BIBOON
WINTER
TEN
OLD TALLOW’S COAT
Deydey always said that the winter could not truly begin until Old Tallow donned her coat. Hers was a coat of strange magnificence, a patchwork of destroyed fabrics and new furs. Each year, Old Tallow added something new to the coat so that it never diminished, only increased in complexity. There were lynx and marten furs, velvets, parts of blankets, rabbit, bear, and otter scraps as well as trade wool. There were even other coats contained within the coat, as if it had swallowed them up. Old Tallow reworked her coat every fall to keep the stitching tight. She added inside pockets or loops of belt for her knives, a holster for her hatchet, a hood one year, an extra collar.
One cold, blustery afternoon, as Omakayas hurried back from a trip to Auntie Muskrat’s, where she had been visiting Twilight, she saw Old Tallow bounding through the woods. She was wearing the coat. It was a thrilling sight. The furs and patterns billowed around her and her dogs loped beside in chase of some invisible prey. They passed quickly over the frozen earth and were gone. Omakayas kept walking, the sight fresh in her mind. Sure enough, by the time she was in sight of the cabin, the sky went a frigid white and the air filled with flakes of snow. The snow fell deep that night and did not melt in the morning. Winter had definitely arrived.
The long winter nights were for storytelling, and Nokomis was known as an excellent storyteller. To request an aadizookaan, or story, someone gave her a small amount of tobacco, just enough for her to smoke in her pipe. Nokomis took the tobacco and sometimes she smoked her little pipe as she thought about the story she would tell. When the wind howled outside and Omakayas was safe in her rabbit-skin blanket, curled tight against Nokomis, there was nothing better than to hear Nokomis begin a story. She told the holy stories and the funny stories, the aadizookaanag that explained how the world came into being, how it continued to be made. These stories explained how people came about, and how humans learned so much from the wise and hilarious teacher, Nanabozho. This last being, who did so many absurd and yet meaningful things, was a favorite of Omakayas. Another favorite story, though it chilled her and sent Pinch crawling for Mama’s lap, was of that terrible monster of the ice and snow, the wiindigoo. When Nokomis told a wiindigoo tale, her voice deepened and even the wind outside quieted down to listen. Her eyes grew narrow and a cold breath sighed through the cabin walls. Omakayas pulled her blanket close around her, shivered deliciously, and listened.
THE LITTLE GIRL AND THE WIINDIGOO
This happened in the old days, said Nokomis, when some people had great powers and the animals spoke to us. In those days, there was a little girl whose mother died. Her people were unkind and they did not take care of her. She was considered the smallest one and made of the poorest stuff. She never got the fat meat, only the bones from the bottom of the pot of soup. She never got the warm spot, next to the fire, but shivered beyond its circle. Nor was she given good clothing to wear, but made do with the tattered ends of skins and worn-out furs that other people threw away. Yet, because her makazinan were full of holes, someone took pity on her. Some spirit looked her way and was moved to watch out for her.
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One of the old men began to say that a wiindigoo must be about. The kettles were moving on the fire. Wind came from nowhere. The flames died and yet the water boiled. An owl was caught within a rabbit’s snare. Now, for sure, the old man said, let us make ready. A wiindigoo is coming near.
Here is how we will do it, the old man told the people that night. We will all come around the fire and we will all try to smoke this pipe. Anyone who can get it to light without a match will be the one with the strength to fight the wiindigoo.
The warriors tried first. One and then the next took that old man’s pipe and worked on it, breathing on it and begging it to light all by itself. But nothing happened. Each of the old men tried next, and found that they, too, were useless. The women tried, both the old women and the young. No matter how they talked to the pipe and blew into it, still nothing. At last the children tried, even the babies. There was no success.
Then the old man said that there was one person too humble to try the pipe. This person was sitting at the edge of the fire, where she always sat, and she was wearing the raggediest clothing. She didn’t even own a blanket. She was that poor. The people turned around. At first they were so used to overlooking the girl that they saw no one. Then all of a sudden they noticed her. And some of them laughed. Some of them said it was no use, why even bother. They told the old man to forget about it. But he insisted, saying that even the lowliest must try now or they would all be devoured.
So the little girl was brought near the fire, though she was shy, and so afraid that she could not look at anyone who helped her. Feeling the warmth of the flames for the first time, she thought how nice it felt. Her heart grew stronger. She was able to take the pipe in her hands. But only when a woman felt sorry for the girl and put her own blanket around her shoulders, did the girl dare to put the pipe to her lips.
The first time she breathed on the pipe nothing happened. Some people shook their heads in disgust and went away. The second time she breathed on the pipe it remained cold. More people left and others said that there was no hope. The third time the girl tried to light the pipe without a match, nothing happened, again, and she almost put the pipe down from shame. But then the spirit who was looking after her spoke so that only she could hear. Think of your mother, said the spirit, and the girl thought of her mother. She touched the pipe and it caught on fire.
Now she knew exactly what she needed to do. She suddenly became very powerful. First she called the old man’s dogs to her. They came and sat directly at her feet. Then she instructed the men to find her two stout rods of sumac. They should cut them and bring them to her at once. The women, she said, must use the fire she had started to boil a great kettle full of tallow, and not be afraid of her when she started to grow.
Soon it became very cold. Everything began to crack. They could hear the trees bursting in the woods, even the rocks. The people saw the wiindigoo stride across the lake, which froze beneath his feet. He was made all of ice, a huge man-shaped thing white as frost. He came on land and wherever he stepped ice took over. The cold got worse. It filled the girl, too, and she started to grow. She grew into a giant, and then she faced the wiindigoo.
First she sent the old man’s dogs to kill the wiindigoo’s dog. They did so easily. Then she took the rods made out of sumac in her hands. When she did this, they turned to copper. With the first rod she knocked down the wiindigoo and held him. It was a terrible, raging battle, but finally, with the other rod, she killed him. Then she drank a cup of the tallow soup from the kettle on the fire. Instantly, she came down to her own size again. The dogs became regular dogs when she let them lick some tallow from her hand. She then opened the mouth of the dead wiindigoo, which was full of jagged teeth made of ice. Into this creature she poured the rest of the boiling hot tallow. The ice melted off the wiindigoo entirely, and when it did, a normal man was left lying by the fire.
This man was never told he had been a wiindigoo, but he was watched very carefully. He was told that he must hunt for the little girl. So she had everything she wanted from then on.
Now, said the spirit who protected her, you must always help these people. Even though they scorned you, they will now respect you. You must show them how to be more human.
Eventually, the little girl married and was happy. She had four children, and when she was old she told this story. And when the people heard it they all agreed it was important to be kind to the ones most helpless—the poor, the old, the children. You never know whom the spirits have chosen to help you and even to save you.
The smallest and poorest-looking person might have enough power to kill a wiindigoo. Mi’iw minik.
While he listened to Nokomis’s aadizookaan, Deydey always worked to fashion something with his hands. He made three kinds of sn
owshoes—the curved snowshoe, the little round bear-paw snowshoe, and the snowshoe with a tail. He used the split soaked basswood he had collected in the summer, and moose guts for the lacings, as fresh as possible. He sewed tight webs of sinew between the sides of the snowshoe hoops. Deydey made drums, too, for use during ceremonies. He made another, special drum, which he planned to give Fishtail when he returned. He carved a pipe in the shape of the claw of an eagle holding an egg. He carved a pipe stem that twisted in a beautiful whirl. He made lacrosse sticks, fishing decoys, a doll’s cradle board for Omakayas, a toy rattle for Bizheens. He made snow snakes, carving them with beautiful designs. These snow snakes were the favorites of Pinch.
Every afternoon, Pinch took his snow snakes and went out to the edge of the lake with the other boys and Two Strike. There, they took turns seeing who could throw the snake the farthest across the ice. They conducted endless snow snake contests and wars. First one and then the other was champion of the snow snakes. When they tired of that game, they went sliding farther down the shore where the land sloped excitingly to the lake. If they got going fast enough on a piece of elm or birchbark, they’d slide far onto the ice. Of course, they made thisinto a contest too. Theone who slid farthest was declared chief, or ogitchida. Two Strike coveted the title, but more often it was the Angry One who threw himself farther on the ice.
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Omakayas often went sliding with her cousins and sometimes, if the snow was soft, they had long snowball wars that lasted into the afternoons, broke off at dusk, resumed the next morning, and went on for days. One day, when the snow was just right, Omakayas ran to Auntie Muskrat’s to fetch her cousins. The Angry One was there, hauling water up from the inlet where the family kept a great hole open in the ice. Today, he wore the same forbidding look that Omakayas was familiar with on the face of Old Tallow. For some reason, maybe because the day was so bright and the world so cheerful, the angry frown made Omakayas laugh.
“What’s so funny?” growled the boy.
“You never smile.”
“Don’t feel like it,” he grumped. “I want to beat Pinch at snow snakes today, not haul water.”
“Go on, then,” said Omakayas, feeling kindly toward him, maybe because he was so absurdly mad. “I’ll haul the next few loads of water.”
“You will?”
The Angry One looked completely astounded at her offer. He stood rooted to the icy ground, so surprised he was almost upset. Omakayas took the brass trade pails from his hands, dumped the water in the big kettle, or akik, steaming on the outside fire. Then without another word she went down to the inlet where the hole was chopped in the ice, leaving the Angry One still mystified. Omakayas laughed to herself as she filled the pails. He probably wonders why anyone would do anything to help such a sour person, she thought, and he’s right! It’s worth it, though, just to see the surprise on his face!
That day, the winter snow snake games and sliding turned into the biggest snowball battle ever conducted. Of course, Two Strike was the leader of the boys, and Pinch was her top warrior. Omakayas was the leader of the girls, and Twilight and Little Bee fought fiercely at her side. But the boys, including some cousins from the village, outnumbered them. They were being driven from their territory, farther and farther into the woods. Two Strike’s snowballs were hard, often carrying rocks. Once, she hit Omakayas full in the face. Omakayas was stunned. The smack of the snowball and the pain of the rock were awful. She was too proud to cry. Little Bee got hit next, and she did start to cry. Suddenly, from nowhere, with a blood-curdling shriek, the Angry One leaped into the battle on their side.
His arms moved so fast they blurred. He packed snowballs hard, too, and always hit whoever he aimed for. He got Two Strike right on the nose, and she was so surprised that she plopped down right on her seat. From the snowy ground, she peered up at him, wiping the snow off her face.
“Ombay, my warriors, let’s fight to the death!” she yelled, leaping to her feet. But Pinch had already started to laugh at his snowball-fight chief, and once a warrior laughs there is no going forward with the fight. To the disappointment of Two Strike, everyone was suddenly friends. For the rest of the day they constructed a dog sled and tried to train Makataywazi and Twilight’s dog to pull it—but the two always bounded after waaboozoog or pulled in opposite directions. They were hopeless. The children finally headed back to their homes, to the warm stew pot and the snug fur robes, to the fragrant cedar of their sleeping corners. Only as Omakayas approached her cabin did her thoughts turn, as they always did after a few hours of distraction, to worry over the fate of the men who went to the four directions, and those who were on the journey to the west. No word had come from them yet.
LEARNING THE TRACKS
Every morning now, Angeline and Omakayas set out for school. Once they arrived at the schoolhouse, they shook the snow off their makazinan and slipped into their places in the school room. A cast-iron stove at the back of the room threw so much heat that they preferred to sit up front. It was easier there to study the marks that the teacher made on the big black piece of slate, and to copy them onto their own smaller slates. They saw the Break-Apart Girl every day now, and could even say her name, Clarissa, though it still sounded like Gisina. She passed out the slates every morning and began the lesson by writing out the alphabet on the main blackboard. The small slates that the girls used had to be returned before they left, as well as the pieces of chalk that made the fascinating marks. All morning, Angeline and Omakayas practiced letters and numbers. In the afternoon, they went home. As they walked back to the cabin, the air around Omakayas’s head seemed written with swirling figures and patterns. She had tried so hard to make sense of all the teacher said that she couldn’t shake the marks out of her head.
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Soon, she knew all of the letters, and the sounds of the letters, and she could say them along with Angeline. At night, sometimes, they practiced the letters by tracing them in the frost that formed on the inside of the cabin walls. They taught Deydey the letters, and he took their teaching very seriously. Every night, he practiced writing the letters that composed his name, Mikwam. When he could write out the entire alphabet, he asked his daughters the sounds of the letters. He learned the sounds of the letters along with them, and they practiced so much that Yellow Kettle grew annoyed and said, “Stop those strange noises! Let’s have a story! Anything, to drown you out!”
SETTING SNARES
The winter day began with a strange blast of sunlight, then dripping water and an odd, surprising warmth. Everyone walked outdoors hardly bothering to grab their blankets or winter leg wraps. The sudden visit of summer, a blue sky and snow melting in the trees, sent people out to fish and hunt. Old Tallow took her dogs and ventured to the wildest part of the island, hoping to bring down a deer. Deydey and Pinch went out to the inlet to chop fishing holes in the ice. As for Omakayas, she went out with her grandmother to set snares in places where the rabbits ran. Wearing their round bear-paw snowshoes, they tramped through brush in the pleasant warmth of the midwinter sun. Just past the place where their garden sprouted in summer, there was a clearing where lightning had struck a stand of big trees, bringing some to earth and burning others. Here, Nokomis sought many of her medicines. It was also a place with heavy new growth of tender-barked trees, and lots of cover for rabbits.
Omakayas looked carefully at the ground, reading the long oval tracks of the waaboozoog. They took certain paths through the undergrowth. As she followed the path of the waaboozoog, Omakayas had to see the rabbit itself in her mind’s eye. That was the trick to catching it. She had to imagine just where it would jump, just where it would nibble, just where it would stop. It was the jumping that was most important when it came to setting the snare. Omakayas bent a pliable branch over to the earth, and attached to it a noose made of sinew. If the rabbit jumped exactly where she thought it would, the loop of sinew would catch it and the branch would snap up, holding the rabbit out of the reach of foxes. As she
carefully set each loop, Omakayas frowned in concentration. This was delicate work. Nokomis was very good at it. For every snare that Omakayas managed to set, Nokomis set five or six of them. And then, often, she would go back over Omakayas’s work and make tiny adjustments.
As they worked, Omakayas noticed that her fingers, which had not even needed mitts on the way out, were getting numb with cold. Sighing, she took the mitts she’d had stashed in her waist band and shoved her hands deep into their warmth. So much for that teasing taste of summer! Next, she noticed that her feet were freezing, even in her fur-lined winter makazinan. She stamped her feet and moved quickly. The cold was sharper now, and penetrating. Nokomis’s eyes were flashing in this cold. She loved being outside, whatever the weather, picking medicines or setting snares. “That’s all the summer that we’ll get!” she cried. It was very cold now. “Let’s start for home!”
They almost didn’t make it.
The snow had melted on top, but now froze so quickly that there was a tough crust of ice on top of every drift. When they left the shelter of the fallen brush and tried to walk along the shore, they slipped and slid. They tried walking the way they’d come, through brush. The snow was still slippery on top, but somewhat better. But the cold was becoming deadly. Their breath, which had shown in the air as steam, now froze instantly to the sides of their blanket hoods. Bits of ice came down their brows. Nokomis said, “We can’t stop moving.” Her voice was harsh as a raven’s call of alarm. Omakayas jolted awake. She felt sleepy, and she knew that was dangerous. They had worked up a sweat setting so many snares. The cold had fallen so suddenly that, should they stop, their sweat could freeze on their bodies and draw out all of their inner warmth. A sudden drop of cold like this could kill them.
The Game of Silence Page 11
