The Moss Garden Journal Of Chan Wing Tsit Read online

  Chapter 15

  I heard the rumor that the Salish wanted to honor us with a whale hunt and ignored it. Then, in open council, Oluck Kiya, the trader’s son rose abruptly and challenged Komkomis and Yakala to go. The circle fell to silence at his aggressive tone. And then when Yakala looked to Comcomly for guidance Oluck Kiya insinuated that Tsinuks were cowards. I had heard stories of the northerners whale hunts, but they weren’t a Tsinuk tradition. Up north it was a world of islands and coves while here beyond the shore thee was nothing but endless ocean.

  Comcomly glanced to Kwun-num Tupshin, but embarrassed at his son’s outburst the trader hung his head. Offering a generous smile, Comcomly raised his head and said, “How could we refuse such an offer?”

  Obviously mortified, but reluctant to call his son to task, Kwun-num Tupshin looked on in sad dismay. All who witnessed seemed troubled and distressed.

  Whether or not it was wise, a whale hunt was an exciting thing to contemplate. The news swirled quickly.

  As primary hunters, Oluck Kiya, Komkomis and Yakala would attune themselves by fasting, sweating and observe a day of purification. Though it was not part of Tsinuk tradition, they would go out and hunt for whales.

  Komkomis asked for my support in his preparation so I crowded into the sweat lodge with him and the others. Oluck’s supporters’ prideful swagger quickly gave way to silent glares. Once inside the sweat lodge Yakala and Oluck Kiya and their friends barely endured each other, glaring daggers through the haze.

  Ritual invocations led to hesitatingly joined chants. Then, a grim silence echoed between them as they contemplated what was ahead.

  I slipped away when a young man’s corpse was brought in to channel the whales’ spirits. Disgusted, I only felt dread over Komkomis risking his life out on the ocean. Nowamooks grumbled over a new set of rumors from the River. But exhausted from my night awake, I wandered to my temple to sit pensive and ill at ease through the rest of the day.

  The next morning I woke before dawn to the distant murmur of chants and drumming. Komkomis and the others had continued through the night performing their purification rituals. With Nowamooks, I joined other villagers maintaining a vigil for a safe return.

  Later, wandering back to the lodge for a bite to eat Komkomis greeted me with stiff smile. “No food for you, my friend...you’re coming with us.” Suddenly, his boisterous Tsinuk crewmen surrounded us.

  I had planned to spend the day with Nowamooks, but if he wanted me with him, of course I would go. I had dark thoughts about going out upon the ocean, but I was swept along like a leaf on a river.

  Yakala would ride in a Salish boat and wield the first harpoon. In a Tsinuk boat Komkomis would throw the second harpoon with me sitting behind him as a witness. Oluck Kiya would captain Yakala’s boat and hold the third harpoon. Other Tsinuk and Salish boats would come to witness the hunt and assist.

  Excited whoops exploded around us as we descended to the beach and headed out. My stomach churned with fear as we exited our bay onto the ocean’s wide, deep swells. The paddlers chanted an impelling song as the rustle of water gurgled beneath our bow. Echoing my dark fears, high ominous clouds stretched to the horizon and seemed to support my mood.

  Wisps of foam from paddles flickered as they caught the wind. The paddlers’ songs rose unfettered to the sky as our boats moved forward in a great curving line, a stone’s throw apart. And then with the rounded shapes before us on the undulating surface, we drifted to a stop. An unworldly mood settled over us; primal feelings, far removed from everyday life. The hunt evoked something deep and vital. Even as I was sick with dread, I could not deny strength of the mood. I felt transporting to another realm.

  Yakala rose to his feet in his boat and cried, “Ekkoli, nika ekkeh, nika chako.” Whale, my brother-in-law, I’ve come to meet you.

  He repeated the cry twice more across the water, arms stretched wide. “You have come because you know my honor and know we respect your strength and wisdom.”

  With that, our paddlers dug deep and our boats cut ahead with renewed conviction. There was singing or chatter now, only the liquid sounds of paddles and hull competed with the whispering wind.

  Soon we could easily see the gray-black shapes among the ocean swells like collection of small hills. Their dark glistening bodies dwarfed the longest of our boats; their rough skin was spotted with sea growth and scars of geologic age. Yakala’s boat would make the first approach then circle back so Oluck Kiya could hurl the third harpoon. We would be close on their heels of their first approach then observe what might unfold. Our harpoons and their sealskin buoys were draped ready on our gunwales as our boat crept stealthily forward.

  I held my breath when Yakala rose to his feet and lifted his harpoon. Before me, Komkomis rose from a crouch and balanced gracefully as our boat nosed closer.

  In a single movement, Yakala thrust his harpoon, his boat pulled away and ours thrust forward. The whale rolled just as Komkomis drove his harpoon behind the rising flipper. Then suddenly Yakala’s canoe was flung skyward and Yakala and his crew, lines and paddles and buoys and bodies hung suspended in the air.

  The scene before me slowed and spun as if a dream. The shattered boat paused, suspended against the sky. Then Oluck Kiya, Yakala and their paddlers’ along with lengths of line, paddles and buoys dropped amid a splashing flood and a long, sustained, pitiful scream.

  Our own boat almost capsized in the wake. Komkomis fell backwards across me as we teetered, our gunnel shipping water. Then a long moment of silence descended as the whales disappeared and we humans struggled to comprehend what had happened.

  Time ran as slow as winter honey, each moment stretching thin before falling away. Our remaining boats surged forward immediately, but only the slap of water against our hull cut the silence. There was a rush to save those struggling among flotsam. Like a handful of broken twigs, bodies and pieces of canoe tangled with ropes, harpoon shafts, buoys and paddles.

  Then the whale resurfaced, exploding with an eruption of violence. The air was again rent by the screams of those still floundering in the waves.

  We moved to help, but our boat gave a sudden twisting jerk that all but threw me out of it. Then we were dragged by the harpoon’s line across the rippled surface, moving at a fearful clip. We sped toward the distant shore, streaking over swells at a breathtaking rate, plowing through oncoming crests and taking in water. I saw Komkomis reaching for a knife ready to cut the line; he was ready, but held off. Grabbing a scoop, I bailed frantically, all other thoughts driven from my mind.

  Our ride continued at an unbelievable pace and I braced myself, not quite believing we could survive. Then suddenly the line went slack. Silence reigned again and we bobbed uncertainly through a long empty minute.

  Then before anyone could say a word, we were spun us around, the line jerked taunt and were pulled at an amazing speed toward the endless ocean, our hull pounding the choppy waves like a cook’s cleaver against a block. Our speed was all the more frightening because of the frailty of our craft. But our pointed bow shipped water as it was pulled down into the fast-approaching swells.

  However long that rocking and careening ride lasted, it ended as suddenly as it began and we rocked almost serenely in an ominous silence. Far against a horizon the other boats of our party were merely smudges. Komkomis turned a questioning glance to our boat’s captain who whispered that the line might have broken.

  “Or, the beast might be dead.” His voice lowered to a respectful hush. “Or deciding whether to pull us under.”

  We waited for an eternity afraid our slightest sound might set the chase off again. Hardly shifting a finger, we froze in place until the sound of paddles announced our friends’ arrival.

  Once the others circled about us the captain gestured for Komkomis to retrieve the harpoon’s line. Long lengths came freely at first. He slowly coiled a few canoe lengths, carefully laying it before him in case the whale should make another run. A buoy from Yakala’s harpoon
appeared below us, slowly rising from the depths with an untidy tangle of line. Once the lines were unsnarled another length came freely.

  But then Komkomis pulled against an unyielding mass somewhere deep in the unknowable depths. I stared uncomprehending as Komkomis gazed back to me then around to those about us. The question was, would a tug enrage the whale into another frenzy? We held our breath as he braced himself, leaned back and pulled with all his strength.

  The gathering of other boats was welcome, but tension thickened the air and no one dared say anything. Komkomis hauled and paused, progressing by handbreadths and retrieving our tangled buoys, patiently unsnarling knots. One by one, each was untied and handed back. I set them behind me, out of the way.

  While busy with that task I heard the wail of horror before looking down to see the shadow of a gradually rising body; arms outstretched and face down, emerging from the depths. The harpoon’s line had looped the paddler’s foot and dragged him to his death. Now tangled with the line, his body floated limply, slowly revolving in the icy water, circling as it rose.

  Then a second cry seemed to descend from the sky to be choked out with a sob of anguish. It took me a moment longer to recognize Yakala’s form. I felt a wave of chill enclose me as it rose with painful languor, from the eerie depths.

  Komkomis gave out a choked moan as his brother’s body was hauled over a gunwale. Kneeling before me, he stared open-mouthed and pale; his jaw worked as if he spoke, without emitting a sound.

  Komkomis twisted about and stared right through me before shrilling a guttural wail that rebounded from the clouds before it echoed into silence.

  We sat in our frail craft, shocked into silence. Rocking on the slowly lifting swells we were dwarfed by the display of raw power. Below us, an immense dark form took shape slowly, separating itself from murky shadows as the whale’s bulk rose slowly from the chilled depths.

  Above it, pale against the dark below, another human form floated upwards. Half-entangled against the giant’s now slack fin.

  The unsought adventure left an ominous unease, feeling insect-size under the high dark sky, waiting unhappily among the swells. As the body of the Salish paddler was freed the Salish captain raised his hand for attention.

  “These deaths were no accident,” the captain announced loudly. Every face turned his was from every boat. He voice shook with furry. “Someone split the boat with wedges.”

  Cries of dismay and disbelief immediately arose. “Even now Slipped-On-Ice and Oluck Kiya haul the splintered hull so all will see.” He pointed to the silhouette of a boat heading for our cove.

  “It was murder!” His voice cracked into a wail of outrage.

  The work of readying the whale continued despite ominously grinding murmurs. I was swept by a wave of fear. I was suddenly aware of being far out on the ocean, far from help or witnesses. Any retribution would be final. I stared into the deep, gray water. This time there would be no hatch cover if I were to be tossed to the waves. I kept my eyes down, watching the tasks of sewing the whale’s lips. Long after the boat was dry I busied myself bailing.

  Our return was a sad one. It seemed an eternity of grief towing that whale to an ocean-side beach. Returning the bodies to Nahcotta was the worst. Four men had died, two Salish and two Tsinuk. The split hull’s story was obvious. Along the length of the split hull the obvious shapes of short, thick wedges were embossed clearly in the wood.

  A quick council was convened with Komkomis, Nowamooks Kwun-num Tupshin, Comcomly, Kilakota, Tewaugh and others. I was not. I looked out over the bay until Nowamooks emerged. Stepping before me she immediately warned me against mentioning Yakala’s name. His spirit wanted no distractions as it began its journey. We’d observe some days of mourning as his soul came to terms with death.

  The hue and cry quickly made its way around the bay, family and friends descended from all directions. The outpourings were powerful; both Tsinuks and Salish ranted about the wedges. People from distant villages came to touch the spots they had been driven. The grumbling was angry and suspicious.

  Leaving the bodies outside and alone spared their spirits the distractions of home and friends. Yakala and the crewman were laid respectfully at one side of the village the Salish on another and the appropriate clan societies contracted to prepare them. Both communities grieved. Hostility washed ankle deep and splashed through doorways, drenching us with anguish.

  I stood at the edge of the village as Eagle clan members placed a perfect eagle tail-feather on Yakala’s chest and wrapped in an elk-skin. Singers accompanied it to the platform on the burial island across the bay. Their task completed, the body handlers sweated to purify themselves and I sat in my small temple, murmuring sutras; dedicating the little clarity I had to his new path.

  Each side blamed the other so there was no common grief. But since it was hard to assign blame cleanly it was easy to imagine a third party. Was the strike against the Salish or were they targeted to trouble Tsinuks? Nowamooks explained that without assigning responsibility the revenge so essential for healing could not be taken. Just who should pay compensation for the wedges? Since there would have been no way to know just who on the boat might die, personal motives seemed unlikely. Since both members of both communities were at risk and died, simply being Salish or Tsinuk lent no explanations. Since the wedges were assumed driven on our beach we bore a share of responsibility, but since it was a Salish boat and activity, they would owe compensation for the Tsinuks. Its senselessness intensified the hurt.

  Stricken with grief, Oluck Kiya sat almost speechless for full two days. His earlier arrogance and swagger were gone; he didn’t eat and scarcely responded to those around him. After pushing for the hunt so aggressively he had responsibility no matter who drove the wedges, even though his life was as threatened as Yakala’s.

  A new rumor argued it was the whale’s spirit’s revenge and that the wedges were either coincidental or inspired by the whale’s foreknowledge. That answer seemed quite Tsinuk, but unpopular. The Salish gathered in a corner of our lodge shifting uneasily and whispering ominously as frustrated locals milled outside.

  There would be no serious work done until our initial mourning was over–all else in the world could wait. Ellewa and Little Flower, Yakala’s widowed sister-wives hacked at their hair and slashed their arms. The few things that could be done were done; family and friends offered consolation and the next morning Komkomis wed both to provide security and lend their lives some stability.

  It was unthinkable that beside our peaceful bay someone would sabotage a boat. New speculations appeared hourly, the Salish were mortified and Oluck Kiya was daubed with disgrace. He accepted responsibility in a tearful, speech before he and the others of his boat slunk away in the smallest of their remaining craft, heading homewards, their heads lowered in remorse.

  Alone in my temple, I chanted a funeral service after my morning meditation. I would share in the Tsinuk rites if that were allowed; quite sure their rituals would do more to order their unseen realms than the foreign ways I knew. Buddhism teaches that the fear of death is natural, but it doesn’t provide many tools to deal with it. I was as lost as any of us, the invisible edge between life and death an impossible chasm.

  Nowamooks explained, “Humans have four souls. The soul of thoughts and ideas is like a shooting star that burns out at death, combining with the heavy brown death spirit comprised of the memories of all those we’ve known and loved. If they relish community they can nurture the living, but if they refuse to accept death they bring nightmares and sickness.

  Certainly Yakala’s spirits would not suffer alone. Our village site was so ancient it must enclose the spirits of endless generations. Three generations ago the whole village was washed away by huge waves. Nowamooks’ explanation seemed strangely reassuring. I wished Yakala’s spirits well. I would burn braids of sweet grass in his memory. Sweet grass was the incense of this land and Uncle Tanaka used it at every ritual

  With grieving at la
st behind us, attention could return to the whale. Token allotments of meat and fat were distributed to lodges about the bay, but there was simply too much and too much time had gone by; the rest was left to rot. Its carcass was nothing but an empty husk devoid of spirit. Abandoned, it was an unrecognizable mound of maggot-riven flesh on an empty stretch of beach, reeking of decay and breeding flies.

  Since the salmon run finished just before the Salish’s arrival there had been no lack of food. Without hunger or need, the hunt was unnecessary. It was rumored that its killing without reason prompted the whale’s understandable retribution. The price exacted was four human lives with suggestions that more bad luck would follow. My Tsinuk-half understood. I nodded in solemn acknowledgment.

  Nowamooks and I walked to the mouth of our bay where the ocean’s breakers rolled into the flat calmness of our harbor. Much subdued, we dug clams from the mud and talked. “People say Oluck Kiya looped your brother’s ankle with the line, but that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” She didn’t look up, “The line was in front of him. It was the whale, ‘eh? The hunt was a bad idea. Whales are ancient spirits, with totems far stronger than humans’. My mother thinks we got off easy.”

  “Why was Oluck Kiya angry? Did he and Yakala fight?”

  “He and Yakala were friends.” Nowamooks lips moved as if she was whispering something to herself. “Something else must be at play. I don’t know.”

  “But why would he accept responsibility if he didn’t do it?”

  “He was responsible for the hunt. He acted honorably…that’s all.” Nowamooks shrugged. “No one thinks he drove the wedges.” She glanced up as if to add something, but then pinched her lips and looked away. “Maybe it was planned.”

  At the time I hardly heard that last comment. Instead of asking about that, I pushed, “So, who drove the wedges?”

  “Enemies maybe? Competitors? Even Tewaugh had reasons,” she murmured silently. “It was the boat Tewaugh wasn’t allowed to buy…it’s whispered his own people drove the wedges. Tewaugh and Yakala had argued, Oluck Kiya and Tewaugh as well. Traders have vowed to hurt Tewaugh…maybe it was a mistake.”

  Nowamooks studied my face. “Too many enemies, too few facts. Tewaugh was Yakala’s uncle, he wouldn’t purposefully do it.”

  Keeping my face blank, I nodded. Anyone among us could have died. It was hard to see how anything could have been predicted. “Uncle Tanaka says wedges usually take days to split a boat, but they’d hardly been in long enough. The wedges were there but the whale caused the deaths.”

  Nowamooks shot me a hostile glare. Not understanding, I moved away unsure what she’d reacted to. I didn’t want to intrude. Little of what I knew made sense. If it hadn’t been for the whale the boat would have sunk on its way home. The target would have been the Salish. It could have been Tewaugh’s revenge. But if it was even truly suspected it would ruin him.

  A week after the funerals the Salish set off for the Great River; boats were arranged, messages exchanged and plans fine-tuned. Komkomis would take Yakala’s place as trader. He reviewed their strategy with Tewaugh and Comcomly, sent instructions and huddled with Kilakota about family concerns. Much subdued, Kwun-num Tupshin and his party accompanied their goods to Yakaitl-Wimakl.

  The late afternoon sun hung low, already streaking the beach with lengthening shadows when Komkomis and Nowamooks took me for a walk along the bay.

  “Chaningsit,” Komkomis looked about warily, “Kilakota asked that we speak.

  “Why?” I could hear the suspicion in my voice.

  “Because you have no one to protect, no clan, family, or business ties to blind you, your advice is worthy.”

  I waited cautiously.

  “We can’t accuse anyone without proof. Revenge has to wait. Without proof, no one would support us. Kilakota insists we find it.”

  I nodded, but felt lost.

  Nowamooks squeezed my arm. “The village is angry. People want quick blood, but this won’t settle quickly. Comcomly is worried. Chiefs get replaced for less.”

  Komkomis’ face was uncharacteristically impassive, his eyes stony and black. “What do you think, Chaningsit? Was it a plot against the Salish? Was my brother a target? Was it revenge or a ploy to shape the future? What of the wedges? And most of all, what are we to do?”

  I stopped in my tracks and stared at her. “I know nothing more than what I’ve heard. You must know more than I do.”

  Nowamooks pulled my elbow. “We hear the same things, but understand differently. Everyone knows that you see in special ways. Kilakota thinks your vision is deep. She respects you. Where would you look for answers?”

  Trying to ignore the flattery, I took a breath. “I would find the Salish’s enemies and why Tewaugh would be rude and why Oluck Kiya was angry. Reasons are somewhere. Who is helped by this?”

  “Trade has stopped, so no traders gain. Everybody loses.” Komkomis sighed. “Tewaugh’s lodge and ours are almost as one. He and Comcomly have been partners since boys and Tewaugh was close to my brother; he was teaching him clan secrets, preparing him to be chief.” Seagulls wheeled and cawed raucously overhead. “Even if he wanted to kill him, doing it that way would be stupid. He could easily be disgraced.”

  “He insulted Kwun-num Tupshin for no reason.”

  “There was a reason…Kilakota says so. He certainly didn’t get the boat.”

  “He drove wedges out of spite?”

  “Probably not. He didn’t need the boat.”

  “So? Why the insult?”

  Nowamooks and Komkomis shook their heads and shared a strange smile.

  “What’s going on?” I pushed, “You know something…tell me.”

  Nowamooks gave a heavy sigh and watched a tiny yellow flicker of a fire across the bay. “Tewaugh didn’t offer what the boat was worth. It wasn’t a serious offer. And there are greater plans afoot, something larger planned. Our mother insists there is something else.”

  That was interesting. “An insult? Revenge? He seemed upset.”

  Komkomis blinked slowly, “I don’t know…There has to be something else. We’ve been warned not to ask Tewaugh.”

  What things were true and which were ruses? “Does Tewaugh have business problems?”

  They shrugged in unison. “Business IS problems…but he had business. Maybe we’ll learn more at Yakaitl-Wimakl,” Komkomis smiled. “Everyone’s has been hurt. Our world unravels. The Salish will return with nothing. Few others will come. This is not serving trade.”

  “The Willamettes’ lost boats... Is it revenge?”

  Nowamooks and Komkomis both stared at me as if I was a ghost. They ignored my question. Discomfited, I pretended not to notice.

  The moment twitched endlessly before Nowamooks continued, “Until we have answers we can’t show suspicion. Being wrong in revenge would ruin us. Above all, if it can business must continue. Revenge or not, trade is everything.”

  I pinched my lips in frustration. They were sharing clichés and truisms, not real information. It made me resentful. They obviously knew more, but wouldn’t share it. But they still expected my help. I counted points on my fingers, “Distraction, anger, desire, pride, and ignorance…human poisons breed problems. If not distraction or ignorance, maybe anger, desire, or pride. Which one holds your answer?”

  Komkomis laughed, “Not distraction or ignorance? Not an accident…true enough.” He seemed to find it funny. The bay glimmered in the moonlight; a breeze riffled its surface. Overhead, bats circled and swooped. I looked from one to the other, confused.

  “Anger and pride are as common as fish scales,” Nowamooks offered dryly. “No one is immune.”

  Komkomis seemed more impatient, “Both Tewaugh and Kwun-num Tupshin have powerful enemies. If a trader is bested at trade, they wouldn’t admit it.”

  “Maybe they wanted to cast doubt and blame.”

  Komkomis gave a sour look. “That’s pretty weak revenge.”

  I shru
gged, “Tewaugh was the first one suspected?”

  Komkomis nodded thoughtfully. “He has enemies, but no trader would work that way. Revenge without honor defeats its own purpose.”

  Nowamooks looked worried. “Maybe the wedges were driven before the Salish arrived.”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a Tsinuk problem…even if the whales caused the deaths.”

  “But if the wedges were aimed at the Salish...” Nowamooks began.

  “They stopped at the Quinault before here.” Komkomis interrupted.

  “Still…´why’”

  Another awkward silence descended. Eventually Komkomis said, “Any trader or village that was seriously suspected would be shunned. They couldn’t survive.”

  “So…if wasn’t a trader, who? An enemy? Revenge makes sense.”

  I changed focus. “Why would Tewaugh offer to buy a boat but not make a reasonable offer? Who suspected your brother might be on it?”

  “It was chance…eventually, everyone knew, but when the wedges were driven. Kilakota asks if your magic can help see into the past.” Nowamooks held her hair from her face and gazed into my eyes.

  I looked down, embarrassed and chewed my lip. She knew my only answer. “I’ve no way of knowing the future. My tradition has no magic.”

  “But your totems…” Komkomis argued, “Won’t they help? They would want this sorted out. We’ve asked ours.”

  I hung my head in embarrassment and kicked at a tuft of grass. “I’m sorry…I am weak.” I looked into his eyes hoping he understood that I would refuse him nothing that I could actually do. “For me, the world moves without magic, all I can do is see what is visible. I don’t speak with spirits.”

  “I’ve asked the bears and grandmother mice to walk past paths.” Nowamooks claimed proudly. “They’ve helped before. Certainly the past is easier to see than the future.”

  “Totems are fickle.” Komkomis smiled stonily. “Sometimes they only pretend.” He gave an awkward grin. “I suspect few are really dependable.”

  I smiled, unsure if that was blasphemy or a personal truth. I myself wanted to believe that bodhisattvas and Old Woman Above, hungry ghosts, She Who Watches and Coyote were all the same…but the truth of the matter escaped me.

  Komkomis went off to his alcove and we went to ours. My confusion seemed to have floated off. Nowamooks and Komkomis had reasons for whatever was or wasn’t said. Whatever was real was still real…whatever was not was not. My knowledge or ignorance didn’t change a thing. Chinese or Tsinuk? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

  Though I didn’t understand, I could accept whatever existed. I returned to our alcove strangely settled and at peace.