The Moss Garden Journal Of Chan Wing Tsit Read online

  Chapter 14

  One rainy afternoon Komkomis, Nowamooks and I were invited to their uncle Tewaugh’s lodge for an intimate meal. He wanted to show us a famous medicine bundle he’d purchased from Kul Solemie. With Comcomly and Kilakota away the timing seemed strange. Yakala was, pointedly, not invited.

  “Snubbed.” Nowamooks whispered as we approached Tewaugh‘s lodge; it was an insult answering one from Yakala. Months ago they argued over something trivial and had traded barbed slights ever since. A sudden quiver shot through me as I remembered Nowamooks warnings. I was anxious as she pulled aside his door-flap.

  Tewaugh’s niece led to our places. New mats covered the floor, new screens enclosed the fire and pillows were piled in extravagant excess. Once we had settled Tewaugh made a gracious entrance, followed a step behind by Kul Solemie. Tewaugh was his usual self, all smiles and twinkling eyes as he settled his bulk beside me. Kul Solemie kneeled beside Komkomis with the tired sigh of someone simply grateful to sit. He stared a bit uncertainly across the fire at Nowamooks and I.

  Tewaugh’s wife appeared, leading three girls carrying trays laden with exquisite food. Instead of the standard Tsinuk fare of fish and wappato, Tzum Tupso presented platters with fish eggs and crabmeat displayed on brilliant green leaves…shellfish, sea urchins and fern shoots. Everything in sight was a testament to Tewaugh’s wealth, from the complex, intricate weave of the screens and mats to the incredibly soft furs draped over pillows,. From the carved posts holding the roof to the scoops and baskets used for service, every detail visible seemed a work of art. Once the food was set before us Tzum offered Nowamooks a conspiratorial nod and settled herself a fraction of an inch back from Tewaugh.

  I would have sworn she and Nowamooks exchanged another meaningful glance, but Tewaugh was already warming his way into a welcoming speech. He poured effusive praise over Kul Solemie’s long stewardship as his excitement over owning this bundle bubbled-over. Kul Solemie had been a shaman for generations, but now looked merely frail. I held his eyes a meaningful moment before he looked away. As if struggling to not smile, he looked down at his knees and nervously licked his lips.

  Though we’d never been especially close, I knew the old shaman well enough to realize something was wrong. Certainly his health was failing; selling the bundle could only mean retirement, but it was whispered that his sons lost at gambling and trade. I wondered how the sale occurred.

  It was expected that Tewaugh would exploit such a situation; there was nothing wrong in that. The question was whether he purposefully compromised Kul Solemie’s sons just to get the get the bundle. The matter had been debated widely over the past week.

  Tewaugh seemed oblivious to the controversy. That evening, his elk skin tunic hung tastefully about his bulk and swaths of jade and abalone draped below jowls sufficiently bloated to pull his tattoos out of shape. Elaborate bracelets circled each wrist, a blue iridescent labret pierced his nose and abalone studs stretched both his ears. His arms held the distinctive trader’s tattoo that measured dentalia strings. Beside him lay a conically woven hat graced with potlatch bulbs. Every element in the room affirmed his success.

  He was powerful and wealthy, and wanted others to know it.

  “I was told in a dream to give this dinner,” he announced after our obligatory complements. “Old Woman Above has asked that I host a meal for an intimate few.” He paused for our murmurs of appreciation.

  Instead of my normal background role, I’d been given the position of a prominent guest. I kept my face studiously neutral. I had every intention of being politely respectful, but Nowamooks warnings still echoed within me. It was difficult to imagine Tewaugh listening humbly to the bundle’s spirit-voice. My mind spun trying to guess what he was trying to do.

  The rest of us were ready, even anxious to begin, but Tewaugh was in no hurry. The bundle waited prominently atop a finely carved box. Komkomis and Nowamooks gazed at it reverently. Kul Solemie looked tired, but quite ready to begin. Tzum Tupso came in and settled beside Tewaugh, beaming a beneficent smile as she looked from one of us to the next as if unaware of the tension filling the lodge.

  Old, frail and blind in one eye, Kul Solemie sat on the far side of Tewaugh, bobbing his head to unheard drumming, smiling and answering politely enough when addressed, but barely lifting his eyes.

  A master of congeniality, Tewaugh kept up an effortless patter; as if playing host was his natural role. He deflected questions on to others and asked Komkomis of his recent trip to the Klamath, though he undoubtedly knew the details. Then he chattered about the Yurok and Hupa fascination with dentalia.

  “They’re far more picky than we are.” Tewaugh burbled. “They want shells they can inscribe or trim with fur.” Seeing my confusion he leaned to touch my arm and confide, “I’ll show you.”

  Reaching into a box, he pulled out a handful of dentalia and laying them in my lap. I fingered the perfectly matched strings absently; the strings in my hands would be a small fortune for a common man. The decorated shells were interesting, but I was sure Nowamooks’ artisans would do better. But then who beyond the Yurok and their neighbors wanted decorated dentalia?

  “In the north, the shells are sorted by general size and color...grouped roughly, very roughly.” He disdainfully picked up a perfect string and tossed it into the box as if worthless. “We unstring them all and carefully match shells by exact size and color. The Klamath want exact sizes…so we give them what they want…perfectly matched strings, exactly the same length.”

  He shared a knowing smile with Komkomis. “You came back smiling. If you didn’t know what they wanted they would have shamed you.”

  “You taught me yourself, Uncle.”

  Tewaugh gave a surprising giggle before returning to his theme, “Beginners limp home, tail between their legs because they assume the Yurok and Hupa are slow. They might be far away but they’re wise and canny traders.”

  Komkomis took up the theme. “Dentalia are an honorable obsession.” He held my eyes and he flexed his arm, pulling an imaginary string from his thumb to the tattooed mark on his arm. “But one needs to know what’s wanted.”

  “Lucky for us, few others are that fussy…and luckily everyone wants something different. Upriver they don’t mind small shells if well matched and they value strands with the similar blemishes. The Klamath like reddish ones; others want gray or something else. Some aren’t picky at all if you can sell them cheap. Experienced traders know what to offer.”

  Tewaugh chuckled and nudged me as one might a close friend. I bowed politely for no one had ever explained it so clearly before. I was fascinated, but shrugged nonchalantly, as if such things were obvious to those living among master traders.

  While Tewaugh talked Tzum Tupso passed more food around. She monitored the passing platters, giving direction with nods and hand signals. She was every bit as complex and competent as Kilakota. Equal portions matriarch and wife, she observed conventions, managed her noble lodge, critiqued Tewaugh’s jokes and maintained her own elaborate webs of contacts. Effortlessly polite, she drew out opinions and offered comments with seamless ease.

  Tewaugh’s eyes followed her, a soft smile upon his lips. When she slipped off to smooth some detail, he leaned close and whisper in my ear, “I’m her puppy. She’s everything.

  His eyes were damp. The admission was disarming and so out of character I blushed. He squeezed my arm as if we’d shared a confidence. I glanced to Nowamooks for reassurance but she and Komkomis were laughing. Then the moment passed and his face returned to its formal mask as if nothing at all had happened.

  We ate beyond comfort as our role as guests demanded, eating until we were too stuffed to do more than murmur praise. Tewaugh set aside his eating mat and barked an order; bowls of water appeared as if by magic and we rinsed our fingers as three drummers settled discretely behind Kul Solemie.

  Komkomis cleared his throat and made a suitably long speech that recognized the honor of the bundle’s welcome into su
ch a distinguished home.

  Pausing for a moment of respectful humility, Tewaugh raised his voice to the bundle’s spirits, extolling their virtues and reciting a lineage that could have stretched back centuries before offering a short prayer and nodding solicitously to Kul Solemie.

  Giving a quiet sigh, Kul Solemie looked down at his wrinkled hands before tottering to his feet. He seemed even older than he had at first and his hand had a tremor as he lifted the sacred bundle.

  Returning to his mat with an unsteady shuffle, he set it reverently before him. A nervous silence descended as he immersed himself within the bundle’s energy and stared into the dying fire. Nowamooks gave me a quick glance as if reinforcing her warning to keep silent. Improper behavior could present a costly breach of etiquette. Simply moving ones’ lips as the old man sang could be regarded as theft or provoke charges of illicit use.

  Not a sound could be heard as the drummers started a quiet throbbing and the old man put sprigs of sage in his hair, shook rattles into the four corners and introduced the bundles’ story. Then lighting a braid of sweet grass he wafted smoke above our heads and dropped the braid into the fire.

  His voice was hushed, “This bundle is the womb of the sun, the moon and their mother, Old Woman Above.” Lighting another braid and left it smoldering as he opened the bundle’s wrap, chanting its liturgy. Rocking back and forth, he spread his fingers over the bundle as the drummers changed their rhythm and chanted almost inaudibly.

  I had expected a sung recitation, but the old shaman simply talked, addressing the bundle and his audience in cadence with the drums.

  Lifting two flattened copper rings he announced, “Sun and Old Woman Above.” Singing their songs, he described their strengths and weaknesses as he moved them in the arc that they followed across the sky. Lifting a copper crescent and wooden rattle, he held the moon high and shook the rattle as the drummers made the sound of wind rising-up and dying away.

  He talked of the bundles’ mysteries and subtle power, deferring humbly to the magpie feathers that represented the six wise women and the twelve owl feather symbolizing the animal world; each feather received a different bird call from the drummers. He sang the spirit songs of each special element, his voice adjusting to the drummers’ rhythms while talking casually to us as friends…recounting each piece’s history and significance.

  Then he stopped.

  After a long pause, looked deeply into each of our eyes and allowed the silence to expand. Slowly and reverently, he lifted the scalp of the warrior killed after Moon helped his family escape the sun’s burning grasp.

  After that plaintive song he displayed the paw and skull of the grizzly bear that separated the sun and the moon…the true hero of the story.

  The final elements were introduced then; a carved wooden fish with abalone eyes and a polished ram’s horn engraved with designs, tufts of wool bound by colorful threads and carved human figures to represent humanity. Each played its role enacted in song as it performed its unique dance before being carefully set to a side as witnesses the rest of the tale.

  The presentation stretched late into the evening. The darkness had the feel of early morning when we finally left. A bright moon peeked between tarnished clouds as if acknowledging what we’d witnessed. It watched us walk along the beach, in need of talk before finding our way to bed. Touched by the presentation we ambled at the edge of the bay, feeling a need to share our thoughts before returning to our lodge.

  I finally voiced the questions that burdened me. “What was Tewaugh after? Why buy such a bundle? And why show us?” I was uncomfortable with his lavishing attention upon me as if I was his oldest and closest of friend. He’d said nothing explaining why.

  Nowamooks giggled. “Uncle Tewaugh is human Chaningsit. He’s given Komkomis and me more than we can repay…we love and respect him. Every Tsinuk and visitor fawns and laughs at his jokes. However you alone deny him one thing that he can’t buy. And that bothers him…a lot.”

  “I have nothing he wants.”

  “Oh, but you do.” Komkomis’ smile widened as he stifled a laugh. Nowamooks nudged my ribs with an elbow and leaned against me as if she was pleased.

  “You say that you have nothing…but, Chaningsit…there is something. He can buy almost anything…but not your approval. That, you hold that tightly. He longs for your respect because he respects you. Despite his wealth, he can never be who you are.”

  That simple truth suddenly seemed obvious. I turned away.

  After a moment of silence Komkomis explained, “He’s very proud of the bundle. Tzum says he talks of becoming a shaman. He’s trying very hard.”

  “He wants to be a healer?”

  Nowamooks gave a sad smile and shook her head. “No…he wants to be known as one…whether or not he actually does any healing. He knows you respect shaman. He hopes perhaps you would accept him then.”

  I looked away, uncertain of what I thought of it. I’d never intended to withhold my attention or my self. I’d been so awed by his wealth I’d not treated him as a human. I was embarrassed at being so callus.

  “He really is sincere about trying…whatever his reasons. He’s very clever Chaningsit. He’ll learn the songs and will use the bundle enough to be noticed.” Komkomis chuckled cynically. “He is not a rock. His feelings are frail despite his wealth…he truly wants your approval. That’s a good thing.”

  Nowamooks shrugged and glanced to Komkomis. “Well…besides that, the bundle gives him power over Tzum. There is something of it’s power she needs. But I think the real reason he bought it was simply because I wanted it.”

  Komkomis’ voice was touched with bitterness. “He invited us to dangle it before her. To get it now she’ll have to pay handsomely…if he ever sells.”

  “You wanted the bundle, Nowamooks?” I kept my voice light. Since she’d never mentioned it I assumed it might be a touchy subject. She was already a shaman…she interpreted dreams; I’d no idea that she wanted more powerful tools. Certainly the power of such a bundle would demand a huge commitment.

  As the daughter of a chief she could afford most anything. It argued to the idea that Kul Solemie had been maneuvered into the sale. Certainly with her mother’s wealth behind her there must be more involved than just a trading exchange. It was easy to assume Tewaugh held something over Kul Solemie, that he traded intangibles as well as goods to get the bundle. If so Nowamooks would have to satisfy even more intangibles to get it away from him. I’d never learn the details, but having layers of reasons was very Tsinuk …business was a complicated dance.

  Nowamooks watched me as the moon ducked behind a cloud. “I’ve been training for years and now truly need a bundle. I wanted Old Woman Above and had been talking with Kul Solemie. There aren’t many bundles with such power. It would have been a good investment.”

  “He won’t he let you use it?”

  Komkomis scoffed. “He’ll put it away so no one will use it. He doesn’t really want to be a healer. He wants to be respected, he wants control.”

  “Perhaps I do too.” Nowamooks murmured uncomfortably. Komkomis and I caught each other’s eyes…even it true she was hardly like Tewaugh.

  It was a strange admission for her to make, but it exposed only a normal human weakness. My mind spun, questions at the tip of my tongue, but I pinched my lips closed. This was not a simple issue. It was so Tsinuk. I understood nothing.

  Kul Solemie had performed the bundle’s opening with solemn gravity. He didn’t appear coerced or bitter or unhappy at passing the bundle on. Though old and apparently sick he looked able enough to continue, at least for a while, if there was nothing else involved. Extracting his sons from ruin might be worth giving up such income and prestige. Evidently I wasn’t alone at suspecting the worst of Tewaugh. Suspicion’s aside, there was no evidence of a shameful shadow. My heart was with Kul Solemie, without the bundle’s authority he would be only another toothless elder, muttering to his totems.

  I mentally added spirit
bundles to my list of things to learn about. Secretly, I hoped Nowamooks’ vows as shaman would complement my own. I had a secret fantasy of us serving our community in tandem. In our different ways we would help those that we could. I selfishly hoped it would build us closer.

  Supporting her was the least I could do. More importantly, it was what she wanted. Nowamooks constantly teased me, but more than once I’d heard hints of pride when she described me as a Buddhist shaman. I wanted her to be as proud of me as I was of her.

  But it was very late and we’d had a long day. Slipping inside, Komkomis turned away to his alcove. Recognizing her true nature as a shaman, I bowed before Nowamooks before we slipped under our blankets and settled ourselves for the night.

  Three moons passed. As I listened in councils only the most obscure references escaped me. I had a respected role sitting behind Comcomly and Yakala and walking with Komkomis beside the bay. Being a listener was natural for me. I seldom asked questions of anyone beyond Nowamooks and Uncle Tanaka. Sometimes I felt more priest than friend. It was often a lonesome role.

  Then a much-anticipated flotilla of Salish boats pulled up on our beach. Their progress had been monitored as they worked their way down the coast. Nobles from a powerful lodge, major, politically significant traders had come. They were a major force in the northern world. News from each stop was exhaustively dissected as the Triad’s collective mice recited lists from each stop.

  Our strategy had been decided. As the visitors entered the bay Comcomly and Tewaugh spread white feathers on the water as a clutch of singers accompanied our visitors to our lodge.

  All I knew for sure was that Tewaugh intended to impress them. Nahcotta had buzzed with flurried activity. Shellfish waited to be steamed, earthen ovens heated and foods readied for roasting and our lodge fronts were freshly painted. Canoes crisscrossed the bay for days.

  Komkomis and I sat behind Yakala and Comcomly listening to speeches and sampling from passing platters. Compliments splashed like raindrops in a storm. Their language was a version of our own, though spoken with a clipped, almost rhythmic style that enhanced their haughty phrasing.

  The Salish leader, Kwun-num Tupshin had known Tewaugh and Comcomly since boyhood. He stood stiffly and looked about nodding to acquaintances. He gestured graciously and widened his smile, “I’m honored to bring my son Oluck Kiya and my daughter Yi-Em to seal friendships.”

  “Teaching ways and rituals of trade pales in comparison to introducing them to the generous people of Nahcotta.” The throng murmured appreciatively, but I noticed that just behind him his son Oluck Kiya sat with a frozen smile and measured us with an icy glare.

  “We’re here to trade, but come first of all as friends.” Kwun-num Tupshin paused and grinned, “Well…and there’s your Clam Festival too, but most of all I wanted to visit old friends.” There was a scattering of polite laughter. “Trade and friendship are fingers on our mother’s hand.”

  There was a murmuring approval as he introduced his party and called out to friends among the crowd.

  Comcomly rose next. “My father took me north to learn about trade from you and I still remember the warmth with which we feasted. I brought my sons and daughter to your lodges three years ago. Binding friendships makes us truly wealthy.”

  People ate themselves into quiet lethargy then stretched out to listen to Kwun-num Tupshin’s verbal picture of his village, “Cradled within a beautiful cove, our lodges are wide and warm. Whales and seals honor us in their play. We’ve come to weave the net of friendship with warm blankets, dentalia and sea otter pelts. We’ve come with jewelry and inlayed boxes. Great trade extends before us and we expect to return pleased and fat from your legendary feasts.”

  It was standard trader’s flattery despite being spouted so elegantly. I shifted my attention to the inflection and conventions of his speaking style. Sensitive issues would be kept for later. Mentioning business issues too early was usually considered poor taste, but Kwun-num Tupshin bluntly mentioned an interest in tobacco, white elk hides and a buffalo skin. “And if not too dear, of course obsidian.”

  Making such a statement implied that he was powerful enough to ignore conventions so I listened for what would follow. As they planned to travel up the Great River trade negotiations would not take place here, but we would still profit.

  My mind strayed. I was disturbed by Oluck Kiya’s hostile glare so at odds with the smiles about him. Sitting behind Comcomly, Komkomis and I endured the tedium and over-eating with practiced smiles. Our guests would stay a few days with us, splitting time between major lodges and their Kwalhioquas friends across the bay.

  It was only later that I heard of the threats. I was surprised they were taken so seriously. Grumbling wasn’t that unusual. The threats overheard by a trader involved some questionable deal of Tewaugh. He was said to have taken advantage of Kwun-num Tupshin’s brother-in-law’s father, but blame was laid on all Tsinuks.

  Kwun-num Tupshin and Tewaugh agreed that Yakala would broker the Salish goods for a set fee and that Tewaugh would arrange portage and transport to No’squalakul, Where The Trail Comes Out, and on to Yakaitl-Wimakl for transport upriver. At its best trade was a spiritual sport and social endeavor and a match of wits. With Yakala’s advice Kwun-num Tupshin would make final decisions on each sale, but in reality he would only meet traders Yakala selected. He would take pains to have his guests feel they’d made a coup.

  They haggled through the morning over the costs of transport and housing and feeding their crew then negotiated Yakala’s commission. The final details were agreed after an evening of speeches. Tewaugh presented Kwun-num Tupshin with an elaborate bentwood box inlaid with abalone and a rare, near-perfect, soft white-elk hide.

  In what seemed an afterthought, Tewaugh haggled over two of their big canoes, but they’d agree to sell only one. Tewaugh stood and glared when his final offer was refused, then called Kwun-num Tupshin an unkind name and stormed out of the lodge in anger.

  I sat back, confused for Tewaugh was usually faultlessly contained and urbane. It was out of character. He’d been a consummate trader and had hosted guests all his life. It was shockingly poor business to insult a client. Obviously something beyond the obvious was in play, but I couldn’t tell if it was real or feigned.

  I looked over at Nowamooks, hunching my shoulders asking “Why?”

  She gave me an expressionless blink encouraging me to wait. But the Salish were clearly uncomfortable and stared at the ground in embarrassment.

  At last Comcomly rose to his feet. He chanted a legend about friends and worthy trade that smoothed the worst of the awkwardness, then closed with a pledge for another feast.

  There was awkward silence as people rose. Nowamooks leaned close and whispered. “I don’t think it was the canoe...he doesn’t need it. There must be other reasons.”

  I gave her a questioning blink. None of it made sense.

  Hiding her smile with her hand, she added. “Kilakota decided we’ll accompany the traders to Yakaitl-Wimakl.”

  The idea left me uneasy, but Nowamooks was quite pleased and actually skipped as we returned to our lodge.

  Tsinuk culture was so complex and impenetrable I found it difficult to make sense of things. Comcomly might be village chief, but clans and special societies were worlds unto themselves and there were plenty of stories of chiefs being removed.

  In China authority was clear. Everyone had superiors with superiors of their own. Those above held authority over those below. I had looked to my father who obeyed his superiors, who obeyed sub-ministers, who answered to the Governor—on up to the Emperor himself.

  But here there were overlapping constellations of authority with voids and conflicts. For the first time in my life I had no superior. It seems I’d stumbled into Hui Neng’s ideal of “not seeing heads above your own,” and found it a heady thought.

  Comcomly was our community’s leader. But in most any instance he would indulge me, not order me. Here, there was littl
e but friendship and chosen loyalty binding people. Though owing Komkomis’ family and all Tsinuks respect for saving my life, at least theoretically I could leave at any time.

  It seemed that I alone was outside familial, clan and totem commitments, even the ties of trade slipped past me. Beside their loyalties to clan and totems, Nowamooks and Komkomis answered to family and all Tsinuks looked up to Comcomly.

  But no one would dream of telling me to do anything.