One of the workers, acting as a cleaner, dashed over toward me and started frantically palpating my body with its antennae. She couldn’t find the home scent on me because I had been outside the nest so long. I was in trouble unless I could tell her that I was friend instead of foe. I tried to tell her, but couldn’t figure out how to talk. I just kept opening my mouth and snapping it shut. No sounds came out. My mouth opened and closed, opened and closed again, the only sound a loud click.
The cleaner-ant was getting agitated, about to call me out as an enemy trying to sneak into our nest, and I couldn’t figure out how to talk to her. Odors! I needed to make an odor! The only thing I could think of was to raise my abdomen and give a little squeeze. An odor came out of my back end, and the cleaner-ant backed away from me, but it seemed to work. She calmed down and left me alone.
A different worker approached me, running and excited, wafting odors of food from her antennae and recruiting other workers to help. Her excitement and frenetic activity indicated that we needed to hurry. I rushed after her, following along with several other ants—Roncommock no doubt among them—and we darted off down a scent trail that was identical to the odor the ant had been carrying.
We soon arrived at the scene of a fierce struggle. Two ants were clinging onto a dark, striped caterpillar covered in rows of stiff hairs. Another ant leapt up onto its back, trying to bite its head, but slid off when the stiff hairs prevented her from grabbing hold of the skin. The caterpillar was already bleeding green blood from several wounds. It whipped its head back and forth, bucking its whole body up and down, trying to dislodge the two ants on its back, but all to no avail. When another worker jumped aboard, successfully this time, I could see it was over for the caterpillar. Its thrashing began to subside and more workers moved in for the kill. I realized that it had fallen from a black cherry tree overhead, dislodged from its feeding when one of my sister-ants encountered it on a leaf and bit through its silken suspension line. The caterpillar failed to make it back to its protective tent, where it would have been safe from marauding ants underneath a sheet of tightly woven silk.
Once it was dead, all of us gathered under the carcass to lift it up and carry it back to the village. With several of us working together, we were able to lift the giant beast and haul it along the uneven trail back to the mound. It was as if a few men had picked up a dead bison and carried it back to the village. The caterpillar was at least ten times the size of any one of us, but by working together, we could carry it.
As we approached the village, a few of the most excited workers rushed out to meet us, then darted back with the news after they’d absorbed some of the caterpillar’s scent. The rest of the village was abuzz when we arrived, and the interior workers set to work carving up the beast just as humans might carve up a bison. Small pieces of food were distributed to all the ants that were hungry. I was offered a morsel, but did not feel the need for it and merely shook my head at the worker, who gave it to the next ant in line. I felt tired and ready for rest after all the activity I had seen and participated in.
Now I had a problem. I was ready to leave this ant world, but didn’t know how. Was I to be trapped here forever? Roncommock hadn’t told me how to leave! Where was he? I began to panic as I realized my predicament. I was a tiny ant on the edge of our crop field! One of our own men, even one of the children of the village, might step on me, putting an end to my tiny life. How was I going to escape this dilemma? I looked frantically for Roncommock, but of course could not distinguish him from the other ants.
I slowed down and thought about it. How did I become the ant? I stared at the ant, I put myself into its mind and body, and Roncommock helped me to contact the ant’s spirit. Now I needed to ask the ant spirit to release me. Perhaps I just needed to still my mind, to concentrate, and to ask.
My ant eyes could not close because they had no lids, nor could my antennae stop processing scents. Both inputs were distracting. So I shut my mind instead, which was much harder. As I focused my thoughts, I felt my body relax. As it turned out, I didn’t need to ask for anything. I felt myself slipping back into my human form, a soft body, closed eyes, lungs filling slowly with air. Just before I left the ant consciousness, I squeaked out a “thank you” and I felt the answering sigh of appreciation from my ant host. The spirits were pleased that I remembered to thank the ant who hosted my visit.
As I came back into myself and opened my eyes, I saw that I was sitting just as I’d left. Roncommock was next to me, also in human form. He smiled at me, asked how I felt, and all I told him in reply was that we needed to thank the spirits. He chuckled and we walked to Chowanook’s central sacred fire—which was always kept burning—and there we gave our thanks to the spirits. My mind was still reeling with everything I had seen and experienced. I needed time to reflect, time to calm down.
Roncommock and I sat by the fire, but he never said anything. He watched the flames just as I did, their orange curls licking around the dark wood and sending up pale grey plumes of smoke. Occasionally, a little spark glowed more brightly than the rest as it flew skyward. He waited until I was ready to talk. Finally, after clearing my mind, relaxing my body, and once again sending thanks to the spirits, I felt the peacefulness of their presence restore me. I was ready to tell him about my experience now.
“I learned so much from those tiny ants!” were the first words out of my mouth. “I am astonished at their lives. They lack emotions, yet are strongly drawn to their village and will protect it at all costs. They work together, each relying on the other. Some are specialized for different tasks. With the exception of the queen, none rank higher than others, but all are valued for their accomplishments. Whether they are soldiers or they are tenders of the egg chamber, all have jobs to do and all do their jobs to the best of their ability.” I paused briefly, then added in a rush, “And, they are all female! Women can do everything in that village, even fight. Their world is so different from ours.”
“Is their world really so different, Skyco? The women of our village raise crops, care for children, and tend the village itself. We trace our descent from our mothers and each clan within our village is related through the female line. The whole time you were with the ants, you never left the crop field of our human village. You were in the same world, so how was it different?”
“Perhaps because of the way I experienced it. I smelled everything. I could tell what had happened elsewhere because of the scents that were released and conveyed. As a human, it seemed strange that I lacked hands but could still carry, I had eyes but hardly used them, and I had antennae which turned out to be the most important organ of them all. One ant returned from a battle, completely whole except for her antennae—both were damaged. She was thrown on the midden to die. Yet an ant that had only three legs kept going and fought the next battle.” As almost an afterthought, I added, “And in our world, the men do the fighting and the hunting. We at least contribute something to our village.”
“I saw those ants, too. You appreciate the differences and their importance. This was a good introduction to the spirit world, Skyco. You will have more experiences, but later. For now, you need to rest, recover, and reflect on what you have learned from an ant.”
It was true. I had learned an incredible amount in a short time. The village life of the ants was different from our human village, but like us, they worked together to make the village prosper. Each ant did its job, contributing to the village’s success, and every ant was needed by the community. On the other hand, the ants lacked all emotions, and the life of an individual was completely subsumed by its tribe. On the whole, I would not like to be there forever. I was pleased to have such a powerful experience, and one from which I learned so much, but I was glad to be human.
“Is it okay if I tell Ascopo about what we did today, teacher? He is my best friend and I know that he will be curious about what we have done together.”
“Friend
ships are important, Skyco, but you must remember that none of the other boys are undergoing this training in the spirit world. They will not understand.”
Instead of heading to the river bank, where Ascopo and I often met, I went straight back with Roncommock to his wigwam.
To Build a Canoe
“It is time to learn one of the great skills of our people, Skyco,” Roncommock said to me one morning. I was glad to hear that we were changing the routine. For days, Roncommock had been grilling me on the names of all the chiefs of the local villages. I was also learning the proper way to address the chiefs and introduce myself to them. He was teaching me diplomacy, a skill I needed, but I was ready for some action instead of just memorizing people and their relationships. I wished Ascopo were around, but Roncommock had kept me so busy that I hadn’t seen him in days.
“Old Memeo has said that he is ready to build another canoe. He has already selected the tree,” Roncommock told me as we walked into deeper forest farther from the village, where the trees grew larger. “It is tall and wide, an old master cypress tree. A canoe built from it could last forever.”
Ascopo stepped out from behind the tree along the trail, grinning widely.
“How do you like my hair?” he asked, and I clapped in appreciation. He too, had been initiated into his apprenticeship by having his hair trimmed like mine. Roncommock acknowledged him with a hand to his shoulder, but kept walking down the trail. Ascopo fell in beside me and whispered, “It is great to see you again! It’s been ages since we talked. I am sure that I can now identify every single tree and bush, whether they have leaves or not. This apprenticeship with Memeo is getting more interesting now that we are carving utensils out of wood.”
“Carving!” I said. “That must be fun! What have you made so far?”
Ascopo self-consciously pulled a spoon from his belt. It was gracefully carved, with a long handle and a smooth, shallow bowl.
“Hey, this is nice! You should be proud of it!”
“Takes forever,” he said, “to hollow out the bowl with a piece of quartz and then smooth it with sharkskin. Memeo makes everything smooth. Thankfully this is a soft wood and easy, supposedly, to work. He faulted me on the handle because it is curved rather than straight, but I think it is okay for a first attempt.”
“What is it made of? It is a pretty, tan color.”
“Rakiock. It darkens as it ages.”
“Hey! That’s my favorite tree!” In the spring, the trees bear hundreds of large, colorful, bowl-shaped, open flowers. Each flower is painted with a strip of orange near the base of the yellowish petals. Below the orange strip, next to the cone where the stamens of the flower attach, there lies a sweet band of nectar. Insects often visit the flowers to lap up the nectar, but as children, we lick the sweet bands just as happily. Few of our foods have that sweet taste that we like so much. We even collect the petals and dry them to store for later in the season, but we often consume them as quickly as they dry. My mother puts the crushed, dried leaves into hot water to make a sweet tea that tastes of flowers. The big trees bloom for a short time in the late spring, well after they put on leaves but while everything is still spring fresh. Rakiocks, or tulip-tree, are among the biggest trees of all, often growing so wide that it takes six men touching hands to encircle the tree.
While I was remembering all this, we suddenly appeared in the forest glade where the selected cypress tree was standing. Rakiock wood is soft and easily worked, but both cypress and pine are harder and longer lasting. Bald cypress, however, is an unusual tree, for although it has tiny needles, it loses those needles in the wintertime the way a balding man loses his hair in old age. All other needle trees are evergreen, like the pines that we also use for canoes. But the most important aspect of cypress wood is that it does not decay. A canoe built of cypress just might last forever.
I turned to Roncommock. “Did you mean that all canoes built of cypress wood might last forever, or were you suggesting that this particular canoe would?”
Ascopo looked confused.
Roncommock chuckled. “I see that our sessions together have encouraged you to be thoughtful and to question the meaning of my statements, Skyco. Attending to your own words and ideas as well as those of others is an admirable trait in any person, but a necessity in a leader.”
He paused and looked seriously at both of us.
“You were right to ask. While it is true that any canoe built of cypress might last forever, Eracano has foretold that this canoe in particular is destined to travel to a world far beyond our own. This canoe that you build, boys, will be passed down to many future generations. Build it with pride and care, for it will represent our people to another. The people of the future will come to understand us based on what we pass on to them, their hands will touch what you have touched, and their minds will wonder how you lived. Descendants always learn, or should learn, from the knowledge and wisdom of their ancestors. Just as ancestral wisdom shapes our present lives, careful attention to present actions is the best offering for our future. Remember this when your muscles ache from the work and you are tempted to quit rather than to continue. Pour your heart and your spirit into this canoe, sending it forward as the best representation of yourself and your people. It will test your patience and perseverance, but you must imagine, and be confident of, the long-term importance of quality.”
I suppressed a shiver, stunned at the importance of the task ahead of me. Ascopo gaped, his mouth and eyes wide open. Never before had I been told that the job I was about to undertake was certain to matter in the future. On the other hand, any job worth doing is worth doing well. As chief, I will represent my people in many different ways and might never know which particular action is destined to matter more than another, thus, all my actions should be considered potentially important and worthy of my best effort. Ascopo shut his mouth and just nodded.
Roncommock left us near the cypress tree that would soon become a canoe. Memeo, our tribe’s master woodworker, started a small fire near the base of the enormous tree as the first step in the long process. Chacháquises, his main assistant, packed handfuls of pine rosin, bound together with a little moss, in a band around the base of the tree. Once he completely encircled the tree trunk with the mixture, he ran a fuse of rosin from the tree to the fire, and soon the fire began to creep around the tree like a flaming necklace. Ascopo and I impatiently hoped to start carving the canoe immediately, but Memeo motioned us to sit down instead.
We had to wait while the fire did its job, providing old Memeo time to describe how he selected the tree we would convert into a canoe. Our inaction, coupled with his rather monotone voice, caused my mind to wander. Suddenly, I saw the flames leaping menacingly around the tree’s base and I tried to direct Ascopo’s eye, but he was already staring at the flames too. Chacháquises was nowhere to be seen.
“Sir!” I shouted, but Memeo was so intent that he didn’t appear to hear me. Just before I leapt up and really got myself into trouble with Memeo, Chacháquises walked into the glade with a macócqwer of water and poured some on the highest flames, reducing them instantly. Ascopo and I both relaxed, realizing the fire was not getting out of control as it had first appeared.
After this short period of excitement, my mind focused better as Memeo related that he was named for the biggest woodpecker and Chacháquises for the smallest. Men often, but not always, changed their names from their birth name to a name that better reflected their skills and professions when they became adults. These men carved trees the way woodpeckers did. As might be expected, the men of the bird clan were typically the best wood carvers and the women of the clan were the best weavers. The baskets woven by Poócqueo, Memeo’s sister and Chacháquises’s mother, held our precious crop seeds from year to year.
Since neither Ascopo nor I knew what was expected of us, we simply sat near the tree and waited. Soon, Ascopo’s older brother Kaiauk joined us and s
urprised me with a question totally unrelated to the canoe.
“Did you really fight off a bear?”
“Uh, it was not like a real fight or anything. Just sort of an improvisation.”
“Are you boys paying attention to this canoe or not?” Memeo cried and we all shut our mouths. “Since you seem to know everything already, Kaiauk, please tell Skyco and Ascopo what lies ahead in the making of this canoe.” I could sense Ascopo’s delight at his brother’s discomfort, but he dared not show it to Memeo.
Kaiauk stuttered momentarily, but found his tongue and described our next actions. He said we would eat our food in the glade and sleep there at night, guarding and protecting the tree. Once the fire burned into the wood around the circumference of the tree, girdling its flow of sap, the tree could not survive. Since we caused the death of the tree, we stayed with it until the canoe was complete. It is how we show our respect to the tree.
Memeo seemed satisfied with his answer and turned away to another task. Kaiauk relaxed, for, like Ascopo, he was apprenticed to Memeo and worked to earn his approval. Memeo was treated with the respect of a shaman, since what he did was to contact tree spirits and to carve most anything we needed. Any man knew how to make a bow and arrow, but Memeo’s bows were the best, and most of the men waited until they could get a bow from him.
Kaiauk said, “We have a long time to wait. To put this tree on the ground is not a simple task. Memeo will keep the fire small and under control, or at least that is the idea!” He smiled, indicating that he, too, had seen the flare-up from a few moments ago. “Memeo says this is a good time for learning patience, but I think it is a better time to pick up some hunting tips from the older men!”
Kaiauk wanted to impress us with his knowledge and described how Memeo only carved bows of either black locust saplings or a young witch hazel and was incredibly specific about the particular sapling he used, rejecting nine out of ten saplings that he was brought. Memeo only made arrows of reeds and fitted them with the breast feathers of a turkey. He was less picky about the points, using flaked quartz, cracked shell, or even the teeth of a gar, a fish with big, pointed, sharp teeth.
Spirit Quest Page 5
