22

BY THE TIME we forded the Black River, the long summer days were over. We didn’t have enough light to travel as far as we wanted before making camp, although every day we tried. By evening of the last day some of us were exhausted, but we were still far from the lodge. In spite of the meat, which gave us much strength, our group could no longer be hurried. On the floodplain of the Char we heard the tiger.

All day I had been so tired that I trailed far behind the others, so when people paused to listen to the tiger, I sat down. Ethis sat beside me. “Yanan must rest,” she said fiercely. “If she stops, I stop.” The Stick’s wife looked back at us, perhaps remembering how, on the way to the Hair, I hadn’t waited for her. The thought struck Ethis too. “Go ahead, if you want, if you can find someone to show you where the lodge is. Nobody minds.” So The Stick’s wife said nothing.

Swift’s pack was leaning dangerously. On top of it he carried his string-wrapped wolf, which must have moved during the day. Now he took off his pack, put the wolf on the ground, put his pack back on, and asked for mine. “Give it,” he said to me. “I’m tired of creeping like an insect. I’ll come back later.” Then, without waiting for me to give it, he tugged it off me. As usual when a heavy pack comes off after a long day, I felt I was floating. With my pack now on top of his, Swift strode off for the lodge on his long legs and soon was out of sight. I then remembered how he had used to make me go hunting with him, only to walk so fast that I trailed far behind.

“He’ll get firewood on the way,” said Graylag. “Any of you who want to follow Swift are welcome to go. All of us don’t need to wait for Yanan. But I will.” So Ina with her sons and their wives and children and Owl with her husband walked on, leaving the rest of us.

Swift’s wolf lay very still. Without food or water since he had been caught, he might be dead. If so, there was no reason to carry the carcass. “We could skin this quickly, Father-in-Law,” I said to Graylag. He nodded, and knelt to help me do it. But the wolf flinched when the knife touched him. “Let’s untie him while we rest. Perhaps he needs water.”

“Don’t lose him,” said Graylag. “That wouldn’t thank Swift for his kindness.” I untied the string that held the wolf in a bundle. Then, seeing how he might run if he knew he was free, I tied the string around his neck before untying his feet. “Let’s hurry,” said Graylag. “We should go or camp.” He thought for a moment. “Yanan can’t camp, since Swift took her sleeping-skin.” The others stood up, ready to leave.

But now I had it in my mind to let the wolf drink water, and lifting him to my shoulders, holding his front feet in one hand and his hind feet in the other, I carried him to the riverbank. There I put him down, keeping a tight hold on the string.

The wolf stood unsteadily, and I saw how he couldn’t drink with his jaws tied together. So I made a noose, slipped it over his jaws, and untied the thong. Now I could open the noose a little, and the wolf could open his jaws enough to put his tongue out. So the noose wouldn’t drop off, I tied the other end around his neck.

Suddenly the wolf gave a great leap, almost pulling the string from my hand. But I held tight, so the leap only left him thrashing on his side, half in and half out of the water. I saw that I would have to wait until he understood what to do, and I said to the people behind me, “Please don’t wait here. I know my way home and I’m not afraid.”

“We can’t go off and leave you,” said Timu. “Didn’t you hear the tiger?”

“It won’t find me. Hasn’t there always been a tiger?”

“Hurry, please, Wife,” said Timu.

“I will,” I said, but I didn’t.

Time passed. “Yanan!” called Timu.

“I’m coming,” I answered.

“Think of the distance! Look at the sky!”

I didn’t need to look at the sky. The valley of the Char was already so dark that I could hardly see the wolf standing in the water. “I said I was coming,” I called. But I wasn’t—I was listening to the wolf’s tongue carefully lapping water.

Timu was tired too, or by now he would have come to get me. Instead he called again. “Wife!” But I didn’t answer, because my shout might stop the wolf from drinking. “If you don’t come, we’ll camp, and you can sleep on the ground,” said Timu.

“I’m getting a drink of water,” I said. So I did. Then I tightened the noose on the wolf’s jaws and again lifted him to my shoulders, feeling the water in his fur run down my neck and under my clothes. “I’m ready,” I said, and off we went.

We had gone hardly any distance before we met Swift coming back for us. “Here you are,” he said to the men. “You must be women. You didn’t get far!” He laughed at his joke, not noticing the other men’s silence. Swift gave a grunt and a nod when he saw how I was carrying his wolf, then took the packs from Yoi, Meri, and Ethis and vanished into the night again. Yoi took Elho’s sleeping-skin and Ethis took Ankhi’s, and we went along faster, following the floodplain. The familiar river slid quietly among its rocks, black water with the Yellowleaf Moon trembling on the surface.

Sometimes the wolf struggled, and sometimes he lay limp. I felt his breath on my face, warm and quick. I felt his heart beating against the back of my neck. The smell of his wet coat and the feel of coarse, short hair on his bony ankles made me think of the long-legged female who once had helped me and Meri. I tried to remember everything I could about the wolf and her people. Did Swift’s wolf belong to them, who lived so far to the east? I felt sure he did not. Even so, the smell of his fur brought the long-legged female to my mind very clearly. As if she were watching me, I saw her yellow eyes.

A third time Swift appeared on the trail. By now we could smell smoke and see the tall antlers against the stars above the lodge, so we knew we were near. We didn’t need help now. Even so, Swift took Ankhi’s pack from her and the wolf from me and vanished again. We caught up with him in front of the lodge.

Somehow he had found the time to make a thick ring of brush near the dayfire, and inside this his wolf was tied, where other wolves couldn’t free him if they came this far. Some of us were nearly speechless because we were so tired, but Swift seemed full of life. When I thought to remind him that the wolf had only a noose to keep him from chewing his tether, he said, “I tied his jaws again. Don’t let anyone tie mine!” He laughed, then he thought for a moment. “And don’t let Meri untie him, please,” he added. “If her wolf had been tied, the things you left in the lodge last summer wouldn’t be ruined.”

“Did he eat our things?” I asked, hating to think of the trouble that might come of it. “Any animal could have done it.”

“Tell that to the others when they tell you what he took. Now we’ll snare him, whatever fuss your sister makes.”

Swift didn’t see Meri in the dark behind me. “No, you won’t,” she said.

That Meri overheard him bothered Swift not at all. “We will,” he said. “And your sister won’t be able to stop us. Think of that!”

Meri seemed to see how things were with me as well as Swift did. “Aunt Yoi will stop you,” she said.

Swift laughed loudly, then laughed again. “If she doesn’t want the pelt,” he said.

Inside I saw The Stick and The Frog and their families with Ina at Graylag’s fire, where they had every right to be. Owl was there with her husband, sitting where they had sat for as long as I could remember. Elho and Timu with Ethis and Ankhi went there too. I saw that I wasn’t to go with Timu; if he wanted me, he would call me. Instead, I saw, someone had put my pack beside the fire near the door, where I used to stay with Father and Mother. I was too tired to mind.

I was almost too tired to eat, but Rin gave the last of her cooked meat to me and Meri, so I ate my share, then unrolled my sleeping-skin and lay down on my back, my great belly like a hill above me. No one said a word about Meri’s wolf. Meri lay down beside me, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

During the night I felt someone shake me. It was Ethis, sitting on her heels beside my bed. Outside I heard muffled wailing: Swift’s wolf trying to call without opening his jaws. Ethis too was crying. I sat up.

“Sister! What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Look,” she said. I saw milk oozing from her breasts. “Even the crying outside starts this. Come to the river with me. I’m afraid to go alone.” So I got up and followed Ethis out the coldtrap. Neither of us troubled to put on our clothes, so the cold bit us as we listened carefully for night noises and sniffed the air for the musky smell of tiger. But we heard only water moving softly in the river and wind in the spruce trees, and we smelled only spruce needles in the clear air. Swift’s little wolf made no sound. Then we walked quietly down the stony, moonlit terraces to the river, where Ethis splashed freezing water on her breasts. “I’m tired of people telling me I’ll have another child,” she said, “because I know I’ll have another child. Our husband keeps bothering me and bothering me.”

This surprised me. How could he? I asked, “Doesn’t he grieve too?”

“Yes,” said Ethis. Then she added, “Men are different from women, or they are when they grieve.”

“I had a sister who died soon after birth,” I said. “Father grieved.” I then remembered the trip from the hills to the Marten River and added, “But he soon lay with Aunt.”

“Your Aunt Teal?” asked Ethis.

“With Aunt Yoi. She was his wife then.”

“Was the child her child?”

“No,” I said.

Above us, Swift’s little wolf began to cry again. Ethis waded into the river and sat on her heels, gasping from the cold water that foamed over her shoulders. “My breasts don’t seem to know what happened,” she said between chattering teeth. “Now they will.” I bathed too, just dipping water over my arms and legs at first, then sitting on my heels by Ethis. Unlike her, I jumped right up and scrambled out. Ethis followed slowly, looking down at herself. “I’m all right now. We can go.” So we did. When I crawled into my sleeping-skin, my icy body startled Meri.

 

In the morning, large footprints around Swift’s wolf showed how Meri’s wolf had visited him. All day Swift’s wolf cowered under the brush pile around him. No one fed him, since only shreds of meat were left, and no one took him to the river for water. Some of us thought he would be dead by morning, and Yoi made plans to use his skin. But by morning only his tracks and the tracks of Meri’s wolf were in Swift’s ring of brush.

I thought the little wolf had managed to work the thong down over his nose and bite through his tether, but the others thought that Meri’s wolf had freed him. The doings of the wolves weren’t clear from the tracks, and they seemed to have eaten the thongs.

Swift shrugged off his disappointment. He could find another pup next spring, he said. The woods were full of wolves. But the other people were furious that once again Meri’s wolf had robbed us. When all the people started for the hills above the Char, the men to hunt and the women to find pine nuts, Timu took a snare and a scrap of marrow. I started to follow Teal, not wanting to fail to do my share, but also thinking that I could learn where the snare was set and later spring it for Meri. But Teal told me to stay behind and rest.

The long walk from the Hair had taken all my strength. I was too tired to argue. Then Meri said she was going for winterberries, and vanished into the woods. Alone, I sat at the lookout below a south-facing rock, getting hot between the sun and the dayfire, roasting one of the stag’s bones, then cracking it with a stone for the marrow. From the size and weight of my belly and from the way the fists and feet inside made my shirt jump, I knew it wasn’t too soon to look for a place to give birth. A hemlock on a warm southern slope would be perfect—but hard to find, I saw, as my mind’s eye roamed the landscape. The hemlocks were mostly in the valley, in cold, dark places. A pine on a high southern slope might be better. But my mind’s eye looked up through the pine branches and saw lots of blue sky. Too open, I thought, and went back to the valley. Perhaps I could find winterberries growing near. Perhaps the valley wasn’t so bad, because I didn’t own a waterskin but might want to drink water. And if I cried, the river would cover the sound. I knew I might cry, and my bowels might open. My mind’s eye saw many people listening and laughing. I had no plans to give birth in the lodge, unless snow fell before my labor started.

Meri came back with only three winterberries, which she gave to me. But she hadn’t gone for winterberries, she admitted. I wasn’t surprised. In the woods she had met her wolf, she said. He didn’t come near her as he used to but instead traveled along beside her for a while, keeping at a distance among the trees. And she thought she had seen another wolf with him. She wasn’t sure, but she guessed it was Swift’s.

That didn’t surprise me at all. Where else would the youngster go? Who else would he follow? What surprised me was Meri, whose eyes shone. “Those two are like you and me,” she said. “Or they would be, if they were sisters.” Of the three berries that lay in my palm, she took one back and ate it. “Do you remember living with the wolf, just you and me?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Why do we have to live with Timu? He doesn’t like us. Why can’t we go back there? We might meet her.” Meri meant the she-wolf, I realized. “And we could raise your baby. I told you not to go back to Timu.”

Deep inside me something moved—a feeling, not the baby. I put my arms around Meri. “We can’t,” I said. “I wish we could. But we might not live. We almost didn’t live, even though we only spent the last part of a winter. We’ll be all right here. And we’ll stay together.”

“Oh, I know that,” said Meri. “That’s not the trouble. This isn’t a good place for us, that’s all. Think of the snare!” But thinking of my own trouble made me lose interest in Meri’s, so I closed my eyes and didn’t answer. Meri persisted. “Sister, wake up!” she said.

“You know,” I reminded her, “people already set many snares for that animal but never caught him. Don’t you remember the night we thought Swift had caught him? Do you remember why Swift calls me Hide-in-the-Grass? Anyway,” I added, “perhaps Timu’s snare was for a ptarmigan.”

“Not if it was baited with marrow,” said Meri.

 

When everyone but Yoi and Rin joined Graylag to crack pine nuts at his fire, I knew I should have gone to the hills with the women. So far that day I had eaten no food but a bit of marrow and two of Meri’s winterberries. The men had caught nothing, so there was no pile of meat, and the women had really been gathering only for themselves. Of course they gave handfuls to the men who sat at the fire. So it was one thing to have people against me when I felt strong and could walk far for pine nuts or do my own hunting, but another thing now.

“Will you give us pine nuts?” I asked Yoi.

“You could have come with us today,” she said, but she gave me a few.

I cracked and ate them, then went to Graylag’s fire to sit on my heels behind Teal. “Will you share pine nuts with me, Aunt?” I whispered. Teal was talking, but she gave me a handful absently.

“I’m hungry,” I had to say at last. Then the other people at Graylag’s fire had to share with me. But nothing forced them to be generous. Their lack of interest hurt, but I didn’t criticize them. In turn I shared with Meri, who could always surprise me by being satisfied with very little food.

 

In the morning I still felt tired from the long trip to the Char. My back hurt and my hips felt weak. I didn’t feel like walking all day to the hills and back for pine nuts. Hoping that the men would kill something, I went with Meri into the nearby woods for winterberries. There we saw Meri’s wolf again, shadowy among the trees. He stood to look at us a moment, then ran. I saw no other wolf with him.

At midday, when animals are still and hunting is almost useless, Timu came from the woods carrying a wolf’s limp body. Of course it was Swift’s captive. With no parents to feed him and no food for all the days with us, he was almost sure to be caught by Timu’s baited snare. Timu flung the body by the dayfire and took out his knife. Then I saw where Swift had gone wrong trying to tie the pup—Swift hadn’t tied the string to the bushes carefully. The young wolf’s jaws were still tied shut and the string was still around his neck. He must have tugged at his tether until he was free, and later the bait must have tempted him, although he couldn’t eat.

After he was caught, a fox or a marten had bitten him and spoiled his pelt. If not for the wolf, Timu’s snare would have caught a marten. I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “This was well done! Your snare caught a hood for Aunt,” I said.

As if the many faults were Timu’s, he angrily tossed the knife at my feet. “Skin him,” he said.

“May I have the meat?”

“Wolf meat?” asked Timu. “Why? It’s disgusting!”

“But I’m hungry, Husband,” I said.

“My snare, but Swift’s wolf. Ask Swift,” said Timu.

So I did. “Reindeer are already in the woods,” said Swift. “By tonight or tomorrow we’ll have plenty to eat.”

“Are you refusing me?” I asked, surprised.

“No, I’m not refusing you! Of course you may eat that if you want.” Swift turned to the other men. “Yanan’s hunger shames us,” he said.

Perhaps it did. I couldn’t help being hungry. I cut strips of meat from the young wolf and laid them on the fire. When they were cooked, I didn’t know whether or not to offer them to others. I might insult people by offering such meat. So I placed the cooked strips on a rock and said, “This meat is not mine. I thank Uncle for it.” Then I ate alone while others watched me scornfully, and I too was ashamed.

I should have waited. That evening, by moonlight, when the men came across the river jumping from stone to stone, we saw that they carried on their shoulders the cut-up carcass of a reindeer, as Swift had foreseen. In no time people were cooking the liver. Unluckily for me, Timu’s spear had killed the reindeer, so the liver was his to share, and the portion he gave me was insultingly small.

Teal started to speak, but I stopped her. “I’m not hungry, Aunt,” I said. Not wanting to remind people of how I had humbled myself by what I ate before, I added, “Meri and I found winterberries.”

My excuse didn’t satisfy Teal in the least, and she spoke anyway. “Husband!” she said, surprising Graylag with her tone. “Look what your son gave his wife.”

When Graylag saw, he said to Timu, “Come now, son. Don’t anger women.” So Timu cut another small piece and threw it at my feet.

Sensing a fight and hoping to avoid it, people suddenly pressed meat into my hands. But too late. Teal stood up, stared down at Timu, and said, “You may not insult a woman of my lineage. Apologize now, and give your wife a share that shows how you respect her.”

Timu glanced at the others around the fire to see what to do. Enough people must have shown him that he needn’t obey in a hurry. He waited, meanwhile staring rather rudely at Teal. “Do it, Son,” said Graylag calmly.

So Timu said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Wife,” then picked up the meat at my feet, threw it in the fire, and cut a new piece for me.

“Good,” said Teal, folding her legs to sit down.

Perhaps Graylag feared that Teal’s demands were shaming to Timu. “My son may not be to blame for his feelings,” he said.

“You’re right, Husband,” said Teal. “He may not. And you’re right to speak openly, since this is no longer a matter between your son and my kinswoman, but a matter for the lodge. People of my own lineage are to blame, because the man responsible for the trouble, your son Elho, is my son too.”

It was frightening to hear Teal speak so boldly of things that could lead to great danger, things better left unsaid. Even so, Teal showed Graylag that Elho was threatened, and Graylag took Teal’s meaning. Their eyes met. We all sat quietly for a time, everybody thinking. I waited, wondering if Teal was sure of herself. I hoped so, since the life in my body was in her hands.

She seemed perfectly sure. Her eyes swept over the firelit faces watching her. Then, with Graylag warned, with the people of our lineage alert as deer, and with the other people ignorant of what was really being said, Teal went on. “Our son is responsible for the trouble because he told people that Yanan lay with a stranger at the Fire River. Is it true, Yanan?”

“No,” I said.

“Elho,” said Teal. “Did you say this thing?”

“Perhaps I did, but I don’t remember,” said Elho. I could hear from the uneasy way he answered that he didn’t see where Teal was leading us, any more than I did.

“Did you or didn’t you? Other people here remember, if you don’t.”

“Yes,” said Elho quietly.

“There you have it,” said Teal to Graylag. “Yanan says she did not take another man, and our son says she did. Yanan has reason to lie, but our son doesn’t. For my part, I believe Elho. I’m sure you do, too.” Graylag watched Teal closely, saying nothing. Teal went on. “But here’s my question to you. Suppose she did—what does it matter?”

“Who was the man?” asked The Frog’s wife.

“That you ask anything about Yanan surprises me,” said Teal, “you who came so recently to our lodge. Yanan was born here, as her child will be. But I was speaking with my husband, who can ask his own questions. You needn’t help him.”

“My son’s wife has a right to speak,” said Ina.

“My wife asked an important question,” said The Frog. “I know the answer, and it spoils our lodge.”

“Why then, tell us,” said Teal.

“The man was Elho,” said The Frog. Thinking that they had Teal and me too, Ina and The Frog exchanged satisfied glances. I blinked, as if I had no idea what they meant, and Teal looked surprised. “My son?” she asked. “Did you see my son and Yanan together?”

“I saw them sitting in the grass at night, alone.”

“Sitting in the grass may be coitus to you,” said Teal, “but not to women. Ask a woman what is meant by coitus. She might surprise you.” Swift laughed loudly. No one else breathed.

But The Frog was now unbalanced. “Yoi told me about Yanan and Elho,” he said.

“If she did,” said Teal, “our lineage is even more to blame. So I ask Yoi if she saw Yanan and Elho together.”

“No, Aunt,” said Yoi from the edge of the group. “I didn’t see them. The Frog is lying.”

“Did Yanan or Elho tell you they lay together? Did someone else tell you?”

“No, Aunt,” said Yoi.

“In that case, I agree that someone is lying. But perhaps Yanan lay with another man at the Fire River. Now, Husband, I again ask my question. If she did, what does it matter?”

“It may not matter to you, Wife,” said Graylag very seriously. “But it must matter to my son. My brothers and I found this place and built this lodge. With our children, we own the hunting. How can we live in winter without hunting? We haven’t agreed to let the child of a stranger hunt with us.”

“No stranger’s child will. Yanan says her child is Timu’s.”

“Are we to believe the word of a young woman who may or may not take other men?”

“You should, although you don’t,” said Teal. “How can the child be other than Timu’s? What man was with Yanan to be its father? If at the Fire River a man tried to get a child on Yanan, he had her too late. She conceived her child in winter. Didn’t the rest of us have to listen to Timu having coitus with Yanan last winter?” Some people laughed uncomfortably, but Teal ignored them. “Look at Yanan. She will soon give birth. If the child is born soon, it was got in winter, right beside us while we tried to sleep.”

People having coitus do seem to make the kinds of sounds other people remember. Embarrassed as I was to think it, I knew that most people might remember exactly how and where they had heard the sounds.

But though I was embarrassed, and saw that Timu was also embarrassed, I now wanted to speak. “My child’s father is of this lodge,” I said. “I don’t know what people say about me. No one has the courage to tell me. The child was not fathered by a man from the Fire River. Whoever says different is lying. I’m finished speaking.”

But then I wanted to say more. “My place in this lodge may be spoiled,” I added. “If so, rather than live in the corner by the door, rather than beg food from those who left me and Meri and Father to die on the Pine River, I’ll go to Woman Lake next spring, this time to stay. And I’ll take my child of your lodge with me. Now I’m finished.”

That night The Frog spoke last. “Yanan is wrong to say my brother and I left her to die on the Pine River. We knew her father was sick when we were forced to go. He was our mother’s brother, our kinsman, our lineage. We tried everything to take him with us. Yanan may not remember. Yet what I say is true. Her Aunt Yoi came with us, but her father refused. Could we take his children without his consent?”

Once I might have cried to remember the time of Father’s death. But by now I felt calm and almost happy. And The Frog’s speech didn’t stir me, so I ignored him.

 

In the morning I went to search for my hemlock tree on the south-facing slope. As I left the lodge in the cold air, I met Timu carrying firewood. We both stopped and looked at each other, not smiling, then passed each other and went on. From the feel of my hips as I walked, I saw I wasn’t searching for a tree too early. With each step I swayed. Something was softening my bones.

All my life I broke branches from the trees around the Char without thinking that one might shelter me in childbirth. Remembering a few on the north bank, I went to see them. But their branches were sparse, or the slope was too steep, or the earth below was rocky. I didn’t want to cross the river—my balance didn’t seem good enough to jump from stone to stone—so I gave up the thought of a sunny hillside and went down the terraces to search the floodplain. Near the first bend of the river the trees came almost to the water. And there I found a hemlock with wide branches and a thick bed of needles below.

The woods around were cold and dark but not so dense that I couldn’t see through them. I didn’t want a hunting animal to surprise me. The river was near and not yet frozen except along the bank; I could wash off the blood if I needed, and drink all the water I liked. And moss softened the partly frozen ground. I could bury the birth matter in the moss. But best of all, thick patches of newly ripened winterberries lay everywhere, shining red in their smooth green leaves. Satisfied, I gathered moss to soak up any blood and broke dry branches from the nearby trees so that I could feed a fire.

As I worked, I heard someone coming. Was it Timu at last, to talk to me? But I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear anything from Timu, not today. Anyway, it wasn’t Timu but Swift, the man of meat, who walked out of the woods to lean on his spear and look down at my pile of firewood. “So, Hide-in-the-Grass,” he said. “Here you are, making a nest for yourself to have your baby.”

I wouldn’t talk of childbearing with Swift. “No, Uncle,” I said. “I’m gathering wood for the lodge.”

To my great surprise, Swift softly touched my hair. “No,” he said, “you’re gathering wood to have your child here. You’re too proud to have it in the lodge!”

In my face he must have seen astonishment. “If I am, Uncle, it’s women’s business,” I told him.

“Women’s business,” he agreed, “but mine too.”

“And why is that, Uncle?” I asked stiffly.

“Because I came here to find you, Hide-in-the-Grass,” he said. “I know what you’re doing and why. I came because I won’t see you wasted on the men you’ll be with next spring, the fish-eaters at the Fire River and Woman Lake. But there you’ll be. I saw it when Timu threw the scrap of meat at your feet. I saw you picking fish heads in the corner of a crowded lodge. But instead you must come with me.”

Because I wasn’t sure what he meant, I said very simply, “Perhaps I’ll go to the Hair, then. Thank you, Uncle.”

“No, Hide-in-the-Grass, if you come, you won’t call me Uncle. I want to marry you.”

The strange accent rang in my ears: “I wan du marry you.” I folded my legs and sat down slowly, carefully watching this man while my thoughts struggled to make sense of what he said. At last a useful thought popped up. “What of my aunt?” I asked. “You can’t marry an aunt and a niece.”

Swift sat too. “Your aunt had two husbands before me but is still childless,” he said. “By now, many people have reminded me of that. And I want children from your lineage. Only from your lineage. I’ll divorce your aunt.”

Just when she seemed content at last? What would happen to her? “You might divorce her,” I said, “but not because of me. She’s my mother’s sister.”

“I won’t desert her,” said Swift. “Men at the Hair River envied me when I married her. So if she likes, she can choose one of them. She’s beautiful, like you.”

What was I doing, calmly talking about plans for Aunt Yoi? Even in the deepest part of me, I hadn’t foreseen Swift as my husband. In my mind I tried to give myself a shake, but nothing happened. At last I said, “I don’t know how to answer you.”

“Meri will go to the Hair,” Swift went on. “White Fox is there now. Isn’t he the man you wanted for Meri? So if you come with me, you’ll be with Meri.”

“Well, what of my child?”

“If this child isn’t mine, the next will be. I’ll call your child mine although I’m not the father.”

“Yours?”

“Yes, Hide-in-the-Grass, I will for this reason: I want you. The men in your lodge are worried about the father. But this isn’t my lodge, so why should the question trouble me? You’re as strong as a man, your hands are skillful, and you’re beautiful. You know much about hunting, and you’re fearless. I thought you might come back to Timu after you cooled your anger over the pelt he snared. But when he threw your food on the floor, I laughed inside. Do you remember throwing the betrothal necklace across the lodge?”

“You don’t let me forget,” I said.

“While the necklace was still in the air, I said to myself, ‘Let White Fox keep the little girl. I’ll take the sister.’ And I will.”

I couldn’t help but see how Swift’s offer might be tempting. Once his looks made me think of a lion, but who could dislike his great strength and white teeth? I watched him for a while, perhaps understanding why others admired him. Anyway, I liked his summergrounds—I liked the grassy plains and the great pale sky over the Hair River, and the cave. And I liked the thought of starting over, of leaving behind all the old troubles that could cling to me if I stayed here. Timu might never feel that my child was his child. So a doubt could stay with the child too. Doubt can lie hidden a long time, and like a bad sickness that begins quietly, it can be dangerous. Even so, there was much to consider before I answered Swift.

“Don’t forget,” he said, noticing how I hesitated, “Timu would have to call you Aunt for the rest of his life. That alone should please you.” So I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, then, Hide-in-the-Grass,” said Swift, clapping his hand down hard on my knee, “we’ll speak more of this later. Think about it. You won’t be sorry.”

“I’ll think about it if you find another name for me!”

“Never!” said Swift. At that we both laughed.

 

Nothing was decided, so there was nothing to say. In the evening people might have been surprised to find Swift alone with me, talking at the embers of the dayfire, watching the sun go down. Timu walked by as if he didn’t see me while Swift and I were talking about the wolves. I was pointing out to Swift the many mistakes I thought he had made with his captive, and telling him about the time Meri and I stayed alone with the she-wolf in Father’s old lodge.

Except for Meri, no one had ever heard that whole story before, although Swift might once have pried some of it out of me. In return, Swift told me about the western reaches of the Hair River and how it goes over a fall down to a short-grass plain. He spoke of the hunting there, and of his people’s winter caves and lodges. If I married him, I realized, I might see some of these places. I especially wanted to see a waterfall. When Swift stopped suddenly, because he overheard Graylag speaking of going hunting in the morning, I was strangely disappointed. I wanted to hear more.

 

This was how things were with me the day my labor began—Timu and I trying not to look at each other but Swift and I quite friendly. By then I even liked his lion’s eyes.

That day the men went hunting and the women went for pine nuts. A bad pain in my back had kept me awake the night before, but I didn’t know what it foretold. As soon as the people were out of sight, the men going west and the women east, the pain moved around to my belly, and I knew I should visit my hemlock tree. Perhaps Swift’s offer had made me sure of myself again, or else I put much trust in the marks on my thighs, the marks of The Woman Ohun, which protect women. For whatever reason, I felt no fear.

I didn’t need to explain where I was going, because the only person in the lodge with me was Meri. Putting on my parka and wrapping my sleeping-skin around my shoulders, I took my knife and a coal from the fire and left for the bend in the river. Meri followed, making a cloud of breath with her excited talk. Soon she would have a niece or nephew to play with, she thought. I was worried about my trousers and moccasins, since I thought I felt a trickle of water. Soon, although the air was cold and the ground frozen, I stopped and took them off. And none too soon; a great gush of steaming water warmed my legs and feet. On we went until we came to the tree, where I put the coal into some tinder and blew on it. When my fire was burning, I took a deep breath, then wrapped myself tightly in my sleeping-skin and sat with my back against the tree.

The pains were much worse than I had ever expected, and they went on all day. A huge, dry stone inside me seemed to be forcing my bones apart. How did women do this, not once but again and again? At the first very strong pain, a pain so bad that I didn’t feel my teeth sink into my knuckles, a pain that forced feces out of me, I swore by The Bear I would never again have coitus. When I thought I could stand no more, I looked up through the branches and saw the dazzle of the sun. It was still morning, though I thought it must be night. And then it was night, with the woods cold and blue. No baby came, but I was exhausted.

If we had a waterskin, Meri could have brought me a drink. Instead, on my hands and knees I crawled to the river. While I was there, a new pain caught me, and I lay on my side with my teeth clenched, shivering with cold and waiting. As the pain faded I heard the splash of something wet moving noisily, and I saw an otter watching me from the bank, cautious but interested. She was small, with brown eyes and long, pale whiskers. Our eyes met briefly. Then, on the far side of the river, a stag called in the woods. The otter and I turned our heads at the sound. Out of the woods came a large stag with dry grass draped on his antlers. Stretching his throat, he gave a full-voiced call that echoed in the valley. When his voice broke like a young man’s, he wet his mouth with a drink of water, then called loudly again. No one answered. The stag waded into the river where the water was low, heaved himself across without needing to swim, and came out on our side to crash away through the woods. When he passed my tree, he stopped and stamped his feet. But I had nowhere to go except the tree, so when the stag left I crawled there, noticing that I was leaving a trail of blood on the ground.

When a pain slackened I fell asleep, and when a new pain gathered I woke. For a while I thought Meri was speaking to me; then I thought Meri was gone. I tried to call to her but couldn’t, then suddenly I saw how unwise I was even to think of making noise while reeking of blood and birth-water and lying on the ground. Even the place was chosen unwisely. By now, if I could be warm and safe in the lodge, I would gladly let the people watch and even laugh at me. I wished I hadn’t set my heart on the privacy of a hemlock tree. Again a pain took me and kept me staring at the sky until it faded. When a new pain woke me, I heard the stag far away and saw, thin and yellow, the new moon through the branches—the Reindeer Moon, so bright it lets the reindeer travel at night where men can hunt them.

When I woke again, I saw in the shadows many people sitting around me. I thought I might be in the lodge, but no, firelight shone on the hemlock branches. I tried to smile when I saw Teal and Ethis, but they took off their shirts and crowded together between Owl and Ina, who bent my legs to raise my knees. Why did Teal and Ethis take their shirts off? I understood when I felt a new, sharp pain as Teal pushed her hand into my vagina. I saw that they didn’t want to soil their sleeves. And I felt afraid, because I also saw that what had happened to Mother must now be happening to me.

Someone’s hands reached under my arms. It was Yoi, pulling me upright to lean against her. Between my knees, Teal and Ethis were working hard, frowning and biting their lips, pushing something harsh against me. Teal pushed her fists into my sides. Ethis leaned forward, then leaned back holding a baby—a small, thin, blood-streaked baby with a thick, dark, twisting cord fixed to its belly. Ethis’s milk began to run in two arching streams.

The pains went on, very long and very deep, fading only to begin. I flinched at Teal’s hand in my vagina again, then felt her tugging. Later I heard men’s voices. After a long time Timu lifted me up and carried me. I heard him speak, but didn’t remember what he said. Very far he carried me. Someone dragged me along the ground. Then I was tumbled back and forth as someone slid my arms out of my sleeves. I saw firelit antlers in the arch of a roof, with Yoi’s ivory necklace on the tine of one of them, and knew I was in my own place by Swift’s fire. I saw sunlight in the smokehole, then moonlight again. People were singing. The pain moved far away. As if I were in a lake in winter, I was cold, numb, almost asleep—a fish barely moving under black ice in stale, dark water. Ethis wept and Meri called my name, and then, as if high above me, Teal began to sing in the fierce, booming voice of a pine grouse.