. But I knew about my son . . . Amets, I’ve seen a great deal. See here: a young man leaves his family. He may be far away and alone, and the dangers are very great. You know that: you were travelling alone when you came to us, looking for a wife. Young men are foolhardy, too.’
‘Your son was not foolhardy.’
‘No. That’s true. But he was no coward either, and, as we both know, the dangers are very great.’
‘Do you have any ideas about what happened to him?’
‘Only simple ones, Amets. An accident, a fall, a fight . . . who knows? Perhaps you’ll have a son one day. But you know already: the dangers are very great.’
Just then the dogs barked in welcome. We heard a shout froma long the beach. We turned and saw two men, one running full tilt towards us, his dogs leaping at his side, the other lagging a little behind.
‘Sendoa!’ My wife’s father hugged him, slapping him on the back. Then Sendoa turned to me, and we slapped our hands together in delight. I vowed to the spirits, then and there, that I would never again pass a winter without a man of m
y age for company. And indeed I never have.
‘And who’s this?’ My wife’s father was frowning. I looked up, and saw that the man standing by was not any kin that I knew of, but wholly a stranger.
Well, you all know who I’m talking about. But back then none of us knew that this stranger was part of our story. When I first laid eyes on him, no spirit whispered in my ear, ‘Remember Bakar!’ Or if one did, I didn’t hear it.
‘All is well.’ Sendoa took the young man’s arm and pulled him forward. ‘All is well’ – he spoke to my wife’s father by name – ‘This is Kemen, of the Lynx People who live under the Morning Sun. Although he’s not of our People, he’s kin of mine, and therefore of yours, because his grandfather’s father was from the Auk People. He was called Basajaun, and he married a woman from the lands under the Morning Sun long ago. So when Kemen and some of his family travelled this way they came seeking us, the Auk People, because they knew us for their far-off kin.’
‘Basajaun?’ My wife’s father frowned a little less. ‘Yes, that name has been among us, though not in my family.’
‘Kemen came towards the Evening Sun with his brother Basajaun,’ said Sendoa. ‘So you see a name from our People still lives among theirs.’
‘And where is this brother Basajaun now?’
‘We parted,’ said Kemen. I was startled by his voice: his tongue was different from ours and he spoke his words strangely. ‘Four of us came to this coast. We met another People, the Heron People, that way’ – he pointed towards the High Sun Sky, and my wife’s father nodded – ‘and one of my cousins took a woman there, so the others decided to stay as well. But I came to look for the Auk People because I didn’t want to settle with a woman before I’d found kin of my own. Because I had none. So I travelled on alone, and I met Sendoa’s family at their winter Camp. I told them who I was, and they took me in. Then Sendoa and I decided to come early to White Beach Camp because we’d seen a lot of auks about already, and we wanted to be at the cliffs early.’
The Gathering Night Page 5
