My Sister the Moon

by Sue Harrison

  Amgigh held Kiin even after her slowed breathing told him she was asleep. He had taken her quickly. Perhaps in a little while, he would be ready again. Then he would wake her, but for now it was good just to hold her, to feel her softness against his skin.

  Having a wife is better than hunting whale, he told himself. He knew Kiin had had other men. Gray Bird sold her as hospitality. How many evenings had Amgigh watched from the ulaq roof as Samiq paced the beach? How many times had he seen the anger on Samiq’s face as Kiin emerged the next morning and hobbled to the edge of the sea to wash blood from her face, from her legs, her arms? And when Samiq had seen Amgigh and Kayugh laden with furs and walking to Gray Bird’s ulaq, he had stopped Amgigh, stared deep into Amgigh’s eyes. “Be careful with her tonight,” he had said. “Be gentle.” And Samiq would not let him pass until Amgigh had nodded his agreement.

  Amgigh had had a woman before—an old Whale Hunter woman who had sneaked into his sleeping place once when he went with his father on a trading trip. She had taken him quickly, had ridden him as though she were the man. And the next day Amgigh had felt fumbling and stupid.

  But with Kiin…Her hands had been strong, moving over his stomach, then to his shoulders and down his back to buttocks and thighs, teasing him until the throbbing in his loins told him he could wait no longer. But he had remembered Samiq’s request. He had been gentle.

  In the darkness Amgigh smiled.

  Samiq would marry a Whale Hunter woman, loud and used to ruling her man. Yes, Samiq would learn to hunt the whale. But he had promised to teach Amgigh. Then Amgigh, too, would know. Amgigh would know and have Kiin as well. Amgigh sighed and pulled Kiin closer so he could smell the sweetness of her hair.

  Perhaps by next spring, Amgigh thought, I will have a son.

  12

  QAKAN WOKE EARLY, EVEN before his mother had trimmed lamps and emptied night baskets. He climbed to the top of his father’s ulaq and in the dark of early morning looked out over the ulakidaq, looked out over the beach.

  He was hungry. He should have pulled something from the food cache, but now he was sitting on the ulaq. It would be too much trouble to go back inside. Besides, his mother would soon be up. She would bring him something.

  He yawned. Everything was still. Even the wind had died leaving the sea to roll almost calmly into shore. A movement from one of the other ulas caught Qakan’s eye. Probably Chagak. There was no laziness in the woman. But no, it was Kiin. Kiin out to empty the night wastes.

  Qakan smiled, almost laughed. Kayugh had paid sixteen skins and a knife for her.

  So Kiin was wife now to Amgigh. And though Kiin’s marriage brought laughter into Qakan’s mouth whenever he thought of the price Kayugh had paid, it also brought anger. Because of his father’s greed, Qakan must forget the plans he had made so carefully, plans that had taken him more than three years to devise.

  Why was Kayugh willing to pay so much? He knew Kiin was nothing. For years she had had no name, no soul. Gray Bird said she would never be wife, and when Gray Bird grew old, too old to hunt, what would happen to her? She would come to live with Qakan, to take his food, food that Qakan would need for his own wives, for his children. For himself.

  How many times had his father told him, told hunters from other tribes and traders who came to their village, that Kiin had taken Qakan’s right as firstborn, as first to suckle his mother’s breasts, as first to claim a place in his father’s ulaq? And who could say what other powers she had taken from him? Yes, their mother weaned Kiin early so she could bear another child—a son—for her husband. And though most infants weaned that early would have died, his sister—full of greed for life—had lived, had lived.

  She had walked early, her little legs strong as she learned to help their mother, the girl carrying loads too heavy for a small child to carry, and she also talked early, saying words too hard for a small child to say, and all the while, he, Qakan, had lain and watched her, content to watch, because she had taken his power, the power to walk and talk. But finally Qakan knew he must fight back, and he, too, walked and talked. And the spirits saw his efforts, and they took some of his sister’s many words and gave them to Qakan, leaving the girl to stammer and stutter. The years passed and finally Qakan had thought of his wonderful plan. While still a boy, Qakan had thought of it. And now he was ready to become a man.

  Qakan blinked his eyes, yawned again, looked out toward the gray expanse of the sea. He hated the sea, the water forever around his ikyak, even above him, hanging gray in the clouds. He hated the weight of the harpoon in his hands, the lines that twisted and knotted, the ikyak moving with each small jerk of legs or arms. He hated the stink of the chigadax. No, he was not a hunter. But who could say, perhaps Kim had grabbed that power, also, and held it like a seed in her womb, hoping her sons would be hunters.

  But even if he could not hunt, Qakan had more power than his sister. It did not matter what she had done to him; he would still become a man, and he would do this by learning to trade. Who were more honored than traders? Not hunters, no. Their hunting provided only the skins and pelts for the traders. The traders were the ones who brought goods from one tribe to another. They were given the choice women of any tribe to warm their beds at night; they slept in the chief hunter’s honored sleeping place. And traders with their brightly marked iks were the ones who had the best furs, the finest parkas, the most beautiful weapons.

  So Qakan had planned, and had waited. And then one day his father had come back successful from a hunt, had come back with a sea lion when Kayugh and Big Teeth and First Snow took nothing. Qakan had watched, waited during the dividing of meat, during the praise songs sung by the women, waited until after his father had eaten well. And then, as though some spirit were aiding Qakan’s plan, his sister had spilled hot broth on their father’s feet.

  It had been an accident, an accident, she had pleaded. She had tripped on Qakan’s leg just as she passed their father.

  Qakan had watched the beating, watched though his mother hid her eyes. He had seen Kiin shudder with the force of each blow. But silence was broken only by the sound of his father’s stick against Kiin’s flesh, of his father’s harsh breathing. And Qakan knew that it was only because Kiin had no soul that she did not cry out. How could a person without a soul feel pain?

  Then, after the beating, after Kiin had pulled herself up the climbing log and left the ulaq, perhaps to stay outside for the night, or to lose her pride and beg for a place in another ulaq, then Qakan had settled himself beside his father, had said a few words about Kiin’s stupidity, and waited in silence until Qakan’s mother also left the ulaq.

  Then Qakan leaned close to his father, smiled and praised his father’s hunting success.

  Yes, Qakan had said, who would deny that Gray Bird was a good hunter, taking a sea lion when others brought back nothing. But how sad, Qakan went on to say, that Gray Bird’s good heart had allowed Qakan’s sister to live, had allowed that greedy one to take the strength that should have come to Qakan. So now Qakan would never be the hunter his father was. No, not ever. He would never know the pride of having village women sing to him. No, not ever. But there was one thing the greedy sister did not take; she did not take the cunning mind. That had come complete to Qakan: the cunning, cunning mind.

  And Qakan watched as the scowl that was on Gray Bird’s face changed slowly, slowly to something more nearly a smile. Yes, Qakan was smart, Gray Bird had said. Not a hunter, not strong with muscle, but strong in his mind.

  “Perhaps there will be something for me in that,” Qakan had said. “Perhaps there will be some honor for me, something….” And he had let the word trail off into the flickering oil lamps of the ulaq. And he said no more. That night.

  13

  KIIN WOKE AND GENTLY pulled herself from Amgigh’s arms. She had been wife for three days and four nights, and each night before she fell asleep, she told herself to wake early, to start the lamps and prepare meat so Chagak could stay in her sleeping plac
e, nursing Wren.

  Kiin fastened her apron around her waist and gently covered Amgigh’s shoulders with a fur seal pelt. She slipped into the large central room of the ulaq and using a braided reed took fire from the few burning wicks in the oil lamp nearest the smoke hole and lit the other lamps. She pulled eggs and meat from the storage cache and began to arrange them on Chagak’s woven mats.

  The ulaq was quiet. Once she heard a murmur from Samiq’s sleeping place and once Wren gave a short, quick cry. There was nothing more. When Kiin had arranged the food, she straightened the floor mats carefully so they did not overlap. Wren was learning to walk and tripped easily over mat edges.

  It is a good place, this ulaq, Kiin thought. There was no hatred, no sudden anger; Kayugh never beat Chagak, seldom raised his voice in anger. And though there were times when Samiq and Amgigh disagreed, there were more times when they worked together, building ikyan, repairing their mother’s ik or as partners while hunting seals.

  Kiin stretched her arms over her head and yawned. It had been days since her father had beaten her. The bruises of his last beating had faded. It was good to walk without pain, to face others without embarrassment over eyes swollen and black, teeth loosened by her father’s fists.

  It was good to wake in the morning with her husband’s arms around her, to wake and know there would be no beatings, no taunts from her brother. Even the one time Kiin had visited her father’s ulaq, Gray Bird had treated her well, telling his wife to bring food and asking Kiin if her husband planned a hunting trip soon. And though Qakan scowled each time he saw her, Kiin kept her eyes straight ahead, as though she did not see him, as though he were nothing more than a bit of fireweed fluff caught in the wind.

  Kiin took a seal stomach container of oil from the storage cache and, lifting it, carefully poured oil into a small wooden bowl. Then setting the seal stomach back into the storage cache, she poured the oil into the oil lamps, allowing it to seep in slowly from the edge so it would not cover the burning wicks and douse their flames.

  When she had finished, she smoothed the oil left in the bowl onto her fingers and combed them through her hair. Her hair was long, hanging to her waist, and her father had often threatened to cut it so he could sell the long strands to the Walrus People whose women made patterns on chigadax and seal gut boots with designs sewn in hair.

  And now there was no danger, no threat. Amgigh had told her her hair was beautiful, and once when they were alone in her sleeping place, he laid her back, spread her hair out over the sleeping mats and stroked it like a man strokes the sides of his ikyak the morning after he has slept with his woman.

  Kiin heard a rustling from Chagak’s sleeping place. Wren crawled out, and when Kiin reached her hands toward her, the little girl pushed herself up and tottered across the ulaq floor. Kiin held her breath as the fat baby feet padded over the mats and grass, and she held in her laughter when several paces from Kiin’s outstretched hands, Wren flung herself forward. Kiin caught the child and lifted her in a joyful hug, shushing Wren when she began to laugh. But then Kiin heard another laugh and looked up to see Samiq watching her. Kiin’s eyes met his, and in that glance, she felt a sudden lurching of her heart, a twisting of her spirit, so that she looked down quickly, and hid her face in Wren’s hair.

  Then Chagak was also in the room, and Amgigh, but Amgigh’s smile faded when he saw Samiq.

  “Tomorrow, brother?” he asked.

  Samiq’s answer was a grunt, then he walked to the climbing log, laying his hand quickly on Wren’s head as he passed. Amgigh watched until his brother had left the ulaq, then came to stand behind Kiin.

  “There is f-f-food,” Kiin said. She set Wren down and looked up at Amgigh.

  “So you think we need nothing more than food,” Amgigh said, and his words frightened Kiin. The anger in his voice was too much like her father’s anger.

  For a moment Amgigh’s fingers gripped her shoulders, too hard. For a moment, Kiin felt pain. But then his hands were gentle, stroking her hair, lingering against her cheek. “I will eat later,” he said and also left the ulaq.

  Kiin watched him go, then glanced down at the food she had laid out. There was a heaviness in her chest, almost a dread. What had she done? Was there grass in the food? Was the meat spoiled, the oil rancid?

  But no, everything looked as it always did. The meat was clean, not white with mold, and the oil smelled sweet.

  Then Chagak was beside her, whispering, “He is upset because tomorrow Samiq leaves to go to the Whale Hunters. Samiq’s grandfather, Many Whales, will teach him to hunt whales.”

  The words came to Kiin like a blow, knocking out her breath. “It will be better,” her spirit said, but a part of Kiin wanted to scream out in protest. And she realized that much of her joy in being Amgigh’s wife was to see Samiq each day, to prepare food for him, to help Chagak make his clothing.

  “You belong to Amgigh,” her spirit said. “To Amgigh. Samiq is a brother. You belong to Amgigh.”

  Kiin turned to Chagak, saw the sadness in Chagak’s eyes. “H-h-how l-l-long will he be-be gone?” Kiin asked.

  “For this summer, perhaps the winter and next summer also.”

  “And-and Am-Am-Amgigh?”

  “He and Kayugh will go with Samiq, stay a few days and then return to our ulaq,” Chagak answered. “Each of our sons was given a gift. Samiq will learn to hunt the whale. Amgigh was given a wife.”

  Quickly Kiin turned away; quickly she arranged more meat on the mats. What man would choose a wife above learning to hunt the whale? What man would want her above the honor of being a whale hunter? And when Samiq came back next summer or the next, it would be worse. Any man could find a wife, even a poor hunter like her father. But few men ever learned to hunt the whale. Amgigh will hate me, Kiin thought, must hate me already.

  That day seemed long. Kiin stayed inside the ulaq except to empty night baskets and bring water from the spring. The ache that had begun in her heart spread to her arms and legs, so she felt stiff as though she still lived with her father, her muscles sore from his blows.

  She did not see Samiq or Amgigh again until the day was over, the twilight of the summer night nearly upon them. They came in together, the two laughing, talking, and when Kiin offered food, first to Amgigh, then to Samiq, she drew her spirit up within herself, as strong as she had been when meeting her father’s upraised walking stick, and made herself look into Amgigh’s eyes. If Amgigh hated her, she would see it, for who does not know that hatred always lodges itself in the spirit and shows itself in the eyes?

  So Kiin looked but saw no hatred, a glimmer of something, perhaps anger, perhaps sadness, but no hatred.

  In her relief, she turned to Samiq, handed him a bowl of fish Chagak had baked outside on her cooking stone, and in that moment, their eyes met. Samiq’s spirit reached out so quickly to Kiin that she could not look away. And though Samiq’s eyes were crinkled, nearly closed with his smile, Kiin could not miss the sadness there, a greater sadness than any that might have been in Amgigh’s eyes.

  Then Amgigh clasped Kiin’s arm. “Wife,” he said, “my brother leaves tomorrow to go to the Whale Hunters. I have promised him something to remember, something to draw him back to this village when he has learned what there is to learn.” He clasped her hand and laid it against Samiq’s shoulder. “Go to Samiq tonight. Let him know what he is missing in choosing whales over having a wife.”

  14

  SAMIQ HELD HIS BREATH and waited for Kiin’s reaction. Amgigh should have talked to Kiin privately, asked her if she would spend the night with Samiq, that way she could have refused him if she wished, without embarrassment, without appearing to defy her husband.

  Then Samiq thought, Perhaps Amgigh enjoys having the power of husband over Kiin, enjoys demanding her obedience.

  But no, that was Gray Bird, not Amgigh. Amgigh was young, a new husband. Had First Snow not made similar mistakes in dealing with Red Berry? Even now after the two had been husband and wife near
ly two years, Samiq still noticed that occasionally First Snow’s thoughtlessness made Red Berry grind her teeth in anger, or more often laugh in frustration. And Red Berry was sometimes foolish also, rushing down to the water to bid him luck on hunting trips, when every hunter knows a wife should watch from ulaq roof not beach, that a hunter must not touch his wife before entering his ikyak. Otherwise the sea animals, smelling the earth smell of women, would be offended and never give themselves to the hunter’s harpoon.

  Samiq saw Kiin’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she looked at him, but then she looked away, lowered her head and murmured something to Amgigh.

  “Good,” Amgigh said, and laughing, slapped Samiq’s back. “Go now. Have a long night,” he said.

  But Kiin answered, her face reddening, “I-I have w-w-work first.” Then she turned away from them and busied herself at the storage cache.

  They began to eat, but Samiq suddenly found that nothing tasted right. His stomach burned as though he had eaten uncooked bitter root bulbs.

  The evening passed slowly. Samiq’s mother seemed to hover over Kiin, talking in a low and soothing voice, and his father withdrew to a corner, turned his back to the main room and worked on his harpoon.

  So, Samiq thought, do I refuse Kiin, insult her and my brother, give him nothing to trade for the Whale Hunters’ secrets? Do I make him feel that I am the one who has been given the better life? Or do I take Kiin?

  There was a pulling within, that need of his body, and the desire for Kiin. Then anger came, turning Samiq’s thoughts away from Amgigh and in toward his own wants.

  She should have been my wife, not Amgigh’s, Samiq told himself. Let Amgigh go to the Whale Hunters; let him learn. Let him live with their noisy women. I am Kiin’s true husband. I care for her more than Amgigh does.

  So, without looking at his father or his mother, without looking at Amgigh, Samiq stood and walked to where Kiin worked. He clasped her wrist and gently pulled her to her feet.