Love after the End

by Love after the End- Two-Spirit

  “I’ll find you!” they screamed, struggling, as four Enforcers held them down, while two others had A’tugwewinu pinned with a heavy boot on her neck, harshly tying her hands. “I’ll get you back, Winu! I’ll—”

  A shot rang out. Silence followed.

  A’tugwewinu craned her neck as far as she could but all she saw was the crumpled form of her lover, lying there, unmoving. Tears threatened to spill over as a deep well of sadness overtook her, but for one small moment, as suddenly an overwhelming sea of fury took its place, digging its hooks into her soul. Her gaze hardened; her resolve completed. Whatever else she would do, she would resist until the end.

  She stared down at the blood pooling around Bèl’s body until the last possible second, as the Enforcers dragged her out and threw her onto the cold floor of their vehicle.

  For hours the vehicle drove. They arrived at a large, outdoor enclosure with gates, barbed wire, and bars as far as the eye could see. The Enforcers dragged her out of the vehicle, opened the first gate, then another and another—the loud clang of each slamming shut behind them reverberated into her bones. Finally, they threw her to the ground, leaving her shackled, and left.

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW for how many days she walked from her village. Her feet were crusted from blisters and cuts, her shoes keeping more dirt in than out. When she first arrived at the concrete city, she thought maybe someone would have a pair of shoes for her, but she soon realized that these people, these countless numbers of people, were very different than those she knew in her village. No one cared that she looked like she was on the verge of death; no one cared that she was filthy and hungry.

  At first, she tried to find someone who knew about her village but no one had time for a hungry child pestering them for information or food.

  She didn’t know how much time went by, but she grew as the ribbon shirt lifted on her hip bones, where before it carefully nestled them. She stole and lied, and with every passing day she felt further and further away from her people, her village, her core. The connection between the spirits was waning. Except for the ever-looming shadow of death’s gangly forms in the dark corners of the city. She saw him everywhere. Mocking her as she shivered to sleep, taunting her as she attempted to swallow, yet no spit resided in her mouth. Death was her only friend, as she grew lonelier in a city filled with more people than she knew existed.

  In her most desperate hour, a shadow materialized over her. Thinking it was only death coming to claim her, A’tugwewinu ignored the presence. Finally, fingers softly pulled on the tattered remains of her once glorious shirt. She begrudgingly opened her eyes and peered into the most beautiful face she had ever seen. The figure crouched down. “I’m Bèl,” said the melodious voice of the angel crouched before her.

  A’tugwewinu sat up straighter. “Winu,” she responded. Bèl nodded, then stood up and gracefully looked back at her, then beckoned A’tugwewinu forward. She struggled to rise, finally she followed behind this elusive person, tailing after them like a starving man, which in a sense, she was. Bèl was familiar in a way that was confusing, had she met them before? Had she dreamed of those eyes like onyx? Dreamed of that voice?

  A’tugwewinu pondered the ever-brightening tether between her and this stranger, as they skulked through the shadows of the maze of streets that made up the concrete city. Finally, under a box and into a cloaked crack in a wall, A’tugwewinu came into a small room filled with cushions and random objects, a dwelling perhaps, or gathering of things utterly useless. Either way, Bèl opened their arms wide and said, “Welcome home” in the same tone her Kokomis would use when she would visit him.

  It made tears well up in her eyes. She felt strong hands caress her skin as a whispered song and her sobs lulled her to sleep.

  IT TOOK HOURS, but ever so slowly, the ties loosened, warm red lubricating the way. A’tugwewinu, finally freed, sat and held her knees close to her body. She peered around her and spied cages everywhere. Eyes were staring back at her. The stench of stale sweat and blood was permeating the air. She laid down on her back and inhaled deeply, letting the smell take over her feelings and her body. She closed her eyes and prayed.

  “There was a time when îhkwewak were honoured. Every village had îhkwewak, they were needed to be the in-between for the spirits and the rest of us here in the physical world. Without îhkwewak being the bridge, we would be in the dark about so much happening around us. We would be out of balance with the world.”

  “How do I to talk to spirits, as îhkwew, Kokomis?”

  The elder smiled, his dark wrinkled face lighting up in the presence of his small grandchild.

  “You need to be very still, and very silent, oshis, then send your intent, kindly ask them for a message, offer them a gift for their aid, and they will come.”

  The old man picked up his grandchild and gently sat her on his knee.

  “I am îhkwew just like you, oshis. In a few years when you receive your first marks, you will come to me and learn how to carry your role for our village.”

  Grandchild held grandmother, the smell of sage and sema, feeling of safety and kindred souls cloistered around the two.

  “I can’t wait, Kokomis.”

  A’TUGWEWINU LOOKED AT HER WRIST, blood wrapped around it like a bracelet, skin rubbed raw from the ties. She gently swiped at the blood, dragging as much as she could onto her fingertips. Three deeps breaths. Eyes closed. Focus on the intent. Slamming her hand down on the ground next to her, she called for them. “Giibi. I have nothing to offer you but this, please accept my blood as offering and aid me,” she whispered. Her veins turned black, blood suddenly pouring from her wrists, saturating the earth around her. A moment passed. The bleeding stopped. The earth heaved and sighed, it trembled slightly. Wisps rose around her. Shapes in smoke winded around her body, tickling her soul.

  Upside-down and backward faces greeted her, antlers and horns, hoof and claw all spoke to her. The rocks under her warmed. The dirt cooled. Her ancestors came, whispering soothing encouragement in ancient tongues. Reminded her they were always there.

  What could have been hours or seconds went by. The smoke receded, the shapes dissipated, and the acrid smell and sound of screams, interspersed with eerie silence, returned.

  A’tugwewinu opened her eyes, resolve set in her mind, the time for listening was over. All around her, physical beings approached, the call of the spirits bringing them closer, fear and trepidation apparent in their demeanor.

  An old one crouched near her. “Who—who are you?” he muttered feebly.

  “I am A’tugwewinu, last of the Andwànikàdjigan,” she responded softly.

  For a long minute, nothing happened. “Is it true?” someone asked, “are you really one of the marked ones?”

  A’tugwewinu nodded and removed her over cloak, baring her arms and torso, neck and back exposed, every inch of skin covered in little red symbols. The shapes foreign to everyone. She sat down and everyone followed. She peered at the dozen or so who had approached her.

  “How do you mark yourselves?” one asked.

  “We don’t,” she responded. “When someone shares a story and we listen, the marks appear, and then, when we press it, we can, in turn, share that exact story word for word.” She peered around her, the strangers’ faces were dumbfounded. “Would you like to see?” she asked.

  Several nodded. A’tugwewinu took a deep breath and reached for the markings near her right shoulder. She pressed it and words came out of her.

  “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth—”

  TIME SEEMED ENDLESS, yet patience eternal reigned inside A’tugwewinu. Some beings stayed simply to listen, having nothing else to do, others felt a calling and dedicated themselves to memorizing every word. Others yet felt the need to ask questions and pose opinions.

  Taking a deep breath, A’tugwewinu felt emotion roll within her as she touched the marking above her left breast, the first marking she ever received. It was the last of the creation st
ories which she carried that she had yet to share. The most sacred story she carried.

  “Before there was time, there existed the Creator, who slept at great peace within the silent vacuum of space—”

  “—the Creator was awoken suddenly by a great vision; in this vision she saw stars and planets, a beautiful world called Earth, within it were great rivers and oceans, four-legged, winged, crawlers, medicines and plants of all kinds. Finally, after everything, in her vision she saw the two-legged young beings that would need to learn from everything that came before them in order to survive.”

  A’tugwewinu was restless, partially listening to the elder, but mostly staring at her breast, waiting desperately to see the marking that would appear there. She was so excited to have been allowed to attend the adulthood ritual of those born before her. She would have hers next year, but Kokomis said she needed to get her marks now in order to begin doing îhkwewak work. Her knees bounced up and down with untethered energy. The elder smiled as they completed the story. A’tugwewinu gasped as a sudden warmth pooled above her left breast and there rose up small red markings no larger than the length of her smallest finger. She jumped up and ran toward her mother and Kokomis, embracing them both as they congratulated her on her first mark.

  A’tugwewinu was honoured that the village council had permitted her to get her first markings before her adulthood ceremony. Kokomis told her that it was only because she was the only other îhkwew in the village and she had a lot to learn from him.

  The trio quietly removed themselves from the throng of celebrating families. They approached a withering stump on the outskirts of the village, one of the last remaining things that sometimes turned green, but otherwise remained brown. Kokomis rested his hand upon it and muttered a prayer. With his other hand, he grasped A’tugwewinu’s small brown fingers and placed her hand atop his withering and callused tan hand.

  A’tugwewinu gasped as the stump pulsed. A beat, unlike the one in her chest, but resonating nonetheless. Whispers filled her mind. Stories and poems from ancestors who looked through her eyes into this discarded landscape and wept for the mother they had lost.

  Kokomis removed his hand, and with it, hers fell limply at her side. He gently reached over and wiped the tears from her face.

  “Remember that the spirits will always be there, and that they will share with you the most sacred of stories,” he whispered reverently.

  When the Enforcers arrived to toss rancid food at them, they would pause from stories. When they grew too weary, they would retire. This left A’tugwewinu alone to ponder her reality, the losses she had been subjected to.

  She lay restless on the dirt, staring at the darkened patch of dried blood. A deep ache of longing struck her heart. The anguish of being alone made her cry out, a deep bellowed scream pierced her throat. No more would gentle, large hands soothe her ills, or a sultry voice whisper tender things in her ear. No more would she have a heart to come home to. The name of her life’s love spilled forth over and over and over again. Her breath ragged, sobs uncontrollable, the darkness of the night caressed her and offered comfort.

  A jagged piece of the cage caught her eye. She sobered and resolved to have one last ceremony for her dearly departed.

  “WHY MAMA CRYIN’?” asked the small child.

  Kokomis picked her up gently and rested her in his arms. “Because your papa died, she is sad he’s gone,” he replied gently.

  “No! Papa’s right ’der!” the child stated, pointing to the shadow enveloping her mother in an embrace.

  Kokomis sighed. “That is your papa’s spirit, only I can see him and you, oshis. No one else. Your papa’s body died but his spirit stayed to say one last goodbye to you both.”

  “Papa’s sayin’ bye-bye?” A’tugwewinu asked.

  “Yes, he can’t stay here, he has to go and return to Creator.”

  “No! He can’t! Papa!” The little one cried and cried as she wriggled free of Kokomis’ arms and ran toward the shadow.

  “Papa! Don’t leave!” With a watery smile, the spirit crouched down and kissed the top of her forehead, then vanished. A’tugwewinu cried and cried. Beside her, her mother removed the machete she always carried as one of the village warriors. She grasped her long braid in her hand, and with a sharp tug, cut it off.

  Her mother picked up her inconsolable child and held her tightly in her arms. A’tugwewinu grasped at the back of her mother’s neck, feeling tiny prickles of short hair for the first time.

  Her mother never let her hair grow afterward.

  A’TUGWEWINU GRASPED THE BRAID she had grown from birth, passing it over and over and over the small sharp piece. Her white-knuckled hands cramped from the lengthy effort until finally the braid separated, hair falling jaggedly around her shoulders. She held the long braid on her lap, her mourning over. Never again would the name Bèl leave her lips. Their spirit would join the ancestors in the spirit world and be at peace. A’tugwewinu would join them very shortly. Hazy like a dream, the death spirit skulked near her, becoming clearer by the minute.

  SHE STARED AT THE BRAID FOR DAYS. Running her fingers down the bumps, her fingers were caressed by the frigid tendrils of death’s tattered form, looming over her. Still she told stories.

  TIME WENT BY IN A STRANGE SENSE. The prisoners had dedicated themselves to memorizing the stories she told. A new nation not of her village, not of marked ones, but of memorizers arose. They sat as she told the stories and repeated the words over and over again. An informal resistance was growing among the prison. One of whispered words from ancestors and spirits, one of listening ears and watery eyes.

  Death became a corporeal form, the gangly limbs tickling her as she attempted to sleep. Not long, soon, very soon, she would join her beloved.

  The dull orb in the sky began to go down. A’tugwewinu embraced her old friend, death.

  Suddenly, her friend jerked away from her, and with a sad smile, he vanished.

  Confused, A’tugwewinu looked to the horizon, where a crouched shape fiddled with the metal of the gates. Finally, with the tools in their hand, the metal gave way, and the figure stepped through the gate and hopped toward the metal enclosing her cell. The cloak was pulled back and eyes like onyx peered up at her, her angel returned.

  A’tugwewinu dashed toward them, her fingers outstretched toward the figure. But she dared not touch, for her fingers would slip through smoke and not feel that smooth velvet skin. She inhaled a sob and withdrew her hand. Dark fingers grasped hers through the bars.

  A’tugwewinu’s eyes shot open. “How?” she whispered reverently. How was her beloved still here? She saw them die. She witnessed the blood leave their body.

  “I begged those spirits of yours to allow me to be with you once again,” Bèl whispered sincerely.

  A’tugwewinu let the tears flow freely from her heart, and gasped as she brought her forehead to the bars, and in between the cracks, felt that skin that she dreamed about.

  “And now that you have, will you leave me again?” she asked, hesitant, afraid that somehow this was a dream, or that death had taken her after all and this was simply the afterlife.

  “Never,” Bèl stated solemnly. A’tugwewinu pressed her face to the bars as her chapped lips met soft ones. Bèl kissed her like it was the first time and the last time they kissed, like soothing water caressing a parched throat. They kissed without care of the Enforcers, or pending doom, they kissed like the world was ending, but really, wasn’t it already over, and perhaps within this kiss lay the new beginning?

  They pulled away from each other, breaths ragged, a haze of lust and eternal love around them.

  “Let me get you free,” Bèl stated.

  A’tugwewinu watched as they wrangled with tools until finally the bars loosened and were cut with enough room for her to slip through.

  She rushed through and tackled her love to the earth, her arms enveloping Bèl as she giggled and felt joy erupt from her. She trailed her fingers to the spot where Bèl was
shot, feeling gnarled skin and matted scars instead. She breathed a sigh of relief. Bèl grasped her chin.

  “You cut your hair too soon, Winu.”

  She smiled. “I’ll let it grow.”

  Bèl smiled back. “Your execution was announced to take place in a few hours. Lots of important people and Enforcers are here to witness the last storyteller die. We need to go.”

  A’tugwewinu nodded. Softly, she clacked her hand against the bars. Soon, the memorizers came, they noticed the hole, and the younger ones slipped out. The older ones stayed behind. “We will only slow you down,” one said. “Besides, someone needs to stay to tell stories to the other prisoners,” another whispered.

  She nodded solemnly. She grasped Bèl’s small pointed dagger and looked at the old one in front of her. “Do you trust me?” she asked. The old one nodded. She lifted the dagger to the skin above their left breast and carved marking symbols, small scratches that bled. The old one hissed in pain, yet remained still.

  “This is the first marking we receive, give it to those who dedicate themselves to this path,” she explained.

  The old one nodded and whispered his thanks. She gave him the dagger. As they left swiftly, she looked behind her to witness the others giving each other the marks.

  She smiled, the marked ones reborn.

  “SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL, our people told our stories orally, we always listened when someone shared a story, and we always shared the stories we carried.”

  A’tugwewinu sat upright and listened attentively to what Kokomis was saying.

  “But there were other people in the world who didn’t share stories the same way. They would use tools to record their stories and put them in objects, and people would learn the stories from those objects.”

  “Wouldn’t they just get markings?” A’tugwewinu asked.

  “No. They wouldn’t. If they didn’t take the time to learn the stories from objects, they would never learn them. And they didn’t listen to each other, so they never learned to share either.”