IN THE MOON OF WALKING we heard geese in the night, on their way to their summergrounds. Before dawn we were on our way too, our long line of people in single file following the river to the lake. Graylag led us. After him came Ethis and Timu, who carried most of Ethis’s pack. Her pregnancy made her walk heavily; I remembered how my mother had walked on our last long journey through the hills. Rin and Swift followed, with Ankhi between them to keep her away from Elho; Ankhi carried her baby, and Swift carried some of Ankhi’s pack. Elho let all the rest of Graylag’s people walk between him and Rin. After a gap in the line behind Elho came Meri, then me.
Just as I had done the first time I started for the Fire River, I looked back for a sight of the long antlers on the roof of the lodge, sure that I would never see them again. There they were, the antlers, like a herd of deer, like a grove of trees, with the sun rising behind them, just as they had been when I had seen them like this so long ago. The antlers were the last thing I remember seeing, although we traveled all day.
When we camped that night, Meri and I didn’t share the fires of the other people. Whose would we share? Instead we gathered cones and branches and built one of our own. As if we were already gone and forgotten, no one visited us at it.
On the many nights that followed, I remembered the first time I traveled here, sleeping at night without a care, safe in a deerskin with Meri and Mother or Meri and Aunt Yoi. Now I had to sit up most of each night, feeding the coals with heather, listening for sounds from the wide, dark plains around me, and worrying that my fuel wouldn’t last until dawn. When Meri and I traveled alone from the Marten River, I chose hiding places where we could sleep safely. Now, although I was alone, I was also with other people. They chose the trail and the campsites. I had to do as they did.
One day we saw in the south the range of hills where the Spring River rises, where we had been visited by the tiger. My way and Meri’s led southwest, over those hills, but the way of the others led northwest, out to the Hair River on its grassy plains.
When we camped at night, Graylag and both his wives came to see me. Looking first at Meri to be sure she was asleep, they sat down at my poor fire, only a few sprigs of heather and a lump of burning dung. I couldn’t even see their faces, just their dark forms, darker than the night sky; but from the way they moved, slowly and stiffly, I saw that they were tired.
Graylag spoke. “If Lapwing’s Daughter will hear us,” he began, “we wish to talk with her once more. We want her to know our thoughts and feelings, so she will think well of us when she is among her people.”
I didn’t know how to answer. Such formal speech, such respectful manners, made me feel as if they didn’t know who I was, as if they took me for the oldest member of some other group, perhaps. No one had ever called me “Lapwing’s Daughter” before—at first I hardly knew that Graylag was speaking to me. And never had anyone called me she before. Just you. I thought the old people saved this other form of speaking for themselves.
But, “Yes. Please speak,” I said.
“There was never a question,” said Graylag very seriously, “that any person now of our lodge could promise one of Lapwing’s Daughters in marriage. Only her parents could do that.” In a heavy silence, we all waited for a little while.
Graylag went on. “So we ask my son’s wife to remember this: when her sister’s betrothal was arranged, we thought her mother was alive.” In the dark I nodded to show I understood. They may not have seen me. Graylag said, “Yanan’s father, Ahi, would have liked the good hunting on the Hair River. Yanan’s mother, Lapwing, would have known that in the past our lineage made many marriages together. My two wives—Ina, the sister of Yanan’s father, and Teal, the kinswoman of Yanan’s mother—know that Yanan’s parents would have been happy, most of all when they saw what a good man we found for their youngest daughter, and how much meat.” Again I nodded.
“It surprised us to hear that my son’s wife had an objection. And my wives and I are saddened by it. We want her to know that we did not act quickly or without great thought.”
Again there was silence. Perhaps Graylag was giving me a chance to speak. But I couldn’t. I felt too strange, as if I were floating, or in a wood I hadn’t seen before, where I didn’t know the way.
So Graylag went on. “Now my son’s wife means to join her lineage. That is her right—we will not try to stop her. Nor must we try to stop her from divorcing. If that is her wish, then so it must be.” Graylag now seemed very sad, and again paused for a moment. “My son did a terrible thing to fight. The fault is his. We have spoken to him. He knows that his stepmothers and I are angry with him. Young people are not used to starving as we did last winter. We old people know how a heavy winter can cause many troubles. As for my wives and me, the troubles never happened. None of us wishes to lose my son’s wife, a good woman from a good lineage, the daughter of good people, who did her work well, even hunting. We hope she and my son can someday forget the troubles too, and come together again. Until then, we hope my son’s wife and her sister find food, shelter, and a good trail for their journey.”
It made me very unhappy to hear Graylag speak so formally, as if everything were over and he were a stranger. Now he was putting all the blame on Timu, just as if I were a stranger in whom the people of our lodge wouldn’t find a fault of any kind. Yet this man who spoke so distantly, so formally, once had been my own father-in-law, who a few days ago had been able to say “Yanan, sit!” The wives he mentioned, they who listened so politely, so sadly, were the old people closest to my parents. Ina just recently had sent me off for firewood. Teal just recently had made me strip by the river and scrubbed me with sand.
What must these women think of me, spoiling not one but two marriages, spoiling the best of their ties with Swift? What must Graylag think of me, he who loved to hear geese keeping their flocks together, fighting the wind and the cold with the strength of their group? Of course people must think of me as a stranger.
As if I heard a stranger speaking, I heard myself say: “Thank you for your praise and good wishes. And thank you for forgetting the troubles of the past. For me, too, these troubles never happened. I, too, want to forget such things. My respect to your son. May he forget the trouble as I have forgotten. Later I will send you gifts for all you have done for my sister and me.”
“So be it,” said Graylag, with a nod to Teal and Ina. For a long moment their three shadowed faces looked at me closely, sadly. Then Graylag stiffly straightened his legs and stood, Teal and Ina following. My tears came as I watched Graylag with his elderly wives, my mother’s kinswoman and my father’s sister, slowly winding their way in single file back to their fire. I never felt worse, even on the Pine River.
Before dawn the next day, Elho and White Fox, their packs on and their spears in hand, stepped over the sleeping form of Meri in her deerskin and sat on their heels beside me. I had been awake most of the night—although Meri had got up sleepily now and then to help me keep watch and feed the fire—and I was tired. But then, these days I was always tired anyhow. I looked at Elho and White Fox to learn why they were here.
“We’re going with you,” said Elho. “I, too, dislike the mammoth hunters, and like you, I want to find our lineage. Perhaps our kin will find me a wife, as I’m tired of Ankhi.”
“And I am going with Meri,” said White Fox. “Later I’ll go to the Hair River and ask my parents why they broke my betrothal.”
I made my pack slowly, perhaps hoping that Teal would march up to scold me for divorcing a good man, or even that Timu would come to tell me that the old people knew best about marriages. But it seemed that they were going to respect my wishes. No one came.
Over the tops of the low bushes I watched them getting under their packs, helping each other. Then my heart leaped—Graylag was coming! Ah, but Swift was following. They wanted to speak to Elho, to whom Swift said, “It will be good for you to visit your kin a while. I’ll keep Ankhi for you.” Elho gave Swift a weak smile.
Swift then turned to me. “Hide-in-the-Grass! We’re glad these men are going with you,” he said, then added, “not that anyone forgets how you came alone from the Marten River.”
It seemed my last chance to say something to Swift and Graylag, or to any of the people. The others now stood in the distance, waiting with their packs on, ready to leave. “I’m sorry, Father-in-Law,” I said to Graylag.
“I, too,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” I said to Swift. He gave a polite nod. I wanted to say more, perhaps about Meri, but he wouldn’t talk of that with me now.
“This fine man,” said Graylag, putting his arm around White Fox’s shoulders, “he’ll look after you. We won’t worry if you’re with him.” Glad to be praised, White Fox looked down, smiling modestly. To White Fox Graylag said, “You’ll come to us soon, then. Perhaps when the bearberries ripen. And you’d better come, or I’ll get you myself. I won’t face my nephew or your mother if you don’t!”
White Fox grinned at Graylag. “I’ll be there, Uncle. You won’t have to get me.”
Graylag gave him a hug around the shoulders. “Well then,” he said, nodding pleasantly to the rest of us. Swift nodded pleasantly to all of us. With long, strong steps they walked back to the other people, then around them, then led them away.
Like two roe deer who happen to be standing near but who are not together, Elho and I watched them out of sight. Then I put on my pack and walked off, taking a direction for the Fire River. Elho, White Fox, and Meri must have followed me.
“Are they angry at us?” I asked later as we trudged toward the hills.
“They aren’t happy,” said Elho.
“You were with them—what do they say?”
“We’re spoiling their arrangement with the mammoth hunters. They want us to go back, to go on with them.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“How can I go with them? They’re shaming me.”
“We fought too much,” I said.
“We did,” Elho agreed.
Still later I asked, “Why didn’t Timu come to see me?”
“How could he?” said Elho. “He has to stay with Ethis, and look happy about it too. Graylag and the mammoth hunters need each other. Now Timu is the only tie they have.” He thought for a moment. “Until I go back to Ankhi,” he added. We stopped talking then, and wrapped in our own thoughts, we went forward, getting farther from the others with every step. But so it was to be.
After we left Graylag and Swift and their people, we walked for many days, Elho far ahead of White Fox and Meri, me far behind. Elho and I said little to anyone and nothing to each other. White Fox and Meri remembered riddles and jokes to laugh about. Our camping places were always lonely, empty, with one fire every night, a small one. I found myself getting angry at the others for no reason, and not listening when they spoke to me. My thoughts were far away, but I didn’t know where, and almost every time I slept, my dreams frightened me. Of course we had very little to eat. We set snares at night and looked for carrion by day, but we didn’t catch or find much, and hunger didn’t help our feelings.
When the Moon of Flies was the thinnest crescent, we came near the place where we had seen the tiger. I remembered none of the landmarks but everything else about our first trip there, every tasteless bristlecone, every word anyone had said. I remembered Mother and Teal going to find the spring but instead finding the strangers. I remembered their taking Elho with them because they didn’t dare leave him behind, and I remembered seeing Elho coming back for us through the birch grove, carrying the strangers’ present. The forequarter of a stallion, it was—a stingy present. My anger grew, huge and cold, until I hardly spoke even to Meri.
We hadn’t been able to find the Spring River on our first trip, and we couldn’t find it now. Elho, White Fox, and I spread out to look for it, leaving Meri up in a tree. I soon found myself in the birch grove, and saw that I was looking in the wrong place. In my mind’s eye, when I saw the tiger circling our camp, I saw spruce trees around him, so I realized that spruce must be growing near the stream. The spruce grew on the north side of the slope. I was too far south to find the stream.
The ground was covered with long grass, damp after winter and very quiet to walk on in spite of the scattered yellow leaves. Even so, I soon sensed something walking stealthily behind me. Then a cold anger overcame me, because without having to turn around to look, I knew who it was. Sure enough, there stood Elho, in his soft moccasins on the soft ground.
Angry to begin with, angrier still to know he had crept up on me, I stared at him as if I was expecting this unwelcome visit, and I didn’t speak. Then the skin on my back prickled suddenly. He reminded me of the tiger.
Elho seemed to want to say something. Perhaps he was planning his words. At last he smiled instead and made a soft gesture toward me with both hands. But something in my manner made his hands fall to his sides. For what seemed like a long time I looked straight at him, anger making my back stiff and pushing my chin high. But suddenly I bent, untied my moccasins, and stepped out of them. Then I loosened my belt, pulled down my trousers, and kicked them off. I drew my shirt over my head and threw it on the ground, swung my braid in front where I could reach it, unwound its string, and shook out my hair, all the while looking straight at Elho.
Suddenly Elho too began to strip, moving much faster than I had, shaking off his moccasins, hopping on one foot when his trousers caught. I didn’t smile, or speak, or make any move toward him—I just stared at him, my teeth clenched, my hands in fists. The wind blew on my bare skin, freezing me. Soon my jaw was shuddering.
When Elho cleared his feet from his moccasins and trousers, I turned my back and dropped to my hands and knees. There I locked my elbows and bent my head so my hair fell over my hands.
Still in his shirt, Elho crouched behind me, and in a moment I felt him enter. I arched my back; he reached an arm over me and pushed my head down; I bent my elbows; he slid his strong arm underneath me, took my shoulder, and pulled me tight against him. My climax soon came; his climax came; he relaxed his grip on my shoulder, drew a very deep breath, and stood up. Once more he looked at me softly as if he was about to speak.
But now I wouldn’t look at him. Instead I stared angrily at nothing while I put on my clothes. I divided my hair into three parts, picked some grass out of it, and braided it. When I found the little string that held my braid, I tied it, and then I was finished dressing, so I turned and walked away. But behind me I heard the soft footsteps of Elho, still following. Now I faced him. “Keep away,” I said. “Go find the river.”
Much later, after I became a spirit, time and again Swift would trance to ask me to bring him Meri’s wolf as a hunting helper. I made excuses, but never did as he asked. “Why do you tell me you can’t find this wolf, when he’s always stealing from us?” Swift once asked. “Why don’t you stop his robbery?” I suppose I didn’t because I couldn’t. Whenever I saw the thin form of Meri’s wolf creeping from the woods, filling his hopeful nostrils with the smells of meat, my heart grew soft at the sight of his hunger, and I pretended I didn’t notice his taking what he could.
One night Swift felt sure I wasn’t trying to find this wolf. “Go get him right now,” he said. “And don’t come back alone.”
“Very well,” I answered, thinking I needed to prove my good intentions. And in the form of a wolf I went to the woods to look for sign on the terraces above the Char. Meri’s wolf was usually around somewhere, although he hid from me and Marmot and also from the large pack of wolves who lived in the hills. When I found his tracks, I followed him, and in time caught up.
At first he was startled. Perhaps he thought I belonged to the large pack and was out hunting for intruders. But when he saw I was alone, he took an interest in me. Had Swift planned this? It was the mating time of wolves and no doubt my scent drew him. Next he was asking me to play, and before I knew it he had a leg over my back.
I was outraged! Me and this youngster? He might not know me, but I certainly remembered him! And as nothing but a tiny pup! With a furious roar and a flash of teeth I spun around and bit the air where his face had been. He tucked his tail and ran for his life, with me at his heels until I saw he would escape and dropped behind. For a while this spoiled Swift’s hopes to have Meri’s wolf as a helper, which served Swift right.
Later I often thought about the meeting between me and Meri’s wolf. He wasn’t my kindred, but at the time he almost seemed to be. So I did to him what I should have done to Elho long before in the birch grove. But instead I had coitus with Elho, gaining nothing but an ordinary climax from the act that in a way cost me my life. Elho and I were hardly on our feet again before I saw I had made a terrible mistake. Here was another misdeed that couldn’t be taken back. Yet in the climax itself had been a strange, cold triumph, simple and quick, that punished everybody—mostly Elho and myself and Timu, but also the rest of Graylag’s people. Such revenge came easily to the women of our lineage, sad to say.