Raven Mocker (11 page)

T
he newly planted crops were not even showing green yet when the first travelers passed through West Landing en route to somewhere. There were all types imaginable: Trappers, heading for new country beyond the Mississippi … They would spend the summer searching for an area in which to harvest furs next winter Settlers, families searching for a place that would be their own… Occasionally, a loner who looked behind him frequently and darted furtive glances at any movement in the edges of his vision … And, sometimes, an individual whose spirit could be
felt
as it reached out in question: What does lie out there? Snakewater found that she could easily spot that one. She knew that he felt the same restless migration urge that puzzled her as she watched the geese high overhead.

There were, of course, occasional parties of the Real People, moving away from the encroachment of the whites. It was always good to see them. Some stayed an extra day or two, to inquire and explore before moving on. At first Snakewater was hesitant to have any contact with them. They might have come from Old Town, and she could have that unpleasantness to deal with again. Gradually, however, her dread began to fade. Children of the travelers always enjoyed her stories, and she continued to improve with practice.

She was remembering sayings and proverbs, too, from
her own childhood, and used some of them in talking to Pigeon and the other children. It had never occurred to her until now, what importance lay in some of the old sayings. It was an education, the teaching of a way of life ….

Y
ou can dance just as well in the rear as in the front rank ….

Don’t expect anything too much, especially if it is misfortune, or it will surely come ….

Too much fun and happiness are always followed by sorrow and trouble ….

A big warrior does not always drive center with his arrows. Even a small warrior can drive center

Don’t tell another all you know. Then he will be as wise as you are ….

S
tories of animals, birds, and plants were always popular. Rabbit, the trickster, was a great favorite. Snakewater began to remember tales she had forgotten …. How the Moon came to be…

T
wo towns were having a contest.
Aneja
, “little brother of war,” was the ancient ball game played using sticks with a cup-shaped pocket of woven thongs at the end. The ball must never be touched with the hands, or
any
part of the body. But in the heat of competition one player seized the ball. He threw it so hard toward the goal that it stuck up against the inside of the sky dome. There it stays to this day, sliding along, following the sun.

The Real People soon noticed that at times the moon is much slimmer. It was assumed that this was associated with the shame over infraction of the rules. After that it became the custom that the game of
aneja
could only be played at the time of the full moon. This would avoid further embarrassment, and would help to remind the players of the importance of fairness in the contest.

Despite her enjoyment of these distractions Snakewater grew more restless. The corn was up now, usually seven
tiny plants in each hill, from the ritual seven grains planted. They would not be thinned, only weeded and tended, and watered if necessary. Beans, almost equal in importance to the corn, were doing well also. She wondered idly why there were not the tales of beans associated with the Creation story, as there were with corn.

But that was not as important to her as the puzzling restlessness that continued to haunt her. She realized that she was changing as a person, but was not at all certain what was happening to her.

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do, Lumpy,” she complained one day to apparently empty space. “What is happening to me?”

She stooped to pick an especially nice plant of the type she sought, and put it in her basket.

“What? Oh, yes… I know you can’t help me. But you don’t have to tease me about it. Sometimes you are a real pain, Lumpy. I—”

She broke off in midsentence as someone else approached.

“Hello, Grandmother,” said Pigeon. “I heard you talking.”

Her eyes were full of mischief.

“The Little People?”

“Ah, child! Do you see any Little People?”

Pigeon smiled as if the two shared a great secret.

“Ah, Grandmother… Suppose I did? I could not say so. So, probably not. But maybe someday, no?”

The two laughed together.

Snakewater was almost certain that this special child would be offered, in some way, gifts of the spirit. Not too soon, she hoped. It would be better if the girl could enjoy her childhood before assuming all the responsibility that goes with the spirit gift.

“I am looking for special plants today,” she explained to the child. “This is a good time of the year, before the grasses are too tall. And some are scarce. I can’t pick every one. I must find and reject six before I pick the seventh.”

“But why, Grandmother?”

“So they won’t be lost, child! If we picked them all, there would be none to grow next year, and their medicine would be lost forever.”

“But … you could not pick every one in the world, Grandmother!”

“Maybe not—but we must make sure. If every old conjure woman, or doctor man, leaves six of the seven they must find, there will always be six in the world to begin the next season.”

“Who makes the rules?”

“I don’t know, child,” said Snakewater, a little more irritably than she felt. “The One Above, maybe, since Creation. Who makes you ask so many questions?” she teased.

Pigeon giggled. “I don’t know. They just come into my head.”

“Of course. And that is good. But you don’t have to know all things. Some are not meant to be understood, only enjoyed. But it’s all right to ask. That’s how you learn.”

“Is there anyone who knows
everything?”

“Of course not! But there are those who
think
they do. They are to be avoided.”

“Why, Grandmother?”

“Because they are dangerous, child! Think about it. One who thinks he knows everything is… Well, look: If he did, he would be as wise as God, no? And of course that could not be. That person is very stupid to think so, and stupid people are the most dangerous. The smartest people are those who have learned to gracefully say, ‘I don’t know.’ Or even better, remain silent …. Ah, child! How did you get me started on this? You are a nuisance!”

But her smile and expression plainly said that Snakewater was enjoying every moment. Pigeon giggled again.

“Then I will never ask another question, Grandmother.” “

No! I did not say that!” scolded the old woman in mock anger. “You must
always
ask questions. Only sometimes
, not so often, and maybe not out loud! Questions are not always welcomed by those who think they know all.”

“But why not? If they know all, they should be glad to answer.”

“Ah, but that is the point! In their own mind they have doubts and fears like the rest of us, but cannot admit it, because to do so would prove they do
not
know all.”

“Who is the wisest person of all?” asked Pigeon.

“Who knows?” answered Snakewater. “I once thought it was the old woman who taught me, and whose name I bear now. She told me much about these things. I am made to think that it is
because
she knew how much she did
not
know that she was the wisest. So let that be a lesson. Besides, many things are not meant to be understood. It is better so. Enjoy what is given to us, question sometimes, but be ready to learn when the time for it comes.”

T
he corn was knee high when the ferry brought a party of travelers who disembarked like the others at West Landing. As usual the children trooped down to meet them. There were two wagons, with extended families, some on foot or riding horses. They drove a small herd of pigs, pushed along with sticks by the older boys.

As children do, the newcomers and the children from West Landing met and mingled almost instantly, and it was good. Unlike adults, even children who do not know each other’s language are able to do this. But in this case the travelers were also Cherokee, the Real People. The mingling of children and adults alike was like a homecoming.

Snakewater always kept her distance from newcomers, partly from long habit, but also for another reason, nearly forgotten. It was a real surprise, then, when it happened. Pigeon came running to her.

“Grandmother!” she called, breathless from running.
“Guess what! These people are from Keowee! Isn’t that good? That’s where we found you!”

A cold clutch of fear and dread grasped at the heart of Snakewater. Not good, really … These travelers were from far too close to Old Town and all the problems it had meant to her.

S
nakewater managed to stay out of sight as much as possible while the visitors were at West Landing.

“Grandmother, come and tell us stories,” pleaded Pigeon.

“No, child… Grandmother is sick. Go away, now.”

“But there are children with this party. They will like to hear about Rabbit.”

“No. Not now. Run along.”

Snakewater had not been outside for two days except after dark, and then very carefully. The travelers from Keowee might not recognize her, but she felt that she could not take the chance. If they did, it would rekindle the dormant fires of the unpleasantness back in Old Town. At best the travelers would be curious. At worst, accusing and argumentative. It was much easier and less risky simply to stay out of sight until the visitors moved on.

So far they showed no signs of doing that. They were enjoying the company of the Real People of West Landing. A couple of the women were clan sisters—Bird Clan. In their present situation this carried very little importance, but there was a good feeling of family and home, encountering a friend unexpectedly in a far country. This alone was reason to stay another day or two ….

On the third day Kills Many approached and knocked at the door of Snakewater’s hut.

“Mother… it is Kills Many. May I enter? I would talk with you.”

“Of course!” she answered cheerfully. “Come on in.”

He stooped to enter and squatted against the wall.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “We were concerned about you. Pigeon said you were sick.”

“No, no. An excuse. The visitors are from Keowee, too close to home. I thought it better to stay out of sight.”

He nodded, understanding.

“I see. They have said nothing, but you are probably right. Why take the chance? They will move on soon. Do you need anything?”

“No. I do get out at night, and early morning. How long will they stay?”

“Who knows? They are enjoying the company of the Real People. Somebody has a clan relationship …. Mostly just a pause in the hard travel, I think. I could ask about Old Town, if you like.”

“No, no. As the saying goes, Don’t poke a sleeping skunk,” she said.

Kills Many smiled. “It is good.”

“This does make me wonder, though. Will it always be so?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know my story, my almost-son. Will I have to worry about every party of travelers that comes along? Wonder if they are likely to accuse me of murder?”

He started to laugh and then realized how serious she was.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I had not thought of this. Did you have an idea? Something else you want to do?”

She sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I had thought of joining some group of other travelers. Maybe Real People from some other area. Or even Chickasaws or Muskogee or somebody. Close to our people, but who would not have heard about the trouble at Old Town.”

Kills Many nodded thoughtfully. “I had not even considered this problem,” he admitted. “Surely such a thing
should be forgotten. But people are strange, no? Some stranger than others.”

“Kills Many,” she said after a few moments of silence, “have you heard of mountains to the far west?”

“Of course. There are many stories. Open grassland, many days’ travel to cross… As many buffalo as there are stars in the sky… Mountains beyond… Why?”

“Oh, nothing… I only wondered what they look like. Somebody said they are taller, with snow on the tops, even in summer.”

“I don’t know. Different from ours back home, I suppose. But why … Snakewater! Are you thinking of trying to go there yourself?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “Well, not really. But maybe… There wouldn’t likely be anyone from Old Town there. I might think about it ….”

I
t was three more days before the party from Keowee moved on, and a great relief for Snakewater. She could now move about freely. But the interval had given her time to think. More and more she considered the idea that had formed itself almost spontaneously as she talked with Kills Many. She was still surprised by it, and even more so that she would take it seriously. How and why would such a thing come into her mind? Things do not occur without reason …. Or
do
they? No, she thought… this must be part of the understanding thing. It is not necessary to understand it
all
, just that it happens. And something had definitely happened to her. This odd urge to move on had not left her with the departure of the migrating geese this time. If anything it was now growing even stronger. There must be a purpose that she had not yet reasoned out.

But if it was meant to be, the means for it to occur would also be provided. So, she decided, she must be patient. But that was hard.

L
umpy, can you help me?” she asked. “You are good at helping find things ….
What?
Just herbs and roots and
medicines? Not answers?
Huh!
Big help
you
are! Well, you don’t have to
laugh
about it!”

“What’s the matter, Grandmother? You look angry. Were you talking to someone? Ah, I know! The Little People!”

Pigeon, just approaching the hut, clapped her hands in delight.

“Silly child!” Snakewater scolded, still disgruntled. “Do you see any Little People around here?”

“Why, of course not, Grandmother,” said the little girl, a twinkle in her eye. “But if I
did
, of course I could not tell, could I?”

Both laughed at the repeated ritual.

“That is true,” admitted Snakewater, her temper moderating. “What are you doing today? Surely there are better things than talking to an old woman.”

“We wondered,” said Pigeon seriously, “about some more stories. We’ve had none while the travelers were here from Keowee.”

“I know, child. I’ve been sick. But I’m better now. Yes, of course we can have stories. This evening? Some stories are better after dark, you know.”

T
he corn was nearly as tall as young Pigeon when the trader and his wife happened by and crossed the river on the ferry.

“Ah! Your town has grown since last season!” he joked with Little Horse. “Maybe I’ll stay an extra day before moving on west. Do some trading?”

“Maybe so,” agreed Horse. “You’re heading west again?”

“Yes… Interesting places out there. Trading is good. They have no source of metal things—knives, fire strikers, things like that. The women like mirrors, needles, beads… ”

“Well, stay a little! Tell us more,” said Little Horse. “Any of the Real People out there?”

“Cherokees? Some, of course. Not many in the plains. Just a few in the nearest mountains beyond. Why?”

“Just curious. Some of our people wondered. Some have passed through here, going west. Not many, though. Just thought I’d ask.”

Snakewater, who overheard, wondered… Maybe, if the trader would stay a day or two, she could manage to visit with his wife a little while.

The trader’s wife was friendly and congenial, and it was no trouble to start a conversation with her. The woman was fluent in the use of the language of the Real People, and of several others, as it turned out. It was important to be able to communicate in their occupation as traders.

“I am Snakewater, of the Cherokees. How are you called?”

“Rain Cloud, Seminole,” answered the other woman. She was short and robust.

Snakewater nodded. “You have traveled with your husband a long time? You speak my tongue well.”

“Yes, a long time. Since we married, almost.”

“You have children?”

“Yes, two. Both grown, a boy and a girl. You?”

“No. I have never married.”

“Ah… you do not like men?”

“Oh, yes. Just not enough to marry one.”

Both women chuckled.

“I am a conjuror,” explained Snakewater. “I was raised by an old conjure woman, who was unmarried. I think now that maybe the boys were afraid of me. Or more likely, afraid of
her.”

Both laughed again.

“Of course,” Snakewater continued, “I
was
somewhat different. Tall, skinny, not very attractive.”

“You thought
that?”
asked Rain Cloud in surprise. “Ah, we think strangely about ourselves. I had been wishing for height such as yours!”

Snakewater was beginning to like this woman.

“How far west have you been?” she asked. “I have heard of mountains there.”

“That is true. We have traded among the people there.
We have heard of another great salty sea beyond that, but haven’t been that far. I suppose Fox will want to try that next!”

“That is your husband’s name?”

“Yes… Most just call him Trader, though. It is easier and tells of what he does.”

“I see.”

They continued their woman talk, which was far more productive than Snakewater could have imagined. Each had certain characteristics as well as experience that the other admired or wished for.

“Some of the people here are your relatives?” asked Rain Cloud.

“No, no. I did not even know them until last season. They were traveling west and I wished to, also, so I joined them.”

Cloud laughed. “It is good! And you settled here only last season, then?”

“Yes… Little Horse and his people were here already. Kills Many, leader of our band of travelers, liked the place and the people, and here we are.”

“I see …. But do I suspect that you might have wanted to go farther west?”

“No… not really. Not then, anyway. Maybe… ”

She was confused by the rapidity with which Rain Cloud perceived her true feelings.

“I understand,” said Cloud. “This is fine, but there may be somewhere else as good? Perhaps
better?”

“Well … yes. That is pretty close. I never used to wonder much about other places, but since I joined the party of Kills Many, I have seen many things. Now I begin to think: Will new wonders never cease?”

Rain Cloud nodded solemnly. “Probably not. I have enjoyed our years on the trading roads.”

“What of your children?” asked Snakewater. “You took them along?”

“Oh, yes. Most of the time. The boy was born one summer when we were among the Cheyennes. When they
were older, they sometimes stayed with my brother’s family. That was good. I missed them, but they came back better for it.”

“How so?”

Rain Cloud smiled wistfully.

“Well, there comes a time when one’s parents seem very stupid, no?”

Snakewater’s memory reached back to her own unhappy childhood.

“I—I don’t know. My mother died and my father remarried …. New clan… ”

“Ah! I did not know. My heart is heavy for you, Snakewater.”

“It was long ago. But I understand what you mean about parents.”

“Yes …Well, the Absarokas—‘Crows,’ the white man calls them—Crows have a custom that we thought good. They trade children.”

“What?”

“Just for a season.” Rain Cloud laughed. “When the two branches of the nation meet for their big council, relatives exchange children. A family of the Mountain Crows might take with them a youngster of a brother or sister among the River Crows, and the other way around. At the council the next year they take their own back. The young people have learned much during that year, have seen new country. Besides, they find that during that year both sets of parents have gained much wisdom.”

Snakewater nodded. She had never managed to reestablish a good relationship with her father, but through the years she had at least come to
respect
him. She wished now … But that was all behind her, long ago.

“I can see how that could help,” she agreed.