A Woman of the Iron People

by Eleanor Arnason

  It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

  Crushed…

  “And so on. If you can’t escape from the problem, if you are pulled back to the here and now, then you lie. Which is dishonest and hypocritical, but natural and human, and it keeps everything mellow.”

  We reached the camp. The oracle was up, rebuilding the fire. He glanced at us. “Nia has gone?”

  “Yes,” said Derek. “And that woman came. Inahooli. She’s down by the water. I tied her up.”

  “Our luck is changing. Nia will find the bowhorn, and everything will come out the way it is supposed to. My spirit has promised me.”

  Derek made the gesture that meant he had heard what had been said, but was reserving judgment.

  Late in the morning we went down to the canoe, all three of us. Inahooli was in the same position as before. Her head was turned, and her eyes closed against the glare of the sun.

  I looked at her a moment. “This isn’t going to work,” I said in English. “Nia could be gone for days. We can’t keep the woman like this.”

  She opened her eyes, frowning and squinting.

  “It’s uncomfortable. It’s humiliating. And it’s undemocratic. What right do we have to deprive her of freedom?”

  “We have the right to protect ourselves,” Derek said.

  “Well, maybe. In any case, this isn’t practical. How is she going to eat? Or go to the bathroom? We can’t let her lie in her own excrement like a character in a novel about the old society.”

  The oracle bent over Inahooli. He loosened her gag.

  “Demon,” she said.

  “No. I am a holy man. An oracle. I serve the Spirit of the Waterfall, who is large and powerful and able to handle any kind of evil.”

  An interesting word, that one. I translated it as “evil,” an abstract noun. In his language it was an adjective coupled with a noun that meant “thing.” The adjective meant “bad,” as in a bad taste. It also meant “unlucky” or “peculiar.”

  “You are a demon,” the woman said. “You travel with demons.”

  “They are not demons. They are people without hair.”

  “One of them is male. And you are a man.”

  The oracle made the gesture of agreement.

  “Everyone knows that men are solitary by nature and have bad tempers and are unwilling to share anything with other men. But you travel with that one.” She nodded toward Derek. “You must be a demon or a monster.”

  “You are thinking badly,” the oracle said.

  Again the same word, the one that meant “bad” or “evil” or “strange.” This time the form was adverbial.

  The oracle straightened up. “You have been alone too long. It isn’t natural for a woman to sit by herself on an island.”

  “I am the guardian. And that one—the woman—has done harm to my tower.”

  “How?” asked the Voice of the Waterfall.

  “She came to the island. She sat in the shadow of the tower.”

  “No I didn’t. It was noon. There wasn’t any shade. Right below the tower, maybe, but not where I was.”

  “You were on the island. Bad people—people who are unlucky—cannot go to a holy place. Not until they have taken part in a ceremony of purification. But there is no way to purify a demon.”

  “You said if I was a demon, the tower would harm me. I wasn’t harmed. How can I be a demon?”

  The woman closed her eyes for a moment, frowning. Then she looked at me. “I explained this before. You are a demon. I can see that now. You have to be a demon. Who else would travel with men? And with a woman like Nia? The magic in the tower should have destroyed you. Or—at the very least—given you a terrible pain. But you are fine. Therefore, it must be the tower that has come to harm. And I am the guardian! How will I ever explain?”

  Derek said, “This kind of thinking goes around in a circle. If Lixia is a demon, the tower will hurt her. The tower does not hurt her, and this means she is a demon.”

  I made the gesture of disagreement. “You haven’t understood the argument.”

  “Help me sit up,” the woman said. “I can’t talk like this.”

  The oracle took hold of her shoulders. He pulled her into a sitting position. She grunted and twisted, moving the upper portion of her body from side to side. “My arms are numb. I can’t feel anything. And how can I talk without using my hands?”

  The oracle looked at me.

  “Free her. But only her hands.”

  “I need a knife,” he said.

  Derek gave him one.

  The oracle cut.

  “Are they free?” the woman said. “I can’t move them.”

  “They are free.”

  She leaned forward. Her arms fell apart, and her hands knocked against the sides of the canoe. “I feel nothing! I cannot make them work!”

  “Your arms are sleeping,” Derek said. He pulled her arms forward, till her hands were resting on her thighs. Then he began to rub one of the arms.

  “Aiya! It hurts! It tingles!”

  Derek kept rubbing. “Lixia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Explain the argument. The one I didn’t understand. And you—” He looked at Inahooli. “Remember, your feet are tied. Don’t try anything humorous.”

  Inahooli frowned. “This is no time for a joke. And anyway, I am not good at joking. Everyone tells me that.”

  “The problem is Nia,” I said. “I am a demon because I travel with her. And with you and the oracle.”

  The woman raised her arm. She clenched her hand, then opened it and made the gesture of agreement. Then she began to rub her other arm. Derek stood up and stepped back.

  “If I am a demon, then it follows that the tower is my enemy. If the magic of the tower does not harm me, then it follows that my magic must have harmed the tower. —An elegant line of reasoning,” I added in English. “I don’t see any flaw.”

  “This is stupid,” the oracle said. “You talk and talk, and you don’t settle anything. You are all thinking badly and more than that”—he raised one hand for emphasis—“you are fooling around with words. You are like children with bright stones. You toss the words. You line them in rows. Aiya! How pretty! But what does it mean?” He paced around the canoe, then turned and stared at us. “Listen to me, all of you! Among my people there is a woman who is called the go-between. When there is an argument, she goes to the women who are involved. She asks questions. Each woman tells her side of the argument. Then the go-between goes off by herself. She thinks over everything she has heard. She picks through the stories, and she throws away anything that seems malicious or foolish. When people argue, they begin to brood. The memory of the argument stays in their minds. It becomes like food that has been stored all winter: half-rotten and full of bugs. And it is hard to tell what is good from the garbage.

  “But the go-between learns to turn ideas over. She knows how to find the soft spots and the little holes where bugs have burrowed in. She throws away all the bad ideas. Whatever is left is the real reason for the argument. Once she knows that, she can begin to settle the argument.”

  He paused for a moment. Inahooli opened her mouth. He held up his hand, flat with the palm forward. The gesture meant “stop” or “wait.” It was identical with the human gesture.

  “Sometimes the go-between can find no good reason for the argument. Then she looks further. Is there a malicious neighbor who has been telling lies or carrying stories? Have the women in the argument done anything that is unlucky or likely to cause anger either in the land of the spirits or in the rest of the village?

  The go-between keeps looking until she finds a good reason for the argument. Now—” He touched his chest, then straightened his arm, moving it out to the side. I didn’t recognize the gesture. It had a formal look, like the gestures used by professional speakers. Maybe it was a gesture reserved for special occasions: feasts and religious ceremonies. “I have been thinking about the reason for this argument. Everyth
ing you people have said is stupid. And we have no neighbors here to carry stories and tell lies. Therefore, the cause of this argument is magical.”

  Inahooli frowned. “You are talking too much. I am getting confused. Everything was simple and clear before you people arrived.”

  The oracle looked at Derek. “I thought maybe this is happening because of the bracelet. But I gave it back, and I performed a ceremony of propitiation.”

  I grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled on his shirtsleeve. He jerked away from me. Too late. The cuff was open, and the thing on his wrist was visible. It was the bracelet, of course. Sunlight hit it. The metal glittered.

  “He watched you last night,” I told the oracle. “He saw where you threw the bracelet. This morning he went swimming. Derek never gives up. That’s why he has tenure.”

  “What?” the oracle asked.

  “It’s difficult to explain.”

  Derek took off the bracelet. “Okay. You win, Lixia.” He tossed the bracelet to the oracle. “Get rid of it. Lixia can watch me to make sure I don’t watch you.”

  “What is this about?” Inahooli asked.

  The Voice of the Waterfall answered. “This one”—he waved to Derek—“took the bracelet, and he had no right to. It was a gift to a spirit or demon, whoever inhabits the lake of boiling mud that is to the east of here.”

  “It belongs to the Trickster.” The woman stared at Derek. “You are very unlucky. He does not forget. And it is very hard to get away from him.”

  “You see?” said the oracle. “There is always a good reason for everything. This”—he held up the bracelet—“is the reason for our argument.”

  “Do you believe this?” Derek asked the woman.

  She frowned. “No. The Trickster is angry with you. But I am the one who is having the bad luck. That doesn’t seem right.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. We all waited. After a minute she opened her eyes. “The Groundbird Clan!”

  “What?” said Derek.

  “Their ceremony follows ours, and we always overshadow them. Our tower is always taller and better-looking. Our dancers and storytellers have more skill. I know they are envious, and the new shamaness was born in their clan—though now, of course, she belongs to the Clan of the First Magician. But a woman does not forget what she learned as a child in the tent of her mother. Yes!” She made the gesture of affirmation. “She has performed some kind of magic rite and made this happen.” She looked at the oracle. “You were right about the malicious neighbors. I should have thought of this before. There is nothing wrong with the tower. She drove me crazy with magic and made me think the tower is ruined.”

  “What about the bracelet?” the oracle said.

  “That will certainly cause bad luck, but not to me. No, this is due to the Groundbird Clan.” She fell quiet, obviously brooding.

  “You said, the groundbird stole fire from the sky.”

  She looked at me, then made the gesture of agreement.

  “Did you see the moon last night? It is on fire. Could that have anything to do with what is happening here? Could it be an omen? A sign of magic?”

  “No.” She paused. “Yes. Maybe. I have never been good with omens. Someone else has to explain them. I never understand what they mean. I have to get back to the tower. If the shamaness is trying to drive me crazy, then I must try to be ordinary. I have to go back to my usual behavior. I have to do what I’m supposed to do.” She reached down and pulled at the fabric that held her feet. “Help me! I can’t stay here. Who knows what is happening to the tower?”

  The oracle cut her free. She pushed herself up on her knees, then tried to get up on one foot. She couldn’t. “My ankles don’t work.”

  “To hell with it,” said Derek. He grabbed the woman under the arms and pulled her up. “Hold on to me.” He lifted her out of the canoe. “Can you stand?”

  “No.”

  He kept one arm around her. “Lean on me. Try to walk.”

  She stumbled forward.

  “Okay. Keep going.”

  They walked back and forth. I watched and tried to figure out what had happened. What had we been talking about? What had been resolved?

  After a while she was able to walk on her own. She made the gesture that indicated completion and then the gesture that meant gratitude. “I will go now. The tower must be guarded. And if you are willing to take my advice, get rid of the bracelet. Give it back to the Trickster, or else he will cause you a lot of trouble.” She pushed one of the canoes out into the water, jumped in, and began to paddle. In a minute or two she was gone, out of sight among the reeds.

  “I am going to hide the bracelet,” the oracle said. “Lixia, you watch that man. He cannot be trusted.” The oracle walked away.

  I looked at Derek.

  He grinned and shrugged. “I seem to be getting a bad reputation.”

  “Uh-huh. And you deserve it. I’ve always heard that you were first-rate in the field. Well, if this is a sample…”

  He began to frown, drawing down his thick blond eyebrows.

  “You interfered with a ceremony. You stole something that’s magical or—at least—owned by a magical being. Are you out of your mind? How could you risk your relationship with the oracle? He’s an excellent informant. Do you think people like that grow on trees?”

  “He never would have known except for you. You decided it was time for a big revelation.”

  I thought for a moment. “That’s true enough.”

  “I ought to be angry with you, Lixia. I’ve lost a valuable artifact, and I’m going to have to spend a lot of time convincing the oracle that I am not—most of the time—a thief. Well—” He made the gesture that meant “so be it.” “I’ll talk him around. And I don’t believe in holding a grudge. So what do you say we forget this?”

  I laughed. The man was superb. After everything he’d done, he was willing to forgive me. “Okay. Do you want to shake on it?” I held out my hand. We shook.

  “I’m getting hungry,” Derek said. “What do you say we check the fish traps?”

  I made the gesture of agreement. We waded out. The traps were empty, though something had paid a visit to them. The bait was gone.

  “Dammit,” I said.

  We waded back to shore, bringing the traps with us.

  The oracle came down the beach. His hands were empty. He had gotten rid of the bracelet. “No fish?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Aiya!” He paused and scratched his nose. “We should have asked the crazy woman if she had anything to spare. Well, I have seen plants that are edible. We will gather them.”

  Derek shook his head, then made the gesture that meant “no.” “You two go. It’s time I began to think about hunting. I’ll look for wood. Maybe I can make a new bow or a spear.”

  I went with the oracle. We dug roots and gathered berries. He told me stories about the various kinds of vegetation: how the bloodroot got its color and why the sunleaf turned always toward the sun and why no man would eat any part of the hubaia vine, though women relished it.

  Late in the afternoon we went back to camp. Derek was there. He had a long piece of wood. “A spear,” he said.

  We roasted the bloodroots. They were pale orange when we put them in the fire. By the time we raked them out, they had turned dark red. They had a sweet flavor and a mealy texture. Imagine a potato with the taste of a ripe sweet pepper. Not bad, I thought. But they needed butter.

  Derek stripped the bark off his piece of wood and scraped the wood with a knife, cutting away irregularities I couldn’t even see. Then he sat and twisted the bark into cord.

  “This man is skillful,” the oracle said. “Even though he has no hair, he knows the things a man has to know.”

  Derek glanced up and grinned, then went back to twisting.

  “Though I don’t understand,” the oracle said, “why he likes to show his teeth. He does it over and over.”

  “It is an expression of pleasure or happiness,�
� I said.

  “Oh,” said the oracle.

  Night came. The wind was off the lake. It carried bugs to us: a new variety, tiny and numerous.

  I cursed and waved my hands.

  “Ignore them,” Derek said.

  I moved closer to the fire. Smoke swirled around me, and the bugs left me alone. But now—of course—my eyes were watering. I looked at the oracle. “Don’t they bother you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But there is nothing to be done. A lake like this always has bugs. And these ones do not bite. That is the best we can hope for.” He opened his mouth in a really wide yawn and I saw his canines. They were long and sharp. No wonder these people did not express happiness by grinning. Those teeth looked menacing. “Are we going to keep watch?”

  “Derek?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m not certain we did the right thing by letting that woman go. She gives me a humorous feeling. I don’t like her aura.”

  “We couldn’t keep her tied up for days,” I said. “Anyway, she has a real problem to deal with now. Her enemies in the Groundbird Clan.” I grinned.

  The oracle lay down. I watched Derek. He split the piece of wood at one end and wedged the knife in, the blade pointing out. Then he wound the cord around the split wood and the knife. “Crude but effective. I hope.” He kept winding and knotting. I put more branches on the fire. Then I lay down.

  I woke. Something was biting my hand. A mosquito. I slapped and got the little varmint. At the same moment I remembered that it could not possibly be a mosquito. I looked at the fire. It was a heap of coals, glowing dimly, not giving off much smoke at all. Off to the west above the lake the Great Moon shone. It was getting close to full. I squinted and thought I saw a line above the upper edge. It was curved like a handle, going up and over the terminator, then back down—from sunlight into shadow. Derek had better eyes than I did. To me it was just barely visible.

  “Goddammit!” Another biter got me on the neck. I looked around for wood. There wasn’t any. I couldn’t rebuild the fire.

  I lay down and put my arm over my face, trying to protect it. The bugs hummed around me. They didn’t bite often, but the sound and the expectation kept me awake. I gave up finally. It was time for a walk. Maybe I would find a late-night store that sold bug repellent or one of those hats with a veil made of mosquito netting.