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Part 23
I awoke at the first glimmers of false dawn and found Tse-ni-sa sleeping on top of me in the position in which we had collapsed the night before. We were covered by several blankets and a thick bear skin, and I was warm enough with her hot little body above me, but if I moved at all the cold seeped in and I knew that the temperature of the house was near the freezing point. The dog was curled up at our feet, and I prodded her gently with my toe until she crawled out of the bed and shook herself. I looked around our new home, slowly realizing that we were no longer in our little mud house on the edge of the prairie, and remembering why.
Our new home was a snug cabin of hewn logs, expertly notched and stacked, and chinked with moss and clay against the winter wind. A native stone fireplace occupied most of one end of the building, and the coals of last night's fire still glowed dully on the hearth. The dog, her fur tousled, had removed herself from the bed and curled into a tight ball close to the fire. Our bed, a small table and two stools comprised the furnishings. A small window, now rimed with frost, let in light from the east and a stout door next to it was firmly barred against intruders.
The savage north wind howled around the cabin despite the sheltering thick forest surrounding it and I remembered the events of the previous day. We had been sitting in our little mud house, shivering, and trying to compromise between keeping the inside temperature warm enough to be somewhat comfortable and conserving firewood. It was very cold and we were very hungry. Snow had come early and game had disappeared correspondingly, and we existed almost exclusively on corn and beans from the food cache. But this was to be expected. What was not expected was the sudden blizzard that swept in from the north-west.
Its questing, deathly-cold fingers arrived early that day, and the rattle of the thatch alerted me. I crawled outside and stood, looking toward the north worriedly. The dog stood beside me, shivering, rather than dancing and grinning a greeting as she usually did. She knew what was coming better than I, it seemed. The sky in the northwest was darkening steadily, rather than lightening as it should have been doing at this time of day, and a dull sensation of dread settled in the pit of my empty stomach. The dog whined mournfully, then howled. Answering howls came from the distance and she growled deep in her throat and huddled against my leg. The wolf-people were hunting. They would hope to feed before the storm hit in earnest.
The wind began gusting, carrying with it stinging pellets of ice that scoured my face and found their way into every gap in my deer-hide clothing. My long hair swirled and tangled as I relieved myself and crawled back into the house, the dog close behind me whining nervously. I stood up and went to squat next to Tse-ni-sa, who was crouching beside the meager fire attempting to heat water in a pottery bowl.
"A storm approaches, love of my heart," I told her. "I should bring in more firewood before it gets here."
"Take that stinky dog with you," she retorted. "She is in the house again. And her smell is no less unpleasant than it ever was."
"She will have to stay inside tonight, or she will certainly freeze to death, my love. Remember that she brought us a rabbit only yesterday...and although she does smell bad, I suppose that we do too, at this point."
Outside again I kicked wood loose from the frozen pile and pitched it into the hut's entrance tunnel. The dog sniffed excitedly around the woodpile, her tail wagging. Perhaps there was a rat's nest in there. The meat would be most welcome if she could flush it out and catch it. I salivated just thinking about it. A gust of wind buffeted me and the ice rattled against the thatch as I pushed firewood into the house and stacked it near the fire pit. The house was smoky, with inquisitive bursts of cold wind finding their way down the smoke-hole and swirling around the room.
"Eat this, Husband," Tse-ni-sa, said, thrusting a gourd bowl filled with a watery stew of corn and beans into my hands. "I'm sorry there is no meat. But eat quickly and we will get back into the bed and try to stay warm."
I took the bowl and slurped up the stew. My empty stomach accepted it gratefully. "Did you eat?" I asked.
She waived a thin hand at me impatiently. "I eat more than I need. I am too fat already. Drink this." She thrust another gourd containing tea into my hands. "It will soothe your souls."
I drank the cooling tea quickly. It was an unsweetened herbal brew, and it was bitter, but I did as I was told. Women have their place. And it was superior to mine in most respects, as undoubtedly the Creator intended it to be.
"Now into the bed, Husband. We will sleep until the cold breaks."
I left the gourd bowls on a woven mat near the fire and crawled into the bed, shuddering with cold. Tse-ni-sa joined me hurriedly, taking her blanket from her shoulders and spreading it over the bear skin, but leaving her deer-hide dress and high moccasins on. We held each other close, shivering spasmodically, and gradually warmth began to build in our little nest while the cold wind howled viciously outside. The dog crept into the house and lapped out the gourd bowl, then huddled at the end of the bed, hoping to remain inconspicuous as long as possible.
"Tell me a story, Husband," Tse-ni-sa said, her face burrowed into my armpit. "Make it a warm one, please."
I thought for a moment, then began: "When I was a boy my uncles used to tell me about the First People, Se-lu and Ka-na-ti. 'Se-lu' means 'corn woman' in the old language, and 'Ka-na-ti' was known as 'The Lucky Hunter.' And they had been given great gifts by the Creator, for Se-lu had merely to go into her empty corn-crib with her baskets, and rub her stomach, so –" I rubbed Tse-ni-sa's gaunt belly, "and her basket would fill with fat grains of corn. And when she rubbed her breasts, so –" I caressed Tse-ni-sa's small breasts tenderly, "her basket would fill with dried beans. But she did this in secret, because this was sacred women's knowledge, and her husband did not need to know." I pulled my lovely wife closer to me, and placed a hand on her hip.
"And Ka-na-ti had been granted a gift of his own by the Creator, for he went into the forest every day, and in a secret place only he knew of, he would roll aside a stone that sealed a vast cave, and he would sing a sacred song, and the animal he named in the song would come out of the cave. He would kill it swiftly with a single arrow, and as it died he would sing his apologies to its spirit, thanking it for its gift and promising not to waste any of it. Often it would be a fat deer, but sometimes a raccoon, or a rabbit, or a turkey, whatever he wanted. But whatever he killed, it would be reborn instantly inside the cave, and so there was never any shortage of game. And he always kept the cave sealed, except for when he wanted meat."
"I wish we could live like that," Tse-ni-sa murmured sadly.
"We might have," I continued, "but in spite of living in paradise, they longed for more. Se-lu wanted a child, and although she and her husband made love frequently and happily, no child came of it. So one day she went into the forest and gathered certain herbs, and made tea from them and drank it, and soon she gave birth to a child that they called 'Little Boy.' Ka-na-ti and Se-lu loved this child, and gave him all that he could desire, except a companion."
The wind howled more insistently, and sporadic gusts of snow made their way through the smoke-hole. The thatch above us rattled loudly.
"Now Se-lu was in the habit of washing the blood from the meat Ka-na-ti brought her in a little stream near their house. And Little Boy was fond of playing near this stream as his mother worked, and often all by himself. He wished for a playmate, and one day, as he played in the water, another little boy appeared and they played together happily all that day. This continued for several days, and Selu began to wonder why her son was so fascinated by the little creek. Then one day Se-lu and Ka-na-ti were sitting outside the house, enjoying the cool of early evening, and they heard talking and laughing down by the stream. They were sure they heard two voices, but when they went down there, they saw only Little Boy. They asked him who he had been talking to, and he told them that another boy would come out of the water to play with him, and that this boy had claimed to be his elder brother, and said that he lived in the water because his mother had thrown him away and he had no other home. But he was shy and did not want anyone else to see him."
The wind outside our little house had risen to gale force, and screamed wantonly. I pulled the blankets closer around us and continued. "Then Se-lu and Ka-na-ti knew that the other child had come from the blood that Se-lu had put into the creek. And Ka-na-ti told Little Boy that the next time Elder Brother came to play with him, he should say that he wanted to wrestle, and hold Elder Brother down as long as he could, while calling loudly, so that his parents could come and meet him too."
"And that is just what Little Boy did. The very next day he wrestled with Elder Brother, and when he had pinned him to the ground, he called loudly and Ka-na-ti and Se-lu ran to the creek and saw the strange child. They grabbed him and tried to drag him to the house, but he resisted, shouting, 'Let me go! You threw me away!' but they took him to the house anyway and kept him there and fed him and cared for him until he agreed not to run away. But he was always artful and wild, and led his brother into all sorts of mischief, so they named him 'Wild Boy.' And soon real trouble came to paradise, because Wild Boy was not only clever and devious, but curious as well. And one morning, as he and Little Boy played at hunting --"
