Wabi

THERE ARE MANY GOOD REASONS to listen to stories. That day I learned yet another one. If you have heard many stories told to you, it is easy for you to make up new ones to tell to others.

I sat next to the fire looking around the circle of smiling people. Well, not all of them were smiling. Some of the young men who clearly prided themselves on being the best hunters in their respective villages no longer looked so sure of themselves. They did not look so self-satisfied as they had been before I walked into the circle of light cast by the campfire that burns each night in the center of Wolhanadanak.

Wolhanadanak, Valley Village. That is the name Dojihla and her people call this little town where they live. I learned that and any number of things I had never taken notice of before by listening, listening in a different way.

Just as my eyes were not the same as when I had been an owl, so too were my ears changed. Unlike my owl ears, these human ones were set exactly opposite each other on my head. An owl’s ears are placed in a better way, one a little higher than the other. That way it is easier to take a bearing on some hidden tasty little thing rustling in the leaves and burrowing under the snow. As a human I also no longer had a nice movable funnel of feathers around each ear that I could arrange in such a way as to bring any sound to me more effectively.

Luckily, though they were stiff and awkward, these new ears were fairly perceptive. (Much better, I would learn, than those of humans who had not begun their lives as owls.) And by tilting my head to one side or the other and cupping my wingtips—hands, I mean—around one ear or the other, I could focus in on sounds with some effectiveness.

I had been listening and watching from the shadows for some time before making my own entrance. I listened more carefully than I had ever listened before as one young hunter after another arrived at the village, introduced himself, and said pretty much the same thing.

“I have come to win the great contest that will begin tomorrow as soon as Kisos, the great sun, shows his face at the edge of the sky.”

I noticed how many of those young men arrived with their proud mothers close behind them. Nudging them along, in fact. In one or two cases, it seemed as if their sons were not eager to take part in this contest for Dojihla.

That is the response that would come back to them from the tall gray-haired man who seemed to have the role of welcoming the visitors. That older man stood with his back to the fire, looking down the dark path where each new arrival appeared.

“Bidhabi,” the man would then say in a voice almost as deep and pleasant as that of an owl. Enter and sit.

I had listened to humans many times, but never before had I been in a situation where I would actually be talking back to them. I needed to know what to say and how to say it. I needed to observe how a proper human behaved in such circumstances. I needed to avoid behaving in a way that would make people suspicious. Most of all, I needed to learn what had to be done to impress Dojihla.

Unfortunately, none of the young men who arrived ahead of me could offer any guidance at all as far as that last thing went. No matter how they carried themselves, no matter how they were dressed, no matter what they said, Dojihla looked at each of them the way a hunter might eye a badly made arrow that he knows will never fly straight.

I had noticed how all the hopeful young men introduced themselves. When they said who their people were and what they were called, familiar places and names often received nods and sighs of approval from the people of her village. But never from Dojihla. She looked as if she had eaten something that was beginning to disagree with her.

None of the men had brought a gift for Dojihla. I looked at the lovely fat mouse I held cupped in my hand. It wiggled its nose and looked back up at me. Of course I hadn’t killed it. It is much more polite among owls for your present to still be alive. Then the recipient can enjoy the delicious pleasure of breaking its little neck.

I shook my head. Perhaps not a good idea? Human tastes were different from owls. Come to think of it, I had never seen a human being eat a mouse. My only uncertainty before had been whether to dangle my little squirming token of affection from my hand or my mouth before passing it to the object of my affection. Now I realized how bad an idea that was. Apparently human suitors fed each other such tidbits as live food only when they were inside their upside-down nests. Not out in full view of everyone else.

“Go and make more of your kind so we owls will always have plenty to eat in the nights to come,” I whispered to the mouse. It hopped off my hand and dug into the leaves, making so much noise that I was shocked none of the humans seemed to notice.

Dojihla’s father had drawn his daughter off to the side and was speaking to her in a voice meant for no one else to hear.

“My daughter,” he was saying, “you must accept this. I am sorry that none of these young men interest you. Your dream of marrying the Village Guardian is a foolish one. He is nothing more than a story.”

None of those young men interested her? Wonderful! It was clearly the moment for me to make my entrance. I stood up, walked to the edge of their circle of light, and spoke in a clear and pleasant voice.

In my excitement, my voice boomed out a bit more than I had intended. Everyone, with the exception of Dojihla, leaped so high at the sound of my friendly greeting that it seemed as if the entire village was trying to find wings and take flight. Dojihla, though, just narrowed her eyes and peered in my direction. Was it eagerness to see who this new arrival was or just annoyance at yet another troubling suitor? I hoped for the former, but my heart sank a bit as I realized it was more likely the latter.

“Kwai kwai, nidobak,” I said again, trying to make my voice as sweet and melodious as possible. And not as loud.

Then I stepped forward to show myself to all those waiting. Nervous eyes were straining in the direction of my voice. To my relief, the gray-haired sagamon who had greeted all the others extended that same welcome to me in a voice that sounded relieved.

“Hello, my friend,” he said, extending an open hand toward me. “Welcome. Enter as a friend and join our circle around the fire.”